For all divine enjoyment, with the soul
Which Nature gives to poets, now by thought
Matured, and in the summer of its strength.
Oh, wrap him in your shades, ye giant woods,
On Etna’s side, and thou, O flowery vale 1010
Of Enna, is there not some nook of thine
From the first playtime of the infant earth
Kept sacred to restorative delight?
Child of the mountains, among shepherds reared,
Even from my earliest schoolday time, I loved 1015
To dream of Sicily; and now a sweet
And gladsome promise wafted from that land
Comes o’er my heart. There’s not a single name
Of note belonging to that honored isle,
Philosopher or bard, Empedocles, 1020
Or Archimedes — deep and tranquil soul —
That is not like a comfort to my grief.
And, O Theocritus, so far have some
Prevailed among the powers of heaven and earth
By force of graces which were theirs, that they 1025
Have had, as thou reportest, miracles
Wrought for them in old time: yea, not unmoved,
When thinking on my own belov`ed friend,
I hear thee tell how bees with honey fed
Divine Comates, by his tyrant lord 1030
Within a chest imprisoned impiously —
How with their honey from the fields they came
And fed him there, alive, from month to month,
Because the goatherd, bless`ed man, had lips
Wet with the Muse’s nectar. 1035
Thus I soothe
The pensive moments by this calm fireside,
And find a thousand fancied images
That chear the thoughts of those I love, and mine.
Our prayers have been accepted: thou wilt stand 1040
Not as an exile but a visitant
On Etna’s top; by pastoral Arethuse —
Or if that fountain be indeed no more,
Then near some other spring which by the name
Thou gratulatest, willingly deceived — 1045
Shalt linger as a gladsome votary,
And not a captive pining for his home.
BOOK ELEVENTH.
IMAGINATION, HOW IMPAIRED AND RESTORED
LONG time hath man’s unhappiness and guilt 2
Detained us: with what dismal sights beset
For the outward view, and inwardly oppressed
With sorrow, disappointment, vexing thoughts,
Confusion of the judgement, zeal decayed — 5
And lastly, utter loss of hope itself
And things to hope for. Not with these began
Our song, and not with these our song must end.
Ye motions of delight, that through the fields
Stir gently, breezes and soft airs that breathe 10
The breath of paradise, and find your way
To the recesses of the soul; ye brooks
Muttering along the stones, a busy noise
By day, a quiet one in silent night;
And you, ye groves, whose ministry it is 15
To interpose the covert of your shades,
Even as a sleep, betwixt the heart of man
And the uneasy world—’twixt man himself,
Not seldom, and his own unquiet heart —
Oh, that I had a music and a voice 20
Harmonious as your own, that I might tell
What ye have done for me. The morning shines,
Nor heedeth man’s perverseness; spring returns —
I saw the spring return, when I was dead
To deeper hope, yet had I joy for her 25
2Book Twelfth begins here in 1850 version.
And welcomed her benevolence, rejoiced
In common with the children of her love,
Plants, insects, beasts in field, and birds in bower.
So neither were complacency, nor peace,
Nor tender yearnings, wanting for my good 30
Through those distracted times: in Nature still
Glorying, I found a counterpoise to her,
Which, when the spirit of evil was at height,
Maintained for me a secret happiness.
Her I resorted to, and loved so much 35
I seemed to love as much as heretofore —
And yet this passion, fervent as it was,
Had suffered change; how could there fail to be
Some change, if merely hence, that years of life
Were going on, and with them loss or gain 40
Inevitable, sure alternative?
This history, my friend, hath chiefly told
Of intellectual power from stage to stage
Advancing hand in hand with love and joy,
And of imagination teaching truth 45
Until that natural graciousness of mind
Gave way to over-pressure of the times
And their disastrous issues. What availed,
When spells forbade the voyager to land,
The fragrance which did ever and anon 50
Give notice of the shore, from arbours breathed
Of bless`ed sentiment and fearless love?
What did such sweet remembrances avail —
Perfidious then, as seemed — what served they then?
My business was upon the barren seas, 55
My errand was to sail to other coasts.
Shall I avow that I had hope to see
(I mean that future times would surely see)
The man to come parted as by a gulph
From him who had been? — that I could no more 60
Trust the elevation which had made me one
With the great family that here and there
Is scattered through the abyss of ages past,
Sage, patriot, lover, hero; for it seemed
That their best virtues were not free from taint 65
Of something false and weak, which could not stand
The open eye of reason. Then I said,
‘Go to the poets, they will speak to thee
More perfectly of purer creatures — yet
If reason be nobility in man, 70
Can aught be more ignoble than the man
Whom they describe, would fasten if they may
Upon our love by sympathies of truth?’
Thus strangely did I war against myself;
A bigot to a new idolatry, 75
Did like a monk who hath forsworn the world
Zealously labour to cut off my heart
From all the sources of her former strength;
And, as by simple waving of a wand,
The wizard instantaneously dissolves 80
Palace or grove, even so did I unsoul
As readily by syllogistic words
(Some charm of logic, ever within reach)
Those mysteries of passion which have made,
And shall continue evermore to make — 85
In spite of all that reason hath performed,
And shall perform, to exalt and to refine —
One brotherhood of all the human race,
Through all the habitations of past years,
And those to come: and hence an emptiness 90
Fell on the historian’s page, and even on that
Of poets, pregnant with more absolute truth.
The works of both withered in my esteem,
Their sentence was, I thought, pronounced — their rights
Seemed mortal, and their empire passed away. 95
What then remained in such eclipse, what light
To guide or chear? The laws of things which lie
Beyond the reach of human will or power,
The life of Nature, by the God of love
Inspired — celestial presence ever pure — 100
These left, the soul of youth must needs be rich
What
ever else be lost; and these were mine,
Not a deaf echo merely of the thought
(Bewildered recollections, solitary),
But living sounds. Yet in despite of this — 105
This feeling, which howe’er impaired or damped,
Yet having been once born can never die —
‘Tis true that earth with all her appanage
Of elements and organs, storm and sunshine,
With its pure forms and colours, pomp of clouds, 110
Rivers, and mountains, objects among which
It might be thought that no dislike or blame,
No sense of weakness or infirmity
Or aught amiss, could possibly have come,
Yea, even the visible universe was scanned 115
With something of a kindred spirit, fell
Beneath the domination of a taste
Less elevated, which did in my mind
With its more noble influence interfere,
Its animation and its deeper sway. 120
There comes (if need be now to speak of this
After such long detail of our mistakes),
There comes a time when reason — not the grand
And simple reason, but that humbler power
Which carries on its no inglorious work 125
By logic and minute analysis —
Is of all idols that which pleases most
The growing mind. A trifler would he be
Who on the obvious benefits should dwell
That rise out of this process; but to speak 130
Of all the narrow estimates of things
Which hence originate were a worthy theme
For philosophic verse. Suffice it here
To hint that danger cannot but attend
Upon a function rather proud to be 135
The enemy of falsehood, than the friend
Of truth — to sit in judgement than to feel.
Oh soul of Nature, excellent and fair,
That didst rejoice with me, with whom I too
Rejoiced, through early youth, before the winds 140
And powerful waters, and in lights and shades
That marched and countermarched about the hills
In glorious apparition, now all eye
And now all ear, but ever with the heart
Employed, and the majestic intellect! 145
O soul of Nature, that dost overflow
With passion and with life, what feeble men
Walk on this earth, how feeble have I been
When thou wert in thy strength! Nor this through stroke
Of human suffering, such as justifies 150
Remissness and inaptitude of mind,
But through presumption, even in pleasure pleased
Unworthily, disliking here, and there
Liking, by rules of mimic art transferred
To things above all art. But more — for this, 155
Although a strong infection of the age,
Was never much my habit — giving way
To a comparison of scene with scene,
Bent overmuch on superficial things,
Pampering myself with meagre novelties 160
Of colour and proportion, to the moods
Of nature, and the spirit of the place,
Less sensible. Nor only did the love
Of sitting thus in judgment interrupt
My deeper feelings, but another cause, 165
More subtle and less easily explained,
That almost seems inherent in the creature,
Sensuous and intellectual as he is,
A twofold frame of body and of mind:
The state to which I now allude was one 170
In which the eye was master of the heart,
When that which is in every stage of life
The most despotic of our senses gained
Such strength in me as often held my mind
In absolute dominion. Gladly here, 175
Entering upon abstruser argument,
Would I endeavour to unfold the means
Which Nature studiously employs to thwart
This tyranny, summons all the senses each
To counteract the other and themselves, 180
And makes them all, and the objects with which all
Are conversant, subservient in their turn
To the great ends of liberty and power.
But this is matter for another song;
Here only let me add that my delights, 185
Such as they were, were sought insatiably.
Though ‘twas a transport of the outward sense,
Not of the mind — vivid but not profound —
Yet was I often greedy in the chace,
And roamed from hill to hill, from rock to rock, 190
Still craving combinations of new forms,
New pleasure, wider empire for the sight,
Proud of its own endowments, and rejoiced
To lay the inner faculties asleep.
Amid the turns and counter-turns, the strife 195
And various trials of our complex being
As we grow up, such thraldom of that sense
Seems hard to shun; and yet I knew a maid,
Who, young as I was then, conversed with things
In higher style. From appetites like these 200
She, gentle visitant, as well she might,
Was wholly free. Far less did critic rules
Or barren intermeddling subtleties
Perplex her mind, but, wise as women are
When genial circumstance hath favored them, 205
She welcomed what was given, and craved no more.
Whatever scene was present to her eyes,
That was the best, to that she was attuned
Through her humility and lowliness,
And through a perfect happiness of soul 210
Whose variegated feelings were in this
Sisters, that they were each some new delight.
For she was Nature’s inmate: her the birds
And every flower she met with, could they but
Have known her, would have loved. Methought such charm 215
Of sweetness did her presence breathe around
That all the trees, and all the silent hills,
And every thing she looked on, should have had
An intimation how she bore herself
Towards them and to all creatures. God delights 220
In such a being, for her common thoughts
Are piety, her life is blessedness.
Even like this maid, before I was called forth
From the retirement of my native hills 225
I loved whate’er I saw, nor lightly loved,
But fervently — did never dream of aught
More grand, more fair, more exquisitely framed,
Than those few nooks to which my happy feet
Were limited. I had not at that time 230
Lived long enough, nor in the least survived
The first diviner influence of this world
As it appears to unaccustomed eyes.
I worshipped then among the depths of things
As my soul bade me; could I then take part 235
In aught but admiration, or be pleased
With any thing but humbleness and love?
I felt, and nothing else; I did not judge,
I never thought of judging, with the gift
Of all this glory filled and satisfied — 240
And afterwards, when through the gorgeous Alps
Roaming, I carried with me the same heart.
In truth, this degradation — howsoe’er
Induced, effect in whatsoe’er degree
Of custom that prepares such wantonness 245
As makes the greatest things give way to least,
Or any other cause that hath been named,
Or, lastly, aggravated by the times,
Which with their passi
onate sounds might often make
The milder minstrelsies of rural scenes 250
Inaudible — was transient. I had felt
Too forcibly, too early in my life,
Visitings of imaginative power
For this to last: I shook the habit off
Entirely and for ever, and again 255
In Nature’s presence stood, as I stand now,
A sensitive, and a creative soul.
There are in our existence spots of time,
Which with distinct preeminence retain
A renovating virtue, whence, depressed 260
By false opinion and contentious thought,
Or aught of heavier or more deadly weight
In trivial occupations and the round
Of ordinary intercourse, our minds
Are nourished and invisibly repaired — 265
A virtue, by which pleasure is enhanced,
That penetrates, enables us to mount
When high, more high, and lifts us up when fallen.
This efficacious spirit chiefly lurks
Among those passages of life in which 270
We have had deepest feeling that the mind
Is lord and master, and that outward sense
Is but the obedient servant of her will.
Such moments, worthy of all gratitude,
Are scattered everywhere, taking their date 275
From our first childhood — in our childhood even
Perhaps are most conspicuous. Life with me,
As far as memory can look back, is full
Of this beneficent influence.
At a time 280
When scarcely (I was then not six years old)
My hand could hold a bridle, with proud hopes
I mounted, and we rode towards the hills:
We were a pair of horsemen — honest James
Was with me, my encourager and guide. 285
We had not travelled long ere some mischance
Disjoined me from my comrade, and, through fear
Dismounting, down the rough and stony moor
I led my horse, and stumbling on, at length
Came to a bottom where in former times 290
A murderer had been hung in iron chains.
The gibbet-mast was mouldered down, the bones
And iron case was gone, but on the turf
Hard by, soon after that fell deed was wrought,
Some unknown hand had carved the murderer’s name. 295
The monumental writing was engraven
In times long past, and still from year to year
By superstition of the neighbourhood
The grass is cleared away; and to this hour
The letters are all fresh and visible. 300
Faltering, and ignorant where I was, at length
I chanced to espy those characters inscribed
On the green sod: forthwith I left the spot,
Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth Page 108
