The Complete Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, Late Poet Laureate

Were they not equal to their own support;
And therefore no incompetence of mine
Could do them wrong The universal forms
Of human nature, in a Spot like this,

Present themselves at once to all Men's view:
Ye wished for act and circumstance, that make
The Individual known and understood;
And such as my best judgment could select
From what the place afforded have been given;
Though apprehensions crossed me that my zeal
To his might well be likened, who unlocks
A Cabinet with gems or pictures stored,
And draws them forth-soliciting regard
To this, and this, as worthier than the last,
Till the Spectator, who awhile was pleased
More than the Exhibitor himself, becomes
Weary and faint, and longs to be released.
-But let us hence! my Dwelling is in sight,
And there"

At this the Solitary shrunk
With backward will; but, wanting not address
That inward motion to disguise, he said
To his Compatriot, smiling as he spake;

"The peaceable Remains of this good Knight
Would be disturbed, I fear, with wrathful scorn,
If consciousness could reach him where he lies
That One, albeit of these degenerate times,
Deploring changes past, or dreading change.
Foreseen, had dared to couple, even in thought,
The fine Vocation of the sword and lance
With the gross aims and body-bending toil
Of a poor Brotherhood who walk the earth
Pitied, and where they are not known, despised.
-Yet, by the good Knight's leave, the two Estates
Are graced with some resemblance. Errant those,
Exiles and Wanderers and the like are these;
Who, with their burthen, traverse hill and dale,
Carrying relief for Nature's simple wants.
-What though no higher recompense they seek
Than honest maintenance, by irksome toil
Full oft procured, yet Such
claim respect,
Among the Intelligent, for what this course
Enables them to be, and to perform.
Their tardy steps give leisure to observe,
While solitude permits the mind to feel;
Instructs and prompts her to supply defects
By the division of her inward self,

may

For grateful converse: and to these poor Men (As I have heard you boast with honest pride) Nature is bountiful, where'er they go;

Kind Nature's various wealth is all their own. Versed in the characters of men; and bound, By ties of daily interest, to maintain Conciliatory manners and smooth speech;

Such have been, and still are in their degree, Examples efficacious to refine

Rude intercourse; apt Agents to expel,

By importation of unlooked-for Arts,
Barbarian torpor, and blind prejudice;
Raising, through just gradation, savage life
To rustic, and the rustic to urbane.
-Within their moving magazines is lodged
Power that comes forth to quicken and exalt
Affections seated in the Mother's breast,
And in the Lover's fancy; and to feed
The sober sympathies of long-tried Friends.
-By these Itinerants, as experienced Men,
Counsel is given; contention they appease
With gentle language; in remotest Wilds,
Tears wipe away, and pleasant tidings bring;
Could the proud quest of Chivalry do more?"

Has wrought, if not with speed of magic, yet
To most strange issues. I have lived to mark
A new and unforeseen Creation rise
From out the labours of a peaceful Land,
Wielding her potent Enginery to frame
And to produce, with appetite as keen
As that of War, which rests not night or day,
Industrious to destroy! With fruitless pains
Might one like me now visit many a tract
Which, in his youth, he trod, and trod again,
A lone Pedestrian with a scanty freight,
Wished for, or welcome, wheresoe'er he came,
Among the Tenantry of Thorpe and Vill;
Or straggling Burgh, of ancient charter proud,
And dignified by battlements and towers
Of some stern Castle, mouldering on the brow
Of a green hill or bank of rugged stream.
The foot-path faintly marked, the horse-track wild,
And formidable length of plashy lane,
(Prized avenues ere others had been shaped
Or easier links connecting place with place)
Have vanished, swallowed up by stately roads
Easy and bold, that penetrate the gloom
Of Britain's farthest Glens. The Earth has lent
Her waters, Air her breezes ;** and the Sail

* In treating this subject, it was impossible not to recollect, with gratitude, the pleasing picture, which, in his Poem of the Fleece, the excellent and amiable Dyer has given of the influences of manufacturing industry upon the face of this Island. He wrote at a time when machinery was first beginning to be introduced, and his benevolent heart prompted him to augur from it nothing but good. Truth has compelled me to dwell upon the baneful effects arising out of an ill-regulated and excessive application of powers so admirable in themselves.

Of traffic glides with ceaseless interchange,
Glistening along the low and woody dale,
Or on the naked mountain's lofty side.
Meanwhile, at social Industry's command,

How quick, how vast an increase! From the germ
Of some poor Hamlet, rapidly produced
Here a huge Town, continuous and compact,
Hiding the face of earth for leagues and there,
Where not a Habitation stood before,
Abodes of men irregularly massed

Like trees in forests, spread through spacious tracts,
O'er which the smoke of unremitting fires
Hangs permanent and plentiful as wreaths
Of vapour glittering in the morning sun.
And, wheresoe'er the Traveller turns his steps,
He sees the barren wilderness crased,
Or disappearing; triumph that proclaims
How much the mild Directress of the plough

Owes to alliance with these new-born Arts!

- Hence is the wide Sea peopled, hence the Shores
Of Britain are resorted to by Ships
Freighted from every climate of the world

With the world's choicest produce. Hence that sum
Of Keels that rest within her crowded ports
Or ride at anchor in her sounds and bays;
That animating spectacle of Sails
Which, through her inland regions, to and fro
Pass with the respirations of the tide,
Perpetual, multitudinous! Finally,
Hence a dread arm of floating Power, a voice
Of Thunder daunting those who would approach
With hostile purposes the blessed Isle,
Truth's consecrated residence, the seat
Impregnable of Liberty and Peace.

"And yet, O happy Pastor of a Flock

Faithfully watched, and, by that loving care

And Heaven's good providence, preserved from taint!
With You I grieve, when on the darker side

Of this great change I look; and there behold
Such outrage done to Nature as compels

The indignant Power to justify herself;
Yea, to avenge her violated rights,

For England's bane. When soothing darkness spreads
O'er hill and vale," the Wanderer thus expressed
His recollections, "and the punctual stars,
While all things else are gathering to their homes,
Advance, and in the firmament of heaven
Glitter- but undisturbing, undisturbed;
As if their silent company were charged
With peaceful admonitions for the heart

Of all-beholding Man, earth's thoughtful Lord;
Then, in full many a region, once like this
The assured domain of calm simplicity
And pensive quiet, an unnatural light
Prepared for never-resting Labour's eyes,
Breaks from a many-windowed Fabric huge;
And at the appointed hour a bell is heard,

A fresh Band meets them, at the crowded door-
And in the courts - and where the rumbling Stream,
That turns the multitude of dizzy wheels,
Glares, like a troubled Spirit, in its bed
Among the rocks below. Men, Maidens, Youths.
Mother, and little Children, Boys and Girls,
Enter, and each the wonted task resumes
Within this Temple, where is offered up
To Gain the master Idol of the Realm-
Perpetual sacrifice. Even thus of old
Our Ancestors, within the still domain
Of vast Cathedral or Conventual Church,
Their vigils kept; where tapers day and night
On the dim altar burned continually,

In token that the House was evermore
Watching to God. Religious Men were they;
Nor would their Reason, tutored to aspire
Above this transitory world, allow

That there should pass a moment of the year,
When in their land the Almighty Service ceased.

"Triumph who will in these profaner rites
Which We, a generation self-extolled,
As zealously perform! I cannot share
His proud complacency; yet I exult,
Casting reserve away, exult to see
An Intellectual mastery exercised

O'er the blind Elements; a purpose given,

A perseverance fed; almost a soul
Imparted to brute Matter. I rejoice,

Measuring the force of those gigantic powers,

That by the thinking Mind have been compelled To serve the will of feeble-bodied Man.

For with the sense of admiration blends

The animating hope that time may come
When, strengthened, yet not dazzled, by the might
Of this dominion over Nature gained,
Men of all lands shall exercise the same
In due proportion to their Country's need;
Learning, though late, that all true glory rests,
All praise, all safety, and all happiness,
Upon the moral law. Egyptian Thebes,
Tyre by the margin of the sounding waves,
Palmyra, central in the Desert, fell;

And the Arts died by which they had been raised.
-Call Archimedes from his buried Tomb
Upon the plain of vanished Syracuse,
And feelingly the Sage shall make report
How insecure, how baseless in itself,
Is the Philosophy, whose sway depends
On mere material instruments; -how weak
Those Arts, and high Inventions, if unpropped

By Virtue. He with sighs of pensive grief,
Amid his calm abstractions, would admit
That not the slender privilege is theirs

To save themselves from blank forgetfulness!"

Ne'er to return! That birthright now is lost.
Economists will tell you that the State
Thrives by the forfeiture - unfeeling thought,
And false as monstrous! Can the Mother thrive
By the destruction of her innocent Sons?

When from the Wanderer's lips these words had fallen, In whom a premature Necessity

I said, "And, did in truth these vaunted Arts
Possess such privilege, how could we escape
Regret and painful sadness, who revere,
And would preserve as things above all price,
The old domestic morals of the land,
Her simple manners, and the stable worth
That dignified and cheered a low estate?
Oh! where is now the character of peace,
Sobriety, and order, and chaste love,
And honest dealing, and untainted speech,
And pure good-will, and hospitable cheer;
That made the very thought of Country-life
A thought of refuge, for a Mind detained
Reluctantly amid the bustling crowd?
Where now the beauty of the Sabbath, kept
With conscientious reverence, as a day
By the Almighty Lawgiver pronounced
Holy and blest? and where the winning grace
Of all the lighter ornaments attached

To time and season, as the year rolled round?"

"Fled!" was the Wanderer's passionate response,
"Fled utterly! or only to be traced
In a few fortunate Retreats like this;
Which I behold with trembling, when I think
What lamentable change, a year-a month-
May bring; that Brook converting as it runs
Into an Instrument of deadly bane
For those, who, yet untempted to forsake
The simple occupations of their Sires,
Drink the pure water of its innocent stream
With lip almost as pure. — Domestic bliss,
(Or call it comfort, by a humbler name,)
How art thou blighted for the poor Man's heart!
Lo in such neighbourhood, from morn to eve,
The Habitations empty! or perchance
The Mother left alone, no helping hand
To rock the cradle of her peevish babe;
No daughters round her, busy at the wheel,
Or in dispatch of each day's little growth
Of household occupation; no nice arts
Of needle-work; no bustle at the fire,
Where once the dinner was prepared with pride;
Nothing to speed the day, or cheer the mind;
Nothing to praise, to teach, or to command!
-The Father, if perchance he still retain
His old employments, goes to field or wood,
No longer led or followed by the Sons;
Idlers perchance they were, but in his sight;
Breathing fresh air, and treading the green earth;
Till their short holiday of childhood ceased,

Blocks out the forms of Nature, preconsumes

The reason, famishes the heart shuts up
The Infant Being in itself, and makes
Its very spring a season of decay!
The lot is wretched, the condition sad,
Whether a pining discontent survive,
And thirst for change; or habit hath subdued
The soul deprest, dejected even to love
Of her dull tasks, and close captivity.
—Oh, banish far such wisdom as condemns
A native Briton to these inward chains,
Fixed in his soul, so early and so deep,
Without his own consent, or knowledge, fixed!
He is a Slave to whom release comes not,
And cannot come. The Boy, where'er he turns,
Is still a prisoner; when the wind is up
Among the clouds and in the ancient woods;
Or when the sun is shining in the east,
Quiet and calm. Behold him in the school
Of his attainments? no; but with the air
Fanning his temples under heaven's blue arch.
His raiment, whitened o'er with cotton flakes,
Or locks of wool, announces whence he comes.
Creeping his gait and cowering — his lip pale —
His respiration quick and audible;

And scarcely could you fancy that a gleam
From out those languid eyes could break, or blush
Mantle upon his cheek. Is this the form,

Is that the countenance, and such the port,
Of no mean being? One who should be clothed
With dignity befitting his proud hope;
Who, in his very childhood, should appear
Sublime from present purity and joy!
The limbs increase, but liberty of mind
Is gone for ever; this organic Frame,
So joyful in her motions, is become
Dull, to the joy of her own motions dead;
And even the Touch, so exquisitely poured
Through the whole body, with a languid Will
Performs her functions; rarely competent
To impress a vivid feeling on the mind
Of what there is delightful in the breeze,
The gentle visitations of the sun,
Or lapse of liquid element by hand,
Or foot, or lip, in summer's warmth

perceived.

Can hope look forward to a manhood raised On such foundations?"

If there were not, before those Arts appeared,
These structures rose, commingling old and young,
And unripe sex with sex, for mutual taint;
Then, if there were not, in our far-famed Isle,
Multitudes, who from infancy had breathed
Air unimprisoned, and had lived at large;
Yet walked beneath the sun, in human shape,
As abject, as degraded? At this day,
Who shall enumerate the crazy huts

And tottering hovels, whence do issue forth

A ragged Offspring, with their own blanched hair
Crowned like the image of fantastic Fear;

Or wearing, we night say, in that white growth
An ill-adjusted turban, for defence

The bread they eat. A sample should I give
Of what this stock produces to enrich
The tender age of life, ye would exclaim,
'Is this the whistling Plough-boy whose shrill notes
Impart new gladness to the morning air!'
Forgive me if I venture to suspect
That many, sweet to hear of in soft verse,
Are of no finer frame:- his joints are stiff';
Beneath a cumbrous frock, that to the knees
Invests the thriving Churl, his legs appear,
Fellows to those that lustily upheld
The wooden stools for everlasting use,
Whereon our Fathers sate. And mark his brow!
Under whose shaggy canopy are set

Or fierceness, wreathed around their sun-burnt brows, Two eyes, not dim, but of a healthy stare;
By savage Nature's unassisted care.

Naked, and coloured like the soil, the feet

On which they stand; as if thereby they drew
Some nourishment, as Trees do by their roots,
From Earth the common Mother of us all.
Figure and mien, complexion and attire,

Are leagued to strike dismay, but outstretched hand
And whining voice denote them Supplicants
For the least boon that pity can bestow.
Such on the breast of darksome heaths are found;
And with their Parents dwell upon the skirts
Of furze-clad commons; such are born and reared
At the mine's mouth, beneath impending rocks,
Or in the chambers of some natural cave;
And where their Ancestors erected huts,
For the convenience of unlawful gain,
In forest purlieus; and the like are bred,

All England through, where nooks and slips of ground,
Purloined, in times less jealous than our own,
From the green margin of the public way,
A residence afford them, 'mid the bloom
And gaiety of cultivated fields.

Such (we will hope the lowest in the scale)
Do I remember oft-times to have seen

'Mid Buxton's dreary heights. Upon the watch,
Till the swift vehicle approach, they stand;
Then, following closely with the cloud of dust,
An uncouth feat exhibit, and are gone
Heels over head, like Tumblers on a Stage.
-Up from the ground they snatch the copper coin,
And, on the freight of merry Passengers
Fixing a steady eye, maintain their speed;
And spin and pant- and overhead again,
Wild Pursuivants! until their breath is lost,
Or bounty tires - and every face, that smiled
Encouragement, hath ceased to look that way.
-But, like the Vagrants of the Gipsy tribe,
These, bred to little pleasure in themselves,
Are profitless to others. Turn we then
To Britons born and bred within the pale

Of civil polity, and early trained
To earn, by wholesome labour in the field,

Wide, sluggish, blank, and ignorant, and strange:
Proclaiming boldly that they never drew

A look or motion of intelligence
From infant conning of the Christ-cross-row,
Or puzzling through a Primer, line by line,
Till perfect mastery crown the pains at last.
-What kindly warmth from touch of fostering hand
What penetrating power of sun or breeze,
Shall e'er dissolve the crust wherein his soul
Sleeps, like a caterpillar sheathed in ice?
This torpor is no pitiable work
Of modern ingenuity; no Town
Nor crowded City may be taxed with aught
Of sottish vice or desperate breach of law,
To which in after years he may be roused.

-This Boy the Fields produce: his spade and hoe-
The Carter's whip that on his shoulder rests
In air high-towering with a boorish pomp,
The sceptre of his sway; his Country's name,
Her equal right her churches and her schools—
What have they done for him? And, let me ask,
For tens of thousands uninformed as he?

In brief, what liberty of mind is here?"

This ardent sally pleased the mild good Man,
To whom the appeal couched in its closing words
Was pointedly addressed; and to the thoughts
That, in assent or opposition, rose
Within his mind, he seemed prepared to give
Prompt utterance; but, rising from our seat,
The hospitable Vicar interposed
With invitation urgently renewed.
-We followed, taking as he led, a Path
Along a hedge of hollies, dark and tall,
Whose flexile boughs, descending with a weight
Of leafy spray, concealed the stems and roots
That gave them nourishment. When frosty winds
Howl from the north, what kindly warmth, methought
Is here, how grateful this impervious screen!
Not shaped by simple wearing of the foot
On rural business passing to and fro
Was the commodious Walk; a careful hand

Had marked the line, and strewn the surface o'er
With pure cerulean gravel, from the heights
Fetched by the neighbouring brook.-Across the Vale
The stately Fence accompanied our steps;
And thus the Pathway, by perennial green
Guarded and graced, seemed fashioned to unite,
As by a beautiful yet solemn chain,

The Pastor's Mansion with the House of Prayer.

Like Image of solemnity, conjoined
With feminine allurement soft and fair,

The Mansion's self displayed; —a reverend Pile
With bold projections and recesses deep;
Shadowy, yet gay and lightsome as it stood
Fronting the noontide Sun. We paused to admire
The pillared Porch, elaborately embossed;
The low wide windows with their mullions old;
The cornice richly fretted, of gray stone;
And that smooth slope from which the Dwelling rose,
By beds and banks Arcadian of gay flowers
And flowering shrubs, protected and adorned;
Profusion bright! and every flower assuming
A more than natural vividness of hue,
From unaffected contrast with the gloom
Of sober cypress, and the darker foil

Of yew, in which survived some traces, here
No. unbecoming, of grotesque device
And uncouth fancy. From behind the roof
Rose the slim ash and massy sycamore,
Blending their diverse foliage with the green
Of ivy, flourishing and thick, that clasped
The huge round chimneys, harbour of delight
For wren and redbreast, — where they sit and sing
Their slender ditties when the trees are bare.
Nor must I leave untouched (the picture else
Were incomplete) a relique of old times
Happily spared, a little Gothic niche
Of nicest workmanship; that once had held
The sculptured Image of some Patron Saint,
Or of the Blessed Virgin, looking down
On all who entered those religious doors.
But lo! where from the rocky garden Mount
Crowned by its antique summer-house-descends,
Light as the silver fawn, a radiant Girl;
For she hath recognized her honoured Friend,
The Wanderer ever welcome! A prompt kiss
The gladsome Child bestows at his request;
And, up the flowery lawn as we advance,
Hangs on the Old Man with a happy look,
And with a pretty restless hand of love.

Sails in smooth weather by the placid coast
On homeward voyage, what-if wind and wave
And hardship undergone in various climes,
Have caused her to abate the virgin pride,
And that full trim of inexperienced hope
With which she left her haven- not for this,
Should the sun strike her, and the impartial breeze
Play on her streamers, fails she to assume
Brightness and touching beauty of her own,
That charm all eyes. So bright, so fair, appeared
This goodly Matron, shining in the beams
Of unexpected pleasure. Soon the board
Was spread, and we partook a plain repast.

Here, resting in cool shelter, we beguiled
The mid-day hours with desultory talk;
From trivial themes to general argument
Passing, as accident or fancy led,
Or courtesy prescribed. While question rose
And answer flowed, the fetters of reserve
Dropping from every mind, the Solitary
Resumed the manners of his happier days;
And, in the various conversation, bore
A willing, nay, at times, a forward part;
Yet with the grace of one who in the world
Had learned the art of pleasing, and had now
Occasion given him to display his skill,
Upon the steadfast 'vantage ground of truth.
He gazed with admiration unsuppressed
Upon the landscape of the sun-bright vale,
Seen, from the shady room in which we sate,
In softened perspective; and more than once
Praised the consummate harmony serene
Of gravity and elegance diffused
Around the Mansion and its whole domain;
Not, doubtless, without help of female taste
And female core. "A blessed lot is yours!"
The words escaped his lip with a tender sigh
Breathed over them; but suddenly the door
Flew open, and a pair of lusty Boys
Appeared — confusion checking their delight.
Not Brothers they in feature or attire,
But fond Companions, so I guessed, in field,
And by the river's margin-whence they come,
Anglers elated with unusual spoil.
One bears a willow-pannier on his back,
The Boy of plainer garb, whose blush survives
More deeply tinged. Twin might the other be
To that fair Girl who from the garden Mount
Bounded triumphant entry this for him!
Between his hands he holds a smooth blue stone,
On whose capacious surface see outspread
Large store of gleaming crimson-spotted trouts;
Ranged side by side, and lessening by degrees
Up to the Dwarf that tops the pinnacle.
Upon the Board he lays the sky-blue stone
With its rich freight; their number he proclaims;
Tells from what pool the noblest had been dragged.

« Föregående Fortsätt »

Böcker