Misled as to these latter not alone 125
By common inexperience of youth,
But by the trade in classic niceties,
Delusion to young scholars incident —
And old ones also — by that overprized
And dangerous craft of picking phrases out 130
From languages that want the living voice
To make of them a nature to the heart,
To tell us what is passion, what is truth,
What reason, what simplicity and sense.
Yet must I not entirely overlook 135
The pleasure gathered from the elements
Of geometric science. I had stepped
In these inquiries but a little way,
No farther than the threshold — with regret
Sincere I mention this — but there I found 140
Enough to exalt, to chear me and compose.
With Indian awe and wonder, ignorance
Which even was cherished, did I meditate
Upon the alliance of those simple, pure
Proportions and relations, with the frame 145
And laws of Nature — how they could become
Herein a leader to the human mind —
And made endeavours frequent to detect
The process by dark guesses of my own.
Yet from this source more frequently I drew 150
A pleasure calm and deeper, a still sense
Of permanent and universal sway
And paramount endowment in the mind,
An image not unworthy of the one
Surpassing life, which — out of space and time, 155
Nor touched by welterings of passion — is,
And hath the name of, God. Transcendent peace
And silence did await upon these thoughts
That were a frequent comfort to my youth.
And as I have read of one by shipwreck thrown 160
With fellow sufferers whom the waves had spared
Upon a region uninhabited,
An island of the deep, who having brought
To land a single volume and no more —
A treatise of geometry — was used, 165
Although of food and clothing destitute,
And beyond common wretchedness depressed,
To part from company and take this book,
Then first a self-taught pupil in those truths,
To spots remote and corners of the isle 170
By the seaside, and draw his diagrams
With a long stick upon the sand, and thus
Did oft beguile his sorrow, and almost
Forget his feeling: even so — if things
Producing like effect from outward cause 175
So different may rightly be compared —
So was it with me then, and so will be
With poets ever. Mighty is the charm
Of those abstractions to a mind beset
With images, and haunted by itself, 180
And specially delightful unto me
Was that clear synthesis built up aloft
So gracefully, even then when it appeared
No more than as a plaything, or a toy
Embodied to the sense — not what it is 185
In verity, an independent world
Created out of pure intelligence.
Such dispositions then were mine, almost
Through grace of heaven and inborn tenderness.
And not to leave the picture of that time 190
Imperfect, with these habits I must rank
A melancholy, from humours of the blood
In part, and partly taken up, that loved
A pensive sky, sad days, and piping winds,
The twilight more than dawn, autumn than spring — 195
A treasured and luxurious gloom of choice
And inclination mainly, and the mere
Redundancy of youth’s contentedness.
Add unto this a multitude of hours
Pilfered away by what the bard who sang 200
Of the enchanter Indolence hath called
‘Good-natured lounging’, and behold a map
Of my collegiate life: far less intense
Than duty called for, or, without regard
To duty, might have sprung up of itself 205
By change of accidents; or even — to speak
Without unkindness — in another place.
In summer among distant nooks I roved —
Dovedale, or Yorkshire dales, or through bye-tracts
Of my own native region — and was blest 210
Between those sundry wanderings with a joy
Above all joys, that seemed another morn
Risen on mid-noon: the presence, friend, I mean
Of that sole sister, she who hath been long
Thy treasure also, thy true friend and mine, 215
Now after separation desolate
Restored to me — such absence that she seemed
A gift then first bestowed. The gentle banks
Of Emont, hitherto unnamed in song,
And that monastic castle, on a flat, 220
Low-standing by the margin of the stream,
A mansion not unvisited of old
By Sidney, where, in sight of our Helvellyn,
Some snatches he might pen for aught we know
Of his Arcadia, by fraternal love 225
Inspired — that river and that mouldering dome
Have seen us sit in many a summer hour,
My sister and myself, when, having climbed
In danger through some window’s open space,
We looked abroad, or on the turret’s head 230
Lay listening to the wild-flowers and the grass
As they gave out their whispers to the wind.
Another maid there was, who also breathed
A gladness o’er that season, then to me
By her exulting outside look of youth 235
And placid under-countenance first endeared —
That other spirit, Coleridge, who is now
So near to us, that meek confiding heart,
So reverenced by us both. O’er paths and fields
In all that neighbourhood, through narrow lanes 240
Of eglantine, and through the shady woods,
And o’er the Border Beacon and the waste
Of naked pools and common crags that lay
Exposed on the bare fell, was scattered love —
A spirit of pleasure, and youth’s golden gleam. 245
O friend, we had not seen thee at that time,
And yet a power is on me and a strong
Confusion, and I seem to plant thee there.
Far art thou wandered now in search of health,
And milder breezes — melancholy lot — 250
But thou art with us, with us in the past,
The present, with us in the times to come.
There is no grief, no sorrow, no despair,
No languor, no dejection, no dismay,
No absence scarcely can there be, for those 255
Who love as we do. Speed thee well! divide
Thy pleasure with us; thy returning strength,
Receive it daily as a joy of ours;
Share with us thy fresh spirits, whether gift
Of gales Etesian or of loving thoughts. 260
I too have been a wanderer, but, alas,
How different is the fate of different men,
Though twins almost in genius and in mind.
Unknown unto each other, yea, and breathing
As if in different elements, we were framed 265
To bend at last to the same discipline,
Predestined, if two beings ever were,
To seek the same delights, and have one health,
One happiness. Throughout this narrative,
Else sooner ended, I have known full well 270
For whom I thus record the birth and gro
wth
Of gentleness, simplicity, and truth,
And joyous loves that hallow innocent days
Of peace and self-command. Of rivers, fields,
And groves, I speak to thee, my friend — to thee 275
Who, yet a liveried schoolboy in the depths
Of the huge city, on the leaded roof
Of that wide edifice, thy home and school,
Wast used to lie and gaze upon the clouds
Moving in heaven, or haply, tired of this, 280
To shut thine eyes and by internal light
See trees, and meadows, and thy native stream
Far distant — thus beheld from year to year
Of thy long exile. Nor could I forget
In this late portion of my argument 285
That scarcely had I finally resigned
My rights among those academic bowers
When thou wert thither guided. From the heart
Of London, and from cloisters there, thou cam’st
And didst sit down in temperance and peace, 290
A rigorous student. What a stormy course
Then followed — oh, it is a pang that calls
For utterance, to think how small a change
Of circumstances might to thee have spared
A world of pain, ripened ten thousand hopes 295
For ever withered. Through this retrospect
Of my own college life I still have had
Thy after-sojourn in the self-same place
Present before my eyes, have played with times
(I speak of private business of the thought) 300
And accidents as children do with cards,
Or as a man, who, when his house is built,
A frame locked up in wood and stone, doth still
In impotence of mind by his fireside
Rebuild it to his liking. I have thought 305
Of thee, thy learning, gorgeous eloquence,
And all the strength and plumage of thy youth,
Thy subtle speculations, toils abstruse
Among the schoolmen, and Platonic forms
Of wild ideal pageantry, shaped out 310
From things well-matched, or ill, and words for things —
The self-created sustenance of a mind
Debarred from Nature’s living images,
Compelled to be a life unto itself,
And unrelentingly possessed by thirst 315
Of greatness, love, and beauty. Not alone,
Ah, surely not in singleness of heart
Should I have seen the light of evening fade
Upon the silent Cam, if we had met,
Even at that early time: I needs must hope, 320
Must feel, must trust, that my maturer age
And temperature less willing to be moved,
My calmer habits, and more steady voice,
Would with an influence benign have soothed
Or chased away the airy wretchedness 325
That battened on thy youth. But thou hast trod,
In watchful meditation thou hast trod,
A march of glory, which doth put to shame
These vain regrets; health suffers in thee, else
Such grief for thee would be the weakest thought 330
That ever harboured in the breast of man.
A passing word erewhile did lightly touch
On wanderings of my own, and now to these
My poem leads me with an easier mind.
The employments of three winters when I wore 335
A student’s gown have been already told,
Or shadowed forth as far as there is need —
When the third summer brought its liberty
A fellow student and myself, he too
A mountaineer, together sallied forth, 340
And, staff in hand on foot pursued our way
Towards the distant Alps. An open slight
Of college cares and study was the scheme,
Nor entertained without concern for those
To whom my worldly interests were dear, 345
But Nature then was sovereign in my heart,
And mighty forms seizing a youthful fancy
Had given a charter to irregular hopes.
In any age, without an impulse sent
From work of nations and their goings-on, 350
I should have been possessed by like desire;
But ‘twas a time when Europe was rejoiced,
France standing on the top of golden hours,
And human nature seeming born again.
Bound, as I said, to the Alps, it was our lot 355
To land at Calais on the very eve
Of that great federal day; and there we saw,
In a mean city and among a few,
How bright a face is worn when joy of one
Is joy of tens of millions. Southward thence 360
We took our way, direct through hamlets, towns,
Gaudy with reliques of that festival,
Flowers left to wither on triumphal arcs
And window-garlands. On the public roads —
And once three days successively through paths 365
By which our toilsome journey was abridged —
Among sequestered villages we walked
And found benevolence and blessedness
Spread like a fragrance everywhere, like spring
That leaves no corner of the land untouched. 370
Where elms for many and many a league in files,
With their thin umbrage, on the stately roads
Of that great kingdom rustled o’er our heads,
For ever near us as we paced along,
‘Twas sweet at such a time — with such delights 375
On every side, in prime of youthful strength —
To feed a poet’s tender melancholy
And fond conceit of sadness, to the noise
And gentle undulation which they made.
Unhoused beneath the evening star we saw 380
Dances of liberty, and, in late hours
Of darkness, dances in the open air.
Among the vine-clad hills of Burgundy,
Upon the bosom of the gentle Soane
We glided forward with the flowing stream: 385
Swift Rhone, thou wert the wings on which we cut
Between they lofty rocks. Enchanting show
Those woods and farms and orchards did present,
And single cottages and lurking towns —
Reach after reach, procession without end, 390
Of deep and stately vales. A lonely pair
Of Englishmen we were, and sailed along
Clustered together with a merry crowd
Of those emancipated, with a host
Of travellers, chiefly delegates returning 395
From the great spousals newly solemnized
At their chief city, in the sight of Heaven.
Like bees they swarmed, gaudy and gay as bees;
Some vapoured in the unruliness of joy,
And flourished with their swords as if to fight 400
The saucy air. In this blithe company
We landed, took with them our evening meal,
Guests welcome almost as the angels were
To Abraham of old. The supper done,
With flowing cups elate and happy thoughts 405
We rose at signal given, and formed a ring,
And hand in hand danced round and round the board;
All hearts were open, every tongue was loud
With amity and glee. We bore a name
Honoured in France, the name of Englishmen, 410
And hospitably did they give us hail
As their forerunners in a glorious course;
And round and round the board they danced again.
With this same throng our voyage we pursued
At early dawn; the monastery bells 415
Made a sweet jingling in our youthful e
ars —
The rapid river flowing without noise —
And every spire we saw among the rocks
Spake with a sense of peace, at intervals
Touching the heart amid the boisterous crew 420
With which we were environed. Having parted
From this glad rout, the convent of Chartreuse
Received us two days afterwards, and there
We rested in an awful solitude —
Thence onward to the country of the Swiss. 425
‘Tis not my present purpose to retrace
That variegated journey step by step;
A march it was of military speed,
And earth did change her images and forms 430
Before us fast as clouds are changed in heaven.
Day after day, up early and down late,
From vale to vale, from hill to hill we went,
From province on to province did we pass,
Keen hunters in a chace of fourteen weeks — 435
Eager as birds of prey, or as a ship
Upon the stretch when winds are blowing fair.
Sweet coverts did we cross of pastoral life,
Enticing vallies — greeted them, and left
Too soon, while yet the very flash and gleam 440
Of salutation were not passed away.
Oh, sorrow for the youth who could have seen
Unchastened, unsubdued, unawed, unraised
To patriarchal dignity of mind
And pure simplicity of wish and will, 445
Those sanctified abodes of peaceful man.
My heart leaped up when first I did look down
On that which was first seen of those deep haunts,
A green recess, an aboriginal vale,
Quiet, and lorded over and possessed 450
By naked huts, wood-built, and sown like tents
Or Indian cabins over the fresh lawns
And by the river-side.
That day we first
Beheld the summit of Mount Blanc, and grieved 455
To have a soulless image on the eye
Which had usurped upon a living thought
That never more could be. The wondrous Vale
Of Chamouny did, on the following dawn,
With its dumb cataracts and streams of ice — 460
A motionless array of mighty waves,
Five rivers broad and vast — make rich amends,
And reconciled us to realities.
There small birds warble from the leafy trees,
The eagle soareth in the element, 465
There doth the reaper bind the yellow sheaf,
The maiden spread the haycock in the sun,
While Winter like a tam`ed lion walks,
Descending from the mountain to make sport
Among the cottages by beds of flowers. 470
Whate’er in this wide circuit we beheld
Or heard was fitted to our unripe state
Of intellect and heart. By simple strains
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