Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  Of travellers, chiefly delegates, returning

  From the great spousals newly solemnised

  At their chief city, in the sight of Heaven. 390

  Like bees they swarmed, gaudy and gay as bees;

  Some vapoured in the unruliness of joy,

  And with their swords flourished as if to fight

  The saucy air. In this proud 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

  We rose at signal given, and formed a ring

  And, hand in hand, danced round and round the board; 400

  All hearts were open, every tongue was loud

  With amity and glee; we bore a name

  Honoured in France, the name of Englishmen,

  And hospitably did they give us hail,

  As their forerunners in a glorious course;

  And round and round the board we danced again.

  With these blithe friends our voyage we renewed

  At early dawn. The monastery bells

  Made a sweet jingling in our youthful ears;

  The rapid river flowing without noise, 410

  And each uprising or receding spire

  Spake with a sense of peace, at intervals

  Touching the heart amid the boisterous crew

  By whom we were encompassed. Taking leave

  Of this glad throng, foot-travellers side by side,

  Measuring our steps in quiet, we pursued

  Our journey, and ere twice the sun had set

  Beheld the Convent of Chartreuse, and there

  Rested within an awful ‘solitude’:

  Yes, for even then no other than a place 420

  Of soul-affecting ‘solitude’ appeared

  That far-famed region, though our eyes had seen,

  As toward the sacred mansion we advanced,

  Arms flashing, and a military glare

  Of riotous men commissioned to expel

  The blameless inmates, and belike subvert

  That frame of social being, which so long

  Had bodied forth the ghostliness of things

  In silence visible and perpetual calm.

  —”Stay, stay your sacrilegious hands!”—The voice 430

  Was Nature’s, uttered from her Alpine throne;

  I heard it then and seem to hear it now—

  “Your impious work forbear, perish what may,

  Let this one temple last, be this one spot

  Of earth devoted to eternity!”

  She ceased to speak, but while St. Bruno’s pines

  Waved their dark tops, not silent as they waved,

  And while below, along their several beds,

  Murmured the sister streams of Life and Death,

  Thus by conflicting passions pressed, my heart 440

  Responded; “Honour to the patriot’s zeal!

  Glory and hope to new-born Liberty!

  Hail to the mighty projects of the time!

  Discerning sword that Justice wields, do thou

  Go forth and prosper; and, ye purging fires,

  Up to the loftiest towers of Pride ascend,

  Fanned by the breath of angry Providence.

  But oh! if Past and Future be the wings

  On whose support harmoniously conjoined

  Moves the great spirit of human knowledge, spare 450

  These courts of mystery, where a step advanced

  Between the portals of the shadowy rocks

  Leaves far behind life’s treacherous vanities,

  For penitential tears and trembling hopes

  Exchanged—to equalise in God’s pure sight

  Monarch and peasant: be the house redeemed

  With its unworldly votaries, for the sake

  Of conquest over sense, hourly achieved

  Through faith and meditative reason, resting

  Upon the word of heaven-imparted truth, 460

  Calmly triumphant; and for humbler claim

  Of that imaginative impulse sent

  From these majestic floods, yon shining cliffs,

  The untransmuted shapes of many worlds,

  Cerulean ether’s pure inhabitants,

  These forests unapproachable by death,

  That shall endure as long as man endures,

  To think, to hope, to worship, and to feel,

  To struggle, to be lost within himself

  In trepidation, from the blank abyss 470

  To look with bodily eyes, and be consoled.”

  Not seldom since that moment have I wished

  That thou, O Friend! the trouble or the calm

  Hadst shared, when, from profane regards apart,

  In sympathetic reverence we trod

  The floors of those dim cloisters, till that hour,

  From their foundation, strangers to the presence

  Of unrestricted and unthinking man.

  Abroad, how cheeringly the sunshine lay

  Upon the open lawns! Vallombre’s groves 480

  Entering, we fed the soul with darkness; thence

  Issued, and with uplifted eyes beheld,

  In different quarters of the bending sky,

  The cross of Jesus stand erect, as if

  Hands of angelic powers had fixed it there,

  Memorial reverenced by a thousand storms;

  Yet then, from the undiscriminating sweep

  And rage of one State-whirlwind, insecure.

  ‘Tis not my present purpose to retrace

  That variegated journey step by step. 490

  A march it was of military speed,

  And Earth did change her images and forms

  Before us, fast as clouds are changed in heaven.

  Day after day, up early and down late,

  From hill to vale we dropped, from vale to hill

  Mounted—from province on to province swept,

  Keen hunters in a chase of fourteen weeks,

  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, 500

  Enticing valleys, greeted them and left

  Too soon, while yet the very flash and gleam

  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,

  Those sanctified abodes of peaceful man,

  Pleased (though to hardship born, and compassed round

  With danger, varying as the seasons change), 510

  Pleased with his daily task, or, if not pleased,

  Contented, from the moment that the dawn

  (Ah! surely not without attendant gleams

  Of soul-illumination) calls him forth

  To industry, by glistenings flung on rocks,

  Whose evening shadows lead him to repose.

  Well might a stranger look with bounding heart

  Down on a green recess, the first I saw

  Of those deep haunts, an aboriginal vale,

  Quiet and lorded over and possessed 520

  By naked huts, wood-built, and sown like tents

  Or Indian cabins over the fresh lawns

  And by the river side.

  That very day,

  From a bare ridge we also first beheld

  Unveiled the summit of Mont Blanc, and grieved

  To have a soulless image on the eye

  That had usurped upon a living thought

  That never more could be. The wondrous Vale

  Of Chamouny stretched far below, and soon

  With its dumb cataracts and streams of ice, 530

  A motionless array of mighty waves,

  Five rivers broad and vast, made rich amends,
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  And reconciled us to realities;

  There small birds warble from the leafy trees,

  The eagle soars high in the element,

  There doth the reaper bind the yellow sheaf,

  The maiden spread the haycock in the sun,

  While Winter like a well-tamed lion walks,

  Descending from the mountain to make sport

  Among the cottages by beds of flowers. 540

  Whate’er in this wide circuit we beheld,

  Or heard, was fitted to our unripe state

  Of intellect and heart. With such a book

  Before our eyes, we could not choose but read

  Lessons of genuine brotherhood, the plain

  And universal reason of mankind,

  The truths of young and old. Nor, side by side

  Pacing, two social pilgrims, or alone

  Each with his humour, could we fail to abound

  In dreams and fictions, pensively composed: 550

  Dejection taken up for pleasure’s sake,

  And gilded sympathies, the willow wreath,

  And sober posies of funereal flowers,

  Gathered among those solitudes sublime

  From formal gardens of the lady Sorrow,

  Did sweeten many a meditative hour.

  Yet still in me with those soft luxuries

  Mixed something of stern mood, an underthirst

  Of vigour seldom utterly allayed:

  And from that source how different a sadness 560

  Would issue, let one incident make known.

  When from the Vallais we had turned, and clomb

  Along the Simplon’s steep and rugged road,

  Following a band of muleteers, we reached

  A halting-place, where all together took

  Their noon-tide meal. Hastily rose our guide,

  Leaving us at the board; awhile we lingered,

  Then paced the beaten downward way that led

  Right to a rough stream’s edge, and there broke off;

  The only track now visible was one 570

  That from the torrent’s further brink held forth

  Conspicuous invitation to ascend

  A lofty mountain. After brief delay

  Crossing the unbridged stream, that road we took,

  And clomb with eagerness, till anxious fears

  Intruded, for we failed to overtake

  Our comrades gone before. By fortunate chance,

  While every moment added doubt to doubt,

  A peasant met us, from whose mouth we learned

  That to the spot which had perplexed us first 580

  We must descend, and there should find the road,

  Which in the stony channel of the stream

  Lay a few steps, and then along its banks;

  And, that our future course, all plain to sight,

  Was downwards, with the current of that stream.

  Loth to believe what we so grieved to hear,

  For still we had hopes that pointed to the clouds,

  We questioned him again, and yet again;

  But every word that from the peasant’s lips

  Came in reply, translated by our feelings, 590

  Ended in this,—’that we had crossed the Alps’.

  Imagination—here the Power so called

  Through sad incompetence of human speech,

  That awful Power rose from the mind’s abyss

  Like an unfathered vapour that enwraps,

  At once, some lonely traveller. I was lost;

  Halted without an effort to break through;

  But to my conscious soul I now can say—

  “I recognise thy glory:” in such strength

  Of usurpation, when the light of sense 600

  Goes out, but with a flash that has revealed

  The invisible world, doth greatness make abode,

  There harbours; whether we be young or old,

  Our destiny, our being’s heart and home,

  Is with infinitude, and only there;

  With hope it is, hope that can never die,

  Effort, and expectation, and desire,

  And something evermore about to be.

  Under such banners militant, the soul

  Seeks for no trophies, struggles for no spoils 610

  That may attest her prowess, blest in thoughts

  That are their own perfection and reward,

  Strong in herself and in beatitude

  That hides her, like the mighty flood of Nile

  Poured from his fount of Abyssinian clouds

  To fertilise the whole Egyptian plain.

  The melancholy slackening that ensued

  Upon those tidings by the peasant given

  Was soon dislodged. Downwards we hurried fast,

  And, with the half-shaped road which we had missed, 620

  Entered a narrow chasm. The brook and road

  Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy strait,

  And with them did we journey several hours

  At a slow pace. The immeasurable height

  Of woods decaying, never to be decayed,

  The stationary blasts of waterfalls,

  And in the narrow rent at every turn

  Winds thwarting winds, bewildered and forlorn,

  The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky,

  The rocks that muttered close upon our ears, 630

  Black drizzling crags that spake by the way-side

  As if a voice were in them, the sick sight

  And giddy prospect of the raving stream,

  The unfettered clouds and region of the Heavens,

  Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light—

  Were all like workings of one mind, the features

  Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree;

  Characters of the great Apocalypse,

  The types and symbols of Eternity,

  Of first, and last, and midst, and without end. 640

  That night our lodging was a house that stood

  Alone within the valley, at a point

  Where, tumbling from aloft, a torrent swelled

  The rapid stream whose margin we had trod;

  A dreary mansion, large beyond all need,

  With high and spacious rooms, deafened and stunned

  By noise of waters, making innocent sleep

  Lie melancholy among weary bones.

  Uprisen betimes, our journey we renewed,

  Led by the stream, ere noon-day magnified 650

  Into a lordly river, broad and deep,

  Dimpling along in silent majesty,

  With mountains for its neighbours, and in view

  Of distant mountains and their snowy tops,

  And thus proceeding to Locarno’s Lake,

  Fit resting-place for such a visitant.

  Locarno! spreading out in width like Heaven,

  How dost thou cleave to the poetic heart,

  Bask in the sunshine of the memory;

  And Como! thou, a treasure whom the earth 660

  Keeps to herself, confined as in a depth

  Of Abyssinian privacy. I spake

  Of thee, thy chestnut woods, and garden plots

  Of Indian corn tended by dark-eyed maids;

  Thy lofty steeps, and pathways roofed with vines,

  Winding from house to house, from town to town,

  Sole link that binds them to each other; walks,

  League after league, and cloistral avenues,

  Where silence dwells if music be not there:

  While yet a youth undisciplined in verse, 670

  Through fond ambition of that hour I strove

  To chant your praise; nor can approach you now

  Ungreeted by a more melodious Song,

  Where tones of Nature smoothed by learned Art

  May flow in lasting current. Like a breeze

  Or sunbeam over your domain I passed

  In motion without pause; but ye have left


  Your beauty with me, a serene accord

  Of forms and colours, passive, yet endowed

  In their submissiveness with power as sweet 680

  And gracious, almost, might I dare to say,

  As virtue is, or goodness; sweet as love,

  Or the remembrance of a generous deed,

  Or mildest visitations of pure thought,

  When God, the giver of all joy, is thanked

  Religiously, in silent blessedness;

  Sweet as this last herself, for such it is.

  With those delightful pathways we advanced,

  For two days’ space, in presence of the Lake,

  That, stretching far among the Alps, assumed 690

  A character more stern. The second night,

  From sleep awakened, and misled by sound

  Of the church clock telling the hours with strokes

  Whose import then we had not learned, we rose

  By moonlight, doubting not that day was nigh,

  And that meanwhile, by no uncertain path,

  Along the winding margin of the lake,

  Led, as before, we should behold the scene

  Hushed in profound repose. We left the town

  Of Gravedona with this hope; but soon 700

  Were lost, bewildered among woods immense,

  And on a rock sate down, to wait for day.

  An open place it was, and overlooked,

  From high, the sullen water far beneath,

  On which a dull red image of the moon

  Lay bedded, changing oftentimes its form

  Like an uneasy snake. From hour to hour

  We sate and sate, wondering, as if the night

  Had been ensnared by witchcraft. On the rock

  At last we stretched our weary limbs for sleep, 710

  But ‘could not’ sleep, tormented by the stings

  Of insects, which, with noise like that of noon,

  Filled all the woods: the cry of unknown birds;

  The mountains more by blackness visible

  And their own size, than any outward light;

  The breathless wilderness of clouds; the clock

  That told, with unintelligible voice,

  The widely parted hours; the noise of streams,

  And sometimes rustling motions nigh at hand,

  That did not leave us free from personal fear; 720

  And, lastly, the withdrawing moon, that set

  Before us, while she still was high in heaven;—

  These were our food; and such a summer’s night

  Followed that pair of golden days that shed

  On Como’s Lake, and all that round it lay,

  Their fairest, softest, happiest influence.

  But here I must break off, and bid farewell

  To days, each offering some new sight, or fraught

  With some untried adventure, in a course

  Prolonged till sprinklings of autumnal snow 730

  Checked our unwearied steps. Let this alone