Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  And, reascending the bare common, saw

  A naked pool that lay beneath the hills, 305

  The beacon on the summit, and more near,

  A girl who bore a pitcher on her head

  And seemed with difficult steps to force her way

  Against the blowing wind. It was, in truth,

  An ordinary sight, but I should need 310

  Colours and words that are unknown to man

  To paint the visionary dreariness

  Which, while I looked all round for my lost guide,

  Did at that time invest the naked pool,

  The beacon on the lonely eminence, 315

  The woman, and her garments vexed and tossed

  By the strong wind. When, in bless`ed season,

  With those two dear ones — to my heart so dear —

  When, in the bless`ed time of early love,

  Long afterwards I roamed about 320

  In daily presence of this very scene,

  Upon the naked pool and dreary crags,

  And on the melancholy beacon, fell

  The spirit of pleasure and youth’s golden gleam —

  And think ye not with radiance more divine 325

  From these remembrances, and from the power

  They left behind? So feeling comes in aid

  Of feeling, and diversity of strength

  Attends us, if but once we have been strong.

  Oh mystery of man, from what a depth 330

  Proceed thy honours! I am lost, but see

  In simple childhood something of the base

  On which thy greatness stands — but this I feel,

  That from thyself it is that thou must give,

  Else never canst receive. The days gone by 335

  Come back upon me from the dawn almost

  Of life; the hiding-places of my power

  Seem open, I approach, and then they close;

  I see by glimpses now, when age comes on

  May scarcely see at all; and I would give 340

  While yet we may, as far as words can give,

  A substance and a life to what I feel:

  I would enshrine the spirit of the past

  For future restoration. Yet another

  Of these to me affecting incidents, 345

  With which we will conclude.

  One Christmas-time,

  The day before the holidays began,

  Feverish, and tired, and restless, I went forth

  Into the fields, impatient for the sight 350

  Of those two horses which should bear us home,

  My brothers and myself. There was a crag,

  An eminence, which from the meeting-point

  Of two highways ascending overlooked

  At least a long half-mile of those two roads, 355

  By each of which the expected steeds might come —

  The choice uncertain. Thither I repaired

  Up to the highest summit. ‘Twas a day

  Stormy, and rough, and wild, and on the grass

  I sate half sheltered by a naked wall. 360

  Upon my right hand was a single sheep,

  A whistling hawthorn on my left, and there,

  With those companions at my side, I watched,

  Straining my eyes intensely as the mist

  Gave intermitting prospect of the wood 365

  And plain beneath. Ere I to school returned

  That dreary time, ere I had been ten days

  A dweller in my father’s house, he died,

  And I and my two brothers, orphans then,

  Followed his body to the grave. The event, 370

  With all the sorrow which it brought, appeared

  A chastisement; and when I called to mind

  That day so lately past, when from the crag

  I looked in such anxiety of hope,

  With trite reflections of morality, 375

  Yet in the deepest passion, I bowed low

  To God who thus corrected my desires.

  And afterwards the wind and sleety rain,

  And all the business of the elements,

  The single sheep, and the one blasted tree, 380

  And the bleak music of that old stone wall,

  The noise of wood and water, and the mist

  Which on the line of each of those two roads

  Advanced in such indisputable shapes —

  All these were spectacles and sounds to which 385

  I often would repair, and thence would drink

  As at a fountain. And I do not doubt

  That in this later time, when storm and rain

  Beat on my roof at midnight, or by day

  When I am in the woods, unknown to me 390

  The workings of my spirit thence are brought.

  Thou wilt not languish here, O friend, for whom

  I travel in these dim uncertain ways —

  Thou wilt assist me, as a pilgrim gone

  In quest of highest truth. Behold me then 395

  Once more in Nature’s presence, thus restored,

  Or otherwise, and strengthened once again

  (With memory left of what had been escaped)

  To habits of devoutest sympathy.

  BOOK TWELFTH.

  SAME SUBJECT (CONTINUED)

  FROM Nature doth emotion come, and moods 3

  Of calmness equally are Nature’s gift:

  This is her glory — these two attributes

  Are sister horns that constitute her strength;

  This twofold influence is the sun and shower 5

  Of all her bounties, both in origin

  And end alike benignant. Hence it is

  That genius, which exists by interchange

  Of peace and excitation, finds in her

  His best and purest friend — from her receives 10

  That energy by which he seeks the truth,

  Is rouzed, aspires, grasps, struggles, wishes, craves

  From her that happy stillness of the mind

  Which fits him to receive it when unsought.

  Such benefit may souls of humblest frame 15

  Partake of, each in their degree; ‘tis mine

  To speak of what myself have known and felt —

  Sweet task, for words find easy way, inspired

  By gratitude and confidence in truth.

  Long time in search of knowledge desperate, 20

  I was benighted heart and mind, but now

  On all sides day began to reappear,

  And it was proved indeed that not in vain

  I had been taught to reverence a power

  3Book Thirteenth begins here in 1850 version.

  That is the very quality and shape 25

  And image of right reason, that matures

  Her processes by steady laws, gives birth

  To no impatient or fallacious hopes,

  No heat of passion or excessive zeal,

  No vain conceits, provokes to no quick turns 30

  Of self-applauding intellect, but lifts

  The being into magnanimity,

  Holds up before the mind, intoxicate

  With present objects and the busy dance

  Of things that pass away, a temperate shew 35

  Of objects that endure — and by this course

  Disposes her, when over-fondly set

  On leaving her incumbrances behind,

  To seek in man, and in the frame of life

  Social and individual, what there is 40

  Desirable, affecting, good or fair,

  Of kindred permanence, the gifts divine

  And universal, the pervading grace

  That hath been, is, and shall be. Above all

  Did Nature bring again this wiser mood, 45

  More deeply reestablished in my soul,

  Which, seeing little worthy or sublime

  In what we blazon with the pompous names

  Of power and action, early tutored me

  To look with
feelings of fraternal love 50

  Upon those unassuming things that hold

  A silent station in this beauteous world.

  Thus moderated, thus composed, I found

  Once more in man an object of delight,

  Of pure imagination, and of love; 55

  And, as the horizon of my mind enlarged,

  Again I took the intellectual eye

  For my instructor, studious more to see

  Great truths, than touch and handle little ones.

  Knowledge was given accordingly: my trust 60

  Was firmer in the feelings which had stood

  The test of such a trial, clearer far

  My sense of what was excellent and right,

  The promise of the present time retired

  Into its true proportion; sanguine schemes, 65

  Ambitious virtues, pleased me less; I sought

  For good in the familiar face of life,

  And built thereon my hopes of good to come.

  With settling judgements now of what would last,

  And what would disappear; prepared to find 70

  Ambition, folly, madness, in the men

  Who thrust themselves upon this passive world

  As rulers of the world — to see in these

  Even when the public welfare is their aim

  Plans without thought, or bottomed on false thought 75

  And false philosophy; having brought to test

  Of solid life and true result the books

  Of modern statists, and thereby perceived

  The utter hollowness of what we name

  The wealth of nations, where alone that wealth 80

  Is lodged, and how encreased; and having gained

  A more judicious knowledge of what makes

  The dignity of individual man —

  Of man, no composition of the thought,

  Abstraction, shadow, image, but the man 85

  Of whom we read, the man whom we behold

  With our own eyes — I could not but inquire,

  Not with less interest than heretofore,

  But greater, though in spirit more subdued,

  Why is this glorious creature to be found 90

  One only in ten thousand? What one is,

  Why may not many be? What bars are thrown

  By Nature in the way of such a hope?

  Our animal wants and the necessities

  Which they impose, are these the obstacles? — 95

  If not, then others vanish into air.

  Such meditations bred an anxious wish

  To ascertain how much of real worth,

  And genuine knowledge, and true power of mind,

  Did at this day exist in those who lived 100

  By bodily labour, labour far exceeding

  Their due proportion, under all the weight

  Of that injustice which upon ourselves

  By composition of society

  Ourselves entail. To frame such estimate 105

  I chiefly looked (what need to look beyond?)

  Among the natural abodes of men,

  Fields with their rural works — recalled to mind

  My earliest notices, with these compared

  The observations of my later youth 110

  Continued downwards to that very day.

  For time had never been in which the throes

  And mighty hopes of nations, and the stir

  And tumult of the world, to me could yield —

  How far soe’er transported and possessed — 115

  Full measure of content, but still I craved

  An intermixture of distinct regards

  And truths of individual sympathy

  Nearer ourselves. Such often might be gleaned

  From that great city — else it must have been 120

  A heart-depressing wilderness indeed,

  Full soon to me a wearisome abode —

  But much was wanting; therefore did I turn

  To you, ye pathways and ye lonely roads,

  Sought you enriched with every thing I prized, 125

  With human kindness and with Nature’s joy.

  Oh, next to one dear state of bliss, vouchsafed

  Alas to few in this untoward world,

  The bliss of walking daily in life’s prime

  Through field or forest with the maid we love 130

  While yet our hearts are young, while yet we breathe

  Nothing but happiness, living in some place,

  Deep vale, or anywhere the home of both,

  From which it would be misery to stir —

  Oh, next to such enjoyment of our youth, 135

  In my esteem next to such dear delight,

  Was that of wandering on from day to day

  Where I could meditate in peace, and find

  The knowledge which I love, and teach the sound

  Of poet’s music to strange fields and groves, 140

  Converse with men, where if we meet a face

  We almost meet a friend, on naked moors

  With long, long ways before, by cottage bench,

  Or well-spring where the weary traveller rests.

  I love a public road: few sights there are 145

  That please me more — such object hath had power

  O’er my imagination since the dawn

  Of childhood, when its disappearing line

  Seen daily afar off, on one bare steep

  Beyond the limits which my feet had trod, 150

  Was like a guide into eternity,

  At least to things unknown and without bound.

  Even something of the grandeur which invests

  The mariner who sails the roaring sea

  Through storm and darkness, early in my mind 155

  Surrounded too the wanderers of the earth —

  Grandeur as much, and loveliness far more.

  Awed have I been by strolling bedlamites;

  From many other uncouth vagrants, passed

  In fear, have walked with quicker step — but why 160

  Take note of this? When I began to inquire,

  To watch and question those I met, and held

  Familiar talk with them, the lonely roads

  Were schools to me in which I daily read

  With most delight the passions of mankind, 165

  There saw into the depth of human souls —

  Souls that appear to have no depth at all

  To vulgar eyes. And now, convinced at heart

  How little that to which alone we give

  The name of education hath to do 170

  With real feeling and just sense, how vain

  A correspondence with the talking world

  Proves to the most — and called to make good search

  If man’s estate, by doom of Nature yoked

  With toil, is therefore yoked with ignorance, 175

  If virtue be indeed so hard to rear,

  And intellectual strength so rare a boon —

  I prized such walks still more; for there I found

  Hope to my hope, and to my pleasure peace

  And steadiness, and healing and repose 180

  To every angry passion. There I heard,

  From mouths of lowly men and of obscure,

  A tale of honour — sounds in unison

  With loftiest promises of good and fair.

  There are who think that strong affections, love 185

  Known by whatever name, is falsely deemed

  A gift (to use a term which they would use)

  Of vulgar Nature — that its growth requires

  Retirement, leisure, language purified

  By manners thoughtful and elaborate — 190

  That whoso feels such passion in excess

  Must live within the very light and air

  Of elegances that are made by man.

  True it is, where oppression worse than death

  Salutes the being at his birth, where grace 195
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br />   Of culture hath been utterly unknown,

  And labour in excess and poverty

  From day to day pre-occupy the ground

  Of the affections, and to Nature’s self

  Oppose a deeper nature — there indeed 200

  Love cannot be; nor does it easily thrive

  In cities, where the human heart is sick,

  And the eye feeds it not, and cannot feed:

  Thus far, no further, is that inference good.

  Yes, in those wanderings deeply did I feel 205

  How we mislead each other, above all

  How books mislead us — looking for their fame

  To judgements of the wealthy few, who see

  By artificial lights — how they debase

  The many for the pleasure of those few, 210

  Effeminately level down the truth

  To certain general notions for the sake

  Of being understood at once, or else

  Through want of better knowledge in the men

  Who frame them, flattering thus our self-conceit 215

  With pictures that ambitiously set forth

  The differences, the outside marks by which

  Society has parted man from man,

  Neglectful of the universal heart.

  Here calling up to mind what then I saw 220

  A youthful traveller, and see daily now

  Before me in my rural neighbourhood —

  Here might I pause, and bend in reverence

  To Nature, and the power of human minds,

  To men as they are men within themselves. 225

  How oft high service is performed within

  When all the external man is rude in shew,

  Not like a temple rich with pomp and gold,

  But a mere mountain-chapel such as shields

  Its simple worshippers from sun and shower. 230

  ‘Of these,’ said I, ‘shall be my song. Of these,

  If future years mature me for the task,

  Will I record the praises, making verse

  Deal boldly with substantial things — in truth

  And sanctity of passion speak of these, 235

  That justice may be done, obeisance paid

  Where it is due. Thus haply shall I teach,

  Inspire, through unadulterated ears

  Pour rapture, tenderness, and hope, my theme

  No other than the very heart of man 240

  As found among the best of those who live

  Not unexalted by religious faith,

  Not uninformed by books (good books, though few),

  In Nature’s presence — thence may I select

  Sorrow that is not sorrow but delight, 245

  And miserable love that is not pain

  To hear of, for the glory that redounds

  Therefrom to human-kind and what we are.

  Be mine to follow with no timid step

  Where knowledge leads me: it shall be my pride 250