Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  On her—at once superior to my woes

  And partner of my loss.—O heavy change,

  Dimness o’er this clear luminary crept 670

  Insensibly;—the immortal and divine

  Yielded to mortal reflux; her pure glory,

  As from the pinnacle of worldly state

  Wretched ambition drops astounded, fell

  Into a gulf obscure of silent grief,

  And keen heart-anguish—of itself ashamed,

  Yet obstinately cherishing itself:

  And, so consumed, she melted from my arms;

  And left me, on this earth, disconsolate!

  What followed cannot be reviewed in thought; 680

  Much less, retraced in words. If she, of life

  Blameless, so intimate with love and joy

  And all the tender motions of the soul,

  Had been supplanted, could I hope to stand—

  Infirm, dependent, and now destitute?

  I called on dreams and visions, to disclose

  That which is veiled from waking thought; conjured

  Eternity, as men constrain a ghost

  To appear and answer; to the grave I spake

  Imploringly;—looked up, and asked the Heavens 690

  If Angels traversed their cerulean floors,

  If fixed or wandering star could tidings yield

  Of the departed spirit—what abode

  It occupies—what consciousness retains

  Of former loves and interests. Then my soul

  Turned inward,—to examine of what stuff

  Time’s fetters are composed; and life was put

  To inquisition, long and profitless!

  By pain of heart—now checked—and now impelled—

  The intellectual power, through words and things, 700

  Went sounding on, a dim and perilous way!

  And from those transports, and these toils abstruse,

  Some trace am I enabled to retain

  Of time, else lost;—existing unto me

  Only by records in myself not found.

  From that abstraction I was roused,—and how?

  Even as a thoughtful shepherd by a flash

  Of lightning startled in a gloomy cave

  Of these wild hills. For, lo! the dread Bastile,

  With all the chambers in its horrid towers, 710

  Fell to the ground:—by violence overthrown

  Of indignation; and with shouts that drowned

  The crash it made in falling! From the wreck

  A golden palace rose, or seemed to rise,

  The appointed seat of equitable law

  And mild paternal sway. The potent shock

  I felt: the transformation I perceived,

  As marvellously seized as in that moment

  When, from the blind mist issuing, I beheld

  Glory—beyond all glory ever seen, 720

  Confusion infinite of heaven and earth,

  Dazzling the soul. Meanwhile, prophetic harps

  In every grove were ringing, ‘War shall cease;

  ‘Did ye not hear that conquest is abjured?

  ‘Bring garlands, bring forth choicest flowers, to deck

  ‘The tree of Liberty.’—My heart rebounded;

  My melancholy voice the chorus joined;

  —’Be joyful all ye nations; in all lands,

  ‘Ye that are capable of joy be glad!

  ‘Henceforth, whate’er is wanting to yourselves 730

  ‘In others ye shall promptly find;—and all,

  ‘Enriched by mutual and reflected wealth,

  ‘Shall with one heart honour their common kind.’

  Thus was I reconverted to the world;

  Society became my glittering bride,

  And airy hopes my children.—From the depths

  Of natural passion, seemingly escaped,

  My soul diffused herself in wide embrace

  Of institutions, and the forms of things;

  As they exist, in mutable array, 740

  Upon life’s surface. What, though in my veins

  There flowed no Gallic blood, nor had I breathed

  The air of France, not less than Gallic zeal

  Kindled and burnt among the sapless twigs

  Of my exhausted heart. If busy men

  In sober conclave met, to weave a web

  Of amity, whose living threads should stretch

  Beyond the seas, and to the farthest pole,

  There did I sit, assisting. If, with noise

  And acclamation, crowds in open air 750

  Expressed the tumult of their minds, my voice

  There mingled, heard or not. The powers of song

  I left not uninvoked; and, in still groves,

  Where mild enthusiasts tuned a pensive lay

  Of thanks and expectation, in accord

  With their belief, I sang Saturnian rule

  Returned,—a progeny of golden years

  Permitted to descend, and bless mankind.

  —With promises the Hebrew Scriptures teem:

  I felt their invitation; and resumed 760

  A long-suspended office in the House

  Of public worship, where, the glowing phrase

  Of ancient inspiration serving me,

  I promised also,—with undaunted trust

  Foretold, and added prayer to prophecy;

  The admiration winning of the crowd;

  The help desiring of the pure devout.

  Scorn and contempt forbid me to proceed!

  But History, time’s slavish scribe, will tell

  How rapidly the zealots of the cause 770

  Disbanded—or in hostile ranks appeared;

  Some, tired of honest service; these, outdone,

  Disgusted therefore, or appalled, by aims

  Of fiercer zealots—so confusion reigned,

  And the more faithful were compelled to exclaim,

  As Brutus did to Virtue, ‘Liberty,

  ‘I worshipped thee, and find thee but a Shade!’

  Such recantation had for me no charm,

  Nor would I bend to it; who should have grieved

  At aught, however fair, that bore the mien 780

  Of a conclusion, or catastrophe.

  Why then conceal, that, when the simply good

  In timid selfishness withdrew, I sought

  Other support, not scrupulous whence it came;

  And, by what compromise it stood, not nice?

  Enough if notions seemed to be high-pitched,

  And qualities determined.—Among men

  So charactered did I maintain a strife

  Hopeless, and still more hopeless every hour;

  But, in the process, I began to feel 790

  That, if the emancipation of the world

  Were missed, I should at least secure my own,

  And be in part compensated. For rights,

  Widely—inveterately usurped upon,

  I spake with vehemence; and promptly seized

  All that Abstraction furnished for my needs

  Or purposes, nor scrupled to proclaim,

  And propagate, by liberty of life,

  Those new persuasions. Not that I rejoiced,

  Or even found pleasure, in such vagrant course, 800

  For its own sake; but farthest from the walk

  Which I had trod in happiness and peace,

  Was most inviting to a troubled mind;

  That, in a struggling and distempered world,

  Saw a seductive image of herself.

  Yet, mark the contradictions of which Man

  Is still the sport! Here Nature was my guide,

  The Nature of the dissolute; but thee,

  O fostering Nature! I rejected—smiled

  At others’ tears in pity; and in scorn 810

  At those, which thy soft influence sometimes drew

  From my unguarded heart.—The tranquil shores

  Of Britain circumscribed me;
else, perhaps

  I might have been entangled among deeds,

  Which, now, as infamous, I should abhor—

  Despise, as senseless: for my spirit relished

  Strangely the exasperation of that Land,

  Which turned an angry beak against the down

  Of her own breast; confounded into hope

  Of disencumbering thus her fretful wings. 820

  But all was quieted by iron bonds

  Of military sway. The shifting aims,

  The moral interests, the creative might,

  The varied functions and high attributes

  Of civil action, yielded to a power

  Formal, and odious, and contemptible.

  —In Britain, ruled a panic dread of change;

  The weak were praised, rewarded, and advanced;

  And, from the impulse of a just disdain,

  Once more did I retire into myself. 830

  There feeling no contentment, I resolved

  To fly, for safeguard, to some foreign shore,

  Remote from Europe; from her blasted hopes;

  Her fields of carnage, and polluted air.

  Fresh blew the wind, when o’er the Atlantic Main

  The ship went gliding with her thoughtless crew;

  And who among them but an Exile, freed

  From discontent, indifferent, pleased to sit

  Among the busily-employed, not more

  With obligation charged, with service taxed, 840

  Than the loose pendant—to the idle wind

  Upon the tall mast streaming. But, ye Powers

  Of soul and sense mysteriously allied,

  Oh, never let the Wretched, if a choice

  Be left him, trust the freight of his distress

  To a long voyage on the silent deep!

  For, like a plague, will memory break out;

  And, in the blank and solitude of things,

  Upon his spirit, with a fever’s strength,

  Will conscience prey.—Feebly must they have felt 850

  Who, in old time, attired with snakes and whips

  The vengeful Furies. ‘Beautiful’ regards

  Were turned on me—the face of her I loved;

  The Wife and Mother pitifully fixing

  Tender reproaches, insupportable!

  Where now that boasted liberty? No welcome

  From unknown objects I received; and those,

  Known and familiar, which the vaulted sky

  Did, in the placid clearness of the night,

  Disclose, had accusations to prefer 860

  Against my peace. Within the cabin stood

  That volume—as a compass for the soul—

  Revered among the nations. I implored

  Its guidance; but the infallible support

  Of faith was wanting. Tell me, why refused

  To One by storms annoyed and adverse winds;

  Perplexed with currents; of his weakness sick;

  Of vain endeavours tired; and by his own,

  And by his nature’s, ignorance, dismayed!

  Long-wished-for sight, the Western World appeared; 870

  And, when the ship was moored, I leaped ashore

  Indignantly—resolved to be a man,

  Who, having o’er the past no power, would live

  No longer in subjection to the past,

  With abject mind—from a tyrannic lord

  Inviting penance, fruitlessly endured:

  So, like a fugitive, whose feet have cleared

  Some boundary, which his followers may not cross

  In prosecution of their deadly chase,

  Respiring I looked round.—How bright the sun, 880

  The breeze how soft! Can anything produced

  In the old World compare, thought I, for power

  And majesty with this gigantic stream,

  Sprung from the desert? And behold a city

  Fresh, youthful, and aspiring! What are these

  To me, or I to them? As much at least

  As he desires that they should be, whom winds

  And waves have wafted to this distant shore,

  In the condition of a damaged seed,

  Whose fibres cannot, if they would, take root. 890

  Here may I roam at large;—my business is,

  Roaming at large, to observe, and not to feel,

  And, therefore, not to act—convinced that all

  Which bears the name of action, howsoe’er

  Beginning, ends in servitude—still painful,

  And mostly profitless. And, sooth to say,

  On nearer view, a motley spectacle

  Appeared, of high pretensions,—unreproved

  But by the obstreperous voice of higher still;

  Big passions strutting on a petty stage; 900

  Which a detached spectator may regard

  Not unamused.—But ridicule demands

  Quick change of objects; and, to laugh alone,

  At a composing distance from the haunts

  Of strife and folly, though it be a treat

  As choice as musing Leisure can bestow;

  Yet, in the very centre of the crowd,

  To keep the secret of a poignant scorn,

  Howe’er to airy Demons suitable,

  Of all unsocial courses, is least fit 910

  For the gross spirit of mankind,—the one

  That soonest fails to please, and quickliest turns

  Into vexation.

  Let us, then, I said,

  Leave this unknit Republic to the scourge

  Of her own passions; and to regions haste,

  Whose shades have never felt the encroaching axe,

  Or soil endured a transfer in the mart

  Of dire rapacity. There, Man abides,

  Primeval Nature’s child. A creature weak

  In combination, (wherefore else driven back 920

  So far, and of his old inheritance

  So easily deprived?) but, for that cause,

  More dignified, and stronger in himself;

  Whether to act, judge, suffer, or enjoy.

  True, the intelligence of social art

  Hath overpowered his forefathers, and soon

  Will sweep the remnant of his line away;

  But contemplations, worthier, nobler far

  Than her destructive energies, attend

  His independence, when along the side 930

  Of Mississippi, or that northern stream

  That spreads into successive seas, he walks;

  Pleased to perceive his own unshackled life,

  And his innate capacities of soul,

  There imaged: or when, having gained the top

  Of some commanding eminence, which yet

  Intruder ne’er beheld, he thence surveys

  Regions of wood and wide savannah, vast

  Expanse of unappropriated earth,

  With mind that sheds a light on what he sees; 940

  Free as the sun, and lonely as the sun,

  Pouring above his head its radiance down

  Upon a living and rejoicing world!

  So, westward, tow’rd the unviolated woods

  I bent my way; and, roaming far and wide,

  Failed not to greet the merry Mocking-bird;

  And, while the melancholy Muccawiss

  (The sportive bird’s companion in the grove)

  Repeated, o’er and o’er, his plaintive cry,

  I sympathised at leisure with the sound; 950

  But that pure archetype of human greatness,

  I found him not. There, in his stead, appeared

  A creature, squalid, vengeful, and impure;

  Remorseless, and submissive to no law

  But superstitious fear, and abject sloth.

  Enough is told! Here am I—ye have heard

  What evidence I seek, and vainly seek;

  What from my fellow-beings I require,

  And either they have not to give, or I

/>   Lack virtue to receive; what I myself, 960

  Too oft by wilful forfeiture, have lost

  Nor can regain. How languidly I look

  Upon this visible fabric of the world,

  May be divined—perhaps it hath been said:—

  But spare your pity, if there be in me

  Aught that deserves respect: for I exist,

  Within myself, not comfortless.—The tenor

  Which my life holds, he readily may conceive

  Whoe’er hath stood to watch a mountain brook

  In some still passage of its course, and seen, 970

  Within the depths of its capacious breast,

  Inverted trees, rocks, clouds, and azure sky;

  And, on its glassy surface, specks of foam,

  And conglobated bubbles undissolved,

  Numerous as stars; that, by their onward lapse,

  Betray to sight the motion of the stream,

  Else imperceptible. Meanwhile, is heard

  A softened roar, or murmur; and the sound

  Though soothing, and the little floating isles

  Though beautiful, are both by Nature charged 980

  With the same pensive office; and make known

  Through what perplexing labyrinths, abrupt

  Precipitations, and untoward straits,

  The earth-born wanderer hath passed; and quickly,

  That respite o’er, like traverses and toils

  Must he again encounter.—Such a stream

  Is human Life; and so the Spirit fares

  In the best quiet to her course allowed;

  And such is mine,—save only for a hope

  That my particular current soon will reach 990

  The unfathomable gulf, where all is still!”

  THE EXCURSION: BOOK FOURTH

  DESPONDENCY CORRECTED

  HERE closed the Tenant of that lonely vale

  His mournful narrative—commenced in pain,

  In pain commenced, and ended without peace:

  Yet tempered, not unfrequently, with strains

  Of native feeling, grateful to our minds;

  And yielding surely some relief to his,

  While we sate listening with compassion due.

  A pause of silence followed; then, with voice

  That did not falter though the heart was moved,

  The Wanderer said:—

  “One adequate support 10

  For the calamities of mortal life

  Exists—one only; an assured belief

  That the procession of our fate, howe’er

  Sad or disturbed, is ordered by a Being

  Of infinite benevolence and power;

  Whose everlasting purposes embrace

  All accidents, converting them to good.

  —The darts of anguish ‘fix’ not where the seat

  Of suffering hath been thoroughly fortified

  By acquiescence in the Will supreme 20

  For time and for eternity; by faith,