Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  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