"GO BACK TO ANTIQUE AGES, IF THINE

EYES

Composed 1827.-Published 1827

One of the "Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty."—ED.

Go back to antique ages, if thine eyes
The genuine mien and character would trace
Of the rash Spirit that still holds her place,
Prompting the world's audacious vanities!
Go back, and see the Tower of Babel rise;
The pyramid extend its monstrous base,
For some Aspirant of our short-lived race,
Anxious an aery name to immortalize.
There, too, ere wiles and politic dispute
Gave specious colouring to aim and act,
See the first mighty Hunter leave the brute-
To chase mankind, with men in armies packed
For his field-pastime high and absolute,
While, to dislodge his game, cities are sacked!

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"IF THOU INDEED DERIVE THY LIGHT FROM HEAVEN"

Published 1827

[These verses were written some time after we had become residents at Rydal Mount, and I will take occasion from them to observe upon the beauty of that situation, as being backed and flanked by lofty fells, which bring the heavenly bodies to touch, as it were, the earth upon the mountain-tops, while the

If thou derive thy light from HEAVEN 175

prospect in front lies open to a length of level valley, the extended lake, and a terminating ridge of low hills; so that it gives an opportunity to the inhabitants of the place of noticing the stars in both the positions here alluded to, namely, on the tops of the mountains, and as winter-lamps at a distance among the leafless trees.-I. F.]

IF thou indeed derive thy light from Heaven,
Then, to the measure of that heaven-born light,
Shine, Poet! in thy place, and be content :—
The stars pre-eminent in magnitude,

And they that from the zenith dart their beams,2
(Visible though they be to half the earth,

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Though half a sphere be conscious of their brightness) Are yet of no diviner origin,

No purer essence, than the one that burns,

Like an untended watch-fire, on the ridge

Of some dark mountain; or than those which seem
Humbly to hang, like twinkling winter lamps,
Among the branches of the leafless trees;
All are the undying offspring of one Sire:

Then, to the measure of the light vouchsafed,
Shine, Poet! in thy place, and be content.*

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These lines, first published in 1827, found a place in the edition of that year, amongst the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection." In the edition of 1845 they appeared as a Preface to the entire volume of Poems.-ED.

1 1837.

from Heaven,

1827.

Shine, Poet,

2 1837.

The Star that from the zenith darts its beams,

1827.

* The last three lines were added in 1837.--ED.

IN THE WOODS OF RYDAL *

Composed 1827.-Published 1827

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."-Ed.

WILD Redbreast!† hadst thou at Jemima's lip ‡
Pecked, as at mine, thus boldly, Love might say 1
A half-blown rose had tempted thee to sip
Its glistening dews: but hallowed is the clay
Which the Muse warms; and I, whose head is grey,2 5
Am not unworthy of thy fellowship;

Nor could I let one thought-one motion—slip

That might thy sylvan confidence betray.

For are we not all His without whose care

Vouchsafed no sparrow falleth to the ground? §
Who gives his Angels wings to speed through air,

1 1837.

ΙΟ

Strange visitation! at Jemima's lip

Thus hadst thou pecked, wild Redbreast! Love might
say,

2 1827.

1827.

That the Muse warms; and I, though old and grey, MS.

* The original title (in MS.) was "To a Redbreast." In the Woods of Rydal was added in 1836.-Ed.

This Sonnet, as Poetry, explains itself, yet the scene of the incident having been a wild wood, it may be doubted, as a point of natural history, whether the bird was aware that his attentions were bestowed upon a human, or even a living creature. But a Redbreast will perch upon the foot of a gardener at work, and alight on the handle of the spade when his hand is half upon it,-this I have seen. And under my own roof I have witnessed affecting instances of the creature's friendly visits to the chambers of sick persons, as described in the verses to the Redbreast. One of these welcome intruders used frequently to roost upon a nail in the wall, from which a picture had hung, and was ready, as morning came, to pipe his song in the hearing of the Invalid, who had been long confined to her room. These attachments to a particular person, when marked and continued, used to be reckoned ominous; but the superstition is passing away.-W. W. 1827.

Jemima Quillinan.-ED.

§ Compare The Ancient Mariner, Part vii., stanza 23.-ED.

CONCLUSION

And rolls the planets through the blue profound;
Then peck or perch, fond Flutterer! nor forbear
To trust a Poet in still musings bound.1

177

Composed 1827.-Published 1827

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."-ED.

IF these brief Records, by the Muses' art
Produced as lonely Nature or the strife
That animates the scenes of public life †
Inspired, may in thy leisure claim a part;
And if these Transcripts of the private heart
Have gained a sanction from thy falling tears;
Then I repent not. But my soul hath fears
Breathed from eternity; for as a dart
Cleaves the blank air, Life flies: now every day
Is but a glimmering spoke in the swift wheel
Of the revolving week. Away, away,

All fitful cares, all transitory zeal !

So timely Grace the immortal wing may heal,
And honour rest upon the senseless clay.

1 1837.

vision bound. 1827.

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* I have been unable to discover to whom this Conclusion was addressed. It may have been to his daughter.-ED.

+ This line alludes to Sonnets which will be found in another Class.W. W. 1837.

He refers to the sonnets on Liberty, etc.-ED.

VOL. VII

N

1828

THE poems belonging to 1828 include A Morning Exercise, The Triad, two on The Wishing-Gate, The Gleaner, a sonnet, two short pieces suggested during the fortnight which Wordsworth spent on the Rhine with his daughter and S. T. Coleridge in that year, and the ode on The Power of Sound.—ED.

A MORNING EXERCISE

Composed 1828.-Published 1832

[Written at Rydal Mount. I could wish the last five stanzas of this to be read with the poem addressed to the skylark.—I. F.] One of the "Poems of the Fancy."-ED.

FANCY, who leads the pastimes of the glad,
Full oft is pleased a wayward dart to throw ;
Sending sad shadows after things not sad,
Peopling the harmless fields with signs of woe :
Beneath her sway, a simple forest cry
Becomes an echo of man's misery.

Blithe ravens croak of death; and when the owl Tries his two voices for a favourite strainTu-whit-Tu-whoo! the unsuspecting fowl Forebodes mishap or seems but to complain; Fancy, intent to harass and annoy, Can thus pervert the evidence of joy.

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