With fancied spots contending; But she is innocent of blood, The moon is not more pure That shines aloft, while through the wood She thrids her way, the sounding Flood Her melancholy lure! While 'mid the fern-brake sleeps the doe, In white arrayed, glides on the Maid By whom on this still night descried? A wandering Ghost, so thinks the Knight, His coming step has thwarted, 90 ΙΟΙ Beneath the boughs that heard their VOWS, Within whose shade they parted. What means the Spectre? Why intent Thought Eglamore, by which I swore Here am I, and to-morrow's sun, To her I left, shall prove That bliss is ne'er so surely won 110 So from the spot whereon he stood, And whispers caught, and speeches small, Soul-shattered was the Knight, nor knew Or boding Shade, or if the Maid 130 He touched; what followed who shall tell? The soft touch snapped the thread Of slumber-shrieking back she fell, And the Stream whirled her down the dell Along its foaming bed. In plunged the Knight! - when on firm ground The rescued Maiden lay, Her eyes grew bright with blissful light, She heard, ere to the throne of grace His voice-beheld his speaking face; So was he reconciled to life: Wild stream of Aira, hold thy course, 140 150 Where clouds that spread in solemn shade, Are edged with golden rays! Dear art thou to the light of heaven, Though minister of sorrow; XLVI TO CORDELIA M HALLSTEADS, ULLSWATER 1833. 1835 160 Into this flexible yet faithful Chain; But from our loved Helvellyn's depths was brought, Our own domestic mountain. Thing and thought Mix strangely; trifles light, and partly vain, Can prop, as you have learnt, our nobler being: Yes, Lady, while about your neck is wound (Your casual glance oft meeting) this bright cord, What witchery, for pure gifts of inward seeing, Lurks in it, Memory's Helper, Fancy's Lord, For precious tremblings in your bosom found! XLVII 1833. 1835 MOST sweet it is with unuplifted eyes Το With Thought and Love companions of our way, Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay. COMPOSED BY THE SEASHORE 1833. 1845 These lines were suggested during my residence under my Son's roof at Moresby, on the coast near Whitehaven, at the time when I was composing those verses among the "Evening Voluntaries" that have reference to the sea. It was in that neighbourhood I first became acquainted with the ocean and its appearances and movements. My infancy and early childhood were passed at Cockermouth, about eight miles from the coast, and I well remember that mysterious awe with which I used to listen to anything said about storms and shipwrecks. Sea-shells of many descriptions were common in the town; and I was not a little surprised when I heard that Mr. Landor had denounced me as a plagiarist from himself for having described a boy applying a sea-shell to his ear and listening to it for intimations of what was going on in its native element. This I had done myself scores of times, and it was a belief among us that we could know from the sound whether the tide was ebbing or flowing. WHAT mischief cleaves to unsubdued regret, How fancy sickens by vague hopes beset; How baffled projects on the spirit prey, And fruitless wishes eat the heart away, The Sailor knows; he best, whose lot is cast On the relentless sea that holds him fast And motionless; and, to the gazer's eye, The crowd of daisies from the shaven lawn, An emblem this of what the sober Hour Can do for minds disposed to feel its power! Thus oft, when we in vain have wished "THE LEAVES THAT RUSTLED ON THIS OAK-CROWNED HILL" 1834. 1835 Composed by the side of Grasmere lake. The mountains that enclose the vale, especially towards Easdale, are most favourable to the reverberation of sound. There is a passage in the 66 Excursion," towards the close of the fourth book, where the voice of the raven in flight is traced through the modifications it undergoes, as I have often heard it in that vale and others of this district. "Often, at the hour THE leaves that rustled on this oak-crowned hill, And sky that danced among those leaves, are still; Rest smooths the way for sleep; in field and bower Soft shades and dews have shed their blended power On drooping eyelid and the closing flower; Sound is there none at which the faintest heart Might leap, the weakest nerve of superstition start; Save when the Owlet's unexpected scream Pierces the ethereal vault; and ('mid the gleam Of unsubstantial imagery, the dream, From the hushed vale's realities, transferred To the still lake) the imaginative Bird Seems, 'mid inverted mountains, not unheard. Grave Creature! - whether, while the moon shines bright On thy wings opened wide for smoothest flight, Thou art discovered in a roofless tower, Rising from what may once have been a lady's bower; Or spied where thou sitt'st moping in thy Bishop Ken's Morning and Evening Hymns are, as they deserve to be, familiarly known. Many other hymns have also been written on the same subject; but, not being aware of any being designed for noon-day, I was induced to compose these verses. Often one has occasion to observe cottage children carrying, in their baskets, dinner to their Fathers engaged with their daily labours in the fields and woods. How gratifying would it be to me could I be assured that any portion of these stanzas had been sung by such a domestic concert under such circumstances. A friend of mine has told me that she introduced this Hymn into a village-school which she superintended, and the stanzas in succession furnished her with texts to comment upon in a way which without difficulty was made intelligible to the children, and in which they obviously took delight, and they were taught to sing it to the tune of the old 100th Psalm. UP to the throne of God is borne Nor will he turn his ear aside What though our burthen be not light, Blest are the moments, doubly blest, ΤΟ Help with thy grace, through life's short day, Our upward and our downward way; THE REDBREAST SUGGESTED IN A WESTMORELAND COTTAGE 1834. 1835 30 Written at Rydal Mount. All our cats having been banished the house, it was soon frequented by redbreasts. Two or three of them, when the window was open, would come in, particularly when Mrs. Wordsworth was breakfasting alone, and hop about the table picking up the crumbs. My sister being then confined to her room by sickness, as, dear creature, she still is, had one that, without being caged, took up its abode with her, and at night used to perch upon a nail from which a picture had hung. It used to sing and fan her face with its wings in a manner that was very touching. DRIVEN in by Autumn's sharpening air ΤΟ |