PART FIRST

BOOK FIRST-HOME AT GRASMERE

ONCE to the verge of yon steep barrier

came

A roving school-boy; what the adventurer's

age

Hath now escaped his memory — but the hour,

One of a golden summer holiday,

He well remembers, though the year be gone

Alone and devious from afar he came;
And, with a sudden influx overpowered
At sight of this seclusion, he forgot
His haste, for hasty had his footsteps been
As boyish his pursuits; and sighing said, 10
"What happy fortune were it here to live!
And, if a thought of dying, if a thought
Of mortal separation, could intrude
With paradise before him, here to die!"
No Prophet was he, had not even a hope,
Scarcely a wish, but one bright pleasing
thought,

A fancy in the heart of what might be
The lot of others, never could be his.

The station whence he looked was soft

In billow after billow, evermore Disporting-nor unmindful was the boy Of sunbeams, shadows, butterflies and birds Of fluttering sylphs and softly-gliding Fay Genii, and winged angels that are Lords Without restraint of all which they behol The illusion strengthening as he gazed, felt

That such unfettered liberty was his, Such power and joy; but only for this en To flit from field to rock, from rock to fiel From shore to island, and from isle shore,

From open ground to covert, from a bed Of meadow-flowers into a tuft of wood; From high to low, from low to high, y still

Within the bound of this huge concav here

Must be his home, this valley be his wor Since that day forth the Place to him

Have been to me more bountiful than hope, Less timid than desire - but that is past. 70 On Nature's invitation do I come,

By Reason sanctioned. Can the choice mislead,

That made the calmest, fairest spot of earth With all its unappropriated good

My own; and not mine only, for with me Entrenched, say rather peacefully embowered,

Under yon orchard, in yon humble cot,
A younger Orphan of a home extinct,
The only Daughter of my Parents dwells.
Ay, think on that, my heart, and cease to
stir,

80

And lurking dimly in their shy retreats,
Or glancing at each other cheerful looks
Like separated stars with clouds between.
What want we? have we not perpetual
streams,

Warm woods, and sunny hills, and fresh green fields,

And mountains not less green, and flocks and herds,

130

And thickets full of songsters, and the voice
Of lordly birds, an unexpected sound
Heard now and then from morn to latest eve,
Admonishing the man who walks below
Of solitude and silence in the sky?
These have we, and a thousand nooks of
earth

Have also these, but nowhere else is found,
Nowhere (or is it fancy ?) can be found
The one sensation that is here; 't is here,
Here as it found its way into my heart
In childhood, here as it abides by day,
By night, here only; or in chosen minds 140
That take it with them hence, where'er they

A blended holiness of earth and sky,
Something that makes this individual spot,
This small abiding-place of many men,
A termination, and a last retreat,
A centre, come from wheresoe'er you will,
A whole without dependence or defect,
Made for itself, and happy in itself,
Perfect contentment, Unity entire.

150

Bleak season was it, turbulent and bleak, When hitherward we journeyed side by side Through burst of sunshine and through flying showers;

Paced the long vales - how long they were and yet

How fast that length of way was left behind,

Wensley's rich Vale, and Sedbergh's naked heights.

The frosty wind, as if to make amends
For its keen breath, was aiding to our steps,
And drove us onward like two ships at sea,
Or like two birds, companions in mid-air,
Parted and reunited by the blast.

162

Stern was the face of nature; we rejoiced In that stern countenance, for our souls thence drew

A feeling of their strength. The naked trees,

The icy brooks, as on we passed, appeared

To question us. "Whence come ye, to "What would ye,"

what end?"

They seemed to say. said the shower, "Wild Wanderers, whither through my dark domain?

The sunbeam said, "Be happy." When

this vale

170

We entered, bright and solemn was the sky
That faced us with a passionate welcoming,
And led us to our threshold. Daylight
failed

Insensibly, and round us gently fell
Composing darkness, with a quiet load
Of full contentment, in a little shed
Disturbed, uneasy in itself as seemed,
And wondering at its new inhabitants.
It loves us now, this Vale so beautiful
Begins to love us! by a sullen storm,
Two months unwearied of severest storm,
It put the temper of our minds to proof,
And found us faithful through the gloom,
and heard

180

The poet mutter his prelusive songs With cheerful heart, an unknown voice of joy

Among the silence of the woods and hills; Silent to any gladsomeness of sound With all their shepherds.

But the gates of Spring

Are opened; churlish winter hath given leave

That she should entertain for this one day, Perhaps for many genial days to come, 191 His guests, and make them jocund. — They are pleased,

But most of all the birds that haunt the flood,

With the mild summons; inmates though they be

Of Winter's household, they keep festival This day, who drooped, or seemed to droop, so long;

They show their pleasure, and shall I do less?

Happier of happy though I be, like them
I cannot take possession of the sky,
Mount with a thoughtless impulse, and

wheel there

200

One of a mighty multitude, whose way
Is a perpetual harmony and dance
Magnificent. Behold how with a grace
Of ceaseless motion, that might scarcely

seem

Inferior to angelical, they prolong
Their curious pastime, shaping in mid-air,
And sometimes with ambitious wing that

soars

High as the level of the mountain tops,
A circuit ampler than the lake beneath,
Their own domain; - but ever, while intent
On tracing and retracing that large round,
Their jubilant activity evolves

Hundreds of curves and circlets, to and fro
Upwards and downwards; progress intricate
Yet unperplexed, as if one spirit swayed
Their indefatigable flight. "T is done,

Ten times and more I fancied it had ceased But lo! the vanished company again Ascending, they approach. I hear thei wings

Faint, faint at first; and then an eager soun Passed in a moment and as faint again They tempt the sun to sport among the plumes;

Tempt the smooth water, or the gleamin ice,

To show them a fair image, 't is them selves,

Their own fair forms upon the glimmerin

plain

Painted more soft and fair as they descend, Almost to touch, - then up again aloft,

Up with a sally and a flash of speed, As if they scorned both resting-place and rest!

-This day is a thanksgiving, 't is a day 230 Of glad emotion and deep quietness; Not upon me alone hath been bestowed, Me rich in many onward-looking thoughts, The penetrating bliss; oh surely these Have felt it, not the happy choirs of spring, Her own peculiar family of love That sport among green leaves, a blither train!

But two are missing, two, a lonely pair Of milk-white Swans; wherefore are they not seen

241

Partaking this day's pleasure? From afar They came, to sojourn here in solitude, Choosing this Valley, they who had the choice

Of the whole world. We saw them day by day,

Through those two months of unrelenting storm,

Conspicuous at the centre of the Lake Their safe retreat, we knew them well, I guess

That the whole valley knew them; but to us They were more dear than may be well believed,

Not only for their beauty, and their still And placid way of life, and constant love Inseparable, not for these alone,

251

But that their state so much resembled ours,
They having also chosen this abode;
They strangers, and we strangers, they a
pair,

And we a solitary pair like them.

They should not have departed; many days Did I look forth in vain, nor on the wing Could see them, nor in that small open

Is passed, we blame it not for having come.
What if I floated down a pleasant stream,
And now am landed, and the motion gone,
Shall I reprove myself? Ah no, the stream
Is flowing, and will never cease to flow,
And I shall float upon that stream again.
By such forgetfulness the soul becomes,
Words cannot say how beautiful: then hail,
Hail to the visible Presence, hail to thee,
Delightful Valley, habitation fair!
And to whatever else of outward form
Can give an inward help, can purify,
And elevate, and harmonise, and soothe,
And steal away, and for a while deceive
And lap in pleasing rest, and bear us on
Without desire in full complacency,
Contemplating perfection absolute,
And entertained as in a placid sleep.

300

But not betrayed by tenderness of mind That feared, or wholly overlooked the truth, Did we come hither, with romantic hope 311 To find in midst of so much loveliness Love, perfect love: of so much majesty A like majestic frame of mind in those Who here abide, the persons like the place. Not from such hope, or aught of such belief,

For languor or indifference or despair.
And as these lofty barriers break the force
Of winds, this deep Vale, as it doth in
part

Conceal us from the storm, so here abides
A power and a protection for the mind,
Dispensed indeed to other solitudes
Favoured by noble privilege like this,
Where kindred independence of estate 330
Is prevalent, where he who tills the field,
He, happy man! is master of the field,
And treads the mountains which his Fathers -
trod.

Not less than halfway up yon mountain's side, Behold a dusky spot, a grove of Firs That seems still smaller than it is; this grove