Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  Once more did I retire into myself. 830

  There feeling no contentment, I resolved

  To fly, for safeguard, to some foreign shore,

  Remote from Europe; from her blasted hopes;

  Her fields of carnage, and polluted air.

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

  The ship went gliding with her thoughtless crew;

  And who among them but an Exile, freed

  From discontent, indifferent, pleased to sit

  Among the busily-employed, not more

  With obligation charged, with service taxed, 840

  Than the loose pendant—to the idle wind

  Upon the tall mast streaming. But, ye Powers

  Of soul and sense mysteriously allied,

  Oh, never let the Wretched, if a choice

  Be left him, trust the freight of his distress

  To a long voyage on the silent deep!

  For, like a plague, will memory break out;

  And, in the blank and solitude of things,

  Upon his spirit, with a fever’s strength,

  Will conscience prey.—Feebly must they have felt 850

  Who, in old time, attired with snakes and whips

  The vengeful Furies. ‘Beautiful’ regards

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

  The Wife and Mother pitifully fixing

  Tender reproaches, insupportable!

  Where now that boasted liberty? No welcome

  From unknown objects I received; and those,

  Known and familiar, which the vaulted sky

  Did, in the placid clearness of the night,

  Disclose, had accusations to prefer 860

  Against my peace. Within the cabin stood

  That volume—as a compass for the soul—

  Revered among the nations. I implored

  Its guidance; but the infallible support

  Of faith was wanting. Tell me, why refused

  To One by storms annoyed and adverse winds;

  Perplexed with currents; of his weakness sick;

  Of vain endeavours tired; and by his own,

  And by his nature’s, ignorance, dismayed!

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

  And, when the ship was moored, I leaped ashore

  Indignantly—resolved to be a man,

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

  No longer in subjection to the past,

  With abject mind—from a tyrannic lord

  Inviting penance, fruitlessly endured:

  So, like a fugitive, whose feet have cleared

  Some boundary, which his followers may not cross

  In prosecution of their deadly chase,

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

  The breeze how soft! Can anything produced

  In the old World compare, thought I, for power

  And majesty with this gigantic stream,

  Sprung from the desert? And behold a city

  Fresh, youthful, and aspiring! What are these

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

  As he desires that they should be, whom winds

  And waves have wafted to this distant shore,

  In the condition of a damaged seed,

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

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

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

  And, therefore, not to act—convinced that all

  Which bears the name of action, howsoe’er

  Beginning, ends in servitude—still painful,

  And mostly profitless. And, sooth to say,

  On nearer view, a motley spectacle

  Appeared, of high pretensions,—unreproved

  But by the obstreperous voice of higher still;

  Big passions strutting on a petty stage; 900

  Which a detached spectator may regard

  Not unamused.—But ridicule demands

  Quick change of objects; and, to laugh alone,

  At a composing distance from the haunts

  Of strife and folly, though it be a treat

  As choice as musing Leisure can bestow;

  Yet, in the very centre of the crowd,

  To keep the secret of a poignant scorn,

  Howe’er to airy Demons suitable,

  Of all unsocial courses, is least fit 910

  For the gross spirit of mankind,—the one

  That soonest fails to please, and quickliest turns

  Into vexation.

  Let us, then, I said,

  Leave this unknit Republic to the scourge

  Of her own passions; and to regions haste,

  Whose shades have never felt the encroaching axe,

  Or soil endured a transfer in the mart

  Of dire rapacity. There, Man abides,

  Primeval Nature’s child. A creature weak

  In combination, (wherefore else driven back 920

  So far, and of his old inheritance

  So easily deprived?) but, for that cause,

  More dignified, and stronger in himself;

  Whether to act, judge, suffer, or enjoy.

  True, the intelligence of social art

  Hath overpowered his forefathers, and soon

  Will sweep the remnant of his line away;

  But contemplations, worthier, nobler far

  Than her destructive energies, attend

  His independence, when along the side 930

  Of Mississippi, or that northern stream

  That spreads into successive seas, he walks;

  Pleased to perceive his own unshackled life,

  And his innate capacities of soul,

  There imaged: or when, having gained the top

  Of some commanding eminence, which yet

  Intruder ne’er beheld, he thence surveys

  Regions of wood and wide savannah, vast

  Expanse of unappropriated earth,

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

  Free as the sun, and lonely as the sun,

  Pouring above his head its radiance down

  Upon a living and rejoicing world!

  So, westward, tow’rd the unviolated woods

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

  Failed not to greet the merry Mocking-bird;

  And, while the melancholy Muccawiss

  (The sportive bird’s companion in the grove)

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

  I sympathised at leisure with the sound; 950

  But that pure archetype of human greatness,

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

  A creature, squalid, vengeful, and impure;

  Remorseless, and submissive to no law

  But superstitious fear, and abject sloth.

  Enough is told! Here am I—ye have heard

  What evidence I seek, and vainly seek;

  What from my fellow-beings I require,

  And either they have not to give, or I

  Lack virtue to receive; what I myself, 960

  Too oft by wilful forfeiture, have lost

  Nor can regain. How languidly I look

  Upon this visible fabric of the world,

  May be divined—perhaps it hath been said:—

  But spare your pity, if there be in me

  Aught that deserves respect: for I exist,

  Within myself, not comfortless.—The tenor

  Which my life holds, he readily may conceive

  Whoe’er hath stood to watch a mountain brook

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

  Within the depths of its capacious breast,

  Inverted trees, rocks, clouds, and azure sky;

  And, on its glassy surface, specks of foam,

  And conglobated bubbles undissolved,

  Numerous as stars; that, by their onward
lapse,

  Betray to sight the motion of the stream,

  Else imperceptible. Meanwhile, is heard

  A softened roar, or murmur; and the sound

  Though soothing, and the little floating isles

  Though beautiful, are both by Nature charged 980

  With the same pensive office; and make known

  Through what perplexing labyrinths, abrupt

  Precipitations, and untoward straits,

  The earth-born wanderer hath passed; and quickly,

  That respite o’er, like traverses and toils

  Must he again encounter.—Such a stream

  Is human Life; and so the Spirit fares

  In the best quiet to her course allowed;

  And such is mine,—save only for a hope

  That my particular current soon will reach 990

  The unfathomable gulf, where all is still!”

  BOOK FOURTH

  DESPONDENCY CORRECTED

  HERE closed the Tenant of that lonely vale

  His mournful narrative—commenced in pain,

  In pain commenced, and ended without peace:

  Yet tempered, not unfrequently, with strains

  Of native feeling, grateful to our minds;

  And yielding surely some relief to his,

  While we sate listening with compassion due.

  A pause of silence followed; then, with voice

  That did not falter though the heart was moved,

  The Wanderer said:—

  “One adequate support 10

  For the calamities of mortal life

  Exists—one only; an assured belief

  That the procession of our fate, howe’er

  Sad or disturbed, is ordered by a Being

  Of infinite benevolence and power;

  Whose everlasting purposes embrace

  All accidents, converting them to good.

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

  Of suffering hath been thoroughly fortified

  By acquiescence in the Will supreme 20

  For time and for eternity; by faith,

  Faith absolute in God, including hope,

  And the defence that lies in boundless love

  Of his perfections; with habitual dread

  Of aught unworthily conceived, endured

  Impatiently, ill-done, or left undone,

  To the dishonour of his holy name.

  Soul of our Souls, and safeguard of the world!

  Sustain, thou only canst, the sick of heart;

  Restore their languid spirits, and recall 30

  Their lost affections unto thee and thine!”

  Then, as we issued from that covert nook,

  He thus continued, lifting up his eyes

  To heaven:—”How beautiful this dome of sky;

  And the vast hills, in fluctuation fixed

  At thy command, how awful! Shall the Soul,

  Human and rational, report of thee

  Even less than these?—Be mute who will, who can,

  Yet I will praise thee with impassioned voice:

  My lips, that may forget thee in the crowd, 40

  Cannot forget thee here; where thou hast built,

  For thy own glory, in the wilderness!

  Me didst thou constitute a priest of thine,

  In such a temple as we now behold

  Reared for thy presence: therefore, am I bound

  To worship, here, and everywhere—as one

  Not doomed to ignorance, though forced to tread,

  From childhood up, the ways of poverty;

  From unreflecting ignorance preserved,

  And from debasement rescued.—By thy grace 50

  The particle divine remained unquenched;

  And, ‘mid the wild weeds of a rugged soil,

  Thy bounty caused to flourish deathless flowers,

  From paradise transplanted: wintry age

  Impends; the frost will gather round my heart;

  If the flowers wither, I am worse than dead!

  —Come, labour, when the worn-out frame requires

  Perpetual sabbath; come, disease and want;

  And sad exclusion through decay of sense;

  But leave me unabated trust in thee— 60

  And let thy favour, to the end of life,

  Inspire me with ability to seek

  Repose and hope among eternal things—

  Father of heaven and earth! and I am rich,

  And will possess my portion in content!

  And what are things eternal?—powers depart,”

  The grey-haired Wanderer stedfastly replied,

  Answering the question which himself had asked,

  “Possessions vanish, and opinions change,

  And passions hold a fluctuating seat: 70

  But, by the storms of circumstance unshaken,

  And subject neither to eclipse nor wane,

  Duty exists;—immutably survive,

  For our support, the measures and the forms,

  Which an abstract intelligence supplies;

  Whose kingdom is, where time and space are not.

  Of other converse which mind, soul, and heart,

  Do, with united urgency, require,

  What more that may not perish?—Thou, dread source,

  Prime, self-existing cause and end of all 80

  That in the scale of being fill their place;

  Above our human region, or below,

  Set and sustained;—thou, who didst wrap the cloud

  Of infancy around us, that thyself,

  Therein, with our simplicity awhile

  Might’st hold, on earth, communion undisturbed;

  Who from the anarchy of dreaming sleep,

  Or from its death-like void, with punctual care,

  And touch as gentle as the morning light,

  Restor’st us, daily, to the powers of sense 90

  And reason’s stedfast rule—thou, thou alone

  Art everlasting, and the blessed Spirits,

  Which thou includest, as the sea her waves:

  For adoration thou endur’st; endure

  For consciousness the motions of thy will;

  For apprehension those transcendent truths

  Of the pure intellect, that stand as laws

  (Submission constituting strength and power)

  Even to thy Being’s infinite majesty!

  This universe shall pass away—a work 100

  Glorious! because the shadow of thy might,

  A step, or link, for intercourse with thee.

  Ah! if the time must come, in which my feet

  No more shall stray where meditation leads,

  By flowing stream, through wood, or craggy wild,

  Loved haunts like these; the unimprisoned Mind

  May yet have scope to range among her own,

  Her thoughts, her images, her high desires.

  If the dear faculty of sight should fail,

  Still, it may be allowed me to remember 110

  What visionary powers of eye and soul

  In youth were mine; when, stationed on the top

  Of some huge hill—expectant, I beheld

  The sun rise up, from distant climes returned

  Darkness to chase, and sleep; and bring the day

  His bounteous gift! or saw him toward the deep

  Sink, with a retinue of flaming clouds

  Attended; then, my spirit was entranced

  With joy exalted to beatitude;

  The measure of my soul was filled with bliss, 120

  And holiest love; as earth, sea, air, with light,

  With pomp, with glory, with magnificence!

  Those fervent raptures are for ever flown;

  And, since their date, my soul hath undergone

  Change manifold, for better or for worse:

  Yet cease I not to struggle, and aspire

  Heavenward; and chide the part of me that flags,

  Thro
ugh sinful choice; or dread necessity

  On human nature from above imposed.

  ‘Tis, by comparison, an easy task 130

  Earth to despise; but, to converse with heaven—

  This is not easy:—to relinquish all

  We have, or hope, of happiness and joy,

  And stand in freedom loosened from this world,

  I deem not arduous; but must needs confess

  That ‘tis a thing impossible to frame

  Conceptions equal to the soul’s desires;

  And the most difficult of tasks to ‘keep’

  Heights which the soul is competent to gain.

  —Man is of dust: ethereal hopes are his, 140

  Which, when they should sustain themselves aloft,

  Want due consistence; like a pillar of smoke,

  That with majestic energy from earth

  Rises; but, having reached the thinner air,

  Melts, and dissolves, and is no longer seen.

  From this infirmity of mortal kind

  Sorrow proceeds, which else were not; at least,

  If grief be something hallowed and ordained,

  If, in proportion, it be just and meet,

  Yet, through this weakness of the general heart, 150

  Is it enabled to maintain its hold

  In that excess which conscience disapproves.

  For who could sink and settle to that point

  Of selfishness; so senseless who could be

  As long and perseveringly to mourn

  For any object of his love, removed

  From this unstable world, if he could fix

  A satisfying view upon that state

  Of pure, imperishable, blessedness,

  Which reason promises, and holy writ 160

  Ensures to all believers?—Yet mistrust

  Is of such incapacity, methinks,

  No natural branch; despondency far less;

  And, least of all, is absolute despair.

  —And, if there be whose tender frames have drooped

  Even to the dust; apparently, through weight

  Of anguish unrelieved, and lack of power

  An agonizing sorrow to transmute;

  Deem not that proof is here of hope withheld

  When wanted most; a confidence impaired 170

  So pitiably, that, having ceased to see

  With bodily eyes, they are borne down by love

  Of what is lost, and perish through regret.

  Oh! no, the innocent Sufferer often sees

  Too clearly; feels too vividly; and longs

  To realize the vision, with intense

  And over-constant yearning,—there—there lies

  The excess, by which the balance is destroyed.

  Too, too contracted are these walls of flesh,

  This vital warmth too cold, these visual orbs, 180

  Though inconceivably endowed, too dim

  For any passion of the soul that leads