Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  Shouldering the naked crag; Oh! at that time,

  While on the perilous ridge I hung alone, 350

  With what strange utterance did the loud dry wind

  Blow through my ears! the sky seem’d not a sky

  Of earth, and with what motion mov’d the clouds!

  The mind of Man is fram’d even like the breath

  And harmony of music. There is a dark 355

  Invisible workmanship that reconciles

  Discordant elements, and makes them move

  In one society. Ah me! that all

  The terrors, all the early miseries

  Regrets, vexations, lassitudes, that all 360

  The thoughts and feelings which have been infus’d

  Into my mind, should ever have made up

  The calm existence that is mine when I

  Am worthy of myself! Praise to the end!

  Thanks likewise for the means! But I believe 365

  That Nature, oftentimes, when she would frame

  A favor’d Being, from his earliest dawn

  Of infancy doth open out the clouds,

  As at the touch of lightning, seeking him

  With gentlest visitation; not the less, 370

  Though haply aiming at the self-same end,

  Does it delight her sometimes to employ

  Severer interventions, ministry

  More palpable, and so she dealt with me.

  One evening (surely I was led by her) 375

  I went alone into a Shepherd’s Boat,

  A Skiff that to a Willow tree was tied

  Within a rocky Cave, its usual home.

  ‘Twas by the shores of Patterdale, a Vale

  Wherein I was a Stranger, thither come 380

  A School-boy Traveller, at the Holidays.

  Forth rambled from the Village Inn alone

  No sooner had I sight of this small Skiff,

  Discover’d thus by unexpected chance,

  Than I unloos’d her tether and embark’d. 385

  The moon was up, the Lake was shining clear

  Among the hoary mountains; from the Shore

  I push’d, and struck the oars and struck again

  In cadence, and my little Boat mov’d on

  Even like a Man who walks with stately step 390

  Though bent on speed. It was an act of stealth

  And troubled pleasure; not without the voice

  Of mountain-echoes did my Boat move on,

  Leaving behind her still on either side

  Small circles glittering idly in the moon, 395

  Until they melted all into one track

  Of sparkling light. A rocky Steep uprose

  Above the Cavern of the Willow tree

  And now, as suited one who proudly row’d

  With his best skill, I fix’d a steady view 400

  Upon the top of that same craggy ridge,

  The bound of the horizon, for behind

  Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky.

  She was an elfin Pinnace; lustily

  I dipp’d my oars into the silent Lake, 405

  And, as I rose upon the stroke, my Boat

  Went heaving through the water, like a Swan;

  When from behind that craggy Steep, till then

  The bound of the horizon, a huge Cliff,

  As if with voluntary power instinct, 410

  Uprear’d its head. I struck, and struck again

  And, growing still in stature, the huge Cliff

  Rose up between me and the stars, and still,

  With measur’d motion, like a living thing,

  Strode after me. With trembling hands I turn’d, 415

  And through the silent water stole my way

  Back to the Cavern of the Willow tree.

  There, in her mooring-place, I left my Bark,

  And, through the meadows homeward went, with grave

  And serious thoughts; and after I had seen 420

  That spectacle, for many days, my brain

  Work’d with a dim and undetermin’d sense

  Of unknown modes of being; in my thoughts

  There was a darkness, call it solitude,

  Or blank desertion, no familiar shapes 425

  Of hourly objects, images of trees,

  Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields;

  But huge and mighty Forms that do not live

  Like living men mov’d slowly through the mind

  By day and were the trouble of my dreams. 430

  Wisdom and Spirit of the universe!

  Thou Soul that art the eternity of thought!

  That giv’st to forms and images a breath

  And everlasting motion! not in vain,

  By day or star-light thus from my first dawn 435

  Of Childhood didst Thou intertwine for me

  The passions that build up our human Soul,

  Not with the mean and vulgar works of Man,

  But with high objects, with enduring things,

  With life and nature, purifying thus 440

  The elements of feeling and of thought,

  And sanctifying, by such discipline,

  Both pain and fear, until we recognise

  A grandeur in the beatings of the heart.

  Nor was this fellowship vouchsaf’d to me 445

  With stinted kindness. In November days,

  When vapours, rolling down the valleys, made

  A lonely scene more lonesome; among woods

  At noon, and ‘mid the calm of summer nights,

  When, by the margin of the trembling Lake, 450

  Beneath the gloomy hills I homeward went

  In solitude, such intercourse was mine;

  ‘Twas mine among the fields both day and night,

  And by the waters all the summer long.

  And in the frosty season, when the sun 455

  Was set, and visible for many a mile

  The cottage windows through the twilight blaz’d,

  I heeded not the summons: — happy time

  It was, indeed, for all of us; to me

  It was a time of rapture: clear and loud 460

  The village clock toll’d six; I wheel’d about,

  Proud and exulting, like an untired horse,

  That cares not for its home. — All shod with steel,

  We hiss’d along the polish’d ice, in games

  Confederate, imitative of the chace 465

  And woodland pleasures, the resounding horn,

  The Pack loud bellowing, and the hunted hare.

  So through the darkness and the cold we flew,

  And not a voice was idle; with the din,

  Meanwhile, the precipices rang aloud, 470

  The leafless trees, and every icy crag

  Tinkled like iron, while the distant hills

  Into the tumult sent an alien sound

  Of melancholy, not unnoticed, while the stars,

  Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west 475

  The orange sky of evening died away.

  Not seldom from the uproar I retired

  Into a silent bay, or sportively

  Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng,

  To cut across the image of a star 480

  That gleam’d upon the ice: and oftentimes

  When we had given our bodies to the wind,

  And all the shadowy banks, on either side,

  Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still

  The rapid line of motion; then at once 485

  Have I, reclining back upon my heels,

  Stopp’d short, yet still the solitary Cliffs

  Wheeled by me, even as if the earth had roll’d

  With visible motion her diurnal round;

  Behind me did they stretch in solemn train 490

  Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watch’d

  Till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep.

  Ye Presences of Nature, in the sky

  An
d on the earth! Ye Visions of the hills!

  And Souls of lonely places! can I think 495

  A vulgar hope was yours when Ye employ’d

  Such ministry, when Ye through many a year

  Haunting me thus among my boyish sports,

  On caves and trees, upon the woods and hills,

  Impress’d upon all forms the characters 500

  Of danger or desire, and thus did make

  The surface of the universal earth

  With triumph, and delight, and hope, and fear,

  Work like a sea?

  Not uselessly employ’d, 505

  I might pursue this theme through every change

  Of exercise and play, to which the year

  Did summon us in its delightful round.

  We were a noisy crew, the sun in heaven

  Beheld not vales more beautiful than ours, 510

  Nor saw a race in happiness and joy

  More worthy of the ground where they were sown.

  I would record with no reluctant voice

  The woods of autumn and their hazel bowers

  With milk-white clusters hung; the rod and line, 515

  True symbol of the foolishness of hope,

  Which with its strong enchantment led us on

  By rocks and pools, shut out from every star

  All the green summer, to forlorn cascades

  Among the windings of the mountain brooks. 520

  — Unfading recollections! at this hour

  The heart is almost mine with which I felt

  From some hill-top, on sunny afternoons

  The Kite high up among the fleecy clouds

  Pull at its rein, like an impatient Courser, 525

  Or, from the meadows sent on gusty days,

  Beheld her breast the wind, then suddenly

  Dash’d headlong; and rejected by the storm.

  Ye lowly Cottages in which we dwelt,

  A ministration of your own was yours, 530

  A sanctity, a safeguard, and a love!

  Can I forget you, being as ye were

  So beautiful among the pleasant fields

  In which ye stood? Or can I here forget

  The plain and seemly countenance with which 535

  Ye dealt out your plain comforts? Yet had ye

  Delights and exultations of your own.

  Eager and never weary we pursued

  Our home amusements by the warm peat-fire

  At evening; when with pencil and with slate, 540

  In square divisions parcell’d out, and all

  With crosses and with cyphers scribbled o’er,

  We schemed and puzzled, head opposed to head

  In strife too humble to be named in Verse.

  Or round the naked table, snow-white deal, 545

  Cherry or maple, sate in close array,

  And to the combat, Lu or Whist, led on

  thick-ribbed Army; not as in the world

  Neglected and ungratefully thrown by

  Even for the very service they had wrought, 550

  But husbanded through many a long campaign.

  Uncouth assemblage was it, where no few

  Had changed their functions, some, plebeian cards,

  Which Fate beyond the promise of their birth

  Had glorified, and call’d to represent 555

  The persons of departed Potentates.

  Oh! with what echoes on the Board they fell!

  Ironic Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts, Diamonds, Spades,

  A congregation piteously akin.

  Cheap matter did they give to boyish wit, 560

  Those sooty knaves, precipitated down

  With scoffs and taunts, like Vulcan out of Heaven,

  The paramount Ace, a moon in her eclipse,

  Queens, gleaming through their splendour’s last decay,

  And Monarchs, surly at the wrongs sustain’d 565

  By royal visages. Meanwhile, abroad

  The heavy rain was falling, or the frost

  Raged bitterly, with keen and silent tooth,

  And, interrupting oft the impassion’d game,

  From Esthwaite’s neighbouring Lake the splitting ice, 570

  While it sank down towards the water, sent,

  Among the meadows and the hills, its long

  And dismal yellings, like the noise of wolves

  When they are howling round the Bothnic Main.

  Nor, sedulous as I have been to trace 575

  How Nature by extrinsic passion first

  Peopled my mind with beauteous forms or grand,

  And made me love them, may I well forget

  How other pleasures have been mine, and joys

  Of subtler origin; how I have felt, 580

  Not seldom, even in that tempestuous time,

  Those hallow’d and pure motions of the sense

  Which seem, in their simplicity, to own

  An intellectual charm, that calm delight

  Which, if I err not, surely must belong 585

  To those first-born affinities that fit

  Our new existence to existing things,

  And, in our dawn of being, constitute

  The bond of union betwixt life and joy.

  Yes, I remember, when the changeful earth, 590

  And twice five seasons on my mind had stamp’d

  The faces of the moving year, even then,

  A Child, I held unconscious intercourse

  With the eternal Beauty, drinking in

  A pure organic pleasure from the lines 595

  Of curling mist, or from the level plain

  Of waters colour’d by the steady clouds.

  The Sands of Westmoreland, the Creeks and Bays

  Of Cumbria’s rocky limits, they can tell

  How when the Sea threw off his evening shade 600

  And to the Shepherd’s huts beneath the crags

  Did send sweet notice of the rising moon,

  How I have stood, to fancies such as these,

  Engrafted in the tenderness of thought,

  A stranger, linking with the spectacle 605

  No conscious memory of a kindred sight,

  And bringing with me no peculiar sense

  Of quietness or peace, yet I have stood,

  Even while mine eye has mov’d o’er three long leagues

  Of shining water, gathering, as it seem’d, 610

  Through every hair-breadth of that field of light,

  New pleasure, like a bee among the flowers.

  Thus, often in those fits of vulgar joy

  Which, through all seasons, on a child’s pursuits

  Are prompt attendants, ‘mid that giddy bliss 615

  Which, like a tempest, works along the blood

  And is forgotten; even then I felt

  Gleams like the flashing of a shield; the earth

  And common face of Nature spake to me

  Rememberable things; sometimes, ‘tis true, 620

  By chance collisions and quaint accidents

  Like those ill-sorted unions, work suppos’d

  Of evil-minded fairies, yet not vain

  Nor profitless, if haply they impress’d

  Collateral objects and appearances, 625

  Albeit lifeless then, and doom’d to sleep

  Until maturer seasons call’d them forth

  To impregnate and to elevate the mind.

  — And if the vulgar joy by its own weight

  Wearied itself out of the memory, 630

  The scenes which were a witness of that joy

  Remained, in their substantial lineaments

  Depicted on the brain, and to the eye

  Were visible, a daily sight; and thus

  By the impressive discipline of fear, 635

  By pleasure and repeated happiness,

  So frequently repeated, and by force

  Of obscure feelings representative

  Of joys that were forgotten, these same scenes,

 
; So beauteous and majestic in themselves, 640

  Though yet the day was distant, did at length

  Become habitually dear, and all

  Their hues and forms were by invisible links

  Allied to the affections.

  I began 645

  My story early, feeling as I fear,

  The weakness of a human love, for days

  Disown’d by memory, ere the birth of spring

  Planting my snowdrops among winter snows.

  Nor will it seem to thee, my Friend! so prompt 650

  In sympathy, that I have lengthen’d out,

  With fond and feeble tongue, a tedious tale.

  Meanwhile, my hope has been that I might fetch

  Invigorating thoughts from former years,

  Might fix the wavering balance of my wind, 655

  And haply meet reproaches, too, whose power

  May spur me on, in manhood now mature,

  To honorable toil. Yet should these hopes

  Be vain, and thus should neither I be taught

  To understand myself, nor thou to know 660

  With better knowledge how the heart was fram’d

  Of him thou lovest, need I dread from thee

  Harsh judgments, if I am so loth to quit

  Those recollected hours that have the charm

  Of visionary things, and lovely forms 665

  And sweet sensations that throw back our life

  And almost make our Infancy itself

  A visible scene, on which the sun is shining?

  One end hereby at least hath been attain’d,

  My mind hath been revived, and if this mood 670

  Desert me not, I will forthwith bring down,

  Through later years, the story of my life.

  The road lies plain before me; ‘tis a theme

  Single and of determined bounds; and hence

  I chuse it rather at this time, than work 675

  Of ampler or more varied argument.

  BOOK SECOND.

  CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL-TIME (CONTINUED)

  THUS far, O Friend! have we, though leaving much

  Unvisited, endeavour’d to retrace

  My life through its first years, and measured back

  The way I travell’d when I first began

  To love the woods and fields; the passion yet 5

  Was in its birth, sustain’d, as might befal,

  By nourishment that came unsought, for still,

  From week to week, from month to month, we liv’d

  A round of tumult: duly were our games

  Prolong’d in summer till the day-light fail’d; 10

  No chair remain’d before the doors, the bench

  And threshold steps were empty; fast asleep

  The Labourer, and the old Man who had sate,

  A later lingerer, yet the revelry

  Continued, and the loud uproar: at last, 15

  When all the ground was dark, and the huge clouds