And, reascending the bare common, saw
A naked pool that lay beneath the hills, 305
The beacon on the summit, and more near,
A girl who bore a pitcher on her head
And seemed with difficult steps to force her way
Against the blowing wind. It was, in truth,
An ordinary sight, but I should need 310
Colours and words that are unknown to man
To paint the visionary dreariness
Which, while I looked all round for my lost guide,
Did at that time invest the naked pool,
The beacon on the lonely eminence, 315
The woman, and her garments vexed and tossed
By the strong wind. When, in bless`ed season,
With those two dear ones — to my heart so dear —
When, in the bless`ed time of early love,
Long afterwards I roamed about 320
In daily presence of this very scene,
Upon the naked pool and dreary crags,
And on the melancholy beacon, fell
The spirit of pleasure and youth’s golden gleam —
And think ye not with radiance more divine 325
From these remembrances, and from the power
They left behind? So feeling comes in aid
Of feeling, and diversity of strength
Attends us, if but once we have been strong.
Oh mystery of man, from what a depth 330
Proceed thy honours! I am lost, but see
In simple childhood something of the base
On which thy greatness stands — but this I feel,
That from thyself it is that thou must give,
Else never canst receive. The days gone by 335
Come back upon me from the dawn almost
Of life; the hiding-places of my power
Seem open, I approach, and then they close;
I see by glimpses now, when age comes on
May scarcely see at all; and I would give 340
While yet we may, as far as words can give,
A substance and a life to what I feel:
I would enshrine the spirit of the past
For future restoration. Yet another
Of these to me affecting incidents, 345
With which we will conclude.
One Christmas-time,
The day before the holidays began,
Feverish, and tired, and restless, I went forth
Into the fields, impatient for the sight 350
Of those two horses which should bear us home,
My brothers and myself. There was a crag,
An eminence, which from the meeting-point
Of two highways ascending overlooked
At least a long half-mile of those two roads, 355
By each of which the expected steeds might come —
The choice uncertain. Thither I repaired
Up to the highest summit. ‘Twas a day
Stormy, and rough, and wild, and on the grass
I sate half sheltered by a naked wall. 360
Upon my right hand was a single sheep,
A whistling hawthorn on my left, and there,
With those companions at my side, I watched,
Straining my eyes intensely as the mist
Gave intermitting prospect of the wood 365
And plain beneath. Ere I to school returned
That dreary time, ere I had been ten days
A dweller in my father’s house, he died,
And I and my two brothers, orphans then,
Followed his body to the grave. The event, 370
With all the sorrow which it brought, appeared
A chastisement; and when I called to mind
That day so lately past, when from the crag
I looked in such anxiety of hope,
With trite reflections of morality, 375
Yet in the deepest passion, I bowed low
To God who thus corrected my desires.
And afterwards the wind and sleety rain,
And all the business of the elements,
The single sheep, and the one blasted tree, 380
And the bleak music of that old stone wall,
The noise of wood and water, and the mist
Which on the line of each of those two roads
Advanced in such indisputable shapes —
All these were spectacles and sounds to which 385
I often would repair, and thence would drink
As at a fountain. And I do not doubt
That in this later time, when storm and rain
Beat on my roof at midnight, or by day
When I am in the woods, unknown to me 390
The workings of my spirit thence are brought.
Thou wilt not languish here, O friend, for whom
I travel in these dim uncertain ways —
Thou wilt assist me, as a pilgrim gone
In quest of highest truth. Behold me then 395
Once more in Nature’s presence, thus restored,
Or otherwise, and strengthened once again
(With memory left of what had been escaped)
To habits of devoutest sympathy.
BOOK TWELFTH.
SAME SUBJECT (CONTINUED)
FROM Nature doth emotion come, and moods 3
Of calmness equally are Nature’s gift:
This is her glory — these two attributes
Are sister horns that constitute her strength;
This twofold influence is the sun and shower 5
Of all her bounties, both in origin
And end alike benignant. Hence it is
That genius, which exists by interchange
Of peace and excitation, finds in her
His best and purest friend — from her receives 10
That energy by which he seeks the truth,
Is rouzed, aspires, grasps, struggles, wishes, craves
From her that happy stillness of the mind
Which fits him to receive it when unsought.
Such benefit may souls of humblest frame 15
Partake of, each in their degree; ‘tis mine
To speak of what myself have known and felt —
Sweet task, for words find easy way, inspired
By gratitude and confidence in truth.
Long time in search of knowledge desperate, 20
I was benighted heart and mind, but now
On all sides day began to reappear,
And it was proved indeed that not in vain
I had been taught to reverence a power
3Book Thirteenth begins here in 1850 version.
That is the very quality and shape 25
And image of right reason, that matures
Her processes by steady laws, gives birth
To no impatient or fallacious hopes,
No heat of passion or excessive zeal,
No vain conceits, provokes to no quick turns 30
Of self-applauding intellect, but lifts
The being into magnanimity,
Holds up before the mind, intoxicate
With present objects and the busy dance
Of things that pass away, a temperate shew 35
Of objects that endure — and by this course
Disposes her, when over-fondly set
On leaving her incumbrances behind,
To seek in man, and in the frame of life
Social and individual, what there is 40
Desirable, affecting, good or fair,
Of kindred permanence, the gifts divine
And universal, the pervading grace
That hath been, is, and shall be. Above all
Did Nature bring again this wiser mood, 45
More deeply reestablished in my soul,
Which, seeing little worthy or sublime
In what we blazon with the pompous names
Of power and action, early tutored me
To look with
feelings of fraternal love 50
Upon those unassuming things that hold
A silent station in this beauteous world.
Thus moderated, thus composed, I found
Once more in man an object of delight,
Of pure imagination, and of love; 55
And, as the horizon of my mind enlarged,
Again I took the intellectual eye
For my instructor, studious more to see
Great truths, than touch and handle little ones.
Knowledge was given accordingly: my trust 60
Was firmer in the feelings which had stood
The test of such a trial, clearer far
My sense of what was excellent and right,
The promise of the present time retired
Into its true proportion; sanguine schemes, 65
Ambitious virtues, pleased me less; I sought
For good in the familiar face of life,
And built thereon my hopes of good to come.
With settling judgements now of what would last,
And what would disappear; prepared to find 70
Ambition, folly, madness, in the men
Who thrust themselves upon this passive world
As rulers of the world — to see in these
Even when the public welfare is their aim
Plans without thought, or bottomed on false thought 75
And false philosophy; having brought to test
Of solid life and true result the books
Of modern statists, and thereby perceived
The utter hollowness of what we name
The wealth of nations, where alone that wealth 80
Is lodged, and how encreased; and having gained
A more judicious knowledge of what makes
The dignity of individual man —
Of man, no composition of the thought,
Abstraction, shadow, image, but the man 85
Of whom we read, the man whom we behold
With our own eyes — I could not but inquire,
Not with less interest than heretofore,
But greater, though in spirit more subdued,
Why is this glorious creature to be found 90
One only in ten thousand? What one is,
Why may not many be? What bars are thrown
By Nature in the way of such a hope?
Our animal wants and the necessities
Which they impose, are these the obstacles? — 95
If not, then others vanish into air.
Such meditations bred an anxious wish
To ascertain how much of real worth,
And genuine knowledge, and true power of mind,
Did at this day exist in those who lived 100
By bodily labour, labour far exceeding
Their due proportion, under all the weight
Of that injustice which upon ourselves
By composition of society
Ourselves entail. To frame such estimate 105
I chiefly looked (what need to look beyond?)
Among the natural abodes of men,
Fields with their rural works — recalled to mind
My earliest notices, with these compared
The observations of my later youth 110
Continued downwards to that very day.
For time had never been in which the throes
And mighty hopes of nations, and the stir
And tumult of the world, to me could yield —
How far soe’er transported and possessed — 115
Full measure of content, but still I craved
An intermixture of distinct regards
And truths of individual sympathy
Nearer ourselves. Such often might be gleaned
From that great city — else it must have been 120
A heart-depressing wilderness indeed,
Full soon to me a wearisome abode —
But much was wanting; therefore did I turn
To you, ye pathways and ye lonely roads,
Sought you enriched with every thing I prized, 125
With human kindness and with Nature’s joy.
Oh, next to one dear state of bliss, vouchsafed
Alas to few in this untoward world,
The bliss of walking daily in life’s prime
Through field or forest with the maid we love 130
While yet our hearts are young, while yet we breathe
Nothing but happiness, living in some place,
Deep vale, or anywhere the home of both,
From which it would be misery to stir —
Oh, next to such enjoyment of our youth, 135
In my esteem next to such dear delight,
Was that of wandering on from day to day
Where I could meditate in peace, and find
The knowledge which I love, and teach the sound
Of poet’s music to strange fields and groves, 140
Converse with men, where if we meet a face
We almost meet a friend, on naked moors
With long, long ways before, by cottage bench,
Or well-spring where the weary traveller rests.
I love a public road: few sights there are 145
That please me more — such object hath had power
O’er my imagination since the dawn
Of childhood, when its disappearing line
Seen daily afar off, on one bare steep
Beyond the limits which my feet had trod, 150
Was like a guide into eternity,
At least to things unknown and without bound.
Even something of the grandeur which invests
The mariner who sails the roaring sea
Through storm and darkness, early in my mind 155
Surrounded too the wanderers of the earth —
Grandeur as much, and loveliness far more.
Awed have I been by strolling bedlamites;
From many other uncouth vagrants, passed
In fear, have walked with quicker step — but why 160
Take note of this? When I began to inquire,
To watch and question those I met, and held
Familiar talk with them, the lonely roads
Were schools to me in which I daily read
With most delight the passions of mankind, 165
There saw into the depth of human souls —
Souls that appear to have no depth at all
To vulgar eyes. And now, convinced at heart
How little that to which alone we give
The name of education hath to do 170
With real feeling and just sense, how vain
A correspondence with the talking world
Proves to the most — and called to make good search
If man’s estate, by doom of Nature yoked
With toil, is therefore yoked with ignorance, 175
If virtue be indeed so hard to rear,
And intellectual strength so rare a boon —
I prized such walks still more; for there I found
Hope to my hope, and to my pleasure peace
And steadiness, and healing and repose 180
To every angry passion. There I heard,
From mouths of lowly men and of obscure,
A tale of honour — sounds in unison
With loftiest promises of good and fair.
There are who think that strong affections, love 185
Known by whatever name, is falsely deemed
A gift (to use a term which they would use)
Of vulgar Nature — that its growth requires
Retirement, leisure, language purified
By manners thoughtful and elaborate — 190
That whoso feels such passion in excess
Must live within the very light and air
Of elegances that are made by man.
True it is, where oppression worse than death
Salutes the being at his birth, where grace 195
<
br /> Of culture hath been utterly unknown,
And labour in excess and poverty
From day to day pre-occupy the ground
Of the affections, and to Nature’s self
Oppose a deeper nature — there indeed 200
Love cannot be; nor does it easily thrive
In cities, where the human heart is sick,
And the eye feeds it not, and cannot feed:
Thus far, no further, is that inference good.
Yes, in those wanderings deeply did I feel 205
How we mislead each other, above all
How books mislead us — looking for their fame
To judgements of the wealthy few, who see
By artificial lights — how they debase
The many for the pleasure of those few, 210
Effeminately level down the truth
To certain general notions for the sake
Of being understood at once, or else
Through want of better knowledge in the men
Who frame them, flattering thus our self-conceit 215
With pictures that ambitiously set forth
The differences, the outside marks by which
Society has parted man from man,
Neglectful of the universal heart.
Here calling up to mind what then I saw 220
A youthful traveller, and see daily now
Before me in my rural neighbourhood —
Here might I pause, and bend in reverence
To Nature, and the power of human minds,
To men as they are men within themselves. 225
How oft high service is performed within
When all the external man is rude in shew,
Not like a temple rich with pomp and gold,
But a mere mountain-chapel such as shields
Its simple worshippers from sun and shower. 230
‘Of these,’ said I, ‘shall be my song. Of these,
If future years mature me for the task,
Will I record the praises, making verse
Deal boldly with substantial things — in truth
And sanctity of passion speak of these, 235
That justice may be done, obeisance paid
Where it is due. Thus haply shall I teach,
Inspire, through unadulterated ears
Pour rapture, tenderness, and hope, my theme
No other than the very heart of man 240
As found among the best of those who live
Not unexalted by religious faith,
Not uninformed by books (good books, though few),
In Nature’s presence — thence may I select
Sorrow that is not sorrow but delight, 245
And miserable love that is not pain
To hear of, for the glory that redounds
Therefrom to human-kind and what we are.
Be mine to follow with no timid step
Where knowledge leads me: it shall be my pride 250
Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth Page 109
