Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  ‘In Arcady, beneath unaltered skies,

  ‘Through the long year in constant quiet bound,

  ‘Night hushed as night, and day serene as day!’

  —But why this tedious record?—Age, we know

  Is garrulous; and solitude is apt

  To anticipate the privilege of Age,

  From far ye come; and surely with a hope

  Of better entertainment:—let us hence!”

  Loth to forsake the spot, and still more loth 330

  To be diverted from our present theme,

  I said, “My thoughts, agreeing, Sir, with yours,

  Would push this censure farther;—for, if smiles

  Of scornful pity be the just reward

  Of Poesy thus courteously employed

  In framing models to improve the scheme

  Of Man’s existence, and recast the world,

  Why should not grave Philosophy be styled,

  Herself, a dreamer of a kindred stock,

  A dreamer yet more spiritless and dull? 340

  Yes, shall the fine immunities she boasts

  Establish sounder titles of esteem

  For her, who (all too timid and reserved

  For onset, for resistance too inert,

  Too weak for suffering, and for hope too tame)

  Placed, among flowery gardens curtained round

  With world-excluding groves, the brotherhood

  Of soft Epicureans, taught—if they

  The ends of being would secure, and win

  The crown of wisdom—to yield up their souls 350

  To a voluptuous unconcern, preferring

  Tranquillity to all things. Or is she,”

  I cried, “more worthy of regard, the Power,

  Who, for the sake of sterner quiet, closed

  The Stoic’s heart against the vain approach

  Of admiration, and all sense of joy?”

  His countenance gave notice that my zeal

  Accorded little with his present mind;

  I ceased, and he resumed.—”Ah! gentle Sir,

  Slight, if you will, the ‘means’; but spare to slight 360

  The ‘end’ of those, who did, by system, rank,

  As the prime object of a wise man’s aim,

  Security from shock of accident,

  Release from fear; and cherished peaceful days

  For their own sakes, as mortal life’s chief good,

  And only reasonable felicity.

  What motive drew, what impulse, I would ask,

  Through a long course of later ages, drove,

  The hermit to his cell in forest wide;

  Or what detained him, till his closing eyes 370

  Took their last farewell of the sun and stars,

  Fast anchored in the desert?—Not alone

  Dread of the persecuting sword, remorse,

  Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged

  And unavengeable, defeated pride,

  Prosperity subverted, maddening want,

  Friendship betrayed, affection unreturned,

  Love with despair, or grief in agony;—

  Not always from intolerable pangs

  He fled; but, compassed round by pleasure, sighed 380

  For independent happiness; craving peace,

  The central feeling of all happiness,

  Not as a refuge from distress or pain,

  A breathing-time, vacation, or a truce,

  But for its absolute self; a life of peace,

  Stability without regret or fear;

  That hath been, is, and shall be evermore!—

  Such the reward he sought; and wore out life,

  There, where on few external things his heart

  Was set, and those his own; or, if not his, 390

  Subsisting under nature’s stedfast law.

  What other yearning was the master tie

  Of the monastic brotherhood, upon rock

  Aerial, or in green secluded vale,

  One after one, collected from afar,

  An undissolving fellowship?—What but this,

  The universal instinct of repose,

  The longing for confirmed tranquillity,

  Inward and outward; humble, yet sublime:

  The life where hope and memory are as one; 400

  Where earth is quiet and her face unchanged

  Save by the simplest toil of human hands

  Or seasons’ difference; the immortal Soul

  Consistent in self-rule; and heaven revealed

  To meditation in that quietness!—

  Such was their scheme: and though the wished-for end

  By multitudes was missed, perhaps attained

  By none, they for the attempt, and pains employed,

  Do, in my present censure, stand redeemed

  From the unqualified disdain, that once 410

  Would have been cast upon them by my voice

  Delivering her decisions from the seat

  Of forward youth—that scruples not to solve

  Doubts, and determine questions, by the rules

  Of inexperienced judgment, ever prone

  To overweening faith; and is inflamed,

  By courage, to demand from real life

  The test of act and suffering, to provoke

  Hostility—how dreadful when it comes,

  Whether affliction be the foe, or guilt! 420

  A child of earth, I rested, in that stage

  Of my past course to which these thoughts advert,

  Upon earth’s native energies; forgetting

  That mine was a condition which required

  Nor energy, nor fortitude—a calm

  Without vicissitude; which, if the like

  Had been presented to my view elsewhere,

  I might have even been tempted to despise.

  But no—for the serene was also bright;

  Enlivened happiness with joy o’erflowing, 430

  With joy, and—oh! that memory should survive

  To speak the word—with rapture! Nature’s boon,

  Life’s genuine inspiration, happiness

  Above what rules can teach, or fancy feign;

  Abused, as all possessions ‘are’ abused

  That are not prized according to their worth.

  And yet, what worth? what good is given to men,

  More solid than the gilded clouds of heaven?

  What joy more lasting than a vernal flower?—

  None! ‘tis the general plaint of human kind 440

  In solitude: and mutually addressed

  From each to all, for wisdom’s sake:—This truth

  The priest announces from his holy seat:

  And, crowned with garlands in the summer grove,

  The poet fits it to his pensive lyre.

  Yet, ere that final resting-place be gained,

  Sharp contradictions may arise, by doom

  Of this same life, compelling us to grieve

  That the prosperities of love and joy

  Should be permitted, oft-times, to endure 450

  So long, and be at once cast down for ever.

  Oh! tremble, ye, to whom hath been assigned

  A course of days composing happy months,

  And they as happy years; the present still

  So like the past, and both so firm a pledge

  Of a congenial future, that the wheels

  Of pleasure move without the aid of hope:

  For Mutability is Nature’s bane;

  And slighted Hope ‘will’ be avenged; and, when

  Ye need her favours, ye shall find her not; 460

  But in her stead—fear—doubt—and agony!”

  This was the bitter language of the heart:

  But, while he spake, look, gesture, tone of voice,

  Though discomposed and vehement, were such

  As skill and graceful nature might suggest

  To a proficient of the tragic scene

  Standing before
the multitude, beset

  With dark events. Desirous to divert

  Or stem the current of the speaker’s thoughts,

  We signified a wish to leave that place 470

  Of stillness and close privacy, a nook

  That seemed for self-examination made;

  Or, for confession, in the sinner’s need,

  Hidden from all men’s view. To our attempt

  He yielded not; but, pointing to a slope

  Of mossy turf defended from the sun,

  And on that couch inviting us to rest,

  Full on that tender-hearted Man he turned

  A serious eye, and his speech thus renewed.

  “You never saw, your eyes did never look 480

  On the bright form of Her whom once I loved:—

  Her silver voice was heard upon the earth,

  A sound unknown to you; else, honoured Friend!

  Your heart had borne a pitiable share

  Of what I suffered, when I wept that loss,

  And suffer now, not seldom, from the thought

  That I remember, and can weep no more.—

  Stripped as I am of all the golden fruit

  Of self-esteem; and by the cutting blasts

  Of self-reproach familiarly assailed; 490

  Yet would I not be of such wintry bareness

  But that some leaf of your regard should hang

  Upon my naked branches:—lively thoughts

  Give birth, full often, to unguarded words;

  I grieve that, in your presence, from my tongue

  Too much of frailty hath already dropped;

  But that too much demands still more.

  You know,

  Revered Compatriot—and to you, kind Sir,

  (Not to be deemed a stranger, as you come

  Following the guidance of these welcome feet 500

  To our secluded vale) it may be told—

  That my demerits did not sue in vain

  To One on whose mild radiance many gazed

  With hope, and all with pleasure. This fair Bride—

  In the devotedness of youthful love,

  Preferring me to parents, and the choir

  Of gay companions, to the natal roof,

  And all known places and familiar sights

  (Resigned with sadness gently weighing down

  Her trembling expectations, but no more 510

  Than did to her due honour, and to me

  Yielded, that day, a confidence sublime

  In what I had to build upon)—this Bride,

  Young, modest, meek, and beautiful, I led

  To a low cottage in a sunny bay,

  Where the salt sea innocuously breaks,

  And the sea breeze as innocently breathes,

  On Devon’s leafy shores;—a sheltered hold,

  In a soft clime encouraging the soil

  To a luxuriant bounty!—As our steps 520

  Approach the embowered abode—our chosen seat—

  See, rooted in the earth, her kindly bed,

  The unendangered myrtle, decked with flowers,

  Before the threshold stands to welcome us!

  While, in the flowering myrtle’s neighbourhood,

  Not overlooked but courting no regard,

  Those native plants, the holly and the yew,

  Gave modest intimation to the mind

  How willingly their aid they would unite

  With the green myrtle, to endear the hours 530

  Of winter, and protect that pleasant place.

  —Wild were the walks upon those lonely Downs,

  Track leading into track; how marked, how worn

  Into bright verdure, between fern and gorse

  Winding away its never-ending line

  On their smooth surface, evidence was none;

  But, there, lay open to our daily haunt,

  A range of unappropriated earth,

  Where youth’s ambitious feet might move at large;

  Whence, unmolested wanderers, we beheld 540

  The shining giver of the day diffuse

  His brightness o’er a tract of sea and land

  Gay as our spirits, free as our desires;

  As our enjoyments, boundless.—From those heights

  We dropped, at pleasure, into sylvan combs;

  Where arbours of impenetrable shade,

  And mossy seats, detained us side by side,

  With hearts at ease, and knowledge in our hearts

  ‘That all the grove and all the day was ours.’

  O happy time! still happier was at hand; 550

  For Nature called my Partner to resign

  Her share in the pure freedom of that life,

  Enjoyed by us in common.—To my hope,

  To my heart’s wish, my tender Mate became

  The thankful captive of maternal bonds;

  And those wild paths were left to me alone.

  There could I meditate on follies past;

  And, like a weary voyager escaped

  From risk and hardship, inwardly retrace

  A course of vain delights and thoughtless guilt, 560

  And self-indulgence—without shame pursued.

  There, undisturbed, could think of and could thank

  Her whose submissive spirit was to me

  Rule and restraint—my guardian—shall I say

  That earthly Providence, whose guiding love

  Within a port of rest had lodged me safe;

  Safe from temptation, and from danger far?

  Strains followed of acknowledgment addressed

  To an authority enthroned above

  The reach of sight; from whom, as from their source 570

  Proceed all visible ministers of good

  That walk the earth—Father of heaven and earth,

  Father, and king, and judge, adored and feared!

  These acts of mind, and memory, and heart,

  And spirit—interrupted and relieved

  By observations transient as the glance

  Of flying sunbeams, or to the outward form

  Cleaving with power inherent and intense,

  As the mute insect fixed upon the plant

  On whose soft leaves it hangs, and from whose cup 580

  It draws its nourishment imperceptibly—

  Endeared my wanderings; and the mother’s kiss

  And infant’s smile awaited my return.

  In privacy we dwelt, a wedded pair,

  Companions daily, often all day long;

  Not placed by fortune within easy reach

  Of various intercourse, nor wishing aught

  Beyond the allowance of our own fire-side,

  The twain within our happy cottage born,

  Inmates, and heirs of our united love; 590

  Graced mutually by difference of sex,

  And with no wider interval of time

  Between their several births than served for one

  To establish something of a leader’s sway;

  Yet left them joined by sympathy in age;

  Equals in pleasure, fellows in pursuit.

  On these two pillars rested as in air

  Our solitude.

  It soothes me to perceive,

  Your courtesy withholds not from my words

  Attentive audience. But, oh! gentle Friends, 600

  As times of quiet and unbroken peace,

  Though, for a nation, times of blessedness,

  Give back faint echoes from the historian’s page;

  So, in the imperfect sounds of this discourse,

  Depressed I hear, how faithless is the voice

  Which those most blissful days reverberate.

  What special record can, or need, be given

  To rules and habits, whereby much was done,

  But all within the sphere of little things;

  Of humble, though, to us, important cares, 610

  And precious interests? Smoothly did our life

  Advanc
e, swerving not from the path prescribed;

  Her annual, her diurnal, round alike!

  Maintained with faithful care. And you divine

  The worst effects that our condition saw

  If you imagine changes slowly wrought,

  And in their progress unperceivable;

  Not wished for; sometimes noticed with a sigh,

  (Whate’er of good or lovely they might bring)

  Sighs of regret, for the familiar good 620

  And loveliness endeared which they removed.

  Seven years of occupation undisturbed

  Established seemingly a right to hold

  That happiness; and use and habit gave,

  To what an alien spirit had acquired,

  A patrimonial sanctity. And thus,

  With thoughts and wishes bounded to this world,

  I lived and breathed; most grateful—if to enjoy

  Without repining or desire for more,

  For different lot, or change to higher sphere, 630

  (Only except some impulses of pride

  With no determined object, though upheld

  By theories with suitable support)—

  Most grateful, if in such wise to enjoy

  Be proof of gratitude for what we have;

  Else, I allow, most thankless.—But, at once,

  From some dark seat of fatal power was urged

  A claim that shattered all.—Our blooming girl,

  Caught in the gripe of death, with such brief time

  To struggle in as scarcely would allow 640

  Her cheek to change its colour, was conveyed

  From us to inaccessible worlds, to regions

  Where height, or depth, admits not the approach

  Of living man, though longing to pursue.

  —With even as brief a warning—and how soon,

  With what short interval of time between,

  I tremble yet to think of—our last prop,

  Our happy life’s only remaining stay—

  The brother followed; and was seen no more!

  Calm as a frozen lake when ruthless winds 650

  Blow fiercely, agitating earth and sky,

  The Mother now remained; as if in her,

  Who, to the lowest region of the soul,

  Had been erewhile unsettled and disturbed,

  This second visitation had no power

  To shake; but only to bind up and seal;

  And to establish thankfulness of heart

  In Heaven’s determinations, ever just.

  The eminence whereon her spirit stood,

  Mine was unable to attain. Immense 660

  The space that severed us! But, as the sight

  Communicates with heaven’s ethereal orbs

  Incalculably distant; so, I felt

  That consolation may descend from far

  (And that is intercourse, and union, too,)

  While, overcome with speechless gratitude,

  And, with a holier love inspired, I looked