Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

That is my destiny. May it be thine:

  Thy office, thy ambition, be henceforth

  To feed remorse, to welcome every sting

  Of penitential anguish, yea with tears.

  When seas and continents shall lie between us—

  The wider space the better—we may find

  In such a course fit links of sympathy,

  An incommunicable rivalship

  Maintained, for peaceful ends beyond our view.

  [Confused voices—several of the band enter

  —rush upon OSWALD, and seize him.

  ONE OF THEM. I would have dogged him to the jaws of hell—

  OSW. Ha! is it so!—That vagrant Hag!—this comes

  Of having left a thing like her alive! [Aside.

  SEVERAL VOICES. Despatch him!

  OSW. If I pass beneath a rock

  And shout, and, with the echo of my voice,

  Bring down a heap of rubbish, and it crush me,

  I die without dishonour. Famished, starved,

  A Fool and Coward blended to my wish!

  [Smiles scornfully and exultingly at MARMADUKE.

  WAL. ‘Tis done! (Stabs him).

  ANOTHER OF THE BAND. The ruthless Traitor!

  MAR. A rash deed!—

  With that reproof I do resign a station

  Of which I have been proud.

  WIL. (approaching MARMADUKE). O my poor Master!

  MAR. Discerning Monitor, my faithful Wilfred,

  Why art thou here? [Turning to WALLACE.

  Wallace, upon these Borders,

  Many there be whose eyes will not want cause

  To weep that I am gone. Brothers in arms!

  Raise on that dreary Waste a monument

  That may record my story: nor let words—

  Few must they be, and delicate in their touch

  As light itself—be there withheld from Her

  Who, through most wicked arts, was made an orphan

  By One who would have died a thousand times,

  To shield her from a moment’s harm. To you,

  Wallace and Wilfred, I commend the Lady,

  By lowly nature reared, as if to make her

  In all things worthier of that noble birth,

  Whose long-suspended rights are now on the eve

  Of restoration: with your tenderest care

  Watch over her, I pray—sustain her—

  SEVERAL OF THE BAND (eagerly). Captain!

  MAR. No more of that; in silence hear my doom:

  A hermitage has furnished fit relief

  To some offenders: other penitents,

  Less patient in their wretchedness, have fallen,

  Like the old Roman, on their own sword’s point.

  They had their choice: a wanderer ‘must I’ go,

  The Spectre of that innocent Man, my guide.

  No human ear shall ever hear me speak;

  No human dwelling ever give me food,

  Or sleep, or rest: but, over waste and wild,

  In search of nothing, that this earth can give,

  But expiation, will I wander on—

  A Man by pain and thought compelled to live,

  Yet loathing life—till anger is appeased

  In Heaven, and Mercy gives me leave to die.

  1795-96.

  LYRICAL BALLADS, WITH A FEW OTHER POEMS

  The first of two editions of this famous collection appeared in 1798 and featured a collaboration of poems by Wordsworth and his close friend Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Lyrical Ballads is now widely regarded as the beginning of the British Romantic movement in literature. Although its immediate impact on critics was modest, the collection went on to shape the course of English literature and poetry. The majority of the poems in the 1798 edition were written by Wordsworth, with Coleridge contributing four poems, including his famous ballad The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. To retain the original structure of the collection, Coleridge’s poems have also been included in this edition.

  In composing these works, Wordsworth and Coleridge were determined to challenge the erudite and neoclassical style of poetry of the time. Seeking to avoid highly-sculpted style and form, they were keen to promote works that were accessible for everyone, composed in verses of normal, everyday language. Special emphasis was placed on the world of nature, rather than the idealised world of Ancient texts. These poems also focus on the vitality of the living voice that the poor use to express their reality. Wordsworth and Coleridge believed that using colloquial language helped to stress the universality of human emotions. The title of the collection recalls rustic and natural forms of art, with the term ballads suggesting an oral mode of storytelling used by the common people.

  In the 1798 Advertisement, Wordsworth explains his poetical ambitions:

  “The majority of the following poems are to be considered as experiments. They were written chiefly with a view to ascertain how far the language of conversation in the middle and lower classes of society is adapted to the purpose of poetic pleasure.”

  This experimental use of vernacular language was a revolutionary step in mainline literature and the focus on simple and uneducated country people as the subject of poetry was a significant step towards modern literature. No longer was poetry concerned with the actions of Biblical or classical heroes, but instead the protagonists were everyday people, marking the origins of what would later become known as realism.

  The Penrith public house where Wordsworth stayed in 1795 with Raisley Calvert, the son of the steward of the Duke of Norfolk. Raisley was dying of consumption and so Wordsworth remained with his childhood friend, nursing him until his death. Raisley had recognised Wordsworth’s poetic talent and wanted to ensure he would be able to fulfil his writing potential, so he willed his friend a legacy of nine hundred pounds. This inheritance enabled Wordsworth to set out on his poetic career, which otherwise would not have been possible.

  CONTENTS

  THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE. (COLERIDGE)

  THE FOSTER-MOTHER’S TALE (COLERIDGE)

  LINES LEFT UPON A SEAT IN A YEW-TREE WHICH STANDS NEAR THE LAKE OF ESTHWAITE, ON A DESOLATE PART OF THE SHORE, YET COMMANDING A BEAUTIFUL PROSPECT.

  THE NIGHTINGALE. (COLERIDGE)

  THE FEMALE VAGRANT.

  GOODY BLAKE, AND HARRY GILL, A TRUE STORY.

  LINES WRITTEN AT A SMALL DISTANCE FROM MY HOUSE, AND SENT BY MY LITTLE BOY TO THE PERSON TO WHOM THEY ARE ADDRESSED.

  SIMON LEE, THE OLD HUNTSMAN, WITH AN INCIDENT IN WHICH HE WAS CONCERNED.

  ANECDOTE FOR FATHERS SHEWING HOW THE ART OF LYING MAY BE TAUGHT.

  WE ARE SEVEN.

  LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING.

  THE THORN.

  THE LAST OF THE FLOCK.

  THE DUNGEON. (COLERIDGE)

  THE MAD MOTHER.

  THE IDIOT BOY.

  LINES WRITTEN NEAR RICHMOND, UPON THE THAMES, AT EVENING.

  EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY.

  THE TABLES TURNED; AN EVENING SCENE, ON THE SAME SUBJECT.

  OLD MAN TRAVELLING; ANIMAL TRANQUILLITY AND DECAY, A SKETCH.

  THE COMPLAINT OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN

  THE CONVICT.

  LINES WRITTEN A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR, July 13, 1798.

  The first edition’s title page

  ADVERTISEMENT.

  It is the honourable characteristic of Poetry that its materials are to be found in every subject which can interest the human mind. The evidence of this fact is to be sought, not in the writings of Critics, but in those of Poets themselves.

  The majority of the following poems are to be considered as experiments. They were written chiefly with a view to ascertain how far the language of conversation in the middle and lower classes of society is adapted to the purposes of poetic pleasure. Readers accustomed to the gaudiness and inane phraseology of many modern writers, if they persist in reading this book to its conclusion, will perhaps frequently have to struggle with f
eelings of strangeness and aukwardness: they will look round for poetry, and will be induced to enquire by what species of courtesy these attempts can be permitted to assume that title. It is desirable that such readers, for their own sakes, should not suffer the solitary word Poetry, a word of very disputed meaning, to stand in the way of their gratification; but that, while they are perusing this book, they should ask themselves if it contains a natural delineation of human passions, human characters, and human incidents; and if the answer be favourable to the author’s wishes, that they should consent to be pleased in spite of that most dreadful enemy to our pleasures, our own pre-established codes of decision.

  Readers of superior judgment may disapprove of the style in which many of these pieces are executed it must be expected that many lines and phrases will not exactly suit their taste. It will perhaps appear to them, that wishing to avoid the prevalent fault of the day, the author has sometimes descended too low, and that many of his expressions are too familiar, and not of sufficient dignity. It is apprehended, that the more conversant the reader is with our elder writers, and with those in modern times who have been the most successful in painting manners and passions, the fewer complaints of this kind will he have to make.

  An accurate taste in poetry, and in all the other arts, Sir Joshua Reynolds has observed, is an acquired talent, which can only be produced by severe thought, and a long continued intercourse with the best models of composition. This is mentioned not with so ridiculous a purpose as to prevent the most inexperienced reader from judging for himself; but merely to temper the rashness of decision, and to suggest that if poetry be a subject on which much time has not been bestowed, the judgment may be erroneous, and that in many cases it necessarily will be so.

  The tale of Goody Blake and Harry Gill is founded on a well-authenticated fact which happened in Warwickshire. Of the other poems in the collection, it may be proper to say that they are either absolute inventions of the author, or facts which took place within his personal observation or that of his friends. The poem of the Thorn, as the reader will soon discover, is not supposed to be spoken in the author’s own person: the character of the loquacious narrator will sufficiently shew itself in the course of the story. The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere was professedly written in imitation of the style, as well as of the spirit of the elder poets; but with a few exceptions, the Author believes that the language adopted in it has been equally intelligible for these three last centuries. The lines entitled Expostulation and Reply, and those which follow, arose out of conversation with a friend who was somewhat unreasonably attached to modern books of moral philosophy.

  THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE. (COLERIDGE)

  IN SEVEN PARTS.

  By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

  ARGUMENT.

  How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by Storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country.

  I.

  It is an ancyent Marinere,

  And he stoppeth one of three:

  “By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye

  ”Now wherefore stoppest me?

  “The Bridegroom’s doors are open’d wide

  ”And I am next of kin;

  “The Guests are met, the Feast is set, —

  ”May’st hear the merry din. —

  But still he holds the wedding-guest —

  There was a Ship, quoth he —

  “Nay, if thou’st got a laughsome tale,

  ”Marinere! come with me.”

  He holds him with his skinny hand,

  Quoth he, there was a Ship —

  “Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon!

  ”Or my Staff shall make thee skip.”

  He holds him with his glittering eye —

  The wedding guest stood still

  And listens like a three year’s child;

  The Marinere hath his will.

  The wedding-guest sate on a stone,

  He cannot chuse but hear:

  And thus spake on that ancyent man,

  The bright-eyed Marinere.

  The Ship was cheer’d, the Harbour clear’d —

  Merrily did we drop

  Below the Kirk, below the Hill,

  Below the Light-house top.

  The Sun came up upon the left,

  Out of the Sea came he:

  And he shone bright, and on the right

  Went down into the Sea.

  Higher and higher every day,

  Till over the mast at noon —

  The wedding-guest here beat his breast,

  For he heard the loud bassoon.

  The Bride hath pac’d into the Hall,

  Red as a rose is she;

  Nodding their heads before her goes

  The merry Minstralsy.

  The wedding-guest he beat his breast,

  Yet he cannot chuse but hear:

  And thus spake on that ancyent Man,

  The bright-eyed Marinere.

  Listen, Stranger! Storm and Wind,

  A Wind and Tempest strong!

  For days and weeks it play’d us freaks —

  Like Chaff we drove along.

  Listen, Stranger! Mist and Snow,

  And it grew wond’rous cauld:

  And Ice mast-high came floating by

  As green as Emerauld.

  And thro’ the drifts the snowy clifts

  Did send a dismal sheen;

  Ne shapes of men ne beasts we ken —

  The Ice was all between.

  The Ice was here, the Ice was there,

  The Ice was all around:

  It crack’d and growl’d, and roar’d and howl’d —

  Like noises of a swound.

  At length did cross an Albatross,

  Thorough the Fog it came;

  And an it were a Christian Soul,

  We hail’d it in God’s name.

  The Marineres gave it biscuit-worms,

  And round and round it flew:

  The Ice did split with a Thunder-fit;

  The Helmsman steer’d us thro’.

  And a good south wind sprung up behind,

  The Albatross did follow;

  And every day for food or play

  Came to the Marinere’s hollo!

  In mist or cloud on mast or shroud

  It perch’d for vespers nine,

  Whiles all the night thro’ fog-smoke white

  Glimmer’d the white moon-shine.

  “God save thee, ancyent Marinere!

  ”From the fiends that plague thee thus —

  “Why look’st thou so?” — with my cross bow

  I shot the Albatross.

  II.

  The Sun came up upon the right,

  Out of the Sea came he;

  And broad as a weft upon the left

  Went down into the Sea.

  And the good south wind still blew behind,

  But no sweet Bird did follow

  Ne any day for food or play

  Came to the Marinere’s hollo!

  And I had done an hellish thing

  And it would work ‘em woe:

  For all averr’d, I had kill’d the Bird

  That made the Breeze to blow.

  Ne dim ne red, like God’s own head,

  The glorious Sun uprist:

  Then all averr’d, I had kill’d the Bird

  That brought the fog and mist.

  ‘Twas right, said they, such birds to slay

  That bring the fog and mist.

  The breezes blew, the white foam flew,

  The furrow follow’d free:

  We were the first that ever burst

  Into that silent Sea.

  Down dropt the breeze, the Sails dropt down,

  ’Twas sad as sad could be

  And we did speak only to break


  The silence of the Sea.

  All in a hot and copper sky

  The bloody sun at noon,

  Right up above the mast did stand,

  No bigger than the moon.

  Day after day, day after day,

  We stuck, ne breath ne motion,

  As idle as a painted Ship

  Upon a painted Ocean.

  Water, water, every where

  And all the boards did shrink;

  Water, water, every where,

  Ne any drop to drink.

  The very deeps did rot: O Christ!

  That ever this should be!

  Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs

  Upon the slimy Sea.

  About, about, in reel and rout

  The Death-fires danc’d at night;

  The water, like a witch’s oils,

  Burnt green and blue and white.

  And some in dreams assured were

  Of the Spirit that plagued us so:

  Nine fathom deep he had follow’d us

  From the Land of Mist and Snow.

  And every tongue thro’ utter drouth

  Was wither’d at the root;

  We could not speak no more than if

  We had been choked with soot.

  Ah wel-a-day! what evil looks

  Had I from old and young;

  Instead of the Cross the Albatross

  About my neck was hung.

  III.

  I saw a something in the Sky

  No bigger than my fist;

  At first it seem’d a little speck

  And then it seem’d a mist:

  It mov’d and mov’d, and took at last

  A certain shape, I wist.

  A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!

  And still it ner’d and ner’d;

  And, an it dodg’d a water-sprite,

  It plung’d and tack’d and veer’d.

  With throat unslack’d, with black lips bak’d

  Ne could we laugh, ne wail:

  Then while thro’ drouth all dumb they stood

  I bit my arm and suck’d the blood

  And cry’d, A sail! a sail!

  With throat unslack’d, with black lips bak’d

  Agape they hear’d me call:

  Gramercy! they for joy did grin

  And all at once their breath drew in

  As they were drinking all.

  She doth not tack from side to side —

  Hither to work us weal

  Withouten wind, withouten tide