Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  Such was that strong concussion; but the Man,

  Who trembled, trunk and limbs, like some huge oak

  By a fierce tempest shaken, soon resumed

  The stedfast quiet natural to a mind

  Of composition gentle and sedate,

  And, in its movements, circumspect and slow.

  To books, and to the long-forsaken desk,

  O’er which enchained by science he had loved 150

  To bend, he stoutly re-addressed himself,

  Resolved to quell his pain, and search for truth

  With keener appetite (if that might be)

  And closer industry. Of what ensued

  Within the heart no outward sign appeared

  Till a betraying sickliness was seen

  To tinge his cheek; and through his frame it crept

  With slow mutation unconcealable;

  Such universal change as autumn makes

  In the fair body of a leafy grove, 160

  Discoloured, then divested.

  ‘Tis affirmed

  By poets skilled in nature’s secret ways

  That Love will not submit to be controlled

  By mastery:—and the good Man lacked not friends

  Who strove to instil this truth into his mind,

  A mind in all heart-mysteries unversed.

  ‘Go to the hills,’ said one, ‘remit a while

  ‘This baneful diligence:—at early morn

  ‘Court the fresh air, explore the heaths and woods;

  ‘And, leaving it to others to foretell, 170

  ‘By calculations sage, the ebb and flow

  ‘Of tides, and when the moon will be eclipsed,

  ‘Do you, for your own benefit, construct

  ‘A calendar of flowers, plucked as they blow

  ‘Where health abides, and cheerfulness, and peace.’

  The attempt was made;—’tis needless to report

  How hopelessly; but innocence is strong,

  And an entire simplicity of mind

  A thing most sacred in the eye of Heaven;

  That opens, for such sufferers, relief 180

  Within the soul, fountains of grace divine;

  And doth commend their weakness and disease

  To Nature’s care, assisted in her office

  By all the elements that round her wait

  To generate, to preserve, and to restore;

  And by her beautiful array of forms

  Shedding sweet influence from above; or pure

  Delight exhaling from the ground they tread.”

  “Impute it not to impatience, if,” exclaimed

  The Wanderer, “I infer that he was healed 190

  By perseverance in the course prescribed.”

  “You do not err: the powers, that had been lost

  By slow degrees, were gradually regained;

  The fluttering nerves composed; the beating heart

  In rest established; and the jarring thoughts

  To harmony restored.—But yon dark mould

  Will cover him, in the fulness of his strength,

  Hastily smitten by a fever’s force;

  Yet not with stroke so sudden as refused

  Time to look back with tenderness on her 200

  Whom he had loved in passion; and to send

  Some farewell words—with one, but one, request;

  That, from his dying hand, she would accept

  Of his possessions that which most he prized;

  A book, upon whose leaves some chosen plants,

  By his own hand disposed with nicest care,

  In undecaying beauty were preserved;

  Mute register, to him, of time and place,

  And various fluctuations in the breast;

  To her, a monument of faithful love 210

  Conquered, and in tranquillity retained!

  Close to his destined habitation, lies

  One who achieved a humbler victory,

  Though marvellous in its kind. A place there is

  High in these mountains, that allured a band

  Of keen adventurers to unite their pains

  In search of precious ore: they tried, were foiled—

  And all desisted, all, save him alone.

  He, taking counsel of his own clear thoughts,

  And trusting only to his own weak hands, 220

  Urged unremittingly the stubborn work,

  Unseconded, uncountenanced; then, as time

  Passed on, while still his lonely efforts found

  No recompense, derided; and at length,

  By many pitied, as insane of mind;

  By others dreaded as the luckless thrall

  Of subterranean Spirits feeding hope

  By various mockery of sight and sound;

  Hope after hope, encouraged and destroyed.

  —But when the lord of seasons had matured 230

  The fruits of earth through space of twice ten years,

  The mountain’s entrails offered to his view

  And trembling grasp the long-deferred reward.

  Not with more transport did Columbus greet

  A world, his rich discovery! But our Swain,

  A very hero till his point was gained,

  Proved all unable to support the weight

  Of prosperous fortune. On the fields he looked

  With an unsettled liberty of thought,

  Wishes and endless schemes; by daylight walked 240

  Giddy and restless; ever and anon

  Quaffed in his gratitude immoderate cups;

  And truly might be said to die of joy!

  He vanished; but conspicuous to this day

  The path remains that linked his cottage-door

  To the mine’s mouth; a long and slanting track,

  Upon the rugged mountain’s stony side,

  Worn by his daily visits to and from

  The darksome centre of a constant hope.

  This vestige, neither force of beating rain, 250

  Nor the vicissitudes of frost and thaw

  Shall cause to fade, till ages pass away;

  And it is named, in memory of the event,

  The PATH OF PERSEVERANCE.”

  “Thou from whom

  Man has his strength,” exclaimed the Wanderer, “oh!

  Do thou direct it! To the virtuous grant

  The penetrative eye which can perceive

  In this blind world the guiding vein of hope;

  That, like this Labourer, such may dig their way,

  ‘Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified;’ 260

  Grant to the wise ‘his’ firmness of resolve!”

  “That prayer were not superfluous,” said the Priest,

  “Amid the noblest relics, proudest dust,

  That Westminster, for Britain’s glory, holds

  Within the bosom of her awful pile,

  Ambitiously collected. Yet the sigh,

  Which wafts that prayer to heaven, is due to all,

  Wherever laid, who living fell below

  Their virtue’s humbler mark; a sigh of ‘pain’

  If to the opposite extreme they sank. 270

  How would you pity her who yonder rests;

  Him, farther off; the pair, who here are laid;

  But, above all, that mixture of earth’s mould

  Whom sight of this green hillock to my mind

  Recalls!

  ‘He’ lived not till his locks were nipped

  By seasonable frost of age; nor died

  Before his temples, prematurely forced

  To mix the manly brown with silver grey,

  Gave obvious instance of the sad effect

  Produced, when thoughtless Folly hath usurped 280

  The natural crown that sage Experience wears.

  Gay, volatile, ingenious, quick to learn,

  And prompt to exhibit all that he possessed

  Or could perform; a zealous actor, hired

  Into the troop of mirth,
a soldier, sworn

  Into the lists of giddy enterprise—

  Such was he; yet, as if within his frame

  Two several souls alternately had lodged,

  Two sets of manners could the Youth put on;

  And, fraught with antics as the Indian bird 290

  That writhes and chatters in her wiry cage,

  Was graceful, when it pleased him, smooth and still

  As the mute swan that floats adown the stream,

  Or, on the waters of the unruffled lake,

  Anchors her placid beauty. Not a leaf,

  That flutters on the bough, lighter than he;

  And not a flower, that droops in the green shade,

  More winningly reserved! If ye enquire

  How such consummate elegance was bred

  Amid these wilds, this answer may suffice; 300

  ‘Twas Nature’s will; who sometimes undertakes,

  For the reproof of human vanity,

  Art to outstrip in her peculiar walk.

  Hence, for this Favourite—lavishly endowed

  With personal gifts, and bright instinctive wit,

  While both, embellishing each other, stood

  Yet farther recommended by the charm

  Of fine demeanour, and by dance and song,

  And skill in letters—every fancy shaped

  Fair expectations; nor, when to the world’s 310

  Capacious field forth went the Adventurer, there

  Were he and his attainments overlooked,

  Or scantily rewarded; but all hopes,

  Cherished for him, he suffered to depart,

  Like blighted buds; or clouds that mimicked land

  Before the sailor’s eye; or diamond drops

  That sparkling decked the morning grass; or aught

  That ‘was’ attractive, and hath ceased to be!

  Yet, when this Prodigal returned, the rites

  Of joyful greeting were on him bestowed, 320

  Who, by humiliation undeterred,

  Sought for his weariness a place of rest

  Within his Father’s gates.—Whence came he?—clothed

  In tattered garb, from hovels where abides

  Necessity, the stationary host

  Of vagrant poverty; from rifted barns

  Where no one dwells but the wide-staring owl

  And the owl’s prey; from these bare haunts, to which

  He had descended from the proud saloon,

  He came, the ghost of beauty and of health, 330

  The wreck of gaiety! But soon revived

  In strength, in power refitted, he renewed

  His suit to Fortune; and she smiled again

  Upon a fickle Ingrate. Thrice he rose,

  Thrice sank as willingly. For he—whose nerves

  Were used to thrill with pleasure, while his voice

  Softly accompanied the tuneful harp,

  By the nice finger of fair ladies touched

  In glittering halls—was able to derive

  No less enjoyment from an abject choice. 340

  Who happier for the moment—who more blithe

  Than this fallen Spirit? in those dreary holds

  His talents lending to exalt the freaks

  Of merry-making beggars,—nor provoked

  To laughter multiplied in louder peals

  By his malicious wit; then, all enchained

  With mute astonishment, themselves to see

  In their own arts outdone, their fame eclipsed,

  As by the very presence of the Fiend

  Who dictates and inspires illusive feats, 350

  For knavish purposes! The city, too,

  (With shame I speak it) to her guilty bowers

  Allured him, sunk so low in self-respect

  As there to linger, there to eat his bread,

  Hired minstrel of voluptuous blandishment;

  Charming the air with skill of hand or voice,

  Listen who would, be wrought upon who might,

  Sincerely wretched hearts, or falsely gay.

  —Such the too frequent tenor of his boast

  In ears that relished the report;—but all 360

  Was from his Parents happily concealed;

  Who saw enough for blame and pitying love.

  They also were permitted to receive

  His last, repentant breath; and closed his eyes,

  No more to open on that irksome world

  Where he had long existed in the state

  Of a young fowl beneath one mother hatched,

  Though from another sprung, different in kind:

  Where he had lived, and could not cease to live,

  Distracted in propensity; content 370

  With neither element of good or ill;

  And yet in both rejoicing; man unblest;

  Of contradictions infinite the slave,

  Till his deliverance, when Mercy made him

  One with himself, and one with them that sleep.”

  “‘Tis strange,” observed the Solitary, “strange

  It seems, and scarcely less than pitiful,

  That in a land where charity provides

  For all that can no longer feed themselves,

  A man like this should choose to bring his shame 380

  To the parental door; and with his sighs

  Infect the air which he had freely breathed

  In happy infancy. He could not pine,

  Through lack of converse; no—he must have found

  Abundant exercise for thought and speech,

  In his dividual being, self-reviewed,

  Self-catechised, self-punished.—Some there are

  Who, drawing near their final home, and much

  And daily longing that the same were reached,

  Would rather shun than seek the fellowship 390

  Of kindred mould.—Such haply here are laid?”

  “Yes,” said the Priest, “the Genius of our hills—

  Who seems, by these stupendous barriers cast

  Round his domain, desirous not alone

  To keep his own, but also to exclude

  All other progeny—doth sometimes lure,

  Even by his studied depth of privacy,

  The unhappy alien hoping to obtain

  Concealment, or seduced by wish to find,

  In place from outward molestation free, 400

  Helps to internal ease. Of many such

  Could I discourse; but as their stay was brief,

  So their departure only left behind

  Fancies, and loose conjectures. Other trace

  Survives, for worthy mention, of a pair

  Who, from the pressure of their several fates,

  Meeting as strangers, in a petty town

  Whose blue roofs ornament a distant reach

  Of this far-winding vale, remained as friends

  True to their choice; and gave their bones in trust 410

  To this loved cemetery, here to lodge

  With unescutcheoned privacy interred

  Far from the family vault.—A Chieftain one

  By right of birth; within whose spotless breast

  The fire of ancient Caledonia burned:

  He, with the foremost whose impatience hailed

  The Stuart, landing to resume, by force

  Of arms, the crown which bigotry had lost,

  Aroused his clan; and, fighting at their head,

  With his brave sword endeavoured to prevent 420

  Culloden’s fatal overthrow. Escaped

  From that disastrous rout, to foreign shores

  He fled; and when the lenient hand of time

  Those troubles had appeased, he sought and gained,

  For his obscured condition, an obscure

  Retreat, within this nook of English ground.

  The other, born in Britain’s southern tract,

  Had fixed his milder loyalty, and placed

  His gentler sentiments of love and hate,


  There, where ‘they’ placed them who in conscience prized 430

  The new succession, as a line of kings

  Whose oath had virtue to protect the land

  Against the dire assaults of papacy

  And arbitrary rule. But launch thy bark

  On the distempered flood of public life,

  And cause for most rare triumph will be thine

  If, spite of keenest eye and steadiest hand,

  The stream, that bears thee forward, prove not, soon

  Or late, a perilous master. He—who oft,

  Beneath the battlements and stately trees 440

  That round his mansion cast a sober gloom,

  Had moralised on this, and other truths

  Of kindred import, pleased and satisfied—

  Was forced to vent his wisdom with a sigh

  Heaved from the heart in fortune’s bitterness,

  When he had crushed a plentiful estate

  By ruinous contest, to obtain a seat

  In Britain’s senate. Fruitless was the attempt;

  And while the uproar of that desperate strife

  Continued yet to vibrate on his ear, 450

  The vanquished Whig, under a borrowed name,

  (For the mere sound and echo of his own

  Haunted him with sensations of disgust

  That he was glad to lose) slunk from the world

  To the deep shade of those untravelled Wilds;

  In which the Scottish Laird had long possessed

  An undisturbed abode. Here, then, they met,

  Two doughty champions; flaming Jacobite

  And sullen Hanoverian! You might think

  That losses and vexations, less severe 460

  Than those which they had severally sustained,

  Would have inclined each to abate his zeal

  For his ungrateful cause; no,—I have heard

  My reverend Father tell that, ‘mid the calm

  Of that small town encountering thus, they filled,

  Daily, its bowling-green with harmless strife;

  Plagued with uncharitable thoughts the church;

  And vexed the market-place. But in the breasts

  Of these opponents gradually was wrought,

  With little change of general sentiment, 470

  Such leaning towards each other, that their days

  By choice were spent in constant fellowship;

  And if, at times, they fretted with the yoke,

  Those very bickerings made them love it more.

  A favourite boundary to their lengthened walks

  This Churchyard was. And, whether they had come

  Treading their path in sympathy and linked

  In social converse, or by some short space

  Discreetly parted to preserve the peace,

  One spirit seldom failed to extend its sway 480

  Over both minds, when they awhile had marked

  The visible quiet of this holy ground,