Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  Most frequently call forth, and best sustain,

  These pure sensations; that can penetrate

  The obstreperous city; on the barren seas

  Are not unfelt; and much might recommend, 370

  How much they might inspirit and endear,

  The loneliness of this sublime retreat!”

  “Yes,” said the Sage, resuming the discourse

  Again directed to his downcast Friend,

  “If, with the froward will and grovelling soul

  Of man, offended, liberty is here,

  And invitation every hour renewed,

  To mark ‘their’ placid state, who never heard

  Of a command which they have power to break,

  Or rule which they are tempted to transgress: 380

  These, with a soothed or elevated heart,

  May we behold; their knowledge register;

  Observe their ways; and, free from envy, find

  Complacence there:—but wherefore this to you?

  I guess that, welcome to your lonely hearth,

  The redbreast, ruffled up by winter’s cold

  Into a ‘feathery bunch,’ feeds at your hand:

  A box, perchance, is from your casement hung

  For the small wren to build in;—not in vain,

  The barriers disregarding that surround 390

  This deep abiding place, before your sight

  Mounts on the breeze the butterfly; and soars,

  Small creature as she is, from earth’s bright flowers,

  Into the dewy clouds. Ambition reigns

  In the waste wilderness: the Soul ascends

  Drawn towards her native firmament of heaven,

  When the fresh eagle, in the month of May,

  Upborne, at evening, on replenished wing,

  This shaded valley leaves; and leaves the dark

  Empurpled hills, conspicuously renewing 400

  A proud communication with the sun

  Low sunk beneath the horizon!—List!—I heard,

  From yon huge breast of rock, a voice sent forth

  As if the visible mountain made the cry.

  Again!”—The effect upon the soul was such

  As he expressed: from out the mountain’s heart

  The solemn voice appeared to issue, startling

  The blank air—for the region all around

  Stood empty of all shape of life, and silent

  Save for that single cry, the unanswered bleat 410

  Of a poor lamb—left somewhere to itself,

  The plaintive spirit of the solitude!

  He paused, as if unwilling to proceed,

  Through consciousness that silence in such place

  Was best, the most affecting eloquence.

  But soon his thoughts returned upon themselves,

  And, in soft tone of speech, thus he resumed.

  “Ah! if the heart, too confidently raised,

  Perchance too lightly occupied, or lulled

  Too easily, despise or overlook 420

  The vassalage that binds her to the earth,

  Her sad dependence upon time, and all

  The trepidations of mortality,

  What place so destitute and void—but there

  The little flower her vanity shall check;

  The trailing worm reprove her thoughtless pride?

  These craggy regions, these chaotic wilds,

  Does that benignity pervade, that warms

  The mole contented with her darksome walk

  In the cold ground; and to the emmet gives 430

  Her foresight, and intelligence that makes

  The tiny creatures strong by social league;

  Supports the generations, multiplies

  Their tribes, till we behold a spacious plain

  Or grassy bottom, all, with little hills—

  Their labour, covered, as a lake with waves;

  Thousands of cities, in the desert place

  Built up of life, and food, and means of life!

  Nor wanting here, to entertain the thought,

  Creatures that in communities exist, 440

  Less, as might seem, for general guardianship

  Or through dependence upon mutual aid,

  Than by participation of delight

  And a strict love of fellowship, combined.

  What other spirit can it be that prompts

  The gilded summer flies to mix and weave

  Their sports together in the solar beam,

  Or in the gloom of twilight hum their joy?

  More obviously the self-same influence rules

  The feathered kinds; the fieldfare’s pensive flock, 450

  The cawing rooks, and sea-mews from afar,

  Hovering above these inland solitudes,

  By the rough wind unscattered, at whose call

  Up through the trenches of the long-drawn vales

  Their voyage was begun: nor is its power

  Unfelt among the sedentary fowl

  That seek yon pool, and there prolong their stay

  In silent congress; or together roused

  Take flight; while with their clang the air resounds:

  And, over all, in that ethereal vault, 460

  Is the mute company of changeful clouds;

  Bright apparition, suddenly put forth,

  The rainbow smiling on the faded storm;

  The mild assemblage of the starry heavens;

  And the great sun, earth’s universal lord!

  How bountiful is Nature! he shall find

  Who seeks not; and to him, who hath not asked,

  Large measure shall be dealt. Three sabbath-days

  Are scarcely told, since, on a service bent

  Of mere humanity, you clomb those heights; 470

  And what a marvellous and heavenly show

  Was suddenly revealed!—the swains moved on,

  And heeded not: you lingered, you perceived

  And felt, deeply as living man could feel.

  There is a luxury in self-dispraise;

  And inward self-disparagement affords

  To meditative spleen a grateful feast.

  Trust me, pronouncing on your own desert,

  You judge unthankfully: distempered nerves

  Infect the thoughts: the languor of the frame 480

  Depresses the soul’s vigour. Quit your couch—

  Cleave not so fondly to your moody cell;

  Nor let the hallowed powers, that shed from heaven

  Stillness and rest, with disapproving eye

  Look down upon your taper, through a watch

  Of midnight hours, unseasonably twinkling

  In this deep Hollow, like a sullen star

  Dimly reflected in a lonely pool.

  Take courage, and withdraw yourself from ways

  That run not parallel to nature’s course. 490

  Rise with the lark! your matins shall obtain

  Grace, be their composition what it may,

  If but with hers performed; climb once again,

  Climb every day, those ramparts; meet the breeze

  Upon their tops, adventurous as a bee

  That from your garden thither soars, to feed

  On new-blown heath; let yon commanding rock

  Be your frequented watch-tower; roll the stone

  In thunder down the mountains; with all your might

  Chase the wild goat; and if the bold red deer 500

  Fly to those harbours, driven by hound and horn

  Loud echoing, add your speed to the pursuit;

  So, wearied to your hut shall you return,

  And sink at evening into sound repose.”

  The Solitary lifted toward the hills

  A kindling eye:—accordant feelings rushed

  Into my bosom, whence these words broke forth:

  “Oh! what a joy it were, in vigorous health,

  To have a body (this our vital frame

  With shrinking sensi
bility endued, 510

  And all the nice regards of flesh and blood)

  And to the elements surrender it

  As if it were a spirit!—How divine,

  The liberty, for frail, for mortal, man

  To roam at large among unpeopled glens

  And mountainous retirements, only trod

  By devious footsteps; regions consecrate

  To oldest time! and, reckless of the storm

  That keeps the raven quiet in her nest,

  Be as a presence or a motion—one 520

  Among the many there; and while the mists

  Flying, and rainy vapours, call out shapes

  And phantoms from the crags and solid earth

  As fast as a musician scatters sounds

  Out of an instrument; and while the streams

  (As at a first creation and in haste

  To exercise their untried faculties)

  Descending from the region of the clouds,

  And starting from the hollows of the earth

  More multitudinous every moment, rend 530

  Their way before them—what a joy to roam

  An equal among mightiest energies;

  And haply sometimes with articulate voice,

  Amid the deafening tumult, scarcely heard

  By him that utters it, exclaim aloud,

  ‘Rage on ye elements! let moon and stars

  Their aspects lend, and mingle in their turn

  With this commotion (ruinous though it be)

  From day to night, from night to day, prolonged!’“

  “Yes,” said the Wanderer, taking from my lips 540

  The strain of transport, “whosoe’er in youth

  Has, through ambition of his soul, given way

  To such desires, and grasped at such delight,

  Shall feel congenial stirrings late and long,

  In spite of all the weakness that life brings,

  Its cares and sorrows; he, though taught to own

  The tranquillizing power of time, shall wake,

  Wake sometimes to a noble restlessness—

  Loving the sports which once he gloried in.

  Compatriot, Friend, remote are Garry’s hills, 550

  The streams far distant of your native glen;

  Yet is their form and image here expressed

  With brotherly resemblance. Turn your steps

  Wherever fancy leads; by day, by night,

  Are various engines working, not the same

  As those with which your soul in youth was moved,

  But by the great Artificer endowed

  With no inferior power. You dwell alone;

  You walk, you live, you speculate alone;

  Yet doth remembrance, like a sovereign prince, 560

  For you a stately gallery maintain

  Of gay or tragic pictures. You have seen,

  Have acted, suffered, travelled far, observed

  With no incurious eye; and books are yours,

  Within whose silent chambers treasure lies

  Preserved from age to age; more precious far

  Than that accumulated store of gold

  And orient gems, which, for a day of need,

  The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs.

  These hoards of truth you can unlock at will: 570

  And music waits upon your skilful touch,

  Sounds which the wandering shepherd from these heights

  Hears, and forgets his purpose;—furnished thus,

  How can you droop, if willing to be upraised?

  A piteous lot it were to flee from Man—

  Yet not rejoice in Nature. He, whose hours

  Are by domestic pleasures uncaressed

  And unenlivened; who exists whole years

  Apart from benefits received or done

  ‘Mid the transactions of the bustling crowd; 580

  Who neither hears, nor feels a wish to hear,

  Of the world’s interests—such a one hath need

  Of a quick fancy, and an active heart,

  That, for the day’s consumption, books may yield

  Food not unwholesome; earth and air correct

  His morbid humour, with delight supplied

  Or solace, varying as the seasons change.

  —Truth has her pleasure-grounds, her haunts of ease

  And easy contemplation; gay parterres,

  And labyrinthine walks, her sunny glades 590

  And shady groves in studied contrast—each,

  For recreation, leading into each:

  These may he range, if willing to partake

  Their soft indulgences, and in due time

  May issue thence, recruited for the tasks

  And course of service Truth requires from those

  Who tend her altars, wait upon her throne,

  And guard her fortresses. Who thinks, and feels,

  And recognises ever and anon

  The breeze of nature stirring in his soul, 600

  Why need such man go desperately astray,

  And nurse ‘the dreadful appetite of death?’

  If tired with systems, each in its degree

  Substantial, and all crumbling in their turn,

  Let him build systems of his own, and smile

  At the fond work, demolished with a touch;

  If unreligious, let him be at once,

  Among ten thousand innocents, enrolled

  A pupil in the many-chambered school,

  Where superstition weaves her airy dreams. 610

  Life’s autumn past, I stand on winter’s verge;

  And daily lose what I desire to keep:

  Yet rather would I instantly decline

  To the traditionary sympathies

  Of a most rustic ignorance, and take

  A fearful apprehension from the owl

  Or death-watch: and as readily rejoice,

  If two auspicious magpies crossed my way;—

  To this would rather bend than see and hear

  The repetitions wearisome of sense, 620

  Where soul is dead, and feeling hath no place;

  Where knowledge, ill begun in cold remark

  On outward things, with formal inference ends;

  Or, if the mind turn inward, she recoils

  At once—or, not recoiling, is perplexed—

  Lost in a gloom of uninspired research;

  Meanwhile, the heart within the heart, the seat

  Where peace and happy consciousness should dwell,

  On its own axis restlessly revolving,

  Seeks, yet can nowhere find, the light of truth. 630

  Upon the breast of new-created earth

  Man walked; and when and wheresoe’er he moved,

  Alone or mated, solitude was not.

  He heard, borne on the wind, the articulate voice

  Of God; and Angels to his sight appeared

  Crowning the glorious hills of paradise;

  Or through the groves gliding like morning mist

  Enkindled by the sun. He sate—and talked

  With winged Messengers; who daily brought

  To his small island in the ethereal deep 640

  Tidings of joy and love.—From those pure heights

  (Whether of actual vision, sensible

  To sight and feeling, or that in this sort

  Have condescendingly been shadowed forth

  Communications spiritually maintained,

  And intuitions moral and divine)

  Fell Human-kind—to banishment condemned

  That flowing years repealed not: and distress

  And grief spread wide; but Man escaped the doom

  Of destitution;—solitude was not. 650

  —Jehovah—shapeless Power above all Powers,

  Single and one, the omnipresent God,

  By vocal utterance, or blaze of light,

  Or cloud of darkness, localised in heaven;

  On earth, enshrined within the wandering ark;
<
br />   Or, out of Sion, thundering from his throne

  Between the Cherubim—on the chosen Race

  Showered miracles, and ceased not to dispense

  Judgments, that filled the land from age to age

  With hope, and love, and gratitude, and fear; 660

  And with amazement smote;—thereby to assert

  His scorned, or unacknowledged, sovereignty.

  And when the One, ineffable of name,

  Of nature indivisible, withdrew

  From mortal adoration or regard,

  Not then was Deity engulphed; nor Man,

  The rational creature, left, to feel the weight

  Of his own reason, without sense or thought

  Of higher reason and a purer will,

  To benefit and bless, through mightier power:— 670

  Whether the Persian—zealous to reject

  Altar and image, and the inclusive walls

  And roofs of temples built by human hands—

  To loftiest heights ascending, from their tops,

  With myrtle-wreathed tiara on his brow,

  Presented sacrifice to moon and stars,

  And to the winds and mother elements,

  And the whole circle of the heavens, for him

  A sensitive existence, and a God,

  With lifted hands invoked, and songs of praise: 680

  Or, less reluctantly to bonds of sense

  Yielding his soul, the Babylonian framed

  For influence undefined a personal shape;

  And, from the plain, with toil immense, upreared

  Tower eight times planted on the top of tower,

  That Belus, nightly to his splendid couch

  Descending, there might rest; upon that height

  Pure and serene, diffused—to overlook

  Winding Euphrates, and the city vast

  Of his devoted worshippers, far-stretched, 690

  With grove and field and garden interspersed;

  Their town, and foodful region for support

  Against the pressure of beleaguering war.

  Chaldean Shepherds, ranging trackless fields,

  Beneath the concave of unclouded skies

  Spread like a sea, in boundless solitude,

  Looked on the polar star, as on a guide

  And guardian of their course, that never closed

  His stedfast eye. The planetary Five

  With a submissive reverence they beheld; 700

  Watched, from the centre of their sleeping flocks,

  Those radiant Mercuries, that seemed to move

  Carrying through ether, in perpetual round,

  Decrees and resolutions of the Gods;

  And, by their aspects, signifying works

  Of dim futurity, to Man revealed.

  —The imaginative faculty was lord

  Of observations natural; and, thus

  Led on, those shepherds made report of stars

  In set rotation passing to and fro, 710