Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  And thither took with him his infant babe 910

  And one domestic for their common needs,

  An aged woman. It consoled him here

  To attend upon the orphan and perform

  The office of a nurse to his young child,

  Which, after a short time, by some mistake 915

  Or indiscretion of the father, died.

  The tale I follow to its recess

  Of suffering or of peace, I know not which —

  Theirs be the blame who caused the woe, not mine.

  From that time forth he never uttered word 920

  To any living. An inhabitant

  Of that same town in which the pair had left

  So lively a remembrance of their griefs,

  By chance of business coming within reach

  Of his retirement, to the spot repaired 925

  With the intent to visit him; he reached

  The house and only found the matron there,

  Who told him that his pains were thrown away,

  For that her master never uttered word

  To living soul — not even to her. Behold, 930

  While they were speaking Vaudracour approached,

  But, seeing some one there, just as his hand

  Was stretched towards the garden-gate, he shrunk

  And like a shadow glided out of view.

  Shocked at his savage outside, from the place 935

  The visitor retired.

  Thus lived the youth,

  Cut off from all intelligence with man,

  And shunning even the light of common day.

  Nor could the voice of freedom, which through France 940

  Soon afterwards resounded, public hope,

  Or personal memory of his own deep wrongs,

  Rouze him, but in those solitary shades

  His days he wasted, an imbecile mind.

  BOOK TENTH.

  RESIDENCE IN FRANCE AND FRENCH REVOLUTION

  IT was a beautiful and silent day

  That overspread the countenance of earth,

  Then fading, with unusual quietness,

  When from the Loire I parted, and through scenes

  Of vineyard, orchard, meadow-ground and tilth, 5

  Calm waters, gleams of sun, and breathless trees,

  Towards the fierce metropolis turned my steps

  Their homeward way to England. From his throne

  The King had fallen; the congregated host —

  Dire cloud, upon the front of which was written 10

  The tender mercies of the dismal wind

  That bore it — on the plains of Liberty

  Had burst innocuously. Say more, the swarm

  That came elate and jocund, like a band

  Of eastern hunters, to enfold in ring 15

  Narrowing itself by moments, and reduce

  To the last punctual spot of their despair,

  A race of victims — so they seemed — themselves

  Had shrunk from sight of their own task, and fled

  In terror. Desolation and dismay 20

  Remained for them whose fancies had grown rank

  With evil expectations: confidence

  And perfect triumph to the better cause.

  The state, as if to stamp the final seal

  On her security, and to the world 25

  Shew what she was, a high and fearless soul —

  Or rather in a spirit of thanks to those

  Who had stirred up her slackening faculties

  To a new transition — had assumed with joy

  The body and the venerable name 30

  Of a republic. Lamentable crimes,

  ‘Tis true, had gone before this hour — the work

  Of massacre, in which the senseless sword

  Was prayed to as a judge — but these were past,

  Earth free from them for ever (as was thought), 35

  Ephemeral monsters, to be seen but once,

  Things that could only shew themselves and die.

  This was the time in which, enflamed with hope,

  To Paris I returned. Again I ranged,

  More eagerly than I had done before, 40

  Through the wide city, and in progress passed

  The prison where the unhappy monarch lay,

  Associate with his children and his wife

  In bondage, and the palace, lately stormed

  With roar of cannon and a numerous host. 45

  I crossed — a black and empty area then —

  The square of the Carousel, a few weeks back

  Heaped up with dead and dying, upon these

  And other sights looking as doth a man

  Upon a volume whose contents he knows 50

  Are memorable but from him locked up,

  Being written in a tongue he cannot read,

  So that he questions the mute leaves with pain,

  And half upbraids their silence. But that night

  When on my bed I lay, I was most moved 55

  And felt most deeply in what world I was;

  My room was high and lonely, near the roof

  Of a large mansion or hotel, a spot

  That would have pleased me in more quiet times —

  Nor was it wholly without pleasure then. 60

  With unextinguished taper I kept watch,

  Reading at intervals. The fear gone by

  Pressed on me almost like a fear to come.

  I thought of those September massacres,

  Divided from me by a little month, 65

  And felt and touched them, a substantial dread

  (The rest was conjured up from tragic fictions,

  And mournful calendars of true history,

  Remembrances and dim admonishments):

  ‘The horse is taught his manage, and the wind 70

  Of heaven wheels round and treads in his own steps;

  Year follows year, the tide returns again,

  Day follows day, all things have second birth;

  The earthquake is not satisfied at once’ —

  And in such way I wrought upon myself, 75

  Until I seemed to hear a voice that cried

  To the whole city, ‘Sleep no more!’ To this

  Add comments of a calmer mind — from which

  I could not gather full security —

  But at the best it seemed a place of fear, 80

  Unfit for the repose of night,

  Defenceless as a wood where tigers roam.

  Betimes next morning to the Palace-walk

  Of Orleans I repaired, and entering there

  Was greeted, among divers other notes, 85

  By voices of the hawkers in the crowd

  Brawling, Denunciation of the crimes

  Of Maximilian Robespierre. The speech

  Which in their hands they carried was the same

  Which had been recently pronounced — the day 90

  When Robespierre, well known for what mark

  Some words of indirect reproof had been

  Intended, rose in hardihood, and dared

  The man who had ill surmise of him

  To bring his charge in openness. Whereat, 95

  When a dead pause ensued and no one stirred,

  In silence of all present, from his seat

  Louvet walked singly through the avenue

  And took his station in the Tribune, saying,

  ‘I, Robespierre, accuse thee!’ ‘Tis well known 100

  What was the issue of that charge, and how

  Louvet was left alone without support

  Of his irresolute friends, but these are things

  Of which I speak only as they were storm

  Or sunshine to my individual mind, 105

  No further. Let me than relate that now —

  In some sort seeing with my proper eyes

  That liberty, and life, and death, would soon

  To the remotest corners of the land

  Lie in the arbitre
ment of those who ruled 110

  The capital city; what was struggled for,

  And by what combatants victory must be won;

  The indecision on their part whose aim

  Seemed best, and the straightforward path of those

  Who in attack or in defence alike 115

  Were strong through their impiety — greatly I

  Was agitated. Yea, I could almost

  Have prayed that throughout earth upon all souls

  Worthy of liberty, upon every soul

  Matured to live in plainness and in truth, 120

  The gift of tongues might fall, and men arrive

  From the four quarters of the winds to do

  For France what without help she could not do,

  A work of honour — think not that to this

  I added, work of safety: from such thought, 125

  And the least fear about the end of things,

  I was as far as angels are from guilt.

  Yet did I grieve, nor only grieved, but thought

  Of opposition and of remedies:

  An insignificant stranger and obscure, 130

  Mean as I was, and little graced with powers

  Of eloquence even in my native speech,

  And all unfit for tumult and intrigue,

  Yet would I willingly have taken up

  A service at this time for cause so great, 135

  However dangerous. Inly I revolved

  How much the destiny of man had still

  Hung upon single persons; that there was,

  Transcendent to all local patrimony,

  One nature as there is one sun in heaven; 140

  That objects, even as they are great, thereby

  Do come within the reach of humblest eyes;

  That man was only weak through his mistrust

  And want of hope, where evidence divine

  Proclaimed to him that hope should be most sure; 145

  That, with desires heroic and firm sense,

  A spirit thoroughly faithful to itself,

  Unquenchable, unsleeping, undismayed,

  Was as an instinct among men, a stream

  That gathered up each petty straggling rill 150

  And vein of water, glad to be rolled on

  In safe obedience; that a mind whose rest

  Was where it ought to be, in self-restraint,

  In circumspection and simplicity,

  Fell rarely in entire discomfiture 155

  Below its aim, or met with from without

  A treachery that defeated it or foiled.

  On the other side, I called to mind those truths

  Which are the commonplaces of the schools,

  A theme for boys, too trite even to be felt, 160

  Yet with revelation’s liveliness

  In all their comprehensive bearings known

  And visible to philosophers of old,

  Men who, to business of the world untrained,

  Lived in the shade; and to Harmodius known, 165

  And his compeer Aristogiton; known

  To Brutus — that tyrannic power is weak,

  Hath neither gratitude, nor faith nor love,

  Nor the support of good or evil men,

  To trust in; that the godhead which is ours 170

  Can never utterly be charmed or stilled;

  That nothing hath a natural right to last

  But equity and reason; that all else

  Meets foes irreconcilable, and at best

  Doth live but by variety of disease. 175

  Well might my wishes be intense, my thoughts

  Strong and perturbed, not doubting at that time —

  Creed which ten shameful years have not annulled —

  But that the virtue of one paramount mind 180

  Would have abashed those impious crests, have quelled

  Outrage and bloody power, and in despite

  Of what the people were through ignorance

  And immaturity, and in the teeth

  Of desperate opposition from without, 185

  Have cleared a passage for just government,

  And left a solid birthright to the state,

  Redeemed according to example given

  By ancient lawgivers. In this frame of mind

  Reluctantly to England I returned, 190

  Compelled by nothing less than absolute want

  Of funds for my support; else, well assured

  That I both was and must be of small worth,

  No better than an alien in the land,

  I doubtless should have made a common cause 195

  With some who perished, haply perished too —

  A poor mistaken and bewildered offering,

  Should to the breast of Nature have gone back,

  With all my resolutions, all my hopes,

  A poet only to myself, to men 200

  Useless, and even, belov`ed friend, a soul

  To thee unknown.

  When to my native land,

  After a whole year’s absence, I returned,

  I found the air yet busy with the stir 205

  Of a contention which had been raised up

  Against the traffickers in Negro blood,

  An effort which, though baffled, nevertheless

  Had called back old forgotten principles

  Dismissed from service, had diffused some truths, 210

  And more of virtuous feeling, through the heart

  Of the English people. And no few of those,

  So numerous — little less in verity

  Than a whole nation crying with one voice —

  Who had been crossed in this their just intent 215

  And righteous hope, thereby were well prepared

  To let that journey sleep awhile, and join

  Whatever other caravan appeared

  To travel forward towards Liberty

  With more success. For me that strife had ne’er 220

  Fastened on my affections, nor did now

  Its unsuccessful issue much excite

  My sorrow, having laid this faith to heart,

  That if France prospered good men would not long

  Pay fruitless worship to humanity, 225

  And this most rotten branch of human shame

  (Object, as seemed, of superfluous pains)

  Would fall together with its parent tree.

  Such was my then belief — that there was one,

  And only one, solicitude for all. 230

  And now the strength of Britain was put forth

  In league with the confederated host;

  Not in my single self alone I found,

  But in the minds of all ingenuous youth,

  Change and subversion from this hour. No shock 235

  Given to my moral nature had I known

  Down to that very moment — neither lapse

  Nor turn of sentiment — that might be named

  A revolution, save at this one time:

  All else was progress on the self-same path 240

  On which with a diversity of pace

  I had been travelling; this, a stride at once

  Into another region. True it is,

  ‘Twas not concealed with what ungracious eyes

  Our native rulers from the very first 245

  Had looked upon regenerated France;

  Nor had I doubted that this day would come —

  But in such contemplation I had thought

  Of general interests only, beyond this

  Had never once foretasted the event. 250

  Now had I other business, for I felt

  The ravage of this most unnatural strife

  In my own heart; there lay it like a weight,

  At enmity with all the tenderest springs

  Of my enjoyments. I, who with the breeze 255

  Had played, a green leaf on the blessed tree

  Of my beloved country — nor had wished

  For happier fortune than to wither
there —

  Now from my pleasant station was cut off,

  And tossed about in whirlwinds. I rejoiced, 260

  Yes, afterwards, truth painful to record,

  Exulted in the triumph of my soul

  When Englishmen by thousands were o’erthrown,

  Left without glory on the field, or driven,

  Brave hearts, to shameful flight. It was a grief — 265

  Grief call it not, ‘twas any thing but that —

  A conflict of sensations without name,

  Of which he only who may love the sight

  Of a village steeple as I do can judge,

  When in the congregation, bending all 270

  To their great Father, prayers were offered up

  Or praises for our country’s victories,

  And, ‘mid the simple worshippers perchance

  I only, like an uninvited guest

  Whom no one owned, sate silent — shall I add, 275

  Fed on the day of vengeance yet to come!

  Oh, much have they to account for, who could tear

  By violence at one decisive rent

  From the best youth in England their dear pride,

  Their joy, in England. This, too, at a time 280

  In which worst losses easily might wear

  The best of names; when patriotic love

  Did of itself in modesty give way

  Like the precursor when the deity

  Is come, whose harbinger he is — a time 285

  In which apostacy from ancient faith

  Seemed but conversion to a higher creed;

  Withal a season dangerous and wild —

  A time in which Experience would have plucked

  Flowers out of any hedge to make thereof 290

  A chaplet, in contempt of his grey locks.

  Ere yet the fleet of Britain had gone forth

  On this unworthy service, whereunto

  The unhappy counsel of a few weak men

  Had doomed it, I beheld the vessels lie — 295

  A brood of gallant creatures — on the deep

  I saw them in their rest, a sojourner

  Through a whole month of calm and glassy days

  In that delightful island which protects

  Their place of convocation. There I heard 300

  Each evening, walking by the still sea-shore,

  A monitory sound which never failed —

  The sunset cannon. When the orb went down

  In the tranquillity of Nature, came

  That voice — ill requiem — seldom heard by me 305

  Without a spirit overcast, a deep

  Imagination, thought of woes to come,

  And sorrow for mankind, and pain of heart.

  In France, the men who for their desperate ends

  Had plucked up mercy by the roots were glad 310

  Of this new enemy. Tyrants, strong before

  In devilish pleas, were ten times stronger now,