And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.3 [l804. THE GREEN LIXXET. Bexeath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of Spring's unclonded weather, In this sequester'd nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat; And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together! One have I mark'd the happiest guest than that a vivid image, or visual spectrum, thus originated, may become the link of association in recalling the feelings and images that had accompanied the original impression. IJnt, if we deseribe this in such lines as ' They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitnde,' in what words shall we describe the joy of retrospection, when Lhe images and virtuous actions of a whole well-spent life pass before that conscience whhth is indeed the inward e'te; whieh is indeed the bli«x of solitude?" — Tim poet, however, tolls us that " these two lines ivcro wntten by Mrs. Wordsworth." And in one ofhis letters to Archdeacon Wninghani he has the following in reference to the same lines: '' You know I.ntler, Montagn's friend : when I was in town in Spring, he happened to see the volumes lying on Montagn's mantel-piece, and to glance his eye upon the very poem of the daffodils. 'Ay,' says be, 'a fine morsel this for the Reviewers.' AVlicn this was told me, (for I was not present,) I observed that there were two tines in that little poem which if thoroughly folt, would annihilate ninetentbs of the reviews of the kingdom, as they would Ibid no readers." 3 Whcr. we were in the woods below Gowbarrow Park, we saw a few daffodils close to the waterside. As we went along, there were more and vet more; and at last, under the houghs of the trees, we saw there was a long belt of them along the shore. I never saw daffodils so beautiful. They grew among the mossy stones abont them: some rested their heads on thc.se stones as on a pillow; the n;st tossed and reeled, and danced, and t-cenied as if they verily laughed with the wind, tlicv looked so gay and glancing.—Antltar'i *-" Thou, Linnet, in thy green array, iVhile birds and bntterflies and floweri Art sole in thy employment: Thyself thy own enjoyment. Amid yon tuft of hazel trees, Yet seeming still to hover; That cover him all over. My dazzled sight he oft deceives, Pours forth his song in gushes; While flnttering in the bushes. [180& THE POET AXD THE CAGED TURTLEDOVE. As often as I murmur here My half-form'd melodies, Straight from her osier mansion near The Turtledove replies: Though silent as a leaf before, The captive promptly coos; Is it to teach her own soft lore, Or second my weak Muse 1 I rather think the gentle Dove is murmuring a reproof, Displeased that I from lays of love Have dared to keep aloof; That I, a Card of hill and dale, Have caroll'd, fancy-free,* 4 Wordsworth here uses the word fane.'l for love. The same usage is frequent in Shakespeare, as in A MidsummerRight's Dream, ii. l: " And the imperial votaress passed on In muideu meditation* fancy-free," As If nor dove nor nightingale If such thy meaning, O forbear, Sweet Bird, to do me wrong! Love, blessed Love, is everywhere The spirit of my song: Love animates my lyre,— I feel, but to inspire." [1830. TO A SKY-LARK. Crwith me' up with me into the clouds! For thy song, Lark, is strong; Cpwith me, up with me into the clouds! Singing, singing, With clouds and sky about thee ringing, Lift me, guide me till I find I have walk'd thro" wildernesses dreary, Up to thee would I fly. [divine There is madness about thee, and joy In that song of thine; Joyou s as morning, Happy, happy Liver, With a soul as strong as a mountain river, Pouring out praise to the almighty Giver, Joy and jollity be with us both I Alas! my journey, nigged and uneven, Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind; 5 Upon this little poem the anthor notes as follows: " This dove was one of a pan- that luid been given to mv dangh. tor by our excellent friend, Miss Jewsbury. The dove survived its mate many years, and was killed, to our great sorrow, by a neighbour's cat. These verses were composed extempore, to the letter It was the habit of this bird to be*?in coomg and murmuring whenever it heard me making my verses." But, hearing thee, or others of thy kind, As full of gladness and as free of heaven, I, with my fate contented, will plod on, And hope for higher raptures, when life'l day is done. £1803. FIDELITY. A Barking sound the Shepherd hears, The Dog is not of mountain breed; Its motions, too, are wild and shy; With something, as the Shepherd thinks, Unusual in its ery: Nor is there any one in sight All round, in hollow or ou height; Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear; What is the ereature doing here? It was a cove, a huge recess, That keeps, till June, December's snow, A lolly precipice in Iront, A silent tarn 6 below I Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, Remote from public road or dwelling, Pathway or cultivated land; From trace of human foot or hand. There sometimes doth a leaping fish Not free from boding thoughts, awhile 6 Tarn is a small mere or lake, mostly high up in the mountains. From those abrupt and perilous rocks The Man had fallen, that place of fear! At length upon the Shepherd's mind li breaks, and all is clear: lie instantly recai. d the name, And who he wae, and whence he came; Remembei*'!, too, tlie very day On vliici. the Traveller pass'd this way. B-Jt aear a wonder, for whose sake This lamentable tale I tell! A lasting monument of words This wonder merits well. The Dog, which still was hovering nigh, Repeating the same timid ery, This Dog, had been thro' three months' A dweller in that savage place. [space Yes, proof was plain that, since the day How nourish'd here through such long The Where art thou, my beloved Son, Seven years, alas! to have received To have despair'd, have hoped, believed, He was among the prime in worth, Ah I little doth the young-one dream, Neglect me! no, I suffer'd long From that ill thought; and, being blind. Said, " Pride shall help me in my wrong: Kind mother have I been, as kind As ever breathed:" and that is true; I've wet my path with tears like dew, Weeping for him when no one knew. My Son, if thou be humbled, poor, Alas! the fowls of heaven have wings, 7 In reference to this piece, the anthor notes as follows: " The young man whose death gave occasion to this poem was named Charles Gough, and had come early in the Spring to l'aterdale lor the sake of angling. While attempting to cross over Helvellyn to Grasmere he slipped from a steep part of the rock where the ice was not thawed, and perished. His body was discovered ae is tol.l in this poem. Walter Scott tieard of the accident, and both he and I, withont cither of us knowing that th€ other had taken up the subject, each wrote a poem in admiration of the doli's fidelity." Wordsworth then refers to the following as "a most beantiful stanza," which £ CAnnot forbear to quote entire from Scott's poem: "How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber? When the wind waved his garment, how oil didst thou start? Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ? No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him. And thou, little guardian, alone strcteh'd before him— Unhxmqur'd the I'ilgrim from life should depart? •» Chains tie us down by land and sea; Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan, I look for ghosts; but none will foree My apprehensions come in erowds; Beyond participation lie My troubles, and beyond relief: If any chance to heave a sigh, They pity me, and not my grief. Then come to me, my Son, or send Some tidings that my woes may end; I have no other earthly friend! • [1804. A NIGHT THOUGHT. I/O 1 where the Moon along the sky Or dimly seen; IIow bright her mien! I Far different we, —a froward race; Their way pursue, If kindred humours e'er would makn Bright ship of heaven I And be forgiven.8 8 This was taken from the case of a poor widow who lived in the town of Penrith. Her sorrow was well known to Mrs. Wordsworth, to my sister, and, I bclievo, to the whole town. She licpt Ji shop, and, when she saw a stranger passing, she was in the habit of going out into the street to inquire of him after her eon. — Author's Kola. INSCRIPTIONS SUPPOSED TO BE FOL'ND IN AND NEAB Hopes, what are they? Beads of morning What arc fears but voices airy ? What is glory ?—in the socket What is friendship? — do not trust her, What is truth? —a staff rejected; 9 These verses were thrown off extempore upon leaving Mrs. LntT's house at Fox-Uhyll, one even ing. The good woman is nilt disposed to look i:t the bright side of things; and there happened to bo present certain ladies who niid reached the point of life where ,ioiiiii is ended, and wln, seemed to contend with each other in expressing their dislike of tlie country and climate. One of them had been heard to say she could not endure a country where there was " neither sunshine nor cavaliers." — Author's jVoIrx. 10 So in all thecditionsl have seen. But I suspect it should he flare instead of/arc .' though the latter may perhaps give thl same sense. Joy? — a moon by fits reflected Bright, as if through ether steering, Such is Joy,—as quickly hidden, What is youth ?— a dancing billow, What is peace? —when pain is over, NEAR THE SPRTXG OF THE HERMITAGE. What avails the kindly shelter Parching Summer hath no warrant Thus, dishonouring not her station, NOT seldom, clad in radiant vest, The smoothest seas will sometimes prove, Th' umbrageous Oak, In pomp outspread, But Thou art true, incarnate Lord, I bent before Thy gracious throce, In these fair vales hath many a Tree At Wordsworth's suit been spared; And from the buildeijs hand this Stone, For some rude beanty of its own, Was rescued by the Bard : When here the tender-hearted As one of the departed. [1830. THE WISHING-GATE. In the vale of Grasmere, by the side o) the old high-way leading to Ambli-sMc, is a gate, which, timn oiit of mind, b:ia been called the Wishing-gate, from n belief that wishes formed or indulged there have a favourable issue. Hope rules a land for ever green: Clouds at her bidding disappear; Not such the land of Wishes, — there Dwell fruitless day-dreams, hmlesprayer, And thoughts with things at strife : Yet how forlorn, should ye depart, Ye superstitions of the heari, How poor, were human life! When magic lore abjured its might, One tender claim abate; The rustic Wishing-gate I |