Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

Coming in revelation, did converse

  With things that really are; I, at this time,

  Saw blessings spread around me like a sea.

  Thus while the days flew by, and years passed on,

  From Nature and her overflowing soul,

  I had received so much, that all my thoughts

  Were steeped in feeling; I was only then

  Contented, when with bliss ineffable 400

  I felt the sentiment of Being spread

  O’er all that moves and all that seemeth still;

  O’er all that, lost beyond the reach of thought

  And human knowledge, to the human eye

  Invisible, yet liveth to the heart;

  O’er all that leaps and runs, and shouts and sings,

  Or beats the gladsome air; o’er all that glides

  Beneath the wave, yea, in the wave itself,

  And mighty depth of waters. Wonder not

  If high the transport, great the joy I felt, 410

  Communing in this sort through earth and heaven

  With every form of creature, as it looked

  Towards the Uncreated with a countenance

  Of adoration, with an eye of love.

  One song they sang, and it was audible,

  Most audible, then, when the fleshly ear,

  O’ercome by humblest prelude of that strain

  Forgot her functions, and slept undisturbed.

  If this be error, and another faith

  Find easier access to the pious mind, 420

  Yet were I grossly destitute of all

  Those human sentiments that make this earth

  So dear, if I should fail with grateful voice

  To speak of you, ye mountains, and ye lakes

  And sounding cataracts, ye mists and winds

  That dwell among the hills where I was born.

  If in my youth I have been pure in heart,

  If, mingling with the world, I am content

  With my own modest pleasures, and have lived

  With God and Nature communing, removed 430

  From little enmities and low desires—

  The gift is yours; if in these times of fear,

  This melancholy waste of hopes o’erthrown,

  If, ‘mid indifference and apathy,

  And wicked exultation when good men

  On every side fall off, we know not how,

  To selfishness, disguised in gentle names

  Of peace and quiet and domestic love

  Yet mingled not unwillingly with sneers

  On visionary minds; if, in this time 440

  Of dereliction and dismay, I yet

  Despair not of our nature, but retain

  A more than Roman confidence, a faith

  That fails not, in all sorrow my support,

  The blessing of my life—the gift is yours,

  Ye winds and sounding cataracts! ‘tis yours,

  Ye mountains! thine, O Nature! Thou hast fed

  My lofty speculations; and in thee,

  For this uneasy heart of ours, I find

  A never-failing principle of joy 450

  And purest passion.

  Thou, my Friend! wert reared

  In the great city, ‘mid far other scenes;

  But we, by different roads, at length have gained

  The selfsame bourne. And for this cause to thee

  I speak, unapprehensive of contempt,

  The insinuated scoff of coward tongues,

  And all that silent language which so oft

  In conversation between man and man

  Blots from the human countenance all trace

  Of beauty and of love. For thou hast sought 460

  The truth in solitude, and, since the days

  That gave thee liberty, full long desired,

  To serve in Nature’s temple, thou hast been

  The most assiduous of her ministers;

  In many things my brother, chiefly here

  In this our deep devotion.

  Fare thee well!

  Health and the quiet of a healthful mind

  Attend thee! seeking oft the haunts of men,

  And yet more often living with thyself,

  And for thyself, so haply shall thy days 470

  Be many, and a blessing to mankind.

  THE PRELUDE BOOK THIRD

  RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE

  IT was a dreary morning when the wheels

  Rolled over a wide plain o’erhung with clouds,

  And nothing cheered our way till first we saw

  The long-roofed chapel of King’s College lift

  Turrets and pinnacles in answering files,

  Extended high above a dusky grove.

  Advancing, we espied upon the road

  A student clothed in gown and tasselled cap,

  Striding along as if o’ertasked by Time,

  Or covetous of exercise and air; 10

  He passed—nor was I master of my eyes

  Till he was left an arrow’s flight behind.

  As near and nearer to the spot we drew,

  It seemed to suck us in with an eddy’s force.

  Onward we drove beneath the Castle; caught,

  While crossing Magdalene Bridge, a glimpse of Cam;

  And at the “Hoop” alighted, famous Inn.

  My spirit was up, my thoughts were full of hope;

  Some friends I had, acquaintances who there

  Seemed friends, poor simple schoolboys, now hung round 20

  With honour and importance: in a world

  Of welcome faces up and down I roved;

  Questions, directions, warnings and advice,

  Flowed in upon me, from all sides; fresh day

  Of pride and pleasure! to myself I seemed

  A man of business and expense, and went

  From shop to shop about my own affairs,

  To Tutor or to Tailor, as befell,

  From street to street with loose and careless mind.

  I was the Dreamer, they the Dream; I roamed 30

  Delighted through the motley spectacle;

  Gowns grave, or gaudy, doctors, students, streets,

  Courts, cloisters, flocks of churches, gateways, towers:

  Migration strange for a stripling of the hills,

  A northern villager.

  As if the change

  Had waited on some Fairy’s wand, at once

  Behold me rich in monies, and attired

  In splendid garb, with hose of silk, and hair

  Powdered like rimy trees, when frost is keen.

  My lordly dressing-gown, I pass it by, 40

  With other signs of manhood that supplied

  The lack of beard.—The weeks went roundly on,

  With invitations, suppers, wine and fruit,

  Smooth housekeeping within, and all without

  Liberal, and suiting gentleman’s array.

  The Evangelist St. John my patron was:

  Three Gothic courts are his, and in the first

  Was my abiding-place, a nook obscure;

  Right underneath, the College kitchens made

  A humming sound, less tuneable than bees, 50

  But hardly less industrious; with shrill notes

  Of sharp command and scolding intermixed.

  Near me hung Trinity’s loquacious clock,

  Who never let the quarters, night or day,

  Slip by him unproclaimed, and told the hours

  Twice over with a male and female voice.

  Her pealing organ was my neighbour too;

  And from my pillow, looking forth by light

  Of moon or favouring stars, I could behold

  The antechapel where the statue stood 60

  Of Newton with his prism and silent face,

  The marble index of a mind for ever

  Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.

  Of College labours, of the Lecturer’s room

  All studded round, as thick as
chairs could stand,

  With loyal students, faithful to their books,

  Half-and-half idlers, hardy recusants,

  And honest dunces—of important days,

  Examinations, when the man was weighed

  As in a balance! of excessive hopes, 70

  Tremblings withal and commendable fears,

  Small jealousies, and triumphs good or bad—

  Let others that know more speak as they know.

  Such glory was but little sought by me,

  And little won. Yet from the first crude days

  Of settling time in this untried abode,

  I was disturbed at times by prudent thoughts,

  Wishing to hope without a hope, some fears

  About my future worldly maintenance,

  And, more than all, a strangeness in the mind, 80

  A feeling that I was not for that hour,

  Nor for that place. But wherefore be cast down?

  For (not to speak of Reason and her pure

  Reflective acts to fix the moral law

  Deep in the conscience, nor of Christian Hope,

  Bowing her head before her sister Faith

  As one far mightier), hither I had come,

  Bear witness Truth, endowed with holy powers

  And faculties, whether to work or feel.

  Oft when the dazzling show no longer new 90

  Had ceased to dazzle, ofttimes did I quit

  My comrades, leave the crowd, buildings and groves,

  And as I paced alone the level fields

  Far from those lovely sights and sounds sublime

  With which I had been conversant, the mind

  Drooped not; but there into herself returning,

  With prompt rebound seemed fresh as heretofore.

  At least I more distinctly recognised

  Her native instincts: let me dare to speak

  A higher language, say that now I felt 100

  What independent solaces were mine,

  To mitigate the injurious sway of place

  Or circumstance, how far soever changed

  In youth, or ‘to’ be changed in after years.

  As if awakened, summoned, roused, constrained,

  I looked for universal things; perused

  The common countenance of earth and sky:

  Earth, nowhere unembellished by some trace

  Of that first Paradise whence man was driven;

  And sky, whose beauty and bounty are expressed 110

  By the proud name she bears—the name of Heaven.

  I called on both to teach me what they might;

  Or, turning the mind in upon herself,

  Pored, watched, expected, listened, spread my thoughts

  And spread them with a wider creeping; felt

  Incumbencies more awful, visitings

  Of the Upholder of the tranquil soul,

  That tolerates the indignities of Time,

  And, from the centre of Eternity

  All finite motions overruling, lives 120

  In glory immutable. But peace! enough

  Here to record that I was mounting now

  To such community with highest truth—

  A track pursuing, not untrod before,

  From strict analogies by thought supplied

  Or consciousnesses not to be subdued.

  To every natural form, rock, fruits, or flower,

  Even the loose stones that cover the highway,

  I gave a moral life: I saw them feel,

  Or linked them to some feeling: the great mass 130

  Lay bedded in a quickening soul, and all

  That I beheld respired with inward meaning.

  Add that whate’er of Terror or of Love

  Or Beauty, Nature’s daily face put on

  From transitory passion, unto this

  I was as sensitive as waters are

  To the sky’s influence in a kindred mood

  Of passion; was obedient as a lute

  That waits upon the touches of the wind.

  Unknown, unthought of, yet I was most rich— 140

  I had a world about me—’twas my own;

  I made it, for it only lived to me,

  And to the God who sees into the heart.

  Such sympathies, though rarely, were betrayed

  By outward gestures and by visible looks:

  Some called it madness—so indeed it was,

  If child-like fruitfulness in passing joy,

  If steady moods of thoughtfulness matured

  To inspiration, sort with such a name;

  If prophecy be madness; if things viewed 150

  By poets in old time, and higher up

  By the first men, earth’s first inhabitants,

  May in these tutored days no more be seen

  With undisordered sight. But leaving this,

  It was no madness, for the bodily eye

  Amid my strongest workings evermore

  Was searching out the lines of difference

  As they lie hid in all external forms,

  Near or remote, minute or vast; an eye

  Which, from a tree, a stone, a withered leaf, 160

  To the broad ocean and the azure heavens

  Spangled with kindred multitudes of stars,

  Could find no surface where its power might sleep;

  Which spake perpetual logic to my soul,

  And by an unrelenting agency

  Did bind my feelings even as in a chain.

  And here, O Friend! have I retraced my life

  Up to an eminence, and told a tale

  Of matters which not falsely may be called

  The glory of my youth. Of genius, power, 170

  Creation and divinity itself

  I have been speaking, for my theme has been

  What passed within me. Not of outward things

  Done visibly for other minds, words, signs,

  Symbols or actions, but of my own heart

  Have I been speaking, and my youthful mind.

  O Heavens! how awful is the might of souls,

  And what they do within themselves while yet

  The yoke of earth is new to them, the world

  Nothing but a wild field where they were sown. 180

  This is, in truth, heroic argument,

  This genuine prowess, which I wished to touch

  With hand however weak, but in the main

  It lies far hidden from the reach of words.

  Points have we all of us within our souls

  Where all stand single; this I feel, and make

  Breathings for incommunicable powers;

  But is not each a memory to himself,

  And, therefore, now that we must quit this theme,

  I am not heartless, for there’s not a man 190

  That lives who hath not known his god-like hours,

  And feels not what an empire we inherit

  As natural beings in the strength of Nature.

  No more: for now into a populous plain

  We must descend. A Traveller I am,

  Whose tale is only of himself; even so,

  So be it, if the pure of heart be prompt

  To follow, and if thou, my honoured Friend!

  Who in these thoughts art ever at my side,

  Support, as heretofore, my fainting steps. 200

  It hath been told, that when the first delight

  That flashed upon me from this novel show

  Had failed, the mind returned into herself;

  Yet true it is, that I had made a change

  In climate, and my nature’s outward coat

  Changed also slowly and insensibly.

  Full oft the quiet and exalted thoughts

  Of loneliness gave way to empty noise

  And superficial pastimes; now and then

  Forced labour, and more frequently forced hopes; 210

  And, worst of all, a treasonable growth

  Of indecisive judgments, t
hat impaired

  And shook the mind’s simplicity.—And yet

  This was a gladsome time. Could I behold—

  Who, less insensible than sodden clay

  In a sea-river’s bed at ebb of tide,

  Could have beheld,—with undelighted heart,

  So many happy youths, so wide and fair

  A congregation in its budding-time

  Of health, and hope, and beauty, all at once 220

  So many divers samples from the growth

  Of life’s sweet season—could have seen unmoved

  That miscellaneous garland of wild flowers

  Decking the matron temples of a place

  So famous through the world? To me, at least,

  It was a goodly prospect: for, in sooth,

  Though I had learnt betimes to stand unpropped,

  And independent musings pleased me so

  That spells seemed on me when I was alone,

  Yet could I only cleave to solitude 230

  In lonely places; if a throng was near

  That way I leaned by nature; for my heart

  Was social, and loved idleness and joy.

  Not seeking those who might participate

  My deeper pleasures (nay, I had not once,

  Though not unused to mutter lonesome songs,

  Even with myself divided such delight,

  Or looked that way for aught that might be clothed

  In human language), easily I passed

  From the remembrances of better things, 240

  And slipped into the ordinary works

  Of careless youth, unburthened, unalarmed.

  ‘Caverns’ there were within my mind which sun

  Could never penetrate, yet did there not

  Want store of leafy ‘arbours’ where the light

  Might enter in at will. Companionships,

  Friendships, acquaintances, were welcome all.

  We sauntered, played, or rioted; we talked

  Unprofitable talk at morning hours;

  Drifted about along the streets and walks, 250

  Read lazily in trivial books, went forth

  To gallop through the country in blind zeal

  Of senseless horsemanship, or on the breast

  Of Cam sailed boisterously, and let the stars

  Come forth, perhaps without one quiet thought.

  Such was the tenor of the second act

  In this new life. Imagination slept,

  And yet not utterly. I could not print

  Ground where the grass had yielded to the steps

  Of generations of illustrious men, 260

  Unmoved. I could not always lightly pass

  Through the same gateways, sleep where they had slept,

  Wake where they waked, range that inclosure old,

  That garden of great intellects, undisturbed.

  Place also by the side of this dark sense

  Of noble feeling, that those spiritual men,