Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  Great show of joy the housewife made, and truly

  Was glad to find her conscience set at ease;

  And not less glad, for sake of her good name,

  That the poor Sufferer had escaped with life. 890

  But, though he seemed at first to have received

  No harm, and uncomplaining as before

  Went through his usual tasks, a silent change

  Soon showed itself: he lingered three short weeks;

  And from the cottage hath been borne to-day.

  So ends my dolorous tale, and glad I am

  That it is ended.” At these words he turned—

  And, with blithe air of open fellowship,

  Brought from the cupboard wine and stouter cheer,

  Like one who would be merry. Seeing this, 900

  My grey-haired Friend said courteously—”Nay, nay,

  You have regaled us as a hermit ought;

  Now let us forth into the sun!”—Our Host

  Rose, though reluctantly, and forth we went.

  THE EXCURSION: BOOK THIRD

  DESPONDENCY

  A HUMMING BEE—a little tinkling rill—

  A pair of falcons wheeling on the wing,

  In clamorous agitation, round the crest

  Of a tall rock, their airy citadel—

  By each and all of these the pensive ear

  Was greeted, in the silence that ensued,

  When through the cottage-threshold we had passed,

  And, deep within that lonesome valley, stood

  Once more beneath the concave of a blue

  And cloudless sky.—Anon exclaimed our Host— 10

  Triumphantly dispersing with the taunt

  The shade of discontent which on his brow

  Had gathered,—”Ye have left my cell,—but see

  How Nature hems you in with friendly arms!

  And by her help ye are my prisoners still.

  But which way shall I lead you?—how contrive,

  In spot so parsimoniously endowed,

  That the brief hours, which yet remain, may reap

  Some recompense of knowledge or delight?”

  So saying, round he looked, as if perplexed; 20

  And, to remove those doubts, my grey-haired Friend

  Said—”Shall we take this pathway for our guide?—

  Upward it winds, as if, in summer heats,

  Its line had first been fashioned by the flock

  Seeking a place of refuge at the root

  Of yon black Yew-tree, whose protruded boughs

  Darken the silver bosom of the crag,

  From which she draws her meagre sustenance.

  There in commodious shelter may we rest.

  Or let us trace this streamlet to its source; 30

  Feebly it tinkles with an earthy sound,

  And a few steps may bring us to the spot

  Where, haply, crowned with flowerets and green herbs,

  The mountain infant to the sun comes forth,

  Like human life from darkness.”—A quick turn

  Through a strait passage of encumbered ground,

  Proved that such hope was vain:—for now we stood

  Shut out from prospect of the open vale,

  And saw the water, that composed this rill,

  Descending, disembodied, and diffused 40

  O’er the smooth surface of an ample crag,

  Lofty, and steep, and naked as a tower.

  All further progress here was barred;—And who,

  Thought I, if master of a vacant hour,

  Here would not linger, willingly detained?

  Whether to such wild objects he were led

  When copious rains have magnified the stream

  Into a loud and white-robed waterfall,

  Or introduced at this more quiet time.

  Upon a semicirque of turf-clad ground, 50

  The hidden nook discovered to our view

  A mass of rock, resembling, as it lay

  Right at the foot of that moist precipice,

  A stranded ship, with keel upturned, that rests

  Fearless of winds and waves. Three several stones

  Stood near, of smaller size, and not unlike

  To monumental pillars: and, from these

  Some little space disjoined a pair were seen,

  That with united shoulders bore aloft

  A fragment, like an altar, flat and smooth: 60

  Barren the tablet, yet thereon appeared

  A tall and shining holly, that had found

  A hospitable chink, and stood upright,

  As if inserted by some human hand

  In mockery, to wither in the sun,

  Or lay its beauty flat before a breeze,

  The first that entered. But no breeze did now

  Find entrance;—high or low appeared no trace

  Of motion, save the water that descended,

  Diffused adown that barrier of steep rock, 70

  And softly creeping, like a breath of air,

  Such as is sometimes seen, and hardly seen,

  To brush the still breast of a crystal lake.

  “Behold a cabinet for sages built,

  Which kings might envy!”—Praise to this effect

  Broke from the happy old Man’s reverend lip;

  Who to the Solitary turned, and said,

  “In sooth, with love’s familiar privilege,

  You have decried the wealth which is your own.

  Among these rocks and stones, methinks, I see 80

  More than the heedless impress that belongs

  To lonely nature’s casual work: they bear

  A semblance strange of power intelligent,

  And of design not wholly worn away.

  Boldest of plants that ever faced the wind,

  How gracefully that slender shrub looks forth

  From its fantastic birth-place! And I own,

  Some shadowy intimations haunt me here,

  That in these shows a chronicle survives

  Of purposes akin to those of Man, 90

  But wrought with mightier arm than now prevails.

  —Voiceless the stream descends into the gulf

  With timid lapse;—and lo! while in this strait

  I stand—the chasm of sky above my head

  Is heaven’s profoundest azure; no domain

  For fickle, short-lived clouds to occupy,

  Or to pass through; but rather an abyss

  In which the everlasting stars abide;

  And whose soft gloom, and boundless depth, might tempt

  The curious eye to look for them by day. 100

  —Hail Contemplation! from the stately towers,

  Reared by the industrious hand of human art

  To lift thee high above the misty air

  And turbulence of murmuring cities vast;

  From academic groves, that have for thee

  Been planted, hither come and find a lodge

  To which thou mayst resort for holier peace,—

  From whose calm centre thou, through height or depth,

  Mayst penetrate, wherever truth shall lead;

  Measuring through all degrees, until the scale 110

  Of time and conscious nature disappear,

  Lost in unsearchable eternity!”

  A pause ensued; and with minuter care

  We scanned the various features of the scene:

  And soon the Tenant of that lonely vale

  With courteous voice thus spake—

  “I should have grieved

  Hereafter, not escaping self-reproach,

  If from my poor retirement ye had gone

  Leaving this nook unvisited: but, in sooth,

  Your unexpected presence had so roused 120

  My spirits, that they were bent on enterprise;

  And, like an ardent hunter, I forgot,

  Or, shall I say?—disdained, the game that lurks

  At my own door. The shap
es before our eyes

  And their arrangement, doubtless must be deemed

  The sport of Nature, aided by blind Chance

  Rudely to mock the works of toiling Man.

  And hence, this upright shaft of unhewn stone,

  From Fancy, willing to set off her stores

  By sounding titles, hath acquired the name 130

  Of Pompey’s pillar; that I gravely style

  My Theban obelisk; and, there, behold

  A Druid cromlech!—thus I entertain

  The antiquarian humour, and am pleased

  To skim along the surfaces of things,

  Beguiling harmlessly the listless hours.

  But if the spirit be oppressed by sense

  Of instability, revolt, decay,

  And change, and emptiness, these freaks of Nature

  And her blind helper Chance, do ‘then’ suffice 140

  To quicken, and to aggravate—to feed

  Pity and scorn, and melancholy pride,

  Not less than that huge Pile (from some abyss

  Of mortal power unquestionably sprung)

  Whose hoary diadem of pendent rocks

  Confines the shrill-voiced whirlwind, round and round

  Eddying within its vast circumference,

  On Sarum’s naked plain—than pyramid

  Of Egypt, unsubverted, undissolved—

  Or Syria’s marble ruins towering high 150

  Above the sandy desert, in the light

  Of sun or moon.—Forgive me, if I say

  That an appearance which hath raised your minds

  To an exalted pitch (the self-same cause

  Different effect producing) is for me

  Fraught rather with depression than delight,

  Though shame it were, could I not look around,

  By the reflection of your pleasure, pleased.

  Yet happier in my judgment, even than you

  With your bright transports fairly may be deemed, 160

  The wandering Herbalist,—who, clear alike

  From vain, and, that worse evil, vexing thoughts,

  Casts, if he ever chance to enter here,

  Upon these uncouth Forms a slight regard

  Of transitory interest, and peeps round

  For some rare floweret of the hills, or plant

  Of craggy fountain; what he hopes for wins,

  Or learns, at least, that ‘tis not to be won:

  Then, keen and eager, as a fine-nosed hound,

  By soul-engrossing instinct driven along 170

  Through wood or open field, the harmless Man

  Departs, intent upon his onward quest!—

  Nor is that Fellow-wanderer, so deem I,

  Less to be envied, (you may trace him oft

  By scars which his activity has left

  Beside our roads and pathways, though, thank Heaven!

  This covert nook reports not of his hand)

  He who with pocket-hammer smites the edge

  Of luckless rock or prominent stone, disguised

  In weather-stains or crusted o’er by Nature 180

  With her first growths, detaching by the stroke

  A chip or splinter—to resolve his doubts;

  And, with that ready answer satisfied,

  The substance classes by some barbarous name,

  And hurries on; or from the fragments picks

  His specimen, if but haply interveined

  With sparkling mineral, or should crystal cube

  Lurk in its cells—and thinks himself enriched,

  Wealthier, and doubtless wiser, than before!

  Intrusted safely each to his pursuit, 190

  Earnest alike, let both from hill to hill

  Range; if it please them, speed from clime to clime;

  The mind is full—and free from pain their pastime.”

  “Then,” said I, interposing, “One is near,

  Who cannot but possess in your esteem

  Place worthier still of envy. May I name,

  Without offence, that fair-faced cottage-boy?

  Dame Nature’s pupil of the lowest form,

  Youngest apprentice in the school of art!

  Him, as we entered from the open glen, 200

  You might have noticed, busily engaged,

  Heart, soul, and hands,—in mending the defects

  Left in the fabric of a leaky dam

  Raised for enabling this penurious stream

  To turn a slender mill (that new-made plaything)

  For his delight—the happiest he of all!”

  “Far happiest,” answered the desponding Man,

  “If such as now he is, he might remain!

  Ah! what avails imagination high

  Or question deep? what profits all that earth, 210

  Or heaven’s blue vault, is suffered to put forth

  Of impulse or allurement, for the Soul

  To quit the beaten track of life, and soar

  Far as she finds a yielding element

  In past or future; far as she can go

  Through time or space—if neither in the one,

  Nor in the other region, nor in aught

  That Fancy, dreaming o’er the map of things,

  Hath placed beyond these penetrable bounds,

  Words of assurance can be heard; if nowhere 220

  A habitation, for consummate good,

  Or for progressive virtue, by the search

  Can be attained,—a better sanctuary

  From doubt and sorrow, than the senseless grave?”

  “Is this,” the grey-haired Wanderer mildly said,

  “The voice, which we so lately overheard,

  To that same child, addressing tenderly

  The consolations of a hopeful mind?

  ‘His body is at rest, his soul in heaven.’

  These were your words; and, verily, methinks 230

  Wisdom is oft-times nearer when we stoop

  Than when we soar.”—

  The Other, not displeased,

  Promptly replied—”My notion is the same.

  And I, without reluctance, could decline

  All act of inquisition whence we rise,

  And what, when breath hath ceased, we may become.

  Here are we, in a bright and breathing world.

  Our origin, what matters it? In lack

  Of worthier explanation, say at once

  With the American (a thought which suits 240

  The place where now we stand) that certain men

  Leapt out together from a rocky cave;

  And these were the first parents of mankind:

  Or, if a different image be recalled

  By the warm sunshine, and the jocund voice

  Of insects chirping out their careless lives

  On these soft beds of thyme-besprinkled turf,

  Choose, with the gay Athenian, a conceit

  As sound—blithe race! whose mantles were bedecked

  With golden grasshoppers, in sign that they 250

  Had sprung, like those bright creatures, from the soil

  Whereon their endless generations dwelt.

  But stop!—these theoretic fancies jar

  On serious minds: then, as the Hindoos draw

  Their holy Ganges from a skiey fount,

  Even so deduce the stream of human life

  From seats of power divine; and hope, or trust,

  That our existence winds her stately course

  Beneath the sun, like Ganges, to make part

  Of a living ocean; or, to sink engulfed, 260

  Like Niger, in impenetrable sands

  And utter darkness: thought which may be faced,

  Though comfortless!—

  Not of myself I speak;

  Such acquiescence neither doth imply,

  In me, a meekly-bending spirit soothed

  By natural piety; nor a lofty mind,

  By philosophic discipline prepared

  For calm su
bjection to acknowledged law;

  Pleased to have been, contented not to be.

  Such palms I boast not;—no! to me, who find 270

  Reviewing my past way, much to condemn,

  Little to praise, and nothing to regret,

  (Save some remembrances of dream-like joys

  That scarcely seem to have belonged to me)

  If I must take my choice between the pair

  That rule alternately the weary hours,

  Night is than day more acceptable; sleep

  Doth, in my estimate of good, appear

  A better state than waking; death than sleep:

  Feelingly sweet is stillness after storm, 280

  Though under covert of the wormy ground!

  Yet be it said, in justice to myself,

  That in more genial times, when I was free

  To explore the destiny of human kind

  (Not as an intellectual game pursued

  With curious subtilty, from wish to cheat

  Irksome sensations; but by love of truth

  Urged on, or haply by intense delight

  In feeding thought, wherever thought could feed)

  I did not rank with those (too dull or nice, 290

  For to my judgment such they then appeared,

  Or too aspiring, thankless at the best)

  Who, in this frame of human life, perceive

  An object whereunto their souls are tied

  In discontented wedlock; nor did e’er,

  From me, those dark impervious shades, that hang

  Upon the region whither we are bound,

  Exclude a power to enjoy the vital beams

  Of present sunshine.—Deities that float

  On wings, angelic Spirits! I could muse 300

  O’er what from eldest time we have been told

  Of your bright forms and glorious faculties,

  And with the imagination rest content,

  Not wishing more; repining not to tread

  The little sinuous path of earthly care,

  By flowers embellished, and by springs refreshed.

  —’Blow winds of autumn!—let your chilling breath

  ‘Take the live herbage from the mead, and strip

  ‘The shady forest of its green attire,—

  ‘And let the bursting clouds to fury rouse 310

  ‘The gentle brooks!—Your desolating sway,

  ‘Sheds,’ I exclaimed, ‘no sadness upon me,

  ‘And no disorder in your rage I find.

  ‘What dignity, what beauty, in this change

  ‘From mild to angry, and from sad to gay,

  ‘Alternate and revolving! How benign,

  ‘How rich in animation and delight,

  ‘How bountiful these elements—compared

  ‘With aught, as more desirable and fair,

  ‘Devised by fancy for the golden age; 320

  ‘Or the perpetual warbling that prevails