Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  Than the height of a counsellor’s bag;

  To the top of GREAT HOW did it please them to climb:

  And there they built up, without mortar or lime,

  A Man on the peak of the crag.

  They built him of stones gathered up as they lay:

  They built him and christened him all in one day,

  An urchin both vigorous and hale;

  And so without scruple they called him Ralph Jones. 10

  Now Ralph is renowned for the length of his bones;

  The Magog of Legberthwaite dale.

  Just half a week after, the wind sallied forth,

  And, in anger or merriment, out of the north,

  Coming on with a terrible pother,

  From the peak of the crag blew the giant away.

  And what did these school-boys?—The very next day

  They went and they built up another.

  —Some little I’ve seen of blind boisterous works

  By Christian disturbers more savage than Turks, 20

  Spirits busy to do and undo:

  At remembrance whereof my blood sometimes will flag;

  Then, light-hearted Boys, to the top of the crag!

  And I’ll build up giant with you.

  1801.

  ELLEN IRWIN

  OR, THE BRAES OF KIRTLE

  FAIR Ellen Irwin, when she sate

  Upon the braes of Kirtle,

  Was lovely as a Grecian maid

  Adorned with wreaths of myrtle;

  Young Adam Bruce beside her lay,

  And there did they beguile the day

  With love and gentle speeches,

  Beneath the budding beeches.

  From many knights and many squires

  The Bruce had been selected; 10

  And Gordon, fairest of them all,

  By Ellen was rejected.

  Sad tidings to that noble Youth!

  For it may be proclaimed with truth,

  If Bruce hath loved sincerely,

  That Gordon loves as dearly.

  But what are Gordon’s form and face,

  His shattered hopes and crosses,

  To them, ‘mid Kirtle’s pleasant braes,

  Reclined on flowers and mosses? 20

  Alas that ever he was born!

  The Gordon, couched behind a thorn,

  Sees them and their caressing;

  Beholds them blest and blessing.

  Proud Gordon, maddened by the thoughts

  That through his brain are travelling,

  Rushed forth, and at the heart of Bruce

  He launched a deadly javelin!

  Fair Ellen saw it as it came,

  And, starting up to meet the same, 30

  Did with her body cover

  The Youth, her chosen lover.

  And, falling into Bruce’s arms,

  Thus died the beauteous Ellen,

  Thus, from the heart of her True-love,

  The mortal spear repelling.

  And Bruce, as soon as he had slain

  The Gordon, sailed away to Spain;

  And fought with rage incessant

  Against the Moorish crescent. 40

  But many days, and many months,

  And many years ensuing,

  This wretched Knight did vainly seek

  The death that he was wooing.

  So, coming his last help to crave,

  Heart-broken, upon Ellen’s grave

  His body he extended,

  And there his sorrow ended.

  Now ye, who willingly have heard

  The tale I have been telling, 50

  May in Kirkconnel churchyard view

  The grave of lovely Ellen:

  By Ellen’s side the Bruce is laid;

  And, for the stone upon his head,

  May no rude hand deface it,

  And its forlorn “Hie jacet”!

  ANDREW JONES

  I HATE that Andrew Jones; he’ll breed

  His children up to waste and pillage.

  I wish the press-gang or the drum

  With its tantara sound would come,

  And sweep him from the village!

  I said not this, because he loves

  Through the long day to swear and tipple;

  But for the poor dear sake of one

  To whom a foul deed he had done,

  A friendless man, a travelling cripple! 10

  For this poor crawling helpless wretch,

  Some horseman who was passing by,

  A penny on the ground had thrown;

  But the poor cripple was alone

  And could not stoop—no help was nigh.

  Inch-thick the dust lay on the ground

  For it had long been droughty weather;

  So with his staff the cripple wrought

  Among the dust till he had brought

  The half-pennies together. 20

  It chanced that Andrew passed that way

  Just at the time; and there he found

  The cripple in the mid-day heat

  Standing alone, and at his feet

  He saw the penny on the ground.

  He stopped and took the penny up:

  And when the cripple nearer drew,

  Quoth Andrew, “Under half-a-crown,

  What a man finds is all his own,

  And so, my Friend, good-day to you.” 30

  And ‘hence’ I said, that Andrew’s boys

  Will all be trained to waste and pillage;

  And wished the press-gang, or the drum

  With its tantara sound, would come

  And sweep him from the village.

  1800.

  THE TWO THIEVES

  OR, THE LAST STAGE OF AVARICE

  O NOW that the genius of Bewick were mine,

  And the skill which he learned on the banks of the Tyne.

  Then the Muses might deal with me just as they chose,

  For I’d take my last leave both of verse and of prose.

  What feats would I work with my magical hand!

  Book-learning and books should be banished the land:

  And, for hunger and thirst and such troublesome calls,

  Every ale-house should then have a feast on its walls.

  The traveller would hang his wet clothes on a chair;

  Let them smoke, let them burn, not a straw would he care! 10

  For the Prodigal Son, Joseph’s Dream and his sheaves,

  Oh, what would they be to my tale of two Thieves?

  The One, yet unbreeched, is not three birthdays old,

  His Grandsire that age more than thirty times told;

  There are ninety good seasons of fair and foul weather

  Between them, and both go a-pilfering together.

  With chips is the carpenter strewing his floor?

  Is a cart-load of turf at an old woman’s door?

  Old Daniel his hand to the treasure will slide!

  And his Grandson’s as busy at work by his side. 20

  Old Daniel begins; he stops short—and his eye,

  Through the lost look of dotage, is cunning and sly:

  ‘Tis a look which at this time is hardly his own,

  But tells a plain tale of the days that are flown.

  He once had a heart which was moved by the wires

  Of manifold pleasures and many desires:

  And what if he cherished his purse? ‘Twas no more

  Than treading a path trod by thousands before.

  ‘Twas a path trod by thousands; but Daniel is one

  Who went something farther than others have gone, 30

  And now with old Daniel you see how it fares;

  You see to what end he has brought his grey hairs.

  The pair sally forth hand in hand: ere the sun

  Has peered o’er the beeches, their work is begun:

  And yet, into whatever sin they may fall,

  This child but half knows it, and that, not at all.

  They hunt
through the streets with deliberate tread,

  And each, in his turn, becomes leader or led;

  And, wherever they carry their plots and their wiles,

  Every face in the village is dimpled with smiles. 40

  Neither checked by the rich nor the needy they roam;

  For the grey-headed Sire has a daughter at home,

  Who will gladly repair all the damage that’s done;

  And three, were it asked, would be rendered for one.

  Old Man! whom so oft I with pity have eyed,

  I love thee, and love the sweet Boy at thy side:

  Long yet may’st thou live! for a teacher we see

  That lifts up the veil of our nature in thee.

  1800.

  A CHARACTER

  I MARVEL how Nature could ever find space

  For so many strange contrasts in one human face:

  There’s thought and no thought, and there’s paleness and bloom

  And bustle and sluggishness, pleasure and gloom.

  There’s weakness, and strength both redundant and vain;

  Such strength as, if ever affliction and pain

  Could pierce through a temper that’s soft to disease,

  Would be rational peace—a philosopher’s ease.

  There’s indifference, alike when he fails or succeeds,

  And attention full ten times as much as there needs; 10

  Pride where there’s no envy, there’s so much of joy;

  And mildness, and spirit both forward and coy.

  There’s freedom, and sometimes a diffident stare

  Of shame scarcely seeming to know that she’s there,

  There’s virtue, the title it surely may claim,

  Yet wants heaven knows what to be worthy the name.

  This picture from nature may seem to depart,

  Yet the Man would at once run away with your heart;

  And I for five centuries right gladly would be

  Such an odd such a kind happy creature as he. 20

  1800.

  INSCRIPTIONS FOR THE SPOT WHERE THE HERMITAGE STOOD ON ST. HERBERT’S ISLAND, DERWENTWATER.

  IF thou in the dear love of some one Friend

  Hast been so happy that thou know’st what thoughts

  Will sometimes in the happiness of love

  Make the heart sink, then wilt thou reverence

  This quiet spot; and, Stranger! not unmoved

  Wilt thou behold this shapeless heap of stones,

  The desolate ruins of St. Herbert’s Cell.

  Here stood his threshold; here was spread the roof

  That sheltered him, a self-secluded Man,

  After long exercise in social cares 10

  And offices humane, intent to adore

  The Deity, with undistracted mind,

  And meditate on everlasting things,

  In utter solitude.—But he had left

  A Fellow-labourer, whom the good Man loved

  As his own soul. And, when with eye upraised

  To heaven he knelt before the crucifix,

  While o’er the lake the cataract of Lodore

  Pealed to his orisons, and when he paced

  Along the beach of this small isle and thought 20

  Of his Companion, he would pray that both

  (Now that their earthly duties were fulfilled)

  Might die in the same moment. Nor in vain

  So prayed he:—as our chronicles report,

  Though here the Hermit numbered his last day

  Far from St. Cuthbert his beloved Friend,

  Those holy Men both died in the same hour.

  1800

  INSCRIPTIONS WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL UPON A STONE IN THE WALL OF THE HOUSE (AN OUTHOUSE), ON THE ISLAND AT GRASMERE.

  RUDE is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen

  Buildings, albeit rude, that have maintained

  Proportions more harmonious, and approached

  To closer fellowship with ideal grace.

  But take it in good part:—alas! the poor

  Vitruvius of our village had no help

  From the great City; never, upon leaves

  Of red Morocco folio, saw displayed,

  In long succession, pre-existing ghosts

  Of Beauties yet unborn—the rustic Lodge 10

  Antique, and Cottage with verandah graced,

  Nor lacking, for fit company, alcove,

  Green-house, shell-grot, and moss-lined hermitage.

  Thou see’st a homely Pile, yet to these walls

  The heifer comes in the snow-storm, and here

  The new-dropped lamb finds shelter from the wind.

  And hither does one Poet sometimes row

  His pinnace, a small vagrant barge, up-piled

  With plenteous store of heath and withered fern,

  (A lading which he with his sickle cuts, 20

  Among the mountains) and beneath this roof

  He makes his summer couch, and here at noon

  Spreads out his limbs, while, yet unshorn, the Sheep,

  Panting beneath the burthen of their wool,

  Lie round him, even as if they were a part

  Of his own Household: nor, while from his bed

  He looks, through the open door-place, toward the lake

  And to the stirring breezes, does he want

  Creations lovely as the work of sleep—

  Fair sights, and visions of romantic joy! 30

  INSCRIPTIONS WRITTEN WITH A SLATE PENCIL UPON A STONE, THE LARGEST OF A HEAP LYING NEAR A DESERTED QUARRY, UPON ONE OF THE ISLANDS AT RYDAL.

  STRANGER! this hillock of mis-shapen stones

  Is not a Ruin spared or made by time,

  Nor, as perchance thou rashly deem’st, the Cairn

  Of some old British Chief: ‘tis nothing more

  Than the rude embryo of a little Dome

  Or Pleasure-house, once destined to be built

  Among the birch-trees of this rocky isle.

  But, as it chanced, Sir William having learned

  That from the shore a full-grown man might wade,

  And make himself a freeman of this spot 10

  At any hour he chose, the prudent Knight

  Desisted, and the quarry and the mound

  Are monuments of his unfinished task.

  The block on which these lines are traced, perhaps,

  Was once selected as the corner-stone

  Of that intended Pile, which would have been

  Some quaint odd plaything of elaborate skill,

  So that, I guess, the linnet and the thrush,

  And other little builders who dwell here,

  Had wondered at the work. But blame him not, 20

  For old Sir William was a gentle Knight,

  Bled in this vale, to which he appertained

  With all his ancestry. Then peace to him,

  And for the outrage which he had devised

  Entire forgiveness!—But if thou art one

  On fire with thy impatience to become

  An inmate of these mountains,—if, disturbed

  By beautiful conceptions, thou hast hewn

  Out of the quiet rock the elements

  Of thy trim Mansion destined soon to blaze 30

  In snow-white splendour,—think again; and, taught

  By old Sir William and his quarry, leave

  Thy fragments to the bramble and the rose;

  There let the vernal slow-worm sun himself,

  And let the redbreast hop from stone to stone.

  1800.

  THE SPARROW’S NEST

  BEHOLD, within the leafy shade,

  Those bright blue eggs together laid!

  On me the chance-discovered sight

  Gleamed like a vision of delight.

  I started—seeming to espy

  The home and sheltered bed,

  The Sparrow’s dwelling, which, hard by

  My Father’s house, in wet and dry

  My sister Emmeline
and I

  Together visited. 10

  She looked at it and seemed to fear it;

  Dreading, tho’ wishing, to be near it:

  Such heart was in her, being then

  A little Prattler among men.

  The Blessing of my later years

  Was with me when a boy:

  She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;

  And humble cares, and delicate fears;

  A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;

  And love, and thought, and joy. 20

  1801.

  PELION AND OSSA FLOURISH SIDE BY SIDE

  PELION and Ossa flourish side by side,

  Together in immortal books enrolled:

  His ancient dower Olympus hath not sold;

  And that inspiring Hill, which “did divide

  Into two ample horns his forehead wide,”

  Shines with poetic radiance as of old;

  While not an English Mountain we behold

  By the celestial Muses glorified.

  Yet round our sea-girt shore they rise in crowds:

  What was the great Parnassus’ self to Thee, 10

  Mount Skiddaw? In his natural sovereignty

  Our British Hill is nobler far; he shrouds

  His double front among Atlantic clouds,

  And pours forth streams more sweet than Castaly.

  1801.

  THE PRIORESS’S TALE

  FROM CHAUCER

  “Call up him who left half told

  The story of Cambuscan bold.”

  I

  “O LORD, our Lord! how wondrously,” (quoth she)

  “Thy name in this large world is spread abroad!

  For not alone by men of dignity

  Thy worship is performed and precious laud;

  But by the mouths of children, gracious God!

  Thy goodness is set forth; they when they lie

  Upon the breast thy name do glorify.

  II

  “Wherefore in praise, the worthiest that I may,

  Jesu! of thee, and the white Lily-flower

  Which did thee bear, and is a Maid for aye,

  To tell a story I will use my power;

  Not that I may increase her honour’s dower,

  For she herself is honour, and the root

  Of goodness, next her Son, our soul’s best boot.

  III

  “O Mother Maid! O Maid and Mother free!

  O bush unburnt! burning in Moses’ sight!

  That down didst ravish from the Deity,

  Through humbleness, the spirit that did alight

  Upon thy heart, whence, through that glory’s might,

  Conceived was the Father’s sapience,