And thus beset with foes on every side,
The goaded land waxed mad; the crimes of few
Spread into madness of the many; blasts 315
From hell came sanctified like airs from heaven.
The sternness of the just, the faith of those
Who doubted not that Providence had times
Of anger and of vengeance, theirs who throned
The human understanding paramount 320
And made of that their god, the hopes of those
Who were content to barter short-lived pangs
For a paradise of ages, the blind rage
Of insolent tempers, the light vanity
Of intermeddlers, steady purposes 325
Of the suspicious, slips of the indiscreet,
And all the accidents of life, were pressed
Into one service, busy with one work.
The Senate was heart-stricken, not a voice
Uplifted, none to oppose or mitigate. 330
Domestic carnage now filled all the year
With feast-days: the old man from the chimney-nook,
The maiden from the bosom of her love,
The mother from the cradle of her babe,
The warrior from the field — all perished, all — 335
Friends, enemies, of all parties, ages, ranks,
Head after head, and never heads enough
For those who bade them fall. They found their joy,
They made it, ever thirsty, as a child —
If light desires of innocent little ones 340
May with such heinous appetites be matched —
Having a toy, a windmill, though the air
Do of itself blow fresh and makes the vane
Spin in his eyesight, he is not content,
But with the plaything at arm’s length he sets 345
His front against the blast, and runs amain
To make it whirl the faster.
In the depth
Of these enormities, even thinking minds
Forgot at seasons whence they had their being — 350
Forgot that such a sound was ever heard
As Liberty upon earth — yet all beneath
Her innocent authority was wrought,
Nor could have been, without her bless`ed name.
The illustrious wife of Roland, in the hour 355
Of her composure, felt that agony
And gave it vent in her last words. O friend,
It was a lamentable time for man,
Whether a hope had e’er been his or not;
A woeful time for them whose hopes did still 360
Outlast the shock; most woeful for those few —
They had the deepest feeling of the grief —
Who still were flattered, and had trust in man.
Meanwhile the invaders fared as they deserved:
The herculean Commonwealth had put forth her arms, 365
And throttled with an infant godhead’s might
The snakes about her cradle — that was well,
And as it should be, yet no cure for those
Whose souls were sick with pain of what would be
Hereafter brought in charge against mankind. 370
Most melancholy at that time, O friend,
Were my day-thoughts, my dreams were miserable;
Through months, through years, long after the last beat
Of those atrocities (I speak bare truth,
As if to thee alone in private talk) 375
I scarcely had one night of quiet sleep,
Such ghastly visions had I of despair,
And tyranny, and implements of death,
And long orations which in dreams I pleaded
Before unjust tribunals, with a voice 380
Labouring, a brain confounded, and a sense
Of treachery and desertion in the place
The holiest that I knew of — my own soul.
When I began at first, in early youth,
To yield myself to Nature — when that strong 385
And holy passion overcame me first —
Neither day nor night, evening or morn,
Were free from the oppression, but, great God,
Who send’st thyself into this breathing world
Through Nature and through every kind of life, 390
And mak’st man what he is, creature divine,
In single or in social eminence,
Above all these raised infinite ascents
When reason, which enables him to be,
Is not sequestered — what a change is here! 395
How different ritual for this after-worship,
What countenance to promote this second love!
That first was service but to things which lie
At rest, within the bosom of thy will:
Therefore to serve was high beatitude; 400
The tumult was a gladness, and the fear
Ennobling, venerable; sleep secure,
And waking thoughts more rich than happiest dreams.
But as the ancient prophets were enflamed,
Nor wanted consolations of their own 405
And majesty of mind, when they denounced
On towns and cities, wallowing in the abyss
Of their offences, punishment to come;
Or saw like other men with bodily eyes
Before them in some desolated place 410
The consummation of the wrath of Heaven;
So did some portion of that spirit fall
On me to uphold me through those evil times,
And in their rage and dog-day heat I found
Something to glory in, as just and fit, 415
And in the order of sublimest laws.
And even if that were not, amid the awe
Of unintelligible chastisement
I felt a kind of sympathy with power —
Motions raised up within me, nevertheless, 420
Which had relationship to highest things.
Wild blasts of music thus did find their way
Into the midst of terrible events,
So that worst tempests might be listened to:
Then was the truth received into my heart 425
That under heaviest sorrow earth can bring,
Griefs bitterest of ourselves or of our kind,
If from the affliction somewhere do not grow
Honour which could not else have been — a faith,
An elevation, and a sanctity — 430
If new strength be not given, or old restored,
The blame is ours, not Nature’s. When a taunt
Was taken up by scoffers in their pride,
Saying, ‘Behold the harvest which we reap
From popular government and equality’, 435
I saw that it was neither these nor aught
Of wild belief engrafted on their names
By false philosophy, that caused the woe,
But that it was a reservoir of guilt
And ignorance, filled up from age to age, 440
That could no longer hold its loathsome charge,
But burst and spread in deluge through the land.
And as the desert hath green spots, the sea
Small islands in the midst of stormy waves,
So that disastrous period did not want 445
Such sprinklings of all human excellence
As were a joy to hear of. Yet — nor less
For those bright spots, those fair examples given
Of fortitude, and energy, and love,
And human nature faithful to itself 450
Under worst trials — was I impelled to think
Of the glad time when first I traversed France,
A youthful pilgrim; above all remembered
That day when through an arch that spanned the street,
A rainbow made of garish ornaments 455
(Triumphal pomp for Liberty confirmed)
We walked, a pair
of weary travellers,
Along the town of Arras — place from which
Issued that Robespierre, who afterwards
Wielded the sceptre of the atheist crew. 460
When the calamity spread far and wide,
And this same city, which had even appeared
To outrun the rest in exultation, groaned
Under the vengeance of her cruel son,
As Lear reproached the winds, I could almost 465
Have quarrelled with that blameless spectacle
For being yet an image in my mind
To mock me under such a strange reverse.
O friend, few happier moments have been mine
Through my whole life than that when first I heard 470
That this foul tribe of Moloch was o’erthrown,
And their chief regent levelled with the dust.
The day was one which haply may deserve
A separate chronicle. Having gone abroad
From a small village where I tarried then, 475
To the same far-secluded privacy
I was returning. Over the smooth sands
Of Leven’s ample aestuary lay
My journey, and beneath a genial sun,
With distant prospect among gleams of sky 480
And clouds, and intermingled mountain-tops,
In one inseparable glory clad —
Creatures of one ethereal substance, met
In consistory, like a diadem
Or crown of burning seraphs, as they sit 485
In the empyrean. Underneath this show
Lay, as I knew, the nest of pastoral vales
Among whose happy fields I had grown up
From childhood. On the fulgent spectacle,
Which neither changed, nor stirred, nor passed away, 490
I gazed, and with a fancy more alive
On this account — that I had chanced to find
That morning, ranging through the churchyard graves
Of Cartmell’s rural town, the place in which
An honored teacher of my youth was laid. 495
While we were schoolboys he had died among us,
And was born hither, as I knew, to rest
With his own family. A plain stone, inscribed
With name, date, office, pointed out the spot,
To which a slip of verses was subjoined — 500
By his desire, as afterwards I learned —
A fragment from the Elegy of Gray.
A week, or little less, before his death
He had said to me, ‘My head will soon lie low’;
And when I saw the turf that covered him, 505
After the lapse of full eight years, those words,
With sound of voice, and countenance of the man,
Came back upon me, so that some few tears
Fell from me in my own despite. And now,
Thus travelling smoothly o’er the level sands, 510
I thought with pleasure of the verses graven
Upon his tombstone, saying to myself,
‘He loved the poets, and if now alive
Would have loved me, as one not destitute
Of promise, nor belying the kind hope 515
Which he had formed when I at his command
Began to spin, at first, my toilsome songs.’
Without me and within as I advanced
All that I saw, or felt, or communed with,
Was gentleness and peace. Upon a small 520
And rocky island near, a fragment stood —
Itself like a sea rock — of what had been
A Romish chapel, where in ancient times
Masses were said at the hour which suited those
Who crossed the sands with ebb of morning tide. 525
Not far from this still ruin all the plain
Was spotted with a variegated crowd
Of coaches, wains, and travellers, horse and foot,
Wading, beneath the conduct of their guide,
In loose procession through the shallow stream 530
Of inland water; the great sea meanwhile
Was at safe distance, far retired. I paused,
Unwilling to proceed, the scene appeared
So gay and cheerful — when a traveller
Chancing to pass, I carelessly inquired 535
If any news were stirring, he replied
In the familiar language of the day
That, Robespierre was dead. Nor was a doubt,
On further question, left within my mind
But that the tidings were substantial truth — 540
That he and his supporters all were fallen.
Great was my glee of spirit, great my joy
In vengeance, and eternal justice, thus
Made manifest. ‘Come now, ye golden times’,
Said I, forth-breathing on those open sands 545
A hymn of triumph, ‘as the morning comes
Out of the bosom of the night, come ye.
Thus far our trust is verified: behold,
They who with clumsy desperation brought
Rivers of blood, and preached that nothing else 550
Could cleanse the Augean stable, by the might
Of their own helper have been swept away.
Their madness is declared and visible;
Elsewhere will safety now be sought, and earth
March firmly towards righteousness and peace.’ 555
Then schemes I framed more calmly, when and how
The madding factions might be tranquillized,
And — though through hardships manifold and long —
The mighty renovation would proceed.
Thus, interrupted by uneasy bursts 560
Of exultation, I pursued my way
Along that very shore which I had skimmed
In former times, when, spurring from the Vale
Of Nightshade, and St. Mary’s mouldering fane,
And the stone abbot, after circuit made 565
In wantonness of heart, a joyous crew
Of schoolboys, hastening to their distant home,
Along the margin of the moonlight sea,
We beat with thundering hoofs the level sand.
From this time forth in France, as is well known,1 570
Authority put on a milder face,
Yet every thing was wanting that might give
Courage to those who looked for good by light
Of rational experience — good I mean
At hand, and in the spirit of past aims. 575
The same belief I nevertheless retained:
The language of the Senate, and the acts
And public measures of the Government,
Though both of heartless omen, had not power
1Chapter Eleventh begins here in 1850 Version.
To daunt me. In the people was my trust, 580
And in the virtues which mine eyes had seen,
And to the ultimate repose of things
I looked with unabated confidence.
I knew that wound external could not take
Life from the young Republic, that new foes 585
Would only follow in the path of shame
Their brethren, and her triumphs be in the end
Great, universal, irresistible.
This faith, which was an object in my mind
Of passionate intuition, had effect 590
Not small in dazzling me; for thus, through zeal,
Such victory I confounded in my thoughts
With one far higher and more difficult:
Triumphs of unambitious peace at home,
And noiseless fortitude. Beholding still 595
Resistance strong as heretofore, I thought
That what was in degree the same was likewise
The same in quality, that as the worse
Of the two spirits then at strife remained
Untired, the better surely would preserve 600
The heart that first had rouzed him — never dreamt
That transmigration could be undergone,
A fall of being suffered, and of hope,
By creature that appeared to have received
Entire conviction what a great ascent 605
Had been accomplished, what high faculties
It had been called to. Youth maintains, I knew,
In all conditions of society
Communion more direct and intimate
With Nature, and the inner strength she has — 610
And hence, ofttimes, no less with reason too —
Than age, or manhood even. To Nature then,
Power had reverted: habit, custom, law,
Had left an interregnum’s open space
For her to stir about in, uncontrolled. 615
The warmest judgments, and the most untaught,
Found in events which every day brought forth
Enough to sanction them — and far, far more
To shake the authority of canons drawn
From ordinary practice. I could see 620
How Babel-like the employment was of those
Who, by the recent deluge stupefied,
With their whole souls went culling from the day
Its petty promises to build a tower
For their own safety — laughed at gravest heads, 625
Who, watching in their hate of France for signs
Of her disasters, if the stream of rumour
Brought with it one green branch, conceited thence
That not a single tree was left alive
In all her forests. How could I believe 630
That wisdom could in any shape come near
Men clinging to delusions so insane?
And thus, experience proving that no few
Of my opinions had been just, I took
Like credit to myself where less was due, 635
And thought that other notions were as sound —
Yea, could not but be right — because I saw
That foolish men opposed them.
To a strain
More animated I might here give way, 640
And tell, since juvenile errors are my theme,
What in those days through Britain was performed
To turn all judgements out of their right course;
But this is passion over near ourselves,
Reality too close and too intense, 645
And mingled up with something, in my mind,
Of scorn and condemnation personal
That would profane the sanctity of verse.
Our shepherds (this say merely) at that time
Thirsted to make the guardian crook of law 650
A tool of murder. They who ruled the state,
Though with such awful proof before their eyes
That he who would sow death, reaps death, or worse,
And can reap nothing better, childlike longed
To imitate — not wise enough to avoid. 655
Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth Page 106
