Upon a leaf the Glow-worm did I lay,
To bear it with me through the stormy night: 10
And, as before, it shone without dismay;
Albeit putting forth a fainter light.
When to the Dwelling of my Love I came,
I went into the Orchard quietly;
And left the Glow-worm, blessing it by name,
Laid safely by itself, beneath a Tree.
The whole next day, I hoped, and hoped with fear;
At night the Glow-worm shone beneath the Tree:
I led my Lucy to the spot, “Look here!”
Oh! joy it was for her, and joy for me! 20
I TRAVELL’D AMONG UNKNOWN MEN
I travell’d among unknown Men,
In Lands beyond the Sea;
Nor England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.
’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
The joy of my desire; 10
And She I cherish’d turn’d her wheel
Beside an English fire.
Thy mornings shew’d — thy nights conceal’d
The bowers where Lucy play’d;
And thine is, too, the last green field
Which Lucy’s eyes survey’d!
ODE TO DUTY
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a Light to guide, a Rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
From strife and from despair; a glorious ministry.
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth, 10
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
May joy be theirs while life shall last!
And Thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast!
Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security. 20
And bless’d are they who in the main
This faith, even now, do entertain:
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet find that other strength, according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
Resolved that nothing e’er should press
Upon my present happiness, 30
I shoved unwelcome tasks away;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy controul;
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this uncharter’d freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance desires:
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose which ever is the same. 40
Yet not the less would I throughout
Still act according to the voice
Of my own wish; and feel past doubt
That my submissiveness was choice:
Not seeking in the school of pride
For “precepts over dignified,”
Denial and restraint I prize
No farther than they breed a second Will more wise.
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead’s most benignant grace; 50
Nor know we any thing so fair
As is the smile upon thy face;
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds;
And Fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong;
And the most ancient Heavens through Thee are fresh and strong.
To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh! let my weakness have an end! 60
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!
POEMS COMPOSED DURING A TOUR, CHIEFLY ON FOOT.
BEGGARS
She had a tall Man’s height, or more;
No bonnet screen’d her from the heat;
A long drab-colour’d Cloak she wore,
A Mantle reaching to her feet:
What other dress she had I could not know;
Only she wore a Cap that was as white as snow.
In all my walks, through field or town,
Such Figure had I never seen:
Her face was of Egyptian brown:
Fit person was she for a Queen, 10
To head those ancient Amazonian files:
Or ruling Bandit’s Wife, among the Grecian Isles.
Before me begging did she stand,
Pouring out sorrows like a sea;
Grief after grief: — on English Land
Such woes I knew could never be;
And yet a boon I gave her; for the Creature
Was beautiful to see; a Weed of glorious feature!
I left her, and pursued my way;
And soon before me did espy 20
A pair of little Boys at play,
Chasing a crimson butterfly;
The Taller follow’d with his hat in hand,
Wreath’d round with yellow flow’rs, the gayest of the land.
The Other wore a rimless crown,
With leaves of laurel stuck about:
And they both follow’d up and down,
Each whooping with a merry shout;
Two Brothers seem’d they, eight and ten years old;
And like that Woman’s face as gold is like to gold. 30
They bolted on me thus, and lo!
Each ready with a plaintive whine;
Said I, “Not half an hour ago
Your Mother has had alms of mine.”
”That cannot be,” one answer’d, “She is dead.”
”Nay but I gave her pence, and she will buy you bread.”
”She has been dead, Sir, many a day.”
”Sweet Boys, you’re telling me a lie”;
”It was your Mother, as I say — ”
And in the twinkling of an eye, 40
”Come, come!” cried one; and, without more ado,
Off to some other play they both together flew.
TO A SKY-LARK
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,
With all the heav’ns about thee ringing,
Lift me, guide me, till I find
That spot which seems so to thy mind!
I have walk’d through wildernesses dreary,
And today my heart is weary;
Had I now the soul of a Faery, 10
Up to thee would I fly.
There is madness about thee, and joy divine
In that song of thine;
Up with me, up with me, high and high,
To thy banqueting-place in the sky! 15
Joyous as Morning,
Thou art laughing and scorning;
Thou hast a nest, for thy love and thy rest:
And, though little troubled with sloth,
Drunken Lark! thou would’st be loth 20
To be such a Traveller as I.
Happy, happy Liver!
With a
soul as strong as a mountain River,
Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver,
Joy and jollity be with us both!
Hearing thee, or else some other,
As merry a Brother,
I on the earth will go plodding on,
By myself, chearfully, till the day is done.
WITH HOW SAD STEPS, O MOON, THOU CLIMB’ST THE SKY
”With how sad steps, O Moon thou climb’st the sky.
How silently, and with how wan a face!”
Where art thou? Thou whom I have seen on high
Running among the clouds a Wood-nymph’s race?
Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath’s a sigh
Which they would stifle, move at such a pace!
The Northern Wind, to call thee to the chace,
Must blow tonight his bugle horn. Had I
The power of Merlin, Goddess! this should be
And all the Stars, now shrouded up in heaven,
Should sally forth to keep thee company.
What strife would then be yours, fair Creatures, driv’n
Now up, now down, and sparkling in your glee!
But, Cynthia, should to Thee the palm be giv’n,
Queen both for beauty and for majesty.
ALICE FELL
The Post-boy drove with fierce career,
For threat’ning clouds the moon had drown’d;
When suddenly I seem’d to hear
A moan, a lamentable sound.
As if the wind blew many ways
I heard the sound, and more and more:
It seem’d to follow with the Chaise,
And still I heard it as before.
At length I to the Boy call’d out,
He stopp’d his horses at the word; 10
But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout,
Nor aught else like it could be heard.
The Boy then smack’d his whip, and fast
The horses scamper’d through the rain;
And soon I heard upon the blast
The voice, and bade him halt again.
Said I, alighting on the ground,
”What can it be, this piteous moan?”
And there a little Girl I found,
Sitting behind the Chaise, alone. 20
”My Cloak!” the word was last and first,
And loud and bitterly she wept,
As if her very heart would burst;
And down from off the Chaise she leapt.
”What ails you, Child?” she sobb’d, “Look here!”
I saw it in the wheel entangled,
A weather beaten Rag as e’er
From any garden scare-crow dangled.
’Twas twisted betwixt nave and spoke;
Her help she lent, and with good heed 30
Together we released the Cloak;
A wretched, wretched rag indeed!
”And whither are you going, Child,
To night along these lonesome ways?”
”To Durham” answer’d she half wild —
”Then come with me into the chaise.”
She sate like one past all relief;
Sob after sob she forth did send
In wretchedness, as if her grief
Could never, never, have an end. 40
”My Child, in Durham do you dwell?”
She check’d herself in her distress,
And said, “My name is Alice Fell;
I’m fatherless and motherless.”
”And I to Durham, Sir, belong.”
And then, as if the thought would choke
Her very heart, her grief grew strong;
And all was for her tatter’d Cloak.
The chaise drove on; our journey’s end
Was nigh; and, sitting by my side, 50
As if she’d lost her only friend
She wept, nor would be pacified.
Up to the Tavern-door we post;
Of Alice and her grief I told;
And I gave money to the Host,
To buy a new Cloak for the old.
”And let it be of duffil grey,
As warm a cloak as man can sell!”
Proud Creature was she the next day,
The little Orphan, Alice Fell! 60
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;
Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods;
The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters;
And all the air is fill’d with pleasant noise of waters.
All things that love the sun are out of doors;
The sky rejoices in the morning’s birth;
The grass is bright with rain-drops; on the moors 10
The Hare is running races in her mirth;
And with her feet she from the plashy earth
Raises a mist; which, glittering in the sun,
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.
I was a Traveller then upon the moor;
I saw the Hare that rac’d about with joy;
I heard the woods, and distant waters, roar;
Or heard them not, as happy as a Boy:
The pleasant season did my heart employ:
My old remembrances went from me wholly; 20
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 farther go,
As high as we have mounted in delight
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, & blind thoughts I knew not nor could name.
I heard the Sky-lark singing in the sky;
And I bethought me of the playful Hare: 30
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,
Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty.
My whole life I have liv’d 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;
But how can He expect that others should 40
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 perish’d in its pride;
Of Him who walk’d in glory and in joy
Behind his plough, upon the mountain-side:
By our own spirits are we deified;
We Poets in our youth begin in gladness;
But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness.
Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, 50
A leading from above, a something given,
Yet it befel, that, in this lonely place,
When up and down my fancy thus was driven,
And I with these untoward thoughts had striven,
I saw a Man before me unawares:
The oldest Man he seem’d that ever wore grey hairs.
My course I stopped as soon as I espied
The Old Man in that naked wilderness:
Close by a Pond, upon the further side,
He stood alone: a minute’s space I guess 60
I watch’d him, he continuing motionless:
To the Pool’s further margin then I drew;
He being all the while before me full in view.
As a huge Stone is sometimes seen to lie
Couch’d on the bald top of an eminence;
Wonder to all who do the same espy
B
y what means it could thither come, and whence;
So that it seems a thing endued with sense:
Like a Sea-beast crawl’d forth, which on a shelf
Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself. 70
Such seem’d this Man, not all alive nor dead,
Nor all asleep; in his extreme old age:
His body was bent double, feet and head
Coming together in their pilgrimage;
As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage
Of sickness felt by him in times long past,
A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.
Himself he propp’d, his body, limbs, and face,
Upon a long grey Staff of shaven wood:
And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, 80
Beside the little pond or moorish flood
Motionless as a Cloud the Old Man stood;
That heareth not the loud winds when they call;
And moveth altogether, if it move at all.
At length, himself unsettling, he the Pond
Stirred with his Staff, and fixedly did look
Upon the muddy water, which he conn’d,
As if he had been reading in a book:
And now such freedom as I could I took;
And, drawing to his side, to him did say, 90
”This morning gives us promise of a glorious day.”
A gentle answer did the Old Man make,
In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew:
And him with further words I thus bespake,
”What kind of work is that which you pursue?
This is a lonesome place for one like you.”
He answer’d me with pleasure and surprize;
And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes.
His words came feebly, from a feeble chest,
Yet each in solemn order follow’d each, 100
With something of a lofty utterance drest;
Choice word, and measured phrase; above the reach
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 me that he to this pond had come
To gather Leeches, being old and poor:
Employment hazardous and wearisome!
And he had many hardships to endure:
From Pond to Pond he roam’d, from moor to moor, 110
Housing, with God’s good help, by choice or chance:
And in this way he gain’d an honest maintenance.
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;
Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth Page 44