Poems In Two Volumes, Vol.

1
William Wordsworth
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B' WI<<I2C W?+%-W?+T, 2=T,?+ ?) DT,E <'+I"2< B2<<2%-.D

Posterius gra$iore sono tibi Cusa loEuetur Aostra1 dabunt cum securos mihi tem#ora fructus.

"?ATEATDTo the %ais!D D<ouisaD D)idelit!D D-he was a Phantom of delightD DThe +edbreast and the Butterfl!D DThe -ailorFs CotherD DTo the -mall "elandineD DTo the same )lowerD D"haracter of the ,a##! WarriorD DThe ,orn of Egremont "astleD DThe 2ffliction of Cargaret >>>> of >>>>D DThe Bitten and the falling <ea$esD DThe -e$en -isters, or the -olitude of BinnorieD DTo ,."., si* 'ears oldD D2mong all lo$el! things m! <o$e had beenD DI tra$ellFd among unknown CenD D?de to %ut!D

P?EC-, "?CP?-E% %=+IAG 2 T?=+, ",IE)<' ?A )??T. . DBeggarsD

3. DTo a -k!><arkD ;. DWith how sad -te#s, ? Coon, thou climbFst the -k!D 9. D2lice )ellD 5. D+esolution and Inde#endenceD -?AAETDPrefator! -onnetD P2+T T,E )I+-T>>CI-"E<<2AE?=- -?AAET-. . 3. ;. D"om#osed after a @ourne! across the ,amilton ,ills, 'orkshireD 9. 5. DTo -lee#D G. DTo -lee#D /. DTo -lee#D 8. .. DTo the +i$er %uddonD 4. D)rom the Italian of Cichael 2ngeloD . D)rom the sameD 3. D)rom the same. To the -u#reme BeingD ;. DWritten in $er! earl! 'outhD 9. D"om#osed u#on Westminster Bridge, -e#tD. ;, 84; 5. G. /. DToD >>>> 8. .. 34. DTo the Cemor! of +aisle! "al$ertD

P2+T T,E -E"?A%>>-?AAET- %E%I"2TE% T? <IBE+T'. "?ATEAT-. . D"om#osed b! the -ea>side, near "alais, 2ugustD, 843 3. DIs it a +eedD ;. DTo a )riend, com#osed near "alais, on the +oad leading to 2rdres, 2ugust /thD, 843 9. 5. G. D?n the E*tinction of the Venetian +e#ublicD /. DThe Bing of -wedenD 8. DTo Toussaint <F?u$ertureD .. 4. "om#osed in the Valle! near %o$er, on the %a! of <anding . 3. Thought of a Briton on the -ubjugation of -witHerland ;. Written in <ondon, -e#tember, 843 9. 5. G. /. 8. .. 34. 3 . 33. 3;. To the Cen of Bent. ?ctober, 84; 39. 35. 2ntici#ation. ?ctober, 84;

3G. Aotes1 6TranscribersF Aote1 the Aotes will be found at the End of the Volume:

T? T,E %2I-'. In !outh from rock to rock I went )rom hill to hill, in discontent ?f #leasure high and turbulent, Cost #leasFd when most uneas!I But now m! own delights I make, C! thirst at e$er! rill can slake, 2nd gladl! AatureFs lo$e #artake ?f thee, sweet %ais!0 When soothed a while b! milder airs, Thee Winter in the garland wears That thinl! shades his few gre! hairsI -#ring cannot shun theeI Whole summer fields are thine b! rightI 2nd 2utumn, melanchol! Wight0 %oth in th! crimson head delight When rains are on thee. In shoals and bands, a morrice train, Thou greetFst the Tra$eller in the laneI If welcome once thou countFst it gainI Thou art not daunted, Aor carFst if thou be set at naughtI 2nd oft alone in nooks remote We meet thee, like a #leasant thought, When such are wanted. Be Violets in their secret mews The flowers the wanton Je#h!rs chuseI Proud be the +ose, with rains and dews ,er head im#earlingI Thou li$Fst with less ambitious aim, 'et hast not gone without th! fameI Thou art indeed b! man! a claim The PoetFs darling. If to a rock from rains he fl!, ?r, some bright da! of 2#ril sk!, Im#risonFd b! hot sunshine lie Aear the green holl!, 2nd wearil! at length should fareI ,e need but look about, and there Thou art0 a )riend at hand, to scare ,is melanchol!. 2 hundred times, b! rock or bower, Ere thus I ha$e lain couchFd an hour, ,a$e I deri$ed from th! sweet #ower 4

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-ome a##rehensionI -ome stead! lo$eI some brief delightI -ome memor! that had taken flightI -ome chime of fanc! wrong or rightI ?r stra! in$ention. If statel! #assions in me burn, 2nd one chance look to Thee should turn, I drink out of an humbler urn 2 lowlier #leasureI The homel! s!m#ath! that heeds The common life, our nature breedsI 2 wisdom fitted to the needs ?f hearts at leisure. When, smitten b! the morning ra!, I see thee rise alert and ga!, Then, chearful )lower0 m! s#irits #la! With kindred motion1 2t dusk, IF$e seldom markFd thee #ress The ground, as if in thankfulness, Without some feeling, more or less, ?f true de$otion. 2nd all da! long I number !et, 2ll seasons through, another debt, Which I where$er thou art met, To thee am owingI 2n instinct call it, a blind senseI 2 ha##!, genial influence, "oming one knows not how nor whence, Aor whither going. "hild of the 'ear0 that round dost run Th! course, bold lo$er of the sun, 2nd chearful when the da!Fs begun 2s morning <e$eret, Thou long the PoetFs #raise shalt gainI Thou wilt be more belo$Fd b! men In times to comeI thou not in $ain 2rt AatureFs )a$orite. 54

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<?=I-2. ( ( ( ( (

I met <ouisa in the shadeI 2nd, ha$ing seen that lo$el! Caid, Wh! should I fear to sa! That she is rudd!, fleet, and strongI 2nd down the rocks can lea# along, <ike ri$ulets in Ca!K 2nd she hath smiles to earth unknownI -miles, that with motion of their own %o s#read, and sink, and riseI

That come and go with endless #la!, 2nd e$er, as the! #ass awa!, 2re hidden in her e!es. -he lo$es her fire, her "ottage>homeI 'et oFer the moorland will she roam In weather rough and bleakI 2nd when against the wind she strains, ?h0 might I kiss the mountain rains That s#arkle on her cheek. Take all thatFs mine Fbeneath the moonF, If I with her but half a noon Ca! sit beneath the walls ?f some old ca$e, or moss! nook, When u# she winds along the brook, To hunt the waterfalls. 34

)I%E<IT'. ( ( ( ( (

2 barking sound the -he#herd hears, 2 cr! as of a %og or )o*I ,e halts, and searches with his e!es 2mong the scatterFd rocks1 2nd now at distance can discern 2 stirring in a brake of fernI )rom which immediatel! lea#s out 2 %og, and !el#ing runs about. The %og is not of mountain breedI ItFs motions, too, are wild and sh!I With something, as the -he#herd thinks, =nusual in itsF cr!1 Aor is there an! one in sight 2ll round, in ,ollow or on ,eightI Aor shout, nor whistle strikes his earI What is the "reature doing hereK It was a "o$e, a huge +ecess, That kee#s till @une %ecemberFs snowI 2 loft! Preci#ice in front, 2 silent Tarn 6 : below0 )ar in the bosom of ,el$ell!n, +emote from #ublic +oad or %welling, Pathwa!, or culti$ated landI )rom trace of human foot or hand. 4

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6)ootnote 1 2 Tarn is a small Cere or <ake mostl! high u# in the mountains.: There, sometimes does a lea#ing )ish -end through the Tarn a lonel! chearI The "rags re#eat the +a$enFs croak, In s!m#hon! austereI

Thither the +ainbow comes, the "loudI 2nd Cists that s#read the fl!ing shroudI 2nd -un>beamsI and the sounding blast, That, if it could, would hurr! #ast, But that enormous Barrier binds it fast. Aot knowing what to think, a while The -he#herd stood1 then makes his wa! Towards the %og, oFer rocks and stones, 2s Euickl! as he ma!I Aor far had gone before he found 2 human skeleton on the ground, -ad sight0 the -he#herd with a sigh <ooks round, to learn the histor!. )rom those abru#t and #erilous rocks, The Can had fallen, that #lace of fear0 2t length u#on the -he#herdFs mind It breaks, and all is clear1 ,e instantl! recallFd the Aame, 2nd who he was, and whence he cameI +ememberFd, too, the $er! da! ?n which the Tra$eller #assFd this wa!.

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But hear a wonder now, for sake 54 ?f which this mournful Tale I tell0 2 lasting monument of words This wonder merits well. The %og, which still was ho$ering nigh, +e#eating the same timid cr!, This %og had been through three monthsF s#ace 2 %weller in that sa$age #lace. 'es, #roof was #lain that since the da! ?n which the Tra$eller thus had died The %og had watchFd about the s#ot, ?r b! his CasterFs side1 ,ow nourishFd here through such long time ,e knows, who ga$e that lo$e sublime, 2nd ga$e that strength of feeling, great 2bo$e all human estimate.

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D-,E W2- 2 P,2AT?C ?) %E<IG,TD ( ( ( ( (

-he was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamFd u#on m! sightI 2 lo$el! 2##arition, sent To be a momentFs ornamentI ,er e!es as stars of Twilight fairI <ike TwilightFs, too, her dusk! hairI But all things else about her drawn )rom Ca!>time and the chearful %awnI 2 dancing -ha#e, an Image ga!, To haunt, to startle, and wa!>la!.

I saw her u#on nearer $iew, 2 -#irit, !et a Woman too0 ,er household motions light and free, 2nd ste#s of $irgin libert!I 2 countenance in which did meet -weet records, #romises as sweetI 2 "reature not too bright or good )or human natureFs dail! foodI )or transient sorrows, sim#le wiles, Praise, blame, lo$e, kisses, tears, and smiles. 2nd now I see with e!e serene The $er! #ulse of the machineI 2 Being breathing thoughtful breathI 2 Tra$eller betwi*t life and deathI The reason firm, the tem#erate will, Endurance, foresight, strength and skillI 2 #erfect WomanI nobl! #lannFd, To warn, to comfort, and commandI 2nd !et a -#irit still, and bright With something of an angel light.

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DThe +E%B+E2-T and the B=TTE+)<'D. 2rt thou the Bird whom Can lo$es best, The #ious Bird with the scarlet breast, ?ur little English +obinI The Bird that comes about our doors When 2utumn winds are sobbingK 2rt thou the Peter of Aorwa! BoorsK Their Thomas in )inland, 2nd +ussia far inlandK The Bird, whom b! some name or other 2ll men who know thee call their Brother, The %arling of "hildren and menK "ould )ather 2dam o#en his e!es, 2nd see this sight beneath the skies, ,eFd wish to close them again. If the Butterfl! knew but his friend ,ither his flight he would bend, 2nd find his wa! to me =nder the branches of the tree1 In and out, he darts aboutI ,is little heart is throbbing1 "an this be the Bird, to man so good, ?ur consecrated +obin0 That, after their bewildering, %id co$er with lea$es the little children, -o #ainfull! in the woodK

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What ailFd thee +obin that thou couldFst #ursue 2 beautiful "reature, That is gentle b! natureK Beneath the summer sk! )rom flower to flower let him fl!I ;4

FTis all that he wishes to do. The "hearer Thou of our in>door sadness, ,e is the )riend of our summer gladness1 What hinders, then, that !e should be Pla!mates in the sunn! weather, 2nd fl! about in the air togetherK <ike the hues of th! breast ,is beautiful wings in crimson are drest, 2 brother he seems of thine own1 If thou wouldFst be ha##! in th! nest, ? #ious Bird0 whom Can lo$es best, <o$e him, or lea$e him alone0

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DT,E -2I<?+F- C?T,E+D. ( ( ( ( (

?ne morning Lraw it was and wet, 2 fogg! da! in winter timeM 2 Woman in the road I met, Aot old, though something #ast her #rime1 Cajestic in her #erson, tall and straightI 2nd like a +oman matronFs was her mien and gait. The ancient -#irit is not deadI ?ld times, thought I, are breathing thereI Proud was I that m! countr! bred -uch strength, a dignit! so fair1 4 -he beggFd an alms, like one in #oor estateI I lookFd at her again, nor did m! #ride abate. When from these loft! thoughts I woke, With the first word I had to s#are I said to her, &Beneath !our "loak WhatFs that which on !our arm !ou bearK& -he answerFd soon as she the Euestion heard, &2 sim#le burthen, -ir, a little -inging>bird.& 2nd, thus continuing, she said, &I had a -on, who man! a da! 34 -ailFd on the seasI but he is deadI In %enmark he was cast awa!I 2nd I ha$e been as far as ,ull, to see What clothes he might ha$e left, or other #ro#ert!.& &The Bird and "age the! both were hisI FTwas m! -onFs BirdI and neat and trim ,e ke#t it1 man! $o!ages This -inging>bird hath gone with himI When last he sailFd he left the Bird behindI 2s it might be, #erha#s, from bodings of his mind.& &,e to a )ellow>lodgerFs care ,ad left it, to be watchFd and fed, Till he came back againI and there

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I found it when m! -on was deadI 2nd now, God hel# me for m! little wit0 I trail it with me, -ir0 he took so much delight in it.&

DT? T,E -C2<< "E<2A%IAED 6)ootnote1 "ommon Pilewort.: ( ( ( ( (

Pansies, <ilies, Bingcu#s, %aisies, <et them li$e u#on their #raisesI <ong as thereFs a sun that sets Primroses will ha$e their glor!I <ong as there are Violets, The! will ha$e a #lace in stor!1 ThereFs a flower that shall be mine, FTis the little "elandine. E!es of some men tra$el far )or the finding of a starI =# and down the hea$ens the! go, Cen that kee# a might! rout0 IFm as great as the!, I trow, -ince the da! I found thee out, <ittle flower0>>IFll make a stir <ike a great 2stronomer. Codest, !et withal an Elf Bold, and la$ish of th!self, -ince we needs must first ha$e met I ha$e seen thee, high and low, Thirt! !ears or more, and !et FTwas a face I did not knowI Thou hast now, go where I ma!, )ift! greetings in a da!. Ere a leaf is on a bush, In the time before the Thrush ,as a thought about itFs nest, Thou wilt come with half a call, -#reading out th! gloss! breast <ike a careless ProdigalI Telling tales about the sun, When weF$e little warmth, or none. Poets, $ain men in their mood0 Tra$el with the multitudeI Ae$er heed themI I a$er That the! all are wanton WooersI But the thrift! "ottager, Who stirs little out of doors, @o!s to s#! thee near her home, -#ring is coming, Thou art come0 "omfort ha$e thou of th! merit, Bindl!, unassuming -#irit0 4

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"areless of th! neighbourhood, Thou dost shew th! #leasant face ?n the moor, and in the wood. In the lane>>thereFs not a #lace, ,owsoe$er mean it be, But Ftis good enough for thee. Ill befal the !ellow )lowers, "hildren of the flaring hours0 Buttercu#s, that will be seen, Whether we will see or noI ?thers, too, of loft! mienI The! ha$e done as worldlings do, Taken #raise that should be thine, <ittle, humble "elandine0 Pro#het of delight and mirth, -cornFd and slighted u#on earth0 ,erald of a might! band, ?f a jo!ous train ensuing, -inging at m! heartFs command, In the lanes m! thoughts #ursuing, I will sing, as doth beho$e, ,!mns in #raise of what I lo$e0 54

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T? T,E -2CE )<?WE+. Pleasures newl! found are sweet When the! lie about our feet1 )ebruar! last m! heart )irst at sight of thee was gladI 2ll unheard of as thou art, Thou must needs, I think, ha$e had, "elandine0 and long ago, Praise of which I nothing know. I ha$e not a doubt but he, WhosoeFer the man might be, Who the first with #ointed ra!s, LWorkman worth! to be saintedM -et the -ign>board in a blaHe, When the risen sun he #ainted, Took the fanc! from a glance 2t th! glittering countenance. -oon as gentle breeHes bring Aews of winterFs $anishing, 2nd the children build their bowers, -ticking Fkerchief>#lots of mold 2ll about with full>blown flowers, Thick as shee# in she#herdFs fold0 With the #roudest Thou art there, Cantling in the tin! sEuare. ?ften ha$e I sighFd to measure B! m!self a lonel! #leasureI 4

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-ighFd to think, I read a book ?nl! read #erha#s b! meI 'et I long could o$erlook Th! bright coronet and Thee, 2nd th! arch and wil! wa!s, 2nd th! store of other #raise. Blithe of heart, from week to week Thou dost #la! at hide>and>seekI While the #atient Primrose sits <ike a Beggar in the cold, Thou, a )lower of wiser wits, -li##Fst into th! shelterFd hold1 Bright as an! of the train When !e all are out again. Thou art not be!ond the moon, But a thing &beneath our shoonI& <et, as old Cagellen did, ?thers roam about the seaI Build who will a #!ramidI Praise it is enough for me, If there be but three or four Who will lo$e m! little )lower.

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",2+2"TE+ of the ,2PP' W2++I?+. Who is the ha##! WarriorK Who is he Whom e$er! Can in arms should wish to beK >>It is the generous -#irit, who, when brought 2mong the tasks of real life, hath wrought =#on the #lan that #leased his childish thought1 Whose high endea$ours are an inward light That make the #ath before him alwa!s bright1 Who, with a natural instinct to discern What knowledge can #erform, is diligent to learnI 2bides b! this resol$e, and sto#s not there, 4 But makes his moral being his #rime careI Who, doomFd to go in com#an! with Pain, 2nd )ear, and Bloodshed, miserable train0 Turns his necessit! to glorious gainI In face of these doth e*ercise a #ower Which is our human>natureFs highest dowerI "ontrols them and subdues, transmutes, berea$es ?f their bad influence, and their good recei$esI B! objects, which might force the soul to abate ,er feeling, renderFd more com#assionateI 34 Is #lacable because occasions rise -o often that demand such sacrificeI Core skilful in self>knowledge, e$en more #ure, 2s tem#ted moreI more able to endure, 2s more e*#osFd to suffering and distressI Thence, also, more ali$e to tenderness. Tis he whose law is reasonI who de#ends =#on that law as on the best of friendsI Whence, in a state where men are tem#ted still

To e$il for a guard against worse ill, ;4 2nd what in Eualit! or act is best %oth seldom on a right foundation rest, ,e fi*es good on good alone, and owes To $irtue e$er! trium#h that he knows1 >>Who, if he rise to station of command, +ises b! o#en meansI and there will stand ?n honourable terms, or else retire, 2nd in himself #ossess his own desireI Who com#rehends his trust, and to the same Bee#s faithful with a singleness of aimI 94 2nd therefore does not stoo#, nor lie in wait )or wealth, or honors, or for worldl! stateI Whom the! must followI on whose head must fall, <ike showers of manna, if the! come at all1 Whose #owers shed round him in the common strife, ?r mild concerns of ordinar! life, 2 constant influence, a #eculiar graceI But who, if he be called u#on to face -ome awful moment to which hea$en has joinFd Great issues, good or bad for human>kind, 54 Is ha##! as a <o$erI and attired With sudden brightness like a Can ins#iredI 2nd through the heat of conflict kee#s the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresawI ?r if an une*#ected call succeed, "ome when it will, is eEual to the need1 >>,e who, though thus endued as with a sense 2nd facult! for storm and turbulence, Is !et a -oul whose master bias leans To home>felt #leasures and to gentle scenesI G4 -weet images0 which, wheresoeFer he be, 2re at his heartI and such fidelit! It is his darling #assion to a##ro$eI Core bra$e for this, that he hath much to lo$e1 FTis, finall!, the Can, who, lifted high, "ons#icuous object in a AationFs e!e, ?r left unthought>of in obscurit!, Who, with a toward or untoward lot, Pros#erous or ad$erse, to his wish or not, Pla!s, in the man! games of life, that one /4 Where what he most doth $alue must be wonI Whom neither sha#e of danger can disma!, Aor thought of tender ha##iness betra!I Who, not content that former worth stand fast, <ooks forward, #erse$ering to the last, )rom well to better, dail! self>sur#ast1 Who, whether #raise of him must walk the earth )or e$er, and to noble deeds gi$e birth, ?r ,e must go to dust without his fame, 2nd lea$e a dead un#rofitable name, 84 )inds comfort in himself and in his causeI 2nd, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws ,is breath in confidence of ,ea$enFs a##lauseI This is the ha##! WarriorI this is ,e Whom e$er! Can in arms should wish to be. ( ( ( ( (

DThe abo$e Verses mere written soon after tidings had been recei$ed of the %eath of <ord Aelson, which e$ent directed the 2uthorFs thoughts to the subject. ,is res#ect for the memor! of his great fellow>countr!man induces him to mention thisI though he is well aware that the Verses must suffer from an! connection in the +eaderFs mind with a Aame so illustriousD.

T,E ,?+A ?) EG+EC?AT "2-T<E. When the Brothers reachFd the gatewa!, Eustace #ointed with his lance To the ,orn which there was hangingI ,orn of the inheritance. ,orn it was which none could sound, Ao one u#on li$ing ground, -a$e ,e who came as rightful ,eir To EgremontFs %omains and "astle fair. ,eirs from ages without record ,ad the ,ouse of <ucie born, Who of right had claimFd the <ordshi# B! the #roof u#on the ,orn1 Each at the a##ointed hour Tried the ,orn, it ownFd his #owerI ,e was acknowledged1 and the blast Which good -ir Eustace sounded was the last. With his lance -ir Eustace #ointed, 2nd to ,ubert thus said he, &What I s#eak this ,orn shall witness )or th! better memor!. ,ear, then, and neglect me not0 2t this time, and on this s#ot, The words are utterFd from m! heart, 2s m! last earnest #ra!er ere we de#art.& 4

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&?n good ser$ice we are going <ife to risk b! sea and landI In which course if "hrist our -a$iour %o m! sinful soul demand, ,ither come thou back straightwa!, ,ubert, if ali$e that da!I ;4 +eturn, and sound the ,orn, that we Ca! ha$e a li$ing ,ouse still left in thee0& &)ear not,& Euickl! answerFd ,ubertI &2s I am th! )atherFs son, What thou askest, noble Brother, With GodFs fa$our shall be done.& -o were both right well content1 )rom the "astle forth the! went. 2nd at the head of their 2rra! To Palestine the Brothers took their wa!. -ide b! side the! fought Lthe <ucies Were a line for $alour famFdM

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2nd whereFer their strokes alighted There the -aracens were tamFd. Whence, then, could it come the thought, B! what e$il s#irit broughtK ?h0 can a bra$e Can wish to take ,is BrotherFs life, for <andFs and "astleFs sakeK &-ir0& the +uffians said to ,ubert, &%ee# he lies in @ordan flood.&>> -tricken b! this ill assurance, Pale and trembling ,ubert stood. &Take !our earnings.&>>?h0 that I "ould ha$e seen m! Brother die0 It was a #ang that $e*Fd him thenI 2nd oft returned, again, and !et again. Conths #assFd on, and no -ir Eustace0 Aor of him were tidings heard. Wherefore, bold as da!, the Curderer Back again to England steerFd. To his "astle ,ubert s#edI ,e has nothing now to dread. But silent and b! stealth he came, 2nd at an hour which nobod! could name. Aone could tell if it were night>time, Aight or da!, at e$en or mornI )or the sound was heard b! no one ?f the #roclamation>horn. But bold ,ubert li$es in glee1 Conths and !ears went smilingl!I With #lent! was his table s#readI 2nd bright the <ad! is who shares his bed. <ikewise he had -ons and %aughtersI 2nd, as good men do, he sate 2t his board b! these surrounded, )lourishing in fair estate. 2nd, while thus in o#en da! ?nce he sate, as old books sa!, 2 blast was utterFd from the ,orn, Where b! the "astle>gate it hung forlorn. FTis the breath of good -ir Eustace0 ,e is come to claim his right1 2ncient "astle, Woods, and Countains ,ear the challenge with delight. ,ubert0 though the blast be blown ,e is hel#less and alone1 Thou hast a dungeon, s#eak the word0 2nd there he ma! be lodgFd, and thou be <ord. -#eak0 astounded ,ubert cannotI 2nd if #ower to s#eak he had, 2ll are daunted, all the household -mitten to the heart, and sad. FTis -ir EustaceI if it be <i$ing Can, it must be he0 Thus ,ubert thought in his disma!, .4 54

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2nd b! a Postern>gate he slunk awa!. <ong, and long was he unheard of1 To his Brother then he came, Cade confession, askFd forgi$eness, 2skFd it b! a BrotherFs name, 2nd b! all the saints in hea$enI 2nd of Eustace was forgi$Fn1 Then in a "on$ent went to hide ,is melanchol! head, and there he died.

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But -ir Eustace, whom good 2ngels ,ad #reser$Fd from CurderersF hands, 2nd from Pagan chains had rescued, <i$Fd with honour on his lands. -ons he had, saw -ons of theirs1 2nd through ages, ,eirs of ,eirs, 4 2 long #osterit! renownFd, -ounded the ,orn which the! alone could sound.

T,E 2))<I"TI?A of C2+G2+ET >>>> ?) >>>> ( ( ( ( (

Where art thou, m! belo$ed -on, Where art thou, worse to me than deadK ?h find me #ros#erous or undone0 ?r, if the gra$e be now th! bed, Wh! am I ignorant of the same That I ma! restI and neither blame, Aor sorrow ma! attend th! nameK -e$en !ears, alas, to ha$e recei$ed Ao tidings of an onl! childI To ha$e des#airFd, and ha$e belie$Fd, 2nd be for e$ermore beguilFdI -ometimes with thoughts of $er! bliss0 I catch at them, and then I missI Was e$er darkness like to thisK ,e was among the #rime in worth, 2n object beauteous to beholdI Well born, well bredI I sent him forth Ingenuous, innocent, and bold1 If things ensued that wanted grace, 2s hath been said, the! were not baseI 2nd ne$er blush was on m! face. 2h0 little doth the 'oung ?ne dream, When full of #la! and childish cares, What #ower hath e$en his wildest scream, ,eard b! his Cother unawares0 ,e knows it not, he cannot guess1 'ears to a Cother bring distressI But do not make her lo$e the less.

34

Aeglect me0 no I sufferFd long )rom that ill thoughtI and being blind, -aid, &Pride shall hel# me in m! wrongI Bind mother ha$e I been, as kind 2s e$er breathed1& and that is trueI IF$e wet m! #ath with tears like dew, Wee#ing for him when no one knew. C! -on, if thou be humbled, #oor, ,o#eless of honour and of gain, ?h0 do not dread th! motherFs doorI Think not of me with grief and #ain1 I now can see with better e!esI 2nd worldl! grandeur I des#ise, 2nd fortune with her gifts and lies 2las0 the fowls of ,ea$en ha$e wings, 2nd blasts of ,ea$en will aid their flightI The! mount, how short a $o!age brings The Wanderers back to their delight0 "hains tie us down b! land and seaI 2nd wishes, $ain as mine, ma! be 2ll that is left to comfort thee. Perha#s some dungeon hears thee groan, CaimFd, mangled b! inhuman menI ?r thou u#on a %esart thrown Inheritest the <ionFs %enI ?r hast been summoned to the %ee#, Thou, Thou and all th! mates, to kee# 2n incommunicable slee#. I look for GhostsI but none will force Their wa! to meI Ftis falsel! said That there was e$er intercourse Betwi*t the li$ing and the deadI )or, surel!, then I should ha$e sight ?f ,im I wait for da! and night, With lo$e and longings infinite. C! a##rehensions come in crowdsI I dread the rustling of the grassI The $er! shadows of the clouds ,a$e #ower to shake me as the! #ass1 I Euestion things, and do not find ?ne that will answer to m! mindI 2nd all the world a##ears unkind. Be!ond #artici#ation lie C! troubles, and be!ond relief1 If an! chance to hea$e a sigh The! #it! me, and not m! grief. Then come to me, m! -on, or send -ome tidings that m! woes ma! endI I ha$e no other earthl! friend.

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T,E BITTEA 2A% T,E )2<<IAG <E2VE-. ( ( ( ( (

That wa! look, m! Infant, lo0 What a #rett! bab! show0 -ee the Bitten on the Wall, -#orting with the lea$es that fall, WitherFd lea$es, one, two, and three, )rom the loft! Elder>tree0 Through the calm and frost! air ?f this morning bright and fair, Edd!ing round and round the! sink -oftl!, slowl!1 one might think, )rom the motions that are made, E$er! little leaf con$e!Fd -!l#h or )aer! hither tending, To this lower world descending, Each in$isible and mute, In his wa$ering #arachute. >>But the Bitten, how she starts, "rouches, stretches, #aws, and dartsI )irst at one and then itFs fellow @ust as light and just as !ellowI There are man! now>>now one>> Aow the! sto#I and there are none>> What intenseness of desire In her u#ward e!e of fire0 With a tiger>lea# half wa! Aow she meets the coming #re!, <ets it go as fast, and then ,as it in her #ower again1 Aow she works with three or four, <ike an Indian "onjurorI Nuick as he in feats of art, )ar be!ond in jo! of heart. Were her antics #la!Fd in the e!e ?f a thousand -tanders>b!, "la##ing hands with shout and stare, What would little Tabb! care )or the #laudits of the "rowdK ?$er ha##! to be #roud, ?$er wealth! in the treasure ?f her own e*ceeding #leasure0 FTis a #rett! Bab!>treatI Aor, I deem, for me unmeet1 ,ere, for neither Babe or me, ?ther Pla!>mate can I see. ?f the countless li$ing things, That with stir of feet and wings, LIn the sun or under shade =#on bough or grass! bladeM 2nd with bus! re$ellings, "hir# and song, and murmurings, Cade this ?rchardFs narrow s#ace, 2nd this Vale so blithe a #laceI Cultitudes are swe#t awa! Ae$er more to breathe the da!1

34

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-ome are slee#ingI some in Bands Tra$ellFd into distant <andsI ?thers slunk to moor and wood, )ar from human neighbourhood, 2nd, among the Binds that kee# With us closer fellowshi#, With us o#enl! abide, 2ll ha$e laid their mirth aside, >>Where is he that gidd! -#rite, Blue>ca#, with his colours bright, Who was blest as bird could be, )eeding in the a##le>tree, Cade such wanton s#oil and rout, Turning blossoms inside out, ,ung with head towards the ground, )lutterFd, #erchFdI into a round Bound himself, and then unboundI <ithest, gaudiest ,arleEuin, Prettiest Tumbler e$er seen, <ight of heart, and light of limb, What is now become of ,imK <ambs, that through the mountains went )risking, bleating merriment, When the !ear was in itFs #rime, The! are soberFd b! this time. If !ou look to $ale or hill, If !ou listen, all is still, -a$e a little neighbouring +illI That from out the rock! ground -trikes a solitar! sound. Vainl! glitters hill and #lain, 2nd the air is calm in $ainI Vainl! Corning s#reads the lure ?f a sk! serene and #ureI "reature none can she deco! Into o#en sign of jo!1 Is it that the! ha$e a fear ?f the drear! season nearK ?r that other #leasures be -weeter e$en than gaiet!K 'et, whateFer enjo!ments dwell In the im#enetrable cell ?f the silent heart which Aature )urnishes to e$er! "reature, WhatsoeFer we feel and know Too sedate for outward show, -uch a light of gladness breaks, Prett! Bitten0 from th! freaks, -#reads with such a li$ing grace ?Fer m! little <auraFs faceI 'es, the sight so stirs and charms Thee, Bab!, laughing in m! arms, That almost I could re#ine That !our trans#orts are not mine, That I do not wholl! fare E$en as !e do, thoughtless Pair0 2nd I will ha$e m! careless season -#ite of melanchol! reason,

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Will walk through life in such a wa! That, when time brings on deca!, Aow and then I ma! #ossess ,ours of #erfect gladsomeness. >>PleasFd b! an! random to!I B! a BittenFs bus! jo!, ?r an infantFs laughing e!e -haring in the e*tac!I I would fare like that or this, )ind m! wisdom in m! blissI Bee# the s#rightl! soul awake, 2nd ha$e faculties to take E$en from things b! sorrow wrought Catter for a jocund thoughtI -#ite of care, and s#ite of grief, To gambol with <ifeFs falling <eaf.

34

T,E -EVEA -I-TE+-, ?+ T,E -?<IT=%E ?) BIAA?+IE. ( ( ( ( (

-e$en %aughters had <ord 2rchibald, 2ll "hildren of one Cother1 I could not sa! in one short da! What lo$e the! bore each other, 2 Garland of se$en <ilies wrought0 -e$en -isters that together dwellI But he, bold Bnight as e$er fought, Their )ather, took of them no thought, ,e lo$ed the Wars so well. -ing, mournfull!, oh0 mournfull!, The -olitude of Binnorie0 )resh blows the wind, a western wind, 2nd from the shores of Erin, 2cross the wa$e, a +o$er bra$e To Binnorie is steering1 +ight onward to the -cottish strand The gallant shi# is borneI The Warriors lea# u#on the land, 2nd hark0 the <eader of the Band ,ath blown his bugle horn. -ing, mournfull!, oh0 mournfull!, The -olitude of Binnorie. Beside a Grotto of their own, With boughs abo$e them closing, The -e$en are laid, and in the shade The! lie like )awns re#osing. But now, u#starting with affright 2t noise of Can and -teed, 2wa! the! fl! to left to right>> ?f !our fair household, )ather Bnight, Cethinks !ou take small heed0

34

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-ing, mournfull!, oh0 mournfull!, The -olitude of Binnorie. 2wa! the se$en fair "am#bells fl!, 2nd, o$er ,ill and ,ollow, With menace #roud, and insult loud, The !outhful +o$ers follow. "ried the!, &'our )ather lo$es to roam1 Enough for him to find The em#t! ,ouse when he comes homeI )or us !our !ellow ringlets comb, )or us be fair and kind0& -ing, mournfull!, oh0 mournfull!, The -olitude of Binnorie. -ome close behind, some side b! side, <ike clouds in storm! weather, The! run, and cr!, &Aa! let us die, 2nd let us die together.& 2 <ake was nearI the shore was stee#I There ne$er )oot had beenI The! ran, and with a des#erate lea# Together #lungFd into the dee#, Aor e$er more were seen. -ing, mournfull!, oh0 mournfull!, The -olitude of Binnorie. The -tream that flows out of the <ake, 2s through the glen it rambles, +e#eats a moan oFer moss and stone, )or those se$en lo$el! "am#bells. -e$en little Islands, green and bare, ,a$e risen from out the dee#1 The )ishers sa!, those -isters fair B! )aeries are all buried there, 2nd there together slee#. -ing, mournfull!, oh0 mournfull! The -olitude of Binnorie.

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To ,. "., -IO 'E2+- ?<%. ( ( ( ( (

? Thou0 whose fancies from afar are broughtI Who of th! words dost make a mock a##arel, 2nd fittest to unutterable thought The breeHe>like motion and the self>born carolI Thou )aer! Vo!ager0 that dost float In such clear water, that th! Boat Ca! rather seem To brood on air than on an earthl! streamI -us#ended in a stream as clear as sk!, Where earth and hea$en do make one imager!I

? blessed Vision0 ha##! "hild0 That art so e*Euisitel! wild, I think of thee with, man! fears )or what ma! be th! lot in future !ears. I thought of times when Pain might be th! guest, <ord of th! house and hos#italit!I 2nd grief, uneas! <o$er0 ne$er rest But when she sate within the touch of thee. ?h0 too industrious foll!0 ?h0 $ain and causeless melanchol!0 34 Aature will either end thee EuiteI ?r, lengthening out th! season of delight, Preser$e for thee, b! indi$idual right, 2 !oung <ambFs heart among the full>grown flocks. What hast Thou to do with sorrow, ?r the injuries of tomorrowK Thou art a %ew>dro#, which, the morn brings forth, Aot doomFd to jostle with unkindl! shocksI ?r to be trailFd along the soiling earthI 2 Gem that glitters while it li$es, ;4 2nd no forewarning gi$esI But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife -li#s in a moment out of life.

D2mong all lo$el! things m! <o$e had beenD ( ( ( ( (

2mong all lo$el! things m! <o$e had beenI ,ad noted well the stars, all flowers that grew 2bout her homeI but she had ne$er seen 2 Glow>worm, ne$er one, and this I knew. While riding near her home one storm! night 2 single Glow>worm did I chance to es#!I I ga$e a fer$ent welcome to the sight, 2nd from m! ,orse I lea#tI great jo! had I. =#on a leaf the Glow>worm did I la!, To bear it with me through the storm! night1 2nd, as before, it shone without disma!I 2lbeit #utting forth a fainter light. When to the %welling of m! <o$e I came, I went into the ?rchard Euietl!I 2nd left the Glow>worm, blessing it b! name, <aid safel! b! itself, beneath a Tree. The whole ne*t da!, I ho#ed, and ho#ed with fearI 2t night the Glow>worm shone beneath the Tree1 I led m! <uc! to the s#ot, &<ook here0& ?h0 jo! it was for her, and jo! for me0 34 4

DI tra$ellFd among unknown CenD ( ( ( ( (

I tra$ellFd among unknown Cen, In <ands be!ond the -eaI Aor England0 did I know till then What lo$e I bore to thee. FTis #ast, that melanchol! dream0 Aor will I Euit th! shore 2 second timeI for still I seem To lo$e thee more and more. 2mong th! mountains did I feel The jo! of m! desireI 2nd -he I cherishFd turnFd her wheel Beside an English fire. Th! mornings shewFd>>th! nights concealFd The bowers where <uc! #la!FdI 2nd thine is, too, the last green field Which <uc!Fs e!es sur$e!Fd0 4

?%E T? %=T'. ( ( ( ( (

-tern %aughter of the Voice of God0 ? %ut!0 if that name thou lo$e Who art a <ight to guide, a +od To check the erring, and re#ro$eI Thou who art $ictor! and law When em#t! terrors o$eraweI )rom $ain tem#tations dost set freeI )rom strife and from des#airI a glorious ministr!. There are who ask not if thine e!e Be on themI who, in lo$e and truth, 4 Where no misgi$ing is, rel! =#on the genial sense of !outh1 Glad ,earts0 without re#roach or blotI Who do th! work, and know it not1 Ca! jo! be theirs while life shall last0 2nd Thou, if the! should totter, teach them to stand fast0 -erene will be our da!s and bright, 2nd ha##! will our nature be, When lo$e is an unerring light, 2nd jo! its own securit!. 2nd blessFd are the! who in the main This faith, e$en now, do entertain1 <i$e in the s#irit of this creedI

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'et find that other strength, according to their need. I, lo$ing freedom, and untriedI Ao s#ort of e$er! random gust, 'et being to m!self a guide, Too blindl! ha$e re#osed m! trust1 +esol$ed that nothing eFer should #ress =#on m! #resent ha##iness, ;4 I sho$ed unwelcome tasks awa!I But thee I now would ser$e more strictl!, if I ma!. Through no disturbance of m! soul, ?r strong com#unction in me wrought, I su##licate for th! controulI But in the Euietness of thought1 Ce this uncharterFd freedom tiresI I feel the weight of chance desires1 C! ho#es no more must change their name, I long for a re#ose which e$er is the same. 'et not the less would I throughout -till act according to the $oice ?f m! own wishI and feel #ast doubt That m! submissi$eness was choice1 Aot seeking in the school of #ride )or &#rece#ts o$er dignified,& %enial and restraint I #riHe Ao farther than the! breed a second Will more wise. -tern <awgi$er0 !et thou dost wear The GodheadFs most benignant graceI 54 Aor know we an! thing so fair 2s is the smile u#on th! faceI )lowers laugh before thee on their bedsI 2nd )ragrance in th! footing treadsI Thou dost #reser$e the -tars from wrongI 2nd the most ancient ,ea$ens through Thee are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power0 I call thee1 I m!self commend =nto th! guidance from this hourI ?h0 let m! weakness ha$e an end0 Gi$e unto me, made lowl! wise, The s#irit of self>sacrificeI The confidence of reason gi$eI 2nd in the light of truth th! Bondman let me li$e0

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P?EC- "?CP?-E% %=+IAG 2 T?=+, ",IE)<' ?A )??T.

. DBEGG2+-D. -he had a tall CanFs height, or moreI

Ao bonnet screenFd her from the heatI 2 long drab>colourFd "loak she wore, 2 Cantle reaching to her feet1 What other dress she had I could not knowI ?nl! she wore a "a# that was as white as snow. In all m! walks, through field or town, -uch )igure had I ne$er seen1 ,er face was of Eg!#tian brown1 )it #erson was she for a Nueen, 4 To head those ancient 2maHonian files1 ?r ruling BanditFs Wife, among the Grecian Isles. Before me begging did she stand, Pouring out sorrows like a seaI Grief after grief1>>on English <and -uch woes I knew could ne$er beI 2nd !et a boon I ga$e herI for the "reature Was beautiful to seeI a Weed of glorious feature0 I left her, and #ursued m! wa!I 2nd soon before me did es#! 34 2 #air of little Bo!s at #la!, "hasing a crimson butterfl!I The Taller followFd with his hat in hand, WreathFd round with !ellow flowFrs, the ga!est of the land. The ?ther wore a rimless crown, With lea$es of laurel stuck about1 2nd the! both followFd u# and down, Each whoo#ing with a merr! shoutI Two Brothers seemFd the!, eight and ten !ears oldI 2nd like that WomanFs face as gold is like to gold. ;4 The! bolted on me thus, and lo0 Each read! with a #lainti$e whineI -aid I, &Aot half an hour ago 'our Cother has had alms of mine.& &That cannot be,& one answerFd, &-he is dead.& &Aa! but I ga$e her #ence, and she will bu! !ou bread.& &-he has been dead, -ir, man! a da!.& &-weet Bo!s, !ouFre telling me a lie&I &It was !our Cother, as I sa!>>& 2nd in the twinkling of an e!e, 94 &"ome, come0& cried oneI and, without more ado, ?ff to some other #la! the! both together flew.

3. DT? 2 -B'><2+BD. =# with me0 u# with me into the clouds0 )or th! song, <ark, is strongI =# with me, u# with me into the clouds0 -inging, singing, With all the hea$Fns about thee ringing, <ift me, guide me, till I find

That s#ot which seems so to th! mind0 I ha$e walkFd through wildernesses drear!, 2nd toda! m! heart is wear!I ,ad I now the soul of a )aer!, =# to thee would I fl!. There is madness about thee, and jo! di$ine In that song of thineI =# with me, u# with me, high and high, To th! banEueting>#lace in the sk!0 @o!ous as Corning, Thou art laughing and scorningI Thou hast a nest, for th! lo$e and th! rest1 2nd, though little troubled with sloth, %runken <ark0 thou wouldFst be loth To be such a Tra$eller as I. ,a##!, ha##! <i$er0 With a soul as strong as a mountain +i$er, Pouring out #raise to the 2lmight! Gi$er, @o! and jollit! be with us both0 ,earing thee, or else some other, 2s merr! a Brother, I on the earth will go #lodding on, B! m!self, chearfull!, till the da! is done.

34

;. DWith how sad -te#s, ? Coon, thou climbFst the -k!D ;. &With how sad ste#s, ? Coon thou climbFst the sk!. ,ow silentl!, and with how wan a face0& 63: Where art thouK Thou whom I ha$e seen on high +unning among the clouds a Wood>n!m#hFs raceK =nha##! Auns, whose common breathFs a sigh Which the! would stifle, mo$e at such a #ace0 The Aorthern Wind, to call thee to the chace, Cust blow tonight his bugle horn. ,ad I The #ower of Cerlin, Goddess0 this should be 2nd all the -tars, now shrouded u# in hea$en, -hould sall! forth to kee# thee com#an!. What strife would then be !ours, fair "reatures, dri$Fn Aow u#, now down, and s#arkling in !our glee0 But, "!nthia, should to Thee the #alm be gi$Fn, Nueen both for beaut! and for majest!. 6)ootnote 31 )rom a sonnet of -ir Phili# -!dne!.:

9. 2<I"E )E<<. The Post>bo! dro$e with fierce career, )or threatFning clouds the moon had drownFdI When suddenl! I seemFd to hear

2 moan, a lamentable sound. 2s if the wind blew man! wa!s I heard the sound, and more and more1 It seemFd to follow with the "haise, 2nd still I heard it as before. 2t length I to the Bo! callFd out, ,e sto##Fd his horses at the wordI But neither cr!, nor $oice, nor shout, Aor aught else like it could be heard. The Bo! then smackFd his whi#, and fast The horses scam#erFd through the rainI 2nd soon I heard u#on the blast The $oice, and bade him halt again. -aid I, alighting on the ground, &What can it be, this #iteous moanK& 2nd there a little Girl I found, -itting behind the "haise, alone. &C! "loak0& the word was last and first, 2nd loud and bitterl! she we#t, 2s if her $er! heart would burstI 2nd down from off the "haise she lea#t. &What ails !ou, "hildK& she sobbFd, &<ook here0& I saw it in the wheel entangled, 2 weather beaten +ag as eFer )rom an! garden scare>crow dangled. FTwas twisted betwi*t na$e and s#okeI ,er hel# she lent, and with good heed Together we released the "loakI 2 wretched, wretched rag indeed0 &2nd whither are !ou going, "hild, To night along these lonesome wa!sK& &To %urham& answerFd she half wild>> &Then come with me into the chaise.& -he sate like one #ast all reliefI -ob after sob she forth did send In wretchedness, as if her grief "ould ne$er, ne$er, ha$e an end. &C! "hild, in %urham do !ou dwellK& -he checkFd herself in her distress, 2nd said, &C! name is 2lice )ellI IFm fatherless and motherless.& &2nd I to %urham, -ir, belong.& 2nd then, as if the thought would choke ,er $er! heart, her grief grew strongI 2nd all was for her tatterFd "loak. The chaise dro$e onI our journe!Fs end Was nighI and, sitting b! m! side, 54 ;4 4

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2s if sheFd lost her onl! friend -he we#t, nor would be #acified. =# to the Ta$ern>door we #ostI ?f 2lice and her grief I toldI 2nd I ga$e mone! to the ,ost, To bu! a new "loak for the old. &2nd let it be of duffil gre!, 2s warm a cloak as man can sell0& Proud "reature was she the ne*t da!, The little ?r#han, 2lice )ell0

G4

5. +E-?<=TI?A 2A% IA%EPEA%EA"E. There was a roaring in the wind all nightI The rain came hea$il! and fell in floodsI But now the sun is rising calm and brightI The birds are singing in the distant woodsI ?$er his own sweet $oice the -tock>do$e broodsI The @a! makes answer as the Cag#ie chattersI 2nd all the air is fillFd with #leasant noise of waters. 2ll things that lo$e the sun are out of doorsI The sk! rejoices in the morningFs birthI The grass is bright with rain>dro#sI on the moors The ,are is running races in her mirthI 2nd with her feet she from the #lash! earth +aises a mistI which, glittering in the sun, +uns with her all the wa!, where$er she doth run. I was a Tra$eller then u#on the moorI I saw the ,are that racFd about with jo!I I heard the woods, and distant waters, roarI ?r heard them not, as ha##! as a Bo!1 The #leasant season did m! heart em#lo!1 C! old remembrances went from me wholl!I 2nd all the wa!s of men, so $ain and melanchol!.

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But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might ?f jo! in minds that can no farther go, 2s high as we ha$e mounted in delight In our dejection do we sink as low, To me that morning did it ha##en soI 2nd fears, and fancies, thick u#on me cameI %im sadness, P blind thoughts I knew not nor could name. I heard the -k!>lark singing in the sk!I 2nd I bethought me of the #la!ful ,are1 E$en such a ha##! "hild of earth am II E$en as these blissful "reatures do I fareI )ar from the world I walk, and from all careI But there ma! come another da! to me, -olitude, #ain of heart, distress, and #o$ert!. C! whole life I ha$e li$Fd in #leasant thought, ;4

2s if lifeFs business were a summer moodI 2s if all needful things would come unsought To genial faith, still rich in genial goodI But how can ,e e*#ect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call <o$e him, who for himself will take no heed at allK

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I thought of "hatterton, the mar$ellous Bo!, The slee#less -oul that #erishFd in its #rideI ?f ,im who walkFd in glor! and in jo! Behind his #lough, u#on the mountain>side1 B! our own s#irits are we deifiedI We Poets in our !outh begin in gladnessI But thereof comes in the end des#ondenc! and madness. Aow, whether it were b! #eculiar grace, 54 2 leading from abo$e, a something gi$en, 'et it befel, that, in this lonel! #lace, When u# and down m! fanc! thus was dri$en, 2nd I with these untoward thoughts had stri$en, I saw a Can before me unawares1 The oldest Can he seemFd that e$er wore gre! hairs. C! course I sto##ed as soon as I es#ied The ?ld Can in that naked wilderness1 "lose b! a Pond, u#on the further side, ,e stood alone1 a minuteFs s#ace I guess I watchFd him, he continuing motionless1 To the PoolFs further margin then I drewI ,e being all the while before me full in $iew.

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2s a huge -tone is sometimes seen to lie "ouchFd on the bald to# of an eminenceI Wonder to all who do the same es#! B! what means it could thither come, and whenceI -o that it seems a thing endued with sense1 <ike a -ea>beast crawlFd forth, which on a shelf ?f rock or sand re#oseth, there to sun itself. /4 -uch seemFd this Can, not all ali$e nor dead, Aor all aslee#I in his e*treme old age1 ,is bod! was bent double, feet and head "oming together in their #ilgrimageI 2s if some dire constraint of #ain, or rage ?f sickness felt b! him in times long #ast, 2 more than human weight u#on his frame had cast. ,imself he #ro##Fd, his bod!, limbs, and face, =#on a long gre! -taff of sha$en wood1 2nd, still as I drew near with gentle #ace, Beside the little #ond or moorish flood Cotionless as a "loud the ?ld Can stoodI That heareth not the loud winds when the! callI 2nd mo$eth altogether, if it mo$e at all. 2t length, himself unsettling, he the Pond -tirred with his -taff, and fi*edl! did look =#on the mudd! water, which he connFd, 2s if he had been reading in a book1

84

2nd now such freedom as I could I tookI 2nd, drawing to his side, to him did sa!, .4 &This morning gi$es us #romise of a glorious da!.& 2 gentle answer did the ?ld Can make, In courteous s#eech which forth he slowl! drew1 2nd him with further words I thus bes#ake, &What kind of work is that which !ou #ursueK This is a lonesome #lace for one like !ou.& ,e answerFd me with #leasure and sur#riHeI 2nd there was, while he s#ake, a fire about his e!es. ,is words came feebl!, from a feeble chest, 'et each in solemn order followFd each, 44 With something of a loft! utterance drestI "hoice word, and measured #hraseI abo$e the reach ?f ordinar! menI a statel! s#eech0 -uch as gra$e <i$ers do in -cotland use, +eligious men, who gi$e to God and Can their dues. ,e told me that he to this #ond had come To gather <eeches, being old and #oor1 Em#lo!ment haHardous and wearisome0 2nd he had man! hardshi#s to endure1 )rom Pond to Pond he roamFd, from moor to moor, ,ousing, with GodFs good hel#, b! choice or chance1 2nd in this wa! he gainFd an honest maintenance. The ?ld Can still stood talking b! m! sideI But now his $oice to me was like a stream -carce heardI nor word from word could I di$ideI 2nd the whole Bod! of the man did seem <ike one whom I had met with in a dreamI ?r like a Can from some far region sentI To gi$e me human strength, and strong admonishment. C! former thoughts returnFd1 the fear that killsI The ho#e that is unwilling to be fedI "old, #ain, and labour, and all fleshl! illsI 2nd might! Poets in their miser! dead. 2nd now, not knowing what the ?ld Can had said, C! Euestion eagerl! did I renew, &,ow is it that !ou li$e, and what is it !ou doK& ,e with a smile did then his words re#eatI 2nd said, that, gathering <eeches, far and wide ,e tra$elledI stirring thus about his feet The waters of the Ponds where the! abide. &?nce I could meet with them on e$er! sideI But the! ha$e dwindled long b! slow deca!I 'et still I #erse$ere, and find them where I ma!.& 34

;4

While he was talking thus, the lonel! #lace, The ?ld CanFs sha#e, and s#eech, all troubled me1 In m! mindFs e!e I seemFd to see him #ace 2bout the wear! moors continuall!, Wandering about alone and silentl!. While I these thoughts within m!self #ursued, ,e, ha$ing made a #ause, the same discourse renewed.

94

2nd soon with this he other matter blended, "hearfull! uttered, with demeanour kind, But statel! in the mainI and, when he ended, I could ha$e laughFd m!self to scorn, to find In that decre#it Can so firm a mind. &God,& said I, &be m! hel# and sta! secureI IFll think of the <eech>gatherer on the lonel! moor.&

-?AAET-. P+E)2T?+' -?AAET. ( ( ( ( (

Auns fret not at their "on$entFs narrow roomI 2nd ,ermits are contented with their "ellsI 2nd -tudents with their #ensi$e "itadels1 Caids at the Wheel, the Wea$er at his <oom, -it blithe and ha##!I Bees that soar for bloom, ,igh as the highest Peak of )urness )ells, Will murmur b! the hour in )o*glo$e bells1 In truth, the #rison, unto which we doom ?ursel$es, no #rison is1 and hence to me, In sundr! moods, Ftwas #astime to be bound Within the -onnetFs scant! #lot of ground1 PleasFd if some -ouls Lfor such there needs must beM Who ha$e felt the weight of too much libert!, -hould find short solace there, as I ha$e found.

P2+T T,E )I+-T. ( ( ( ( (

CI-"E<<2AE?=- -?AAET-. . ( ( ( ( (

,ow sweet it is, when mother )anc! rocks The wa!ward brain, to saunter through a wood0 2n old #lace, full of man! a lo$el! brood, Tall trees, green arbours, and ground flowers in flocksI 2nd Wild rose ti#>toe u#on hawthorn stocks, <ike to a bonn! <ass, who #la!s her #ranks 2t Wakes and )airs with wandering Countebanks, When she stands cresting the "lownFs head, and mocks The crowd beneath her. Veril! I think, -uch #lace to me is sometimes like a dream ?r ma# of the whole world1 thoughts, link b! link

Enter through ears and e!esight, with such gleam ?f all things, that at last in fear I shrink, 2nd lea# at once from the delicious stream.

3. ( ( ( ( (

Where lies the <and to which !on -hi# must goK )esti$el! she #uts forth in trim arra!I 2s $igorous as a <ark at break of da!1 Is she for tro#ic suns, or #olar snowK What boots the enEuir!K Aeither friend nor foe -he cares forI let her tra$el where she ma!, -he finds familiar names, a beaten wa! E$er before her, and a wind to blow. 'et still I ask, what ,a$en is her markK 2nd, almost as it was when shi#s were rare, )rom time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there "rossing the watersI doubt, and something dark, ?f the old -ea some re$erential fear, Is with me at th! farewell, jo!ous Bark0

;. "?CP?-E% after a @ourne! across T,E ,2CI<T?A ,I<<-, '?+B-,I+E. Ere we had reachFd the wishFd>for #lace, night fell1 We were too late at least b! one dark hour, 2nd nothing could we see of all that #ower ?f #ros#ect, whereof man! thousands tell. The western sk! did recom#ence us well With Grecian Tem#le, Cinaret, and BowerI 2nd, in one #art, a Cinster with its Tower -ubstantiall! distinct, a #lace for Bell ?r "lock to toll from. Can! a glorious #ile %id we behold, sights that might well re#a! 2ll disa##ointment0 and, as such, the e!e %elighted in themI but we felt, the while, We should forget them1 the! are of the sk!, 2nd from our earthl! memor! fade awa!.

9. ....Dthe! are of the sk!, 2nd from our earthl! memor! fade awa!D. These words were utterFd in a #ensi$e mood, E$en while mine e!es were on that solemn sight1 2 contrast and re#roach to gross delight,

2nd lifeFs uns#iritual #leasures dail! wooFd0 But now u#on this thought I cannot brood1 It is unstable, and deserts me EuiteI Aor will I #raise a "loud, howe$er bright, %is#araging CanFs gifts, and #ro#er food. The Gro$e, the sk!>built Tem#le, and the %ome, Though clad in colours beautiful and #ure, )ind in the heart of man no natural home1 The immortal Cind cra$es objects that endure1 These clea$e to itI from these it cannot roam, Aor the! from it1 their fellowshi# is secure.

5. T? -<EEP. ? gentle -lee#0 do the! belong to thee, These twinklings of obli$ionK Thou dost lo$e To sit in meekness, like the brooding %o$e, 2 "a#ti$e ne$er wishing to be free. This tiresome night, ? -lee#0 thou art to me 2 )l!, that u# and down himself doth sho$e =#on a fretful ri$ulet, now abo$e, Aow on the water $e*Fd with mocker!. I ha$e no #ain that calls for #atience, noI ,ence am I cross and #ee$ish as a child1 2m #leasFd b! fits to ha$e thee for m! foe, 'et e$er willing to be reconciled1 ? gentle "reature0 do not use me so, But once and dee#l! let me be beguiled.

G. T? -<EEP. 2 flock of shee# that leisurel! #ass b!, ?ne after oneI the sound of rain, and bees CurmuringI the fall of ri$ers, winds and seas, -mooth fields, white sheets of water, and #ure sk!I IF$e thought of all b! turnsI and still I lie -lee#lessI and soon the small birdsF melodies Cust hear, first utterFd from m! orchard treesI 2nd the first "uckooFs melanchol! cr!. E$en thus last night, and two nights more, I la!, 2nd could not win thee, -lee#0 b! an! stealth1 -o do not let me wear to night awa!1 Without Thee what is all the morningFs wealthK "ome, blessed barrier betwi*t da! and da!, %ear mother of fresh thoughts and jo!ous health0

/. T? -<EEP. )ond words ha$e oft been s#oken to thee, -lee#0 2nd thou hast had th! store of tenderest namesI

The $er! sweetest words that fanc! frames When thankfulness of heart is strong and dee#0 %ear bosom "hild we call thee, that dost stee# In rich reward all sufferingI Balm that tames 2ll anguishI -aint that e$il thoughts and aims Takest awa!, and into souls dost cree#, <ike to a breeHe from hea$en. -hall I aloneI I surel! not a man ungentl! made, "all thee worst T!rant b! which )lesh is crostK Per$erse, self>willFd to own and to disown, Cere -la$e of them who ne$er for thee #ra!Fd, -till last to come where thou art wanted most0

8. With -hi#s the sea was s#rinkled far and nigh, <ike stars in hea$en, and jo!ousl! it showedI -ome l!ing fast at anchor in the road, -ome $eering u# and down, one knew not wh!. 2 goodl! Vessel did I then es#! "ome like a Giant from a ha$en broadI 2nd lustil! along the Ba! she strode, ,er tackling rich, and of a##arel high. This -hi# was nought to me, nor I to her, 'et I #ursued her with a <o$erFs lookI This -hi# to all the rest did I #refer1 When will she turn, and whitherK -he will brook Ao tarr!ingI where she comes the winds must stir1 ?n went -he, and due north her journe! took.

.. T? T,E +IVE+ %=%%?A. ? mountain -tream0 the -he#herd and his "ot 2re #ri$ilegFd Inmates of dee# solitude1 Aor would the nicest 2nchorite e*clude 2 )ield or two of brighter green, or Plot ?f tillage>ground, that seemeth like a s#ot ?f stationar! sunshine1 thou hast $iewFd These onl!, %uddon0 with their #aths renewFd B! fits and starts, !et this contents thee not. Thee hath some awful -#irit im#ellFd to lea$e, =tterl! to desert, the haunts of men, Though sim#le th! "om#anions were and fewI 2nd through this wilderness a #assage clea$e 2ttended but b! th! own Voice, sa$e when The "louds and )owls of the air th! wa! #ursue.

4. )+?C T,E IT2<I2A ?) CI",2E< 2AGE<?. 'es0 ho#e ma! with m! strong desire kee# #ace,

2nd I be undeluded, unbetra!FdI )or if of our affections none find grace In sight of ,ea$en, then, wherefore hath God made The world which we inhabitK Better #lea <o$e cannot ha$e, than that in lo$ing thee Glor! to that eternal Peace is #aid, Who such %i$init! to thee im#arts 2s hallows and makes #ure all gentle hearts. ,is ho#e is treacherous onl! whose lo$e dies With beaut!, which is $ar!ing e$er! hourI But, in chaste hearts uninfluenced b! the #ower ?f outward change, there blooms a deathless flower, That breathes on earth the air of #aradise.

. )+?C T,E -2CE. Ao mortal object did these e!es behold When first the! met the #lacid light of thine, 2nd m! -oul felt her destin! di$ine, 2nd ho#e of endless #eace in me grew bold1 ,ea$Fn>born, the -oul a hea$Fn>ward course must holdI Be!ond the $isible world -he soars to seek, )or what delights the sense is false and weak, Ideal )orm, the uni$ersal mould. The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest In that which #erishes1 nor will he lend ,is heart to aught which doth on time de#end. FTis sense, unbridled will, and not true lo$e, Which kills the soul1 <o$e betters what is best, E$en here below, but more in hea$en abo$e.

3. )+?C T,E -2CE. T? T,E -=P+ECE BEIAG. The #ra!ers I make will then be sweet indeed If Thou the s#irit gi$e b! which I #ra!1 C! unassisted heart is barren cla!, Which of its nati$e self can nothing feed1 ?f good and #ious works thou art the seed, Which Euickens onl! where thou sa!Fst it ma!1 =nless thou shew to us thine own true wa! Ao man can find it1 )ather0 thou must lead. %o Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into m! mind B! which such $irtue ma! in me be bred That in th! hol! footste#s I ma! treadI The fetters of m! tongue do Thou unbind, That I ma! ha$e the #ower to sing of thee, 2nd sound th! #raises e$erlastingl!.

;. DWritten in $er! earl! 'outhD. "alm is all nature as a resting wheel. The Bine are couchFd u#on the dew! grassI The ,orse alone, seen diml! as I #ass, Is u#, and cro##ing !et his later meal1 %ark is the groundI a slumber seems to steal ?Fer $ale, and mountain, and the starless sk!. Aow, in this blank of things, a harmon! ,ome>felt, and home>created seems to heal That grief for which the senses still su##l! )resh foodI for onl! then, when memor! Is hushFd, am I at rest. C! )riends, restrain Those bus! cares that would alla! m! #ain1 ?h0 lea$e me to m!selfI nor let me feel The officious touch that makes me droo# again.

9. "?CP?-E% =P?A WE-TCIA-TE+ B+I%GE, -e#t. ;, 84;. Earth has not an! thing to shew more fair1 %ull would he be of soul who could #ass b! 2 sight so touching in itFs majest!1 This "it! now doth like a garment wear The beaut! of the morningI silent, bare, -hi#s, towers, domes, theatres, and tem#les lie ?#en unto the fields, and to the sk!I 2ll bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Ae$er did sun more beautifull! stee# In his first s#lendor $alle!, rock, or hillI AeFer saw I, ne$er felt, a calm so dee#0 The ri$er glideth at his own sweet will1 %ear God0 the $er! houses seem aslee#I 2nd all that might! heart is l!ing still0

5. &Belo$ed Vale0& I said, &when I shall con Those man! records of m! childish !ears, +emembrance of m!self and of m! #eers Will #ress me down1 to think of what is gone Will be an awful thought, if life ha$e one.& But, when into the Vale I came, no fears %istressFd meI I lookFd round, I shed no tearsI %ee# thought, or awful $ision, I had none. B! thousand #ett! fancies I was crossFd, To see the Trees, which I had thought so tall, Cere dwarfsI the Brooks so narrow, )ields so small. 2 @ugglerFs Balls old Time about him tossFdI I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughedI and all

The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

G. Cethought I saw the footste#s of a throne Which mists and $a#ours from mine e!es did shroud, Aor $iew of him who sate thereon allowFdI But all the ste#s and ground about were strown With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone E$er #ut onI a miserable crowd, -ick, hale, old, !oung, who cried before that cloud, &Thou art our king, ? %eath0 to thee we groan.& I seemFd to mount those ste#sI the $a#ours ga$e -mooth wa!I and I beheld the face of one -lee#ing alone within a moss! ca$e, With her face u# to hea$enI that seemFd to ha$e Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregoneI 2 lo$el! Beaut! in a summer gra$e0

/. DTo theD >>>>. <ad!0 the songs of -#ring were in the gro$e While I was framing beds for winter flowersI While I was #lanting green unfading bowers, 2nd shrubs to hang u#on the warm alco$e, 2nd sheltering wallI and still, as fanc! wo$e The dream, to time and natureFs blended #owers I ga$e this #aradise for winter hours, 2 lab!rinth <ad!0 which !our feet shall ro$e. 'es0 when the sun of life more feebl! shines, Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom ?r of high gladness !ou shall hither bringI 2nd these #erennial bowers and murmuring #ines Be gracious as the music and the bloom 2nd all the might! ra$ishment of -#ring.

8. The world is too much with usI late and soon, Getting and s#ending, we la! waste our #owers1 <ittle we see in nature that is oursI We ha$e gi$en our hearts awa!, a sordid boon0 This -ea that bares her bosom to the moonI The Winds that will be howling at all hours 2nd are u#>gathered now like slee#ing flowersI )or this, for e$er! thing, we are out of tuneI It mo$es us not>>Great God0 IFd rather be 2 Pagan suckled in a creed outwornI -o might I, standing on this #leasant lea, ,a$e glim#ses that would make me less forlornI

,a$e sight of Proteus coming from the seaI ?r hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

.. It is a beauteous E$ening, calm and freeI The hol! time is Euiet as a Aun Breathless with adorationI the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranEuillit!I The gentleness of hea$en is on the -ea1 <isten0 the might! Being is awake 2nd doth with his eternal motion make 2 sound like thunder>>e$erlastingl!. %ear "hild0 dear Girl0 that walkest with me here, If thou a##earFst untouchFd b! solemn thought, Th! nature is not therefore less di$ine1 Thou liest in 2brahamFs bosom all the !earI 2nd worshi##Fst at the Tem#leFs inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not.

34. T? T,E CEC?+' ?) D+2I-<E' "2<VE+TD. "al$ert0 it must not be unheard b! them Who ma! res#ect m! name that I to thee ?wFd man! !ears of earl! libert!. This care was thine when sickness did condemn Th! !outh to ho#eless wasting, root and stem1 That I, if frugal and se$ere, might stra! WhereFer I likedI and finall! arra! C! tem#les with the CuseFs diadem. ,ence, if in freedom I ha$e lo$Fd the truth, If there be aught of #ure, or good, or great, In m! #ast $erseI or shall be, in the la!s ?f higher mood, which now I meditate, It gladdens me, ? worth!, short>li$ed 'outh0 To think how much of this will be th! #raise.

EA% ?) T,E )I+-T P2+T.

P2+T T,E -E"?A%.

-?AAET%E%I"2TE% DT? <IBE+T'D.

. "?CP?-E% B' T,E D-E2>-I%E, near "2<2I-D, 2ugust, 843.

)air -tar of E$ening, -#lendor of the West, -tar of m! "ountr!0 on the horiHonFs brink Thou hangest, stoo#ing, as might seem, to sink ?n EnglandFs bosomI !et well #leasFd to rest, Ceanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest "ons#icuous to the Aations. Thou, I think, -houldFst be m! "ountr!Fs emblemI and shouldFst wink, Bright -tar0 with laughter on her banners, drest In th! fresh beaut!. There0 that dusk! s#ot Beneath thee, it is EnglandI there it lies. Blessings be on !ou both0 one ho#e, one lot, ?ne life, one glor!0 I, with man! a fear )or m! dear "ountr!, man! heartfelt sighs, 2mong Cen who do not lo$e her linger here.

3. D"2<2I-D, 2ugust, 843. Is it a +eed thatFs shaken b! the wind, ?r what is it that !e go forth to seeK <ords, <aw!ers, -tatesmen, -Euires of low degree, Cen known, and men unknown, -ick, <ame, and Blind, Post forward all, like "reatures of one kind, With first>fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee In )rance, before the new>born Cajest!. FTis e$er thus. 'e Cen of #rostrate mind0 2 seeml! re$erence ma! be #aid to #owerI But thatFs a lo!al $irtue, ne$er sown In haste, nor s#ringing with a transient shower1 When truth, when sense, when libert! were flown What hardshi# had it been to wait an hourK -hame on !ou, feeble ,eads, to sla$er! #rone0

;. T? 2 )+IEA%, "?CP?-E% AE2+ "2<2I-, ?n the +oad leading to 2rdres, 2ugust /th, 843. @ones0 when from "alais southward !ou and I Tra$ellFd on foot togetherI then this Wa!, Which I am #acing now, was like the Ca! With festi$als of new>born <ibert!1 2 homeless sound of jo! was in the -k!I The antiEuated Earth, as one might sa!, Beat like the heart of Can1 songs, garlands, #la!, Banners, and ha##! faces, far and nigh0 2nd now, sole register that these things were, Two solitar! greetings ha$e I heard, &DGood morrow, "itiHenD0& a hollow word,

2s if a dead Can s#ake it0 'et des#air I feel not1 ha##! am I as a Bird1 )air seasons !et will come, and ho#es as fair.

9. I grie$Fd for Buona#arte, with a $ain 2nd an unthinking grief0 the $ital blood ?f that CanFs mind what can it beK What food )ed his first ho#esK What knowledge could ,e gainK FTis not in battles that from !outh we train The Go$ernor who must be wise and good, 2nd tem#er with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherl!, and meek as womanhood. Wisdom doth li$e with children round her knees1 Books, leisure, #erfect freedom, and the talk Can holds with week>da! man in the hourl! walk ?f the mindFs business1 these are the degrees B! which true -wa! doth mountI this is the stalk True Power doth grow onI and her rights are these.

5. D"2<2I-D. 2ugust 5th, 843. )esti$als ha$e I seen that were not names1 This is !oung Buona#arteFs natal da!I 2nd his is henceforth an established swa!, "onsul for life. With worshi# )rance #roclaims ,er a##robation, and with #om#s and games. ,ea$en grant that other "ities ma! be ga!0 "alais is not1 and I ha$e bent m! wa! To the -ea>coast, noting that each man frames ,is business as he likes. 2nother time That was, when I was here long !ears ago1 The senselessness of jo! was then sublime0 ,a##! is he, who, caring not for Po#e, "onsul, or Bing, can sound himself to know The destin! of Can, and li$e in ho#e.

G. ?A T,E EOTIA"TI?A ?) T,E DVEAETI2A +EP=B<I"D. ?nce did -he hold the gorgeous East in feeI 2nd was the safeguard of the West1 the worth ?f Venice did not fall below her birth, Venice, the eldest "hild of <ibert!. -he was a Caiden "it!, bright and freeI Ao guile seduced, no force could $iolateI 2nd when -he took unto herself a Cate -he must es#ouse the e$erlasting -ea. 2nd what if she had seen those glories fade,

Those titles $anish, and that strength deca!, 'et shall some tribute of regret be #aid When her long life hath reachFd its final da!1 Cen are we, and must grie$e when e$en the -hade ?f that which once was great is #assFd awa!.

/. DT,E BIAG ?) -WE%EAD. The Voice of -ong from distant lands shall call To that great BingI shall hail the crowned 'outh Who, taking counsel of unbending Truth, B! one e*am#le hath set forth to all ,ow the! with dignit! ma! standI or fall, If fall the! must. Aow, whither doth it tendK 2nd what to him and his shall be the endK That thought is one which neither can a##al Aor chear himI for the illustrious -wede hath done The thing which ought to be1 ,e stands Dabo$eD 2ll conseEuences1 work he hath begun ?f fortitude, and #iet!, and lo$e, Which all his glorious 2ncestors a##ro$e1 The ,eroes bless him, him their rightful -on.

8. DT? T?=--2IAT <F?=VE+T=+ED. Toussaint, the most unha##! Can of Cen0 Whether the rural Cilk>maid b! her "ow -ing in th! hearing, or thou liest now 2lone in some dee# dungeonFs earless den, ? miserable chieftain0 where and when Wilt thou find #atienceK 'et die notI do thou Wear rather in th! bonds a chearful brow1 Though fallen Th!self, ne$er to rise again, <i$e, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind Powers that will work for theeI air, earth, and skiesI ThereFs not a breathing of the common wind That will forget theeI thou hast great alliesI Th! friends are e*ultations, agonies, 2nd lo$e, and CanFs unconEuerable mind.

.. -e#tember st, 843. We had a fellow>Passenger who came )rom "alais with us, gaud! in arra!, 2 Aegro Woman like a <ad! ga!, 'et silent as a woman fearing blameI %ejected, meek, !ea #itiabl! tame,

-he sate, from notice turning not awa!, But on our #rofferFd kindness still did la! 2 weight of languid s#eech, or at the same Was silent, motionless in e!es and face. -he was a Aegro Woman dri$Fn from )rance, +ejected like all others of that race, Aot one of whom ma! now find footing thereI This the #oor ?ut>cast did to us declare, Aor murmurFd at the unfeeling ?rdinance.

4. "?CP?-E% IA T,E DV2<<E', near %?VE+D, ?n the %a! of landing. %ear fellow Tra$eller0 here we are once more. The "ock that crows, the -moke that curls, that sound ?f Bells, those Bo!s that in !on meadow>ground In white slee$Fd shirts are #la!ing b! the score, 2nd e$en this little +i$erFs gentle roar, 2ll, all are English. ?ft ha$e I lookFd round With jo! in BentFs green $alesI but ne$er found C!self so satisfied in heart before. Euro#e is !et in BondsI but let that #ass, Thought for another moment. Thou art free C! "ountr!0 and Ftis jo! enough and #ride )or one hourFs #erfect bliss, to tread the grass ?f England once again, and hear and see, With such a dear "om#anion at m! side.

. -e#tember, 843. Inland, within a hollow Vale, I stood, 2nd saw, while sea was calm and air was clear, The "oast of )rance, the "oast of )rance how near0 %rawn almost into frightful neighbourhood. I shrunk, for $eril! the barrier flood Was like a <ake, or +i$er bright and fair, 2 s#an of watersI !et what #ower is there0 What mightiness for e$il and for good0 E$en so doth God #rotect us if we be Virtuous and wise1 Winds blow, and Waters roll, -trength to the bra$e, and Power, and %eit!, 'et in themsel$es are nothing0 ?ne decree -#ake laws to DthemD, and said that b! the -oul ?nl! the Aations shall be great and free.

3. T,?=G,T ?) 2 B+IT?A ?A T,E D-=B@=G2TI?A ?) -WITJE+<2A%D. Two Voices are thereI one is of the -ea,

?ne of the CountainsI each a might! Voice1 In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice, The! were th! chosen Cusic, <ibert!0 There came a T!rant, and with hol! glee Thou foughtFst against ,imI but hast $ainl! stri$enI Thou from th! 2l#ine ,olds at length art dri$en, Where not a torrent murmurs heard b! thee. ?f one dee# bliss thine ear hath been bereft1 Then clea$e, ? clea$e to that which still is left0 )or, high>soulFd Caid, what sorrow would it be That mountain )loods should thunder as before, 2nd ?cean bellow from his rock! shore, 2nd neither awful Voice be heard b! thee0

;. W+ITTEA IA <?A%?A, -e#tember, 843. ? )riend0 I know not which wa! I must look )or comfort, being, as I am, o##rest, To think that now our <ife is onl! drest )or shewI mean hand!work of craftsman, cook, ?r groom0 We must run glittering like a Brook In the o#en sunshine, or we are unblest1 The wealthiest man among us is the best1 Ao grandeur now in nature or in book %elights us. +a#ine, a$arice, e*#ence, This is idolatr!I and these we adore1 Plain li$ing and high thinking are no more1 The homel! beaut! of the good old cause Is goneI our #eace, our fearful innocence, 2nd #ure religion breathing household laws.

9. D<?A%?AD, 843. Cilton0 thou shouldFst be li$ing at this hour1 England hath need of thee1 she is a fen ?f stagnant waters1 altar, sword and #en, )ireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, ,a$e forfeited their ancient English dower ?f inward ha##iness. We are selfish menI ?h0 raise us u#, return to us againI 2nd gi$e us manners, $irtue, freedom, #ower. Th! soul was like a -tar and dwelt a#art1 Thou hadst a $oice whose sound was like the seaI Pure as the naked hea$ens, majestic, free, -o didst thou tra$el on lifeFs common wa!, In chearful godlinessI and !et th! heart The lowliest duties on itself did la!.

5. Great Cen ha$e been among usI hands that #ennFd 2nd tongues that utterFd wisdom, better none1 The later -!dne!, Car$el, ,arrington, 'oung Vane, and others who callFd Cilton )riend. These Coralists could act and com#rehend1 The! knew how genuine glor! was #ut onI Taught us how rightfull! a nation shone In s#lendor1 what strength was, that would not bend But in magnanimous meekness. )rance, Ftis strange, ,ath brought forth no such souls as we had then. Per#etual em#tiness0 unceasing change0 Ao single Volume #aramount, no code, Ao master s#irit, no determined roadI But eEuall! a want of Books and Cen0

G. It is not to be thought of that the )lood ?f British freedom, which to the o#en -ea ?f the worldFs #raise from dark antiEuit! ,ath flowed, &with #om# of waters, unwithstood,& +oad b! which all might come and go that would, 2nd bear out freights of worth to foreign landsI That this most famous -tream in Bogs and -ands -hould #erishI and to e$il and to good Be lost for e$er. In our ,alls is hung 2rmour! of the in$incible Bnights of old1 We must be free or die, who s#eak the tongue That -hakes#eare s#akeI the faith and morals hold Which Cilton held. In e$er! thing we are s#rung ?f EarthFs first blood, ha$e titles manifold.

/. When I ha$e borne in memor! what has tamed Great Aations, how ennobling thoughts de#art When Cen change -words for <edgers, and desert The -tudentFs bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, m! "ountr!0 am I to be blamedK But, when I think of Thee, and what Thou art, Veril!, in the bottom of m! heart, ?f those unfilial fears I am ashamed. But dearl! must we #riHe theeI we who find In thee a bulwark of the cause of menI 2nd I b! m! affection was beguiled. What wonder, if a Poet, now and then, 2mong the man! mo$ements of his mind, )elt for thee as a <o$er or a "hild.

8. ?ctober, 84;. ?ne might belie$e that natural miseries ,ad blasted )rance, and made of it a land =nfit for CenI and that in one great Band ,er -ons were bursting forth, to dwell at ease. But Ftis a chosen soil, where sun and breeHe -hed gentle fa$orsI rural works are thereI 2nd ordinar! business without careI -#ot rich in all things that can soothe and #lease0 ,ow #iteous then that there should be such dearth ?f knowledgeI that whole m!riads should unite To work against themsel$es such fell des#ite1 -hould come in #hrenH! and in drunken mirth, Im#atient to #ut out the onl! light ?f <ibert! that !et remains on Earth0

.. There is a bondage which is worse to bear Than his who breathes, b! roof, and floor, and wall, Pent in, a T!rantFs solitar! Thrall1 FTis his who walks about in the o#en air, ?ne of a Aation who, henceforth, must wear Their fetters in their -ouls. )or who could be, Who, e$en the best, in such condition, free )rom self>re#roach, re#roach which he must share With ,uman AatureK Ae$er be it ours To see the -un how brightl! it will shine, 2nd know that noble )eelings, manl! Powers, Instead of gathering strength must droo# and #ine, 2nd Earth with all her #leasant fruits and flowers )ade, and #artici#ate in CanFs decline.

34. ?ctober, 84;. These times touch mone!Fd Worldlings with disma!1 E$en rich men, bra$e b! nature, taint the air With words of a##rehension and des#air1 While tens of thousands, thinking on the affra!, Cen unto whom sufficient for the da! 2nd minds not stinted or untillFd are gi$en, -ound, health! "hildren of the God of ,ea$en, 2re cheerful as the rising -un in Ca!. What do we gather hence but firmer faith That e$er! gift of noble origin Is breathed u#on b! ,o#eFs #er#etual breathI

That $irtue and the faculties within 2re $ital, and that riches are akin To fear, to change, to cowardice, and death0

3 . England0 the time is come when thou shouldst wean Th! heart from its emasculating foodI The truth should now be better understoodI ?ld things ha$e been unsettledI we ha$e seen )air seed>time, better har$est might ha$e been But for th! tres#assesI and, at this da!, If for Greece, Eg!#t, India, 2frica, 2ught good were destined, Thou wouldst ste# between. England0 all nations in this charge agree1 But worse, more ignorant in lo$e and hate, )ar, far more abject is thine Enem!1 Therefore the wise #ra! for thee, though the freight ?f th! offences be a hea$! weight1 ?h grief0 that EarthFs best ho#es rest all with Thee0

33. ?ctober, 84;. When, looking on the #resent face of things, I see one Can, of Cen the meanest too0 +aisFd u# to swa! the World, to do, undo, With might! Aations for his =nderlings, The great e$ents with which old stor! rings -eem $ain and hollowI I find nothing greatI Aothing is left which I can $enerateI -o that almost a doubt within me s#rings ?f Pro$idence, such em#tiness at length -eems at the heart of all things. But, great God0 I measure back the ste#s which I ha$e trod, 2nd tremble, seeing, as I do, the strength ?f such #oor Instruments, with thoughts sublime I tremble at the sorrow of the time.

3;. DT? T,E CEA ?) BEATD. ?ctober, 84;. Vanguard of <ibert!, !e Cen of Bent, 'e "hildren of a -oil that doth ad$ance ItFs haught! brow against the coast of )rance, Aow is the time to #ro$e !our hardiment0 To )rance be words of in$itation sent0 The! from their )ields can see the countenance

?f !our fierce war, ma! ken the glittering lance. 2nd hear !ou shouting forth !our bra$e intent. <eft single, in bold #arle!, 'e, of !ore, %id from the Aorman win a gallant wreathI "onfirmFd the charters that were !ours beforeI>> Ao #arle!ing now0 In Britain is one breathI We all are with !ou now from -hore to -hore1>> 'e Cen of Bent, Ftis Victor! or %eath0

39. ?ctober, 84;. -i* thousand Veterans #ractisFd in WarFs game, Tried Cen, at Billicrank! were arra!Fd 2gainst an eEual ,ost that wore the Plaid, -he#herds and ,erdsmen.>><ike a whirlwind came The ,ighlanders, the slaughter s#read like flameI 2nd Garr! thundering down his mountain>road Was sto##Fd, and could not breathe beneath the load ?f the dead bodies. FTwas a da! of shame )or them whom #rece#t and the #edantr! ?f cold mechanic battle do ensla$e. ?h0 for a single hour of that %undee Who on that da! the word of onset ga$e0 <ike conEuest would the Cen of England seeI 2nd her )oes find a like inglorious Gra$e.

35. D2ATI"IP2TI?AD. ?ctober, 84;. -hout, for a might! Victor! is won0 ?n British ground the In$aders are laid lowI The breath of ,ea$en has drifted them like snow, 2nd left them l!ing in the silent sun, Ae$er to rise again0>>the work is done. "ome forth, !e ?ld Cen, now in #eaceful show 2nd greet !our -ons0 drums beat, and trum#ets blow0 Cake merr!, Wi$es0 !e little "hildren stun 'our GrandameFs ears with #leasure of !our noise0 "la#, Infants, cla# !our hands0 %i$ine must be That trium#h, when the $er! worst, the #ain, 2nd e$en the #ros#ect of our Brethren slain, ,ath something in it which the heart enjo!s1>> In glor! will the! slee# and endless sanctit!.

3G. Ao$ember, 84;.

2nother !ear0>>another deadl! blow0 2nother might! Em#ire o$erthrown0 2nd we are left, or shall be left, aloneI The last that dares to struggle with the )oe. FTis well0 from this da! forward we shall know That in oursel$es our safet! must be soughtI That b! our own right hands it must be wrought, That we must stand un#ro##Fd, or be laid low. ? %astard whom such foretaste doth not chear0 We shall e*ult, if The! who rule the land Be Cen who hold its man! blessings dear, Wise, u#right, $aliantI not a $enal Band, Who are to judge of danger which the! fear, 2nd honour which the! do not understand.

DA?TE- to the )I+-T V?<=CED DA?TE-D. A?TE I. P2GE I L.M.>>DTo the %ais!D. This Poem, and two others to the same )lower, which the +eader will find in the second Volume, were written in the !ear 843I which is mentioned, because in some of the ideas, though not in the manner in which those ideas are connected, and likewise e$en in some of the e*#ressions, the! bear a striking resemblance to a Poem Llatel! #ublishedM of Cr. Contgomer!, entitled, a )ield )lower. This being said, Cr. Contgomer! will not think an! a#olog! due to himI I cannot howe$er hel# addressing him in the words of the )ather of English Poets. FThough it ha##e me to rehersin>> That !e han in !our freshe song is saied, )orberith me, and beth not ill a#aied, -ith that !e se I doe it in the honour ?f <o$e, and eke in ser$ice of the )lour.F A?TE II. P2GE ;5 L9;MI line ;.>> &.... #erse$ering to the last, )rom well to better.& F)or Bnightes e$er should be #erse$ering To seek honour without feintise or slouth )ro wele to better in all manner thing.F ",2="E+1>>DThe )loure and the <eafeD.

A?TE III. P2GE ;/ L95M.>>DThe ,orn of Egremont "astleD. This -tor! is a "umberland traditionI I ha$e heard it also related of the ,all of ,utton @ohn an ancient residence of the ,uddlestones, in a seEuestered Valle! u#on the +i$er %acor.

A?TE IV. P2GE 58 LG9M.>>DThe -e$en -istersD. The -tor! of this Poem is from the German of )+E%E+I"2 B+=A.

A?TE V. Page G; L/ MI line G.>> &.... that th! Boat Ca! rather seem To brood on air,& DPc. Pc.D -ee "ar$erFs %escri#tion of his -ituation u#on one of the <akes of 2merica.

A?TE VI. P2GE 3 L 34MI line 8.>>&,er tackling rich, and of a##arel high.& )rom a #assage in -kelton, which I cannot here insert, not ha$ing the Book at hand.

A?TE VII. P2GE 54 L 58MI line .>>&?h0 for a single hour of that %undee.& -ee an anecdote related in Cr. -cottFs Border Cinstrels!.

A?TE VIII. P2GE 53 L G4MI lines ; and 9.>> &Who are to judge of danger which the! fear 2nd honour which the! do not understand.& These two lines from <ord BrookeFs <ife of -ir Phili# -!dne!. EA% ?) T,E )I+-T V?<=CE.

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