Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  To wrestle with, and victory to complete,

  Bounds to be leapt, darkness to be explored; 740

  All that inflamed thy infant heart, the love,

  The longing, the contempt, the undaunted quest,

  All shall survive, though changed their office, all

  Shall live, it is not in their power to die.

  Then farewell to the Warrior’s Schemes, farewell

  The forwardness of soul which looks that way

  Upon a less incitement than the Cause

  Of Liberty endangered, and farewell

  That other hope, long mine, the hope to fill

  The heroic trumpet with the Muse’s breath! 750

  Yet in this peaceful Vale we will not spend

  Unheard-of days, though loving peaceful thought,

  A voice shall speak, and what will be the theme?

  On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life,

  Musing in solitude, I oft perceive

  Fair trains of imagery before me rise,

  Accompanied by feelings of delight

  Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed;

  And I am conscious of affecting thoughts

  And dear remembrances, whose presence soothes 760

  Or elevates the Mind, intent to weigh

  The good and evil of our mortal state.

  —To these emotions, whencesoe’er they come,

  Whether from breath of outward circumstance,

  Or from the Soul—an impulse to herself—

  I would give utterance in numerous verse.

  Of Truth, of Grandeur, Beauty, Love, and Hope,

  And melancholy Fear subdued by Faith;

  Of blessed consolations in distress;

  Of moral strength, and intellectual Power; 770

  Of joy in widest commonalty spread;

  Of the individual Mind that keeps her own

  Inviolate retirement, subject there

  To Conscience only, and the law supreme

  Of that Intelligence which governs all—

  I sing:—”fit audience let me find though few!”

  So prayed, more gaining than he asked, the Bard—

  In holiest mood. Urania, I shall need

  Thy guidance, or a greater Muse, if such

  Descend to earth or dwell in highest heaven! 780

  For I must tread on shadowy ground, must sink

  Deep—and, aloft ascending, breathe in worlds

  To which the heaven of heavens is but a veil.

  All strength—all terror, single or in bands,

  That ever was put forth in personal form—

  Jehovah—with his thunder, and the choir

  Of shouting Angels, and the empyreal thrones—

  I pass them unalarmed. Not Chaos, not

  The darkest pit of lowest Erebus,

  Nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out 790

  By help of dreams—can breed such fear and awe

  As fall upon us often when we look

  Into our Minds, into the Mind of Man—

  My haunt, and the main region of my song

  —Beauty—a living Presence of the earth,

  Surpassing the most fair ideal Forms

  Which craft of delicate Spirits hath composed

  From earth’s materials—waits upon my steps;

  Pitches her tents before me as I move,

  An hourly neighbour. Paradise, and groves 800

  Elysian, Fortunate Fields—like those of old

  Sought in the Atlantic Main—why should they be

  A history only of departed things,

  Or a mere fiction of what never was?

  For the discerning intellect of Man,

  When wedded to this goodly universe

  In love and holy passion, shall find these

  A simple produce of the common day.

  —I, long before the blissful hour arrives,

  Would chant, in lonely peace, the spousal verse 810

  Of this great consummation:—and, by words

  Which speak of nothing more than what we are,

  Would I arouse the sensual from their sleep

  Of Death, and win the vacant and the vain

  To noble raptures; while my voice proclaims

  How exquisitely the individual Mind

  (And the progressive powers perhaps no less

  Of the whole species) to the external World

  Is fitted:—and how exquisitely, too—

  Theme this but little heard of among men— 820

  The external World is fitted to the Mind;

  And the creation (by no lower name

  Can it be called) which they with blended might

  Accomplish:—this is our high argument.

  —Such grateful haunts foregoing, if I oft

  Must turn elsewhere—to travel near the tribes

  And fellowships of men, and see ill sights

  Of madding passions mutually inflamed;

  Must hear Humanity in fields and groves

  Pipe solitary anguish; or must hang 830

  Brooding above the fierce confederate storm

  Of sorrow, barricadoed evermore

  Within the walls of cities—may these sounds

  Have their authentic comment; that even these

  Hearing, I be not downcast or forlorn!—

  Descend, prophetic Spirit! that inspir’st

  The human Soul of universal earth,

  Dreaming on things to come; and dost possess

  A metropolitan temple in the hearts

  Of mighty Poets; upon me bestow 840

  A gift of genuine insight; that my Song

  With star-like virtue in its place may shine,

  Shedding benignant influence, and secure

  Itself from all malevolent effect

  Of those mutations that extend their sway

  Throughout the nether sphere!—And if with this

  I mix more lowly matter; with the thing

  Contemplated, describe the Mind and Man

  Contemplating; and who, and what he was—

  The transitory Being that beheld 850

  This Vision;—when and where, and how he lived;

  Be not this labour useless. If such theme

  May sort with highest objects, then—dread Power!

  Whose gracious favour is the primal source

  Of all illumination—may my Life

  Express the image of a better time,

  More wise desires, and simpler manners;—nurse

  My Heart in genuine freedom:—all pure thoughts

  Be with me;—so shall thy unfailing love

  Guide, and support, and cheer me to the end! 860

  CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR

  WHO is the happy Warrior? Who is he

  That every man in arms should wish to be?

  —It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought

  Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought

  Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought:

  Whose high endeavours are an inward light

  That makes the path before him always bright:

  Who, with a natural instinct to discern

  What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn;

  Abides by this resolve, and stops not there, 10

  But makes his moral being his prime care;

  Who, doomed to go in company with Pain,

  And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train!

  Turns his necessity to glorious gain;

  In face of these doth exercise a power

  Which is our human nature’s highest dower;

  Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves

  Of their bad influence, and their good receives:

  By objects, which might force the soul to abate

  Her feeling, rendered more compassionate; 20

  Is placable—because occasions rise

  So often that demand such sacrifice;

  More skilful in self-knowled
ge, even more pure,

  As tempted more; more able to endure,

  As more exposed to suffering and distress;

  Thence, also, more alive to tenderness.

  —’Tis he whose law is reason; who depends

  Upon that law as on the best of friends;

  Whence, in a state where men are tempted still

  To evil for a guard against worse ill, 30

  And what in quality or act is best

  Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,

  He labours good on good to fix, and owes

  To virtue every triumph that he knows:

  —Who, if he rise to station of command,

  Rises by open means; and there will stand

  On honourable terms, or else retire,

  And in himself possess his own desire;

  Who comprehends his trust, and to the same

  Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim; 40

  And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait

  For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state;

  Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall,

  Like showers of manna, if they come at all:

  Whose powers shed round him in the common strife,

  Or mild concerns of ordinary life,

  A constant influence, a peculiar grace;

  But who, if he be called upon to face

  Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined

  Great issues, good or bad for human kind, 50

  Is happy as a Lover; and attired

  With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired;

  And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law

  In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw;

  Or if an unexpected call succeed,

  Come when it will, is equal to the need:

  —He who, though thus endued as with a sense

  And faculty for storm and turbulence,

  Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans

  To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes; 60

  Sweet images! which, wheresoe’er he be,

  Are at his heart; and such fidelity

  It is his darling passion to approve;

  More brave for this, that he hath much to love:—

  ‘Tis, finally, the Man, who, lifted high,

  Conspicuous object in a Nation’s eye,

  Or left unthought-of in obscurity,—

  Who, with a toward or untoward lot,

  Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not—

  Plays, in the many games of life, that one 70

  Where what he most doth value must be won:

  Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,

  Nor thought of tender happiness betray;

  Who, not content that former worth stand fast,

  Looks forward, persevering to the last,

  From well to better, daily self-surpast:

  Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth

  For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,

  Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame,

  And leave a dead unprofitable name— 80

  Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;

  And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws

  His breath in confidence of Heaven’s applause:

  This is the happy Warrior; this is He

  That every Man in arms should wish to be.

  1806.

  THE HORN OF EGREMONT CASTLE

  ERE the Brothers through the gateway

  Issued forth with old and young,

  To the Horn Sir Eustace pointed

  Which for ages there had hung.

  Horn it was which none could sound,

  No one upon living ground,

  Save He who came as rightful Heir

  To Egremont’s Domains and Castle fair.

  Heirs from times of earliest record

  Had the House of Lucie born, 10

  Who of right had held the Lordship

  Claimed by proof upon the Horn:

  Each at the appointed hour

  Tried the Horn,—it owned his power;

  He was acknowledged: and the blast,

  Which good Sir Eustace sounded, was the last.

  With his lance Sir Eustace pointed,

  And to Hubert thus said he,

  “What I speak this Horn shall witness

  For thy better memory. 20

  Hear, then, and neglect me not!

  At this time, and on this spot,

  The words are uttered from my heart,

  As my last earnest prayer ere we depart.

  “On good service we are going

  Life to risk by sea and land,

  In which course if Christ our Saviour

  Do my sinful soul demand,

  Hither come thou back straightway,

  Hubert, if alive that day; 30

  Return, and sound the Horn, that we

  May have a living House still left in thee!”

  “Fear not,” quickly answered Hubert;

  “As I am thy Father’s son,

  What thou askest, noble Brother,

  With God’s favour shall be done.”

  So were both right well content:

  Forth they from the Castle went,

  And at the head of their Array

  To Palestine the Brothers took their way. 40

  Side by side they fought (the Lucies

  Were a line for valour famed),

  And where’er their strokes alighted,

  There the Saracens were tamed.

  Whence, then, could it come—the thought—

  By what evil spirit brought?

  Oh! can a brave Man wish to take

  His Brother’s life, for Lands’ and Castle’s sake?

  “Sir!” the Ruffians said to Hubert,

  “Deep he lies in Jordan flood.”50

  Stricken by this ill assurance,

  Pale and trembling Hubert stood.

  “Take your earnings.”—Oh! that I

  Could have ‘seen’ my Brother die!

  It was a pang that vexed him then;

  And oft returned, again, and yet again.

  Months passed on, and no Sir Eustace!

  Nor of him were tidings heard;

  Wherefore, bold as day, the Murderer

  Back again to England steered. 60

  To his Castle Hubert sped;

  Nothing has he now to dread.

  But silent and by stealth he came,

  And at an hour which nobody could name.

  None could tell if it were night-time,

  Night or day, at even or morn;

  No one’s eye had seen him enter,

  No one’s ear had heard the Horn.

  But bold Hubert lives in glee:

  Months and years went smilingly; 70

  With plenty was his table spread;

  And bright the Lady is who shares his bed.

  Likewise he had sons and daughters;

  And, as good men do, he sate

  At his board by these surrounded,

  Flourishing in fair estate.

  And while thus in open day

  Once he sate, as old books say,

  A blast was uttered from the Horn,

  Where by the Castle-gate it hung forlorn. 80

  ‘Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace!

  He is come to claim his right:

  Ancient castle, woods, and mountains

  Hear the challenge with delight.

  Hubert! though the blast be blown

  He is helpless and alone:

  Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word!

  And there he may be lodged, and thou be Lord.

  Speak!—astounded Hubert cannot;

  And, if power to speak he had, 90

  All are daunted, all the household

  Smitten to the heart, and sad.

  ‘Tis Sir Eustace; if it be

  Living man, it must be he!

  Thus Hubert thought in his dismay,


  And by a postern-gate he slunk away.

  Long, and long was he unheard of:

  To his Brother then he came,

  Made confession, asked forgiveness,

  Asked it by a brother’s name, 100

  And by all the saints in heaven;

  And of Eustace was forgiven:

  Then in a convent went to hide

  His melancholy head, and there he died.

  But Sir Eustace, whom good angels

  Had preserved from murderers’ hands,

  And from Pagan chains had rescued,

  Lived with honour on his lands.

  Sons he had, saw sons of theirs:

  And through ages, heirs of heirs, 110

  A long posterity renowned,

  Sounded the Horn which they alone could sound.

  1806.

  A COMPLAINT

  THERE is a change—and I am poor;

  Your love hath been, not long ago,

  A fountain at my fond heart’s door,

  Whose only business was to flow;

  And flow it did: not taking heed

  Of its own bounty, or my need.

  What happy moments did I count!

  Blest was I then all bliss above!

  Now, for that consecrated fount

  Of murmuring, sparkling, living love, 10

  What have I? shall I dare to tell?

  A comfortless and hidden well.

  A well of love—it may be deep—

  I trust it is,—and never dry:

  What matter? if the waters sleep

  In silence and obscurity.

  —Such change, and at the very door

  Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.

  1806.

  STRAY PLEASURES

  “—Pleasure is spread through the earth

  In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.”

  BY their floating mill,

  That lies dead and still,

  Behold yon Prisoners three,

  The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the Thames!

  The platform is small, but gives room for them all;

  And they’re dancing merrily.

  From the shore come the notes

  To their mill where it floats,

  To their house and their mill tethered fast:

  To the small wooden isle where, their work to beguile, 10

  They from morning to even take whatever is given;—

  And many a blithe day they have past.

  In sight of the spires,

  All alive with the fires

  Of the sun going down to his rest,

  In the broad open eye of the solitary sky,

  They dance,—there are three, as jocund as free,

  While they dance on the calm river’s breast.

  Man and Maidens wheel,

  They themselves make the reel, 20

  And their music’s a prey which they seize;