Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  When winds are blowing strong. The traveller slaked

  His thirst from rill or gushing fount, and thanked

  The Naiad. Sunbeams, upon distant hills

  Gliding apace, with shadows in their train,

  Might, with small help from fancy, be transformed

  Into fleet Oreads sporting visibly.

  The Zephyrs fanning, as they passed, their wings,

  Lacked not, for love, fair objects whom they wooed

  With gentle whisper. Withered boughs grotesque,

  Stripped of their leaves and twigs by hoary age, 880

  From depth of shaggy covert peeping forth

  In the low vale, or on steep mountain side;

  And, sometimes, intermixed with stirring horns

  Of the live deer, or goat’s depending beard,—

  These were the lurking Satyrs, a wild brood

  Of gamesome Deities; or Pan himself,

  The simple shepherd’s awe-inspiring God!”

  The strain was aptly chosen; and I could mark

  Its kindly influence, o’er the yielding brow

  Of our Companion, gradually diffused; 890

  While, listening, he had paced the noiseless turf,

  Like one whose untired ear a murmuring stream

  Detains; but tempted now to interpose,

  He with a smile exclaimed:—

  “‘Tis well you speak

  At a safe distance from our native land,

  And from the mansions where our youth was taught.

  The true descendants of those godly men

  Who swept from Scotland, in a flame of zeal,

  Shrine, altar, image, and the massy piles

  That harboured them,—the souls retaining yet 900

  The churlish features of that after-race

  Who fled to woods, caverns, and jutting rocks,

  In deadly scorn of superstitious rites,

  Or what their scruples construed to be such—

  How, think you, would they tolerate this scheme

  Of fine propensities, that tends, if urged

  Far as it might be urged, to sow afresh

  The weeds of Romish phantasy, in vain

  Uprooted; would re-consecrate our wells

  To good Saint Fillan and to fair Saint Anne; 910

  And from long banishment recall Saint Giles,

  To watch again with tutelary love

  O’er stately Edinborough throned on crags?

  A blessed restoration, to behold

  The patron, on the shoulders of his priests,

  Once more parading through her crowded streets,

  Now simply guarded by the sober powers

  Of science, and philosophy, and sense!”

  This answer followed.—”You have turned my thoughts

  Upon our brave Progenitors, who rose 920

  Against idolatry with warlike mind,

  And shrunk from vain observances, to lurk

  In woods, and dwell under impending rocks

  Ill-sheltered, and oft wanting fire and food;

  Why?—for this very reason that they felt,

  And did acknowledge, wheresoe’er they moved,

  A spiritual presence, oft-times misconceived,

  But still a high dependence, a divine

  Bounty and government, that filled their hearts

  With joy, and gratitude, and fear, and love; 930

  And from their fervent lips drew hymns of praise,

  That through the desert rang. Though favoured less,

  Far less, than these, yet such, in their degree,

  Were those bewildered Pagans of old time.

  Beyond their own poor natures and above

  They looked; were humbly thankful for the good

  Which the warm sun solicited, and earth

  Bestowed; were gladsome,—and their moral sense

  They fortified with reverence for the Gods;

  And they had hopes that overstepped the Grave. 940

  Now, shall our great Discoverers,” he exclaimed,

  Raising his voice triumphantly, “obtain

  From sense and reason, less than these obtained,

  Though far misled? Shall men for whom our age

  Unbaffled powers of vision hath prepared,

  To explore the world without and world within,

  Be joyless as the blind? Ambitious spirits—

  Whom earth, at this late season, hath produced

  To regulate the moving spheres, and weigh

  The planets in the hollow of their hand; 950

  And they who rather dive than soar, whose pains

  Have solved the elements, or analysed

  The thinking principle—shall they in fact

  Prove a degraded Race? and what avails

  Renown, if their presumption make them such?

  Oh! there is laughter at their work in heaven!

  Inquire of ancient Wisdom; go, demand

  Of mighty Nature, if ‘twas ever meant

  That we should pry far off yet be unraised;

  That we should pore, and dwindle as we pore, 960

  Viewing all objects unremittingly

  In disconnection dead and spiritless;

  And still dividing, and dividing still,

  Break down all grandeur, still unsatisfied

  With the perverse attempt, while littleness

  May yet become more little; waging thus

  An impious warfare with the very life

  Of our own souls!

  And if indeed there be

  An all-pervading Spirit, upon whom

  Our dark foundations rest, could he design 970

  That this magnificent effect of power,

  The earth we tread, the sky that we behold

  By day, and all the pomp which night reveals;

  That these—and that superior mystery

  Our vital frame, so fearfully devised,

  And the dread soul within it—should exist

  Only to be examined, pondered, searched,

  Probed, vexed, and criticised? Accuse me not

  Of arrogance, unknown Wanderer as I am,

  If, having walked with Nature threescore years, 980

  And offered, far as frailty would allow,

  My heart a daily sacrifice to Truth,

  I now affirm of Nature and of Truth,

  Whom I have served, that their DIVINITY

  Revolts, offended at the ways of men

  Swayed by such motives, to such ends employed;

  Philosophers, who, though the human soul

  Be of a thousand faculties composed,

  And twice ten thousand interests, do yet prize

  This soul, and the transcendent universe, 990

  No more than as a mirror that reflects

  To proud Self-love her own intelligence;

  That one, poor, finite object, in the abyss

  Of infinite Being, twinkling restlessly!

  Nor higher place can be assigned to him

  And his compeers—the laughing Sage of France.—

  Crowned was he, if my memory do not err,

  With laurel planted upon hoary hairs,

  In sign of conquest by his wit achieved

  And benefits his wisdom had conferred; 1000

  His stooping body tottered with wreaths of flowers

  Opprest, far less becoming ornaments

  Than Spring oft twines about a mouldering tree;

  Yet so it pleased a fond, a vain, old Man,

  And a most frivolous people. Him I mean

  Who penned, to ridicule confiding faith,

  This sorry Legend; which by chance we found

  Piled in a nook, through malice, as might seem,

  Among more innocent rubbish.”—Speaking thus,

  With a brief notice when, and how, and where, 1010

  We had espied the book, he drew it forth;

  And courteously, as if the act removed,

  At once, all traces fr
om the good Man’s heart

  Of unbenign aversion or contempt,

  Restored it to its owner. “Gentle Friend,”

  Herewith he grasped the Solitary’s hand,

  “You have known lights and guides better than these.

  Ah! let not aught amiss within dispose

  A noble mind to practise on herself,

  And tempt opinion to support the wrongs 1020

  Of passion: whatsoe’er be felt or feared,

  From higher judgment-seats make no appeal

  To lower: can you question that the soul

  Inherits an allegiance, not by choice

  To be cast off, upon an oath proposed

  By each new upstart notion? In the ports

  Of levity no refuge can be found,

  No shelter, for a spirit in distress.

  He, who by wilful disesteem of life

  And proud insensibility to hope, 1030

  Affronts the eye of Solitude, shall learn

  That her mild nature can be terrible;

  That neither she nor Silence lack the power

  To avenge their own insulted majesty.

  O blest seclusion! when the mind admits

  The law of duty; and can therefore move

  Through each vicissitude of loss and gain,

  Linked in entire complacence with her choice;

  When youth’s presumptuousness is mellowed down,

  And manhood’s vain anxiety dismissed; 1040

  When wisdom shows her seasonable fruit,

  Upon the boughs of sheltering leisure hung

  In sober plenty; when the spirit stoops

  To drink with gratitude the crystal stream

  Of unreproved enjoyment; and is pleased

  To muse, and be saluted by the air

  Of meek repentance, wafting wall-flower scents

  From out the crumbling ruins of fallen pride

  And chambers of transgression, now forlorn.

  O, calm contented days, and peaceful nights! 1050

  Who, when such good can be obtained, would strive

  To reconcile his manhood to a couch

  Soft, as may seem, but, under that disguise,

  Stuffed with the thorny substance of the past

  For fixed annoyance; and full oft beset

  With floating dreams, black and disconsolate,

  The vapoury phantoms of futurity?

  Within the soul a faculty abides,

  That with interpositions, which would hide

  And darken, so can deal that they become 1060

  Contingencies of pomp; and serve to exalt

  Her native brightness. As the ample moon,

  In the deep stillness of a summer even

  Rising behind a thick and lofty grove,

  Burns, like an unconsuming fire of light,

  In the green trees; and, kindling on all sides

  Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil

  Into a substance glorious as her own,

  Yea, with her own incorporated, by power

  Capacious and serene. Like power abides 1070

  In man’s celestial spirit; virtue thus

  Sets forth and magnifies herself; thus feeds

  A calm, a beautiful, and silent fire,

  From the encumbrances of mortal life,

  From error, disappointment—nay, from guilt;

  And sometimes, so relenting justice wills,

  From palpable oppressions of despair.”

  The Solitary by these words was touched

  With manifest emotion, and exclaimed;

  “But how begin? and whence?—’The Mind is free— 1080

  Resolve,’ the haughty Moralist would say,

  ‘This single act is all that we demand.’

  Alas! such wisdom bids a creature fly

  Whose very sorrow is, that time hath shorn

  His natural wings!—To friendship let him turn

  For succour, but perhaps he sits alone

  On stormy waters, tossed in a little boat

  That holds but him, and can contain no more!

  Religion tells of amity sublime

  Which no condition can preclude; of One 1090

  Who sees all suffering, comprehends all wants,

  All weakness fathoms, can supply all needs:

  But is that bounty absolute?—His gifts,

  Are they not, still, in some degree, rewards

  For acts of service? Can his love extend

  To hearts that own not him? Will showers of grace,

  When in the sky no promise may be seen,

  Fall to refresh a parched and withered land?

  Or shall the groaning Spirit cast her load

  At the Redeemer’s feet?”

  In rueful tone, 1100

  With some impatience in his mien, he spake:

  Back to my mind rushed all that had been urged

  To calm the Sufferer when his story closed;

  I looked for counsel as unbending now;

  But a discriminating sympathy

  Stooped to this apt reply:—

  “As men from men

  Do, in the constitution of their souls,

  Differ, by mystery not to be explained;

  And as we fall by various ways, and sink

  One deeper than another, self-condemned, 1110

  Through manifold degrees of guilt and shame;

  So manifold and various are the ways

  Of restoration, fashioned to the steps

  Of all infirmity, and tending all

  To the same point, attainable by all—

  Peace in ourselves, and union with our God.

  For you, assuredly, a hopeful road

  Lies open: we have heard from you a voice

  At every moment softened in its course

  By tenderness of heart; have seen your eye, 1120

  Even like an altar lit by fire from heaven,

  Kindle before us.—Your discourse this day,

  That, like the fabled Lethe, wished to flow

  In creeping sadness, through oblivious shades

  Of death and night, has caught at every turn

  The colours of the sun. Access for you

  Is yet preserved to principles of truth,

  Which the imaginative Will upholds

  In seats of wisdom, not to be approached

  By the inferior Faculty that moulds, 1130

  With her minute and speculative pains,

  Opinion, ever changing!

  I have seen

  A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract

  Of inland ground, applying to his ear

  The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell;

  To which, in silence hushed, his very soul

  Listened intensely; and his countenance soon

  Brightened with joy; for from within were heard

  Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed

  Mysterious union with its native sea. 1140

  Even such a shell the universe itself

  Is to the ear of Faith; and there are times,

  I doubt not, when to you it doth impart

  Authentic tidings of invisible things;

  Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power;

  And central peace, subsisting at the heart

  Of endless agitation. Here you stand,

  Adore, and worship, when you know it not;

  Pious beyond the intention of your thought;

  Devout above the meaning of your will. 1150

  —Yes, you have felt, and may not cease to feel.

  The estate of man would be indeed forlorn

  If false conclusions of the reasoning power

  Made the eye blind, and closed the passages

  Through which the ear converses with the heart.

  Has not the soul, the being of your life,

  Received a shock of awful consciousness,

  In some calm season, when these lofty rocks

  At night’s approach bring down
the unclouded sky,

  To rest upon their circumambient walls; 1160

  A temple framing of dimensions vast,

  And yet not too enormous for the sound

  Of human anthems,—choral song, or burst

  Sublime of instrumental harmony,

  To glorify the Eternal! What if these

  Did never break the stillness that prevails

  Here,—if the solemn nightingale be mute,

  And the soft woodlark here did never chant

  Her vespers,—Nature fails not to provide

  Impulse and utterance. The whispering air 1170

  Sends inspiration from the shadowy heights,

  And blind recesses of the caverned rocks;

  The little rills, and waters numberless,

  Inaudible by daylight, blend their notes

  With the loud streams: and often, at the hour

  When issue forth the first pale stars, is heard,

  Within the circuit of this fabric huge,

  One voice—the solitary raven, flying

  Athwart the concave of the dark blue dome,

  Unseen, perchance above all power of sight— 1180

  An iron knell! with echoes from afar

  Faint—and still fainter—as the cry, with which

  The wanderer accompanies her flight

  Through the calm region, fades upon the ear,

  Diminishing by distance till it seemed

  To expire; yet from the abyss is caught again,

  And yet again recovered!

  But descending

  From these imaginative heights, that yield

  Far-stretching views into eternity,

  Acknowledge that to Nature’s humbler power 1190

  Your cherished sullenness is forced to bend

  Even here, where her amenities are sown

  With sparing hand. Then trust yourself abroad

  To range her blooming bowers, and spacious fields,

  Where on the labours of the happy throng

  She smiles, including in her wide embrace

  City, and town, and tower,—and sea with ships

  Sprinkled;—be our Companion while we track

  Her rivers populous with gliding life;

  While, free as air, o’er printless sands we march, 1200

  Or pierce the gloom of her majestic woods;

  Roaming, or resting under grateful shade

  In peace and meditative cheerfulness;

  Where living things, and things inanimate,

  Do speak, at Heaven’s command, to eye and ear,

  And speak to social reason’s inner sense,

  With inarticulate language.

  For, the Man—

  Who, in this spirit, communes with the Forms

  Of nature, who with understanding heart

  Both knows and loves such objects as excite 1210

  No morbid passions, no disquietude,

  No vengeance, and no hatred—needs must feel

  The joy of that pure principle of love