Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth
Page 83
Had visionary faculties to see
The thing that hath been as the thing that is, 700
Aghast we might behold this crystal Mere
Bedimmed with smoke, in wreaths voluminous,
Flung from the body of devouring fires,
To Taranis erected on the heights
By priestly hands, for sacrifice performed
Exultingly, in view of open day
And full assemblage of a barbarous host;
Or to Andates, female Power! who gave
(For so they fancied) glorious victory.
—A few rude monuments of mountain-stone 710
Survive; all else is swept away.—How bright
The appearances of things! From such, how changed
The existing worship; and with those compared,
The worshippers how innocent and blest!
So wide the difference, a willing mind
Might almost think, at this affecting hour,
That paradise, the lost abode of man,
Was raised again: and to a happy few,
In its original beauty, here restored.
Whence but from thee, the true and only God, 720
And from the faith derived through Him who bled
Upon the cross, this marvellous advance
Of good from evil; as if one extreme
Were left, the other gained.—O ye, who come
To kneel devoutly in yon reverend Pile,
Called to such office by the peaceful sound
Of sabbath bells; and ye, who sleep in earth,
All cares forgotten, round its hallowed walls!
For you, in presence of this little band
Gathered together on the green hill-side, 730
Your Pastor is emboldened to prefer
Vocal thanksgivings to the eternal King;
Whose love, whose counsel, whose commands, have made
Your very poorest rich in peace of thought
And in good works; and him, who is endowed
With scantiest knowledge, master of all truth
Which the salvation of his soul requires.
Conscious of that abundant favour showered
On you, the children of my humble care,
And this dear land, our country, while on earth 740
We sojourn, have I lifted up my soul,
Joy giving voice to fervent gratitude.
These barren rocks, your stern inheritance;
These fertile fields, that recompense your pains;
The shadowy vale, the sunny mountain-top;
Woods waving in the wind their lofty heads,
Or hushed; the roaring waters and the still—
They see the offering of my lifted hands,
They hear my lips present their sacrifice,
They know if I be silent, morn or even: 750
For, though in whispers speaking, the full heart
Will find a vent; and thought is praise to him,
Audible praise, to thee, omniscient Mind,
From whom all gifts descend, all blessings flow!”
This vesper-service closed, without delay,
From that exalted station to the plain
Descending, we pursued our homeward course,
In mute composure, o’er the shadowy lake,
Under a faded sky. No trace remained
Of those celestial splendours; grey the vault— 760
Pure, cloudless, ether; and the star of eve
Was wanting; but inferior lights appeared
Faintly, too faint almost for sight; and some
Above the darkened hills stood boldly forth
In twinkling lustre, ere the boat attained
Her mooring-place; where, to the sheltering tree,
Our youthful Voyagers bound fast her prow,
With prompt yet careful hands. This done, we paced
The dewy fields; but ere the Vicar’s door
Was reached, the Solitary checked his steps; 770
Then, intermingling thanks, on each bestowed
A farewell salutation; and, the like
Receiving, took the slender path that leads
To the one cottage in the lonely dell:
But turned not without welcome promise made
That he would share the pleasures and pursuits
Of yet another summer’s day, not loth
To wander with us through the fertile vales,
And o’er the mountain-wastes. “Another sun,”
Said he, “shall shine upon us, ere we part; 780
Another sun, and peradventure more;
If time, with free consent, be yours to give,
And season favours.”
To enfeebled Power,
From this communion with uninjured Minds,
What renovation had been brought; and what
Degree of healing to a wounded spirit,
Dejected, and habitually disposed
To seek, in degradation of the Kind,
Excuse and solace for her own defects;
How far those erring notions were reformed; 790
And whether aught, of tendency as good
And pure, from further intercourse ensued;
This—if delightful hopes, as heretofore,
Inspire the serious song, and gentle Hearts
Cherish, and lofty Minds approve the past—
My future labours may not leave untold.
1795-1814.
LAODAMIA
This 1815 narrative poem is based on a story from the Trojan War myths, concerning Protesilaus, a Greek hero that sacrificed himself in fulfilment of an oracle. Wordsworth narrates how Laodamia, the wife of Protesilaus, prayed to the gods that her husband may return to her from Hades. He does so and relates the story of his death at the hands of Hector, rebuking the excessive passion of his wife, who cannot bring herself to consent to his return to the shades of death. An underlying theme of the ballad is the weakness of Laodamia’s soul and how uncontrolled love makes her incapable of accepting her husband’s sacrifice. The setting of the poem and its classical style reflect a change Wordsworth’s aims, which occurred in his mature years. Unlike the Lyrical Ballads, this narrative poem looks back to classical models, eschewing the natural world for the ideal.
Wordsworth, close to the time of publication
‘Laodamia’ by George William Joy, c.1910
LAODAMIA
“WITH sacrifice before the rising morn
Vows have I made by fruitless hope inspired;
And from the infernal Gods, ‘mid shades forlorn
Of night, my slaughtered Lord have I required:
Celestial pity I again implore;—
Restore him to my 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,
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?
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!
Mild Hermes spake—and touched her with his wand
That calms all fear; “Such grace hath crowned thy prayer, 20
Laodamia! 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!”
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,
And re-assume his place before her sight.
“Protesilaus, 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.
Not to appal me have the gods bestowed
This precious boon; and blest a sad abode.”
“Great Jove, Laodamia! doth not leave
His gifts imperfect:—Spectre though I be,
I am not sent to scare thee or deceive;
But in reward of thy fidelity.
And something also did my worth obtain;
For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain.
“Thou knowest, the Delphic oracle foretold
That the first Greek who touched the Trojan strand
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!
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 art—
A nobler counsellor than my poor heart.
“But thou, though capable of sternest deed,
Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave;
And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed
Thou should’st elude the malice of the grave:
Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair
As when their breath enriched Thessalian air.
“No Spectre greets me,—no vain Shadow this;
Come, blooming Hero, place thee by my side!
Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss
To me, this day, a second time thy bride!”
Jove frowned in heaven: the conscious Parcae threw
Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue.
“This visage tells thee that my doom is past:
Nor should the change be mourned, even if the joys
Of sense were able to return as fast
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
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
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 Aeson stood a youth ‘mid youthful peers.
“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,
And though his favourite seat be feeble woman’s breast. 90
“But if thou goest, I follow—” “Peace!” he said,—
She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered;
The ghastly colour from his lips had fled;
In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared
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—
The past unsighed for, and the future sure; 0
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,
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
That privilege by virtue.—”Ill,” 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;
“And while my youthful peers before my eyes
(Each hero following his peculiar bent)
Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise
By martial sports,—or, seated in the tent,
Chieftains and kings in council were detained;
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
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,
And on the joys we shared in mortal life,—
The paths which we had 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,
Yet of their number no one dares to die?’
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
In reason, in self-government too slow;
I counsel thee by fortitude to seek
Our blest re-union in the shades below.
The invisible world with thee hath sympathised;
Be thy affections raised and solemnised.
“Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend—
Seeking 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
The fetters of a dream, opposed to love.”—
Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes reappears!
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:
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.
Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved,
She perished; and, as for a wilful crime,
By the just Gods whom no weak pity moved,
Was doomed to wear out her appointed time,
Apart from happy Ghosts, that gather flowers
Of blissful quiet ‘mid unfading bowers.
—Yet tears to human suffering are due;
And mortal hopes defeated and o’erthrown
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
From out the tomb of him for whom she died;
And ever, when such stature t
hey 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!
THE PRELUDE
GROWTH OF A POET’S MIND; AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL POEM
Composed in blank verse, this famous epic poem was originally intended to be the introduction to The Recluse, an unfinished three-part epic. The Prelude is a very personal work, revealing many aspects of Wordsworth’s early and later life. The poet began his great epic in 1798, aged 28, and continued working on it throughout his life. It was eventually published posthumously in 1850 by the poet’s wife. Wordsworth never gave it a title and he referred to it as “the Poem (title not yet fixed upon)” to Coleridge and in a letter to his sister he referred to it as “the poem on the growth of my own mind”. Originally, Wordsworth had planned to write this work together with Coleridge, both poets intending to surpass John Milton’s Paradise Lost.
The Prelude is a poetic reflection on Wordsworth’s own sense of his poetic vocation, as it developed during the course of his life. The poem’s focus and mood is adverse to neoclassical style, favouring a Romantic tone. It commences a literal journey from youth to manhood, as well as narrating a number of later journeys made by the poet, most notably the crossing of the Alps in Book VI and a climactic ascent of Snowdon in the final Book.
All three versions of the poem are presented in this edition:
* The 1799 Prelude, called the Two-Part Prelude, composed 1798-99, containing the first two parts of the later poem.
* The 1805 Prelude, discovered and printed by Ernest de Sélincourt in 1926, in 13 books.
* The 1850 Prelude, published shortly after Wordsworth’s death, in 14 books.
These three versions provide a thorough view of the work’s development, from the poet’s youth until his maturity.
The first edition
CONTENTS
THE TWO BOOK PRELUDE, 1798–99
BOOK I
BOOK II
THE 13 BOOK PRELUDE, 1805
BOOK FIRST.
BOOK SECOND.
BOOK THIRD.
BOOK FOURTH.
BOOK FIFTH.
BOOK SIXTH.
BOOK SEVENTH.
BOOK EIGHTH.
BOOK NINTH.
BOOK TENTH.
BOOK ELEVENTH.
BOOK TWELFTH.
BOOK THIRTEENTH.
THE 14 BOOK PRELUDE, 1850
BOOK FIRST
BOOK SECOND
BOOK THIRD
BOOK FOURTH