Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  Unnoticed, thus continuing—

  “From yon crag,

  Down whose steep sides we dropped into the vale,

  We heard the hymn they sang—a solemn sound

  Heard anywhere; but in a place like this

  ‘Tis more than human! Many precious rites 550

  And customs of our rural ancestry

  Are gone, or stealing from us; this, I hope,

  Will last for ever. Oft on my way have I

  Stood still, though but a casual passenger,

  So much I felt the awfulness of life,

  In that one moment when the corse is lifted

  In silence, with a hush of decency;

  Then from the threshold moves with song of peace,

  And confidential yearnings, towards its home,

  Its final home on earth. What traveller—who— 560

  (How far soe’er a stranger) does not own

  The bond of brotherhood, when he sees them go,

  A mute procession on the houseless road;

  Or passing by some single tenement

  Or clustered dwellings, where again they raise

  The monitory voice? But most of all

  It touches, it confirms, and elevates,

  Then, when the body, soon to be consigned

  Ashes to ashes, dust bequeathed to dust,

  Is raised from the church-aisle, and forward borne 570

  Upon the shoulders of the next in love,

  The nearest in affection or in blood;

  Yea, by the very mourners who had knelt

  Beside the coffin, resting on its lid

  In silent grief their unuplifted heads,

  And heard meanwhile the Psalmist’s mournful plaint,

  And that most awful scripture which declares

  We shall not sleep, but we shall all be changed!

  —Have I not seen—ye likewise may have seen—

  Son, husband, brothers—brothers side by side, 580

  And son and father also side by side,

  Rise from that posture:—and in concert move,

  On the green turf following the vested Priest,

  Four dear supporters of one senseless weight,

  From which they do not shrink, and under which

  They faint not, but advance towards the open grave

  Step after step—together, with their firm

  Unhidden faces: he that suffers most,

  He outwardly, and inwardly perhaps,

  The most serene, with most undaunted eye!— 590

  Oh! blest are they who live and die like these,

  Loved with such love, and with such sorrow mourned!”

  “That poor Man taken hence to-day,” replied

  The Solitary, with a faint sarcastic smile

  Which did not please me, “must be deemed, I fear,

  Of the unblest; for he will surely sink

  Into his mother earth without such pomp

  Of grief, depart without occasion given

  By him for such array of fortitude.

  Full seventy winters hath he lived, and mark! 600

  This simple Child will mourn his one short hour,

  And I shall miss him: scanty tribute! yet,

  This wanting, he would leave the sight of men,

  If love were his sole claim upon their care,

  Like a ripe date which in the desert falls

  Without a hand to gather it.”

  At this

  I interposed, though loth to speak, and said,

  “Can it be thus among so small a band

  As ye must needs be here? in such a place

  I would not willingly, methinks, lose sight 610

  Of a departing cloud.”—”‘Twas not for love”—

  Answered the sick Man with a careless voice—

  “That I came hither; neither have I found

  Among associates who have power of speech,

  Nor in such other converse as is here,

  Temptation so prevailing as to change

  That mood, or undermine my first resolve.”

  Then, speaking in like careless sort, he said

  To my benign Companion,—”Pity ‘tis

  That fortune did not guide you to this house 620

  A few days earlier; then would you have seen

  What stuff the Dwellers in a solitude,

  That seems by Nature hollowed out to be

  The seat and bosom of pure innocence,

  Are made of; an ungracious matter this!

  Which, for truth’s sake, yet in remembrance too

  Of past discussions with this zealous friend

  And advocate of humble life, I now

  Will force upon his notice; undeterred

  By the example of his own pure course, 630

  And that respect and deference which a soul

  May fairly claim, by niggard age enriched

  In what she most doth value, love of God

  And his frail creature Man;—but ye shall hear.

  I talk—and ye are standing in the sun

  Without refreshment!”

  Quickly had he spoken,

  And, with light steps still quicker than his words,

  Led toward the Cottage. Homely was the spot;

  And, to my feeling, ere we reached the door,

  Had almost a forbidding nakedness; 640

  Less fair, I grant, even painfully less fair,

  Than it appeared when from the beetling rock

  We had looked down upon it. All within,

  As left by the departed company,

  Was silent; save the solitary clock

  That on mine ear ticked with a mournful sound.—

  Following our Guide we clomb the cottage-stairs

  And reached a small apartment dark and low,

  Which was no sooner entered than our Host

  Said gaily, “This is my domain, my cell, 650

  My hermitage, my cabin, what you will—

  I love it better than a snail his house.

  But now ye shall be feasted with our best.”

  So, with more ardour than an unripe girl

  Left one day mistress of her mother’s stores,

  He went about his hospitable task.

  My eyes were busy, and my thoughts no less,

  And pleased I looked upon my grey-haired Friend,

  As if to thank him; he returned that look,

  Cheered, plainly, and yet serious. What a wreck 660

  Had we about us! scattered was the floor,

  And, in like sort, chair, window-seat, and shelf,

  With books, maps, fossils, withered plants and flowers,

  And tufts of mountain moss. Mechanic tools

  Lay intermixed with scraps of paper, some

  Scribbled with verse: a broken angling-rod

  And shattered telescope, together linked

  By cobwebs, stood within a dusty nook;

  And instruments of music, some half-made,

  Some in disgrace, hung dangling from the walls. 670

  But speedily the promise was fulfilled;

  A feast before us, and a courteous Host

  Inviting us in glee to sit and eat.

  A napkin, white as foam of that rough brook

  By which it had been bleached, o’erspread the board;

  And was itself half-covered with a store

  Of dainties,—oaten bread, curd, cheese, and cream;

  And cakes of butter curiously embossed,

  Butter that had imbibed from meadow-flowers

  A golden hue, delicate as their own 680

  Faintly reflected in a lingering stream.

  Nor lacked, for more delight on that warm day,

  Our table, small parade of garden fruits,

  And whortle-berries from the mountain side.

  The Child, who long ere this had stilled his sobs,

  Was now a help to his late comforter,

  And moved, a willing Page, as he was bid,
<
br />   Ministering to our need.

  In genial mood,

  While at our pastoral banquet thus we sate

  Fronting the window of that little cell, 690

  I could not, ever and anon, forbear

  To glance an upward look on two huge Peaks

  That from some other vale peered into this.

  “Those lusty twins,” exclaimed our host, “if here

  It were your lot to dwell, would soon become

  Your prized companions.—Many are the notes

  Which, in his tuneful course, the wind draws forth

  From rocks, woods, caverns, heaths, and dashing shores;

  And well those lofty brethren bear their part

  In the wild concert—chiefly when the storm 700

  Rides high; then all the upper air they fill

  With roaring sound, that ceases not to flow,

  Like smoke, along the level of the blast,

  In mighty current; theirs, too, is the song

  Of stream and headlong flood that seldom fails;

  And, in the grim and breathless hour of noon,

  Methinks that I have heard them echo back

  The thunder’s greeting. Nor have nature’s laws

  Left them ungifted with a power to yield

  Music of finer tone; a harmony, 710

  So do I call it, though it be the hand

  Of silence, though there be no voice;—the clouds,

  The mist, the shadows, light of golden suns,

  Motions of moonlight, all come thither—touch,

  And have an answer—thither come, and shape

  A language not unwelcome to sick hearts

  And idle spirits:—there the sun himself,

  At the calm close of summer’s longest day,

  Rests his substantial orb;—between those heights

  And on the top of either pinnacle, 720

  More keenly than elsewhere in night’s blue vault,

  Sparkle the stars, as of their station proud.

  Thoughts are not busier in the mind of man

  Than the mute agents stirring there:—alone

  Here do I sit and watch—”

  A fall of voice,

  Regretted like the nightingale’s last note,

  Had scarcely closed this high-wrought strain of rapture

  Ere with inviting smile the Wanderer said:

  “Now for the tale with which you threatened us!”

  “In truth the threat escaped me unawares: 730

  Should the tale tire you, let this challenge stand

  For my excuse. Dissevered from mankind,

  As to your eyes and thoughts we must have seemed

  When ye looked down upon us from the crag,

  Islanders ‘mid a stormy mountain sea,

  We are not so;—perpetually we touch

  Upon the vulgar ordinances of the world;

  And he, whom this our cottage hath to-day

  Relinquished, lived dependent for his bread

  Upon the laws of public charity. 740

  The Housewife, tempted by such slender gains

  As might from that occasion be distilled,

  Opened, as she before had done for me,

  Her doors to admit this homeless Pensioner;

  The portion gave of coarse but wholesome fare

  Which appetite required—a blind dull nook,

  Such as she had, the ‘kennel’ of his rest!

  This, in itself not ill, would yet have been

  Ill borne in earlier life; but his was now

  The still contentedness of seventy years. 750

  Calm did he sit under the wide-spread tree

  Of his old age: and yet less calm and meek,

  Winningly meek or venerably calm,

  Than slow and torpid; paying in this wise

  A penalty, if penalty it were,

  For spendthrift feats, excesses of his prime.

  I loved the old Man, for I pitied him!

  A task it was, I own, to hold discourse

  With one so slow in gathering up his thoughts,

  But he was a cheap pleasure to my eyes; 760

  Mild, inoffensive, ready in ‘his’ way,

  And helpful to his utmost power: and there

  Our housewife knew full well what she possessed!

  He was her vassal of all labour, tilled

  Her garden, from the pasture fetched her kine;

  And, one among the orderly array

  Of hay-makers, beneath the burning sun

  Maintained his place; or heedfully pursued

  His course, on errands bound, to other vales,

  Leading sometimes an inexperienced child 770

  Too young for any profitable task.

  So moved he like a shadow that performed

  Substantial service. Mark me now, and learn

  For what reward!—The moon her monthly round

  Hath not completed since our dame, the queen

  Of this one cottage and this lonely dale,

  Into my little sanctuary rushed—

  Voice to a rueful treble humanized,

  And features in deplorable dismay.

  I treat the matter lightly, but, alas! 780

  It is most serious: persevering rain

  Had fallen in torrents; all the mountain tops

  Were hidden, and black vapours coursed their sides;

  This had I seen, and saw; but, till she spake,

  Was wholly ignorant that my ancient Friend—

  Who at her bidding, early and alone,

  Had clomb aloft to delve the moorland turf

  For winter fuel—to his noontide meal

  Returned not, and now, haply, on the heights

  Lay at the mercy of this raging storm. 790

  ‘Inhuman!’—said I ‘was an old Man’s life

  Not worth the trouble of a thought?—alas!

  This notice comes too late.’ With joy I saw

  Her husband enter—from a distant vale.

  We sallied forth together; found the tools

  Which the neglected veteran had dropped,

  But through all quarters looked for him in vain.

  We shouted—but no answer! Darkness fell

  Without remission of the blast or shower,

  And fears for our own safety drove us home. 800

  I, who weep little, did, I will confess,

  The moment I was seated here alone,

  Honour my little cell with some few tears

  Which anger and resentment could not dry.

  All night the storm endured; and, soon as help

  Had been collected from the neighbouring vale,

  With morning we renewed our quest: the wind

  Was fallen, the rain abated, but the hills

  Lay shrouded in impenetrable mist;

  And long and hopelessly we sought in vain: 810

  Till, chancing on that lofty ridge to pass

  A heap of ruin—almost without walls

  And wholly without roof (the bleached remains

  Of a small chapel, where, in ancient time,

  The peasants of these lonely valleys used

  To meet for worship on that central height)—

  We there espied the object of our search,

  Lying full three parts buried among tufts

  Of heath-plant, under and above him strewn,

  To baffle, as he might, the watery storm: 820

  And there we found him breathing peaceably,

  Snug as a child that hides itself in sport

  ‘Mid a green hay-cock in a sunny field.

  We spake—he made reply, but would not stir

  At our entreaty; less from want of power

  Than apprehension and bewildering thoughts.

  So was he lifted gently from the ground,

  And with their freight homeward the shepherds moved

  Through the dull mist, I following—when a step,

  A single step, that freed me from the
skirts 830

  Of the blind vapour, opened to my view

  Glory beyond all glory ever seen

  By waking sense or by the dreaming soul!

  The appearance, instantaneously disclosed,

  Was of a mighty city—boldly say

  A wilderness of building, sinking far

  And self-withdrawn into a boundless depth,

  Far sinking into splendour—without end!

  Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold,

  With alabaster domes, and silver spires, 840

  And blazing terrace upon terrace, high

  Uplifted; here, serene pavilions bright,

  In avenues disposed; there, towers begirt

  With battlements that on their restless fronts

  Bore stars—illumination of all gems!

  By earthly nature had the effect been wrought

  Upon the dark materials of the storm

  Now pacified; on them, and on the coves

  And mountain-steeps and summits, whereunto

  The vapours had receded, taking there 850

  Their station under a cerulean sky.

  Oh, ‘twas an unimaginable sight!

  Clouds, mists, streams, watery rocks and emerald turf,

  Clouds of all tincture, rocks and sapphire sky,

  Confused, commingled, mutually inflamed,

  Molten together, and composing thus,

  Each lost in each, that marvellous array

  Of temple, palace, citadel, and huge

  Fantastic pomp of structure without name,

  In fleecy folds voluminous, enwrapped. 860

  Right in the midst, where interspace appeared

  Of open court, an object like a throne

  Under a shining canopy of state

  Stood fixed; and fixed resemblances were seen

  To implements of ordinary use,

  But vast in size, in substance glorified;

  Such as by Hebrew Prophets were beheld

  In vision—forms uncouth of mightiest power

  For admiration and mysterious awe.

  This little Vale, a dwelling-place of Man, 870

  Lay low beneath my feet; ‘twas visible—

  I saw not, but I felt that it was there.

  That which I ‘saw’ was the revealed abode

  Of Spirits in beatitude: my heart

  Swelled in my breast—’I have been dead,’ I cried,

  ‘And now I live! Oh! wherefore ‘do’ I live?’

  And with that pang I prayed to be no more!—

  —But I forget our Charge, as utterly

  I then forgot him:—there I stood and gazed:

  The apparition faded not away, 880

  And I descended.

  Having reached the house,

  I found its rescued inmate safely lodged,

  And in serene possession of himself,

  Beside a fire whose genial warmth seemed met

  By a faint shining from the heart, a gleam,

  Of comfort, spread over his pallid face.