Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  Drooped and pined till life was spent,

  Now before the gates of Stolberg

  My Deliverer would present

  For a crowning recompence, the precious grace

  Of her who in my heart still holds her ancient place.

  XX

  Make it known that my Companion

  Is of royal eastern blood,

  Thirsting after all perfection,

  Innocent, and meek, and good,

  Though with misbelievers bred; but that dark night

  Will holy Church disperse by means of gospel-light.”

  XXI

  Swiftly went that grey-haired Servant,

  Soon returned a trusty Page

  Charged with greetings, benedictions,

  Thanks and praises, each a gage

  For a sunny thought to cheer the Stranger’s way,

  Her virtuous scruples to remove, her fears allay.

  XXII

  And how blest the Reunited,

  While beneath their castle-walls,

  Runs a deafening noise of welcome!—

  Blest, though every tear that falls

  Doth in its silence of past sorrow tell,

  And makes a meeting seem most like a dear farewell.

  XXIII

  Through a haze of human nature,

  Glorified by heavenly light,

  Looked the beautiful Deliverer

  On that overpowering sight,

  While across her virgin cheek pure blushes strayed,

  For every tender sacrifice her heart had made.

  XXIV

  On the ground the weeping Countess

  Knelt, and kissed the Stranger’s hand;

  Act of soul-devoted homage,

  Pledge of an eternal band:

  Nor did aught of future days that kiss belie,

  Which, with a generous shout, the crowd did ratify.

  XXV

  Constant to the fair Armenian,

  Gentle pleasures round her moved,

  Like a tutelary spirit

  Reverenced, like a sister, loved,

  Christian meekness smoothed for all the path of life,

  Who, loving most, should wiseliest love, their only strife.

  XXVI

  Mute memento of that union

  In a Saxon church survives,

  Where a cross-legged Knight lies sculptured

  As between two wedded wives—

  Figures with armorial signs of race and birth,

  And the vain rank the pilgrims bore while yet on earth.

  1830.

  THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE

  PART I

  ENOUGH of rose-bud lips, and eyes

  Like harebells bathed in dew,

  Of cheek that with carnation vies,

  And veins of violet hue;

  Earth wants not beauty that may scorn

  A likening to frail flowers;

  Yea, to the stars, if they were born

  For seasons and for hours.

  Through Moscow’s gates, with gold unbarred,

  Stepped One at dead of night, 10

  Whom such high beauty could not guard

  From meditated blight;

  By stealth she passed, and fled as fast

  As doth the hunted fawn,

  Nor stopped, till in the dappling east

  Appeared unwelcome dawn.

  Seven days she lurked in brake and field,

  Seven nights her course renewed,

  Sustained by what her scrip might yield,

  Or berries of the wood; 20

  At length, in darkness travelling on,

  When lowly doors were shut,

  The haven of her hope she won,

  Her Foster-mother’s hut.

  “To put your love to dangerous proof

  I come,” said she, “from far;

  For I have left my Father’s roof,

  In terror of the Czar.”

  No answer did the Matron give,

  No second look she cast, 30

  But hung upon the Fugitive,

  Embracing and embraced.

  She led the Lady to a seat

  Beside the glimmering fire,

  Bathed duteously her wayworn feet,

  Prevented each desire:—

  The cricket chirped, the house-dog dozed,

  And on that simple bed,

  Where she in childhood had reposed,

  Now rests her weary head. 40

  When she, whose couch had been the sod,

  Whose curtain, pine or thorn,

  Had breathed a sigh of thanks to God,

  Who comforts the forlorn;

  While over her the Matron bent

  Sleep sealed her eyes, and stole

  Feeling from limbs with travel spent,

  And trouble from the soul.

  Refreshed, the Wanderer rose at morn,

  And soon again was dight 50

  In those unworthy vestments worn

  Through long and perilous flight;

  And “O beloved Nurse,” she said,

  “My thanks with silent tears

  Have unto Heaven and You been paid:

  Now listen to my fears!

  “Have you forgot”—and here she smiled—

  “The babbling flatteries

  You lavished on me when a child

  Disporting round your knees? 60

  I was your lambkin, and your bird,

  Your star, your gem, your flower;

  Light words, that were more lightly heard

  In many a cloudless hour!

  The blossom you so fondly praised

  Is come to bitter fruit;

  A mighty One upon me gazed;

  I spurned his lawless suit,

  And must be hidden from his wrath:

  You, Foster-father dear, 70

  Will guide me in my forward path;

  I may not tarry here!

  I cannot bring to utter woe

  Your proved fidelity.”—

  “Dear Child, sweet Mistress, say not so!

  For you we both would die.”

  “Nay, nay, I come with semblance feigned

  And cheek embrowned by art;

  Yet, being inwardly unstained,

  With courage will depart.”80

  “But whither would you, could you, flee?

  A poor Man’s counsel take;

  The Holy Virgin gives to me

  A thought for your dear sake;

  Rest, shielded by our Lady’s grace,

  And soon shall you be led

  Forth to a safe abiding-place,

  Where never foot doth tread.”

  PART II

  THE dwelling of this faithful pair

  In a straggling village stood, 90

  For One who breathed unquiet air

  A dangerous neighbourhood;

  But wide around lay forest ground

  With thickets rough and blind;

  And pine-trees made a heavy shade

  Impervious to the wind.

  And there, sequestered from the sight,

  Was spread a treacherous swamp,

  On which the noonday sun shed light

  As from a lonely lamp; 100

  And midway in the unsafe morass,

  A single Island rose

  Of firm dry ground, with healthful grass

  Adorned, and shady boughs.

  The Woodman knew, for such the craft

  This Russian vassal plied,

  That never fowler’s gun, nor shaft

  Of archer, there was tried;

  A sanctuary seemed the spot

  From all intrusion free; 110

  And there he planned an artful Cot

  For perfect secrecy.

  With earnest pains unchecked by dread

  Of Power’s far-stretching hand,

  The bold good Man his labour sped

  At nature’s pure command;

  Heart-soothed, and busy as a wren,

  While, in a holl
ow nook,

  She moulds her sight-eluding den

  Above a murmuring brook. 120

  His task accomplished to his mind,

  The twain ere break of day

  Creep forth, and through the forest wind

  Their solitary way;

  Few words they speak, nor dare to slack

  Their pace from mile to mile,

  Till they have crossed the quaking marsh

  And reached the lonely Isle.

  The sun above the pine-trees showed

  A bright and cheerful face; 130

  And Ina looked for her abode,

  The promised hiding-place;

  She sought in vain, the Woodman smiled;

  No threshold could be seen,

  Nor roof, nor window;—all seemed wild

  As it had ever been.

  Advancing, you might guess an hour,

  The front with such nice care

  Is masked, “if house it be or bower,”

  But in they entered are; 140

  As shaggy as were wall and roof

  With branches intertwined,

  So smooth was all within, air-proof,

  And delicately lined:

  And hearth was there, and maple dish,

  And cups in seemly rows,

  And couch—all ready to a wish

  For nurture or repose;

  And Heaven doth to her virtue grant

  That here she may abide 150

  In solitude, with every want

  By cautious love supplied.

  No queen, before a shouting crowd,

  Led on in bridal state,

  E’er struggled with a heart so proud,

  Entering her palace gate:

  Rejoiced to bid the world farewell,

  No saintly anchoress

  E’er took possession of her cell

  With deeper thankfulness. 160

  “Father of all, upon thy care

  And mercy am I thrown;

  Be thou my safeguard!”—such her prayer

  When she was left alone,

  Kneeling amid the wilderness

  When joy had passed away,

  And smiles, fond efforts of distress

  To hide what they betray!

  The prayer is heard, the Saints have seen,

  Diffused through form and face 170

  Resolves devotedly serene;

  That monumental grace

  Of Faith, which doth all passions tame

  That Reason ‘should’ control;

  And shows in the untrembling frame

  A statue of the soul.

  PART III

  ‘TIS sung in ancient minstrelsy

  That Phoebus wont to wear

  The leaves of any pleasant tree

  Around his golden hair; 180

  Till Daphne, desperate with pursuit

  Of his imperious love,

  At her own prayer transformed, took root,

  A laurel in the grove.

  Then did the Penitent adorn

  His brow with laurel green;

  And ‘mid his bright locks never shorn

  No meaner leaf was seen;

  And poets sage, through every age,

  About their temples wound 190

  The bay; and conquerors thanked the Gods,

  With laurel chaplets crowned.

  Into the mists of fabling Time

  So far runs back the praise

  Of Beauty, that disdains to climb

  Along forbidden ways;

  That scorns temptation; power defies

  Where mutual love is not;

  And to the tomb for rescue flies

  When life would be a blot. 200

  To this fair Votaress, a fate

  More mild doth Heaven ordain

  Upon her Island desolate;

  And words, not breathed in vain,

  Might tell what intercourse she found,

  Her silence to endear;

  What birds she tamed, what flowers the ground

  Sent forth her peace to cheer.

  To one mute Presence, above all,

  Her soothed affections clung, 210

  A picture on the cabin wall

  By Russian usage hung—

  The Mother-maid, whose countenance bright

  With love abridged the day;

  And, communed with by taper light,

  Chased spectral fears away.

  And oft, as either Guardian came,

  The joy in that retreat

  Might any common friendship shame,

  So high their hearts would beat; 220

  And to the lone Recluse, whate’er

  They brought, each visiting

  Was like the crowding of the year

  With a new burst of spring.

  But, when she of her Parents thought,

  The pang was hard to bear;

  And, if with all things not enwrought,

  That trouble still is near.

  Before her flight she had not dared

  Their constancy to prove, 230

  Too much the heroic Daughter feared

  The weakness of their love.

  Dark is the past to them, and dark

  The future still must be,

  Till pitying Saints conduct her bark

  Into a safer sea—

  Or gentle Nature close her eyes,

  And set her Spirit free

  From the altar of this sacrifice,

  In vestal purity. 240

  Yet, when above the forest-glooms

  The white swans southward passed,

  High as the pitch of their swift plumes

  Her fancy rode the blast;

  And bore her toward the fields of France

  Her Father’s native land,

  To mingle in the rustic dance,

  The happiest of the band!

  Of those beloved fields she oft

  Had heard her Father tell 250

  In phrase that now with echoes soft

  Haunted her lonely cell;

  She saw the hereditary bowers,

  She heard the ancestral stream;

  The Kremlin and its haughty towers

  Forgotten like a dream!

  PART IV

  THE ever-changing Moon had traced

  Twelve times her monthly round,

  When through the unfrequented Waste

  Was heard a startling sound; 260

  A shout thrice sent from one who chased

  At speed a wounded deer,

  Bounding through branches interlaced,

  And where the wood was clear.

  The fainting creature took the marsh,

  And toward the Island fled,

  While plovers screamed with tumult harsh

  Above his antlered head;

  This, Ina saw; and, pale with fear,

  Shrunk to her citadel; 270

  The desperate deer rushed on, and near

  The tangled covert fell.

  Across the marsh, the game in view,

  The Hunter followed fast,

  Nor paused, till o’er the stag he blew

  A death-proclaiming blast;

  Then, resting on her upright mind,

  Came forth the Maid—”In me

  Behold,” she said, “a stricken Hind

  Pursued by destiny! 280

  From your deportment, Sir! I deem

  That you have worn a sword,

  And will not hold in light esteem

  A suffering woman’s word;

  There is my covert, there perchance

  I might have lain concealed,

  My fortunes hid, my countenance

  Not even to you revealed.

  Tears might be shed, and I might pray,

  Crouching and terrified, 290

  That what has been unveiled to day,

  You would in mystery hide;

  But I will not defile with dust

  The knee that bends to adore

  The God in heaven;—a
ttend, be just;

  This ask I, and no more!

  I speak not of the winter’s cold,

  For summer’s heat exchanged,

  While I have lodged in this rough hold,

  From social life estranged; 300

  Nor yet of trouble and alarms:

  High Heaven is my defence;

  And every season has soft arms

  For injured Innocence.

  From Moscow to the Wilderness

  It was my choice to come,

  Lest virtue should be harbourless,

  And honour want a home;

  And happy were I, if the Czar

  Retain his lawless will, 310

  To end life here like this poor deer,

  Or a lamb on a green hill.”

  “Are you the Maid,” the Stranger cried,

  “From Gallic parents sprung,

  Whose vanishing was rumoured wide,

  Sad theme for every tongue;

  Who foiled an Emperor’s eager quest?

  You, Lady, forced to wear

  These rude habiliments, and rest

  Your head in this dark lair!”320

  But wonder, pity, soon were quelled;

  And in her face and mien

  The soul’s pure brightness he beheld

  Without a veil between:

  He loved, he hoped,—a holy flame

  Kindled ‘mid rapturous tears;

  The passion of a moment came

  As on the wings of years.

  “Such bounty is no gift of chance,”

  Exclaimed he; “righteous Heaven, 330

  Preparing your deliverance,

  To me the charge hath given.

  The Czar full oft in words and deeds

  Is stormy and self-willed;

  But, when the Lady Catherine pleads,

  His violence is stilled.

  Leave open to my wish the course,

  And I to her will go;

  From that humane and heavenly source,

  Good, only good, can flow.”340

  Faint sanction given, the Cavalier

  Was eager to depart,

  Though question followed question, dear,

  To the Maiden’s filial heart.

  Light was his step,—his hopes, more light,

  Kept pace with his desires;

  And the fifth morning gave him sight

  Of Moscow’s glittering spires.

  He sued:—heart-smitten by the wrong,

  To the lorn Fugitive 350

  The Emperor sent a pledge as strong

  As sovereign power could give.

  O more than mighty change! If e’er

  Amazement rose to pain,

  And joy’s excess produced a fear

  Of something void and vain;

  ‘Twas when the Parents, who had mourned

  So long the lost as dead,

  Beheld their only Child returned,

  The household floor to tread. 360

  Soon gratitude gave way to love

  Within the Maiden’s breast;

  Delivered and Deliverer move

  In bridal garments drest;

  Meek Catherine had her own reward;

  The Czar bestowed a dower;

  And universal Moscow shared