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Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

Page 90

by William Wordsworth


  Was audible, among the hills I sate 365

  Alone, upon some jutting eminence

  At the first hour of morning, when the Vale

  Lay quiet in an utter solitude.

  How shall I trace the history, where seek

  The origin of what I then have felt? 370

  Oft in these moments such a holy calm

  Did overspread my soul, that I forgot

  That I had bodily eyes, and what I saw

  Appear’d like something in myself, a dream,

  A prospect in my mind. 375

  ‘Twere long to tell

  What spring and autumn, what the winter snows,

  And what the summer shade, what day and night,

  The evening and the morning, what my dreams

  And what my waking thoughts supplied, to nurse 380

  That spirit of religious love in which

  I walked with Nature. But let this, at least

  Be not forgotten, that I still retain’d

  My first creative sensibility,

  That by the regular action of the world 385

  My soul was unsubdu’d. A plastic power

  Abode with me, a forming hand, at times

  Rebellious, acting in a devious mood,

  A local spirit of its own, at war

  With general tendency, but for the most 390

  Subservient strictly to the external things

  With which it commun’d. An auxiliar light

  Came from my mind which on the setting sun

  Bestow’d new splendor, the melodious birds,

  The gentle breezes, fountains that ran on, 395

  Murmuring so sweetly in themselves, obey’d

  A like dominion; and the midnight storm

  Grew darker in the presence of my eye.

  Hence by obeisance, my devotion hence,

  And hence my transport. 400

  Nor should this, perchance,

  Pass unrecorded, that I still have lov’d

  The exercise and produce of a toil

  Than analytic industry to me

  More pleasing, and whose character I deem 405

  Is more poetic as resembling more

  Creative agency. I mean to speak

  Of that interminable building rear’d

  By observation of affinities

  In objects where no brotherhood exists 410

  To common minds. My seventeenth year was come

  And, whether from this habit, rooted now

  So deeply in my mind, or from excess

  Of the great social principle of life,

  Coercing all things into sympathy, 415

  To unorganic natures I transferr’d

  My own enjoyments, or, the power of truth

  Coming in revelation, I convers’d

  With things that really are, I, at this time

  Saw blessings spread around me like a sea. 420

  Thus did my days pass on, and now at length

  From Nature and her overflowing soul

  I had receiv’d so much that all my thoughts

  Were steep’d in feeling; I was only then

  Contented when with bliss ineffable 425

  I felt the sentiment of Being spread

  O’er all that moves, and all that seemeth still,

  O’er all, that, lost beyond the reach of thought

  And human knowledge, to the human eye

  Invisible, yet liveth to the heart, 430

  O’er all that leaps, and runs, and shouts, and sings,

  Or beats the gladsome air, o’er all that glides

  Beneath the wave, yea, in the wave itself

  And mighty depth of waters. Wonder not

  If such my transports were; for in all things 435

  I saw one life, and felt that it was joy.

  One song they sang, and it was audible,

  Most audible then when the fleshly ear,

  O’ercome by grosser prelude of that strain,

  Forgot its functions, and slept undisturb’d. 440

  If this be error, and another faith

  Find easier access to the pious mind,

  Yet were I grossly destitute of all

  Those human sentiments which make this earth

  So dear, if I should fail, with grateful voice 445

  To speak of you, Ye Mountains and Ye Lakes,

  And sounding Cataracts! Ye Mists and Winds

  That dwell among the hills where I was born.

  If, in my youth, I have been pure in heart,

  If, mingling with the world, I am content 450

  With my own modest pleasures, and have liv’d,

  With God and Nature communing, remov’d

  From little enmities and low desires,

  The gift is yours; if in these times of fear,

  This melancholy waste of hopes o’erthrown, 455

  If, ‘mid indifference and apathy

  And wicked exultation, when good men,

  On every side fall off we know not how,

  To selfishness, disguis’d in gentle names

  Of peace, and quiet, and domestic love, 460

  Yet mingled, not unwillingly, with sneers

  On visionary minds; if in this time

  Of dereliction and dismay, I yet

  Despair not of our nature; but retain

  A more than Roman confidence, a faith 465

  That fails not, in all sorrow my support,

  The blessing of my life, the gift is yours,

  Ye mountains! thine, O Nature! Thou hast fed

  My lofty speculations; and in thee,

  For this uneasy heart of ours I find 470

  A never-failing principle of joy,

  And purest passion.

  Thou, my Friend! wert rear’d

  In the great City, ‘mid far other scenes;

  But we, by different roads at length have gain’d 475

  The self-same bourne. And for this cause to Thee

  I speak, unapprehensive of contempt,

  The insinuated scoff of coward tongues,

  And all that silent language which so oft

  In conversation betwixt man and man 480

  Blots from the human countenance all trace

  Of beauty and of love. For Thou hast sought

  The truth in solitude, and Thou art one,

  The most intense of Nature’s worshippers

  In many things my Brother, chiefly here 485

  In this my deep devotion.

  Fare Thee well!

  Health, and the quiet of a healthful mind

  Attend thee! seeking oft the haunts of men,

  And yet more often living with Thyself, 490

  And for Thyself, so haply shall thy days

  Be many, and a blessing to mankind.

  BOOK THIRD.

  RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE

  IT was a dreary morning when the chaise

  Rolled over the flat plains of Huntingdon

  And through the open windows first I saw

  The long-backed chapel of King’s College rear

  His pinnacles above the dusky groves. 5

  Soon afterwards we espied upon the road

  A student clothed in gown and tasselled cap;

  He passed — nor was I master of my eyes

  Till he was left a hundred yards behind.

  The place as we approached seemed more and more 10

  To have an eddy’s force, and sucked us in

  More eagerly at every step we took.

  Onward we drove beneath the castle, down

  By Magdalene Bridge we went and crossed the Cam,

  And at the Hoop we landed, famous inn. 15

  My spirit was up, my thoughts were full of hope;

  Some friends I had — acquaintances who there

  Seemed friends — poor simple schoolboys now hung round

  With honour and importance. In a world

  Of welcome faces up and down I roved — 20

  Questions, dire
ctions, counsel and advice

  Flowed in upon me from all sides. Fresh day

  Of pride and pleasure: to myself I seemed

  A man of business and expense, and went

  From shop to shop about my own affairs, 25

  To tutors or to tailors as befel,

  From street to street with loose and careless heart.

  I was the dreamer, they the dream; I roamed

  Delighted through the motley spectacle:

  Gowns grave or gaudy, doctors, students, streets, 30

  Lamps, gateways, flocks of churches, courts and towers —

  Strange transformation for a mountain youth,

  A northern villager. As if by word

  Of magic or some fairy’s power, at once

  Behold me rich in monies and attired 35

  In splendid clothes, with hose of silk, and hair

  Glittering like rimy trees when frost is keen —

  My lordly dressing-gown, I pass it by,

  With other signs of manhood which supplied

  The lack of beard. The weeks went roundly on, 40

  With invitations, suppers, wine, and fruit,

  Smooth housekeeping within, and all without

  Liberal and suiting gentleman’s array.

  The Evangelist St. John my patron was;

  Three gloomy courts are his, and in the first 45

  Was my abiding-place, a nook obscure.

  Right underneath, the college kitchens made

  A humming sound, less tuneable than bees

  But hardly less industrious; with shrill notes

  Of sharp command and scolding intermixed. 50

  Near me was Trinity’s loquacious clock

  Who never let the quarters, night or day,

  Slip by him unproclaimed, and told the hours

  Twice over with a male and female voice.

  Her pealing organ was my neighbour too; 55

  And from my bedroom I in moonlight nights

  Could see right opposite, a few yards off,

  The antechapel, where the statue stood

  Of Newton with his prism and silent face.

  Of college labours, of the lecturer’s room 60

  All studded round, as thick as chairs could stand,

  With loyal students faithful to their books,

  Half-and-half idlers, hardy recusants,

  And honest dunces; of important days,

  Examinations, when the man was weighed 65

  As in the balance of excessive hopes,

  Tremblings withal and commendable fears,

  Small jealousies and triumphs good or bad —

  I make short mention. Things they were which then

  I did not love, nor do I love them now: 70

  Such glory was but little sought by me,

  And little won. But it is right to say

  That even so early, from the first crude days

  Of settling-time in this my new abode,

  Not seldom I had melancholy thoughts 75

  From personal and family regards,

  Wishing to hope without a hope — some fears

  About my future worldly maintenance,

  And, more than all, a strangeness in my mind,

  A feeling that I was not for that hour 80

  Nor for that place. But wherefore be cast down,

  Why should I grieve? — I was a chosen son.

  For hither I had come with holy powers

  And faculties, whether to work or feel:

  To apprehend all passions and all moods 85

  Which time, and place, and season do impress

  Upon the visible universe, and work

  Like changes there by force of my own mind.

  I was a freeman, in the purest sense

  Was free, and to majestic ends was strong — 90

  I do not speak of learning, moral truth,

  Or understanding—’twas enough for me

  To know that I was otherwise endowed.

  When the first glitter of the show was passed,

  And the first dazzle of the taper-light, 95

  As if with a rebound my mind returned

  Into its former self. Oft did I leave

  My comrades, and the crowd, buildings and groves,

  And walked along the fields, the level fields,

  With heaven’s blue concave reared above my head. 100

  And now it was that through such change entire,

  And this first absence from those shapes sublime

  Wherewith I had been conversant, my mind

  Seemed busier in itself than heretofore —

  At least I more directly recognised 105

  My powers and habits. Let me dare to speak

  A higher language, say that now I felt

  The strength and consolation which were mine.

  As if awakened, summoned, rouzed, constrained,

  I looked for universal things, perused 110

  The common countenance of earth and heaven,

  And, turning the mind in upon itself,

  Pored, watched, expected, listened, spread my thoughts,

  And spread them with a wider creeping, felt

  Incumbencies more awful, visitings 115

  Of the upholder, of the tranquil soul,

  Which underneath all passion lives secure

  A steadfast life. But peace, it is enough

  To notice that I was ascending now

  To such community with highest truth. 120

  A track pursuing not untrod before,

  From deep analogies by thought supplied,

  Or consciousnesses not to be subdued,

  To every natural form, rock, fruit or flower,

  Even the loose stones that cover the highway, 125

  I gave a moral life — I saw them feel,

  Or linked them to some feeling. The great mass

  Lay bedded in a quickening soul, and all

  That I beheld respired with inward meaning.

  Thus much for the one presence, and the life 130

  Of the great whole; suffice it here to add

  That whatsoe’er of terror, or of love,

  Or beauty, Nature’s daily face put on

  From transitory passion, unto this

  I was as wakeful even as waters are 135

  To the sky’s motion, in a kindred sense

  Of passion was obedient as a lute

  That waits upon the touches of the wind.

  So it was with me in my solitude:

  So often among multitudes of men. 140

  Unknown, unthought of, yet I was most rich,

  I had a world about me—’twas my own,

  I made it; for it only lived to me,

  And to the God who looked into my mind.

  Such sympathies would sometimes shew themselves 145

  By outward gestures and by visible looks —

  Some called it madness; such indeed it was,

  If childlike fruitfulness in passing joy,

  If steady moods of thoughtfulness matured

  To inspiration, sort with such a name; 150

  If prophesy be madness, if things viewed

  By poets of old time, and higher up

  By the first men, earth’s first inhabitants,

  May in these tutored days no more be seen

  With undisordered sight. But leaving this, 155

  It was no madness, for I had an eye

  Which in my strongest workings evermore

  Was looking for the shades of difference

  As they lie hid in all exterior forms,

  Near or remote, minute or vast — an eye 160

  Which from a stone, a tree, a withered leaf,

  To the broad ocean and the azure heavens

  Spangled with kindred multitudes of stars,

  Could find no surface where its power might sleep,

  Which spake perpetual logic to my soul, 165

  And by an unrelenting agency

  Did bind my
feelings even as in a chain.

  And here, O friend, have I retraced my life

  Up to an eminence, and told a tale

  Of matters which not falsely I may call 170

  The glory of my youth. Of genius, power,

  Creation, and divinity itself,

  I have been speaking, for my theme has been

  What passed within me. Not of outward things

  Done visibly for other minds — words, signs, 175

  Symbols or actions — but of my own heart

  Have I been speaking, and my youthful mind.

  O heavens, how awful is the might of souls,

  And what they do within themselves while yet

  The yoke of earth is new to them, the world 180

  Nothing but a wild field where they were sown.

  This is in truth heroic argument,

  And genuine prowess — which I wished to touch,

  With hand however weak — but in the main

  It lies far hidden from the reach of words. 185

  Points have we all of us within our souls

  Where all stand single; this I feel, and make

  Breathings for incommunicable powers.

  Yet each man is a memory to himself,

  And, therefore, now that I must quit this theme, 190

  I am not heartless; for there’s not a man

  That lives who hath not had his god-like hours,

  And knows not what majestic sway we have

  As natural beings in the strength of Nature.

  Enough, for now into a populous plain 195

  We must descend. A traveller I am,

  And all my tale is of myself — even so —

  So be it, if the pure in heart delight

  To follow me, and thou, O honoured friend,

  Who in my thoughts art ever at my side, 200

  Uphold as heretofore my fainting steps.

  It hath been told already how my sight

  Was dazzled by the novel show, and how

  Erelong I did into myself return.

  So did it seem, and so in truth it was — 205

  Yet this was but short-lived. Thereafter came

  Observance less devout: I had made a change

  In climate, and my nature’s outward coat

  Changed also, slowly and insensibly.

  To the deep quiet and majestic thoughts 210

  Of loneliness succeeded empty noise

  And superficial pastimes, now and then

  Forced labour, and more frequently forced hopes,

  And, worse than all, a treasonable growth

  Of indecisive judgements that impaired 215

  And shook the mind’s simplicity. And yet

  This was a gladsome time. Could I behold —

  Who less insensible than sodden clay

  On a sea-river’s bed at ebb of tide

  Could have beheld — with undelighted heart 220

  so many happy youths, so wide and fair

 

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