Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  Tears from the hearts of others, when their own

  Shall beat no more. Thou, also, there may’st read,

  At leisure, how the enamoured youth was driven,

  By public power abased, to fatal crime,

  Nature’s rebellion against monstrous law; 570

  How, between heart and heart, oppression thrust

  Her mandates, severing whom true love had joined,

  Harassing both; until he sank and pressed

  The couch his fate had made for him; supine,

  Save when the stings of viperous remorse,

  Trying their strength, enforced him to start up,

  Aghast and prayerless. Into a deep wood

  He fled, to shun the haunts of human kind;

  There dwelt, weakened in spirit more and more;

  Nor could the voice of Freedom, which through France 580

  Full speedily resounded, public hope,

  Or personal memory of his own worst wrongs,

  Rouse him; but, hidden in those gloomy shades,

  His days he wasted,—an imbecile mind.

  BOOK TENTH

  RESIDENCE IN FRANCE (continued)

  IT was a beautiful and silent day

  That overspread the countenance of earth,

  Then fading with unusual quietness,—

  A day as beautiful as e’er was given

  To soothe regret, though deepening what it soothed,

  When by the gliding Loire I paused, and cast

  Upon his rich domains, vineyard and tilth,

  Green meadow-ground, and many-coloured woods,

  Again, and yet again, a farewell look;

  Then from the quiet of that scene passed on, 10

  Bound to the fierce Metropolis. From his throne

  The King had fallen, and that invading host—

  Presumptuous cloud, on whose black front was written

  The tender mercies of the dismal wind

  That bore it—on the plains of Liberty

  Had burst innocuous. Say in bolder words,

  They—who had come elate as eastern hunters

  Banded beneath the Great Mogul, when he

  Erewhile went forth from Agra or Lahore,

  Rajahs and Omrahs in his train, intent 20

  To drive their prey enclosed within a ring

  Wide as a province, but, the signal given,

  Before the point of the life-threatening spear

  Narrowing itself by moments—they, rash men,

  Had seen the anticipated quarry turned

  Into avengers, from whose wrath they fled

  In terror. Disappointment and dismay

  Remained for all whose fancies had run wild

  With evil expectations; confidence

  And perfect triumph for the better cause. 30

  The State—as if to stamp the final seal

  On her security, and to the world

  Show what she was, a high and fearless soul,

  Exulting in defiance, or heart-stung

  By sharp resentment, or belike to taunt

  With spiteful gratitude the baffled League,

  That had stirred up her slackening faculties

  To a new transition—when the King was crushed,

  Spared not the empty throne, and in proud haste

  Assumed the body and venerable name 40

  Of a Republic. Lamentable crimes,

  ‘Tis true, had gone before this hour, dire 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,—

  Ephemeral monsters, to be seen but once!

  Things that could only show themselves and die.

  Cheered with this hope, to Paris I returned,

  And ranged, with ardour heretofore unfelt,

  The spacious city, and in progress passed 50

  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 by a furious host.

  I crossed the square (an empty area then!)

  Of the Carrousel, where so late had lain

  The dead, upon the dying heaped, and gazed

  On this and other spots, as doth a man

  Upon a volume whose contents he knows

  Are memorable, but from him locked up, 60

  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

  I felt most deeply in what world I was,

  What ground I trod on, and what air I breathed.

  High was my room and lonely, near the roof

  Of a large mansion or hotel, a lodge

  That would have pleased me in more quiet times;

  Nor was it wholly without pleasure then.

  With unextinguished taper I kept watch, 70

  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 one little month,

  Saw them and touched: the rest was conjured up

  From tragic fictions or true history,

  Remembrances and dim admonishments.

  The horse is taught his manage, and no star

  Of wildest course but treads back his own steps;

  For the spent hurricane the air provides 80

  As fierce a successor; the tide retreats

  But to return out of its hiding-place

  In the great deep; all things have second birth;

  The earthquake is not satisfied at once;

  And in this way I wrought upon myself,

  Until I seemed to hear a voice that cried,

  To the whole city, “Sleep no more.” The trance

  Fled with the voice to which it had given birth;

  But vainly comments of a calmer mind

  Promised soft peace and sweet forgetfulness. 90

  The place, all hushed and silent as it was,

  Appeared unfit for the repose of night,

  Defenceless as a wood where tigers roam.

  With early morning towards the Palace-walk

  Of Orleans eagerly I turned: as yet

  The streets were still; not so those long Arcades;

  There, ‘mid a peal of ill-matched sounds and cries,

  That greeted me on entering, I could hear

  Shrill voices from the hawkers in the throng,

  Bawling, “Denunciation of the Crimes 100

  Of Maximilian Robespierre;” the hand,

  Prompt as the voice, held forth a printed speech,

  The same that had been recently pronounced,

  When Robespierre, not ignorant for what mark

  Some words of indirect reproof had been

  Intended, rose in hardihood, and dared

  The man who had an ill surmise of him

  To bring his charge in openness; whereat,

  When a dead pause ensued, and no one stirred,

  In silence of all present, from his seat 110

  Louvet walked single through the avenue,

  And took his station in the Tribune, saying,

  “I, Robespierre, accuse thee!” Well is known

  The inglorious issue of that charge, and how

  He, who had launched the startling thunderbolt,

  The one bold man, whose voice the attack had sounded,

  Was left without a follower to discharge

  His perilous duty, and retire lamenting

  That Heaven’s best aid is wasted upon men

  Who to themselves are false.

  But these are things 120

  Of which I speak, only as they were storm

  Or sunshine to my individual mind,

  No further. Let me then relate that now—

  In some so
rt seeing with my proper eyes

  That Liberty, and Life, and Death, would soon

  To the remotest corners of the land

  Lie in the arbitrement of those who ruled

  The capital City; what was struggled for,

  And by what combatants victory must be won;

  The indecision on their part whose aim 130

  Seemed best, and the straightforward path of those

  Who in attack or in defence were strong

  Through their impiety—my inmost soul

  Was agitated; yea, I could almost

  Have prayed that throughout earth upon all men,

  By patient exercise of reason made

  Worthy of liberty, all spirits filled

  With zeal expanding in Truth’s holy light,

  The gift of tongues might fall, and power arrive

  From the four quarters of the winds to do 140

  For France, what without help she could not do,

  A work of honour; think not that to this

  I added, work of safety: from all doubt

  Or trepidation for the end of things

  Far was I, 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,

  And one, moreover, little graced with power

  Of eloquence even in my native speech, 150

  And all unfit for tumult or intrigue,

  Yet would I at this time with willing heart

  Have undertaken for a cause so great

  Service however dangerous. 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;

  That objects, even as they are great, thereby

  Do come within the reach of humblest eyes; 160

  That Man is only weak through his mistrust

  And want of hope where evidence divine

  Proclaims to him that hope should be most sure;

  Nor did the inexperience of my youth

  Preclude conviction, that a spirit strong

  In hope, and trained to noble aspirations,

  A spirit thoroughly faithful to itself,

  Is for Society’s unreasoning herd

  A domineering instinct, serves at once

  For way and guide, a fluent receptacle 170

  That gathers up each petty straggling rill

  And vein of water, glad to be rolled on

  In safe obedience; that a mind, whose rest

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

  In circumspection and simplicity,

  Falls rarely in entire discomfiture

  Below its aim, or meets with, from without,

  A treachery that foils it or defeats;

  And, lastly, if the means on human will,

  Frail human will, dependent should betray 180

  Him who too boldly trusted them, I felt

  That ‘mid the loud distractions of the world

  A sovereign voice subsists within the soul,

  Arbiter undisturbed of right and wrong,

  Of life and death, in majesty severe

  Enjoining, as may best promote the aims

  Of truth and justice, either sacrifice,

  From whatsoever region of our cares

  Or our infirm affections Nature pleads,

  Earnest and blind, against the stern decree. 190

  On the other side, I called to mind those truths

  That are the commonplaces of the schools—

  (A theme for boys, too hackneyed for their sires,)

  Yet, with a 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

  And his compeer Aristogiton, known

  To Brutus—that tyrannic power is weak, 200

  Hath neither gratitude, nor faith, nor love,

  Nor the support of good or evil men

  To trust in; that the godhead which is ours

  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

  Lives only by variety of disease.

  Well might my wishes be intense, my thoughts

  Strong and perturbed, not doubting at that time 210

  But that the virtue of one paramount mind

  Would have abashed those impious crests—have quelled

  Outrage and bloody power, and—in despite

  Of what the People long had been and were

  Through ignorance and false teaching, sadder proof

  Of immaturity, and—in the teeth

  Of desperate opposition from without—

  Have cleared a passage for just government,

  And left a solid birthright to the State,

  Redeemed, according to example given 220

  By ancient lawgivers.

  In this frame of mind,

  Dragged by a chain of harsh necessity,

  So seemed it,—now I thankfully acknowledge,

  Forced by the gracious providence of Heaven,—

  To England I returned, else (though assured

  That I both was and must be of small weight,

  No better than a landsman on the deck

  Of a ship struggling with a hideous storm)

  Doubtless, I should have then made common cause

  With some who perished; haply perished too, 230

  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

  Useless, and even, beloved Friend! a soul

  To thee unknown!

  Twice had the trees let fall

  Their leaves, as often Winter had put on

  His hoary crown, since I had seen the surge

  Beat against Albion’s shore, since ear of mine

  Had caught the accents of my native speech 240

  Upon our native country’s sacred ground.

  A patriot of the world, how could I glide

  Into communion with her sylvan shades,

  Erewhile my tuneful haunt? It pleased me more

  To abide in the great City, where I found

  The general air still busy with the stir

  Of that first memorable onset made

  By a strong levy of humanity

  Upon the traffickers in Negro blood;

  Effort which, though defeated, had recalled 250

  To notice old forgotten principles,

  And through the nation spread a novel heat

  Of virtuous feeling. For myself, I own

  That this particular strife had wanted power

  To rivet my affections; nor did now

  Its unsuccessful issue much excite

  My sorrow; for I brought with me the faith

  That, if France prospered, good men would not long

  Pay fruitless worship to humanity,

  And this most rotten branch of human shame, 260

  Object, so seemed it, of superfluous pains

  Would fall together with its parent tree.

  What, then, were my emotions, when in arms

  Britain put forth her free-born strength in league,

  Oh, pity and shame! with those confederate Powers!

  Not in my single self alone I found,

  But in the minds of all ingenuous youth,

  Change and subversion from that hour. No shock

  Given to my moral nature had I known

  Down to that very moment; neither lapse 270

  Nor t
urn of sentiment that might be named

  A revolution, save at this one time;

  All else was progress on the self-same path

  On which, with a diversity of pace,

  I had been travelling: this a stride at once

  Into another region. As a light

  And pliant harebell, swinging in the breeze

  On some grey rock—its birth-place—so had I

  Wantoned, fast rooted on the ancient tower

  Of my beloved country, wishing not 280

  A happier fortune than to wither there:

  Now was I from that pleasant station torn

  And tossed about in whirlwind. I rejoiced,

  Yea, afterwards—truth most 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,—

  Grief call it not, ‘twas anything but that,—

  A conflict of sensations without name, 290

  Of which ‘he’ only, who may love the sight

  Of a village steeple, as I do, can judge,

  When, in the congregation bending all

  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,

  Fed on the day of vengeance yet to come.

  Oh! much have they to account for, who could tear, 300

  By violence, at one decisive rent,

  From the best youth in England their dear pride,

  Their joy, in England; this, too, at a time

  In which worst losses easily might wean

  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 was; a time

  In which apostasy from ancient faith

  Seemed but conversion to a higher creed; 310

  Withal a season dangerous and wild,

  A time when sage Experience would have snatched

  Flowers out of any hedge-row to compose

  A chaplet in contempt of his grey locks.

  When the proud fleet that bears the red-cross flag

  In that unworthy service was prepared

  To mingle, I beheld the vessels lie,

  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 320

  In that delightful island which protects

  Their place of convocation—there I heard,

  Each evening, pacing by the still sea-shore,

  A monitory sound that never failed,—

  The sunset cannon. While the orb went down