Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  From vain temptations dost set free;

  And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity!

  There are who ask not if thine eye

  Be on them; who, in love and truth, 10

  Where no misgiving is, rely

  Upon the genial sense of youth:

  Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot

  Who do thy work, and know it not:

  Oh! if through confidence misplaced

  They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.

  Serene will be our days and bright,

  And happy will our nature be,

  When love is an unerring light,

  And joy its own security. 20

  And they a blissful course may hold

  Even now, who, not unwisely bold,

  Live in the spirit of this creed;

  Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.

  I, loving freedom, and untried;

  No sport of every random gust,

  Yet being to myself a guide,

  Too blindly have reposed my trust:

  And oft, when in my heart was heard

  Thy timely mandate, I deferred 30

  The task, in smoother walks to stray;

  But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

  Through no disturbance of my soul,

  Or strong compunction in me wrought,

  I supplicate for thy control;

  But in the quietness of thought:

  Me this unchartered freedom tires;

  I feel the weight of chance-desires:

  My hopes no more must change their name,

  I long for a repose that ever is the same. 40

  Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear

  The Godhead’s most benignant grace;

  Nor know we anything so fair

  As is the smile upon thy face:

  Flowers laugh before thee on their beds

  And fragrance in thy footing treads;

  Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;

  And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.

  To humbler functions, awful Power!

  I call thee: I myself commend 50

  Unto thy guidance from this hour;

  Oh, let my weakness have an end!

  Give unto me, made lowly wise,

  The spirit of self-sacrifice;

  The confidence of reason give;

  And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!

  1805.

  TO A SKY-LARK

  UP with me! up with me into the clouds!

  For thy song, Lark, is strong;

  Up with me, up with me into the clouds!

  Singing, singing,

  With clouds and sky about thee ringing,

  Lift me, guide me till I find

  That spot which seems so to thy mind!

  I have walked through wildernesses dreary

  And to-day my heart is weary;

  Had I now the wings of a Faery, 10

  Up to thee would I fly.

  There is madness about thee, and joy divine

  In that song of thine;

  Lift me, guide me high and high

  To thy banqueting-place in the sky.

  Joyous as morning

  Thou art laughing and scorning;

  Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest,

  And, though little troubled with sloth,

  Drunken Lark! thou would’st be loth 20

  To be such a traveller as I.

  Happy, happy Liver,

  With a soul as strong as a mountain river

  Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver,

  Joy and jollity be with us both!

  Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven,

  Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind;

  But hearing thee, or others of thy kind,

  As full of gladness and as free of heaven,

  I, with my fate contented, will plod on, 30

  And hope for higher raptures, when life’s day is done.

  1805.

  FIDELITY

  A BARKING sound the Shepherd hears,

  A cry as of a dog or fox;

  He halts—and searches with his eyes

  Among the scattered rocks:

  And now at distance can discern

  A stirring in a brake of fern;

  And instantly a dog is seen,

  Glancing through that covert green.

  The Dog is not of mountain breed;

  Its motions, too, are wild and shy; 10

  With something, as the Shepherd thinks,

  Unusual in its cry:

  Nor is there any one in sight

  All round, in hollow or on height;

  Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear;

  What is the creature doing here?

  It was a cove, a huge recess,

  That keeps, till June, December’s snow;

  A lofty precipice in front,

  A silent tarn below! 20

  Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,

  Remote from public road or dwelling,

  Pathway, or cultivated land;

  From trace of human foot or hand.

  There sometimes doth a leaping fish

  Send through the tarn a lonely cheer;

  The crags repeat the raven’s croak,

  In symphony austere;

  Thither the rainbow comes—the cloud—

  And mists that spread the flying shroud; 30

  And sunbeams; and the sounding blast,

  That, if it could, would hurry past;

  But that enormous barrier holds it fast.

  Not free from boding thoughts, a while

  The Shepherd stood; then makes his way

  O’er rocks and stones, following the Dog

  As quickly as he may;

  Nor far had gone before he found

  A human skeleton on the ground;

  The appalled Discoverer with a sigh 40

  Looks round, to learn the history.

  From those abrupt and perilous rocks

  The Man had fallen, that place of fear!

  At length upon the Shepherd’s mind

  It breaks, and all is clear:

  He instantly recalled the name,

  And who he was, and whence he came;

  Remembered, too, the very day

  On which the Traveller passed this way.

  But hear a wonder, for whose sake 50

  This lamentable tale I tell!

  A lasting monument of words

  This wonder merits well.

  The Dog, which still was hovering nigh,

  Repeating the same timid cry,

  This Dog, had been through three months’ space

  A dweller in that savage place.

  Yes, proof was plain that, since the day

  When this ill-fated Traveller died,

  The Dog had watched about the spot, 60

  Or by his master’s side:

  How nourished here through such long time

  He knows, who gave that love sublime;

  And gave that strength of feeling, great

  Above all human estimate!

  1805.

  INCIDENT CHARACTERISTIC OF A FAVOURITE DOG

  ON his morning rounds the Master

  Goes to learn how all things fare;

  Searches pasture after pasture,

  Sheep and cattle eyes with care;

  And, for silence or for talk,

  He hath comrades in his walk;

  Four dogs, each pair of different breed,

  Distinguished two for scent, and two for speed.

  See a hare before him started!

  —Off they fly in earnest chase; 10

  Every dog is eager-hearted,

  All the four are in the race:

  And the hare whom they pursue,

  Knows from instinct what to do;

  Her hope is near: no turn she makes;

  But, like an arro
w, to the river takes.

  Deep the river was, and crusted

  Thinly by a one night’s frost;

  But the nimble Hare hath trusted

  To the ice, and safely crost; 20

  She hath crost, and without heed

  All are following at full speed,

  When, lo! the ice, so thinly spread,

  Breaks—and the greyhound, DART, is overhead!

  Better fate have PRINCE and SWALLOW—

  See them cleaving to the sport!

  MUSIC has no heart to follow,

  Little MUSIC, she stops short.

  She hath neither wish nor heart,

  Hers is now another part:30

  A loving creature she, and brave!

  And fondly strives her struggling friend to save.

  From the brink her paws she stretches,

  Very hands as you would say!

  And afflicting moans she fetches,

  As he breaks the ice away.

  For herself she hath no fears,—

  Him alone she sees and hears,—

  Makes efforts with complainings; nor gives o’er

  Until her fellow sinks to re-appear no more. 40

  1805.

  TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF THE SAME DOG

  LIE here, without a record of thy worth,

  Beneath a covering of the common earth!

  It is not from unwillingness to praise,

  Or want of love, that here no Stone we raise;

  More thou deserv’st; but ‘this’ man gives to man,

  Brother to brother, ‘this’ is all we can.

  Yet they to whom thy virtues made thee dear

  Shall find thee through all changes of the year:

  This Oak points out thy grave; the silent tree

  Will gladly stand a monument of thee. 10

  We grieved for thee, and wished thy end were past;

  And willingly have laid thee here at last:

  For thou hadst lived till everything that cheers

  In thee had yielded to the weight of years;

  Extreme old age had wasted thee away,

  And left thee but a glimmering of the day;

  Thy ears were deaf, and feeble were thy knees,—

  I saw thee stagger in the summer breeze,

  Too weak to stand against its sportive breath,

  And ready for the gentlest stroke of death. 20

  It came, and we were glad; yet tears were shed;

  Both man and woman wept when thou wert dead;

  Not only for a thousand thoughts that were,

  Old household thoughts, in which thou hadst thy share;

  But for some precious boons vouchsafed to thee,

  Found scarcely anywhere in like degree!

  For love, that comes wherever life and sense

  Are given by God, in thee was most intense;

  A chain of heart, a feeling of the mind,

  A tender sympathy, which did thee bind 30

  Not only to us Men, but to thy Kind:

  Yea, for thy fellow-brutes in thee we saw

  A soul of love, love’s intellectual law:—

  Hence, if we wept, it was not done in shame;

  Our tears from passion and from reason came,

  And, therefore, shalt thou be an honoured name!

  1805.

  TO THE DAISY

  SWEET Flower! belike one day to have

  A place upon thy Poet’s grave,

  I welcome thee once more:

  But He, who was on land, at sea,

  My Brother, too, in loving thee,

  Although he loved more silently,

  Sleeps by his native shore.

  Ah! hopeful, hopeful was the day

  When to that Ship he bent his way,

  To govern and to guide: 10

  His wish was gained: a little time

  Would bring him back in manhood’s prime

  And free for life, these hills to climb;

  With all his wants supplied.

  And full of hope day followed day

  While that stout Ship at anchor lay

  Beside the shores of Wight;

  The May had then made all things green;

  And, floating there, in pomp serene,

  That Ship was goodly to be seen, 20

  His pride and his delight!

  Yet then, when called ashore, he sought

  The tender peace of rural thought:

  In more than happy mood

  To your abodes, bright daisy Flowers!

  He then would steal at leisure hours,

  And loved you glittering in your bowers

  A starry multitude.

  But hark the word!—the ship is gone;—

  Returns from her long course:—anon 30

  Sets sail:—in season due,

  Once more on English earth they stand:

  But, when a third time from the land

  They parted, sorrow was at hand

  For Him and for his crew.

  Ill-fated Vessel!—ghastly shock!

  —At length delivered from the rock,

  The deep she hath regained;

  And through the stormy night they steer;

  Labouring for life, in hope and fear, 40

  To reach a safer shore—how near,

  Yet not to be attained!

  “Silence!” the brave Commander cried:

  To that calm word a shriek replied,

  It was the last death-shriek.

  —A few (my soul oft sees that sight)

  Survive upon the tall mast’s height;

  But one dear remnant of the night—

  For Him in vain I seek.

  Six weeks beneath the moving sea 50

  He lay in slumber quietly;

  Unforced by wind or wave

  To quit the Ship for which he died,

  (All claims of duty satisfied;)

  And there they found him at her side;

  And bore him to the grave.

  Vain service! yet not vainly done

  For this, if other end were none,

  That He, who had been cast

  Upon a way of life unmeet 60

  For such a gentle Soul and sweet,

  Should find an undisturbed retreat

  Near what he loved, at last—

  That neighbourhood of grove and field

  To Him a resting-place should yield,

  A meek man and a brave!

  The birds shall sing and ocean make

  A mournful murmur for ‘his’ sake;

  And Thou, sweet Flower, shalt sleep and wake

  Upon his senseless grave. 70

  1805.

  ELEGIAC STANZAS SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF PEELE CASTLE, IN A STORM, PAINTED BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT

  I WAS thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile!

  Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee:

  I saw thee every day; and all the while

  Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea.

  So pure the sky, so quiet was the air!

  So like, so very like, was day to day!

  Whene’er I looked, thy Image still was there;

  It trembled, but it never passed away.

  How perfect was the calm! it seemed no sleep;

  No mood, which season takes away, or brings: 10

  I could have fancied that the mighty Deep

  Was even the gentlest of all gentle Things.

  Ah! THEN, if mine had been the Painter’s hand,

  To express what then I saw; and add the gleam,

  The light that never was, on sea or land,

  The consecration, and the Poet’s dream;

  I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile

  Amid a world how different from this!

  Beside a sea that could not cease to smile;

  On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. 20

  Thou shouldst have seemed a treasure-house divine

  Of peaceful years; a chronicle of heaven;—

 
; Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine

  The very sweetest had to thee been given.

  A Picture had it been of lasting ease,

  Elysian quiet, without toil or strife;

  No motion but the moving tide, a breeze,

  Or merely silent Nature’s breathing life.

  Such, in the fond illusion of my heart,

  Such Picture would I at that time have made: 30

  And seen the soul of truth in every part,

  A stedfast peace that might not be betrayed.

  So once it would have been,—’tis so no more;

  I have submitted to a new control:

  A power is gone, which nothing can restore;

  A deep distress hath humanised my Soul.

  Not for a moment could I now behold

  A smiling sea, and be what I have been:

  The feeling of my loss will ne’er be old;

  This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 40

  Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the Friend,

  If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore,

  This work of thine I blame not, but commend;

  This sea in anger, and that dismal shore.

  O ‘tis a passionate Work!—yet wise and well,

  Well chosen is the spirit that is here;

  That Hulk which labours in the deadly swell,

  This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear!

  And this huge Castle, standing here sublime,

  I love to see the look with which it braves, 50

  Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time,

  The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves.

  Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone,

  Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind!

  Such happiness, wherever it be known,

  Is to be pitied; for ‘tis surely blind.

  But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer,

  And frequent sights of what is to be borne!

  Such sights, or worse, as are before me here.—

  Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. 60

  1805.

  ELEGIAC STANZAS IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER, JOHN WORDSWORTH, COMMANDER OF THE E. I. COMPANY’S SHIP THE EARL OF ABERGAVENNY IN WHICH HE PERISHED BY CALAMITOUS SHIPWRECK, FEB. 6, 1805.

  I

  THE Sheep-boy whistled loud, and lo!

  That instant, startled by the shock,

  The Buzzard mounted from the rock

  Deliberate and slow:

  Lord of the air, he took his flight;

  Oh! could he on that woeful night

  Have lent his wing, my Brother dear,

  For one poor moment’s space to Thee,

  And all who struggled with the Sea,

  When safety was so near.

  II

  Thus in the weakness of my heart

  I spoke (but let that pang be still)