\^iiXc .■^' ^:_ ^ OKC^ -^O. 3 0^ %. ^ % / ;» N-^^' % u V , ^ •^ <:^. V X L<5-' 5 ,0- 5^ .^'^^ .'°:'«,'"o- V .0 o 0> "^r^ ^% ^•-^ ».\: o 0^ .-^^' Va *^. .v*;r;^^.f- /. aV >> /^ ^^.A^<^/,/o '^:S^) /^<'' o .... >- „ ^- ,- J,,. A * ., ,^ . . „ ". ' tf 1 ^^^_ " V> s^'^^ rO' . C^^ * GENERAL EDITOR WILBUR LUCIUS CROSS PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN YALE UNIVERSITY Matthew Arnold From the portrait in the National Portrait Gallery painted and pre- sented by G. F. Watts, R. A. POEMS OF WORDSWORTH WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY MATTHEW ARNOLD - EDITED BY MYRON R. WILLIAMS INSTRUCTOR IN ENGLISH IN PHILLIPS EXETER ACADEMY NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY Copyright, 1922 BY HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY ( Printed in the United States of America ^i^ ^^'ii ^ K 0)C1.A65927? CONTENTS Introduction I. Matthew Arnold . II. William Wordsworth Descriptive Bibliography Arnold's Essay on Wordsworth Selected Poems of Wordsworth Poems in Ballad Form We are Seven .... Lucy Gray ..... Star-Gazers .... The Reverie of Poor Susan . Narrative Poems The Leech-Gatherer Michael Lyrical Poems "My Heart Leaps Up" To a Butterfly . . . Written in March To the Daisy .... To the Small Celandine "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" To a Skylark .... Expostulation and Reply The Tables Turned To Hartley Coleridge , "O Nightingale, Thou Surely Art" "Strange Fits of Passion Have I Known' "Three Years She Grew" "She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways" "A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal" . "I Traveled Among Unknown Men" v VI CONTENTS To the Cuckoo ...... To a Skylark ...... "She was a Phantom of Delight" . The Solitary Reaper ..... Yarrow Unvisited ..... Yarrow Visited ...... Yarrow Revisited ..... At the Grave of Burns .... Poems Akin to the Antique and Odes Laodameia. ...... Character of the Happy Warrior Ode to Duty . . . Ode on Intimations of Immortality Sonnets "Scorn not the Sonnet" .... "Nuns Fret not at Their Convent's Narrow Room Composed by the Sea-side, near Calais . On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic , To Toussaint I'Ouverture .... Thought of a Briton on the Subjugation of Switzer- land ...... Written in London, September, 1802 "The World is Too Much With Us" . London, 1802 ..... "It is not to be Thought of That the Flood To the Men of Kent, October, 1803 In the Pass of Killicranky "England! the Time is Come when Thou Should 'st Wean November, 1806 . Catherine Wordsworth Personal Talk Personal Talk, continued Personal Talk, concluded To Sleep . CONTENTS VII PAGE 153 154 Composed upon the Beach near Calais, 1802 . Composed upon Westminster Bridge, 1803 "I Watch, and Long have Watched, with Calm Re gret" "Wansfell! This Household has a Favored Lot" After-Thought ...... Inside of King's College Chapel Inside of King's College Chapel, continued Mary, Queen of Scots, Landing at the Mouth of the Derwent ....... On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott from Abbotsford "The Pibroch's Note " Discountenanced or Mute "^Po^^/— He hath Put his Heart to School" . To the Memory of Raisley Calvert To Lady Fitzgerald in her Seventieth Year "'There!' said a Stripling, Pointing with Meet Pride In Sight of the Town of Cockermouth . Death Reflective and Elegiac Poems Influence of Natural Objects. Yew-Trees ....... Lines, composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey French Revolution ..... Fragment from The Recluse .... The Old Cumberland Beggar Animal Tranquillity and Decay Nutting Stanzas . . . . The Fountain ...... A Poet's Epitaph Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg Notes and Comments On Arnold's Essay ...... 205 On the Poems of Wordsworth . .223 Questions and Topics for Discussion . . 249 ILLUSTRATIONS Portrait of Matthew Arnold Frontispiece PAGE Rydal Mount, facing .... xxxi A Sketch of Wordsworth, etc., facing . i Lake Windermere, /flang . . . .35 INTRODUCTION MATTHEW ARNOLD Matthew Arnold was born December 24th, 1822, at Laleham, England, the son of Doctor Thomas Arnold, who later became the great headmaster of Rugby, celebrated in Tovi Brozvn^s School-Days. His mother was Mary Penrose. When the boy was five years old, the family left the small town for the school which, under his father's leadership, was to become one of the foremost in England. From Rugby, in 1841, Matthew Arnold went to Oxford, and two years later his father died, having lived to see Winchester, Rugby, and Balliol College, Oxford, mold his son much after his own heart into a scholar, a critic, and a growing master of "the Oriel Style." If Doctor Arnold thus saw to it that his son was, externally, everything that he ought to be, a gentle- man and a scholar, it was Mrs. Arnold who quietly encouraged her son to be exactly what he was — a poet. Arnold's debt to his two parents was equally great, and to this fact can be attributed a personal- ity of such surprising poise: the critic who could create; the poet who could wisely judge; and the public official who for thirty-five years occupied a ix X INTRODUCTION position as inspector of schools for Westminster — of exacting responsibility and vast importance to the country. In each of his three contemporary careers Arnold made a lasting name for himself. His literary career, begun as poet and ending as critic and essayist, contained at first little promise and much discouragement. In 1840, as a schoolboy he had won a prize at Rugby with his first published poem, Alaric at Rome, followed three years later by Cromzvelly which won the Newdigate prize at Oxford. Of the two, the former suggests more prophetic pos- sibilities, but neither seems, to the most discerning reader, much beyond the powers of a capable youth doing what his family had reason to expect him to do. Five years later, after his graduation from Ox- ford, Arnold published anonymously in 1849, The Strayed Reveller, and Other Poems, hy A. Although all of these poems but one have been reprinted in later editions of the poet's work and now occupy a secure place in English literature, their first appear- ance was as a dismal failure. Only a few copies were sold, and the volume was presently withdrawn from public sale. Quite as unkind fate met a second anonymous volume which appeared in 1852, Em- pedocles on Etna and Other Poems, by A. The record of the next three years is hardly more than that of perseverance — and its reward. In 1853 he repub- lished the contents of most of the two rejected vol- umes, adding a few verses that were new, with his own name on the title page and a prefatory essay MATTHEW ARNOLD XI on his conception of the province of poetry. This reissue, wherein appeared Sohrab and Rustum, at- tracted, though tardily, much of the attention and interest which his poems had originally deserved. In 1855 Poems by Matthew Arnold: Second Series , appeared, and containing but two new poems, Balder Dead and Separation, won the welcome which Arnold's reappearances were now certain to expect. His popularity as a poet was growing and was stamped in a singularly gratifying way when, on May 5, 1857, Matthew Arnold was elected to the Professorship of Poetry at Oxford. At the age of thirty-four, then, he had climbed out of the slough of obscurity. For ten years Arnold occupied the chair, and during this time, in word and deed, lived up to the title of his position, publishing many sep- arate poems and finally in 1867 a volume of New Poems, besides writing numerous magazine articles, criticisms, essays, and lectures on a wide range of literary subjects. In 1867, coincident with the close of the Oxford professorship, Arnold's poetical career came practically to an end. All this time, however, his poetical productive- ness had been in no sense the result, like Words- worth's, of sedentary incubation. In 1844 he grad- uated from Oxford with second-class honors, a mild disgrace to the name of Arnold which was retrieved the following year by his election to a fellowship in Oriel College, Oxford. Here he met A. H. Clough, a fellow poet who became his friend and whose death Xn INTRODUCTION in 1861 is the subject of Arnold's exquisite Thyrsis, an elegy of college friendship comparable to Lycidas or In Memoriam. After winning the fellowship, Arnold returned to Rugby to teach classics in the fifth form and began that career in public education that was to last nearly a half century. A year later, in 1847, he was appointed private secretary to Lord Lansdowne, and withdrew from Rugby and partici- pated in the polite political life of that discreet Liberal for four years. In 1 851, Arnold was ap- pointed to an inspectorship of schools, a position which he occupied for thirty-five years. This posi- tion required a vast deal of traveling, of interviewing teachers and conducting examinations, of writing exhaustive reports, all of which Arnold prepared with more of a hearty and patriotic conscience than enthusiasm. On the other hand, he was sent by the government on tours of investigation into the state of education in France, Germany, Holland, and other countries, a recognition of his authority on the subject of education and a genuine pleasure to the urbane cosmopolitan that he was. Arnold was as familiar with French and German as with Latin and Greek. In June of the year in which he became inspector of schools, Matthew Arnold was married to Frances Lucy Wightman, daughter of Mr. Justice Wight- man. "Though I am a schoolmaster's son, I con- fess that school-teaching or school-inspecting is not the line of life I should naturally have chosen. I MATTHEW ARNOLD Xlll adopted it in order to marry a lady who is here to- night ..." In these very frank words deHvered before the Westminster Teacher's Association on his retirement from the position in 1886, the poet makes a very human confession. Matthew Arnold's love for his wife was clearly the dominating motive of his life as it is whimsically suggested to be here, and he no doubt felt that any shirking of the deadly dull means of his livelihood would be a kind of treachery to her. This is practical poetry of a pretty fine sort. "There must be many," writes G. W. E. Russell, Arnold's biographer, "who still remember with amused affection his demeanor in an elementary school. They see the tall figure, at once graceful and stately; the benign air, as of an affable archangel; the critical brow and enquiring eyeglass bent on some very immature performance in pen- manship or needlework; and the frightened children and the anxious teacher, gradually lapsing into smiles and peace, as the great man tested the pro- ficiency in some such humble art as spelling. 'Well, my little man, and how do you spell dog?^ * Please sir, d-o-g' 'Capital, very good indeed. I couldn't do it better myself. And now let us go a little further, and see if we can spell cat.' (Chorus ex- citedly) ^C-A-TT 'Now, this is really excellent. (To the teacher) You have brought them on won- derfully in spelling since I was here last!'" A friend has written: "His effect on the teachers when he examined a school was extraordinary. He was XIV INTRODUCTION sympathetic without being condescending, and he reconciled the humblest drudge in a London school to his or her drudgery for the next twelve months." A version of what others thought of Arnold comes in the remark of Lord Salisbury's, that when he conferred the degree of D. C. L. on him (at Oxford in 1870) he ought to have addressed him as vir dulcissime et lucidissime^ a. happy reference to the "sweetness and light" which Arnold had so effec- tively preached. In 1883 recognition came from the crown in a pension of £250 conferred for the literary merit of his work. In the same year Arnold came on a lecture tour to America to talk to American audiences, among other things, about Emerson. The result of this was a volume of essays. Discourses in America, which contain some of his shrewdest and cleverest com- ment, and the volume of his writings by which he said that he most desired to be remembered. It was here also that Arnold ran afoul of P. T. Barnum. "You, Mr. Arnold, are a celebrity, I am a notoriety," the irrepressible showman wrote. "We ought to be acquainted." "I couldn't go," Matthew Arnold commented in telling of the invitation afterwards, "but it was very nice of him." Matthew Arnold died very suddenly in Liverpool, of heart failure, April 15, 1888. He had come to the seaport with his wife to meet his elder daughter who was on her way home from the United States, and the violent exercise of running for a tramcar MATTHEW ARNOLD XV caused the abrupt collapse from which he died al- most instantly. Of Arnold's definite place in literature as a poet and as a prose writer, little has been indicated in this rapid survey of his career. Enough has perhaps been said to indicate, however, that Arnold is a poet for the chastened tastes of educated persons rather than for the masses. Popularity, by the definition of the word, his work can never attain, and yet the reason for this lies far less in the need for information on the reader's part than it does in the poet's own preference for ideas and words over story, action, or the music of his verses. Beauti- ful lines abound in his work such as "The unplumb'd salt, estranging sea," and occasionally passages of such passionate power as the RequiescaU beginning and ending Strew on her roses, roses, And never a spray of yew! Her cabin'd, ample spirit, It flutter'd and fail'd for breath. To-night it doth inherit The vasty hall of death. Yet there was something either in Arnold's ven- eration for the classic restraint of the Greeks, or his admiration for Wordsworth, his great teacher, which unconsciously restrained him from following to the full length the counsel of Milton (from whom other- wise Arnold learned much) that poetry must be XVI INTRODUCTION simple, sensuous, and passionate. Arnold finds place comfortably among the Victorian poets of his day — Tennyson, Browning, Rossetti, William Morris, and Swinburne in that quest of the beautiful not known to this day and generation. In this he and they resembled their predecessors — ^Wordsworth, Cole- ridge, Keats, Shelley, Byron — but as one critic ob- serves, in each group there is a division between the seekers for physical and those for moral beauty. Among the latter, certainly, lie Matthew Arnold and Wordsworth. What many might regard as the defect in Arnold's poetry, every reader must credit to his prose. If Rossetti can be accused of painting his sonnets and writing his pictures, it can be said that Arnold wrote much of his poetry in prose. To his prose, however, he applied only the fine skill of a literary craftsman, and there is in it little suggestion of the poetic prose which is so offensive. In spirit, however, there lies over it the weight of the classic tradition. This can be paraphrased in one writer's allusion to "Matthew Arnold's belief in the preference of the Almighty for University men." And in comparing Arnold with two other contemporary prose writers, Mr. G. K. Chesterton produces, with some exaggeration, a beguiling picture: "If Nevs^man seemed suddenly to fly into a temper, Carlyle seemed never to fly out of one. But Arnold kept a smile of heart-broken forbearance, as of the teacher in an idiot school, that was enormously insulting." Keen of wit and severe MATTHEW ARNOLD XVll in judgment, Arnold in all his criticisms preserves his temper. This was, in truth, his innovation into the art of criticism — urbanity. When one recalls the literary squabbles of Grub Street, one perceives the distance from them of the smooth though often de- vastating judgment of Matthew Arnold and of Walter Pater. With it all, however, Arnold's aim was clearness. His favorite tools were epigrams, epithets, or the scrupulously chosen word. Arnold's assertion that "poetry is a criticism of life," is an oft quoted ex- ample from the essay on Wordsworth. Like it, too, is the whimsical picture of the social science congress, which explains quite clearly why much philosophical poetry is not poetry at all. "Sweet- ness and light" is a phrase of Swift's which Arnold popularized with his own meaning of "intellectual enlightenment." "Philistine," meaning a rather self-satisfied member of the middle class, he brought over from the German "Philister," to wage war on the middle-class complacency which he so thoroughly hated. The list of words which have been added by Matthew Arnold as weapons to the critical armory of English-speaking peoples could be multiplied at length. They can, however, be fittingly concluded with his brave definition of that much abused word, "culture," which to him had a fine, fresh significance. This is, he says, "a pursuit of our total perfection by means of getting to know, on all matters which most concern us, the best which XVlll INTRODUCTION has been thought and said in the world." No more fitting example of this sort of culture can be found than Matthew Arnold himself, who is, next to Mil- ton, the most scholarly poet in the English language. II WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Birth. William Wordsworth was born in the little town of Cockermouth, Cumberland, on April 7th, 1770. For over half a century he lived in Gras- mere vale, in the heart of his chosen Lake Country, with his wife and his sister Dorothy, and died at the age of eighty not twenty-five miles from his birth- place. Something like this is the common impres- sion of Wordsworth. It is all mathematically correct, but insufficient. To this Lord Morley would add the brief that the years 1 770-1 850 were vastly im- portant ones to England, France, and Europe gen- erally, and that "during all the tumult of the great war which for so many years bathed Europe in fire, through all the throes and agitations in which peace brought forth the new time, Wordsworth for half a century dwelt sequestered in unbroken composure and steadfastness amid the mountains and lakes of his native region, working out his own ideal of the poet's high office." This also is true, and I cannot think that the writer meant to imply that Words- worth was not well occupied. With Lord Morley, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XIX however, one is bound to wonder, considering the times, the really passionate man that he was, and the powerful character of much of his work, — how Wordsworth could have kept still. The restraint which allows expression only in mental activity rather than in physical was Wordsworth's way. It was a lesson which, like Matthew Arnold in the following well-known lines, he had learned from Nature: Of toil unsever'd from tranquillity! Of labor, that in lasting fruit outgrows Far noisier schemes, accompHshed in repose. Too great for haste, too high for rivalry. And Wordsworth in his lifetime wrote approximately one thousand poems that have been published. Character and Appearance. It may be re- garded as a significant fact, too, that in Wordsworth's poetry the words solitary and solitude, according to the new Concordance, occur over two hundred times. Matthew Arnold, in his essay, moreover, applies to Wordsworth's poetry the adjective "aus- tere," and in reading a life of the man himself, one cannot help feeling, even amidst the irrepressible gaiety of Charles Lamb and his friends at the *' im- mortal dinner," that Wordsworth was a lonely man. The truth of the matter is that practically single- handed he was fighting a long campaign of his own, and that, in the beginning at least, the loneliness was not wholly voluntary. Quite unknown at first, then gradually conspicuous as an object for ridicule, XX INTRODUCTION during eighteen years of poverty he had to battle to establish certain poetic principles which are com- monplaces to-day. Through it all there was his re- markable sister Dorothy, then his young wife, and Coleridge — and that was about all. It was a small garrison and one typical of a pioneer household. But Wordsworth was a strong man, who seems to have been little troubled with the disease of doubt or discouragement. His one great purpose was to emancipate poetry from its prevalent tone of artificiality, from the fashions of the school of Pope and his successors (Doctor Johnson and Gray conspicuously). "This hubbub of words'* Wordsworth called it. His weapon from the start was double barreled: first, poems of his own of a simple and homely nature; second, a powerful series of prefaces and explanatory essays which still count as literary law. It was an uphill fight. Jeered at and parodied during all the earlier years when the young craftsman most needs en- couragement from older men in the same profession, he got little or none. At length recognition did come, then growing popularity and fame, and as a final accolade the laureateship for the last seven years of his life. The independence of the poet as a young man in the face of opposition had, however, developed into serene indifference to praise or blame alike. Now, although glimpses of the poet as a young man occur in the Journals of his sister Dorothy, by far the most graphic description we have is of WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XXI the great and aged Wordsworth by Carlyle in his Reminiscences. It is incidentally a curious fact that the likenesses of writers most commonly associated with their works are usually their latest or last portraits — craters after the volcanoes are extinct. Be that as it may, this is how Carlyle saw Words- worth at breakfast with Henry Taylor and others in London in 1840. The company, as might have been expected, was discussing literature and its various phases and problems. "He talked well in his way; with veracity, easy brevity, and force; as a wise tradesman would of his tools and workshop, and as no unwise one could. His voice was good, frank, and sonorous, though practically clear, dis- tinct, and forcible, rather than melodious; the tone of him business-like, sedately confident, no dis- courtesy, yet no anxiety about being courteous; a fine wholesome rusticity, fresh as his mountain breezes, sat well on the stalwart veteran, and on all he said and did. . . . His face bore marks of much, not always peaceful meditation; the look of it not bland or benevolent, so much as close, impregnable, and hard. . . . The eyes were not very brilliant, but they had a quiet clearness; there was enough of brow, and well shaped; rather too much of cheek (* horse-face' I have heard satirists say), face of squarish shape and decidedly longish. . . . He was large-boned, lean, but still firm-knit, tall, and strong-looking when he stood ; a right good old steel- gray figure." XXll INTRODUCTION Carlyle remarks also at this time: "During the last seven or ten years of his life, Wordsworth felt himself to be a recognized lion, in certain consider- able London circles. . . . He took his bit of lionism very quietly, with a smile sardonic rather than triumphant; and certainly got no harm by it, if he got or expected little good. ... 'If you think me dull, be it just so! ' " Then follows this sly glimpse, a masterpiece of restrained and subtle suggestion: *'In one of these Wordsworthian lion-dinners, . . . I sat a long way from Wordsworth; dessert, I think, had come in; and certainly there reigned in all quar- ters a cackle as of Babel (only politer, perhaps), — which far up in Wordsworth's quarter (who was leftward on my side of the table), seemed to have taken a sententious, rather louder, logical, and quasi-scientific turn, — heartily unimportant to gods and men, so far as I could judge of it and of the other babble reigning. I looked upwards, leftwards, the coast being luckily for the moment clear; there, far off, beautifully screened in the shadow of his vertical green shade . . . sat Wordsworth, silent, in rock- like indifference, slowly but steadily gnawing some portion of what I judged to be raisins, with his eye and attention fixed on these and these alone. The sight of whom, and of his rock-like indifference to the babble, quasi-scientific and other, with attention turned on the small practical alone, was comfortable and amusing to me, who felt like him, but could not eat raisins. This little glimpse I could still paint, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XXlll SO clear and bright is it, and this shall be symbolical of all/' Any life of William Wordsworth, any account of the man in the making, offers little enticement to the general reader. It is a record mainly of psycho- logical change and progress and is quite devoid of physical adventure and enterprise — except for his numerous walking tours, and on these De Quincey, diligent by spasms, once computed that he had walked upwards of 175,000 miles. The simple career is rather surprising, however, when one looks at its proportions: twenty-eight years of preparation; ten years of achievement; and forty-two years of little or nothing of importance, although during this time Wordsworth was diligently at work, and eventually began to harvest the results of his earlier sowing. The periods are 1770-1798; 1798-1808; 1808-1850. First Period, 1770-1798. The quality of self- reliance so characteristic of Wordsworth in later life was early forced on him through circumstance. His father was an attorney and agent for the first Earl of Lonsdale. Wordsworth's mother, whose maiden name was Anne Cookson, died in 1778. "My father," Wordsworth has written, "never recovered his usual cheerfulness of mind after this loss, and died when I was in my fourteenth year, a school boy, just returned from Hawkshead, whither I had been sent with my elder brother Richard, in my ninth year." Lonely but not morbidly so, the boy was thus driven back upon himself for his own XXIV INTRODUCTION amusement, and thus found at an early age that source of solace which became his lifelong delight — Nature, and Mankind viewed through the eyes, we might almost say, of a naturalist. Wordsworth in- deed has much in common with Thoreau. Wordsworth's career at St. John's College, Cam- bridge, which he entered in October, 1787, and from which he received his B. A. degree in January, 1791, was without incidents, unless, as Lowell says, "they were of that interior kind which rarely appear in biography, though they may be of controlling influ- ence upon the life." The fact is that Cambridge at this time was languishing in a period of intellectual stagnation; and the principal gift which Wordsworth carried away was an abiding impression of the beauty of the place. Of this the sonnet on Kings College Chapel supremely testifies. In the summer of 1790 he took a foot journey with a college friend, from Calais down through France and to Switzerland. The results of this venture were among the most significant in Wordsworth's life. Not only was he stirred with the grandeur of the Alps, but, in France he met numbers of the revolutionists, who aroused in the young Englishman a sympathy and partisan- ship for their cause. In members of the revolutionary party Wordsworth seemed to see peasants not so very unlike his own Westmoreland farmers, or "statesmen" as they are called, sternly asserting themselves against an overbearing and frivolous aristocracy. This was simple Man rising triumphant WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XXV over Convention. As late as October, 1792, Words- worth was in Paris preparing to join forces with the Girondists, and only the good judgment of his rela- tives, who commanded him home, saved him from certain death in the massacres of '93. The excesses of the revolutionists in their hour of success, Eng- land's declaration of war on the new French Re- public, and the egotistic tyranny of Napoleon were all tremendously difficult results to reconcile with the rather innocent beginning, and it nearly cost Wordsworth his reason. Eventually the explanation of it all came, with the help of his sister Dorothy, in discovering that Nature with her often cruel and unjust methods, was the underlying harmony. One can see from this, perhaps, how wide of the mark is any attempt to associate Wordsworth with Browning's hero of the Lost Leader, who "just for a handful of silver" left the liberal cause, **just for a riband to stick in his coat," for which, if it had been the laureateship, he would have had to wait just fifty years. Now, however, he was settled at Racedown Cottage with his sister Dorothy, and had perhaps beaten out his vexation and despair in the Borderers, a drama in five acts of blank verse, which was rejected by the manager of Covent Gar- den Theater. Second Period, i 798-1 808. The period of Words- worth's life which followed is that single decade in which, as Arnold points out, all of Wordsworth's really first-rate work was produced. It was a time XXVI INTRODUCTION principally of work, and to but slight degree of per- sonal development. In this time, to be sure, came Wordsworth's friendship with Coleridge (June, 1795), his marriage to his cousin Mary Hutchinson (October, 1802), and the birth of his five children, but these are events which happen to mature mor- tals and do not assist particularly in the shaping of their characters. Much has been said by persons who knew her, of the vivacity and mercurial charm of Dorothy Words- worth, and no words have been so often quoted as Coleridge's early impression of her: ''Wordsworth and his exquisite sister are with me. She is a woman indeed! in mind and heart; for her person is such that if you expected to see a pretty woman, you would think her rather ordinary; if you expected to see an ordinary woman, you would think her pretty! but her manners are simple, ardent, im- pressive. . . . Her eye watchful in minutest ob- servation of nature; and her taste a perfect electrom- eter." Of Coleridge, Wordsworth's other close companion at this time, the story of their joint plan to defray the cost of a foot journey with Dorothy along the Quantock Hills by composing a pbem, afterwards Coleridge's Ancient Mariner, is emi- nently characteristic. Practically the only part in the work, however, which Wordsworth would admit as his own were the four lines And listened like a three years child The Mariner had his will. f WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XXVll And thou art long and lank and brown. As is the ribbed sea-sand. Mrs. Wordsworth, with her personal charm, wit, and tact, was a worthy fourth to this fastidious and idealistic group. Most can be said in fewest words, perhaps, by noting that the two finest lines in the Daffodils are hers: They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude. If in eight years of daily associations with the three persons of his choice and in the places where he was happiest, Wordsworth did his best work and all of his best work, the explanation simply is that he wrote himself out, scaling at once all the peaks of achievement which would more naturally be inter- spersed throughout his lifetime. His Creed. It was in the preface to the second edition of Lyrical Ballads (1800), which he and Cole- ridge had first brought out in September, 1798, that Wordsworth wrote his famous declaration on poetic diction. This statement of creed, enlarged and amplified in 1802 and in 1815, met with immediate and universal hostility, and the illustrative poems of the volume have been ridiculed and parodied for years. The fact nevertheless remains that among these poems were Coleridge's Ancient Mariner and Wordsworth's Lines Above Tintern Abbey, We are Seven, Lines Written in Early Spring, and The Old Cumberland Beggar, among the best things that XXVlll INTRODUCTION Wordsworth ever wrote. Still, the volume did con- tain An Anecdote for Fathers, Goody Blake and Harry Gill, The Idiot Boy, and Peter Bell. In many cases, the truth is, Wordsworth preached better than he practiced. Wordsworth's explanation of his position, in the preface, is that he has written of rural scenes and characters in an exceedingly simple style in the hope that his pictures might seem absolutely true to life, his characters genuinely alive, and his whole work interesting because, not only accurate, but also a reflection of the workings of the pri- mary laws of nature. His aim, in short, was to be natural. Humble and rustic life, he says, was chosen as his subject for the following reasons: (i) The essential passions of man are naturally more vigorous in the country and are there really more highly developed. (2) There, accordingly, they are better understood and appreciated. (3) In the country, too, these emotions and feelings can be observed unmixed and uninfluenced by artificial influences. (4) It follows, also, that the language of country people is plainer, more descriptive, and less influenced by the changes of time and fashion. (5) For the foregoing reasons and because of their close communion with the beauty and the truths of nature, country people are really finer in their manners. (6) "There neither is, nor can be, any essential diff'erence between the language of prose and metrical composition." The last statement is Wordsworth's most important I WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XXIX dictum, and the ground on which long and bitter literary warfare has been waged. With some of these contentions the reader will very likely disagree, simply because they are not so. The main idea, however, that natural nobility is found more readily in the country than in the city is one that has long appealed to English poets; and echoes of it can readily be found in Shakespeare, Milton, Goldsmith, Gray, Cowper, and Burns. Wordsworth's appeal resembles that of Milton for courtesy in his Comus: . . . .courtesy, Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds, With smoky rafters, than in tapestry halls And courts of princes, where it first was named. The truth of Wordsworth's final contention — that the language of poetry is in no way different from the language of prose — can be demonstrated by turning to the poems of some of the latest figures in the literary world to-day, to the subtly simple work of our own Robert Frost and Edwin Arlington Robin- son. By ''language," I take it, Wordsworth meant that the finest poetry should echo the ring of con- versation, rather than be music in itself. With what measure of success he met we can discover by reading We are Seven^ The Leech Gatherer, or Michael. From this early and rigid position Wordsworth himself indeed departed somewhat in his later work; and of this the rich organ tones of the Ode to Duty are a good example. XXX INTRODUCTION The serious danger in Wordsworth's cultivation of humble and rustic life is in knowing quite what is natural; for this word, like "simple," has two senses. It means ''genuine," or it means "silly." And Wordsworth's taste, as Arnold hints, was not always infallible. Of this no better brief criticism exists, I believe, than the clever parody of two of Wordsworth's own sonnets by James K. Stephen: Two voices are there: one is of the deep; It learns the storm clouds thunderous melody, Now roars, now murmurs, with the changing sea, Now bird-like pipes, now closes soft in sleep: And one is of an old half-witted sheep, Which bleats articulate monotony, And indicates that two and one are three. That grass is green, lakes damp, and mountains steep; And, Wordsworth, both are thine at certain times, Forth from the heart of thy melodious rhymes The form and pressure of high thoughts will burst: At other times — good Lord! I'd rather be Quite unacquainted with the A. B. C. Than write such hopeless rubbish as thy worst. Third Period, i 808-1 850. In 1808 Wordsworth's growing family, now consisting of four children be- sides Mrs. Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy, out- grew little Dove Cottage in Grasmere, and so they moved to Allan Bank across the lake. The end of the intimacy between Wordsworth and Coleridge came in the autumn, and ended, as it has been said, the creative season of both poets, although Cole- ridge, indeed, had written little poetry for the ten i ^ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XXXI years past. Coleridge was at that time leaving Grasmere; and Wordsworth, believing that he was planning to stay with a certain Mr. Montagu in London, warned him of Coleridge's propensity to gin and opium. Wordsworth, it is clear, had Cole- ridge's interests as well as Mr. Montagu's at heart, but the latter's wholly uncalled-for and somewhat elaborated repetition of it to Coleridge had an ugly sound to his extremely sensitive ears. Although two years later Wordsworth had the opportunity of disclaiming any malice and the two were reconciled, the old intimacy was never quite restored. The year 1813 marks the beginning of Words- worth's long and peaceful residence of nearly forty years at Rydal Mount, which ended only with the poet's death. During this time Wordsworth was occupied mainly in piling up that poetical baggage of which Arnold, in his edition of the poems, pro- posed to relieve him. The two personalities in Wordsworth alluded to in Mr. Stephen's parody had both been diligent for years, the inspired and the uninspired working side by side; but now the artist abruptly makes off, and the artisan settles down comfortably for steady employment. There is no mystery about it. Wordsworth had simply said what he had had to say; and had he been less industrious by nature, he would have rested on his already abundant laurels. With the growing salability of his writings, Words- worth's financial difficulties were Hearing an end. XXXll INTRODUCTION His appointment in 1813 to the nearly sinecure] position of distributor of stamps for the county of] Westmoreland and later also for Cumberland, how- I ever, settled the matter. When in 1842 he resigned j the post, to be succeeded by his son, Wordsworth j was granted an annuity of £300 from the Civil List for distinguished work in the field of literature. Honors followed success, with the honorary de- j grees of D. C. L. from Durham in 1838, and from i Oxford in 1839. In 1843, on the death of his friend i Southey, the former poet laureate, Wordsworth i was tendered that office by Sir Robert Peel. Only 1 after earnest insistence and the promise that "you shall have nothing required from you'* was the vener- able poet prevailed upon to accept for the last seven years of his life the poetic crown which he had so ; deservedly earned. The small circle of the poet's closest friends and ; family had been gradually reduced by death until now there was left only Mrs. Wordsworth and their ! eldest and youngest sons. In 1834, "every mortal j power of Coleridge was frozen at its marvelous * source." Dorothy Wordsworth's long and distress- ! ing illness, which robbed her of her health and mind, ; began in 1832. The death of his friend Southey in 1843 was to Wordsworth a loss far greater than the j indirect honor which was the outcome of it. But j the most crushing blow of all was the death in 1847 I of his daughter Dorothy, or Dora, who, although ; she had married Edward Quillinan, a neighbor and \ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XXXlll friend of the Wordsworths, had long taken at her father's side as nearly as possible the place left by his sister Dorothy. From this tragedy Wordsworth never really recovered. On Tuesday, April 23, 1850, as it has frequently been written, just as his favorite cuckoo clock was striking twelve, he died. Accord- ing to his wishes, his body was buried in the church- yard at Grasmere. In Westminster Abbey, how- ever, a life-sized marble statue was set up in his memory. That with Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Milton, Wordsworth is forever to rank among the foremost English poets there now seems to be little doubt. And the manly words of James Russell Lowell, whose keen wit relished to the full all of Wordsworth's many foibles, can best stand as the final definition of Wordsworth and his place in the language of English-speaking peoples: "Of no other poet except Shakespeare have so many phrases become house- hold words as of Wordsworth. . . . He has won for himself a secure immortality by a depth of intuition which makes only the best minds at their best hours worthy, or indeed capable, of his companionship, and by a homely sincerity of human sympathy which reaches the humblest heart. Our language owes him gratitude for the habitual purity and abstinence of his style, and we who speak it, for having emboldened us to take delight in simple things, and to trust ourselves to our own instincts." DESCRIPTIVE BIBLIOGRAPHY A revision of a bibliography originally prepared by Professor Walter S. Hinchman ARNOLD'S WORKS 1840. Alaric at Rome. Prize poem at Rugby School. 1843. Cromwell. Newdigate prize poem at Oxford. 1849. The Strayed Reveller and Other Poems, by A. 1852. Empedocles on Etna and Other Poems, by A. 1853. Poems by Matthew Arnold, a New Edition. This volume contains not only much of his best work, but also his famous preface on poetry. 1855. Poems: Second Series. Mostly reprints. 1858. Metope. A drama in verse. 1867. New Poems. Contains Thyrsis. 1885. Poems. This edition, in three vols., contains all of Arnold's poetry. 1859. England and the Italian Question. 1 86 1, 1862. On Translating Homer. Four lectures. First collected in one volume in 1896. 1861. Popular Education of France. \ (VA ' I 1864. A French Eton. ^ 1868. Schools and Universities on the Continent. 1865. Essays in Criticism. 1867. On the Study of Celtic Literature. j books.) DESCRIPTIVE BIBLIOGRAPHY XXXV 1869. Culture and Anarchy. This appeared first as essays in the Cornhill Magazine. 1 87 1. Friendship' s Garland. This, with Culture and Anarchy^ attacked "PhiHstine" society. 1870. St. Paul and Protestantism. 1873. Literature and Dogma: an essay toward a better apprehension of the Bible. (All dealing with 1875. God and the Bible: a review of \ the theology of objections to Literature and Arnold's day.) Dogma. 1877. Last Essays on Church and Re ligion. 1878-83. Critical and editorial work — notably essays on Words- worth and Byron and Introduction to Ward's English Poets. 1879. Mixed Essays. Political and literary. 1882. Irish Essays and Others. Including, besides papers on Irish political subjects, a Speech at Eton, an essay on Copyright, and a reprint of the 1853 pre- face on poetry. 1885. Discourses in America. Delivered in 1883-84. 1888. Civilization in the United States. Reprinted from magazine articles. 1888. Essays in Criticism, Second Series. Reprints of essays on literary subjects. To them has been added the essay on Milton, published in May, 1888. This volume contains Arnold's best prose work. 1895. Letters of Matthew Arnold, 1848-1888. (Collected and edited by G. W. E. Russell.) XXXVl DESCRIPTIVE BIBLIOGRAPHY BIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM T. B. Smart: Bibliography of Matthew Arnold, London, 1892. Richard Garnett: Life of Arnold, in the Dictionary of National Biography. Theodore Watts-Dunton and Sir J. G. Fitch: Article on Arnold, in the Encyclopedia Britannica. J. M. Robertson: Modern Humanists, second edition, London, 1895. Herbert Paul: Life of Arnold, in the English Men of Letters Series, London and New York, 1903. G. W. E. Russell: Matthew Arnold, in Literary Lives, London, 1904. R. H. Hutton: The Poetry of Arnold, in Literary Essays, Lon- don, 1892. Augustine Birrell: Chapter on Arnold, in Res Judicatae, New York, 1892. W. H. Hudson: Matthew Arnold in Studies in Interpretation, New York, 1896. L. E. Gates: Introduction to Selections from the Prose Writings of Matthew Arnold, New York, 1897. G. E. B. Saintsbury: Matthew Arnold in Modern English Writers, New York, 1899. W. H. Dawson: Matthew Arnold and his Relation to the Thought of our Time, New York, 1904. Sir J. G. Fitch: Thomas and Matthew Arnold, New York, 1897. Books and Essays Concerning Wordsworth Of the very considerable number of books and articles on Wordsworth the following are sure to be found especially useful: The preface by Andrew J. George to Wordsworth's Complete Poetical Works (Houghton Mifflin); Wordsworth, How to Know BOOKS AND ESSAYS CONCERNING WORDSWORTH XXXVll Hi7n by Professor C. T. Winchester (Bobbs Mer- rill); Wordsworth by F. W. H. Myers in the English Men of Letters Series (Macmillan); Wordsworth in Literary Essays, Vol. IV, by James Russell Lowell (Houghton Mifflin); the most admirable introduc- tion by Lord Morley to The Complete Poetical Works of William Wordsworth (Crowell); the article on Wordsworth in the Encyclopedia Britannica; Life of William Wordsworth, three volumes, by William Knight (Wm. Paterson, Edinburgh). These the present editor has made use of. In addition are the following, in no way inferior to the preceding but not directly employed in pre- paring this edition: William Wordsworth, two volumes, by G. M. Harper (Scribner's); Memoirs of Wordsworth by his nephew. Bishop Christopher Wordsworth; De Quincey, Works, vols. II and V; Miscellanies by Algernon Charles Swinburne; Mat- thew Arnold by F. W. H. Myers; Wordsworth's Ethics in Hours in a Library, Vol. Ill, by Sir Leslie Stephen; Wordsworth by Sir Walter Raleigh; Age of Wordsworth by C. H. Herford; Appreciations by Walter Pater; Wordsworth in Lives of Great Writers by W. S. Hinchman. !_ '^-^yw r^ ^^-^--IJ-^WX/-'^'-^ Wordsworth From a sketch from life by Alfred Croquis in Fraser's Magazine. ARNOLD'S ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 1. I REMEMBER hearing Lord Macaulay say, after Wordsworth's death, when subscriptions were being collected to found a memorial of him, that ten years earlier more money could have been raised in Cambridge alone, to do honor to Words- 5 worth, than was now raised all through the coun- try. Lord Macaulay had, as we know, his own heightened and telling way of putting things, and we must always make allowance for it. But prob- ably it is true that Wordsworth has never, either 10 before or since, been so accepted and popular, so established in possession of the minds of all who profess to care for poetry, as he was between the years 1830 and 1840, and at Cambridge. From the very first, no doubt, he had his believers and 15 witnesses. But I have myself heard him declare that, for he knew not how many years, his poetry had never brought him in enough to buy his shoe- strings. The poetry-reading public was very slow to recognize him, and was very easily drawn 20 away from him. Scott effaced him with this public, Byron effaced him. 2. The death of Byron seemed, however, to make an opening for Wordsworth. Scott, who had for some time ceased to produce poetry him- 25 self, and stood before the public as a great novelist; 2 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH Scott, too genuine himself not to feel the pro- found genuineness of Wordsworth, and with an instinctive recognition of his firm hold on na- ture and of his local truth, always admired him 5 sincerely, and praised him generously. The in- fluence of Coleridge upon young men of ability was then powerful, and was still gathering strength; this influence told entirely in favor of Wordsworth's poetry. Cambridge was a place lo where Coleridge's influence had great action, and where Wordsworth's poetry, therefore flourished especially. But even amongst the general public its sale grew large, the eminence of its author was widely recognized, and Rydal Mount became an 15 object of pilgrimage. I remember Wordsworth relating how one of the pilgrims, a clergyman, asked him if he had ever written anything be- sides the Guide to the Lakes. Yes, he answered modestly, he had written verses. Not every pil- 20 grim was a reader, but the vogue was estab- lished, and the stream of pilgrims came. 3. Mr. Tennyson's decisive appearance dates from 1842. One cannot say that he efi^aced Words- worth as Scott and Byron had eff^aced him. The 25 poetry of Wordsworth had been so long before the public, the sufl^rage of good judges was so steady and so strong in its favor, that by 1842 the verdict of posterity, one may almost say, had been already pronounced, and Wordsworth's 30 English fame was secure. But the vogue, the ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 3 ear and applause of the great body of poetry- readers, never quite thoroughly perhaps his, he gradually lost more and more, and Mr. Tennyson gained them. Mr. Tennyson drew to himself, and away from Wordsworth, the poetry-reading pub- s lie, and the new generations. Even in 1850, when Wordsworth died, this diminution of popularity was visible, and occasioned the remark of Lord Macaulay which I quoted at starting. 4. The diminution has continued. The influence lo of Coleridge has waned, and Wordsworth's poetry can no longer draw succor from this ally. The poetry has not, however, wanted eulogists; and it may be said to have brought its eulogists luck, for almost every one who has praised Words- 15 worth's poetry has praised it well. But the public has remained cold, or, at least, undetermined. Even the abundance of Mr. Palgrave's fine and skilfully chosen specimens of Wordsworth, in the Golden Treasury, surprised many readers, and 20 gave offence to not a few. To tenth-rate critics and compilers, for whom any violent shock to the public taste would be a temerity not to be risked, it is still quite permissible to speak of Words- worth's poetry, not only with ignorance, but with 25 impertinence. On the Continent he is almost un- known. 5. I cannot think, then, that Wordsworth has, up to this time, at all obtained his deserts. ** Glory," said M. Renan the other day, "glory 30 4 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH after all is the thing which has the best chance of not being altogether vanity/* Wordsworth was a homely man, and himself would certainly never have thought of talking of glory as that which, 5 after all, has the best chance of not being alto- gether vanity. Yet we may well allow that few things are less vain than real glory. Let us con- ceive of the whole group of civilized nations as being, for intellectual and spiritual purposes, one lo great confederation, bound to a joint action and working towards a common result; a confedera- tion whose members have a due knowledge both of the past, out of which they all proceed, and of one another. This was the ideal of Goethe, and 15 it is an ideal which will impose itself upon the thoughts of our modern societies more and more. Then to be recognized by the verdict of such a confederation as a master, or even as a seriously and eminently worthy workman, in one's own line 20 of intellectual or spiritual activity, is indeed glory; a glory which it would be difficult to rate too highly. For what could be more beneficent, more salutary? The world is forwarded by having its attention fixed on the best things; and here is a 25 tribunal, free from all suspicion of national and provincial partiality, putting a stamp on the best things, and recommending them for general honor and acceptance. A nation, again, is furthered by recognition of its real gifts and successes; it is en- 30 couraged to develop them further. And here is an ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 5 honest verdict, telling us which of our supposed successes are really, in the judgment of the great impartial world, and not in our own private judg- ment only, successes, and which are not. 6. It is so easy to feel pride and satisfaction 5 in one's own things, so hard to make sure that one is right in feeling it! We have a great empire. But so had Nebuchadnezzar. We extol the "un- rivalled happiness" of our national civilization. But then comes a candid friend, and remarks that 10 our upper class is materialized, our middle class vulgarized, and our lower class brutalized. We are proud of our painting, our music. But we find that in the judgment of other people our painting is questionable, and our music non-existent. We 15 are proud of our men of science. And here it turns out that the world is with us; we find that in the judgment of other people, too, Newton among the dead, and Mr. Darwin among the liv- ing, hold as high a place as they hold in our na-20 tional opinion. 7. Finally, we are proud of our poets and poetry. Now poetry is nothing less than the most perfect speech of man, that in which he comes nearest to being able to utter the truth. It is no small thing, 25 therefore, to succeed eminently in poetry. And so much is required for duly estimating success here, that about poetry it is perhaps hardest to arrive at a sure general verdict, and takes longest. Meanwhile, our own conviction of the superiority 30 6 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH of our national poets is not decisive, is almost cer- tain to be mingled, as we see constantly in Eng- lish eulogy of Shakespeare, with much of provin- cial infatuation. And we know what was the 5 opinion current amongst our neighbors the French, people of taste, acuteness, and quick literary tact, not a hundred years ago, about our great poets. The old Biographie Universelle notices the pre- tension of the English to a place for their poets lo among the chief poets of the world, and says that this is a pretension which to no one but an Eng- lishman can ever seem admissible. And the scornful, disparaging things said by foreigners about Shakespeare and Milton, and about our 15 national over-estimate of them, have been often quoted, and will be in every one's remembrance. 8. A great change has taken place, and Shake- speare is now generally recognized, even in France, as one of the greatest of poets. Yes, some anti- 2oGallican cynic will say, the French rank him with Corneille and with Victor Hugo! But let me have the pleasure of quoting a sentence about Shakespeare, which I met with by accident not long ago in the Correspondant, 2l French review 25 which not a dozen English people, I suppose, look at. The writer is praising Shakespeare's prose. With Shakespeare, he says, "prose comes in when- ever the subject, being more familiar, is unsuited to the majestic English iambic." And he goes on: 30 "Shakespeare is the king of poetic rhythm and ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 7 Style, as well as the king of the realm of thought; along with his dazzling prose, Shakespeare has succeeded in giving us the most varied, the most harmonious verse which has ever sounded upon the human ear since the verse of the Greeks." 5 M. Henry Cochin, the writer of this sentence, deserves our gratitude for it; it would not be easy to praise Shakespeare, in a single sentence, more justly. And when a foreigner and a Frenchman writes thus of Shakespeare, and when Goethe 10 says of Milton, in whom there was so much to repel Goethe rather than to attract him, that "nothing has been ever done so entirely in the sense of the Greeks as Samson Agonistes," and that "Milton is in very truth a poet whom we is must treat with all reverence," then we understand what constitutes a European recognition of poets and poetry as contradistinguished from a merely national recognition, and that in favor both of Milton and of Shakespeare the judgment of the 20 high court of appeal has finally gone. 9. I come back to M. Renan's praise of glory, from which I started. Yes, real glory is a most serious thing, glory authenticated by the Am- phictyonic Court of final appeal, definitive glory. 25 And even for poets and poetry, long and difficult as may be the process of arriving at the right award, the right award comes at last, the defini- tive glory rests where it is deserved. Every establishment of such a real glory is good and 30 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH wholesome for mankind at large, good and whole- some for the nation which produced the poet crowned with it. To the poet himself it can seldom do harm, for he, poor man, is in his grave, prob- 5 ably, long before his glory crowns him. lo. Wordsworth has been in his grave for some thirty years, and certainly his lovers and admirers cannot flatter themselves that this great and steady light of glory as yet shines over him. He lois not fully recognized at home; he is not recog- nised at all abroad. Yet I firmly believe that the poetical performance of Wordsworth is, after that of Shakespeare and Milton, of which all the world now recognizes the worth, undoubtedly the 15 most considerable in our language from the Eliza- bethan age to the present time. Chaucer is anterior; and on other grounds, too, he cannot well be brought into the comparison. But taking the roll of our chief poetical names, besides 20 Shakespeare and Milton, from the age of Eliza- beth downwards, and going through it, — Spenser, Dryden, Pope, Gray, Goldsmith, Cowper, Burns, Coleridge, Scott, Campbell, Moore, Byron, Shel- ley, Keats (I mention those only who are dead), — 25 I think it certain that Wordsworth's name de- serves to stand, and will finally stand, above them all. Several of the poets named have gifts and excellences which Wordsworth has not. But taking the performance of each as a whole, I say 30 that Wordsworth seems to me to have left a body ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 9 of poetical work superior in power, in interest, in the qualities which give enduring freshness, to that which any one of the others has left. 11. But this is not enough to say. I think it certain, further, that if we take the chief poetical s names of the Continent since the death of Moli- ere, and, omitting Goethe, confront the remain- ing names with that of Wordsworth, the result is the same. Let us take Klopstock, Lessing, Schiller, Uhland, Riickert, and Heine for Ger- lo many; Filicaia, Alfieri, Manzoni, and Leopardi for Italy; Racine, Boileau, Voltaire, Andre Chenier, Beranger, Lamartine, Musset, M. Victor Hugo (he has been so long celebrated that although he still lives I may be permitted to name him) 15 for France. Several of these, again, have evi- dently gifts and excellences to which Words- worth can make no pretension. But in real poeti- cal achievement it seems to me indubitable that to Wordsworth, here again, belongs the palm. 20 It seems to me that Wordsworth has left behind him a body of poetical work which wears, and will wear, better on the whole than the perform- ance of any one of these personages, so far more brilliant and celebrated, most of them, than the 25 homely poet of Rydal. Wordsworth's perform- ance in poetry is on the whole, in power, in inter- est, in the qualities which give enduring freshness, superior to theirs. 12. This is a high claim to make for Words- 30 lO ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH j worth. But if it is a just claim, if Wordsworth's ] place among the poets who have appeared in the j last two or three centuries is after Shakespeare, i Moliere, Milton, Goethe, indeed, but before all \ 5 the rest, then in time Wordsworth will haVe his ; • due. We shall recognize him in his place, as we i recognize Shakespeare and Milton; and not only we ourselves shall recognize him, but he will be recognized by Europe also. Meanwhile, those j lowho recognize him already may do well, perhaps, ! to ask themselves whether there are not in the . case of Wordsworth certain special obstacles ' which hinder or delay his due recognition by ; others, and whether these obstacles are not in \ IS some measure removable. : 13. The Excursion and the Preludcy his poems : of greatest bulk, are by no means Wordsworth's : best work. His best work is in his shorter pieces, i and many indeed are there of these which are of 1 20 first-rate excellence. But in his seven volumes ! the pieces of high merit are mingled with a mass of pieces very inferior to them; so inferior to them ! that it seems wonderful how the same poet should j have produced both. Shakespeare frequently '■ 25 has lines and passages in a strain quite false, and \ which are entirely unworthy of him. But one ; can imagine his smiling if one could meet him \ in the Elysian Fields and tell him so; smiling and \ replying that he knew it perfectly well himself, j 30 and what did it matter? But with Wordsworth ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH II the case is different. Work altogether inferior, work quite uninspired, flat and dull, is produced by him with evident unconsciousness of its de- fects, and he presents it to us with the same faith and seriousness as his best work. Now a drama 5 or an epic fill the mind, and one does not look beyond them; but in a collection of short pieces the impression made by one piece requires to be continued and sustained by the piece following. In reading Wordsworth the impression made 10 by one of his fine pieces is too often dulled and spoiled by a very inferior piece coming after it. 14. Wordsworth composed verses during a space of some sixty years; and it is no exaggera-.is tion to say that within one single decade of those years, between 1798 and 1808, almost all his really first-rate work was produced. A mass of inferior work remains, work done before and after this golden prime, imbedding the first-rate 20 work and clogging it, obstructing our approach to it, chilling, not unfrequently, the high-wrought mood with which we leave it. To be recognized far and wide as a great poet, to be possible and receivable as a classic, Wordsworth needs to be 25 relieved of a great deal of the poetical baggage which now encumbers him. To administer this relief is indispensable, unless he is to continue to be a poet for the few only, a poet valued far below his real worth by the world. 30 12 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 15. There is another thing. Wordsworth classified his poems not according to any com- monly received plan of arrangement, but accord- ing to a scheme of mental physiology. He has 5 poems of the fancy, poems of the imagination, poems of sentiment and reflexion, and so on. His categories are ingenious but far-fetched, and the result of his employment of them is unsatis- factory. Poems are separated one from another 10 which possess a kinship of subject or of treatment far more vital and deep than the supposed unity of mental origin which was Wordsworth's reason for joining them with others. 16. The tact of the Greeks in matters of this 15 kind was infallible. We may rely upon it that we shall not improve upon the classification adopted by the Greeks for kinds of poetry; that their categories of epic, dramatic, lyric, and so forth, have a natural propriety, and should be 20 adhered to. It may sometimes seem doubtful to which of two categories a poem belongs; whether this or that poem is to be called, for instance, narrative or lyric, lyric or elegiac. But there is to be found in every good poem a strain, a pre- 25 dominant note, which determines the poem as belonging to one of these kinds rather than the other; and here is the best proof of the value of the classification, and of the advantage of adher- ing to it. Wordsworth's poems will never pro- 3oduce their due effect until they are freed from ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 13 their present artificial arrangement, and grouped more naturally. 17. Disengaged from the quantity of inferior work which now obscures them, the best poems of Wordsworth, I hear many people say, would 5 indeed stand out in great beauty, but they would prove to be very few in number, scarcely more than half-a-dozen. I maintain, on the other hand, that what strikes me with admiration, what es- tablishes in my opinion Wordsworth's superiority, lo is the great and ample body of powerful work which remains to him, even after all his inferior work has been cleared away. He gives us so much to rest upon, so much which communicates his spirit and engages ours! is 18. This is of very great importance. If it were a comparison of single pieces, or of three or four pieces, by each poet, I do not say that Words- worth would stand decisively above Gray, or Burns, or Coleridge, or Keats, or Manzoni, or 20 Heine. It is in his ampler body of powerful work that I find his superiority. His good work itself, his work which counts, is not all of it, of course, of equal value. Some kinds of poetry are in them- selves lower kinds than others. The ballad kind 25 is a lower kind; the didactic kind, still more, is a lower kind. Poetry of this latter sort, counts, too, sometimes, by its biographical interest partly, not by its poetical interest pure and simple; but then this can only be when the poet producing it 30 14 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH has the power and importance of Wordsworth, a power and importance which he assuredly did not establish by such didactic poetry alone. Al- together, it is, I say, by the great body of powerful s and significant work which remains to him, after every reduction and deduction has been made, that Wordsworth's superiority is proved. 19. To exhibit this body of Wordsworth's best work, to clear away obstructions from around it, 10 and to let it speak for itself, is what every lover of Wordsworth should desire. Until this has been done, Wordsworth, whom we, to whom he is dear, all of us know and feel to be so great a poet, has not had a fair chance before the world. When IS once it has been done, he will make his way best not by our advocacy of him, but by his own worth and power. We may safely leave him to make his way thus, we who believe that a superior worth and power in poetry finds in mankind a 20 sense responsive to it and disposed at last to recognize it. Yet at the outset, before he has been duly known and recognized, we may do Words- worth a service, perha,ps, by indicating in what his superior power and worth will be found to 25 consist, and in what it will not. 20. Long ago, in speaking of Homer, I said that the noble and profound application of ideas to life is the most essential part of poetic greatness. I said that a great poet receives his distinctive 30 character of superiority from his application, ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 1 5 under the conditions immutably fixed by the laws of poetic beauty and poetic truth, from his ap- plication, I say, to his subject, whatever it may be, of the ideas On man, on nature, and on humao life, S which he has acquired for himself. The line quoted is Wordsworth's own; and his superiority arises from his powerful use, in his best pieces, his powerful application to his subject, of ideas "on man, on nature, and on human life." lo 21. Voltaire, with his signal acuteness, most truly remarked that "no nation has treated in poetry moral ideas with more energy and depth than the English nation." And he adds: "There, it seems to me, is the great merit of the English 15 poets." Voltaire does not mean, by "treating in poetry moral ideas," the composing moral and didactic poems; — that brings us but a very little v/ay in poetry. He means just the same thing as was meant when I spoke above "of the noble 20 and profound application of ideas to life"; and he means the application of these ideas under the conditions fixed for us by the laws of poetic beauty and poetic truth. If it is said that to call these ideas moral ideas is to introduce a strong 25 and injurious limitation, I answer that it is to do nothing of the kind, because moral ideas are really so main a part of human life. The ques- tion, how to livey is itself a moral idea; and it is the l6 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH question which most interests every man, and with which, in some way or other, he is perpetu- ally occupied. A large sense is of course to be given to the term moral. Whatever bears upon 5 the question, "how to live," comes under it. Nor love thy life, nor hate; but, what thou Hv'st, Live well; how long or short, permit? to heaven. In those fine lines, Milton utters, as every one at once perceives, a moral idea. Yes, but so too, lowhen Keats consoles the forward-bending lover on the Grecian Urn, the lover arrested and pre- sented in immortal relief by the sculptor's hand before he can kiss, with the line. For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair — IS he utters a moral idea. When Shakespeare says, that We are such stuff As dreams are made of, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep, 20 he utters a moral idea. 22. Voltaire was right in thinking that the energetic and profound treatment of moral ideas, in this large sense, is what distinguishes the Eng- lish poetry. He sincerely meant praise, not dis- 25 praise or hint of limitation; and they err who suppose that poetic limitation is a necessary consequence of the fact, the fact being granted as Voltaire states it. If what distinguishes the great- est poets is their powerful and profound appli- ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH I7 cation of ideas to life, which surely no good critic will deny, then to prefix to the term ideas here the term moral makes hardly any difference, be- cause human life itself is in so preponderating a 5 degree moral. 23. It is important, therefore, to hold fast to this: that poetry. is at bottom a criticism of life; that the greatness of a poet lies in his powerful and beautiful application of ideas to life, — to the 10 question: How to live. Morals are often treated in a narrow and false fashion, they are bound up with systems of thought and belief which have had their day, they are fallen into the hands of pedants and professional dealers, they grow tire- is some to some of us. We find attraction, at times, even in a poetry of revolt against them; in a poetry which might take for its motto Omar Khayyam's words: ''Let us make up in the tavern for the time which we have wasted in the 20 mosque." Or we find attractions in a poetry in- different to them, in a poetry where the contents may be what they will, but where the form is studied and exquisite. We delude ourselves in either case; and the best cure for our delusion is 25 to let our minds rest upon that great and inex- haustible word life, until we learn to enter into its meaning. A poetry of revolt against moral ideas is a poetry of revolt against life; a poetry of indifference towards moral ideas is a poetry 30 of indifference towards life. 1 8 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 24. Epictetus had a happy figure for things like the play of the senses, or literary form and finish, or argumentative ingenuity, in comparison with "the best and master thing" for us, as he called it, the concern, how to live. Some people were s afraid of them, he said, or they disliked and under- valued them. Such people were wrong; they were unthankful or cowardly. But the things might also be over-prized, and treated as final when they are not. They bear to life the relation which inns 10 bear to home. "As if a man, journeying home, and finding a nice inn on the road, and liking it, were to stay for ever at the inn! Man, thou hast forgotten thine object; thy journey was not to this, but through this. 'But this inn is taking.' is And how many other inns, too, are taking, and how many fields and meadows! but as places of passage merely. You have an object, which is this: to get home, to do your duty to your family, friends, and fellow-countrymen, to attain inward 20 freedom, serenity, happiness, contentment. Style takes your fancy, arguing takes your fancy, and you forget your home and want to make your abode with them and to stay with them, on the plea that they are taking. Who denies that they 25 are taking? but as places of passage, as inns. And when I say this, you suppose me to be attacking the care for style, the care for argument. I am not; I attack the resting in them, the not looking to the end which is beyond them," 30 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH I9 25. Now, when we come across a poet like Theophile Gautier, we have a poet who has taken up his abode at an inn, and never got farther. There may be inducements to this or that one of 5 us, at this or that moment, to find delight in him, to cleave to him; but after all, we do not change the truth about him, — we only stay ourselves in his inn along with him. And when we come across a poet like Wordsworth, who sings, ^° Of truth, of grandeur, beauty, love and hope. And melancholy fear subdued by faith, Of blessed consolations in distress, Of moral strength and intellectual power, Of joy in widest commonalty spread — IS then we have a poet intent on ''the best and master thing," and who prosecutes his journey home. We say, for brevity's sake, that he deals with life, because he deals with that in which life really consists. This is what Voltaire means to 20 praise in the English poets, — this dealing with what is really life. But always it is the mark of the greatest poets that they deal with it; and to say that the English poets are remarkable for dealing with it, is only another way of saying, 25 what is true, that in poetry the English genius has especially shown its power. 26. Wordsworth deals with it, and his greatness lies in his dealing with it so powerfully. I have named a number of celebrated poets, above all 30 of whom he, in my opinion, deserves to be placed. 20 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH He is to be placed above poets like Voltaire, Dry- den, Pope, Lessing, Schiller, because these famous personages, with a thousand gifts and merits, never, or scarcely ever, attain the distinctive accent and utterance of the high and genuine s poets — Quique pii vates et Phoebo digna locuti, at all. Burns, Keats, Heine, not to speak of others in our list, have this accent; — who can doubt it? And at the same time they have treasures ofio humor, felicity, passion, for which in Wordsworth we shall look in vain. Where, then, is Words- worth's superiority? It is here; he deals with more of life than they do; he deals with life, as a whole, more powerfully. is 27. No Wordsworthian will doubt this. Nay, the fervent Wordsworthian will add, as Mr. Leslie Stephen does, that Wordsworth's poetry is pre- cious because his philosophy is sound; that his "ethical system is as distinctive and capable of 20 exposition as Bishop Butler's"; that his poetry is informed by ideas which "fall spontaneously into a scientific system of thought." But we must be on our guard against the Wordsworthians, if we want to secure for Wordsworth his due rank 25 as a poet. The Wordsworthians are apt to praise him for the wrong things, and to lay far too much stress upon what they call his philosophy. His poetry is the reality, his philosophy, — so far, at ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 21 least, as it may put on the form and habit of "a scientific system of thought," and the more that it puts them on, — is the illusion. Perhaps we shall one day learn to make this proposition general, 5 and to say: Poetry is the reality, philosophy the illusion. But in Wordsworth's case, at any rate, we cannot do him justice until we dismiss his formal philosophy. 28. The Excursion abounds with philosophy, 10 and therefore the Excursion is to the Words- worthian what it never can be to the disinterested lover of poetry, — a satisfactory work. "Duty exists," says Wordsworth, in the Excursion; and then he proceeds thus: — ^5 .... Immutably survive, For our support, the measures and the forms, Which an abstract IntelHgence supplies, Whose kingdom is, where time and space are not. And the Wordsworthian is delighted, and thinks 20 that here is a sweet union of philosophy and poetry. But the disinterested lover of poetry will feel that the lines carry us really not a step farther than the proposition which they would interpret; that they are a tissue of elevated but abstract verbiage, 25 alien to the very nature of poetry. 29. Or let us come direct to the center of Words- worth's philosophy, as "an ethical system, as dis- tinctive and capable of systematical exposition as Bishop Butler's": — 22 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH . . . . One adequate support 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 S Of infinite benevolence and power; Whose everlasting purposes embrace All accidents, converting them to good. That is doctrine such as we hear in church too, rehgious and philosophic doctrine; and the at- lo tached Wordsworthian loves passages of such doctrine, and brings them forward in proof of his poet's excellence. But however true the doc- trine may be, it has, as here presented, none of the characters of poetic truth, the kind of truth is which we require from a poet, and in which Words- worth is really strong. 30. Even the ''intimations" of the famous Ode, those corner-stones of the supposed philosophic system of Wordsworth, — the idea of the high in- 20 stincts and affections coming out in childhood, testifying of a divine home recently left, and fad- ing away as our life proceeds, — this idea, of un- deniable beauty as a play of fancy, has itself not the character of poetic truth of the best kind; it 25 has no real solidity. The instinct of delight in Nature and her beauty had no doubt extraordi- nary strength in Wordsworth himself as a child. But to say that universally this instinct is mighty in childhood, and tends to die away afterwards, 30 is to say what is extremely doubtful. In many r ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 23 people, perhaps with the majority of educated persons, the love of nature is nearly imperceptible at ten years old, but strong and operative at thirty. In general we may say of these high instincts of 5 early childhood, the base of the alleged systematic philosophy of Wordsworth, what Thucydides says of the early achievements of the Greek race — "It is impossible to speak with certainty of what is so remote; but from all that we can really in- lovestigate, I should say that they were no very great things." 31. Finally the "scientific system of thought" in Wordsv/orth gives us at last such poetry as this, which the devout Wordsworthian accepts: — ^5 O for the coming of that glorious time When, prizing knowledge as her noblest wealth And best protection, this Imperial Realm, While she exacts allegiance, shall admit An obligation, on her part, to teach ^° Them who are born to serve her and obey; Binding herself by statute to secure. For all the children whom her soil maintains. The rudiments of letters, and inform The mind with moral and religious truth. 25 Wordsworth calls Voltaire dull, and surely the production of these un- Voltairian lines must have been imposed on him as a judgment! One can hear them being quoted at a Social Science Con- gress; one can call up the whole scene. A great 30 room in one of our dismal provincial towns; dusty / 24 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH ) air and jaded afternoon daylight; benches full of men with bald heads and women in spectacles; an orator lifting up his face from a manuscript written within and without to declaim these lines of Wordsworth; and in the soul of any poor child 5 of nature who may have wandered in thither, an unutterable sense of lamentation, and mourning, and woe! 32. *'But turn we,'* as Wordsworth says, **from these bold, bad men," the haunters of Social 10 ) Science Congresses. And let us be on our guard, too, against the exhibitors and extoUers of a "scientific system of thought" in Wordsworth's poetry. The poetry will never be seen aright while they thus exhibit it. The cause of its great- 15 ness is simple, and may be told quite simply. Wordsworth's poetry is great because of the extraordinary power with which Wordsworth feels the joy offered to us in nature, the joy offered to us in the simple primary affections and duties; 20 and because of the extraordinary power with j which, in case after case, he shows us this joy, and renders it so as to make us share it. i 33. The source of joy from which he thus draws ! is the truest and most unfailing source of joy 25 j accessible to man. It is also accessible universally. 1 Wordsworth brings us word, therefore, according to his own strong and characteristic line, he brings US word j Of joy in widest: commonalty spread. 30 ■ ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 2^ Here is an immense advantage for a poet. Words- worth tells of what all seek, and tells of it at its truest and best source, and yet a source where all may go and draw for it. 5 34. Nevertheless, we are not to suppose that everything is precious which Wordsworth, stand- ing even at this perennial and beautiful source, may give us. Wordsworthians are apt to talk as if it must be. They will speak with the same 10 reverence of The Sailor s Mother, for example, as of Lucy Gray. They do their master harm by such lack of discrimination. Lucy Gray is a beauti- ful success; The Sailor s Mother is a failure. To give aright what he wishes to give, to interpret and 15 render successfully, is not always within Words- worth's own command. It is within no poet's command; here is the part of the Muse, the inspira- tion, the God, the "not ourselves." In Words- worth's case, the accident, for so it may almost be 20 called, of inspiration, is of peculiar importance. No poet, perhaps, is so evidently filled with a new and sacred energy when the inspiration is upon him; no poet, when it fails him, is so left "weak as is a breaking wave." I remember hearing him 25 say that "Goethe's poetry was not inevitable enough." The remark is striking and true; no line in Goethe, as Goethe said himself, but its maker knew well how it came there. Wordsworth is right, Goethe's poetry is not inevitable; not 30 inevitable enough. But Wordsworth's poetry, 26 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH when he is at his best, is inevitable, as inevitable as Nature herself. It might seem that Nature not only gave him the matter for his poem, but wrote his poem for him. He has no style. He was too conversant with Milton not to catch at 5 times his master's manner, and he has fine Mil- tonic lines; but he has no assured poetic style of his own, like Milton. When he seeks to have a style he falls into ponderosity and pomposity. In the Excursion we have his style, as an artistic 10 product of his own creation; and although Jeffrey completely failed to recognize Wordsworth's real greatness, he was yet not wrong in saying of the Excursion^ as a work of poetic style: ''This will never do." And yet magical as is that power, 15 which Wordsworth has not, of assured and pos- sessed poetic style, he has something which is an equivalent for it. 35. Every one who has any sense for these things feels the subtle turn, the heightening, 20 which is given to a poet's verse by his genius for style. We can feel it in the After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well — of Shakespeare; in the though fall'n on evil days, ^5 On evil days though fall'n, and evil tongues — of Milton. It is the incomparable charm of Mil- ton's power of poetic style which gives such worth ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 27 to Paradise Regained, and makes a great poem of a work in which Milton's imagination does not soar high. Wordsworth has in constant possession, and at command, no style of this kind; but he shad too poetic a nature, and had read the great poets too well, not to catch, as I have already remarked, something of it occasionally. We find it not only in his Miltonic lines; we find it in such a phrase as this, where the manner is his loown, not Milton's — .... the fierce confederate storm Of sorrow barricadoed evermore Within the walls of cities; although even here, perhaps, the power of style, ^5 which is undeniable, is more properly that of eloquent prose than the subtle heightening and change wrought by genuine poetic style. It is style, again, and the elevation given by style, which chiefly makes the efl^ectiveness of Laoda- 2° meia. Still the right sort of verse to choose from Wordsworth, if we are to seize his true and characteristic form of expression, is a line like this from Michael: — And never lifted up a single stone. 25 There is nothing subtle in it, no heightening, no study of poetic style, strictly so called, at all; yet it is expression of the highest and most truly expressive kind. 28 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 36. Wordsworth owed much to Burns, and a style of perfect plainness, relying for effect solely on the weight and force of that which with entire fidelity it utters. Burns could show him. The poor inhabitant below S Was quick to learn and wise to know. And keenly felt the friendly glow And softer flame; But thoughtless follies laid him low And stain'd his name. 10 Every one will be conscious of a likeness here to Wordsworth; and if Wordsworth did great things with this nobly plain manner, we must remember, what indeed he himself would always have been for- ward to acknowledge, that Burns used it before him. 15 37. Still Wordsworth's use of it has something unique and unmatchable. Nature herself seems, I say, to take the pen out of his hand, and to write for him with her own bare, sheer, penetrating power. This arises from two causes: from the 20 profound sincereness with which Wordsworth feels his subject, and also from the profoundly sincere and natural character of his subject itself. He can and will treat such a subject with nothing but the most plain, first-hand, almost austere 25 naturalness. His expression may often be called bald, as, for instance, in the poem of Resolution and Independence; but it is bald as the bare mountain tops are bald, with a baldness which is full of grandeur. 30 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 29 38. Wherever we meet with the successful balance in Wordsworth, of profound truth of subject with profound truth of execution, he is unique. His best poems are those which most 5 perfectly exhibit this balance. I have a warm admiration for Laodameia and for the great Ode; but if I am to tell the very truth, I find Laodameia not wholly free from something artificial, and the great Ode not wholly free from something declama- 10 tory. If I had to pick out poems of a kind most perfectly to show Wordsworth's unique power, I should rather choose poems such as Michael, The Fountain, The Highland Reaper. And poems with the peculiar and unique beauty which dis- 15 tinguishes these, Wordsworth produced in con- siderable number; besides very many other poems of which the worth, although not so rare as the worth of these, is still exceedingly high. 39. On the whole, then, as I said at the begin- -zoning, not only is Wordsworth eminent by reason of the goodness of his best work, but he is eminent also by reason of the great body of good work which he has left to us. With the ancients I will not compare him. In many respects the ancients 25 are far above us, and yet there is something that we demand which they can never give. Leaving the ancients, let us come to the poets and poetry of Christendom. Dante, Shakespeare, Moliere, Milton, Goethe, are altogether larger and more 30 splendid luminaries in the poetical heaven than 30 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH Wordsworth. But I know not where else, among the moderns, we are to find his superiors. 40. To disengage the poems which show his power, and to present them to the EngHsh-speak- ing public and to the world, is the object of this 5 volume. I by no means say that it contains all which in Wordsworth's poems is interesting. Ex- cept in the case oi Margaret, a story composed sep- arately from the rest of the Excursion, and which belongs to a different part of England, I have not 10 ventured on detaching portions of poems, or on giving any piece otherwise than as Wordsworth himself gave it. But, under the conditions im- posed by this reserve, the volume contains, I think, everything, or nearly everything, which 15 may best serve him with the majority of lovers of poetry, nothing which may disserve him. 41. I have spoken lightly of Wordsworthians: and if we are to get Wordsworth recognized by the public and by the world, we must recommend 20 him not in the spirit of a clique, but in the spirit of disinterested lovers of poetry. But I am a Wordsworthian myself. I can read with pleasure and edification Peter Bell, and the whole series of Ecclesiastical Sonnets, and the address to Mr. 25 Wilkinson's spade, and even the Thanksgiving Ode; — everything of Wordsworth, I think, except Vaudracour and Julia. It is not for nothing that one has been brought up in the veneration of a man so truly worthy of homage; that one has 30 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 3 1 seen him and heard him, lived in his neighbor- hood and been familiar with his country. No Wordsworthian has a tenderer affection for this pure and sage master than I, or is less really 5 offended by his defects. But Wordsworth is something more than the pure and sage master of a small band of devoted followers, and we ought not to rest satisfied until he is seen to be what he is. He is one of the very chief glories of lo English Poetry; and by nothing is England so glorious as by her poetry. Let us lay aside every weight which hinders our getting him recognized as this, and let our one study be to bring to pass, as widely as possible and as truly as possible, his 15 own word concerning his poems: — "They will co-operate with the benign tendencies in human nature and society, and will, in their degree, be efficacious in making men wiser, better, and hap- pier." SELECTED POEMS OF WORDSWORTH Wi^T n I POEMS IN BALLAD FORM WE ARE SEVEN -A simple child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every, limb. What should it know of death? s I met a little cottage Girl: She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, lo And she was wildly clad: Her eyes were fair, and very fair; — Her beauty made me glad. "Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you heV 15 "How many-f* Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they.? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, 20 And two are gone to sea. 35 36 POEMS IN BALLAD FORM "Two of US in the churchyard He, My sister and my brother; And, in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother." 25 "You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea. Yet ye are seven ! — I pray you tell. Sweet Maid, how this may be." Then did the little Maid reply, 30 "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree." "You run about, my little Maid, Your limbs they are alive; 35 If two are in the churchyard laid, Then ye are only five." "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little Maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, 40 And they are side by side. "My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit — I sit and sing to them, WE ARE SEVEN 37 ,; 45 "And often after sunset, Sir, ! When it is light and fair, ! I take my little porringer. And eat my supper there. "The first that died was little Jane; so In bed she moaning lay, \ Till God released her of her pain; ] And then she went away. i "So in the churchyard she was laid; ! And, when the grass was dry, i 55 Together round her grave we played. My brother John and I. "And when the ground was white with snow. And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, 6o And he lies by her side." "How many are you, then," said I, "If they two are in Heaven.?" The little Maiden did reply, "O Master! we are seven." 6s "But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in Heaven ! " 'Twas throwing words away; for still The little Maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven!" LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray: And, when I crossed the wild, I chanced to see at break of day The solitary Child. s No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wide moor, — ^The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door! You yet may spy the fawn at play, lo The hare upon the green; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen. "To-night will be a stormy night — You to the town must go; IS And take a lantern. Child, to light Your mother through the snow.'* "That, Father! will I gladly do: 'Tis scarcely afternoon — The Minster-clock has just struck two, 20 And yonder is the Moon." 38 LUCY GRAY 39 At this the Father raised his hook, And snapped a faggot-band; He pHed his work; — and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. 25 Not blither is the mountain roe: With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke. The snow came on before its time: 30 She wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb; But never reached the town. The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide; 35 But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide. At day-break on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood, 40 A furlong from their door. They wept — and, turning homeward, cried, "In Heaven we all shall meet;" — When in the. snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet. 40 POEMS IN BALLAD FORM 45 Half breathless from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn-hedge, And by the long stone- wall; And then an open field they crossed: so The marks were still the same; They tracked them on, nor ever lost; And to the Bridge they came. They followed from the snowy bank Those footmarks, one by one, 55 Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none! — Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray 60 Upon the lonesome wild. O'er rough and smooth she trips along And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. STAR-GAZERS What crowd is this? what have we here! we must not pass it by; A Telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the sky: Long is it as a barber's pole, or mast of little boat. Some little pleasure-skiff, that doth on Thames's waters float. 5 The Showman chooses well his place, 'tis Leices- ter's busy Square; And is as happy in his night, for the heavens are blue and fair; Calm, though impatient, is the crowd; each stands ready with the fee. Impatient till his moment comes — what an in- sight must it be! Yet, Showman, where can lie the cause? Shall thy implement have blame, lo A boaster, that when he is tried, fails, and is put to shame? Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in fault? Their eyes, or minds? or, finally, is yon resplendent Vault? 41 42 POEMS IN BALLAD FORM i Is nothing of that radiant pomp so good as we i have here? l Or gives a thing but small deHght that never can be dear? I IS The silver moon with all her vales, and hills of | mightiest fame, I Doth she betray us when they're seen ? or are they i but a name? Or is it rather that Conceit rapacious is and strong, And bounty never yields so much but it seems to I do her wrong? ■ Or is it, that when human souls a journey long have had I 20 And are returned into themselves, they cannot \ but be sad ? j Or must we be constrained to think that these , spectators rude, ^ Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the 1 multitude, I Have souls which never yet have risen, and | therefore prostrate lie? ' No, no, this cannot be — Men thirst for power j and majesty! ?5 Does, then, a deep and earnest thought the blissful mind employ Of him who gazes, or has gazed? a grave and steady joy, I STAR-GAZERS 43 That doth reject all show of pride, admits no outward sign, Because not of this noisy world, but silent and divine! Whatever be the cause, *tis sure that they who pry and pore 30 Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than before: One after one they take their turn, nor have I one espied That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied. \ ■I THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN I At the corner of Wood Street, when dayHght ' appears, Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years: Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard ! In the silence of morning the song of the Bird. 5 'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees ! A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; , Bright volumes of vapor through Lothbury glide, ! And a river flows on through the vale of Cheap- j side. i i Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, j lo Down which she so often has tripped with her pail; - And a single small Cottage, a nest like a dove's, [ The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they | fade, The mist and the river, the hill and the shade: j 15 The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, ' And the colors have all passed away from her eyes, i 44 II NARRATIVE POEMS THE LEECH-GATHERER; OR, RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE There was a roaring in the wind all night; The rain came heavily and fell in floods; But now the sun is rising calm and bright; The birds are singing in the distant woods; 5 Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods; The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters; And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters. All things that love the sun are out of doors; The sky rejoices in the morning's birth; lo The grass is bright with rain-drops; — on the moors The Hare is running races in her mirth; And with her feet she from the plashy earth Raises a mist; that, glittering in the sun, Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. IS I was a traveler then upon the moor; I saw the Hare that raced about with joy; I heard the woods and distant waters roar; Or heard them not, as happy as a boy: 45 46 NARRATIVE POEMS The pleasant season did my heart employ: 20 My old remembrances went from me wholly; And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy! But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might Of joy in minds that can no further go, As high as we have mounted in delight 25 In our dejection do we sink as low, To me that morning did it happen so; And fears and fancies thick upon me came; Dim sadness — and blind thoughts, I knew not, nor could name. I heard the Sky-lark warbling in the sky; 30 And I bethought me of the playful Hare: Even such a happy child of earth am I; Even as these blissful creatures do I fare; Far from the world I walk, and from all care; But there may come another day to me — 35 Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty. My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought, As if life's business were a summer mood: As if all needful things would come unsought To genial faith, still rich in genial good: 40 But how can He expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all ^ I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy, The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride; THE LEECH-GATHERER 47 45 Of Him who walked in glory and in joy i Following his plough, along the mountain-side: | By our own spirits are we deified; I We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; / But thereof comes in the end despondency and < madness. i '( 50 Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, 1 A leading from above, a something given, ' Yet it befel, that, in this lonely place, When I with these untoward thoughts had striven, ' Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven 55 I saw a Man before me unawares: The oldest man he seemed that ever w^ore grey hairs. j As a huge Stone is sometimes seen to lie \ Couched on the bald top of an eminence; Wonder to all who do the same espy, j 60 By what means it could thither come, and whence; 1 So that it seems a thing endued with sense: Like a Sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf \ Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself; J Such seemed this Man, not all alive nor dead, 65 Nor all asleep — in his extreme old age: His body was bent double, feet and head Coming together in life's pilgrimage; As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage Of sickness felt by him in times long past, I 70 A more than human weight upon his frame had 1 cast. I 48 NARRATIVE POEMS | Himself he propped, his body, limbs, and face, i Upon a long grey Staff of shaven wood: , And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, i Upon the margin of that moorish flood 1 75 Motionless as a Cloud the Old-man stood; I That heareth not the loud winds when they call; \ And moveth all together, if it move at all. ' At length, himself unsettling, he the Pond j Stirred with his Staffs, and fixedly did look ■ 80 Upon the muddy water, which he conned, ■ As if he had been reading in a book: And now a stranger's privilege I took; And, drawing to his side, to him did say, "This morning gives us promise of a glorious : day." ] ! 8s A gentle answer did the Old-man make. In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew: ^ And him with further words I thus bespake, I "What occupation do you there pursue.? This is a lonesome place for one like you." , 90 He answered, while a flash of mild surprise Broke from the sable orbs of his yet vivid eyes. j i His words came feebly, from a feeble chest, 1 But each in solemn order followed each. With something of a lofty utterance drest — 95 Choice word and measured phrase, above the reach i THE LEECH-GATHERER 49 Of ordinary men; a stately speech; Such as grave livers do in Scotland use, Religious men, who give to God and man their dues. He told, that to these waters he had come loo To gather Leeches, being old and poor: Employment hazardous and wearisome! And he had many hardships to endure; From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor; Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance; 105 And in this way he gained an honest mainte- nance. The Old-man still stood talking by my side: But now his voice to me was like a stream Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide: And the whole Body of the Man did seem no Like one whom I had met with in a dream: Or like a man from some far region sent, To give me human strength, by apt admonish- ment. My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills; And hope that is unwilling to be fed; 115 Cold, pain, and labor, and all fleshly ills; And mighty Poets in their misery dead. 50 NARRATIVE POEMS — Perplexed, and longing to be comforted, My question eagerly did I renew, "How is it that you live, and what is it you do?" 1 20 He with a smile did then his words repeat; And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide He traveled;, stirring thus about his feet The waters of the Pools where they abide. "Once I could meet with them on every side; 125 But they have dwindled long by slow decay; Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may." While he was talking thus, the lonely place. The Old-man's shape, and speech, all troubled me: In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace About the weary moors continually, 130 Wandering about alone and silently. While I these thoughts within myself pursued. He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed. And soon with this he other matter blended, 135 Cheerfully uttered, with demeanor kind. But stately in the main; and when he ended, I could have laughed myself to scorn to find In that decrepit Man so firm a mind. "God," said I, "be my help and stay secure; 140 I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor!" MICHAEL A PASTORAL POEM If from the public way you turn your steps Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll, You will suppose that with an upright path Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent 5 The pastoral mountains front you, face to face. But, courage! for around that boisterous Brook The mountains have all opened out themselves. And made a hidden valley of their own. No habitation can be seen; but they lo Who journey hither find themselves alone With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites That overhead are sailing in the sky. It is in truth an utter solitude; Nor should I have made mention of this Dell IS But for one object which you might pass by. Might see and notice not. Beside the brook Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones! And to that place a story appertains. Which, though it be ungarnished with events, 20 Is not unfit, I deem, for the fireside. Or for the summer shade. It was the first Of those domestic tales that spake to me Of Shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men 51 52 NARRATIVE POEMS Whom I already loved; — not verily 25 For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills Where was their occupation and abode. And hence this tale, while I was yet a Boy Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency 30 Of natural objects led me on to feel For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life. Therefore, although it be a history 35 Homely and rude, I will relate the same For the delight of a few natural hearts; And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake Of youthful Poets, who among these Hills Will be my second self when I am gone. 40 Upon the Forest-side in Grasmere Vale There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his name; An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb. His bodily frame had been from youth to age Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen, 45 Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs. And in his Shepherd's calling he was prompt And watchful more than ordinary men. Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds, Of blasts of every tone; and, oftentimes, 50 When others heeded not. He heard the South Make subterraneous music, like the noise Of Bagpipers on distant Highland hills. MICHAEL 53 The Shepherd, at such warning, of his flock Bethought him, and he to himself would say, 55 "The winds are now devising work for me!" And, truly, at all times, the storm — that drives The traveler to a shelter — summoned him Up to the mountains: he had been alone Amid the heart of many thousand mists, 60 That came to him and left him on the heights. So lived he till his eightieth year was past. And grossly that man errs, who should suppose That the green Valleys, and the Streams and Rocks, Were things indifferent to the Shepherd's thoughts. 65 Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had breathed The common air; the hills, which he so oft Had climbed with vigorous steps; which had impressed So many incidents upon his mind Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear; 70 Which, like a book, preserved the memory Of the dumb animals, whom he had saved, Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts, The certainty of honorable gain. Those fields, those hills — what could they less.? had laid 75 Strong hold on his affections, were to him A pleasurable feeling of blind love. The pleasure which there is in life itself. 54 NARRATIVE POEMS His days had not been passed in singleness. His Helpmate was a comely Matron, old — 80 Though younger than himself full twenty years. She was a woman of a stirring life, Whose heart was in her house: two wheels she had Of antique form, this large for spinning wool. That small for flax; and if one wheel had rest, 85 It was because the other was at work. The Pair had but one inmate in their house, An only Child, who had been born to them When Michael, telling o'er his years, began To deem that he was old, — in Shepherd's phrase, 90 With one foot in the grave. This only Son With two brave Sheep-dogs tried in many a storm, The one of an inestimable worth. Made all their household. I may truly say, That they were as a proverb in the vale 95 For endless industry. When day was gone. And from their occupations out of doors The Son and Father were come home, even then Their labor did not cease; unless when all Turned to their cleanly supper-board, and there, 100 Each with a mess of pottage and skimmed milk. Sat round their basket piled with oaten cakes And their plain home-made cheese. Yet when their meal Was ended, Luke (for so the Son was named) And his old Father both betook themselves 105 To such convenient work as might employ Their hands by the fireside; perhaps to card MICHAEL 55 Wool for the Housewife's spindle, or repair Some injury done to sickle, flail, or scythe, Or other implement of house or field. no Down from the ceiling, by the chimney's edge. That in our ancient uncouth country style Did with a huge projection o verb row Large space beneath, as duly as the light Of day grew dim the Housewife hung a Lamp; IIS An aged utensil, which had performed Service beyond all others of its kind. Early at evening did it burn and late. Surviving comrade of uncounted Hours, Which, going by from year to year, had found, I20 And left the couple neither gay perhaps Nor cheerful, yet with objects and with hopes, Living a life of eager industry. And now, when Luke had reached his eighteenth year There by the light of this old lamp they sat, 125 Father and Son, while late into the night The Housewife plied her own peculiar work. Making the cottage through the silent hours Murmur as with the sound of summer flies. This Light was famous in its neighborhood, 130 And was a public symbol of the life That thrifty Pair had lived. For, as it chanced, Their Cottage on a plot of rising ground Stood single, with large prospect. North and South, 56 NARRATIVE POEMS High into Easedale, up to Dunmail-Raise, 135 And westward to the village near the Lake; And from this constant hght, so regular And so far seen, the House itself, by all Who dwelt within the limits of the vale, Both old and young, was named The Evening Star. 140 Thus living on through such a length of years. The Shepherd, if he loved himself, must needs Have loved his Helpmate; but to Michael's heart This Son of his old age was yet more dear — Less from instinctive tenderness, the same 145 Blind spirit, which is in the blood of all — Than that a child more than all other gifts. Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts, And stirrings of inquietude, when they By tendency of nature needs must fail. ISO Exceeding was the love he bare to him, His Heart and his Heart's joy! For oftentimes Old Michael, while he was a babe in arms, Had done him female service, not alone For pastime and delight, as is the use IS5 Of fathers, but with patient mind enforced To acts of tenderness; and he had rocked His cradle with a woman's gentle hand. And, in a later time, ere yet the Boy Had put on boy's attire, did Michael love, i6o Albeit of a stern unbending mind, Michael 57 To have the Young-one in his sight, when he Had work by his own door, or when he sat With sheep before him on his Shepherd's stool, Beneath that large old Oak, which near their door 165 Stood, — and, from its enormous breadth of shade Chosen for the shearer's covert from the sun, Thence in our rustic dialect was called The Clipping Tree,^ a name which yet it bears. There, while they two were sitting in the shade, 170 With others round them, earnest all and blithe, Would Michael exercise his heart with looks Of fond correction and reproof bestowed Upon the Child, if he disturbed the sheep By catching at their legs, or with his shouts 175 Scared them, while they lay still beneath the shears. And when by Heaven's good grace the Boy grew up A healthy lad, and carried in his cheek Two steady roses that were five years old, Then Michael from a winter coppice cut 180 With his own hand a sapling, which he hooped With iron, making it throughout in all Due requisites a perfect Shepherd's Staff, And gave it to the Boy; wherewith equipt He as a watchman oftentimes was placed 185 At gate or gap, to stem or turn the flock; ^Clipping is the word used in the North of England for shearing. 58 NARRATIVE POEMS And, to his office prematurely called, There stood the Urchin, as you will divine, Something between a hindrance and a help; And for this cause not always, I believe, 190 Receiving from his Father hire of praise; Though nought was left undone which staff, or voice. Or looks, or threatening gestures, could perform. But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand Against the mountain blasts; and to the heights, iQS Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways. He with his Father daily went, and they Were as companions, why should I relate That objects which the Shepherd loved before Were dearer now? that from the Boy there came 200 Feelings and emanations — things which were Light to the sun and music to the wind; And that the Old Man's heart seemed born again? Thus in his Father's sight the boy grew up: And now, when he had reached his eighteenth year, 205 He was his comfort and his daily hope. While in this sort the simple Household lived From day to day, to Michael's ear there came Distressful tidings. Long before the time Of which I speak, the Shepherd had been bound 210 In surety for his Brother's Son, a man MICHAEL 59 Of an industrious life, and ample means, — But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly Had prest upon him, — and old Michael now Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture, 215 A grievous penalty, but little less Than half his substance. This unlooked-for claim, At the first hearing, for a moment took More hope out of his life than he supposed That any old man ever could have lost. 220 As soon as he had gathered so much strength That he could look his trouble in the face, It seemed that his sole refuge was to sell A portion of his patrimonial fields. Such was his first resolve; he thought again, 225 And his heart failed him. "Isabel," said he. Two evenings after he had heard the news, "I have been toiling more than seventy years. And in the open sunshine of God's love Have we all lived; yet if these fields of ours 230 Should pass into a stranger's hand, I think That I could not lie quiet in my grave. Our lot is a hard lot; the sun himself Has scarcely been more diligent than I; And I have lived to be a fool at last 235 To my own family. An evil Man That was, and made an evil choice, if he Were false to us; and if he were not false, There are ten thousand to whom loss like this Had been no sorrow. I forgive him — but 240 'Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus. 6o NARRATIVE POEMS When I began, my purpose was to speak Of remedies, and of a cheerful hope. Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land Shall not go from us, and it shall be free; 245 He shall possess it, free as is the wind That passes over it. We have, thou know'st, Another Kinsman — he will be our friend In this distress. He is a prosperous man, Thriving in trade — and Luke to him shall go, 250 And with his Kinsman's help and his own thrift He quickly will repair this loss, and then May come again to us. If here he stay. What can be done? Where every one is poor. What can be gained.?" At this the Old Man paused, 255 And Isabel sat silent, for her mind Was busy, looking back into past times. There's Richard Bateman, thought she to herself, He was a Parish-boy — at the Church-door They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence, 260 And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbors bought A basket, which they filled with pedlar's wares; And, with this basket on his arm, the Lad Went up to London, found a Master there, Who, out of many, chose the trusty Boy 265 To go and overlook his merchandise Beyond the seas: where he grew wondrous rich, And left estates and monies to the poor, And, at his birth-place, built a Chapel floored With marble, which he sent from foreign lands. MICHAEL 6l 270 These thoughts, and many others of like sort, Passed quickly through the mind of Isabel, And her face brightened. The Old Man was glad, And thus resumed: — "Well, Isabel! this scheme, These two days, has been meat and drink to me. 275 Far more than we have lost is left us yet. We have enough — I wish indeed that I Were younger, — but this hope is a good hope. — Make ready Luke's best garments, of the best Buy for him more, and let us send him forth 280 To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night: —If he could go, the Boy should go to-night." Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth With a light heart. The Housewife for five days Was restless morn and night, and all day long 285 Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare Things needful for the journey of her son. But Isabel was glad when Sunday came To stop her in her work: for when she lay By Michael's side, she through the two last nights 290 Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep: And when they rose at morning she could see That all his hopes were gone. That day at noon She said to Luke, while they two by themselves Were sitting at the door, "Thou must not go: 295 We have no other Child but thee to lose. None to remember — do not go away. For if thou leave thy Father he will die." The Youth made answer with a jocund voice; And Isabel, when she had told her fears, 62 NARRATIVE POEMS 300 Recovered heart. That evening her best fare Did she bring forth, and all together sat Like happy people round a Christmas fire. With daylight Isabel resumed her work; And all the ensuing week the house appeared 305 As cheerful as a grove in Spring: at length The expected letter from their Kinsman came, With kind assurances that he would do His utmost for the welfare of the Boy; To which, requests were added, that forthwith 310 He might be sent to him. Ten times or more The letter was read over; Isabel Went forth to show it to the neighbors round; Nor was there at that time on English land A prouder heart than Luke's. When Isabel 315 Had to her house returned, the Old Man said, " He shall depart to-morrow." To this word The Housewife answered, talking much of things Which, if at such short notice he should go. Would surely be forgotten. But at length 320 She gave consent, and Michael was at ease. Near the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll, In that deep Valley, Michael had designed To build a Sheep-fold; and, before he heard The tidings of his melancholy loss, 325 For this same purpose he had gathered up A heap of stones, which by the Streamlet's edge MICHAEL 63 Lay thrown together, ready for the work. With Luke that evening thitherward he walked; And soon as they had reached the place he stopped 330 And thus the Old Man spake to him: — "My Son, To-morrow thou wilt leave me: with full heart I look upon thee, for thou art the same That wert a promise to me ere thy birth. And all thy life hast been my daily joy. 335 I will relate to thee some little part Of our two histories; *twill do thee good ^When thou art from me, even if I should speak Of things thou canst not know of. — After thou First camest into the world — as oft befalls 340 To new-born infants — thou didst sleep away Two days, and blessings from thy Father's tongue Then fell upon thee. Day by day passed on. And still I loved thee with increasing love. Never to living ear came sweeter sounds 345 Than when I heard thee by our own fireside First uttering, without words, a natural tune; When thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy Sing at thy Mother's breast. Month followed month. And in the open fields my life was passed 350 And on the mountains; else I think that thou Hadst been brought up upon thy Father's knees. But we were playmates, Luke: among these hills. As well thou knowest, in us the old and young Have played together, nor with me didst thou 355 Lack any pleasure which a boy can know." 64 NARRATIVE POEMS Luke had a manly heart; but at these words He sobbed aloud. The Old Man grasped his hand, And said, "Nay, do not take it so — I see That these are things of which I need not speak. 360 — Even to the utmost I have been to thee A kind and a good Father: and herein I but repay a gift which I myself Received at others' hands; for, though now old Beyond the common life of man, I still 365 Remember them who loved me in my youth. Both of them sleep together: here they lived, As all their Forefathers had done; and when At length their time was come, they were not loth To give their bodies to the family mould. 370 I wished that thou shouldst live the life they lived. But, 'tis a long time to look back, my Son, And see so little gain from threescore years. These fields were burthened when they came to me; Till I was forty years of age, not more 375 Than half of my inheritance was mine. I toiled and toiled; God blessed me in my work. And till these three weeks past the land was free. — It looks as if it never could endure Another Master. Heaven forgive me, Luke, 380 If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good That thou shouldst go." At this the Old Man paused; Then, pointing to the Stones near which they stood, MICHAEL 65 Thus, after a short silence, he resumed : **This was a work for us; and now, my Son, 385 It is a work for me. But, lay one stone — Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands, Nay, Boy, be of good hope; — we both may live To see a better day. At eighty-four I still am strong and hale; — do thou thy part; 390 I will do mine. — I will begin again With many tasks that were resigned to thee: Up to the heights, and in among the storms, Will I without thee go again, and do All works which I was wont to do alone, 395 Before I knew thy face. — Heaven bless thee. Boy! Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast With many hopes. — It should be so — Yes — yes — I knew that thou couldst never have a wish To leave me, Luke; thou hast been bound to me 4cx> Only by links of love: when thou art gone What will be left to us! — But, I forget My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone, As I requested; and hereafter, Luke, When thou art gone away, should evil men 40s Be thy companions, think of me, my Son, And of this moment; hither turn thy thoughts, And God will strengthen thee: amid all fear And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou Mayst bear in mind the life thy Fathers lived, 410 Who, being innocent, did for that cause Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee well — When thou returnest, thou in this place wilt see 66 NARRATIVE POEMS A work which is not here: a covenant 'Twill be between us But, whatever fate 415 Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last, And bear thy memory with me to the grave." The Shepherd ended here; and Luke stooped down. And, as his Father had requested, laid The first stone of the Sheep-fold. At the sight 420 The Old Man's grief broke from him; to his heart He pressed his son, he kissed him and wept; And to the house together they returned. — Hushed was that House in peace, or seeming peace. Ere the night fell: — with morrow's dawn the Boy 425 Began his journey, and when he had reached The public way, he put on a bold face; And all the neighbors, as he passed their doors, Came forth with wishes and with farewell prayers, That followed him till he was out of sight. 430 A good report did from their Kinsman come, Of Luke and his well-doing: and the Boy Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news, Which, as the Housewife phrased it, were through- out "The prettiest letters that were ever seen." 435 Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts. So, many months passed on: and once again The Shepherd went about his daily work MICHAEL 67 I I With confident and cheerful thoughts; and now | Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour ^ 440 He to that valley took his way, and there I Wrought at the Sheep-fold. Meantime Luke began j To slacken in his duty; and, at length ] He in the dissolute city gave himself To evil courses: ignominy and shame 445 Fell on him, so that he was driven at last j To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas. < There is a comfort in the strength of love; i *Twill make a thing endurable, which else , Would overset the brain, or break the heart: ' 450 I have conversed with more than one who well Remember the Old Man, and what he was Years after he had heard this heavy news. / His bodily frame had been from youth to age Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks j 455 He went, and still looked up towards the sun, • And listened to the wind; and, as before. Performed all kinds of labor for his Sheep, i And for the land his small inheritance. And to that hollow Dell from time to time 460 Did he repair, to build the Fold of which : His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet The pity which was then in every heart i For the Old Man — and 'tis believed by all ; That many and many a day he thither went, j 465 And never lifted up a single stone. 68 NARRATIVE POEMS There, by the Sheep-fold, sometimes was he seen Sitting alone, with that his faithful Dog, Then old, beside him, lying at his feet. The length of full seven years, from time to time, 470 He at the building of this Sheep-fold wrought, And left the work unfinished when he died. Three years, or little more, did Isabel Survive her Husband: at her death the estate Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand. 475 The Cottage which was named the Evening Star Is gone — the ploughshare has been through the ground On which it stood; great changes have been wrought In all the neighborhood : — yet the Oak is left That grew beside their door; and the remains 480 Of the unfinished Sheep-fold may be seen Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll. Ill LYRICAL POEMS "MY HEART LEAPS UP" My heart leaps up when I behold A Rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a Man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is Father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. 69 TO A BUTTERFLY Stay near me — do not take thy flight! A little longer stay in sight! Much converse do I find in Thee, Historian of my Infancy! s Float near me; do not yet depart! Dead times revive in thee: Thou bring'st, gay Creature as thou art! A solemn image to my heart, My Father's Family! lo Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, The time, when, in our childish plays. My Sister Emmeline and I Together chased the Butterfly! A very hunter did I rush 15 Upon the prey: — ^with leaps and springs I followed on from brake to bush; But she, God love her! feared to brush The dust from off its wings. 70 WRITTEN IN MARCH WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE FOOT OF BROTHER'S WATER The cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, TKTsiTraiWxLcik-twirfeiT^ The lake doth gHtter, s The green field sleeps in the sun; The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising; lo There are forty feeding like one! Like an army defeated The Snow hath retreated. And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill; 15 The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon: There's joy in the mountains; There's life in the fountains; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing; 20 The rain is over and gone! 71 TO THE DAISY In youth from rock to rock I went, From hill to hill in discontent Of pleasure high and turbulent, Most pleased when most uneasy; 5 But now my own delights I make, — My thirst at every rill can slake. And gladly Nature's love partake Of thee, sweet Daisy! Thee Winter in the garland wears lo That thinly decks his few grey hairs; Spring parts the clouds with softest airs, That she may sun thee; Whole summer-fields are thine by right; And Autumn, melancholy wight! 15 Doth in thy crimson head delight When rains are on thee. In shoals and bands, a morrice train, Thou greet 'st the traveler in the lane, Pleased at his greeting thee again; 20 Yet nothing daunted, 72 TO THE DAISY 73 Nor grieved, if thou be set at nought: And oft alone in nooks remote We meet thee, Hke a pleasant thought, When such are wanted. 25 Be violets in their secret mews The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose; Proud be the rose, with rains and dews Her head impearling. Thou liv*st with less ambitious aim, 30 Yet hast not gone without thy fame; Thou art indeed by many a claim The Poet's darling. If to a rock from rains he fly, Or, some bright day of April sky, 35 Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie Near the green holly, And wearily at length should fare; He needs but look about, and there Thou art! — a friend at hand, to scare 40 His melancholy. A hundred times, by rock or bower. Ere thus I have lain crouched an hour, Have I derived from thy sweet power Some apprehension; 45 Some steady love; some brief delight; Some memory that had taken flight; Some chime of fancy wrong or right; Or stray invention. 74 LYRICAL POEMS If Stately passions in me burn, I so And one chance look to Thee should turn, I drink out of an humbler urn A lowlier pleasure; * The homely sympathy that heeds '^ The common life our nature breeds; ] 55 A wisdom fitted to the needs j Of hearts at leisure. ■' i Fresh smitten by the morning ray, i When thou art up, alert and gay, Then, cheerful Flower! my spirits play 60 With kindred gladness: 1 And when, at dusk, by dews opprest I Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest 1 Hath often eased my pensive breast Of careful sadness. , 1 6s And all day long I number yet, I All seasons through, another debt, 1 Which I, wherever thou art met, ) To thee am owing; 1 An instinct call it, a blind sense; i 70 A happy, genial influence, ] Coming one knows not how, nor whence, j Nor whither going. | Child of the Year! that round dost run Thy course, bold lover of the sun, 75 And cheerful when the day*s begun As lark or leveret, TO THE DAISY 75 Thy long-lost praise ^ thou shalt regain; Nor be less dear to future men Than in old time; — thou not in vain 80 Art Nature's favorite. " 1 See in Chaucer and the older poets, the honors formerly paid to the daisy. — Wordsworth. TO THE SMALL CELANDINE ^ Pansies, Lilies, Kingcups, Daisies, Let them live upon their praises; Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory; 5 Long as there are Violets, They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine. Eyes of some men travel far lo For the finding of a star; Up and down the heavens they go. Men that keep a mighty rout! I'm as great as they, I trow. Since the day I found thee out, 15 Little flower! — I'll make a stir, Like a great astronomer. Modest, yet withal an Elf Bold, and lavish of thyself; Since we needs must first have met 20 I have seen thee, high and low. Thirty years or more, and yet 'Twas a face I did not know; Thou hast now, go where I may, Fifty greetings in a day. 1 Common pilewort. — ^Wordsworth. 76 TO THE SMALL CELANDINE 77 25 Ere a leaf is on a bush, In the time before the Thrush Has a thought about her nest, Thou wilt come with half a call, Spreading out thy glossy breast 30 Like a careless prodigal; Telling tales about the sun, When weVe little warmth, or none. Poets, vain men in their mood! Travel with the multitude: 35 Never heed them; I aver That they all are wanton wooers; But the thrifty Cottager, Who stirs little out of doors, Joys to spy thee near her home; 40 Spring is coming. Thou art come! Comfort have thou of thy merit, Kindly, unassuming Spirit! Careless of thy neighborhood, Thou dost show thy pleasant face 45 On the moor, and in the wood, In the lane — there's not a place. Howsoever mean it be. But 'tis good enough for thee. Ill befall the yellow Flowers, 50 Children of the flaring hours! 78 LYRICAL POEMS I i Buttercups, that will be seen, J Whether we will see or no; ■ Others, too, of lofty mien; They have done as worldings do, j 55 Taken praise that should be thine, i Little, humble Celandine! ^I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD" I WANDERED loncly as a Cloud That floats on high o*er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden Dafl^odils; 5 Beside the Lake, beneath the trees. Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way. They stretched in never-ending line lo Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: — IS A poet could not but be gay. In such a jocund company; I gazed — and gazed — but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie 20 In vacant or in pensive mood. They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude. And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the DaflPodils. 79 TO A SKYLARK Up with me! up with me into the clouds! For thy song, Lark, is strong; Up with me, up with me into the clouds! Singing, singing, 5 With clouds and sky about thee ringing. Lift me, guide me till I find That spot which seems so to thy mind! I have walked through wildernesses dreary, And to-day my heart is weary; lo Had I now the wings of a Faery, Up to thee would I fly. There's madness about thee, and joy divine In that song of thine; Lift me, guide me high and high IS To thy banqueting-place in the sky. Joyous as morning. Thou art laughing and scorning; Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest, And, though little troubled with sloth, 20 Drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth To be such a traveler as L Happy, happy Liver, With a soul as strong as a mountain River Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver, 25 Joy and jollity be with us both! 80 TO A SKYLARK 8 1 Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven, Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind But hearing thee, or others of thy kind, As full of gladness and as free of heaven, 30 I, with my fate contented, will plod on, And hope for higher raptures, when Life's day is done. EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY "Why, William, on that old grey stone, Thus for the length of half a day, Why, William, sit you thus alone. And dream your time away? 5 "Where are your books? — that light bequeathed To beings else forlorn and blind! Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed From dead men to their kind. "You look round on your mother Earth, lo As if she for no purpose bore you; As if you were her first-born birth, And none had lived before you!" One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake, When life was sweet, I knew not why, IS To me my good friend Matthew spake. And thus I made reply: "The eye — it cannot choose but see; We cannot bid the ear be still; Our bodies feel, where'er they be, 20 Against, or with our will. 82 EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY 83 "Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress; I That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness. J 25" Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum ; Of things for ever speaking, i That nothing of itself will come, ' But we must still be seeking? ! 1 " — ^Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, i 30 Conversing as I may, I sit upon this old grey stone, And dream my time away." THE TABLES TURNED AN EVENING SCENE ON THE SAME SUBJECT Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books; Or surely you'll grow double: Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks; Why all this toil and trouble? s The sun, above the mountain's head, A freshening luster mellow Through all the long green fields has spread, His first sweet evening yellow. Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: lo Come, hear the woodland Linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it. And hark! how blithe the Throstle sings! He, too, is no mean preacher: 15 Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher. She has a world of ready wealth, Our minds and hearts to bless — Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, 20 Truth breathed by cheerfulness. 84 THE TABLES TURNED 85 ] One impulse from a vernal wood ^ May teach you more of man, ■ Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can. i 25 Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect i Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: — We murder to dissect. ! Enough of Science and of Art; 1 30 Close up these barren leaves: Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives. TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE SIX YEARS OLD O thou! whose fancies from afar are brought; Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel, And fittest to unutterable thought The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol; 5 Thou faery Voyager! that dost float In such clear water, that thy boat May rather seem To brood on air than on an earthy stream; Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, lo Where earth and heaven do make one imagery; blessed Vision! happy Child! That art so exquisitely wild, 1 think of thee with many fears For what may be thy lot in future years. 15 I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest. Lord of thy house and hospitality; And Grief, uneasy Lover! never rest But when she sate within the touch of thee. O too industrious folly! 20 O vain and causeless melancholy! Nature will either end thee quite; Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, Preserve for thee, by individual right, A young Lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks. 86 TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE 87 25 What hast Thou to do with sorrow, Or the injuries of to-morrow? Thou art a Dew-drop, which the morn brings forth, 111 fitted to sustain unkindly shocks; Or to be trailed along the soiling earth; 30 A gem that glitters while it lives, And no forewarning gives; But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife Slips in a moment out of life. "O NIGHTINGALE, THOU SURELY ART" nightingale! thou surely art A Creature of a fiery heart; — These notes of thine — they pierce and pierce; Tumultuous harmony and fierce! 5 Thou sing'st as if the God of wine Had helped thee to a Valentine; A song in mockery and despite Of shades, and dews, and silent night; And steady bliss, and all the loves lo Now sleeping in these peaceful groves. 1 heard a Stock-dove sing or say His homely tale, this very day; His voice was buried among trees, Yet to be come at by the breeze: IS He did not cease; but cooed — and cooed; And somewhat pensively he wooed : He sang of love, with quiet blending. Slow to begin, and never ending; Of serious faith, and inward glee; 20 That was the Song — ^the Song for me! 88 "STRANGE FITS OF PASSION HAVE I KNOWN" Strange fits of passion have I known: And I will dare to tell, But in the Lover's ear alone, What once to me befel. s When she I loved was strong and gay, And like a rose in June, I to her cottage bent my way, Beneath the evening Moon. Upon the Moon I fixed my eye, lo All over the wide lea; My Horse trudged on — and we drew nigh Those paths so dear to me. And now we reached the orchard plot; And, as we climbed the hill, 15 Towards the roof of Lucy's cot The Moon descended still. In one of those sweet dreams I slept, Kind Nature's gentlest boon! And all the while my eyes I kept 20 On the descending Moon. 89 90 LYRICAL POEMS My Horse moved on; hoof after hoof He raised, and never stopped: When down behind the cottage roof. At once, the bright Moon dropped. 25 What fond and wayward thoughts will sHde Into a Lover's head! — "O mercy!" to myself I cried, "IfLucy should be dead!" "THREE YEARS SHE GREW** Three years she grew in sun and shower. Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower On earth was never sown; This Child I to myself will take; 5 She shall be mine, and I will make A Lady of my own. "Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse: and with me The Girl, in rock and plain, lo In earth and heaven, in glade and bower. Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain. "She shall be sportive as the Fawn That wild with glee across the lawn 15 Or up the mountain springs; And hers shall be the breathing balm, And hers the silence and the calm Of mute insensate* things. "The floating Clouds their state shall lend 20 To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see Even in the motions of the Storm Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form By silent sympathy. 91 92 LYRICAL POEMS 25 "The Stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where Rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound 30 Shall pass into her face. And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell; Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 35 While she and I together live Here in this happy Dell.'* Thus Nature spake — The work was done — How soon my Lucy's race was run! She died, and left to me 40 This heath, this calm and quiet scene; The memory of what has been, And never more will be. SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN ' WAYS" She dwelt among the untrodden ways j Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: ! ■1 s A Violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! ! — Fair as a star, when only one ,\ Is shining in the sky. I j She lived unknown, and few could know j lo When Lucy ceased to be; \ But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me! ^ 93 ''A SLUMBER DID MY SPIRIT SEAL" ' A SLUMBER did my spirit seal; I had no human fears: | She seemed a thing that could not feel i The touch of earthly years. j i 5 No motion has she now, no force; \ She neither hears nor sees, ] Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, * With rocks, and stones, and trees. \ 94 I TRAVELED AMONG UNKNOWN MEN" I TRAVELED among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor, England ! did I know till then What love I bore to thee. 5 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! Nor will I quit thy shore A second time; for still I seem To love thee more and more. Among thy mountains did I feel lo The joy of my desire; And she I cherished turned her wheel Beside an English fire. Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed The bowers where Lucy played; 15 And thine is too the last green field That Lucy's eyes surveyed. 95 TO THE CUCKOO BLITHE New-comer! I have heard, 1 hear thee and rejoice. Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice? s While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear; From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off and near. Though babbling only, to the Vale, lo Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me 15 No Bird: but an invisible Thing, A voice, a mystery; The same whom in my School-boy days 1 listened to; that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways 20 In bush, and tree, and sky. 96 TO THE CUCKOO 97 To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen. 25 And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again. O blessed Bird ! the earth we pace 30 Again appears to be An unsubstantial faery place; That is fit home for Thee! TO A SKYLARK Ethereal Minstrel! Pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? 5 Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still! To the last point of vision, and beyond. Mount, daring Warbler! that love-prompted strain, ('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond) lo Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain: Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing All independent of the leafy spring. Leave to the Nightingale her shady wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine; IS Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine; Type of the wise who soar, but never roam; True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home! *SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT" She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; 5 Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, lo To haunt, to startle, and waylay. I saw her upon nearer view, A Spirit, yet a Woman too! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty; IS A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 20 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A Traveler between life and death; 99 lOO LYRICAL POEMS 25 The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, nobly planned. To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright 30 With something of an angel light. THE SOLITARY REAPER Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! s Alone she cuts, and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No Nightingale did ever chant lo So sweetly to reposing bands Of Travelers in some shady haunt. Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, 15 Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-ofF things, 20 And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain. That has been, and may be again! lOI I02 LYRICAL POEMS 25 Whatever the theme, the Maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending; — I listened till I had my fill, 30 And when I mounted up the hill. The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more. YARROW UNVISITED (See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon the Banks of the Yarrow ; in particular, the exquisite Ballad of Hamilton, beginning "Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow !" — ) From Stirling Castle we had seen The mazy Forth unraveled; Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay, And with the Tweed had traveled; 5 And when we came to Clovenford, Then said my ^* winsome Marrow" "Whatever betide, we'll turn aside, And see the Braes of Yarrow." "Let Yarrow Folk, frae Selkirk Town, lo Who have been buying, selling, Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own; Each Maiden to her Dwelling! On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, Hares couch, and rabbits burrow! IS But we will downward with the Tweed, Nor turn aside to Yarrow. "There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, Both lying right before us; And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed 20 The Lintwhites sing in chorus; 103 I04 LYRICAL POEMS There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land Made blithe with plough and harrow: Why throw away a needful day To go in search of Yarrow ? 25 "What's Yarrow but a River bare, That glides the dark hills under? There are a thousand such elsewhere As worthy of your wonder." — Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn; 30 My True-love sighed for sorrow; And looked me in the face, to think I thus could speak of Yarrow! "Oh! green," said I, "are Yarrow's Holms, And sweet is Yarrow's flowing! 35 Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,^ But we will leave it growing. O'er hilly path, and open Strath, We'll wander Scotland thorough; But, though so near, we will not turn 40 Into the Dale of Yarrow. "Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow! 45 We will not see them; will not go, I See Hamiltons's Ballad as above. YARROW UNVISITED IO5 To-day, nor yet to-morrow; Enough if in our hearts we know There's such a place as Yarrow. "Be Yarrow Stream unseen, unknown! so It must, or we shall rue it: We have a vision of our own; Ah! why should we undo it? The treasured dreams of times long past, We'll keep them, winsome Marrow! 55 For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 'Twill be another Yarrow. "If Care with freezing years should come. And wandering seem but folly, — Should we be loth to stir from home, 60 And yet be melancholy; Should life be dull, and spirits low, 'Twill soothe us in our sorrow, That earth has something yet to show, The bonny Holms of Yarrow!" YARROW VISITED SEPTEMBER, 1814 And is this — Yarrow? — This the Stream Of which my fancy cherished, So faithfully, a waking dream? An image that hath perished! 5 O that some Minstrel's harp were near. To utter notes of gladness, And chase this silence from the air. That fills my heart with sadness! Yet why? — a silvery current flows 10 With uncontrolled meanderings; Nor have these eyes by greener hills Been soothed, in all my wanderings. And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake Is visibly delighted; IS For not a feature of those hills Is in the mirror slighted. A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow vale. Save where that pearly whiteness Is round the rising sun diffused, 20 A tender hazy brightness; Mild dawn of promise! that excludes All profitless dejection; Though not unwilling here to admit A pensive recollection. 106 YARROW VISITED IO7 25 Where was it that the famous Flower Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding? His bed perchance was yon smooth mound On which the herd is feeding: And happy from this crystal pool, 30 Now peaceful as the morning, The Water-wraith ascended thrice — And gave his doleful warning. Delicious is the Lay that sings The haunts of happy Lovers, 35 The path that leads them to the grove, The leafy grove that covers: And Pity sanctifies the verse That paints, by strength of sorrow, The unconquerable strength of love; 40 Bear witness, rueful Yarrow! But thou, that didst appear so fair To fond imagination. Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation: 45 Meek loveliness is round thee spread, A softness still and holy; The grace of forest charms decayed. And pastoral melancholy. That Region left, the Vale unfolds so Rich groves of lofty stature. With Yarrow winding through the pomp Of cultivated nature; I08 LYRICAL POEMS And, rising from those lofty groves, Behold a Ruin hoary! 55 The shattered front of Newark's Towers, Renowned in Border story. Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom. For sportive youth to stray in; For manhood to enjoy his strength; 60 And age to wear away in ! Yon Cottage seems a bower of bliss, A covert for protection Of tender thoughts that nestle there, The brood of chaste affection. 65 How sweet, on this autumnal day. The wild-wood fruits to gather, And on my True-love's forehead plant A crest of blooming heather! And what if I enwreathed my own ! 70 Twere no offence to reason; The sober Hills thus deck their brows To meet the wintry season. I see — but not by sight alone, Loved Yarrow, have I won thee; 75 A ray of Fancy still survives — Her sunshine plays upon thee! Thy ever-youthful waters keep A course of lively pleasure; And gladsome notes my lips can breathe, 80 Accordant to the measure. YARROW VISITED IO9 The vapors linger around the Heights, They melt — and soon must vanish; One hour is theirs, nor more is mine — Sad thought, which I would banish, 85 But that I know, wher'er I go, Thy genuine image. Yarrow! Will dwell with me — to heighten joy. And cheer my mind in sorrow. YARROW REVISITED [The following Stanzas are a memorial of a day spent with Sir Walter Scott, and other Friends visiting the Banks of the Yarrow under his guidance, immediately before his departure from Abbotsford for Naples.] The gallant Youth, who may have gained, Or seeks, a "winsome Marrow," Was but an infant in the lap When first I looked on Yarrow; 5 Once more, by Newark's Castle-gate Long left without a warder, I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee, Great Minstrel of the Border! Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day, lo Their dignity installing In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves Were on the bough, or falling; But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed — The forest to embolden; 15 Reddened the fiery hues, and shot Transparence through the golden. For busy thoughts the Stream flowed on In foamy agitation; And slept in many a crystal pool 20 For quiet contemplation: YARROW REVISITED III No public and no private care The freeborn mind enthralling, We made a day of happy hours, Our happy days recalling. 25 Brisk Youth appeared, the Morn of youth. With freaks of graceful folly — Life's Temperate Noon, her sober Eve, Her Night not melancholy; Past, present, future, all appeared 30 In harmony united. Like guests that meet, and some from far. By cordial love invited. And {(y as Yarrow, through the woods And down the meadow ranging, 35 Did meet us with unaltered face. Though we were changed and changing; If, theuy some natural shadows spread Our inward prospect over. The soul's deep valley was not slow 40 Its brightness to recover. Eternal blessings on the Muse, And her divine employment! The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons For hope and calm enjoyment; 45 Albeit sickness, lingering yet. Has o'er their pillow brooded; And Care waylays their steps — a Sprite Not easily eluded. 112 LYRICAL POEMS For thee, O Scott! compelled to change 50 Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes, And leave thy Tweed and Teviot For mild Sorrento's breezy waves; May classic Fancy, linking 55 With native Fancy her fresh aid, Preserve thy heart from sinking! O! while they minister to thee, Each vying with the other. May Health return to mellow Age 60 With Strength her venturous brother; And Tiber, and each brook and rill Renowned in song and story, With unimagined beauty shine, Nor lose one ray of glory! 6s For Thou, upon a hundred streams. By tales of love and sorrow. Of faithful love, undaunted truth, Hast shed the power of Yarrow; And streams unknown, hills yet unseen, 70 Wherever they invite Thee, At parent Nature's grateful call. With gladness must requite Thee. A gracious welcome shall be thine. Such looks of love and honor 75 As thy own Yarrow gave to me When first I gazed upon her; YARROW REVISITED II3 j Beheld what I had feared to see, Unwilling to surrender Dreams treasured up from early days, ' 80 The holy and the tender. i And what, for this frail world, were all 1 That mortals do or suffer, \ Did no responsive harp, no pen, \ Memorial tribute offer? \ 8s Yea, what were mighty Nature's self? J Her features, could they win us, Unhelped by the poetic voice That hourly speaks within us ? Nor deem that localized Romance ' go Plays false with our affections; ■ Unsanctifies our tears — made sport j For fanciful dejections: j Oh, no! the visions of the past ! Sustain the heart in feeling .' 95 Life as she is — our changeful Life, j With friends and kindred dealing. Bear witness. Ye, whose thoughts that day In Yarrow's groves were centered; Who through the silent portal arch loo Of mouldering Newark enter'd; j And clomb the winding stair that once i Too timidly was mounted i By the "last Minstrel," (not the last!) Ere he his Tale recounted, ' 114 LYRICAL POEMS 105 Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream! Fulfil thy pensive duty, Well pleased that future Bards should chant For simple hearts thy beauty; To dream-light dear while yet unseen, no Dear to the common sunshine, And dearer still, as now I feel. To memory's shadowy moonshine! AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS 1803 SEVEN YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH I SHIVER, Spirit fierce and bold, At thought of what I now behold : As vapors breathed from dungeons cold Strike pleasure dead, s So sadness comes from out the mould Where Burns is laid. And have I then thy bones so near, And thou forbidden to appear? As if it were thyself that's here 10 I shrink with pain; And both my wishes and my fear Alike are vain. OfF weight — nor press on weight! — away Dark thoughts! — they came, but not to stay; IS With chastened feelings would I pay The tribute due To him, and aught that hides his clay From mortal view. Fresh as the flower, whose modest worth 20 He sang, his genius "glinted" forth. Rose like a star that touching earth. For so it seems. Doth glorify its humble birth With matchless beams. "5 Il6 LYRICAL POEMS 25 The piercing eye, the thoughtful brow. The stuggHng heart, where be they now? — Full soon the Aspirant of the plough, The prompt, the brave. Slept, with the obscurest, in the low 30 And silent grave. Well might I mourn that He was gone, Whose light I hail'd when first it shone When, breaking forth as nature's own, It showed my youth 35 How Verse may build a princely throne On humble truth. Alas! where'er the current tends. Regret pursues and with it blends, — Huge CrifFeFs hoary top ascends 40 By Skiddaw seen, — • Neighbors we were, and loving friends We might have been: True friends though diversely inclined; But heart with heart and mind with mind, 45 Where the main fibers are entwined. Through Nature's skill. May even by contraries be joined More closely still. The tear will start, and let it flow; so Thou "poor Inhabitant below," AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS II7 ! At this dread moment — even so — Might we together Have sate and talked v^here gowans blow, j Or on wild heather. j ] 55 What treasures would have then been placed Within my reach ; of knowledge graced By fancy what a rich repast! I But why go on ? — ' Oh ! spare to sweep, thou mournful blast, ^ 60 His grave grass-grown. ; i There, too, a Son, his joy and pride, • (Not three weeks past the Stripling died,) ] Lies gathered to his Father's side, ! Soul-moving sight! i 65 Yet one to which is not denied Some sad delight. For he is safe, a quiet bed Hath early found among the dead, Harbored where none can be misled, ' 70 Wronged, or distrest; ] And surely here it may be said j That such are blest. And oh for Thee, by pitying grace ] Checked oft-times in a devious race, i Il8 LYRICAL POEMS 75 May He, who halloweth the place Where Man is laid, Receive thy Spirit in the embrace For which it prayed! Sighing I turned away; but ere 80 Night fell, I heard, or seemed to hear, Music that sorrow comes not near, A ritual hymn, Chaunted in love that casts out fear By Seraphim. IV POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES LAODAMEIA "With sacrifice, before the rising morn Performed, my slaughtered Lord have I required; And in thick darkness, amid shades forlorn. Him of the infernal Gods have I desired: 5 Celestial pity I again implore: — Restore him to rny sight — great Jove, restore!" So speaking, and by fervent love endowed With faith, the Suppliant heavenward lifts her hands; While, like the sun emerging from a cloud, lo Her countenance brightens — and her eye expands; Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows; And she expects the issue in repose. O terror! what hath she perceived? — O joy! What doth she look on ? — whom doth she behold ? 15 Her Hero slain upon the beach of Troy? His vital presence? his corporeal mould? It is — if sense deceive her not — *tis He! And a God leads him, winged Mercury! 119 I20 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES Mild Hermes spake — and touched her with his wand 20 That calms all fear: "Such grace hath crowned thy prayer, Laodameia! that at Jove's command Thy husband walks the paths of upper air: He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space: Accept the gift, behold him face to face!" 25 Forth sprang the impassioned Queen her Lord to clasp: Again that consummation she essayed: But unsubstantial form eludes her grasp As often as that eager grasp was made. The Phantom parts — but parts to re-unite, 30 And re-assume his place before her sight. "Protesilaos, lo! thy guide is gone! Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice: This is our palace, — yonder is thy throne; Speak, and the floor thou tread 'st on will rejoice. 35 Not to appal me have the Gods bestowed This precious boon; and blest a sad abode." "Great Jove, Laodameia! doth not leave His gifts imperfect: — Specter though I be, I am not sent to scare thee or deceive; 40 But in reward of thy fidelity. And something also did my worth obtain; For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain. LAODAMEIA 121 :l "Thou knowest, the Delphic oracle foretold ! That the first Greek who touched the Trojan strand I 45 Should die; but me the threat could not withhold : | A generous cause a victim did demand; And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain; A self-devoted chief — by Hector slain." \ "Supreme of heroes — bravest, noblest, best! \ 50 Thy matchless courage I bewail no more, Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore; Thou found 'st — and I forgive thee — here thou j art — ' A nobler counsellor than my poor heart. ! 55 " But thou, though capable of sternest deed, Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave; ' And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed That thou should'st cheat the malice of the grave: Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair ; 60 As when their breath enriched Thessalian air. i "No Specter greets me — no vain Shadow this; \ Come, blooming Hero, place thee by my side! \ Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss I To me, this day, a second time thy bride!" j 65 Jove frowned in heaven: the conscious Parcae ' threw l Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue. I 122 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES *'This visage tells thee that my doom is past: Know, virtue were not virtue, if the joys Of sense were able to return as fast 70 And surely as they vanish. — Earth destroys Those raptures duly — Erebus disdains: Calm pleasures there abide — majestic pains. " Be taught, O faithful consort, to control Rebellious passion: for the Gods approve 75 The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul; A fervent, not ungovernable, love. Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn When I depart, for brief is my sojourn " *'Ah, wherefore.? — Did not Hercules by force 80 Wrest from the guardian Monster of the tomb Alcestis, a reanimated corse. Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom.? Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years, And iEson stood a youth 'mid youthful peers. 85 **The Gods to us are merciful — and they Yet further may relent: for mightier far Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is love, though oft to agony distrest, 90 And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's breast. LAODAMEIA 123 "But if thou goest, I follow ""Peace!" he said. — She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered; The ghastly color from his lips had fled; In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared 95 Elysian beauty, melancholy grace. Brought from a pensive though a happy place. He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away — no strife to heal — loo The past unsigh'd for, and the future sure; Spake of heroic arts in graver mood Revived, with finer harmony pursued; Of all that is most beauteous — imaged there In happier beauty: more pellucid streams, 105 An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams; Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey. Yet there the Soul shall enter which hath earned no That privilege by virtue. — "111," said he, "The end of man's existence I discerned. Who from ignoble games and revelry Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight, While tears were thy best pastime, day and night; 115 "And while my youthful peers before my eyes (Each hero following his peculiar bent) 124 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise By martial sports, — or, seated in the tent. Chieftains and kings in counsel were detained; I20 What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained. "The wished-for wind was given: — I then revolved The oracle, upon the silent sea; And, if no worthier led the way, resolved That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be 125 The foremost prow in pressing to the strand, — Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand. "Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang When of thy loss I thought, beloved Wife! On thee too fondly did my memory hang, 130 And on the joys we shared in mortal life, — The paths which we have trod — these fountains, flowers; My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers. "But should suspense permit the foe to cry, * Behold they tremble! — haughty their array 135 Yet of their number no one dares to die' f In soul I swept the indignity away: Old frailties then recurred: — but lofty thought, In act embodied, my deliverance wrought. "And thou, though strong in love, art all too weak; 140 In reason, in self-government too slow; I counsel thee by fortitude to seek Our blest re-union in the shades below. LAODAMEIA 1 25 The invisible world with thee hath sympathised; Be thy affections raised and solemnised. 145 Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend — Towards a higher object. — Love was given. Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end; For this the passion to excess was driven — That self might be annulled: her bondage prove 150 The fetters of a dream, opposed to love." Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes re-appears! Round the dear Shade she would have clung — 'tis vain The hours are past — too brief had they been years — And him no mortal effort can detain: 155 Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day, He through the portal takes his silent way. And on the palace-floor a lifeless corse she lay. Ah, judge her gently who so deeply loved! Her, who in reason's spite, yet without crime, 160 Was in a trance of passion thus removed; Delivered from the galling yoke of time And these frail elements — to gather flowers Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers. — ^Yet tears to human suffering are due; 165 And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown 126 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES Are mourned by man, and not by man alone, As fondly he believes. — Upon the side Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained) A knot of spiry trees for ages grew 170 From out the tomb of him for whom she died; And ever, when such stature they had gained That Ilium's walls were subject to their view. The trees' tall summits withered at the sight: A constant interchange of growth and blight! CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he That every man in arms should wish to be? It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real Hfe, hath wrought 5 Upon the plan that pleased his childish thought: Whose high endeavors are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright: Who, with a natural instinct to discern What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn; lo Abides by this resolve, and stops not there, But makes his moral being his prime care; Who, doomed to go in company with Pain, And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train! Turns his necessity to glorious gain; 15 In face of these doth exercise a power Which is our human nature^s highest dower; Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives: By objects, which might force the soul to abate 20 Her feeling, rendered more compassionate; Is placable — because occasions rise So often that demand such sacrifice; More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure, As tempted more; more able to endure, 25 As more exposed to suffering and distress; Thence, also, more alive to tenderness. 127 128 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES — 'Tis he whose law is reason; who depends Upon that law as on the best of friends; Whence, in a state where men are tempted still 30 To evil for a guard against worse ill, And what in quality or act is best Doth seldom on a right foundation rest, He fixes good on good alone, and owes To virtue every triumph that he knows: 35 — Who, if he rise to station of command. Rises by open means; and there will stand On honorable terms, or else retire. And in himself possess his own desire; Who comprehends his trust, and to the same 40 Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim; And therefore does not stop, nor lie in wait For wealth, or honors, or for worldly state; Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall, Like showers of manna, if they come at all: 45 Whose powers shed round him in the common strife. Or mild concerns of ordinary life, A constant influence, a peculiar grace; But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined 50 Great issues, good or bad for human kind. Is happy as a lover; and attired With sudden brightness, like a man inspired; And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw; 55 Or if an unexpected call succeed^ CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR 1 29 Come when it will, is equal to the need : — He who though thus endued as with a sense And faculty for storm and turbulence, Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans 60 To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes; Sweet images! which, wheresoever he be, Are at his heart; and such fidelity It is his darling passion to approve; More brave for this, that he hath much to love: — 65 *Tis, finally, the man, who, lifted high. Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye, Or left unthought-of in obscurity, — Who, with a toward or untoward lot, Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not, 70 Plays, in the many games of life, that one Where what he most doth value must be won: Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray; Who, not content that former worth stand fast, 75 Looks forward, persevering to the last. From well to better, daily self-surpast: Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth For ever, and to noble deeds give birth. Or he must go to dust without his fame, 80 And leave a dead unprofitable name. Finds comfort in himself and in his cause; And, while the mortal mist in gathering, draws His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause: This is the happy Warrior; this is he 8s Whom every man in arms should wish to be, ODE TO DUTY \ "Jam non consillo bonus, sed more eo perductus, ut non tantum recte facere possim, sed nisi recte facere non possim. " Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! ] O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod j To check the erring, and reprove; 1 5 Thou, who art victory and law j When empty terrors overawe; i From vain temptations dost set free; And calmest the weary strife of frail humanity! There are who ask not if thine eye ^ lo Be on them; who, in love and truth, i Where no misgiving is, rely ^ Upon the genial sense of youth: ' Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot; i Who do thy work, and know it not: i IS Long may the kindly impulse last! But Thou, if they should totter, teach them to j stand fast! ! Serene will be our days and bright, And happy will our nature be, ; When love is an unerring light, I ao And joy its own security. | 130 I ODE TO DUTY I3I And they a blissful course may hold Even now, who, not unwisely bold. Live in the spirit of this creed; y Yet seek thy firm support, according to their 'j need. 25 I, loving freedom, and untried; No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide. Too blindly have reposed my trust; And oft, when in my heart was heard 30 Thy timely mandate, I deferred The task, in smoother walks to stray; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, 35 I supplicate for thy control; But in the quietness of thought: Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance-desires: My hopes no more must change their name, 40 I long for a repose that ever is the same. Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face: 45 Flowers laugh before thee on their beds And fragrance in thy footing treads; 132 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong; ] And the most ancient Heavens, through Thee, 1 are fresh and strong. ! To humbler functions, awful Power! | so I call thee: I myself commend I Unto thy guidance from this hour; \ Oh, let my weakness have an end! Give unto me, made lowly wise, i The spirit of self-sacrifice; 55 The confidence of reason give; And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live! j ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light. The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore; — Turn wheresoever I may, By night or day. The things which I have seen I now can see no more. II The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose; The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath past away a glory from the earth. 133 134 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES III Now, while the Birds thus sing a joyous song, 20 And while the young Lambs bound As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong: 25 The Cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep. And all the earth is gay; 30 Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity. And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday; — Thou child of joy, 35 Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy! IV Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make; I see. The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; My heart is at your festival, 40 My head hath its coronal. The fulness of your bliss, I feel^I feel it all. O evil day! if I were sullen While the Earth herself is adorning This sweet May-morning, ' ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY I35 45 And the children are pulling On every side, In a thousand valleys far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, so And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm: — I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! — But there's a Tree, of many one, A single Field which I have looked upon. Both of them speak of something that is gone; 55 The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? Where is it now, the glory and the dream? Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: 60 The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting. And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness. And not in utter nakedness, 65 But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, 70 But He beholds the light, and whence it flows He sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the East 136 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, And by the vision splendid 75 Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day. VI Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, 80 And even with something of a mother's mind. And no unworthy aim, The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her foster-child, her inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, 8s And that imperial palace whence he came. VII Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years' darling of a pigmy size! See, where *mid work of his own hand he lies. Fretted by sallies of his Mother's kisses, 90 With light upon him from his Father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart. Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; A wedding or a festival, 9S A mourning or a funeral. And this hath now his heart. And unto this he frames his song: Then will he fit his tongue ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY 1 37 To dialogues of business, love, or strife; 100 But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little Actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his "humorous stage" 105 With all the persons, down to palsied age, That Life brings with her in her equipage; As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. VIII Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie no Thy souFs immensity; Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, — 115 Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest. Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy immortality 120 Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, A presence which is not to be put by; Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 125 The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 138 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? Full soon thy soul shall have her earthy freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! IX 130 O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live. That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed 135 Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest; Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of childhood, whether busy or at rest. With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: — 140 Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things. Fallings from us, vanishings; I4S Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised. High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised: But for those first affections, 150 Those shadowy recollections. Which, be they what they may, ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY I39 Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 15s Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor. Nor Man nor Boy, 160 Nor all that is at enmity with joy. Can utterly abolish or destroy! Hence, in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be. Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 165 Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore. And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. X Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! 170 And let the young Lambs bound As to the tabor's sound! We in thought will join your throng. Ye that pipe and ye that play. Ye that through your hearts to-day 17s Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; 140 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES 180 We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be, In the soothing thoughts that spring i8s Out of human suffering, In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. XI And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Think not of any severing of our loves! 190 Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; I only have relinquished one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the Brooks which down their channels fret. Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; igs The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Is lovely yet; The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober coloring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; 200 Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live. Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears. To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. V SONNETS I Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honors; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound; A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound; Camoens soothed with it an exile's grief; The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp, It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The Thing became a trumpet, whence he blew Soul-animating strains — alas, too few! II Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room, And Hermits are contented with their cells, And Students with their pensive citadels: Maids at the wheel, the Weaver at his loom. Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloom, 141 142 SONNETS High as the highest Peak of Furness Fells, Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells: In truth, the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is: and hence to me, 10 In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground: Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be) Who have felt the weight of too much liberty. Should find brief solace there, as I have found. Ill Composed by the Sea-side, near Calais, August, 1802 Fair Star of Evening, Splendor of the West, Star of my country! — on the horizon's brink Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink On England's bosom; yet well pleased to rest, 5 Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think, Should'st be my Country's emblem; and should'st wink. Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot 10 Beneath thee, it is England; there it lies. Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot. One life, one glory! I with many a fear For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs. Among Men who do not love her, linger here. SONNETS 143 IV On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee; And was the safeguard of the West: the worth Of Venice did not fall below her birth, Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty. She was a Maiden City, bright and free; No guile seduced, no force could violate; And, when She took unto herself a Mate, She must espouse the everlasting Sea. And what if she had seen those glories fade, D Those titles vanish, and that strength decay; Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid When her long life hath reached its final day: Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade Of that which once was great, is passed away. V To Toussaint l'Ouverture ToussAiNT, the most unhappy Man of Men! Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough Within thy hearing, or thy head be now Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den; — O miserable Chieftain! where and when Wilt thou find patience.? Yet die not; do thou Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow: Though fallen Thyself, never to rise again, Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind 144 SONNETS lo Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies; There's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; Thy friends are exultations, agonies. And love, and Man's unconquerable mind. VI Thought of a Briton on the Subjugation of Switzerland Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea, One of the Mountains; each a mighty Voice: In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice. They were thy chosen Music, Liberty! 5 There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee Thou fought'st against Him; but hast vainly striven : Thou from the Alpine holds at length art driven, Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft: lo Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left; For, high-souled Maid, what sorrow would it be That mountain Floods should thunder as before. And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, And neither awful Voice be heard by thee! SONNETS 145 VII Written in London, September, 1802 O Friend! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, To think that now our Life is only drest For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, 5 Or groom! — We must run glittering like a Brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: The wealthiest man among us is the best: No grandeur now in nature or in book Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, 10 This is idolatry; and these we adore: Plain living and high thinking are no more: The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence. And pure religion breathing household laws. VIII The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! s This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours. And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for every thing, we are out of tune; It moves us not. — Great God! Fd rather be 10 A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; 146 SONNETS So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. IX London, 1802 Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, 5 Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart: 10 Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay. X It is not to be thought of that the Flood Of British freedom, which to the open Sea Of the world's praise from dark antiquity Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, unwithstood," 5 Roused though it be full often to a mood Which spurns the check of salutary bands, SONNETS 147 That this most famous Stream in Bogs and Sands Should perish; and to evil and to good Be lost for ever. In our Halls is hung 10 Armory of the invincible Knights of old : We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held. — In every thing we are sprung Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold. XI To THE Men of Kent, October, 1803 Vanguard of Liberty, ye Men of Kent, Ye children of a soil that doth advance Her haughty brow against the coast of France, Now is the time to prove your hardiment! 5 To France be words of invitation sent! They from their fields can see the countenance Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance. And hear you shouting forth your brave intent. Left single, in bold parley. Ye, of yore, 10 Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath; Confirmed the charters that were yours before; — No parleying now! In Britain is one breath; We all are with you now from shore to shore: — Ye Men of Kent, 'tis Victory or Death ! 148 SONNETS XII In the Pass of Killicranky, an Invasion being expected, october, 1803 Six thousand Veterans practised in War's game, Tried men, at Killicranky were arrayed Against an equal host that wore the plaid, Shepherds and Herdsmen. — Like a whirlwind came The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame; And Garry, thundering down his mountain road, Was stopped, and could not breathe beneath the load Of the dead bodies. — 'Twas a day of shame For them whom precept and the pedantry Of cold mechanic battle do enslave. O for a single hour of that Dundee, Who on that day the word of onset gave! Like conquest would the Men of England see; And her Foes find a like inglorious grave. xin England! the time is come when thou should'st wean Thy heart from its emasculating food; The truth should now be better understood; Old things have been unsettled; we have seen Fair seed-time, better harvest might have been But for thy trespasses; and, at this day, SONNETS 149 If for Greece, Egypt, India, Africa, Aught good were destined, Thou would'st step between. England! all nations in this charge agree: 10 But worse, more ignorant in love and hate, Far, far more abject is thine Enemy: Therefore the wise pray for thee, though the freight Of thy offences be a heavy weight; Oh grief, that Earth's best hopes rest all with Thee! XIV November, 1806 Another year! — another deadly blow! Another mighty Empire overthrown! And We are left, or shall be left, alone; The last that dare to struggle with the Foe. 5 'Tis well! from this day forward we shall know That in ourselves our safety must be sought; That by our own right hands it must be wrought, That we must stand unpropped, or be laid low. O Dastard whom such foretaste doth not cheer! 10 We shall exult, if they who rule the land Be men who hold its many blessings dear. Wise, upright, valiant; not a servile band, Who are to judge of danger which they fear, And honor which they do not understand. 150 SONNETS XV Catherine Wordsworth (Died June 4, 1812) Surprised by joy — impatient as the Wind I turned to share the transport — Oh! with whom But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find? 5 Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind — But how could I forget thee? Through what power. Even for the least division of an hour, Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss? — That thought's return 10 Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn. Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; That neither present time, nor years unborn Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. XVI Personal Talk I AM not One who much or oft delight To season my fireside with personal talk, — Of friends, who live within an easy walk. Or neighbors, daily, weekly, in my sight: 5 And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright, SONNETS 151 Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk. These all wear out of me, like forms with chalk Painted on rich men's floors for one feast-night. Better than such discourse doth silence long, lo Long, barren silence, square with my desire; To sit without emotion, hope, or aim. In the loved presence of my cottage-fire. And listen to the flapping of the flame. Or kettle whispering its faint undersong. XVII Continued Wings have we, — and as far as we can go We may find pleasure: wilderness and wood. Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood Which with the lofty sanctifies the low. 5 Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good : Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood. Our pastime and our happiness will grow. There find I personal themes, a plenteous store, 10 Matter wherein right voluble I am. To which I listen with a ready ear; Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear, — The gentle Lady married to the Moor; And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb. 152 SONNETS V ) XVIII Concluded ! Nor can I not believe but that hereby Great gains are mine; for thus I live remote , From evil-speaking; rancor, never sought, Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie. 5 Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I j Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought: And thus from day to day my little boat ' Rocks in its harbor, lodging peaceably. Blessings be with them — and eternal praise, ] lo Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares — ' The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs | Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays!] Oh! might my name be numbered among theirs, . Then gladly would I end my mortal days. \ XIX To Sleep , A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, ' One after one; the sound of rain, and bees j Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, ] Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky i 5 By turns have all been thought of, yet I lie Sleepless; and soon the small birds* melodies | Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees; i SONNETS 153 And the first Cuckoo's melancholy cry. Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, 10 And could not win thee. Sleep! by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away: Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day. Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health! XX Composed upon the Beach near Calais, 1802 It is a beauteous Evening, calm and free; The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; 5 The gentleness of heaven is on the sea: Listen ! the mighty Being is awake. And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder — everlastingly. Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, 10 If thou appear'st untouched by solemn thought. Thy nature is not therefore less divine: Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not. 154 SONNETS XXI Composed upon Westminster Bridge Sept. 3, 1803 Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth like a garment wear 5 The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theaters, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep 10 In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still! XXII I watch, and long have watched, with calm regret Yon slowly-sinking star — immortal Sire (So might he seem) of all the glittering quire! Blue ether still surrounds him — yet — and yet; But now the horizon's rocky parapet Is reached, where, forfeiting his bright attire, He bums — transmuted to a sullen fire, SONNETS 155 That droops and dwindles — and the appointed debt To the flying moments paid, is seen no more. 10 Angels and gods! zve struggle with our fate, While health, power, glory, pitiably decline, Depressed and then extinguished: and our state In this how different, lost star, from thine. That no to-morrow shall our beams restore! XXIII Wansfell! ^ this Household has a favored lot. Living with liberty on thee to gaze, To watch while Morn first crowns thee with her rays, Or when along thy breast serenely float 5 Evening's angelic clouds. Yet ne'er a note Hath sounded (shame upon the Bard!) thy praise For all that thou, as if from heaven, hast brought Of glory lavished on our quiet days. Bountiful Son of Earth! when we are gone 10 From every object dear to mortal sight. As soon we shall be, may these words attest How oft, to elevate our spirits, shone Thy visionary majesties of light. How in thy pensive glooms our hearts found rest. 1 The hill that rises to the south-east, above Ambleside. 156 SONNETS XXIV After- Thought I THOUGHT of Thee, my partner and my guide, As being past away. — Vain sympathies! For backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes, I see what was, and is, and will abide; 5 Still glides the Stream, and shall not cease to glide; The Form remains, the Function never dies; While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, We Men, who in our morn of youth defied The elements, must vanish; — be it so! 10 Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour; And if, as tow'rd the silent tomb we go. Through love, through hope, and faith's trans- cendent dower. We feel that we are greater than we know. XXV Inside of King's College Chapel, Cambridge Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense. With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned. Albeit laboring for a scanty band Of white robed Scholars only, this immense 5 And glorious work of fine intelligence! Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore SONNETS 157 Of nicely-calculated less or more; So deemed the Man who fashioned for the sense These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof 10 Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Lingering — and wandering on as loth to die; Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality. XXVI Continued They dreamt not of a perishable home Who thus could build. Be mine, in hours of fear Or groveling thought, to seek a refuge here; Or through the aisles of Westminster to roam; 5 Where bubbles burst, and folly's dancing foam Melts, if it cross the threshold; where the wreath Of awe-struck widsom droops: — or let my path Lead to that younger Pile, whose sky-like dome Hath typified by reach of daring art 10 Infinity's embrace; whose guardian crest. The silent Cross, among the stars shall spread As now, when She hath also seen her breast Filled with mementos, satiate with its part Of grateful England's overflowing Dead. 158 SONNETS XXVII Mary, Queen of Scots, Landing at the Mouth OF THE DeRWENT, WoRKINGTON Dear to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed, The Queen drew back the wimple that she wore; And to the throng, that on the Cumbrian shore Her landing hailed, how touchingly she bowed! 5 And like a Star (that, from a heavy cloud Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts When a soft summer gale at evening parts The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud) She smiled: but Time, the old Saturnian seer, 10 Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand. With step prelusive to a long array Of woes and degradations hand in hand — Weeping captivity, and shuddering fear Stilled by the ensanguined block of Fotheringay! XXVIII On THE Departure of Sir Walter Scott from Abbotsford, for Naples A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain. Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height: Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain 5 For kindred Power departing from their sight; SONNETS 159 While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain. Saddens his voice again and yet again. Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes; 10 Blessings and prayers, in nobler retinue Than sceptered king or laureled conqueror knows. Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true, Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea, Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope! XXIX The pibroch's note, discountenanced or mute; The Roman kilt, degraded to a toy Of quaint apparel for a half-spoilt boy; The target mouldering like ungathered fruit; 5 The smoking steam-boat eager in pursuit, As eagerly pursued; the umbrella spread To weather-fend the Celtic herdsmen's head — All speak of manners withering to the root, And of old honors, too, and passions high: 10 Then may we ask, though pleased that thought should range Among the conquests of civility. Survives imagination — to the change Superior.^ Help to virtue does she give.? If not, O Mortals, better cease to live! l6o SONNETS XXX A Poet! — He hath put his heart to school, Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff Which Art hath lodged within his hand — must laugh By precept only, and shed tears by rule. Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff. And let the groveler sip his stagnant pool. In fear that else, when Critics grave and cool Have killed him. Scorn should write his epitaph. How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold.? Because the lovely little flower is free Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold; And so the grandeur of the Forest-tree Comes not by casting in a formal mould But from its own divine vitality. XXXI To THE Memory of Raisley Calvert Calvert! it must not be unheard by them Who may respect my name, that I to thee Owed many years of early liberty. This care was thine when sickness did condemn Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem — That I, if frugal and severe, might stray Where'er I liked; and finally array My temples with the Muse's diadem. Hence, if in freedom I have loved the truth; SONNETS l6l lo If there be aught of pure, or good, or great, In my past verse; or shall be. In the lays Of higher mood which now I meditate; — It gladdens me, O worthy, short-lived Youth ! To think how much of this will be thy praise. XXXII To Lady Fitzgerald, in her Seventieth year Such age how beautiful! O Lady bright. Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined By favoring Nature and a saintly Mind To something purer and more exquisite 5 Than flesh and blood; whene'er thou meet'st my sight. When I behold thy blanched unwithered cheek, Thy temples fringed with locks of gleaming white, And head that droops because the soul is meek. Thee with the welcome Snowdrop I compare; lo That child of winter, prompting thoughts that climb From desolation toward the genial prime; Or with the Moon conquering earth's misty air. And filling more and more with crystal light As pensive Evening deepens into night. l62 SONNETS XXXIII *'There!" said a Stripling, pointing with meet pride Towards a low roof with green trees half concealed, **Is Mosgiel Farm; and that's the very field Where Burns ploughed up the Daisy." Far and wide S A plain below stretched seaward, while, descried Above sea-clouds, the Peaks of Arran rose; And, by that simple notice, the repose Of earth, sky, sea, and air, was vivified. Beneath "the random bield of clod or stone" lo Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the One That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love. XXXIV In Sight of the Town of Cockermouth Where the Author was born, and his Father's remains are laid. A point of life between my Parents' dust. And yours, my buried Little-ones! am I; And to those graves looking habitually In kindred quiet I repose my trust, s Death to the innocent is more than just. And, to the sinner, mercifully bent; So may I hope, if truly I repent And meekly bear the ills which bear I must: SONNETS 163 And You, my Offspring! that do still remain, 10 Yet may outstrip me in the appointed race, If e'er, through fault of mine, in mutual pain We breathed together for a moment's space, The wrong, by love provoked, let love arraign, And only love keep in your hearts a place XXXV Death Methought I saw the footsteps of a throne Which mists and vapors from mine eyes did shroud — Nor view of who might sit thereon allowed; But all the steps and ground about were strown 5 With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone Ever put on: a miserable crowd. Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud, **Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan." I seem'd to mount those steps; the vapors gave 10 Smooth way: and I beheld the face of one Sleeping alone within a mossy cave, With her face up to heaven; that seemed to have Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone; A lovely Beauty in a summer grave! REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS 1 IN CALLING FORTH AND STRENGTHENING THE IM- \ AGINATION IN BOYHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH : Wisdom and Spirit of the Universe! Thou Soul, that art the Eternity of thought! ; And givest to forms and images a breath | And everlasting motion! not in vain, | s By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn ' Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me j The passions that build up our human soul Not with the mean and vulgar works of man, But with high objects, with enduring things, | lo With life and nature; purifying thus j The elements of feeling and of thought, i And sanctifying by such discipline Both pain and fear, — until we recognize A grandeur in the beatings of the heart. IS Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me With stinted kindness. In November days, ; When vapors rolling down the valleys made | A lonely scene more lonesome; among woods At noon; and mid the calm of summer nights, : 20 When, by the margin of the trembling Lake, Beneath the gloomy hills, I homeward went ■ In solitude, such intercourse was mine; | 164 INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS 165 'Twas mine among the fields both day and night, And by the waters, all the summer long. 25 And in the frosty season, when the sun Was set, and, visible for many a mile, The cottage windows through the twilight blazed, I heeded not the summons: — happy time It was indeed for all of us; for me 30 It was a time of rapture! — Clear and loud The village clock tolled six — I wheeled about. Proud and exulting like an untired horse That cares not for his home. — All shod with steel We hissed along the polished ice, in games 35 Confederate, imitative of the chase And woodland pleasures, — the resounding horn, The pack loud-bellowing, and the hunted hare. So through the darkness and the cold we flew, And not a voice was idle: with the din 40 Meanwhile the precipices rang aloud; The leafless trees and every icy crag Tinkled like iron; while the distant hills Into the tumult sent an alien sound Of melancholy, not unnoticed, while the stars, 45 Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west The orange sky of evening died away. Not seldom from the uproar I retired Into a silent bay, — or sportively Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng, 50 To cut across the reflex of a Star; Image, that, flying still before me, gleamed l66 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS Upon the glassy plain: and oftentimes, When we had given our bodies to the wind, And all the shadowy banks on either side 55 Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still The rapid line of motion, then at once Have I, reclining back upon my heels. Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs Wheeled by me — even as if the earth had rolled 60 With visible motion her diurnal round! Behind me did they stretch in solemn train. Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched Till all was tranquil as a summer sea. YEW-TREES There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore. Not loth to furnish weapons for the Bands 5 Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched To Scotland's heaths; or those that crossed the sea And drew their sounding bows at Azincour, Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers. Of vast circumference and gloom profound lo This solitary Tree! — a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed. But worthier still of note Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale, 15 Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; Huge trunks! — and each particular trunk a growth Of intertwisted fibers serpentine Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved, — Nor uninformed with Phantasy, and looks 20 That threaten the profane; — a pillared shade. Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue. By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged Perennially — beneath whose sable roof Of boughs as if for festal purpose decked 167 1 68 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 25 With unrejoiclng berries — ghostly shapes May meet at noontide; Fear and trembling Hope, Silence and Foresight, Death the Skeleton And Time the Shadow; there to celebrate, As in a natural temple scattered o'er 30 With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, United worship; or in mute repose To lie, and listen to the mountain flood Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves. LINES COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR, JULY 13, 1798 Five years have past; five summers, with the length Of five long w^inters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a sweet inland murmur. — Once again 5 Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, That on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky. The day is come when I again repose 10 Here, under this dark sycamore, and view These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard- tufts, Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves Among the woods and copses, nor disturb 15 The wild green landscape. Once again I see These hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild : these pastoral farms. Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke Sent up, in silence, from among the trees! 20 With some uncertain notice, as might seem Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, 169 170 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire The Hermit sits alone. These beauteous Forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me 25 As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet. Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; 30 And passing even into my purer mind. With tranquil restoration: — feelings too Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, 35 His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, 40 In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened: — that serene and blessed mood. In which the affections gently lead us on, — Until, the breath of this corporeal frame 45 And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, so We see into the life of things. LINES 171 I If this \ Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft, j In darkness, and amid the many shapes ! Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, 55 Have hung upon the beatings of my heart. How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer thro' the woods, ■ How often has my spirit turned to thee! j And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, 60 With many recognitions dim and faint. And somewhat of a sad perplexity. The picture of the mind revives again: While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts 65 That in this moment there is life and food For future years. And so I dare to hope, Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first I came among these hills; when like a roe I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides 70 Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams. Wherever nature led : more like a man Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, 75 And their glad animal movements all gone by) To me was all in all. — I cannot paint 172 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, 80 Their colors and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm. By thought supplied, or any interest Unborrowed from the eye. — That time is past, 85 And all its aching joys are now no more. And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts Have followed, for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense. For I have learned 90 To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. And I have felt 95 A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts: a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused. Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air. And the blue sky, and in the mind of man: 100 A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought. And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, los And mountains; and of all that we behold LINES 173 From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye and ear, both what they half create,^ And what perceive; well pleased to recognize In nature and the language of the sense, no The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being. Nor perchance, If I were not thus taught, should I the more Suffer my genial spirits to decay: IIS For thou art with me, here, upon the banks Of this fair river; thou, my dearest Friend, My dear, dear Friend, and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights 120 Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while May I behold in thee what I was once. My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, 125 Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, 130 Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all i"This line has a close resemblance to an admirable line of Young, the exact expression of which I do not recollect." — Wordsworth 174 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all v^hich we behold 135 Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty mountain winds be free To blow against thee: and in after years, When these wild ecstasies shall be matured 140 Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, Thy memory be as a dwelling-place For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, 145 Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me. And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance If I should be where I no more can hear Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams 150 Of past existence, wilt thou then forget That on the banks of this delightful stream We stood together; and that I, so long A worshipper of Nature, hither came Unwearied in that service: rather say 155 With warmer love, oh ! with far deeper zeal Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget. That after many wanderings, many years Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs. And this green pastoral landscape, were to me 160 More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake! FRENCH REVOLUTION AS IT APPEARED TO ENTHUSIASTS AT ITS COM- MENCEMENT Oh! pleasant exercise of hope and joy! For mighty were the auxiliars, which then stood Upon our side, we who were strong in love! Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, 5 But to be 5^oung was very heaven! — Oh! times, In which the meager, stale, forbidding ways Of custom, law, and statute, took at once The attraction of a country in Romance! When Reason seemed the most to assert her rights lo When most intent on making of herself A prime enchantress — to assist the work, Which then was going forward in her name! Not favored spots alone, but the whole earth. The beauty wore of promise — that which sets 15 (As at some moment might not be unfelt Among the bowers of paradise itself) The budding rose above the rose full blown. What temper at the prospect did not wake To happiness unthought of? The inert 20 Were roused, and lively natures rapt away! They who had fed their childhood upon dreams, The playfellows of fancy, who had made All powers of swiftness, subtilty and strength ^7S 176 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS Their ministers, — who in lordly wise had stirred 25 Among the grandest objects of the sense, And dealt with whatsoever they found there As if they had within some lurking right To wield it; they, too, who, of gentle mood. Had watched all gentle motions, and to these 30 Had fitted their own thoughts, schemers more mild, And in the region of their peaceful selves; — Now was it that both found, the Meek and Lofty Did both find helpers to their heart's desire, And stuff at hand, plastic as they could wish; 35 Were called upon to exercise their skill, Not in Utopia, subterranean Fields, Or some secreted Island, Heaven knows where! But in the very world, which is the world Of all of us, — the place where in the end 40 We find our happiness, or not at all! FRAGMENT FROM THE RECLUSE On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing in solitude, I oft perceive Fair trains of imagery before me rise, Accompanied by feelings of delight 5 Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed; And I am conscious of affecting thoughts And dear remembrances, whose presence soothes Or elevates the Mind, intent to weigh The good and evil of our mortal state. lo — To these emotions, whencesoe'er they come, Whether from breath of outward circumstance, Or from the Soul — an impulse to herself, I would give utterance in numerous verse. Of Truth, of Grandeur, Beauty, Love, and Hope — 15 And melancholy Fear subdued by Faith; Of blessed consolations in distress; Of moral strength, and intellectual power; Of joy in widest commonalty spread; Of the individual Mind that keeps her own 20 Inviolate retirement, subject there To Conscience only, and the law supreme Of that Intelligence which governs all; I sing: — "fit audience let me find though few!" So prayed, more gaining than he asked, the Bard, 25 Holiest of Men. — Urania, I shall need Thy guidance, or a greater Muse, if such 177 178 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS Descend to earth or dwell in highest heaven! j For I must tread on shadowy ground, must sink ' Deep — and, aloft ascending, breathe in worlds 30 To which the heaven of heavens is but a veil. j All strength — all terror, single or in bands, j That ever was put forth in personal form; Jehovah — with his thunder, and the choir I Of shouting Angels, and the empyreal thrones — i 35 I pass them unalarmed. Not Chaos, not The darkest pit of lowest Erebus, Nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out I By help of dreams, can breed such fear and awe j As fall upon us often when we look i 40 Into our Minds, into the Mind of Man, My haunt, and the main region of my song. — Beauty — a living Presence of the earth, Surpassing the most fair ideal Forms Which craft of delicate Spirits hath composed 1 45 From earth's materials — waits upon my steps; , Pitches her tents before me as I move, \ An hourly neighbor. Paradise, and groves I Elysian, Fortunate Fields — like those of old j Sought in the Atlantic Main — why should they be \ 50 A history only of departed things, Or a mere fiction of what never was? i For the discerning intellect of Man, \ When wedded to this goodly univer'se In love and holy passion, shall find these 55 A simple produce of the common day. ! I, long before the blissful hour arrives ^^ 1 FRAGMENT FROM THE RECLUSE I79 j Would chant, in lonely peace, the spousal verse j Of this great consummation: — and, by words 1 Which speak of nothing more than what we are, i 60 Would I arouse the sensual from their sleep ' Of Death, and win the vacant and the vain To noble raptures; while my voice proclaims , How exquisitely the individual Mind (And the progressive powers perhaps no less 65 Of the whole species) to the external World Is fitted: — and how exquisitely, too, I Theme this but little heard of among Men, ' The external World is fitted to the Mind; } And the creation (by no lower name ] 70 Can it be called) which they with blended might ' Accomplish: — this is our high argument. \ — Such grateful haunts forgoing, if I oft Must turn elsewhere — to travel near the tribes And fellowships of men, and see ill sights j 75 Of madding passions mutually inflamed; j Must hear Humanity in fields and groves 1 Pipe solitary anguish; or must hang Brooding above the fierce confederate storm 1 Of sorrow, barricadoed evermore 80 Within the walls of Cities; may these sounds i Have their authentic comment, — that even these j Hearing, I be not downcast or forlorn! I — Descend, prophetic Spirit! that inspirest | The human Soul of universal earth, 85 Dreaming on things to come; and dost possess i A metropolitan Temple in the hearts \ l8o REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS Of mighty Poets; upon me bestow A gift of genuine insight; that my Song With star-like virtue in its place may shine, go Shedding benignant influence, — and secure, Itself, from all malevolent eflFect Of those mutations that extend their sway Throughout the nether sphere! — ^And if with this I mix more lowly matter; with the thing 95 Contemplated, describe the Mind and Man Contemplating, and who, and what he was. The transitory Being that beheld This Vision, — ^when and where, and how he lived; — Be not this labor useless. If such theme loa May sort with highest objects, then, dread Power, Whose gracious favor is the primal source Of all illumination, may my Life Express the image of a better time. More wise desires, and simpler manners; — nurse los My Heart in genuine freedom: — all pure thoughts Be with me; — so shall thy unfailing love Guide, and support, and cheer me to the end! THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR " The class of Beggars, to which the Old Man here described be- longs, will probably soon be extinct. It consisted of poor, and mostly, old and infirm persons, who confined themselves to a stated round in their neighborhood, and had certain fixed days on which, at different houses, they regularly received alms, sometimes in money, but mostly in provisions." — Wordsworth I SAW an aged Beggar in my walk; And he was seated, by the highway side, On a low structure of rude masonry Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they 5 Who lead their horses down the steep rough road May thence remount at ease. The aged Man Had placed his staff across the broad smooth stone That overlays the pile; and, from a bag All white with flour, the dole of village dames, lo He drew his scraps and fragments, one by one; And scanned them with a fixed and serious look Of idle computation. In the sun, Upon the second step of that small pile, Surrounded by those wild unpeopled hills, 15 He sat, and ate his food in solitude: And ever, scattered from his palsied hand. That, still attempting to prevent the waste. Was baflHed still, the crumbs in little showers Fell on the ground; and the small mountain birds, 20 Not venturing yet to peck their destined meal. Approached within the length of half his staff. 181 1 82 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS Him from my childhood have I known; and then He was so old, he seems not older now; He travels on, a solitary Man, 25 So helpless in appearance, that for him The sauntering horseman-traveler does not throw With careless hand his alms upon the ground, But stops, — that he may safely lodge the coin Within the old Man's hat; nor quits him so, 30 But still, when he has given his horse the rein, Watches the aged Beggar with a look Sidelong — and half- reverted. She who tends The toll-gate, when in summer at her door She turns her wheel, if on the road she sees 35 The aged Beggar coming, quits her work. And lifts the latch for him that he may pass. The post-boy, when his rattling wheels o'ertake The aged Beggar in the woody lane, Shouts to him from behind; and, if thus warned 40 The old Man does not change his course, the boy Turns with less noisy wheels to the roadside, And passes gently by — without a curse Upon his lips, or anger at his heart. He travels on, a solitary Man; 45 His age has no companion. On the ground His eyes are turned, and, as he moves along, They move along the ground; and, evermore. Instead of common and habitual sight Of fields with rural works, of hill and dale, so And the blue sky, one little span of earth THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR 183 Is all his prospect. Thus, from day to day. Bow-bent, his eyes for ever on the ground. He pHes his weary journey; seeing still. And seldom knowing that he sees, some straw, 55 Some scattered leaf, or marks which, in one track, The nails of cart or chariot-wheel have left Impressed on the white road, — in the same line. At distance still the same. Poor Traveler! His staff trails with him; scarcely do his feet 60 Disturb the summer dust; he is so still In look and motion, that the cottage curs. Ere he have passed the door, will turn away, Weary of barking at him. Boys and girls. The vacant and the busy, maids and youths, 65 And urchins newly breeched — all pass him by; Him even the slow-paced waggon leaves behind. But deem not this Man useless. — Statesmen! ye Who are so restless in your wisdom, ye Who have a broom still ready in your hands 70 To rid the world of nuisances; ye proud, Heart-swoln, while in your pride ye contem- plate Your talents, power, and wisdom, deem him not A burthen of the earth! 'Tis Nature's law That none, the meanest of created things, 75 Of forms created the most vile and brute, The dullest or most noxious, should exist Divorced from good — a spirit and pulse of good, A life and soul, to every mode of being 184 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS Inseparably linked. While thus he creeps 80 From door to door, the Villagers in him Behold a record which together binds Past deeds and offices of chanty, Else unremembered, and so keeps alive The kindly mood in hearts which lapse of years 85 And that half-wisdom half-experience gives. Make slow to feel, and by sure steps resign To selfishness and cold oblivious cares. Among the farms and solitary huts, Hamlets and thinly-scattered villages, Qo Where'er the aged Beggar takes his rounds. The mild necessity of use compels To acts of love; and habit does the work Of reason; yet prepares that after-joy Which reason cherishes. And thus the soul, 95 By that sweet taste of pleasure unpursued, Doth find herself insensibly disposed To virtue and true goodness. Some there are. By their good works exalted, lofty minds And meditative, authors of delight 100 And happiness, which to the end of time Will live, and spread, and kindle: even such minds In childhood, from this solitary Being, Or from like wanderer, haply have received (A thing more precious far than all that books los Or the solicitudes of love can do!) That first mild touch of sympathy and thought, In which they found their kindred with a world Where want and sorrow were. The easy man THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR 185 Who sits at his own door, — and, like the pear 110 That overhangs his head from the green wall, Feeds in the sunshine; the robust and young, The prosperous and unthinking, they who live Sheltered, and flourish in a little grove Of their own kindred; — all behold in him 115 A silent monitor, which on their minds Must needs impress a transitory thought Of self-congratulation, to the heart Of each recalling his peculiar boons. His charters and exemptions; and perchance, 120 Though he to no one give the fortitude And circumspection needful to preserve His present blessings, and to husband up The respite of the season, he at least — And 'tis no vulgar service — makes them felt. 125 Yet further. Many, I believe, there are Who live a life of virtuous decency, Men who can hear the Decalogue and feel No self-reproach; who of the moral law Established in the land where they abide 130 Are strict observers; and not negligent, In acts of love to those with whom they dwell. Their kindred, and the children of their blood. Praise be to such, and to their slumbers peace! — But of the poor man ask, the abject poor; 135 Go, and demand of him, if there be here In this cold abstinence from evil deeds, And these inevitable charities, l86 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS Wherewith to satisfy the human soul? No — Man is dear to Man; the poorest poor . 140 Long for some moments in a weary life I When they can know and feel that they have been. Themselves, the fathers and the dealers-out Of some small blessings; have been kind to such As needed kindness, for this single cause, 145 That we have all of us one human heart. — Such pleasure is to. one kind being known, My neighbor, when with punctual care, each week Duly as Friday comes, though pressed herself By her own wants, she from her store of meal 150 Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip Of this old Mendicant, and, from her door Returning with exhilarated heart, Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in heaven. Then let him pass, a blessing on his head ! 155 And while in that vast solitude to which The tide of things has borne him, he appears To breathe and live but for himself alone, Unblamed, uninjured, let him bear about The good which the benignant law of Heaven 160 Has hung around him: and, while life is his. Still let him prompt the unlettered Villagers To tender offices and pensive thoughts. — Then let him pass, a blessing on his head ! And, long as he can wander, let him breathe 165 The freshness of the valleys; let his blood Struggle with frosty air and winter snows; THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR 187 And let the chartered wind that sweeps the heath Beat his gray locks against his withered face. Reverence the hope whose vital anxiousness 170 Gives the last human interest to his heart! May never House, misnamed of Industry, Make him a captive! for that pent-up din. Those life-consuming sounds that clog the air. Be his the natural silence of old age! 175 Let him be free of mountain solitudes; And have around him, whether heard or not, The pleasant melody of woodland birds. Few are his pleasures: if his eyes have now Been doomed so long to settle on the earth 180 That not without some effort they behold The countenance of the horizontal sun. Rising or setting, let the light at least Find a free entrance to their languid orbs. And let him, where and when he will, sit down 185 Beneath the trees, or by the grassy bank Of highway side, and with the little birds Share his chance-gathered meal; and, finally, As in the eye of Nature he has lived. So in the eye of Nature let him die! ANIMAL TRANQUILLITY AND DECAY A SKETCH 1 I The little hedgerow birds, \ That peck along the road, regard him not. ; He travels on, and in his face, his step, , His gait, is one expression; every limb. His look and bending figure, all bespeak \ A man who does not move with pain, but moves i With thought. — He is insensibly subdued \ To settled quiet: he is one by whom i All effort seems forgotten; one to whom I Long patience hath such mild composure given. That patience now doth seem a thing of which : He hath no need. He is by nature led To peace so perfect, that the young behold , With envy, what the Old Man hardly feels. i i88 NUTTING It seems a day (I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days which cannot die; When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, 5 I left our Cottage-threshold, sallying forth With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung, A nutting-crook in hand, and turned my steps Toward the distant woods, a Figure quaint. Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-ofF weeds lo Which for that service had been husbanded. By exhortation of my frugal Dame; Motley accoutrement, of power to smile At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,— and, in truth. More ragged than need was ! Among the woods, 15 And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way Until, at length, I came to one dear nook Unvisited, where not a broken bough Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign Of devastation, but the hazels rose 20 Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung, A virgin scene! — A little while I stood. Breathing with such suppression of the heart As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed 25 The banquet, — or beneath the trees I sate Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played; A temper known to those, who, after long 189 190 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS And weary expectation, have been blest With sudden happiness beyond all hope. — 30 Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves The violets of five seasons re-appear And fade, unseen by any human eye; Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on For ever, — and I saw the sparkling foam, 35 And with my cheek on one of those green stones That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees. Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep, I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound. In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay 40 Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure. The heart luxuriates with indiff*erent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air. Then up I rose. And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash 45 And merciless ravage; and the shady nook Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up Their quiet being: and, unless I now Confound my present feelings with the past, so Even then, when from the bower I turned away Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings, I felt a sense of pain when I beheld The silent trees and the intruding sky. — Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades 55 In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand Touch — for there is a spirit in the woods. STANZAS WRITTEN IN MY POCKET-COPY OF THOMSON'S CASTLE OF INDOLENCE Within our happy Castle there dwelt One^ Whom without blame I may not overlook; For never sun on living creature shone Who more devout enjoyment with us took: 5 Here on his hours he hung as on a book; On his own time here would he float away, As doth a fly upon a summer brook; But go to-morrow — or belike the day — Seek for him, — he is fled; and whither none can say. lo Thus often would he leave our peaceful home, And find elsewhere his business or delight; Out of our Valley's limits did he roam: Full many a time, upon a stormy night, His voice came to us from the neighboring height: 15 Oft did we see him driving full in view At mid-day when the sun was shining bright; What ill was on him, what he had to do, A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew. Ah! piteous sight it was to see this Man 20 When he came back to us, a withered flower, — 1 S. T. Coleridge. 191 192 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS Or, like a sinful creature, pale and wan. Down would he sit; and without strength or power Look at the common grass from hour to hour: And oftentimes, how long I fear to say, 25 Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower. Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay; And, like a naked Indian, slept himself away. Great wonder to our gentle Tribe it was Whenever from our Valley he withdrew; 30 For happier soul no living creature has Than he had, being here the long day through. Some thought he was a lover, and did woo: Some thought far worse of him, and judged him wrong: But Verse was what he had been wedded to; 35 And his own mind did like a tempest strong Come to him thus, and drove the weary Vv^ight along. With him there often walked in friendly guise. Or lay upon the moss by brook or tree, A noticeable man with large gray eyes, 40 And a pale face that seemed undoubtedly As if a blooming face it ought to be; Heavy his low-hung lip did oft appear Deprest by weight of musing Phantasy; Profound his forehead was, though not severe; 45 Yet some did think that he had little business here: STANZAS 193 Sweet heaven forefend! his was a lawful right; Noisy he was, and gamesome as a boy; His limbs would toss about him with delight Like branches when strong winds the trees annoy. 50 Nor lacked his calmer hours device or toy To banish listlessness and irksome care; He would have taught you how you might employ Yourself; and many did to him repair, — And certes not in vain; he had inventions rare. 55 Expedients, too, of simplest sort he tried : Long blades of grass, plucked round him as he lay, Made — to his ear attentively applied — A Pipe on which the wind would deftly play; Glasses he had, that little things display, The beetle panoplied in gems and gold, 60 A mailed angel on a battle day; The mysteries that cups of flowers enfold, And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold. He would entice that other Man to hear 65 His music, and to view his imagery: And, sooth, these two did love each other dear. As far as love in such a place could be; There did they dwell — from earthly labor free. As happy spirits as were ever seen; 70 If but a bird, to keep them company, Or butterfly sate down, they were, I ween. As pleased as if the same had been a Maiden Queen. THE FOUNTAIN A CONVERSATION We talked with open heart, and tongue Affectionate and true, A pair of Friends, though I was young, And Matthew seventy-two. s We lay beneath a spreading oak, Beside a mossy seat; And from the turf a fountain broke. And gurgled at our feet. "Now, Matthew!" said I, ''let us match lo This water's pleasant tune With some old Border-song, or Catch, That suits a summer's noon; "Or of the Church-clock and the chimes Sing here beneath the shade, IS That half-mad thing of witty rhymes Which you last April made!" In Silence Matthew lay, and eyed The spring beneath the tree; And thus the dear old man replied, 20 The gray-haired man of glee: 194 THE FOUNTAIN I95 "Down to the vale this water steers, How merrily it goes! 'Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. 25 And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay Beside this Fountain's brink. "My eyes are dim with childish tears, 30 My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. "Thus fares it still in our decay: And yet the wiser mind 35 Mourns less for what age takes away Than what it leaves behind. "The Blackbird in the summer trees. The Lark upon the hill. Let loose their carols when they please, 40 Are quiet when they will. "With Nature never do they wage A foolish strife; they see A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free: 196 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 45 "But we are pressed by heavy laws; And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy, because We have been glad of yore. "If there be one who need bemoan so His kindred laid in earth, The household hearts that were his own, It is the man of mirth. "My days, my Friend, are almost gone, My life has been approved, 55 And many love me; but by none Am I enough beloved." "Now both himself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains! I live and sing my idle songs 60 Upon these happy plains, "And, Matthew, for thy Children dead I'll be a son to thee!" At this he grasped my hand, and said, "Alas! that cannot be." 65 We rose up from the fountain-side; And down the smooth descent Of the green sheep-track did we glide; And through the wood we went; THE FOUNTAIN I97 And, ere we came to Leonard's-rock, 70 He sang those witty rhymes About the crazy old church-clock, And the bewildered chimes. A POET'S EPITAPH Art thou a Statesman, in the van Of public business trained and bred ? — First learn to love one living man; Then may'st thou think upon the dead. S A Lawyer art thou? — draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face. Art thou a Man of purple cheer? lo A rosy Man, right plump to see? Approach; yet. Doctor, not too near. This grave no cushion is for thee. Or art thou one of gallant pride, A Soldier, and no man of chafF? 15 Welcome! — but lay thy sword aside. And lean upon a peasant's staff. Physician art thou ? One, all eyes, Philosopher! a fingering slave. One that would peep and botanize 20 Upon his mother's grave? Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece, O turn aside, — and take, I pray, That he below may rest in peace, That abject thing, thy soul, away! 198 A POET S EPITAPH 1 99 25 A Moralist perchance appears; Led, Heaven knows how! to this poor sod: And he has neither eyes nor ears; Himself his world, and his own God; One to whose smooth-rubbed soul can cling 30 Nor form, nor feeling, great or small; A reasoning, self-sufficing thing. An intellectual All-in-all! Shut close the door; press down the latch; Sleep in thy intellectual crust; 35 Nor lose ten tickings of thy watch Near this unprofitable dust. ^ But who is He, with modest looks. And clad in homely russet brown? He murmurs near the running brooks 40 A music sweeter than their own. He is retired as noontide dew. Or fountain in a noon-day grove: And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love. 45 The outward shows of sky and earth, Of hill and valley, he has viewed; And impulses of deeper birth Have come to him in solitude. 200 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS In common things that round us lie so Some random truths he can impart; — The harvest of a quiet eye That broods and sleeps on his own heart. But he is weak; both Man and Boy, Hath been an idler in the land; 55 Contented if he might enjoy The things which others understand. — Come hither in thy hour of strength; Come, weak as is a breaking wave! Here stretch thy body at full length; 60 Or build thy house upon this grave! EXTEMPORE EFFUSION UPON THE DEATH OF JAMES HOGG NOVEMBER, 1835 When first, descending from the moorlands, I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide Along a bare and open valley, The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide. s When last along its banks I wandered, Through groves that had begun to shed Their golden leaves upon the pathways. My steps the Border-minstrel led. The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer, 10 Mid mouldering ruins low he lies; And death upon the braes of Yarrow, Has closed the Shepherd-poet's eyes: Nor has the rolling year twice measured. From sign to sign, its stedfast course, IS Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source; The rapt One, of the godlike forehead. The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, 20 Has vanished from his lonely hearth. 201 202 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS Like clouds that rake the mountain-summits, Or waves that own no curbing hand, How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land! 25 Yet I, whose lids from infant slumber Were earlier raised, remain to hear A timid voice, that asks in whispers, ''Who next will drop and disappear?" Our haughty life is crowned with darkness, 30 Like London with its own black wreath, On which with thee, O Crabbe! forth-looking I gazed from Hampstead's breezy heath. As if but yesterday departed, Thou too art gone before; but why, 35 O'er ripe fruit, seasonably gathered. Should frail survivors heave a sigh? Mourn rather for that holy Spirit, Sweet as the spring, as ocean deep; For Her^ who, ere her summer faded, 40 Has sunk into a breathless sleep. No more of old romantic sorrows. For slaughtered Youth or love-lorn Maid ! With sharper grief is Yarrow smitten, And Ettrick mourns with her their Poet dead. iMrs. Hemans. NOTES AND COMMENT ON ARNOLD'S ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH (Heax-y numerals refer to page; light ones to line) 1, I. Lord Macaulay. Thomas Babington Macaulay (1800-1859), although educated for the bar and for many years a member of the House of Commons, divided his labors between history, literature, and practical politics. His best known poems are the Lays of Ancient Rome, his greatest prose work a History of England. Master of a powerful and vivid style, he is said to have exerted more influence on the prose of the latter half of the nineteenth century than any other writer. His besetting sin, however, is positiveness and exaggeration; and elsewhere Arnold speaks of the "confident shallowness which makes him so admired by public speakers and leading-article writers, and so intolerable to all searchers for truth." 1, 18. To buy his shoe-strings. It is interesting to note that in 1835 Wordsworth, in commenting on the limited sale of his works, judged that he had up to then received not more than a total of £1000. Scott. The literary career of Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832) began as a poet; and practically all of his poetry {The Lay of the Last Minstrel, 1805, Marmion, 1808, The Lady of the Lake, 1810) was written before he was forty. His great novels began with JVaverley (18 14). As the creator of the his- torical novel, Scott's place in literature is secure. As a poet, however, the very interest in plot, setting, and character which makes the novelist supreme, lowers the poet to a permanently second rank. Although he and Wordsworth were devoted friends to the day of Scott's death, the former thought but little of his friend's poetry. 1, 22. Byron. It was when he was twenty-one that George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824) awoke one morning, as he says, to find himself famous. The occasion was the publication of two cantos of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1809). A genuine lover of beauty but often 203 204 NOTES AND COMMENT injudicious in the pursuit of it, ostracized from England on account of society's disapproval of his conduct, Byron nursed his grievance in Italy for the last eight years of his life, and died fighting for Greek independence. "The bad boy of literature" has been posterity's label for this hand- some young rebel, and " Byronic gloom" is proverbial. Although not wholly approving, Wordsworth was in- terested in Byron's poetry and in his revolutionary views. Byron's flippant opinion of Wordsworth's works was "Words-words." 2, 6. Coleridge. Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772- 1834), for thirteen years Wordsworth's most intimate friend, wrote in a little more than a year (1797-1798) practically all the poems on which his fame now rests, among them The Ancient Mariner and Kuhla Khan. The unreal and fantastic spirit which inspired most of his poetry led him at length into the bog of German philosophy and metaphysics, from which the poet never really ex- tricated himself. As critic and essayist his reputation was nearly as high as that of poet. 2, 9. Cambridge. Cambridge and Oxford are the two principal English universities. Consisting, as Cambridge does, of eighteen colleges for graduates and undergradu- ates alike, each having its separate building, its composi- tion is quite different from an American university or college. Its oldest college, Peterhouse, was founded in 1284. Saint John's college, which Wordsworth attended, was founded in 1511. Among the alumni of Cambridge are the poets Spenser, Marlowe, Ben Jonson, Herrick, Dryden, Milton, Gray, Byron, Coleridge and Tennyson. Oliver Cromwell and John Harvard were also graduates. 2, 15. I remember Wordsworth relating, etc. In 1832 Dr. Thomas Arnold, distressed at the country around Rugby as "among the dullest and ugliest in England," bought a house at Fox How on the river Rotha, not far from Grasmere, and here he spent a large part of his holidays with his wife and children. At Rydal Mount a Library Book was kept containing the names of the bor- rowers of books from Wordsworth's library, and Matthew Arnold's name is recorded as having borrowed Sir Charles Grandison in 1834-5, which shows, among other things, that at ten the boy was a frequenter of the Wordsworth house. 2, 18. Guide to the Lakes. This descriptive prose ac- count of the Lake Country (in Westmoreland, Lancaster, NOTES AND COMMENT 205 and Cumberland, in the northwest of England, with the Lakes of Windermere, Coniston, Derwent, etc.) was first published by Wordsworth in 1820 as an appendix to "The River Duddon, a Series of Sonnets." Later it was am- plified and published separately — in 1822 and in 1835. 2, 22. Tennyson. It was the two volumes of poems published in 1842 that first attracted the favorable at- tention of critics to the writings of Alfred, later Lord, Tennyson (1809-1892). Previous to these had come two volumes in 1830 and 1832, which were variously designated as "drivel" and as "lollipop." But the volume of 1842 contained among others The Lady of Shalott, The Lotus Eaters, Ulysses, Locksley Hall, and Sir Galahad. It is said that the line from Ulysses, "I am a part of all that I have met," so pleased the prime-minister. Sir Robert Peel, that he recommended Tennyson for an annual pen- sion of £200. In 1850 In Memoriam, his masterpiece, was published, and he was chosen to succeed Wordsworth as laureate. 3, 18. Mr. Palgrave. Francis Turner Palgrave (1824- 1897), poet, critic and Professor of poetry, combined re- markable sweetness of character with erudition and fine poetic sensitiveness. He was the son of Sir Francis Pal- grave, a lawyer and historian, who began life as the son of a Jewish stockbroker named Cohen. In the Golden Treasury, his priceless collection of British verse, the selection of forty-four poems by Wordsworth gives him pre-eminence over all other poets in the number of poems chosen. The list, as far as it goes, contains few excep- tions to Arnold's own. M. Renan. Joseph Ernest Re- nan's (1823-1892) brilliant and skeptical Life of Jesus in 1863 caused such a furor that he was removed from his chair as Professor of Hebrew, Chaldee, and Syriac in the College of France. This position the College was glad to restore to him in 1871, and he continued to wage his iconoclastic warfare until his death. He became a member of the French Academy in 1878. 4, 14. Goethe. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749- 183 1), author of Faust, is the great philosophical poet whom Germany has given to the world, and is the fore- most German poet of all times. He has written many beautiful lyrics, in addition to many dramas and several novels. 5, 8. Nebuchadnezzar. The second of that name (about 604-561 B. C.) was the great king of the Neo-Baby- 206 NOTES AND COMMENT Ionian Empire to which the Prophets and particularly the Book of Daniel refers. It was he who after its revolt captured Jerusalem and razed it to the ground (586 B. C), an event of such memorable calamity to the Jews. He was succeeded by a weak son who was assassinated after a reign of but two years, and thus the ancient Semitic Empire abruptly collapsed. 6, 18. Newton. Sir Isaac Newton (1642-1727), the great English philosopher, made many contributions to the sciences of mathematics and physics, notably in optics, before making his revolutionizing discovery of the law of gravitation. The familiar story of Newton and the apple comes from Voltaire, who was said to have heard it from a niece of the scientist. , 5, 19. Darwin. Charles Robert Darwin (1809-1822^,1^ the naturalist, as powerfully affected the literature, philosophical and religious thought of his time, as he did the study of biology. His Origin of Species (1859) first announced the theory of evolution: that the species and varieties of plants and animals came into being by a process of natural selection from lower forms. What was a revolutionizing idea for his times is, of course, a commonplace of to-day. 5, 22. Poetry. This definition of poetry of Arnold's has frequently been quoted. In substance it suggests Wordsworth's belief in regard to "poetic diction." Com- pare it with other definitions of poetry: "Poetry is emo- tion recollected in tranquillity," Wordsworth; "Prose is words in their best order, poetry is the best words in the best order," Coleridge; "Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds," Shelley; "Poetry is musical thought," Carlyle. 6, 8. Biographie Universelle. The "Biographie Uni- verselle, Ancienne et Moderne," published in a new edition in Paris (1843-1863) in forty-five volumes, super- seded the one to which Matthew Arnold referred and is still the authoritative French dictionary of biography. 6, 14. Shakespeare (1564- 161 6) and Milton (1608- 1674). It was none other than Voltaire who called Shake- speare "an ugly ape," and said that "he was the Corneille of London, but a great fool anywhere else." And again: "Shakespeare is a savage with some imagination, whose plays can please only in London and Canada." The antipathy to Milton shown by the Catholic French of the Bourbon period is largely accounted for by his NOTES AND COMMENT 207 part, as Cromwell's secretary, in the overthrow of the Catholic House of Stuart. In his Life of Cromwell^ Ville- main speaks of Milton's career as "one of the most de- plorable prostitutions of genius," and of the poet as "animated by a fiery democratic zeal." Needless to say, these two opinions, in the one instance personal and in the other partisan, have long since been forgotten in the generous appreciation of Shakespeare and Milton by the French people. 6, 21. Comeille. Pierre Corneille (1606-1684), was one of the greatest tragic poets and dramatists of France. Modern French drama dates from Le Cid (1636), a ro- mantic drama founded on the exploits of Ruy Diaz, the Spanish hero. Most of his works, however, are on classic themes. "Corneille is to Shakespeare as a dipt hedge is to a forest," was Doctor Johnson's patriotic retort when the remarks of Voltaire, cited above, were quoted to him. 6, 21. Victor Hugo (1802- 1885): the greatest French poet of his time, besides being a distinguished dramatist, essayist, and novelist. He was also something of a pol- itician, serving for a time in the French senate. In liter- ature he was the leader of the Romantic movement during his time. His novel Les Miserables appeared in 1862, simultaneously in ten different languages. 7, 14. Samson Agonistes (Samson the Wrestler): a drama in the Greek style, and the last great work of Milton. It represents the Old Testament hero, blinded and bound, triumphant over the Philistines, his captors who had sent for him to make sport by feats of strength on the feast of Dagon. Finally pulling down two of the supporting pillars, he died himself in the general devasta- tion. Although the theme is Hebraic, the form and spirit are Greek. Although he accepts his fate valiantly throughout, the blind old hero is baffled in quite Greek fashion by the inscrutable ways of God. 7, 24. Amphictyonic Court. This was a court or coun- cil of the confederated tribes or states of ancient Greece, whose duties were primarily to safeguard the temple of Apollo at Dephi and other holy property. Indirectly from this came the judicial powers of the congress, and the regulation of matters of peace and war among its members. By this term Arnold means hardly more than a "supreme court." 8, 16. Chaucer. In addition to the antiquity of Geof- frey Chaucer (1340-1400), Arnold doubtless had in 208 NOTES AND COMMENT mind the fact that he was largely an adapter into English of French and Italian models. There is his translation of part of the Romaunt of the Rose from the French; his indebtedness to the Italian Boccaccio is shown in the story of Troilus and Criseyde, etc.; ?inA even in The Can- terbury Tales it is probable that Boccaccio's Decameron was his model. In spite of this, however, there would seem to be little doubt or difficulty in regarding Chaucer, with Shakespeare and Milton, as one of the three greatest English poets. Certainly he was the first great English poet. 8, 21. Spenser. The name of Edmund Spenser (1552- 1599) emerges from "the dark backward and abysm of time" as the next poet of any importance after Chaucer. The Faerie Queen, with its allegorical imagery, and the melodious pastoral strain of the Shepherd's Calendar and other poems, have given him the name of "the poet's poet." 8, 22. Dryden. John Dryden (1631-1700), most famous as a writer of vigorous satiric and didactic verse, was the chief poet of the Restoration Period. He was also the author of numerous plays and critical essays. The satire Mac Flecknoe, and the lyrics Alexander's Feast and A Song on St. Cecilia's Day are among his best known shorter poems. Besides these, he has left a spirited translation of Virgil's JBneid. 8, 22. Pope. Like Dryden, Alexander Pope (1688- 1744) was a satirist, although a less kindly one, for his physical ills and deformity seemed to sharpen his wit into the most piercing and stinging instrument in the language. Representative poems are The Rape of the Lock, Essay on Man, The Dunciad, and translations of the Iliad and the Odyssey. _ Pope is second only to Shake- speare in the number of his lines and phrases which have become a part of daily speech. 8, 22. Gray. Thomas Gray (1716-1771), the au- thor of the Elegy in a Country Church-yard, was one of the early poets of the Romantic Movement in English literature, which later attracted Shelley, Keats, Byron, and even Wordsworth. "And melancholy marked him for her own," no less than she did the hero of his own Elegy. 8, 22, Goldsmith. Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774) was one of the many Irish men of letters who have added glory to English literature. He was a member of Doctor NOTES AND COMMENT 209 Johnson's famous Literary Club, and the author of poems, of which The Deserted Village is the best known; plays, among them The Good-natured Man and She Stoops to Conquer; and an immortal novel. The Vicar of Wake- field. With Gray, his interest in his fellow men makes him a forerunner of the later Romantic school. 8, 22. Cowper. The poems of William Cowper (173 1- 1800), picturing the simple charms of nature and the pleasures of country life, contrasted sharply with the sophisticated poetry of Pope. John Gilpin is a rollicking rural ballad quite unlike the serious, earnest character of most of his verse. "God made the Country, and man made the Town" is one of his finest and most character- istic lines. 8, 22. Bums. Robert Burns (1759-1796), the na- tional poet of Scotland, was a common farm laborer until he was twenty-eight years old. Actually as well as in spirit, this peasant-poet was a poet of the people and belongs in the forefront of the revolutionary Ro- manticists. "The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The Man's the Gowd (gold) for a' that" shows the democratic creed of the author of Auld Lang Syne and John Anderson. 8, 23. Campbell. Thomas Campbell (1777- 1844), a Scotsman by birth, has added chiefly patriotic lyrics to English literature. Among the best known are Ye Mari- ners of England and The Battle of the Baltic. His poem Hohenlinden, celebrating the victory of the French over the Austrians at Hohenlinden, will long remain popular for the characteristic but rather commonplace grace and power of it. 8, 23. Moore. Thomas Moore (1779-1852) is to Ire- land largely what Burns is to Scotland, although a poet of more limited powers and popularity. His fame now rests chiefly on his Irish Melodies and National Airs (among them The Harp that once thro Taras Halls), al- though in his day he was as popular as Byron or Scott. 8, 23. Shelley. The unhappy domestic career of Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), so similar in its re- sults to Byron's, provoked Arnold's scandalized "What a set! what a world!" But those who knew him well idealized this greatest of English lyric poets. Before he was drowned off the coast of Italy in his twenty-ninth year, 2IO NOTES AND COMMENT he had left a considerable body of poems, full of the fire of revolutionary and romantic zeal, Jdonais, an elegy on the death of his friend Keats, Ode to the West Wind, and Prometheus Unbound are among his best known poems. 8, 24. Keats. Of John Keats (1795-1821), Arnold has written "No one else in English poetry, save Shake- speare, has in expression quite the fascinating felicity of Keats, his perfection of loveliness." Romantic in spirit but with also a love at heart for the poetry of Greece, Keats was too soon cut short from a career of singular promise and interest. On his gravestone in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome was placed, at his own wish, the epitaph "Here lies one whose name was writ in water." Among his most familiar poems are Ode on a Grecian Urn, Ode to a Nightingale, and The Eve of St. Agnes. 9, 6. Moliere. Under this name wrote Jean Baptiste Poquelin (1622-1673), certainly the greatest dramatist and possibly the greatest writer of France. His persistent attacks and satires on hypocrisy in medicine, in religion, and in society in general were presented in dramas and farces characterized by consummately clever dialogue. Among these U Avare, Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme, and Le Malade Imaginaire are perhaps the best known. 9, 9. Klopstock. Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock (1724- 1803), "was a true liberator. He was the first among modern German poets who drew his inspiration from the depths of a heart beating for all humanity" (Francke). Like the English Romanticists he was stirred and in- spired by the French revolution, and his work is per- meated with an exalted idealism. His Messias, a religious oratorio, has gained him the somewhat inaccurate title of the "German Milton." 9, 9. Lessing. Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729- I78i),the great dramatist of the reign of Frederick the Great, was even more important as a literary and par- ticularly a dramatic critic. In the Laokoon he distin- guished the separate provinces of the different arts. His best known dramas are Minna von Barnhelm, Emilia Galotti, and Nathan der Weise. 9, 10. Schiller. Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller's (1759-1805) friendship with Goethe was of mutual benefit, and in their years together at Weimar he wrote his best plays: Wallenstein, Die Jungfrau von Orleans, Maria Stuart, and Wilhelm Tell. As a German dramatist he is second only to Goethe; his poems are the NOTES AND COMMENT 211 possession of every German schoolboy; and he is a his- torian of distinction, 9, 10. Uhland. Ludwig Uhland (1787-1862), author of many familiar songs, among them Der gute Kamerad, helped with Kleist, though in a quieter fashion, to con- tinue the great Romantic spirit of Goethe and Schiller in Germany. On this account he has been called "the classic of Romanticism." 9, 10. Riickert. Friedrich Riickert (1788-1866) was a German lyric poet, professor of Oriental languages, and an extraordinarily successful translator into German of Orien- tal and Greek tales and verses. The lyrics on which his fame depends are political verses against Napoleon, and others of a philosophical and contemplative nature. 9, 10. Heine. Heinrich Heine (1797-1856), the most interesting lyric poet of modern Germany, called him- self "the last of the Romanticists." Blended with a lyric love of life are a mocking spirit of irony like Vol- taire's and his own native Hebrew earnestness. With this equipment he applied a wholesome caustic to the many shams and artificialities which he saw about him. Like Stevenson, he fought a brave but futile fight against ill health and disease. 9, II. Filicaia. Vincincio da Filicaia (1642-1707) was a patient student and the writer of patriotic odes, which in his best flights place him on a level with the foremost of Italian poets. For the most part, however, his writings seem tame and academic. 9, II. Alfieri. Count Vittorio Alfieri (1749-1803), Matthew Arnold has elsewhere called "a noble-minded, deeply-interested man, but a monotonous poet." This reflects the classical correctness of his poetic dramas. He is, however, the most important of Italian dramatic poets and he exerted a powerful influence on the literature and the unity of Italy in his own and later times. Among his works are Cleopatra, Maria Stuarda, and Saul, his masterpiece. 9, II. Manzoni. Alessandro Manzoni (1785-1873) author of the famous Italian historical novel / Promessi Sposi, wrote also many poems and dramas, the last with the least success of all. His literary eflforts were mainly directed in the interests of the greater freedom of the artist from the conventional rules of his art, and to es- tablish Tuscan as the truly literary Italian. 9, II. Leopardi. Count Giacomo Leopardi (1798- 212 NOTES AND COMMENT 1837), the son of an impoverished but noble family, was an Italian lyric poet of pessimistic verses which echo his years of privation. Learned in Latin and Greek, he leaned upon the literature of these languages for a back- ground for much of his work, 9, 12. Racine. Jean Racine (1639-1699) was pre- eminent as a tragic poet and dramatist, a contemporary of Boileau, Moliere and Corneille. His early classical edu- cation among the Jansenist clergy at Port-royal developed a stern puritanical strain in his work which a curiously contradictory later life did not eradicate. Among his plays are Phedre, Andromaque, and Iphigenie. 9, 12. Boileau. Nicholas Boileau-Despreaux (1636- 171 1), a critic and poet of the court of Louis XIV, excelled in sensible criticism rather than in his poetry, which was ambitiously classic and for the most part common- place. The satirical and merciless spirit of his writings is viewed to better advantage in the work of his dis- tinguished English pupil, Alexander Pope. 9, 12. Voltaire. Jean F. M. Arouet (1694-1778) who wrote under the assumed name of Voltaire, led one of the most interesting lives on record. As a dramatist and philosopher, he fought sham and superstition; and against despotism and the curtailment of personal lib- erties his keen wit and sharp tongue were ever busy. He is doubtfully celebrated as a great atheist. If on his death bed he did murmur, "God will forgive me; that is his business," it must not be forgotten that the bless- ing he had publicly given the young Benjamin Franklin was, "God and Liberty." 9, 12. Andre Chenier (1762- 1794): a French poet who revived old literary forms and sympathized, in theory at least, with the unfortunate Bourbon monarchy. For this latter he was, and quite unreasonably, guillotined. He was the author of classical idylls, and most famous for his later satires. 9, 13. Beranger. Pierre Jean de Beranger (1780- 1857) was a popular French lyric poet of "love, wine, politics, sentiment, and Napoleon, whose mighty legend he did much to establish." 9, 13. Lamartine. Alphonse de Lamartine (1790- 1869) was a French lyric poet, historian and statesman, his temperament fitting him far better for the first than the last two of these roles. As a poet he has written "§ome of the vaguest, sweetest verse in French literature." NOTES AND COMMENT 213 9, 13. Musset. Alfred de Musset (1810-1857) was a popular French poet, dramatist, novelist, and essayist whose fame abroad and in the present day rests prin- cipally on his lyrics. His friendship with, and later es- trangement from, the woman novelist, George Sand, have filled many pages of literary history. 10, 16. The Excursion and the Prelude. These two poems, (first the Prelude, then the ^^^cMrj-zon, together with a third book) were to constitute an epic unity under the title of The Recluse — a name ultimately given to the unfinished third part alone. These poems are autobio- graphic. The subject was chosen, Wordsworth says, "out of diffidence," meaning sincerely that he distrusted his own powers to write on any theme except himself. Although they are long (the Prelude, in fourteen books of 7893 lines), these contain some of the finest and most valuable passages in Wordsworth's poetry, and many of his best known lines. For example, "A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays, and confident to-morrows," is from the Excursion. "Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive. But to be young was very heaven," in which Wordsworth is speaking of the young French Republic, is from the Prelude. 10, 24. Shakespeare frequently has lines . . . which are quite unworthy of him. Arnold has elsewhere pointed out what he calls Shakespeare's "over-curiousness of ex- pression," citing the lines from Macbeth. "'Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapped in proof. Confronted him with self-comparisons," which as writing he calls "detestable." How much of this elaborate rhetoric is Shakespeare's and how much the Sergeant's who is speaking, could, however, raise a question. 10, 28. Elysian Fields: the home of happy souls after death. In Homeric mythology the Elysian Fields were placed on the western margin of the earth, on the banks of the stream Oceanus. Later they became the Islands of the Blessed in the Western Ocean. As a knowledge of geography expanded, so the situation of the Fields, in order to remain inaccessible to mortals, retreated; until in Virgil's time they had safely descended to the lower 214 NOTES AND COMMENT world. Wherever they were, the fields were a region of unalloyed pleasures for the fortunate heroes who were entitled to enter them. 12, 1 6. The classification adopted by the Greeks. In the preface to his poems in 1815 Wordsworth elaborately enumerates the five great classic divisions of poetry. This he does mainly to demonstrate how unsatisfactory they are for his purposes. They are here repeated for what they may be worth as a memorandum: I. Narrative (epic, historical poems, tale, romance, mock-heroic, and the more modern metrical novel). II. Dramatic (tragedy, historical drama, comedy, and masque, with the later addition of the opera and the epistle — the last used with such great effect by Pope). III. Lyric (hymn, ode, elegy, song, and ballad). IV. Idyll (epitaph, inscription, and sonnet). V. Didactic (philosophical satire, personal or occasional satire). This classification is one that has been universally accepted from time immemorial. 13, 26. Didactic: "Pertaining to or of the nature of teaching; intended to instruct or edify; ... as, a didactic poem." Standard Dictionary. 14, 26. In speaking of Homer: On translating Homer by Matthew Arnold, 1862. 15, 5. "On man, on nature, and on human life": from The Recluse line 753. 15, 13. Moral ideas. Arnold's use of this term is in the derivative sense "of or pertaining to rules of right conduct" (from Lat. mores: manners, customs, morals). Ethical is approximately the meaning, if that word laid a little more emphasis on the non-physical or mental side. Notice Arnold's warning in this and succeeding paragraphs against a narrow or false view of morality. His notion of how to live would be nearer the Greek standard of beauty and simplicity than to some of our own stifled obedience to unattractive codes of so-called Christian be- havior. 16, 6. "Nor love thy life nor hate it: Milton's Paradise Lost, Book XI, line 553. 16, II. Grecian Urn. The theme of this poem by Keats is given in the lines — " Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on." These refer to the instruments of the musicians in one of the scenes painted on the old Greek urn which the NOTES AND COMMENT 2 15 poet is contemplating. Just as these inaudible tunes are imagined to be sweeter than any that can be heard, so the lover will always think his lady fair because he is never able to win her and weary of her. From these in- stances Keats suggests how the charm of Greek life and the works of art are fixed as unalterably perfect for all times — safely removed from the hands of critics by the magic of antiquity. 16, 17. " We are such stuff as dreams are made of ": Shakespeare's Tempest, Act IV, Scene i, lines 156-158. In John Drinkwater's play, Abraham Lincoln, this pas- sage, mentioned as a favorite of the President's, is read to him by his Secretary, John Hay, The "of" should, of course, be "on." 17, 7. Poetry is ... a criticism of life. This has been called Arnold's most famous critical dictum. The meaning is simply that a man's poetry is a reflection of his experiences and the result of the conclusions which he has come to concerning life. Since a poet puts into his poetry the best that is in his mind, his poetry will be an indication or "criticism" of his own life. A really inferior man cannot write superior poetry. As Keats has it, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty." 17, 17. Omar Khayyam's words, "Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time has but a little way To flutter — and the Bird is on the wing." Thus the idea is carried on in the well known stanza of Edward FitzGerald's superb translation of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. The poem is on the Epicurean theme "Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die," and is the work of the Persian poet Omar, who may have lived from 1018 A. D. to 1123, but who certainly loved the years of his life, whenever he may have spent them. 18, I. Epictetus: a far-famed Stoic philosopher who lived about 50 A. D. Born in Phrygia, he was brought to Rome as a slave to one Epaphroditus, but was later freed and became a great teacher. Among his disciples was the emperor-philosopher Marcus Aurelius. In his simple love of the good and hatred of the bad there is a close resemblance to the teachings of Christ, although there is no evidence that he ever came under Christian influence. He himself left behind no written records, 21 6 NOTES AND COMMENT but his utterances were noted down by his pupil Arrian, and have been published in various translations as Dis- courses of Epictetus. 19, 2. Theophile Gautier (1811-1872): a French poet, critic, and novelist of distinction. A dilettante in many forms of literature, he was one of the most picturesque figures of the Romantic movement under Victor Hugo, and the red waistcoat which he flaunted on all occasions has come to be almost the historical banner of the young literary revolutionist of his time. 19, 10. Of truth, of grandeur, beauty, love, and hope: from The Recluse, line 767. 20, 7. Quique pii vates et Phoebo digna locuti: " Each of them god-fearing poets, who sang strains worthy of Apollo." — Vergil's Mneid, Book VI, line 662. 20, 17. Mr. Leslie Stephen, afterward Sir Leslie Ste- phen (1832-1904). He was for many years the editor of the Dictionary of National Biography, for which he wrote over 400 articles. He was besides the author of numerous literary and critical studies. Arnold quotes here from an Essay on Wordsworth in the third series of Stephen's Hours in a Library, (1874-1876-1879). 20, 21. Bishop Butler. The Rev. Joseph Butler (1692- 1752), later bishop of Durham, was in his time a most influential preacher and argumentative supporter of the orthodox Church of England system of religion, which he believed to have been revealed to men by a special act of divine providence. To his logical mind black was perfectly black, and white absolutely white — which would be satisfactory if we could all agree as to how these colors shall be distributed in the world about us. 21, 15. Immutably survive ^/c, is from The Excursion, Book IV, lines 73-76. 22, I. "One adequate support," etc, is from The Excursion, Book IV, lines, 10-17. 22, 18. The famous Ode. This is, of course, the Ode on the Intimations of Immortality, with particular refer- ence to the lines — "Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life's star, Hath elsewhere had its setting, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home." NOTES AND COMMENT 217 23, 6. Thucydides (about 399-454 B. C): Greek his- torian of the Peloponnesian War and the greatest historian of ancient times. The fact that he himself participated in many of the events which he narrates gives added vividness to his words. He is the first historian to analyze and judge the events which he recounts, and thus he is the first critical historian. 23, 15. O for the coining of that glorious time, etc.y is from the Excursion, Book IX, lines 295 ff. 23, 28. Social Science Congress. This refers, no doubt, to one of the many local meetings throughout England at that time, in which the ideas of Robert Owen, the social reformer (1771-1858), and his followers were ex- pounded. It is indirectly to Owen that we are indebted for the term "socialist." The free and easy ideas of Owen in regard to religion and marriage might easily have won from Wordsworth the phrase "bold, bad men," and it is clear that Arnold himself is jocosely horrified. 24, 9. " But turn we from these bold, bad men." The original, "This bold, bad man," is from Shakespeare's Henry VIII, Act II, Scene 2. This is quoted from Words- worth's verses To the Lady Fleming, line 81. 25, 10. "The Sailor's Mother," written in 1802, is an account of the poet's meeting with the mother of a sailor lad who had died far from home, and of the singing bird which his mother had rescued from his effects and carried about in a cage, because "he took so much delight in it." Even under the somewhat stilted language of Wordsworth's nar- rative, there is a good deal of haunting pathos in the poem. 25, 25. Goethe's poetry was not inevitable enough. An interesting light is thrown on this comment by an entry in the journal of Wordsworth's close friend of his later years, Henry Crabbe Robinson: "Jan. 3d, 1836. ... I dined with Wordsworth at Dr. Arnold's; an agreeable afternoon, though the main subject of conversation was one in which I have no pleasure — in hearing Words- worth talk of Goethe, whom he depreciates in utter ig- norance." Wordsworth himself is reported to have said, "I have tried to read Goethe. I never could succeed." His criticism, if correct, was rather one of jaunty impression. 26, II. Jeffrey. Francis Jeffrey (1773-1850), later Lord Jeffrey, was a prominent critic, editor of the Edin- burgh Review, member of parliament, and judge. As a critic he wrote rapidly an incisive, energetic style, more distinguished by shrewd common sense than a special 2l8 NOTES AND COMMENT knowledge of the multitude of subjects on which he wrote. When a duel between Jeffrey and the poet Tom Moore was stopped by the police, Jeffrey's pistol was found to have been empty! " This will never do" (lines 14-15) is the opening sentence of Jeffrey's review of The Excursion, which appeared in The Edinburgh Review, November 1814. The article as a whole, while not quite so ferocious as Jeffrey's review of another of Wordsworth's poems, The White Doe of Rylstotie which came out the next year, is in the vein of annihilating amusement tem- pered with irony which has long been the professional tone of the reviewer. "The case of Mr. Wordsworth, we perceive, is now manifestly hopeless; and we give him up as altogether incurable, and beyond the power of criticism." Jeffrey's horror at the unbelievable length of the poem is diverting, unless one thinks of Wordsworth. It must not be forgotten, however, that Jeffrey later became convinced that his judgment had been too severe, and generously apologized. 26, 23. "After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well," is from Shakespeare's Macbeth, Act Til, Scene 2, line 23. 26, 25. " Though fall'n on evil days," ^/c, from Milton's Paradise Lost, Book VII, line 26. 27, II. "The fierce confederate storm," etc., from The Recluse, lines 831-833. 27, 24. "And never lifted up a single stone." This line from Michael (line 467) "focuses in itself the stark simplicity of the rustic tragedy," as Professor Lowes in his Convention and Revolt in Poetry points out. "The very greatest effects of poetry," he says, " are often produced without the use of a single word which might not be used in common speech." This, which is quite the last word in this country in poetic criticism, is a most reassuring corroboration of Wordsworth's own theory. 28, I. Wordsworth owed much to Bums. Wordsworth's own lines in reference to Burns show pretty clearly the extent of his debt, which was in reality rather slight. Burns had shown how success might be attained! in treating such simple subjects as Wordsvvorth would wish himself to choose, and the lines in question are "Whose light I hailed when first it shone And taught my youth How verse may build a princely throne On humble truth." NOTES AND COMMENT 219 Burns' whole attitude toward the subjects of his verse, that of personal sympathy, is vastly different from Words- worth's abstract use of the lives of the common people to illustrate his artistic theories. " The poor inhabitant below," etc., is from Burns' own poem, A Bard's Epitaphy which Andrew Lang has called "Burns' most sincere and touch- ing self-criticism." 29, 13. "The Highland Reaper": obviously a slip for The Solitary Reaper. 29, 22. The great body of good work. It must be re- membered that only half the poems which Arnold se- lected are included in this volume. 29, 28. Dante. Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) was the greatest poet that Italy has ever produced, and ranks with Shakespeare, Milton, and Goethe among the four foremost poets of the modern world. His work of most importance is the Divine Comedy (Inferno, Purgatorio, znd Par adi so). His earliest work of moment is the ex- quisite Fita Nuova, a composition in prose and verse celebrating his love for the lady Beatrice. 30, 8. "Margaret" is not included in this volume. 30, 24. "Peter Bell." This metrical tale of Words- worth's, not in Arnold's collection, is the rather lengthy narrative of an itinerant peddler and his donkey. Al- though it contains the famous lines — "A primrose by the river's brim A yellow primrose was to him, And it was nothing more." It has also the notorious passage — "Only the Ass, with motion dull, Upon the pivot of his skull Turns round his long left ear." 30, 25. Ecclesiastical Sonnets. These, 47 in number, and composed in the year 1821, give glimpses in historical sequence of the growth and development of the Church of England. Two of them, on the Inside of King's College Chapel, Cambridge, are included in this volume. The best of the series, they are indeed among the finest in the language. 30, 25. Mr. Wilkinson's spade. This is a poetical address to the spade of Thomas Wilkinson, a friend and neighboring farmer — remarkable chiefly for showing 220 NOTES AND COMMENT the poet's sublime absence of a sense of humor. The poem congratulates the tool upon its happy lot, and prophesies an illustrious future for it as an "heirloom," hung high on the chimney to commemorate the simple goodness of its former owner. This was written in 1804. 30, 26. Thanksgiving Ode. This is a declamatory song of praise, composed, Wordsworth tells us, on the morning of the day appointed for a general thanksgiving, January 18, 1816, and rather tediously sets forth "the pernicious and degrading tendency of those views and doctrines that led to the idolatry of power, as power." It is, of course, directed against Napoleon. 30, 28. "Vaudraccur and Julia." This is a metrical tale of a French Romeo and Juliet, conspicuously different from Shakespeare's theme in its course and conclusion, however. What provokes Arnold's reasonable despair is, doubtless, the disconcerting vagueness of parts of the poem, as well as the equally astonishing precision of others. One thinks of the Wilkinsonian spade! 31, 15. They will co-operate . . . better, and happier is a paraphrase of a sentence in a letter from Wordsworth to Lady Beaumont, dated May 21, 1807. The sentence runs: "I doubt not that you will share with me an in- vincible confidence that my writings (and among them these little poems) will co-operate with the benign tend- encies in human nature and society, wherever found; and that they will, in their degree, be efficacious in making men wiser, better, and happier." For the printed letter, see Letters of the Wordsworth Familyy collected and edited by William Knight (Boston, 1907), Vol. I, pp. 301-310. NOTES AND COMMENT ON THE POEMS OF WORDSWORTH (After each poem in the headings are given in order the dates of composition and of publication. The lines of the poems are numbered continuously, and the numerals refer to lines.) We Are Seven, 1798:1798 In this poem the interest comes from one little girl's insistence that her dead brothers are still members of the family. In the child's flat refusal to grant what she cannot understand, Wordsworth sees the intuitive wisdom to which he alludes in "the great ode." The studied simplicity of this and the following poem illustrates well the theory which Wordsworth had then recently con- ceived: that poetry should echo much of the plainness of common speech. In this poem it seems even to approach the nursery of the young subject, and not unintentionally. 47. Porringer: the small basin from which porridge is eaten. 64. Master: the term by which an English rustic would naturally address a social superior. Lucy Gray, 1799:1800 This poem suggests the odds against a dreamy imagina- tive child in a practical workaday world. 6. Moor: an open space of country probably cov- ered with heather. 19. Minster-clock: the clock in the tower of the most important church in town, frequently the cathedral. 21-22. Hook . . . faggot-band. With his hook the father was tying and tightening up bound bundles of sticks to be sold in town for fire wood. Star-Gazers, 1806:1807 The itinerant astronomer, who sets up his instrument on the sidewalk and acts as showman to the stars, was a 221 222 NOTES AND COMMENT ^:> not uncommon sight in London, nor until recently on Boston Common. What is the main contrast which runs through the poem? The Reverie of Poor Susan, 1797:1800 F. W. H. Myers says of this poem, written probably while Wordsworth was in London preparing to engage in journalistic work: "He became, as one may say, the poet not of London considered as London, but of London considered as a part of the country." And the fancied effect on Poor Susan of this singing of the thrush is none other than its actual effect on Wordsworth. Why was this rapid meter chosen for the poem.? The impression which the poem leaves is curiously like Walter de la Mare's Old Susan. '^ The Leech-Gatherer, 1807:1807 "I describe myself," says Wordsworth of this poem, "as having been exalted to the highest pitch of delight by the joyousness and beauty of Nature; and then de- pressed, even in the midst of those beautiful objects to the lowest dejection and despair. . . . What is brought forward? A lonely place, 'a pond, by which an old man was, far from all house or home': not stood, nor sat, but was — the figure presented in the most naked simplicity possible. ... I cannot conceive a figure more impressive than that of an old man like this, the survivor of a wife and ten children, traveling alone among the mountains and all lonely places, carrying with him his own fortitude." "It is only the story of his accidental meeting with a feeble old man who was poking about for leeches in the muddy pools; yet the poem Wordsworth made of it," says Prof. Winchester, "will take rank with the noblest verse of the century, and the old beggar who gathered the leeches is one of the august figures in the gallery of our imagination." (Title.) Leech-gatherer. Surgeons used to employ persons to gather these leeches (blood suckers), which were used for bleeding patients, the old-fashioned cure- all for all diseases. 33. This description of a bracing spring morning re- minds us, among others, of Laurence Housman's in A Shropshire Lad, NOTES AND COMMENT 223 "Twas in the wind of morning, I ranged the thymy wold, The sky above was azure and all the brooks ran gold." 43. This description of Chatterton is one of Words- worth's most frequently quoted lines. The case of Thomas Chatterton (1752-1770), the starv- ing young poet who took poison at the age of seven- teen, is perhaps the best known instance of the cruel indifference of the world to unbefriended young poets and authors. 45. The reference is, of course, to Robert Burns, the plowboy-poet of Scotland. Michael, 1800:1800 Wordsworth wrote to a gentleman to whom he presented a volume which contained Michael that it "was written with a view to show that men who do not wear fine clothes can feel deeply" and that Michael was typical of the Cumberland "statesmen"; that is "small independent proprietors of land." Repression and restraint give this poem tremendous power, and in it we see Wordsworth at his best. The dumb misery of devastated old age is here seen with cruel clearness, and the dignity of Michael through it all is heart-breaking. 139. Farms and estates in the country in England frequently have names, and The Evening Star is taken from a house in Grasmere. 179. Coppice: a thicket or copse; here it means a winter wood lot. 214. Michael had gone bail or security for his nephew, who had been apprenticed and who had been obliged, as the custom was, to furnish a bond for good behavior. The small fortune of Wordsworth's friend and neighbor Thomas Wil- kinson had been almost wholly lost in this same manner. 386. This simple covenant reminds one of the Old Testament days. It is also an act that reaches far down into human nature for a father and a son to do a thing like this together. 465. See note p. 27, line 24 (to Essay on Wordsworth) . My Heart Leaps Up, 1802:1807 Few lines of Wordsworth are better known than the first two and the seventh of this little lyric. The theme is the same as in the Ode on the Intimations of Immortality. 224 NOTES AND COMMENT To A Butterfly, 1802:1807 In a lyric much is suggested, little said. Why does he call the butterfly "historian"? "My sister Emmeline" is his sister Dorothy. Notice the effect of the last two lines, apparently added as an afterthought. Written in March, 1802:1807 Written extemporaneously under the circumstances mentioned at the beginning of the poem, the lines have a wholly impromptu sound which is most appropriate to the freshness and cheer of the motley scene described. 10. The vivid picture in this line has long made it a favorite. To the Daisy,i8o2: 1807 This is one of the many poems which Wordsworth has written on flowers, and one of four on the daisy. Notice as Wordsworth himself replied to a critic, that it is written on they not on a daisy. Not novelty but familiarity is the source of much of our pleasure in life. The origin of the name daisy (day's eye) echoes this same feeling. 15. The common English daisy has a yellow center and white or pinkish petals. It is a low growing plant and is a close kin to what is known in this country as the garden or greenhouse daisy. 17. Usually written morris. This was an outdoor dance common at pageants and May games, where the dancers were grotesquely garbed and often took the part of Robin Hood and members of his company. The word comes from Moorish. 2^. Mews: a place of shelter or confinement. y6. Leveret: a young hare. See the opening lines of "The Leech-gatherer." To THE Small Celandine, 1802:1807 The theme of this is simular to that of "To the Daisy." Of the small celandine Wordsworth has written, "It is remarkable that this flower, coming out so early in the spring as it does, and so bright and beautiful, and in such profusion, should not have been noticed earlier in English NOTES AND COMMENT 225 verse." The opening of the poem may remind one of Keats' explosive beginning of "A Draught of Sunshine": "Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port, Away with old Hock and Madeira." I. Kingcups: buttercups. 16. The reference is, of course, to lines 9 and 10. 31-32. This refers, Wordsworth tells us, to "its habit of shutting itself up and opening out according to the de'gree of light and temperature of the air." "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud," 1804:1807 This is perhaps the most frequently quoted poem of Wordsworth's; and its sprightly, musical movement will long make it a favorite. Here is reflected Wordsworth's regular habit of thought, where a charming view suggests "something more." The dafi^odils mean more to him than the primrose did to Peter Bell. Daffodils still grow wild on the banks of Ullswater as they did in the poet's day. 21. That inward eye: memory, especially the power of visualizing bygone scenes. 21-22. These, the two finest lines in the poem, Words- worth tells us were contributed by his wife. To A Skylark, 1805:1807 In this poem Wordsworth takes us up with the ascending flight of the bird to its highest point, at which the sky- lark bursts into song. Adventurous joy is the keynote. Twenty years later Wordsworth, in writing again on the skylark, thinks more of the return of the bird to her nest: "Type of the wise who soar but never roam; True to the kindred points of heaven and home." See To a Skylark^ page 98. Compare these two poems with Shelley's To a Skylark. Expostulation and Reply, 1798:1798 This poem, we have been told, is a favorite among the Quakers. The "wise passiveness" describes better than pages possibly could Wordsworth's patient waiting on the moods of nature. 226 NOTES AND COMMENT The Tables Turned, 1798:1798 In this poem, William carries the warfare into the enemy's camp, and like Duke Frederick in As You Like It, finds "books in the running brooks, sermons in stones." 10. Linnet: a European song-bird allied to the finch and red poll. 13. Throstle: the thrush. 21-24. These lines sum up Wordsworth's whole ar- ticle of faith in nature. To deny this truth is to be blind to a good half of Wordsworth, although such denial puts one in the respectable company of Lord Morley who says that "such a proposition cannot be seriously taken as more than a half playful sally for the benefit of some too bookish friend. No impulse from a vernal wood can teach us anything at all of moral evil and good." 32. This idea is echoed in Walt Whitman's "I loaf and invite my soul." To Hartley Coleridge, 1802:1807 This is one of the finest descriptions of a child in the language. Universal testimony, from peasant to poet, tells of the charm of Coleridge's son as a child and his winning nature as an older man. Although li^ lived to be fifty-three and wrote some verses of great beauty, his character was unstable and his life failed to fulfill Words- worth's prophecy. Through his life, however, he cer- tainly did preserve "a young lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks." He was known in the Grasmere Vale as "the children's laureate." "0 Nightingale, Thou Surely Art," 1807:1807 Wordsworth's attitude toward the nightingale, though vastly different from that of most poets who have written about it — especially Keats, — is wholly characteristic. See note on To a Skylark. 6. "It was a very old notion, alluded to by Shake- speare, that on this day [Valentine's day! birds begin to mate." — Webster, II. Stock-dove. This is the common European wild pigeon, so named from its habit of nesting in the stocks, or trunks, of trees. NOTES AND COMMENT 227 "Strange Fits of Passion Have I Known," 1799:1800 This poem and the four poems that follow, all com- posed in 1799, are known as "the Lucy poems." Con- cerning them Wordsworth has left no word, nor is it known that he ever alluded to them. There is a general belief that, written some time after the events themselves, they preserve the memory of a period of powerful emotion. Who Lucy really was we do not know and cannot do better than to respect Wordsworth's reticence. The eerie spell of moonlit spaces of English countryside, the isolation of the scene, the haunting beauty of the girl, and the memory of her that the poet cannot get out of his mind form five memorable lyrics. Needless to say, they are in a style and spirit which Wordsworth never repeated. To THE Cuckoo, 1804:1807 So full of music is the poem, in meter and choice of words, that it is difficult to believe the author so destitute of a musical ear as tradition says. It is, however, easy to imagine Wordsworth chanting the words aloud to himself as he did all of his work, "And he would start a bumming," said a Westmoreland peasant of the poet, "and it was bum, bum, bum, stop; then bum, bum, bum reet down till t'other end, and then he'd set down and git a bit o'paper out and write a bit." Wordsworth was also very fond of cuckoos; his devotion, indeed, extended even to cuckoo clocks, of which there was an unusual number at Rydal Mount. 6. Thy twofold shout. This line, like many in the poem, suggests with its plenitude of vowels the cuckoo call of the bird. 16. Anyone who has tried to locate the cuckoo or the whip-poor-will from its call knows its ventriloquistic quality. To A Skylark, 1825:1827 Compare with the poem on the same subject on page 80 and read the note. "She was a Phantom of Delight," 1804:1807 This is the poet's portrait of Mrs. Wordsworth — a "steel true and blade straight," like Stevenson's char- acterization of his wife. 228 NOTES AND COMMENT 22. The choice of the word machine has been crit- icized as unpoetic. The design is obviously to emphasize the contrast between the ethereal first impression and the later reassuringly practical one; and a homely word does this best. The Solitary Reaper, 1803:1807 In this poem one feels the lyric charm of a young poet, with passages in it which might have come from Shelley. It was not until later that Wordsworth turned to that style of pomp and splendor which echoes through the "Ode on the Intimations of Immortality" and many of the sonnets, such as the one on Milton. 16. Hebrides: a group of islands off the northwestern coast of Scotland, chosen here on account of their remote and cheerless character. 19-20. For the suggestion of almost infinitely much in few words these two lines* are unrivaled. Yarrow Unvisited, 1803:1807 This is one of several poems which were the outcome of a walking tour in Scotland with his sister Dorothy, who is the "winsome Marrow." The thought, or possibly the fear, that expectation is fairer than realization is a poetic one, although Wordsworth later wrote: "We declined going in search of this celebrated stream, not altogether, I will frankly confess, for the reasons assigned in the poem on the occasion," — which does not diminish the charm of the fancy. (Title.) Yarrow: a stream celebrated by Scott as well as by Wordsworth. The loch of the Lowes and St. Mary's Loch take their waters near the source of Yarrow Cleugh, and from the latter lake the Yarrow flows for 16 miles and then empties into the Ettrick near Selkirk. 6. Marrow: a companion. (Scot.) 8. Braes: slopes. (Scot.) 20. Lintwhite: thistle finch, or linnet, (chiefly Scot.) 33. Holms: oaks. 35. Frae: from. (Scot.) 40. Dale: a vale, or valley. 41. Kine: cattle. 64. Bonny: fair, charming. NOTES AND COMMENT 229 Yarrow Visited, 1814:1815 This first visit of Wordsworth's to Yarrow was made in company with the shepherd-poet James Hogg, known as the Ettrick Shepherd. The vale of Yarrow is richer in associations with the tender, poetic, or thrilling his- tories of the old Border warfare than any other place in the Lowlands. Wordsworth's allusions are to the tales of Border Minstrelsy in Sir Walter Scott's collection of ballads. 55. Newark's Towers. This was the old castle of Newark in which King John died in 1216. It was built early in the twelfth century, and its ruins are now part of a public park. Yarrow Revisited, 1831:1835 The spirit of Wordsworth's second visit to the Yarrow was far more sober than the first, seventeen years before. With Wordsworth, his daughter Dora, and others on this occasion, was Sir Walter Scott, who accompanied the party as far as Newark Castle on this his last visit to his favorite haunts along the Yarrow before his departure for Italy in a vain search for health. From Italy Scott returned desperately ill and died at Abbotsford, the fol- lowing year. See Sonnet XXVIII and the note. 8. Great Minstrel of the Border is Scott. 50. Eildon-hill. The Eildon Hills consist of three peaks in the same group and are in Roxburghshire, Scotland. The tallest, 1385 feet, commands a superb prospect, and all are rich in history and legend. 50. Cheviot. The culminating point of the Cheviot Hills is known as The Cheviot, a peak of 2676 feet in height, covered with rich green sward, on which are pastured a celebrated breed of sheep. 52. Tweed. The Tweed is the principal river of Scot- land. Rising at Tweed's Well in Peebleshire, it flows for ninety-seven miles and empties into the North Sea at Berwick. Among its chief tributaries are Ettrick Waters, the Leader, and Teviot. It passes the towns of Melrose and Abbotsford. 53. Sorrento: now a famous summer resort in Italy in the province of Naples and on the southeastern side of the famous Bay. 230 NOTES AND COMMENT 6i. Tiber. The "yellow Tiber" of Vergil is the larg- est river in Italy. Flowing from the Apennines in Tus- cany to the Mediterranean, its course is 260 miles. Rome and Perugia are on the Tiber. Wordsworth would naturally turn from the Tweed, the foremost river in Scotland, to the Tiber — both rivers famed in song and story. 89. Localized Romance: that is, romantic scenes re- counted in the ballads and here brought to mind by the sight of their settings. 103. "Last Minstrel." The reference is to Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. This is both a tribute and a prophecy, in that Scott's own success as minstrel has belied the title of his own poem; and in line 107 follows the belief that the Yarrow will inspire future bards or minstrels. At THE Grave OF Burns, 1803:1845 "Burns has been cruelly used, both dead and alive," Wordsworth wrote to his friend Robinson. "He asked for bread — no, he did not ask it, he endured the want of it with silent fortitude — and ye gave him a stone. It is worse than ridiculous to see the people of Dumfries coming forward with their pompous mausoleum, they who persecuted and reviled him with such low-minded malignity. Burns might have said to that town when he was dying, Ingrata — non possidetis ossa meal" The meter of this poem was a favorite of Burns' and thus echoes the sound of To a Mouse or To a Mountain Daisy. 39. Criffel: a hill in Kirkcudbright, in the south of Scotland, 1867 feet high. This one can see from Skiddaw, across the Solway Firth. 40. Skiddaw: a mountain in Cumberland, three miles north of Keswick, distinguished for its fine scenery and for the lakes in its different hollows and near its base. It is 3022 feet high. 42. Just as CrifFel, although near neighbor to Skiddaw, has never met it, a kindred spirit, so Wordsworth had never met Burns — and regrets it. Of other poets of his time with whom Wordsworth would have had much in common — Shelley, Byron, Keats — he knew only the last, and him but slightly. 50. "Poor Inhabitant below" is quoted from Burns* J Bard's Epitaph, and refers to himself. See Arnold's "Essay," page 8, and the note. NOTES AND COMMENT 23 1 53. Gowans: daisies. (Scot.) "And pu'd the gowans fine," Auld Lang Syne. 84. Seraphim. These were one of the higher order of angels. This word, it should be remembered, is the Hebraic plural for "seraph." Laodameia, 1814:1815 It was the incident of the trees withering periodically, Wordsworth tells us, that first put the subject of the poem into his mind, "and I wrote it with the hope of giving it a loftier tone than, so far as I know, has ever been given to it by any of the ancients who have treated it. It cost me more trouble than almost anything of equal length I have ever written." The original story is that when Laodameia heard of the death of Protesilaos, her husband, she caused an image to be made of him, which she refused to allow out of her sight. Thereupon her father, Acastus, in the hope of distracting her mind, had the image burned. Laoda- meia, in her grief, threw herself into the flames and per- ished. Ovid, in his telling of the story, introduces the return to earth of Protesilaos for three hours. When his time is up, be begs Laodemeia to accompany him back to Hades, which she very willingly does. Protesi- laos was the first Greek warrior killed before Troy, falling in accordance with the prophecy that the first of the in- vaders to leap from the ships on the Trojan coast must die. Wordsworth constructs the character of Protesilaos anew, and alters the occasion of Laodameia's entrance to Hades. Why.? Underneath the close copy of the classic style of the sixth book of the JEneid, is the great theme of the poem — "fervent, not ungovernable love," a con- dition which Wordsworth himself was better able to meet than most persons on this earth. 6. Jove: ruler of gods and men. 18. Mercury. Among the duties of the messenger of the gods was to act as guide to mortals — after death as well as living. In this former role he conducted the souls of the departed to the lower-world, sacrifices were made to him on the occasion of deaths, and in general he acted as intermediary between the two worlds. 19. Hermes: Mercury. 43. Delphic oracle. The most celebrated of the Gre- 232 NOTES AND COMMENt cian oracles was that of Apollo at Delphi, oil the slopes of Parnassus in Phocis. 48. Hector: the son of Priam, king of Troy. 59. Redundant: luxuriant. 65. Parcae: the three Fates, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, who respectively spun, measured, and cut the thread of a mortal's life. 66. Stygian: characteristic of the river Styx, a river in Hades; hence, "deathly." 71. Erebus: properly the dark, gloomy passage-way from the lower to the upper world, but here used for the lower world itself. 74-75. These lines have been quoted to describe Wordsworth's temperament, and to show, for example, his aversion to such parade of passions as Byron's. 81. Alcestis was the wife of Admetus, king of Pherae. Apollo persuaded the Parcae to grant Admetus deliverance from death if his father, mother, or wife would die in his place. Only his wife was willing to make the sacri- fice. Hercules, however, lay in wait at the chamber of the dying queen and forced Death to give up his victim. 83-84. One of the kindly acts of the sorceress Medea was restoring youth to ^Eson, father of her husband Jason, on their return to lolcus from her home in Colchis. The story is variously told, and the commonest version is that iEson had really been killed in the absence of his son on the Argonautic expedition. What Medea did, in this account, was to slay Peleas, the uncle of Jason who had usurped the throne, under pretext of a plan for re- storing his youth. 95. Elysian: "like that of the Elysian fields"; hence "heavenly." 120. Aulis: the harbor in Boeotia, where the Grecian ships congregated before sailing for Troy. 168. Hellespont: now the Dardanelles, a long strait which joins the Propontis (Sea of Marmora) with the iEgean Sea. 169-174. A magnificent temple was erected to Pro- tesilaos, celebrated in antiquity for the historic love be- tween his wife and himself, around which the nymphs planted elm trees which died down as soon as they had grown up sufficiently to catch a glimpse of Ilium, or Troy. From the roots fresh branches then sprang up, and the process was repeated. NOTES AND COMMENT 233 Character of the Happy Warrior, 1806:1807 Wordsworth has told us that the career of Lord Nelson, the great admiral, suggested the main theme of this poem, and that in such few details as Lord Nelson fell short, the character of the poet's brother John supplied the deficiency. Capt. John Wordsworth was drowned in 1805, while commanding the East India Company's merchantman "Abergavenny," which was wrecked on the Shambles off the Bill of Portland. Myers says, "This short poem is in itself a manual of greatness; there is a Roman majesty in its simple and weighty speech." 12-20. These lines recall Nelson's "womanly tender- ness, the almost exaggerated feeling for others' pain, which showed itself memorably in face of the blazing Orient, and in the harbor at TenerifFe, and in the cockpit at Trafalgar." — Myers. 45-52. These lines bring to mind that famous final hour of the great admiral at Trafalgar. 71. This reminds one rather of Nelson's cry at the battle of Cape St. Vincent, "Westminster Abbey or victory!" 75-76. Here is an echo, perhaps unconscious, of Nel- son's "England expects every man to do his duty." To the preceding quotations, the grim spirit of another of Nelson's utterances might well be added: "In case signals cannot be seen or clearly understood, no captain can do wrong if he places his ship alongside that of an enemy." Ode to Duty, 1805:1807 This noble ode reveals the ruling spirit of Wordsworth — rnoderation and restraint. A democrat he permitted himself to be called, but insisted that he stood only for democracy governed by wisdom and order. No one can help feeling the power of the deep-toned cadences of the organ-like peals of these verses. It is modeled, Words- worth tells us, on GvTLy'sOde to Adversity, yihich in turn is patterned on Horace's Ode to Fortune. The Latin motto, "Jam . . . possim," is taken from Seneca, Letter 120 in Epistula Morales. In the original the verbs are in the third instead of the first person. The passage may be thus translated: "I have now reached the point where I am righteous, not by taking thought, but brought by habit to such a state that I not only 234 NOTES AND COMMENT am able to act righteously but am not able to act other- wise. Ode on Intimations of Immortality, 1803-6:1807 Matthew Arnold, it will be recalled, denied the truth of the central idea of this poem, maintaining that the memories of childhood were "no great things." Professor Winchester, on the other hand, reports that Emerson "found in it the highest water mark of modern poetry, and declared it to be the best essay on personal immor- tality." While this does seem a good deal to claim, great and quite ample tribute is paid to it by Dr. William Knight, who, in his collection of Wordsworth's works, places it at the end as "the greatest of Wordsworth's poems, and that to which all the others lead up." What- ever the theology of the matter (and the poem is as much Buddhistic as Christian), it is an undeniably beautiful piece of work and fancy. More than that it is completely Wordsworth, almost Wordsworth complete. In it we feel We Are Seven, My Heart Leaps Up, and currents from other tributaries already familiar to us. It is in- deed the great river of what Lowell calls Wordsworth- shire, " of which the poet is the great historian." At any rate, the waters are clear enough, and we can but concur with the author in saying, "To the attentive and com- petent reader the whole sufficiently explains itself," — and therein spells its own greatness. The Sonnets For nearly seven hundred years the sonnet has been the common metrical mold into which many of the best poets have been contented to cast their thought. On account of those restrictions to which Wordsworth al- ludes the form of the sonnet will not serve all purposes equally well, — only when the single thought or "wave of emotion," as one poet calls it, can be expressed in a single metrical flow and return. The structure of the sonnet makes this clear. It is a poem of fourteen lines of iambic pentameter: the statement of thought, or the emotional wave (as the case may be) comprising the first eight lines; the conclusion of the thought, or the breaking of the emotional wave, constituting the last six lines. The division between the first eight lines (octave) and the NOTES AND COMMENT 235 last six lines (sestet) is always clearly indicated by the rhyme scheme; sometimes additional emphasis is given by spacing. The pleasure obtained in writing or in read- ing a sonnet is in following the solution of an artistic problem, which gratifies the ear; and in following the thought, which at the same time engages the mind. The narrower the channel, the swifter the current; the smaller the vent, the higher the stream. To this principle the sonnet owes its supremacy. (i) The classic form of the sonnet is that of the Italian Petrarch, an octave of two rhymes, and a sestet of either two or three rhymes. (2) Shakespeare's sonnets may be said, roughly, to consist of three quatrains of six rhymes, terminated by a couplet in a seventh rhyme. These are the two commonest sonnet forms in English, although there are sufficient accepted variations to make a third, or miscellaneous, group really necessary. Sonnets on the sonnet have formed pleasant exercises for poets for years, and among the later, and most de- lightful are those of Theodore Watts-Dunton and of John Addington Symonds, to be found in A Victorian Anthology. Sonnet I, 1827:1827 "This was composed almost extempore in a short walk on the western side of Rydal Lake." — Wordsworth. 4. Petrarch (1304-1374). The greater portion of the work of this mediaeval Italian poet consisted of son- nets and canzoni addressed to his lady Laura. 5. Tasso (1544-1595). The zuthor of Jerusalem Deliv- ered was a most prolific Italian poet who died just be- fore he was to be crowned with the laurel. 6. Camoens (1524-1579). This Portuguese poet was banished to Macao for a satire on the abuses of his govern- ment in India. 8. Dante (1265-1321), was the greatest Italian poet of all times. (See note, page 29.) Sonnet II, 1806:1807 "In the cottage. Town-end Grasmere, one afternoon in 1801 my sister read to me the sonnets of Milton. I had long been well acquainted with them, but I was par- ticularly struck on that occasion with the dignified sim- plicity and majestic harmony that runs through most of 236 NOTES AND COMMENT them, — in character so totally different from the Italian, and still more so from Shakespeare's fine sonnets. I took fire, if I may be allowed to say so, and produced three sonnets in the same afternoon, the first I ever wrote except an irregular one at school." — Wordsworth. 6. Furness Fells: hills to the west of Windermere. Sonnet III, 1802:1807 Sonnet IV, 1802:1807 In 1797 the armies of Napoleon put an end to the Venetian Republic, after a life of 1300 years. Not until 1866 did Austria yield Venice to Italy. Sonnet V, 1802:1807 Toussaint L'Ouverture (1743-1803) was a Haitian revolutionist. Born a negro slave, made deputy governor of the island under the French, and finally proclaiming himself president for life, he was defeated by Napleon, who eventually had him brought to France, where he died in prison. Sonnet VI, 1807:1807 In 1798 Switzerland was occupied by the French, but in 1803 their independence was largely restored. Sonnet VII, 1802:1807 The thought of this and the following seven sonnets reflects the feeling of Wordsworth at the Peace of Amiens (1802) and towards events which led up to the Con- vention of Cintra (1808), diplomatic maneuvers which were particularly galling to an idealist. By the Treaty of Amiens Great Britain abandoned all her conquests be- yond the seas except Ceylon and Trinidad. "It was a peace," said Sheridan, "which everybody would be glad of, but which nobody would be proud of." This was the beginning of Napoleon's career of ten years as emperor. Sonnet VIII, 1806:1807 (See preceding note) Sonnet IX, 1802:1807 ( " " " ) Sonnet X, 1802:1807 ( " " " ) Sonnet XI, 1803:1807 ( " " « ) NOTES AND COMMENT 237 Sonnet XII, 1803:1807 Reference is to the battle of Killiecranky (1689) in which 6000 veterans under Mackay were defeated by the impetuous Highlanders under Dundee. The dif- ficulty was that the English veterans were hampered no more by "the pedantry of cold mechanic battle" than by their awkward use of bayonets, an innovation, which effectively jammed their own muskets. Sonnet XIII, 1803:1807 (See note on Sonnet VII) Sonnet XIV, 1806:1807 ( " " " " ") Sonnet XV, 1810-15:1815 "This was, in fact, suggested by my daughter Catherine long after her death." — Wordsworth. Sonnets XVI, XVII, XVIII, 1806:1807 Lines 13-14 of Sonnet XVI are some of the most sudden and most natural bits of imagery one can find. Line 13 in Sonnet XVII refers to Desdemona's marriage to Othello, in Shakespeare's Othello. Line 14 in the same sonnet is a reference to Una (Truth), in Spenser's Faerie Queen. Lines 9-12 of Sonnet XVIII are inscribed on the base of Wordsworth's statue in Westminster Abbey. Sonnet XIX, 1806:1807 This is evidently a translation or imitation of a sonnet on the same subject by Michelangelo. Sonnet XX, 1802:1807 Sonnet XXI, 1802:1807 " Written on the roof of a coach, on my way to France." — Wordsworth. Sonnet XXII, 1819:1819 "Suggested in front of Rydal Mount, the rocky para- pet being the summit of Loughrigg Fell opposite." — Wordsworth. 238 NOTES AND COMMENT Sonnet XXIII, 1842:1845 Sonnet XXIV, 1820:1820 This is the concluding sonnet to a series of thirty-four written to the river Duddon, published in a volume to which the Guide to the Lakes was originally an appendix. 14. This line, most characteristically Wordsworth's, is a paraphrase of Milton's "And feel that I am happier than I know." Paradise Lost, Bk. VIII, line 282. Sonnet XXV, 1821:1822 George has called this chapel "the noblest and most inspiring structure ever erected for collegiate worship . . . the last of the thoroughly medieval structures erected at Cambridge." Sonnet XXVI, 1821:1822 This and the preceding are numbers XLIII and XLIV in the series of Ecclesiastical Sonnets, and are by far the best of the group. Sonnets XXVII, 1833:1835 "The fears and impatience of Mary were so great that she got into a fisher-boat, and with about twenty attendants landed at Workington, in Cumberland; and thence she was conducted with many marks of respect to Carlisle." — Robertson quoted by George. Sonnet XXVIII, 1831:1835 See "Yarrow Revisited" and note. It was on Words- worth's return with Scott from Newark Castle when, says Wordsworth, "in the afternoon we had to cross the Tweed, directly opposite Abbotsford. The wheels of our carriage grated upon the pebbles in the bed of the stream, that there flows somewhat rapidly; a rich but sad light of rather a purple than a golden hue was spread over Eildon hills at that moment; and, thinking it probable that it might be the last time Sir Walter would cross the stream, I was not a little moved, and expressed some of my feelings in the sonnet beginning, *A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain."* Wordsworth's fears were well founded. Scott died the following year. NOTES AND COMMENT 239 Sonnet XXIX, 1831:1835 I. The pibroch: a highland battle tune, usually played on the bag-pipe. Sonnet XXX, 1842:1842 "I was compelled to write this sonnet," says Words- worth, "by the disgusting frequency with which the word artistical, imported with other impertinences from the Germans, is employed by writers of the present day; for artistical let them substitute artificial, and the poetry written on this system, both at home and abroad, will be for the most part much better characterized." Sonnet XXXI, 1806:1807 Raisley Calvert, who died in 1795, left Wordsworth £900, on the proceeds from which the poet was enabled to settle down at Racedown Lodge with his sister Dorothy and begin his poetic career. Sonnet XXXII, 1827:1827 Cf. Walt Whitman's "The young are beautiful — but the old are more beautiful than the young." Sonnet XXXIII, 1833:1835 Mosgiel Farm Robert Burns hired with his brother, and here he wrote his early verses before going to Edin- burgh. See Burns' To a Daisy. Sonnet XXXIV, 1833:1835 There is a curious similarity between this and a poem of Daniel Webster's on the death of his son, given in Stedman's American Anthology. Sonnet XXXV, 1806:1807 Influence of Natural Objects, 1799:1809 These lines, written the winter that the poet was in Goslar, Germany, and later incorporated, with a few 240 NOTES AND COMMENT minor changes, in The Prelude, give vivid glimpses de- scribing the schoolboy life of Wordsvi^orth at Hawkshead. They form lines 401-463 in the first book of The Prelude. 58-61. As the skater stopped suddenly and turned on the heels of his skates, the landscape seemed to con- tinue to move past. Yew-Trees, 1803:1815 The English yew is an evergreen tree allied to the pine and growing to vast proportions, commonly seen in churchyards in England. Our American yew is only a bushy variety. A trunk which Wordsworth has said that he also had in mind at the time, he calculated to be as old as the Christian era. The autobiographies of trees, needless to say, would often make remarkable his- tory. 5. This was probably Sir Robert de Umfraville, one of a warring family which became extinct on his death in 1436. His even more distinguished nephew Gilbert (who died in 1421) also fought at Agincourt. Sir Henry Percy, called "Hotspur" (1364-1403), participated in the battle of Otterburn, in which the Scotch were victorious, and Hotspur taken prisoner. He was later killed in a revolt against the king, making com- mon cause with the Scots. 7. Azincouit (commonly Agincourt) was the scene of an English victory over the French, October 25, 1415. 8. At Crecy, August 26, 1346, the English defeated the French. Poictiers, on September 19, 1356, was the scene of another English victory. Lines Composed ABOVE TiNTERN Abbey, 1798:1798- Just as the Ode on Intimations of Immortality sets forth one of the foundations of Wordsworth's faith and works, so these lines announce a second. They show the origin and the result of Wordsworth's faith in Nature, and merely carry further the idea suggested in the Influence of Natural Objects. Nature meant to Wordsworth the spirit that lies in the landscape and reacts on the beholder. "It is absurd," says Professor Winchester, "to say that quartz can generate quietude of soul, or H2O can calm the mind. What is it but Spirit that can stir the spirit that is in us?" This closely resembles the "Pan- NOTES AND COMMENT ^ 24I theism" of the Greeks; and there is essentially a strong pagan strain in all poetry which worships beauty — whether mental, moral, or physical beauty. Myers says that these lines "have become, as it were, the locus classicus, or consecrated formulary of the Words- worthian faith. They say in brief what it is the work of the poet's biographer to say in detail." I. Five years, etc. The poem, it is evident, is a song of praise on recovering his mental poise after the un- balancing influences of the Revolutionary Period. 26-30. This same idea will be recognized in lines 19-24 of The Daffodils. 34-36. These are among the poet's most frequently quoted lines. 57. Wye: a river which flows through central Wales from PHnlimmon mountain in Cardigan for 130 miles to the Severn estuary. Wales was the scene of various vacation trips which Wordsworth made with his college friend Robert Jones, and Dorothy. 92. "The still, sad music of humanity" is a daring, and certainly a successful attempt to express an abstract idea by a concrete figure. 98. This line has a power like that of line 92. Tennyson is said to have called this almost the grandest line in the English language. French Revolution, 1805:1810 This extract from Book XI of Wordsworth's auto- biographic epic, The Prelude (lines 105-144) gives a view in pleasant retrospective glow of all that appeared en- chanting to Wordsworth's young enthusiasm in the ideals and theories of the French revolutionaries. 4-5. We may be able to quote, of our own time, these famous lines. 7-8. The reference is undoubtedly to the really ex- cellent political and social reforms which the Girondist party wished to introduce with the new republic, and which were so absurdly travestied by the Jacobins, when they came into power, in their worship of the Goddess of Reason. 17. This graceful tribute to the budding French re- public sounds like an echo of line 24 in the poem to Hartley Coleridge. 36. Utopia. This was the name given to an imaginary 242 ^ NOTES AND COMMENT island in Sir Thomas More's Utopia, which was repre- sented as having attained approximate perfection in its laws and customs; \\tnc^ Utopia or Utopian is a term frequently applied to a visionary scheme for government. Fragment from "The Recluse," i8oo?:i888 In this poem Wordsworth again considers what the poet's proper field should be. His attitude cannot at any time be called complacent; and the normal and whole- some view of life which Wordsworth was almost always capable of taking reminds us rather of the "golden mean" of the Roman Horace: "How exquisitely the individual mind to the external world is fitted; and how exquisitely, too, the external world is fitted to the mind." This frag- ment comprises lines 753-860, the concluding portion of The Recluse, the title given the third section of the proposed epic of which The Prelude and The Excursion form the first two parts. I. This is the line so frequently alluded to in these pages as embodying Wordsworth's great poetic purpose. 14-18. See Paragraph XXV of Arnold's Essay on Wordsworth. 25. Urania. In Greek Mythology she was the muse of Astronomy. 33. Jehovah. This sacred name of God was never pronounced by the Jews. 34. Empyreal. The origin of the word from the Greek {ifx-irvpios, ejULirvpos "in fire, fiery") adds expressive- ness to the meaning "heavenly"; that is, refined to fire, even be^^ond aerial substances. 35. Chaos: the confused and shapeless mass before creation "in which slumbered the seeds of things." 36. Erebus. See note to line 71 on Laodameia. 47-48. Paradise; and groves Elysian, Fortunate Fields: the Christian and classic terms for the hereafter. Para- dise, originally meaning "an enclosure" and referring to the Garden of Eden, has come generally to mean heaven. The Old Cumberland Beggar, 1798:1800 This poem, Wordsworth tells us, was written as a protest against the warfare of political economists on beggars and almsgiving. To the poet's mind the beggar NOTES AND COMMENT 243 was between a poor-house, on the one hand, and "alms robbed of their Christian grace and spirit, as being forced rather from the benevolent than given by them; while the avaricious and selfish, and all in fact but the humane and charitable, are at liberty to keep all they possess from their distressed brethren." Whatever can or cannot be said for Wordsworth's point of view, he has drawn a most effective picture of pure spirit, disembodied from the physical, which has been pretty thoroughly beaten out under the hand of nature and the foot of time. "Wordsworth's is the poetry of intellect and of feeling — of humanity in abstracts chiefly; and yet what is more human than The Old Cumberland Beggar?" ^T>x. John Brown. 73~79- This passage echoes the moral of his friend Coleridge's poem The Ancient Mariner: "He prayeth best who lovest best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us He made and loveth all." 85. Compare — "Till old experience do attain To something like poetic strain." — // Penseroso, lines 173-4. 92-93. This keen discovery of mere habit in what is so frequently accounted reason in man and animals will bear further consideration. 148. Friday was apparently the appointed day for the beggar to call upon the housewife whom Wordsworth here had in mind. 171. That is, the work-house or poor-house. Animal Tranquility and Decay, 1798:1819 In an epigrammatic style this priceless little sketch rapidly shows us a figure much like that in The Old Cum- berland Beggar. Nutting, 1799:1800 "The four months spent at Goslar," writes F. W. H. Myers, "were the very bloom of Wordsworth's poetic career. Through none of his poems has the peculiar loveliness of English scenery and English girlhood shone 244 NOTES AND COMMENT more delicately than through those which came to him as he paced the frozen garden of that desolate city. Here it was that he wrote Lucy Gray and Ruth^ and Nutting, and Tke Poet's Epitaph, and other poems known now to most men as possessing in its full fragrance his especial charm." Stanzas on Thomson's Castle of Indolence, 1802:1815 Hartley Coleridge remarked of this poem that his father's "character and habits are here preserved in a livelier way than in anything that has been written about him." Coleridge was then living much of the time with the Wordsworths in Grasmere. Wordsworth's sister Dorothy said that the two characters here were Words- worth and Coleridge, and that the first four stanzas probably refer to the former; the last three to Coleridge. The Fountain, 1799:1800 This piece was chosen by Arnold doubtless for "its young inimitable charm," which contrasts markedly with the majesty of many of Wordsworth's later poems. Again, as in the earlier poems, is evident a studied simplicity — somewhat more simplesse than simplicite, — as Matthew Arnold might have said; that is, a little more elaborated and artificial appearance of it rather than the genuine quality itself. A Poet's Epitaph, 1799:1800 This will be recognized as Wordsworth's "ideal of the poet's high office" — and, incidentally, a pretty faithful portrait of the poet's own life as he consistently lived it. Upon the Death of James Hogg, 1835:1836 At sixty-six Wordsworth had survived most of his friends and companion poets: Hogg, Scott, Coleridge, Lamb, Crabbe, and Mrs. Hemans. This poem, though oc- casioned by the death of one with whom Wordsworth had less in common than with the others, reveals the poet in a mood of genuine loneliness which can easily be appreciated. It was the Ettrick Shepherd, it will be remembered, with whom Wordsworth first visited Yarrow; Scott he NOTES AND COMMENT 245 loved, although not caring for his poetry; Coleridge, "the rapt one, of the godlike forehead" had been nearer to him than anyone except his sister Dorothy; to know Lamb, the witty, whimsical essayist was to be fascinated by him; the poetry of Crabbe, so much more realistic and pungent than his own, had more nearly resembled Wordsworth's than that of any other poet of his day; and of Mrs. Hemans, who had visited several times at his house, Wordsworth has written: "There was much sym- pathy between us, and, if opportunity had been allowed me to see more of her, I should have loved and valued her accordingly." An old man's poem, it is a fitting one to conclude this volume. QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION ON ARNOLD'S ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH Read the entire essay through carefully, although not particularly studying it, for a general impression. Then, after reading the Introductory Sketches of Arnold and Words- worth, ask yourself the following questions: I. When was Wordsworth's poetry at the height of its popularity? How do you account for that? 2. What are the successive steps by which Arnold justifies his edition of Wordsworth's poems? 3. What was Arnold's purpose in making this collection of poems? Why was selection neces- sary? 4. What, according to Arnold, is the most important quality in Wordsworth's poetry? Explain. Is this very excellence capable of harming the poet's reputation in some quarters? 5. How should you briefly describe Wordsworth's style? Would the poems be likely to gain attention if con- tributed to magazines to-day? 6. What defects are we likely to recognize in Wordsworth's poetry? 7. What qualifications should you judge Arnold had for editing a volume of Words- worth's poems? 8. Does Arnold write like a scholar, a public speaker, a novelist, a great conversationalist? Has he himself a "heightened and telling way of putting things?" How does it differ from Macaulay's? Questions for More Careful Study (The numbers of the following questions refer to the para- graphs of the Essay.) I. Was the popularity of 1830-1840 probably very encourag- ing to Wordsworth? In what part of his long career as a poet did it come? Would Scott and Byron appeal to the same class of readers as Wordsworth? What does Arnold mean, then, by "this public"? In what way does this paragraph serve appropriately as an introduction to the essay and selections of Wordsworth's poems? 2. What three things assisted the growth of Wordsworth's fame at this time? Why was it par- ticularly helpful to a poet like Wordsworth to be popular in a place like Cambridge? What suggestion does Arnold make of the nature of much of Wordsworth's fame elsewhere? 247 248 QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION 3. What qualities in a poet's work make it popular? Briefly contrast the poetry of Tennyson and of Wordsworth. Why was not the rapid rise of Tennyson quite fatal to Wordsworth's reputation? What element of the reading public, according to Arnold, did Tennyson attract? 4. What subject have paragraphs three and four in common? What has been done since 1850 to sustain the reputation of Wordsworth? 5-1 1. (Read through these seven paragraphs which have a unity in themselves — the justification for a new volume of Words- worth's poems at this time, 1879.) Re-state in your own words the quotation from M. Renan. Does "vanity" here mean "emptiness, futility"? Does it anywhere mean "petty pride, conceit"? Is it necessary to spend so much space establishing the "glory" of a poet? Do you agree that the fame of the poets of a country is as important as her reputation as a nation or the splendor of her civilization? Is there a reason why England excels in her poets and men of science, rather than in painters and musicians? Has time changed the cor- rectness of Arnold's estimate? Can Arnold be accused of "provincial infatuation" in speaking well of the English poets? What are the distinguishing "gifts and excellencies" of the following poets: Spenser, Dryden, Pope, Gray, Goldsmith, Cowper, Burns, Coleridge, Scott, Campbell, Moore, Byron, Shelley, Keats? On what grounds is Chaucer ruled out of the comparison? Should he be? What are the three qualities of Wordsworth which make his poetry superior to that of the lesser poets of Germany, Italy, France? Why was the United States omitted from this survey? 12. Why, according to Arnold, has not all the world long been aware of Wordsworth's emmence 12-13. Why does the mingling of good and bad in his work count more heavily against Wordsworth than against Shake- speare or Milton ? What solution can you offer for the unequal quality of the great bulk of Wordsworth's work? 14. Name five of Wordsworth's best known pieces. How many were written between 1798 and 1808? Is it fair and proper for an editor to do for a poet what Arnold has done for Wordsworth? 15. What is Arnold's objection to Wordsworth's classification of his poems? 16. What classification of poetry does Arnold recognize as a standard ? Make a list of at least ten poems, not including Wordsworth's, that you have read, and arrange them according to this category. 17. Glance over the contents of this volume. On the basis of this do you agree with these statements? 18. Upon what grounds does Arnold base his opinion of Wordsworth's superiority to these six poets? Why QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION 249 does he insist that " this is of very great importance " ? Do you agree with Arnold's ranking of the various poetic forms? Why? 19, Are writers apt to be good judges of their own work? Is the case similar with painters, sculptors, composers? 20. What is meant by "poetic beauty," "poetic truth"? Sum up in a single sentence Arnold's criterion of poetry. Apply it to several different types of poetry, such as that of Milton, Tennyson, Browning, Coleridge, Longfellow, Kipling, Service, a poem in a current magazine. How does it work out? 21. It will be noted that Arnold finds in Voltaire's judgment of English poets the foundation for the chief excel- lence of Wordsworth's poetry — its moral quality. Explain "moral." Why are didactic poems second-rate? Is the same thing true of problem plays and allegorical pictures? In what way do the three quotations from Milton, Keats, Shelley, illustrate moral ideas? Can you now think of a really fine poem which is not moral? 22. Does this definition seem to imply that great poetry is written by students for students, or by men of the world for persons who take a lively interest in the adventures of their very human fellow beings? Who is more fully alive: the person who reads, or the person who does not? 23. Explain: "Poetry is a criticism of life." Are manner (style) and matter (subject or idea) equally important in literary compositions? In prose, in poetry, in drama? What would be Arnold's opinion? 24. What light does this para- graph throw on the preceding questions? Explain the figure of speech of Epictetus. 25. In describing the work of a poet, what would be meant by saying "He has taken up his abode at an inn"? Mention two other poets, English or American, of whom this might be said. 26. What is meant here by "feUcity"? Do humor, felicity, and passion seem to you appropriate or necessary qualities for poetry? If Burns, Keats, Heine possess these qualities, why are they not superior to Wordsworth? 27. What does Arnold mean by a "Wordsworthian"? Is he one himself? 28-29. What is the meaning of: " Poetry is the real- ity; philosophy, the illusion"? Of what real value to the world is poetry ? Is the combination of philosophy and poetry a really sweet union? What has Arnold already said on this subject? What terms which Arnold has already used would appro- priately describe these two selections? Why are they not admirable poetry? 30. Do you agree that "the love of nature is nearly imperceptible at ten years old, but strong and opera- tive at thirty"? Why? Are persons correct in maintaining that the following are traits of youth rather than of maturity: 250 QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION originality, innocence, radicalism, a sense of justice? 31. What would be a modern equivalent for a "social science congress"? Do literary clubs aid the reputation of the subject of their study? 32. What is the real source of Wordsworth's great- ness? What is often mistaken to be it? 33. What common pleasures of the average schoolboy or schoolgirl would perhaps find an echo in Wordsworth's poems? What ones would not? Why? Which of the two kinds are the simpler? the more permanent? the finer? 34. Would the two adjectives "con- scious" and "unconscious" artists describe Goethe and Wordsworth ? According to Jeffrey, what was the trouble with The Excursion? Was this a defect of Wordsworth's? 35-37. (Refer to the Life of Wordsworth.) Describe what seems to you the differences in the styles of Shakespeare, Milton, and Wordsworth as indicated by these three selections. If Wordsworth's style is nearly as simple as plain speech, wherein lies its power? What is the twofold reason for the simplicity of Wordsworth's style? Is it true that the expression of sincere feeling is usually simple? Is this true in painting, sculpture, architecture? 38. Why do you think Arnold prefers The Highland Reaper {The Solitary Reaper) to Laodameia or Ode on the Intimations of Immortality? 39. Can you suggest in what respect it is that "the ancients are far above us," or what it is "that we demand which they can never give"? What are the traits in Shakespeare or Milton which make them "splendid luminaries in the poetical heaven"? What was Arnold's test for greatness? 40. What type of poems that Wordsworth wrote would Arnold probably reject? What type would he choose? As you read the poems in this volume, criticize the appropriateness of his choice. 41. Are we led to believe Arnold's suggestion that he is not a Wordsworthian, or this statement that he is? Why? Give reasons for your answer. In your own words, sum up Arnold's estimate of Wordsworth. 7 3 "^ ^i -'^ '%^'^yW/ J A^ ^^-^ -^^^ ^^^:lj^ ''^ <• A., Deacidified using the Bookkeeper pre ^> ,-^v^ Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide • .'A .V ^"^^ c^^;-->C^'^^^>v- Treatment Date: May 2009 PreservationTechnolog A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERV 111 Thomson Park Drive 5v ,0o .3 i>'^^- '^o. ^^;<3^. %:-