This for the past, and things that may be viewed

Or fancied in the obscurity of years From monumental hints: and thou, O friend!

Pleased with some unpremeditated strains1
That served those wanderings to beguile,
hast said

That then and there my mind had exercised
Upon the vulgar forms of present things,
The actual world of our familiar days,
Yet higher power; had caught from them
a tone,

An image, and a character, by books

325 Shaken by arms of mighty bone, in 360 Not hitherto reflected. Call we this

strength,

Long mouldered, of barbaric majesty.

I called on Darkness-but before the word
Was uttered, midnight darkness seemed

to take

All objects from my sight; and lo! again 330 The Desert visible by dismal flames; It is the sacrificial altar, fed With living men-how deep the groans! the voice

Of those that crowd the giant wicker2 thrills

The monumental hillocks, and the pomp 335 Is for both worlds, the living and the dead. At other moments- (for through that wide waste

365

A partial judgment-and yet why? for

then

We were as strangers; and I may not
speak

Thus wrongfully of versé, however rude,
Which on thy young imagination, trained
In the great City, broke like light from far.
Moreover, each man's Mind is to herself
Witness and judge; and I remember well
That in life's every-day appearances

I seemed about this time to gain clear sight
370 Of a new world-a world, too, that was fit
To be transmitted, and to other eyes
Made visible; as ruled by those fixed laws
Whence spiritual dignity originates,
Which do both give it being and maintain
A balance, an ennobling interchange
Of action from without and from within;
The excellence, pure function, and best
power

Three summer days I roamed) where'er 375 the Plain

Was figured o'er with circles, lines, or mounds,

That yet survive, a work, as some divine, 340 Shaped by the Druids, so to represent Their knowledge of the heavens, and image

Both of the object seen, and eye that sees.

MICHAEL

A PASTORAL POEM
1800
1800

If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head
Ghyll,3

You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bed
ascent

"The Descriptive Sketches, praised by Coleridge as the work of "a great and original poetic genius."

2 They did not meet until 1797.

3A Ghyll is a short, and, for the most part, a steep, narrow valley, with a stream running through it."-Wordsworth.

To deem that he was old,-in shepherd's phrase,

90 With one foot in the grave. This only son, With two brave sheep-dogs tried in many a storm,

The one of an inestimable worth,

This light was famous in its neighborhood, 130 And was a public symbol of the life That thrifty pair had lived. For, as it chanced,

Made all their household. I may truly say, That they were as a proverb in the vale 95 For endless industry. When day was gone, 135 And from their occupations out of doors The son and father were come home, even then,

Their labor did not cease; unless when all Turned to the cleanly supper-board, and there,

100 Each with a mess of pottage and skimmed 140 milk,

Sat round the basket piled with oaten cakes,

And their plain home-made cheese. Yet when the meal

Was ended, Luke (for so the son was named)

And his old father both betook themselves 105 To such convenient work as might employ 145 Their hands by the fireside; perhaps to

card

Wool for the housewife's spindle, or re

pair

Some injury done to sickle, flail, or scythe,
Or other implement of house or field.

110 Down from the ceiling, by the chimney's edge,

That in our ancient uncouth country style With huge and black projection overbrowed

Their cottage on a plot of rising ground
Stood single, with large prospect, north

and south,

High into Easedale, up to Dunmail-Raise,
And westward to the village near the lake;
And from this constant light, so regular,
And so far seen, the house itself, by all
Who dwelt within the limits of the vale,
Both old and young, was named THE

EVENING STAR.

Thus living on through such a length. of years,

The shepherd, if he loved himself, must needs

Have loved his helpmate; but to Michael's heart

This son of his old age was yet more dear

Less from instinctive tenderness, the same
Fond spirit that blindly works in the
blood of all-

Than that a child, more than all other gifts
That earth can offer to declining man,
Brings hope with it, and forward-looking
thoughts,

And stirrings of inquietude, when they 150 By tendency of nature needs must fail. Exceeding was the love he bare to him, His heart and his heart's joy! For oftentimes

Large space beneath, as duly as the light 155 Of day grew dim the housewife hung a lamp;

115 An aged utensil, which had performed Service beyond all others of its kind. Early at evening did it burn-and late, Surviving comrade of uncounted hours, Which, going by from year to year, had found,

120 And left, the couple neither gay perhaps Nor cheerful, yet with objects and with hopes,

Living a life of eager industry.

And now, when Luke had reached his eighteenth year,

There by the light of this old lamp they sate,

125 Father and son, while far into the night The housewife plied her own peculiar work, Making the cottage through the silent hours Murmur as with the sound of summer flies.

160

Old Michael, while he was a babe in arms,
Had done him female service, not alone
For pastime and delight, as is the use
Of fathers, but with patient mind enforced
To acts of tenderness; and he had rocked
His cradle, as with a woman's gentle hand.

And in a later time, ere yet the boy Had put on boy's attire, did Michael love, Albeit of a stern unbending mind,

To have the young one in his sight, when

he

Wrought in the field, or on his shepherd's

stool

Sate with a fettered sheep before him

stretched

165 Under the large old oak, that near his door Stood single, and, from matchless depth

of shade,

170 There, while they two were sitting in the shade,

With others round them, earnest all and blithe,

Would Michael exercise his heart with looks Of fond correction and reproof bestowed Upon the child, if he disturbed the sheep 175 By catching at their legs, or with his shouts Scared them, while they lay still beneath the shears.

And when by Heaven's good grace the

boy grew up

From day to day, to Michael's ear there

came

Distressful tidings. Long before the time 210 Of which I speak, the shepherd had been bound

In surety for his brother's son, a man
Of an industrious life, and ample means;
But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly
Had prest upon him; and old Michael now
215 Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture,
A grievous penalty, but little less

A healthy lad, and carried in his cheek Two steady roses that were five years old; 180 Then Michael from a winter coppice cut With his own hand a sapling, which he 220 hooped

With iron, making it throughout in all Due requisites a perfect shepherd's staff, And gave it to the boy; wherewith equipt 185 He as a watchman oftentimes was placed At gate or gap, to stem or turn the flock; And, to his office prematurely called, There stood the urchin, as you will divine, Something between a hindrance and a help;

190 And for this cause not always, I believe, Receiving from his father hire of praise; Though nought was left undone which staff, or voice,

225

Than half his substance. This unlookedfor claim,

At the first hearing, for a moment took
More hope out of his life than he sup-
posed

That any old man ever could have lost.
As soon as he had armed himself with

strength

To look his trouble in the face, it seemed
The shepherd's sole resource to sell at once
A portion of his patrimonial fields.
Such was his first resolve; he thought
again,

And his heart failed him. "Isabel," said
he,

Two evenings after he had heard the news, "I have been toiling more than seventy

years,

And in the open sunshine of God's love 230 Have we all lived; yet, if these fields of ours

Against the mountain blasts; and to the 235
heights,

Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways,
He with his father daily went, and they
Were as companions, why should I relate
That objects which the shepherd loved
before

200 Were dearer now? that from the boy
there came

Feelings and emanations-things which

240

245

Another kinsman-he will be our friend In this distress. He is a prosperous man, 250 Thriving in trade-and Luke to him shall

go,

And with his kinsman's help and his own

thrift