Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  Misled as to these latter not alone 125

  By common inexperience of youth,

  But by the trade in classic niceties,

  Delusion to young scholars incident —

  And old ones also — by that overprized

  And dangerous craft of picking phrases out 130

  From languages that want the living voice

  To make of them a nature to the heart,

  To tell us what is passion, what is truth,

  What reason, what simplicity and sense.

  Yet must I not entirely overlook 135

  The pleasure gathered from the elements

  Of geometric science. I had stepped

  In these inquiries but a little way,

  No farther than the threshold — with regret

  Sincere I mention this — but there I found 140

  Enough to exalt, to chear me and compose.

  With Indian awe and wonder, ignorance

  Which even was cherished, did I meditate

  Upon the alliance of those simple, pure

  Proportions and relations, with the frame 145

  And laws of Nature — how they could become

  Herein a leader to the human mind —

  And made endeavours frequent to detect

  The process by dark guesses of my own.

  Yet from this source more frequently I drew 150

  A pleasure calm and deeper, a still sense

  Of permanent and universal sway

  And paramount endowment in the mind,

  An image not unworthy of the one

  Surpassing life, which — out of space and time, 155

  Nor touched by welterings of passion — is,

  And hath the name of, God. Transcendent peace

  And silence did await upon these thoughts

  That were a frequent comfort to my youth.

  And as I have read of one by shipwreck thrown 160

  With fellow sufferers whom the waves had spared

  Upon a region uninhabited,

  An island of the deep, who having brought

  To land a single volume and no more —

  A treatise of geometry — was used, 165

  Although of food and clothing destitute,

  And beyond common wretchedness depressed,

  To part from company and take this book,

  Then first a self-taught pupil in those truths,

  To spots remote and corners of the isle 170

  By the seaside, and draw his diagrams

  With a long stick upon the sand, and thus

  Did oft beguile his sorrow, and almost

  Forget his feeling: even so — if things

  Producing like effect from outward cause 175

  So different may rightly be compared —

  So was it with me then, and so will be

  With poets ever. Mighty is the charm

  Of those abstractions to a mind beset

  With images, and haunted by itself, 180

  And specially delightful unto me

  Was that clear synthesis built up aloft

  So gracefully, even then when it appeared

  No more than as a plaything, or a toy

  Embodied to the sense — not what it is 185

  In verity, an independent world

  Created out of pure intelligence.

  Such dispositions then were mine, almost

  Through grace of heaven and inborn tenderness.

  And not to leave the picture of that time 190

  Imperfect, with these habits I must rank

  A melancholy, from humours of the blood

  In part, and partly taken up, that loved

  A pensive sky, sad days, and piping winds,

  The twilight more than dawn, autumn than spring — 195

  A treasured and luxurious gloom of choice

  And inclination mainly, and the mere

  Redundancy of youth’s contentedness.

  Add unto this a multitude of hours

  Pilfered away by what the bard who sang 200

  Of the enchanter Indolence hath called

  ‘Good-natured lounging’, and behold a map

  Of my collegiate life: far less intense

  Than duty called for, or, without regard

  To duty, might have sprung up of itself 205

  By change of accidents; or even — to speak

  Without unkindness — in another place.

  In summer among distant nooks I roved —

  Dovedale, or Yorkshire dales, or through bye-tracts

  Of my own native region — and was blest 210

  Between those sundry wanderings with a joy

  Above all joys, that seemed another morn

  Risen on mid-noon: the presence, friend, I mean

  Of that sole sister, she who hath been long

  Thy treasure also, thy true friend and mine, 215

  Now after separation desolate

  Restored to me — such absence that she seemed

  A gift then first bestowed. The gentle banks

  Of Emont, hitherto unnamed in song,

  And that monastic castle, on a flat, 220

  Low-standing by the margin of the stream,

  A mansion not unvisited of old

  By Sidney, where, in sight of our Helvellyn,

  Some snatches he might pen for aught we know

  Of his Arcadia, by fraternal love 225

  Inspired — that river and that mouldering dome

  Have seen us sit in many a summer hour,

  My sister and myself, when, having climbed

  In danger through some window’s open space,

  We looked abroad, or on the turret’s head 230

  Lay listening to the wild-flowers and the grass

  As they gave out their whispers to the wind.

  Another maid there was, who also breathed

  A gladness o’er that season, then to me

  By her exulting outside look of youth 235

  And placid under-countenance first endeared —

  That other spirit, Coleridge, who is now

  So near to us, that meek confiding heart,

  So reverenced by us both. O’er paths and fields

  In all that neighbourhood, through narrow lanes 240

  Of eglantine, and through the shady woods,

  And o’er the Border Beacon and the waste

  Of naked pools and common crags that lay

  Exposed on the bare fell, was scattered love —

  A spirit of pleasure, and youth’s golden gleam. 245

  O friend, we had not seen thee at that time,

  And yet a power is on me and a strong

  Confusion, and I seem to plant thee there.

  Far art thou wandered now in search of health,

  And milder breezes — melancholy lot — 250

  But thou art with us, with us in the past,

  The present, with us in the times to come.

  There is no grief, no sorrow, no despair,

  No languor, no dejection, no dismay,

  No absence scarcely can there be, for those 255

  Who love as we do. Speed thee well! divide

  Thy pleasure with us; thy returning strength,

  Receive it daily as a joy of ours;

  Share with us thy fresh spirits, whether gift

  Of gales Etesian or of loving thoughts. 260

  I too have been a wanderer, but, alas,

  How different is the fate of different men,

  Though twins almost in genius and in mind.

  Unknown unto each other, yea, and breathing

  As if in different elements, we were framed 265

  To bend at last to the same discipline,

  Predestined, if two beings ever were,

  To seek the same delights, and have one health,

  One happiness. Throughout this narrative,

  Else sooner ended, I have known full well 270

  For whom I thus record the birth and gro
wth

  Of gentleness, simplicity, and truth,

  And joyous loves that hallow innocent days

  Of peace and self-command. Of rivers, fields,

  And groves, I speak to thee, my friend — to thee 275

  Who, yet a liveried schoolboy in the depths

  Of the huge city, on the leaded roof

  Of that wide edifice, thy home and school,

  Wast used to lie and gaze upon the clouds

  Moving in heaven, or haply, tired of this, 280

  To shut thine eyes and by internal light

  See trees, and meadows, and thy native stream

  Far distant — thus beheld from year to year

  Of thy long exile. Nor could I forget

  In this late portion of my argument 285

  That scarcely had I finally resigned

  My rights among those academic bowers

  When thou wert thither guided. From the heart

  Of London, and from cloisters there, thou cam’st

  And didst sit down in temperance and peace, 290

  A rigorous student. What a stormy course

  Then followed — oh, it is a pang that calls

  For utterance, to think how small a change

  Of circumstances might to thee have spared

  A world of pain, ripened ten thousand hopes 295

  For ever withered. Through this retrospect

  Of my own college life I still have had

  Thy after-sojourn in the self-same place

  Present before my eyes, have played with times

  (I speak of private business of the thought) 300

  And accidents as children do with cards,

  Or as a man, who, when his house is built,

  A frame locked up in wood and stone, doth still

  In impotence of mind by his fireside

  Rebuild it to his liking. I have thought 305

  Of thee, thy learning, gorgeous eloquence,

  And all the strength and plumage of thy youth,

  Thy subtle speculations, toils abstruse

  Among the schoolmen, and Platonic forms

  Of wild ideal pageantry, shaped out 310

  From things well-matched, or ill, and words for things —

  The self-created sustenance of a mind

  Debarred from Nature’s living images,

  Compelled to be a life unto itself,

  And unrelentingly possessed by thirst 315

  Of greatness, love, and beauty. Not alone,

  Ah, surely not in singleness of heart

  Should I have seen the light of evening fade

  Upon the silent Cam, if we had met,

  Even at that early time: I needs must hope, 320

  Must feel, must trust, that my maturer age

  And temperature less willing to be moved,

  My calmer habits, and more steady voice,

  Would with an influence benign have soothed

  Or chased away the airy wretchedness 325

  That battened on thy youth. But thou hast trod,

  In watchful meditation thou hast trod,

  A march of glory, which doth put to shame

  These vain regrets; health suffers in thee, else

  Such grief for thee would be the weakest thought 330

  That ever harboured in the breast of man.

  A passing word erewhile did lightly touch

  On wanderings of my own, and now to these

  My poem leads me with an easier mind.

  The employments of three winters when I wore 335

  A student’s gown have been already told,

  Or shadowed forth as far as there is need —

  When the third summer brought its liberty

  A fellow student and myself, he too

  A mountaineer, together sallied forth, 340

  And, staff in hand on foot pursued our way

  Towards the distant Alps. An open slight

  Of college cares and study was the scheme,

  Nor entertained without concern for those

  To whom my worldly interests were dear, 345

  But Nature then was sovereign in my heart,

  And mighty forms seizing a youthful fancy

  Had given a charter to irregular hopes.

  In any age, without an impulse sent

  From work of nations and their goings-on, 350

  I should have been possessed by like desire;

  But ‘twas a time when Europe was rejoiced,

  France standing on the top of golden hours,

  And human nature seeming born again.

  Bound, as I said, to the Alps, it was our lot 355

  To land at Calais on the very eve

  Of that great federal day; and there we saw,

  In a mean city and among a few,

  How bright a face is worn when joy of one

  Is joy of tens of millions. Southward thence 360

  We took our way, direct through hamlets, towns,

  Gaudy with reliques of that festival,

  Flowers left to wither on triumphal arcs

  And window-garlands. On the public roads —

  And once three days successively through paths 365

  By which our toilsome journey was abridged —

  Among sequestered villages we walked

  And found benevolence and blessedness

  Spread like a fragrance everywhere, like spring

  That leaves no corner of the land untouched. 370

  Where elms for many and many a league in files,

  With their thin umbrage, on the stately roads

  Of that great kingdom rustled o’er our heads,

  For ever near us as we paced along,

  ‘Twas sweet at such a time — with such delights 375

  On every side, in prime of youthful strength —

  To feed a poet’s tender melancholy

  And fond conceit of sadness, to the noise

  And gentle undulation which they made.

  Unhoused beneath the evening star we saw 380

  Dances of liberty, and, in late hours

  Of darkness, dances in the open air.

  Among the vine-clad hills of Burgundy,

  Upon the bosom of the gentle Soane

  We glided forward with the flowing stream: 385

  Swift Rhone, thou wert the wings on which we cut

  Between they lofty rocks. Enchanting show

  Those woods and farms and orchards did present,

  And single cottages and lurking towns —

  Reach after reach, procession without end, 390

  Of deep and stately vales. A lonely pair

  Of Englishmen we were, and sailed along

  Clustered together with a merry crowd

  Of those emancipated, with a host

  Of travellers, chiefly delegates returning 395

  From the great spousals newly solemnized

  At their chief city, in the sight of Heaven.

  Like bees they swarmed, gaudy and gay as bees;

  Some vapoured in the unruliness of joy,

  And flourished with their swords as if to fight 400

  The saucy air. In this blithe company

  We landed, took with them our evening meal,

  Guests welcome almost as the angels were

  To Abraham of old. The supper done,

  With flowing cups elate and happy thoughts 405

  We rose at signal given, and formed a ring,

  And hand in hand danced round and round the board;

  All hearts were open, every tongue was loud

  With amity and glee. We bore a name

  Honoured in France, the name of Englishmen, 410

  And hospitably did they give us hail

  As their forerunners in a glorious course;

  And round and round the board they danced again.

  With this same throng our voyage we pursued

  At early dawn; the monastery bells 415

  Made a sweet jingling in our youthful e
ars —

  The rapid river flowing without noise —

  And every spire we saw among the rocks

  Spake with a sense of peace, at intervals

  Touching the heart amid the boisterous crew 420

  With which we were environed. Having parted

  From this glad rout, the convent of Chartreuse

  Received us two days afterwards, and there

  We rested in an awful solitude —

  Thence onward to the country of the Swiss. 425

  ‘Tis not my present purpose to retrace

  That variegated journey step by step;

  A march it was of military speed,

  And earth did change her images and forms 430

  Before us fast as clouds are changed in heaven.

  Day after day, up early and down late,

  From vale to vale, from hill to hill we went,

  From province on to province did we pass,

  Keen hunters in a chace of fourteen weeks — 435

  Eager as birds of prey, or as a ship

  Upon the stretch when winds are blowing fair.

  Sweet coverts did we cross of pastoral life,

  Enticing vallies — greeted them, and left

  Too soon, while yet the very flash and gleam 440

  Of salutation were not passed away.

  Oh, sorrow for the youth who could have seen

  Unchastened, unsubdued, unawed, unraised

  To patriarchal dignity of mind

  And pure simplicity of wish and will, 445

  Those sanctified abodes of peaceful man.

  My heart leaped up when first I did look down

  On that which was first seen of those deep haunts,

  A green recess, an aboriginal vale,

  Quiet, and lorded over and possessed 450

  By naked huts, wood-built, and sown like tents

  Or Indian cabins over the fresh lawns

  And by the river-side.

  That day we first

  Beheld the summit of Mount Blanc, and grieved 455

  To have a soulless image on the eye

  Which had usurped upon a living thought

  That never more could be. The wondrous Vale

  Of Chamouny did, on the following dawn,

  With its dumb cataracts and streams of ice — 460

  A motionless array of mighty waves,

  Five rivers broad and vast — make rich amends,

  And reconciled us to realities.

  There small birds warble from the leafy trees,

  The eagle soareth in the element, 465

  There doth the reaper bind the yellow sheaf,

  The maiden spread the haycock in the sun,

  While Winter like a tam`ed lion walks,

  Descending from the mountain to make sport

  Among the cottages by beds of flowers. 470

  Whate’er in this wide circuit we beheld

  Or heard was fitted to our unripe state

  Of intellect and heart. By simple strains