Sidor som bilder

And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.3 [l804.


Bexeath these fruit-tree boughs that


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
In all this covert of the blest:
Hail to Thee, far above the rest
In joy of voice and pinion!

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 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,
Presiding Spirit here to-day.
Dost lead the revels of the May;
And this is thy dominion.

iVhile birds and bntterflies and floweri
tfake all one band of paramours,
Thou, ranging up and down the liowci»,

Art sole in thy employment:
A Life, a Presence like the Air,
Scattering thy gladness withont care,
Too blest with any one to pair;

Thyself thy own enjoyment.

Amid yon tuft of hazel trees,
That twinkle to the gusty breeze,
Behold him perch'd in ecstasies,

Yet seeming still to hover;
There! where the flntter of his wings
Upon his back and body flings
Shadows and sunny glimmerings,

That cover him all over.

My dazzled sight he oft deceives,
A Brother of the dancing leaves;
Then flits, and from the cottage eaves

Pours forth his song in gushes;
As if, by that exulting strain,
He mock'd and treated with disdain
The voiceless Form he chose to feign,

While flnttering in the bushes. [180&


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
Had heart or voice for me.

If such thy meaning, O forbear,

Sweet Bird, to do me wrong! Love, blessed Love, is everywhere

The spirit of my song:
•Mid grove, and by the calm fireside,

Love animates my lyre,—
That coo again! — 'tis not to chide,

I feel, but to inspire." [1830.


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
That spot which seems so to thy mind I

I have walk'd thro" wildernesses dreary,
And to-day my heart is weary;
Had I now the wings of a Faery,

Up to thee would I fly. [divine

There is madness about thee, and joy

In that song of thine;
Lift me, guide me high and high
To thy banqueting-place in the sky.

Joyou s as morning,
Thou art laughing and scorning;
Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest,
And, though little troubled with sloth,
Drunken Lark, thou wouldst be loth
To be such a traveller as I.

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.


A Barking sound the Shepherd hears,
A ery as of a dog or fox;
He halts, — and searches with his eye*
Among the scatter'd rocks:
And now at distance can discern
A stirring in a brake of fern;
And instantly a dog is seen,
Glancing through that covert green.

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
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer;
The erags repeat the ravcu's eroak,
In symphony anstere;
Thither the rainbow comes —the cloud —
And mists that spread the Hying shroud;
And sunbeams; and the sounding blast,
That, if it could, would hurry past;
But that enormous barrier holds it fast.

Not free from boding thoughts, awhile
The Shepherd stood; then makes his way
O'er rock" and stones, following the Dog
As quickly as he may;
Nor far had gone before he found
A human skeleton on the ground;
Th" appall'd Discoverer with a sigh
Looks round, to learn the history.

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
When this ill-fated Traveller died,
The Dog had wateh'd abont the spot,
Or by his master's side: [time

How nourish'd here through such long
He knows, who gave that love sublime;
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate I' [lS05.


Where art thou, my beloved Son,
Where art thou, worse to me than dead?
O, flnd me, prosperous or undone 1
Or, if the grave be now thy bed.
Why am I ignorant of the same,
That I may rest; and neither blame
Nor sorrow may attend thy name ?

Seven years, alas! to have received
No tidings of an only child;

To have despair'd, have hoped, believed,
And been for evermore beguiled;
Sometimes with thoughts of very L lisa I
I cateh at them, and then I miss;
Was ever darkness like to this ?

He was among the prime in worth,
An object beanteous to behold;
Well born, well bred; I sent him forth
Ingenuous, innocent, and bold:
If things ensued that wanted grace,
As hath been said, they were not base;
And never blush was on my face.

Ah I little doth the young-one dream,
When full of play and childish cares,
What power is in his wildest seream,
Heard by his mother unawares!
He knows it not, he cannot guess:
Years to a mother bring distress;
Bnt do not make her love the less.

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,
Hopeless of honour and of gain,
O, do not dread thy mother's door I
Think not of me with grief and pain:
I now can see with better eyes;
And worldly grandeur I despise.
And fortune with her gilts and lies.

Alas! the fowls of heaven have wings,
And blasts of heaven will aid their flight:
They mount, — how short a voyage brings
The wanderers back tn their delight!

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?
How many long days and long weeks didst thou number,

Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ?
And, O! was it meet that — no requiem read o'er him —

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;
And wishes, vain as mine, may be
All that is left to comfort thee.

Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan,
Maim'd, mangled by inhuman men;
Or thon upon a desert thrown
Inherit'.-st the lion's den;
Or hast been summon'd to the deep,
Thon, thou and all thy mates, to keep
An incommunicable sleep.

I look for ghosts; but none will foree
Their way to me: 'tis falsely said
That there was ever intercourse
Between the living and the dead;
For, surely, then I should have sight
Of him I wait for day and night,
With love and longings infinite.

My apprehensions come in erowds;
1 dread the rustling of the grass;
The very shadows of the clonds
Have power to shake me as they pass:
I question things, and do not find
One that will answer to my mind;
And all the world appears unkind.

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.


I/O 1 where the Moon along the sky
Sails with her happy destiny;
Oft is she hid from mortal eye,

Or dimly seen;
But when the clouds asunder fly

IIow bright her mien!

I Far different we, —a froward race;
(Thousands, tho' rich in Fortune's grace.
With cherish'd snllenness of pace

Their way pursue,
Ingrates who wear a smileless face
The whole year through.

If kindred humours e'er would makn
My spirit droop for drooping's sake.
From Fancy following in thy wake,

Bright ship of heaven I
A counter impulse let me take

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.



Hopes, what are they? Beads of morning
Strung on-slender blades of grass;
Or a spider's web adorning
In a strait and treacherous pass.

What arc fears but voices airy ?
Whispering harm where harm is noij
And deluding the unwary
Till the fatal bolt is shot I

What is glory ?—in the socket
Sec how dying tapers fare Ilu
What is pride? —a whizzing rocket
That would emulate a star.

What is friendship? — do not trust her,
Nor the vows which she has made;
Diamonds dart their brightest lustre
From a palsy.shakeu head.

What is truth? —a staff rejected;
Duty?—an unwelcome clog;

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
In a swamp or watery bog:

Bright, as if through ether steering,
To the Traveller's eye it shune;
lie hath hail'd it re-appearing,—
And as quickly it is gone:

Such is Joy,—as quickly hidden,
Or mis-shapen to the sight,
And by sullen weeds forbidden
To resume its native light.

What is youth ?— a dancing billow,
(Winds behind, and rocks before!)
Age? — a drooping, tottering willow
On a flat and lazy shore.

What is peace? —when pain is over,
And lore ceases to rebel,
Let the last faint sigh discover
That precedes the passing-knoll!

Troubled long with warring notions,
Long impatient of Thy rod,
I resign my soul's emotions
Unto Thee, mysterious God I

What avails the kindly shelter
Yielded by this eraggy rent,
If my spirit toss and welter
On the waves of discontent ?

Parching Summer hath no warrant
To consume this erystal Well;
Hains, that make each rill a torrent,
Neither sully it nor swell.

Thus, dishonouring not her station,
Would my Life present to Thee,
Gracious God, the pure oblation
Of divine tranquillity!

NOT seldom, clad in radiant vest,
Deceitfully goes forth the Horn;
Not seldom Evening in the West
Sinks smilingly forsworn.

The smoothest seas will sometimes prove,
To the confiding Bark, untrue;
And, if she trust the stars above,
They can be treacherous too.

Th' umbrageous Oak, In pomp outspread,
Full oft, when storms the welkin rend,
Draws lightning down upon the head
It promised to defend.

But Thou art true, incarnate Lord,
Who didst vouchsafe for man to die;
Thy smile is sure, Thy plightud word
No change can falsify 1

I bent before Thy gracious throce,
And ask'd for peace on suppliant knee;
And peace was given,—nor peace alone,
But faith sublimed to eestasy I

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 :
So let it rest; and time will come

When here the tender-hearted
May heave a gentle sigh for him,

As one of the departed. [1830.


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:
All powers that serve the bright-eyed
Are confident and gay; [Queen

Clouds at her bidding disappear;
'oints she to anght? the bliss draws near,
And Fancy smooths the way.

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,
Ye did not forfeit one dear right,

One tender claim abate;
Witness this symbol of your sway,
Surviving near the public way,

The rustic Wishing-gate I

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