Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  Soft, as may seem, but, under that disguise,

  Stuffed with the thorny substance of the past

  For fixed annoyance; and full oft beset

  With floating dreams, black and disconsolate,

  The vapoury phantoms of futurity?

  Within the soul a faculty abides,

  That with interpositions, which would hide

  And darken, so can deal that they become 1060

  Contingencies of pomp; and serve to exalt

  Her native brightness. As the ample moon,

  In the deep stillness of a summer even

  Rising behind a thick and lofty grove,

  Burns, like an unconsuming fire of light,

  In the green trees; and, kindling on all sides

  Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil

  Into a substance glorious as her own,

  Yea, with her own incorporated, by power

  Capacious and serene. Like power abides 1070

  In man’s celestial spirit; virtue thus

  Sets forth and magnifies herself; thus feeds

  A calm, a beautiful, and silent fire,

  From the encumbrances of mortal life,

  From error, disappointment—nay, from guilt;

  And sometimes, so relenting justice wills,

  From palpable oppressions of despair.”

  The Solitary by these words was touched

  With manifest emotion, and exclaimed;

  “But how begin? and whence?—’The Mind is free— 1080

  Resolve,’ the haughty Moralist would say,

  ‘This single act is all that we demand.’

  Alas! such wisdom bids a creature fly

  Whose very sorrow is, that time hath shorn

  His natural wings!—To friendship let him turn

  For succour, but perhaps he sits alone

  On stormy waters, tossed in a little boat

  That holds but him, and can contain no more!

  Religion tells of amity sublime

  Which no condition can preclude; of One 1090

  Who sees all suffering, comprehends all wants,

  All weakness fathoms, can supply all needs:

  But is that bounty absolute?—His gifts,

  Are they not, still, in some degree, rewards

  For acts of service? Can his love extend

  To hearts that own not him? Will showers of grace,

  When in the sky no promise may be seen,

  Fall to refresh a parched and withered land?

  Or shall the groaning Spirit cast her load

  At the Redeemer’s feet?”

  In rueful tone, 1100

  With some impatience in his mien, he spake:

  Back to my mind rushed all that had been urged

  To calm the Sufferer when his story closed;

  I looked for counsel as unbending now;

  But a discriminating sympathy

  Stooped to this apt reply:—

  “As men from men

  Do, in the constitution of their souls,

  Differ, by mystery not to be explained;

  And as we fall by various ways, and sink

  One deeper than another, self-condemned, 1110

  Through manifold degrees of guilt and shame;

  So manifold and various are the ways

  Of restoration, fashioned to the steps

  Of all infirmity, and tending all

  To the same point, attainable by all—

  Peace in ourselves, and union with our God.

  For you, assuredly, a hopeful road

  Lies open: we have heard from you a voice

  At every moment softened in its course

  By tenderness of heart; have seen your eye, 1120

  Even like an altar lit by fire from heaven,

  Kindle before us.—Your discourse this day,

  That, like the fabled Lethe, wished to flow

  In creeping sadness, through oblivious shades

  Of death and night, has caught at every turn

  The colours of the sun. Access for you

  Is yet preserved to principles of truth,

  Which the imaginative Will upholds

  In seats of wisdom, not to be approached

  By the inferior Faculty that moulds, 1130

  With her minute and speculative pains,

  Opinion, ever changing!

  I have seen

  A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract

  Of inland ground, applying to his ear

  The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell;

  To which, in silence hushed, his very soul

  Listened intensely; and his countenance soon

  Brightened with joy; for from within were heard

  Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed

  Mysterious union with its native sea. 1140

  Even such a shell the universe itself

  Is to the ear of Faith; and there are times,

  I doubt not, when to you it doth impart

  Authentic tidings of invisible things;

  Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power;

  And central peace, subsisting at the heart

  Of endless agitation. Here you stand,

  Adore, and worship, when you know it not;

  Pious beyond the intention of your thought;

  Devout above the meaning of your will. 1150

  —Yes, you have felt, and may not cease to feel.

  The estate of man would be indeed forlorn

  If false conclusions of the reasoning power

  Made the eye blind, and closed the passages

  Through which the ear converses with the heart.

  Has not the soul, the being of your life,

  Received a shock of awful consciousness,

  In some calm season, when these lofty rocks

  At night’s approach bring down the unclouded sky,

  To rest upon their circumambient walls; 1160

  A temple framing of dimensions vast,

  And yet not too enormous for the sound

  Of human anthems,—choral song, or burst

  Sublime of instrumental harmony,

  To glorify the Eternal! What if these

  Did never break the stillness that prevails

  Here,—if the solemn nightingale be mute,

  And the soft woodlark here did never chant

  Her vespers,—Nature fails not to provide

  Impulse and utterance. The whispering air 1170

  Sends inspiration from the shadowy heights,

  And blind recesses of the caverned rocks;

  The little rills, and waters numberless,

  Inaudible by daylight, blend their notes

  With the loud streams: and often, at the hour

  When issue forth the first pale stars, is heard,

  Within the circuit of this fabric huge,

  One voice—the solitary raven, flying

  Athwart the concave of the dark blue dome,

  Unseen, perchance above all power of sight— 1180

  An iron knell! with echoes from afar

  Faint—and still fainter—as the cry, with which

  The wanderer accompanies her flight

  Through the calm region, fades upon the ear,

  Diminishing by distance till it seemed

  To expire; yet from the abyss is caught again,

  And yet again recovered!

  But descending

  From these imaginative heights, that yield

  Far-stretching views into eternity,

  Acknowledge that to Nature’s humbler power 1190

  Your cherished sullenness is forced to bend

  Even here, where her amenities are sown

  With sparing hand. Then trust yourself abroad

  To range her blooming bowers, and spacious fields,

  Where on the labours of the happy throng

  She smiles, including in her wide embrace

  City, and town, and tower,—and sea with ships

/>   Sprinkled;—be our Companion while we track

  Her rivers populous with gliding life;

  While, free as air, o’er printless sands we march, 1200

  Or pierce the gloom of her majestic woods;

  Roaming, or resting under grateful shade

  In peace and meditative cheerfulness;

  Where living things, and things inanimate,

  Do speak, at Heaven’s command, to eye and ear,

  And speak to social reason’s inner sense,

  With inarticulate language.

  For, the Man—

  Who, in this spirit, communes with the Forms

  Of nature, who with understanding heart

  Both knows and loves such objects as excite 1210

  No morbid passions, no disquietude,

  No vengeance, and no hatred—needs must feel

  The joy of that pure principle of love

  So deeply, that, unsatisfied with aught

  Less pure and exquisite, he cannot choose

  But seek for objects of a kindred love

  In fellow-natures and a kindred joy.

  Accordingly he by degrees perceives

  His feelings of aversion softened down;

  A holy tenderness pervade his frame. 1220

  His sanity of reason not impaired,

  Say rather, all his thoughts now flowing clear,

  From a clear fountain flowing, he looks round

  And seeks for good; and finds the good he seeks:

  Until abhorrence and contempt are things

  He only knows by name; and, if he hear,

  From other mouths, the language which they speak,

  He is compassionate; and has no thought,

  No feeling, which can overcome his love.

  And further; by contemplating these Forms 1230

  In the relations which they bear to man,

  He shall discern, how, through the various means

  Which silently they yield, are multiplied

  The spiritual presences of absent things.

  Trust me, that for the instructed, time will come

  When they shall meet no object but may teach

  Some acceptable lesson to their minds

  Of human suffering, or of human joy.

  So shall they learn, while all things speak of man,

  Their duties from all forms; and general laws, 1240

  And local accidents, shall tend alike

  To rouse, to urge; and, with the will, confer

  The ability to spread the blessings wide

  Of true philanthropy. The light of love

  Not failing, perseverance from their steps

  Departing not, for them shall be confirmed

  The glorious habit by which sense is made

  Subservient still to moral purposes,

  Auxiliar to divine. That change shall clothe

  The naked spirit, ceasing to deplore 1250

  The burthen of existence. Science then

  Shall be a precious visitant; and then,

  And only then, be worthy of her name:

  For then her heart shall kindle; her dull eye,

  Dull and inanimate, no more shall hang

  Chained to its object in brute slavery;

  But taught with patient interest to watch

  The processes of things, and serve the cause

  Of order and distinctness, not for this

  Shall it forget that its most noble use, 1260

  Its most illustrious province, must be found

  In furnishing clear guidance, a support

  Not treacherous, to the mind’s ‘excursive’ power.

  —So build we up the Being that we are;

  Thus deeply drinking-in the soul of things

  We shall be wise perforce; and, while inspired

  By choice, and conscious that the Will is free,

  Shall move unswerving, even as if impelled

  By strict necessity, along the path

  Of order and of good. Whate’er we see, 1270

  Or feel, shall tend to quicken and refine;

  Shall fix, in calmer seats of moral strength,

  Earthly desires; and raise, to loftier heights

  Of divine love, our intellectual soul.”

  Here closed the Sage that eloquent harangue,

  Poured forth with fervour in continuous stream,

  Such as, remote, ‘mid savage wilderness,

  An Indian Chief discharges from his breast

  Into the hearing of assembled tribes,

  In open circle seated round, and hushed 1280

  As the unbreathing air, when not a leaf

  Stirs in the mighty woods.—So did he speak:

  The words he uttered shall not pass away

  Dispersed, like music that the wind takes up

  By snatches, and lets fall, to be forgotten;

  No—they sank into me, the bounteous gift

  Of one whom time and nature had made wise,

  Gracing his doctrine with authority

  Which hostile spirits silently allow;

  Of one accustomed to desires that feed 1290

  On fruitage gathered from the tree of life;

  To hopes on knowledge and experience built;

  Of one in whom persuasion and belief

  Had ripened into faith, and faith become

  A passionate intuition; whence the Soul,

  Though bound to earth by ties of pity and love,

  From all injurious servitude was free.

  The Sun, before his place of rest were reached,

  Had yet to travel far, but unto us,

  To us who stood low in that hollow dell, 1300

  He had become invisible,—a pomp

  Leaving behind of yellow radiance spread

  Over the mountain sides, in contrast bold

  With ample shadows, seemingly, no less

  Than those resplendent lights, his rich bequest;

  A dispensation of his evening power.

  —Adown the path that from the glen had led

  The funeral train, the Shepherd and his Mate

  Were seen descending:—forth to greet them ran

  Our little Page: the rustic pair approach; 1310

  And in the Matron’s countenance may be read

  Plain indication that the words, which told

  How that neglected Pensioner was sent

  Before his time into a quiet grave,

  Had done to her humanity no wrong:

  But we are kindly welcomed—promptly served

  With ostentatious zeal.—Along the floor

  Of the small Cottage in the lonely Dell

  A grateful couch was spread for our repose;

  Where, in the guise of mountaineers, we lay, 1320

  Stretched upon fragrant heath, and lulled by sound

  Of far-off torrents charming the still night,

  And, to tired limbs and over-busy thoughts,

  Inviting sleep and soft forgetfulness.

  NOTES

  130 ‘‘Tis, by comparison, an easy task

  Earth to despise,’ etc.

  See, upon this subject, Baxter’s most interesting review of his

  own opinions and sentiments in the decline of life. It may be

  found (lately reprinted) in Dr. Wordsworth’s “Ecclesiastical

  Biography.”

  205 ‘Alas! the endowment of immortal Power

  Is matched unequally with custom, time,’ etc.

  This subject is treated at length in the Ode—Intimations of

  Immortality.

  324 ‘Knowing the heart of man is set to be,’ etc.

  The passage quoted from Daniel is taken from a poem addressed to

  the Lady Margaret, Countess of Cumberland, and the two last lines,

  printed in Italics, are by him translated from Seneca. The whole

  Poem is very beautiful. I will transcribe four stanzas from it, as

  they contain an admirable picture
of the state of a wise Man’s

  mind in a time of public commotion.

  Nor is he moved with all the thunder-cracks

  Of tyrant’s threats, or with the surly brow

  Of Power, that proudly sits on others’ crimes;

  Charged with more crying sins than those he checks.

  The storms of sad confusion that may grow

  Up in the present for the coming times,

  Appal not him; that hath no side at all,

  But of himself, and knows the worst can fall.

  Although his heart (so near allied to earth)

  Cannot but pity the perplexed state

  Of troublous and distressed mortality,

  That thus make way unto the ugly birth

  Of their own sorrows, and do still beget

  Affliction upon Imbecility:

  Yet seeing thus the course of things must run,

  He looks thereon not strange, but as fore-done.

  And whilst distraught ambition compasses,

  And is encompassed, while as craft deceives,

  And is deceived: whilst man doth ransack man,

  And builds on blood, and rises by distress;

  And th’ Inheritance of desolation leaves

  To great-expecting hopes: He looks thereon,

  As from the shore of peace, with unwet eye,

  And bears no venture in Impiety.

  Thus, Lady, fares that man that hath prepared

  A rest for his desires; and sees all things

  Beneath him; and hath learned this book of man,

  Full of the notes of frailty; and compared

  The best of glory with her sufferings:

  By whom, I see, you labour all you can

  To plant your heart! and set your thoughts as near

  His glorious mansion as your powers can bear.

  THE EXCURSION: BOOK FIFTH

  THE PASTOR

  “FAREWELL, deep Valley, with thy one rude House,

  And its small lot of life-supporting fields,

  And guardian rocks!—Farewell, attractive seat!

  To the still influx of the morning light

  Open, and day’s pure cheerfulness, but veiled

  From human observation, as if yet

  Primeval forests wrapped thee round with dark

  Impenetrable shade; once more farewell,

  Majestic circuit, beautiful abyss,

  By Nature destined from the birth of things 10

  For quietness profound!”

  Upon the side

  Of that brown ridge, sole outlet of the vale

  Which foot of boldest stranger would attempt,

  Lingering behind my comrades, thus I breathed

  A parting tribute to a spot that seemed

  Like the fixed centre of a troubled world.

  Again I halted with reverted eyes;

  The chain that would not slacken, was at length

  Snapt,—and, pursuing leisurely my way,