Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  181. Peter Bell: a Tale.

  DEDICATION.

  ‘What’s in a Name?’

  ‘Brutus will start a Spirit as soon as Caesar!’

  To ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ., P.L., ETC., ETC.

  MY DEAR FRIEND,

  The Tale of ‘Peter Bell,’ which I now introduce to your notice, and to that of the Public, has, in its Manuscript state, nearly survived its minority: — for it first saw the light in the summer of 1798. During this long interval, pains have been taken at different times to make the production less unworthy of a favourable reception; or, rather, to fit it for filling permanently a station, however humble, in the Literature of our Country. This has, indeed, been the aim of all my endeavours in Poetry, which, you know, have been sufficiently laborious to prove that I deem the Art not lightly to be approached; and that the attainment of excellence in it may laudably be made the principal object of intellectual pursuit by any man who, with reasonable consideration of circumstances, has faith in his own impulses.

  The Poem of ‘Peter Bell,’ as the Prologue will show, was composed under a belief that the Imagination not only does not require for its exercise the intervention of supernatural agency, but that, though such agency be excluded, the faculty may be called forth as imperiously and for kindred results of pleasure, by incidents, within the compass of poetic probability, in the humblest departments of daily life. Since that Prologue was written, you have exhibited most splendid effects of judicious daring, in the opposite and usual course. Let this acknowledgment make my peace with the lovers of the supernatural; and I am persuaded it will be admitted that to you, as a Master in that province of the art, the following Tale, whether from contrast or congruity, is not an inappropriate offering. Accept it, then, as a public testimony of affectionate admiration from one with whose name yours has been often coupled (to use your own words) for evil and for good; and believe me to be, with earnest wishes that life and health may be granted you to complete the many important works in which you are engaged, and with high respect,

  Most faithfully yours,

  WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

  Rydal Mount, April 7, 1819.

  182. Peter Bell: the Poem.

  Alfoxden, 1798. Founded upon an anecdote which I read in a newspaper, of an ass being found hanging his head over a canal in a wretched posture. Upon examination a dead body was found in the water, and proved to be the body of its master. The countenance, gait, and figure of Peter were taken from a wild rover with whom I walked from Builth, on the river Wye, downwards, nearly as far as the town of Hay. He told me strange stories. It has always been a pleasure to me, through life, to catch at every opportunity that has occurred in my rambles of becoming acquainted with this class of people. The number of Peter’s wives was taken from the trespasses, in this way, of a lawless creature who lived in the county of Durham, and used to be attended by many women, sometimes not less than half a dozen, as disorderly as himself; and a story went in the country, that he had been heard to say while they were quarrelling, ‘Why can’t you be quiet, there’s none so many of you.’ Benoni, or the child of sorrow, I knew when I was a school-boy. His mother had been deserted by a gentleman in the neighbourhood, she herself being a gentlewoman by birth. The circumstances of her story were told me by my dear old dame, Ann Tyson, who was her confidante. The lady died broken-hearted. In the woods of Alfoxden I used to take great delight in noticing the habits, tricks, and physiognomy of asses; and I have no doubt that I was thus put upon writing the poem out of liking for the creature that is so often dreadfully abused. The crescent moon, which makes such a figure in the prologue, assumed this character one evening while I was watching its beauty in front of Alfoxden House. I intended this poem for the volume before spoken of, but it was not published for more than twenty years afterwards. The worship of the Methodists, or Ranters, is often heard during the stillness of the summer evening, in the country, with affecting accompaniments of rural beauty. In both the psalmody and voice of the preacher there is, not unfrequently, much solemnity likely to impress the feelings of the rudest characters under favourable circumstances.

  Potter (foot-note).

  ‘A Potter, Sir, he was by trade’ (Pt. I. l. 11).

  In the dialect of the North, a hawker of earthenware is thus designated.

  VII. MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS.

  PART I.

  183. Commencement of writing of Sonnets.

  In the cottage of Town-End, one afternoon in 1801, my sister read to me the sonnets of Milton. I had long been well acquainted with them, but I was particularly struck on that occasion with the dignified simplicity and majestic harmony that runs through most of them — in character so totally different from the Italian, and still more so from Shakespeare’s fine sonnets. I took fire, if I may be allowed to say so, and produced three sonnets the same afternoon — the first I ever wrote, except an irregular one at school. Of these three, the only one I distinctly remember is ‘I grieved for Buonaparte,’ &c. One was never written down; the third, which was I believe preserved, I cannot particularise.

  184. Admonition.

  ‘Well mays’t thou halt,’ &c. [II.]

  Intended more particularly for the perusal of those who have happened to be enamoured of some beautiful place of retreat in the Country of the Lakes.

  185. Sonnet IV.

  ‘Beaumont! it was thy wish,’ &c.

  This was presented to me by Sir George Beaumont, with a view to the erection of a house upon it, for the sake of being near to Coleridge, then living, and likely to remain, at Greta Hall, near Keswick. The severe necessities that prevented this arose from his domestic situation. This little property, with a considerable addition that still leaves it very small, lies beautifully upon the banks of a rill that gurgles down the side of Skiddaw; and the orchard and other parts of the grounds command a magnificent prospect of Derwent Water, the Mountains of Borrowdale and Newlands. Not many years ago I gave the place to my daughter. [In pencil on opposite page in Mrs. Quillinan’s handwriting — Many years ago, sir, for it was given when she was a frail feeble monthling.]

  186. Sonnet VI.

  ‘There is a little unpretending rill.’

  This rill trickles down the hill-side into Windermere near Lowood. My sister and I, on our first visit together to this part of the country, walked from Kendal, and we rested to refresh ourselves by the side of the Lake where the streamlet falls into it. This sonnet was written some years after in recollection of that happy ramble, that most happy day and hour.

  187. Sonnet VIII.

  ‘The fairest, brightest hues,’ &c.

  Suggested at Hackett, which is the craggy ridge that rises between the two Langdales, and looks towards Windermere. The cottage of Hackett was often visited by us; and at the time when this sonnet was written, and long after, was occupied by the husband and wife described in ‘The Excursion,’ where it is mentioned that she was in the habit of walking in the front of the dwelling with a light to guide her husband home at night. The same cottage is alluded to in the Epistle to Sir G. Beaumont as that from which the female peasant hailed us on our morning journey. The musician mentioned in the sonnet was the Rev. P. Tilbrook of Peterhouse, who remodelled the Ivy Cottage at Rydal after he had purchased it.

  188. ‘The Genius.’

  ‘Such strains of rapture as the Genius played.’

  See the ‘Vision of Mirza’ in the Spectator.

  189. Sonnet IX.

  Upon the sight of a beautiful picture.

  This was written when we dwelt in the Parsonage at Grasmere. The principal features of the picture are Bredon Hill and Cloud Hill, near Coleorton. I shall never forget the happy feeling with which my heart was filled when I was impelled to compose this sonnet. We resided only two years in this house; and during the last half of this time, which was after this poem had been written, we lost our two children, Thomas and Catherine. Our sorrow upon these events often brought it to my mind, and cast me upon the support to which the last line of it
gives expression:

  ‘The appropriate calm of blest eternity.’

  It is scarcely necessary to add that we still possess the picture.

  190. Sonnet XI.

  Aerial Rock.

  A projecting point of Loughrigg, nearly in front of Rydal Mount. Thence looking at it, you are struck with the boldness of its aspect; but walking under it, you admire the beauty of its details. It is vulgarly called Holme-scar, probably from the insulated pasture by the waterside below it.

  191. Sonnet XV.

  The Wild Duck’s Nest.

  I observed this beautiful nest on the largest island of Rydal Water.

  192. Sonnet XIX.

  ‘Grief thou hast lost,’ &c.

  I could write a treatise of lamentation upon the changes brought about among the cottages of Westmoreland by the silence of the spinning-wheel. During long winter’s nights and wet days, the wheel upon which wool was spun gave employment to a great part of a family. The old man, however infirm, was able to card the wool, as he sate in the corner by the fireside; and often, when a boy, have I admired the cylinders of carded wool which were softly laid upon each other by his side. Two wheels were often at work on the same floor, and others of the family, chiefly the little children, were occupied in teazing and clearing the wool to fit it for the hand of the carder. So that all, except the infants, were contributing to mutual support: Such was the employment that prevailed in the pastoral vales. Where wool was not at hand, in the small rural towns, the wheel for spinning flax was almost in as constant use, if knitting was not preferred; which latter occupation had the advantage (in some cases disadvantage) that not being of necessity stationary, it allowed of gossiping about from house to house, which good housewives reckoned an idle thing.

  193. Sonnet XXII.

  Decay of Piety.

  Attendance at church on prayer-days, Wednesdays and Fridays and holidays, received a shock at the Revolution. It is now, however, happily reviving. The ancient people described in this sonnet were among the last of that pious class. May we hope that the practice now in some degree renewed will continue to spread.

  194. Sonnets XXIV. XXV. XXVI.

  Translations from Michael Angelo, done at the request of Mr. Duppa, whose acquaintance I made through Mr. Southey. Mr. Duppa was engaged in writing the life of Michael Angelo, and applied to Mr. Southey and myself to furnish some specimens of his poetic genius.

  195. Sonnet XXVII.

  ‘Surprised by joy,’ &c.

  This was in fact suggested by my daughter Catherine long after her death.

  196. Sonnets XXVIII. XXIX.

  ‘Methought I saw,’ &c. ‘Even so for me,’ &c.

  The latter part of the first of these was a great favourite with my sister, Sara Hutchinson. When I saw her lying in death, I could not resist the impulse to compose the sonnet that follows.

  197. Sonnet XXX.

  ‘It is a beauteous evening,’ &c.

  This was composed on the beach near Calais, in the autumn of 1802.

  198. Sonnet XXXVI.

  ‘Calvert! it must not be,’ &c.

  This young man, Raisley Calvert, to whom I was so much indebted, died at Penrith, 179-.

  PART II.

  199. Sonnet IV.

  ‘From the dark chambers,’ &c.

  Composed in Edinburgh, during my Scotch tour with Mary and Sara, in the year 1814. Poor Gillies never rose above the course of extravagance in which he was at that time living, and which soon reduced him to poverty and all its degrading shifts, mendicity being far from the worst. I grieve whenever I think of him; for he was far from being without genius, and had a generous heart — which is not always to be found in men given up to profusion. He was nephew of Lord Gillies, the Scotch judge, and also of the historian of Greece. He was cousin of Miss Margaret Gillies, who painted so many portraits with success in our house.

  200. Sonnet V.

  ‘Fool, prime of life,’ &c.

  Suggested by observation of the way in which a young friend, whom I do not choose to name, misspent his time and misapplied his talents. He took afterwards a better course, and became an useful member of society, respected, I believe, wherever he has been known.

  201. Sonnet VI.

  ‘I watch, and long have watched,’ &c.

  Suggested in front of Rydal Mount, the rocky parapet being the summit of Loughrigg Fell opposite. Not once only but a hundred times have the feelings of this sonnet been awakened by the same objects from the same place.

  202. Sonnet VII.

  ‘The ungenial Hollow.’

  See the ‘Phaedon’ of Plato, by which this sonnet was suggested.

  203. Sonnet VIII.

  ‘For the whole weight,’ &c.

  Composed, almost extempore, in a short walk on the western side of Rydal Lake.

  204. Sonnet X.

  ‘Mark the concentred hazels,’ &c.

  Suggested in the wild hazel-wood at foot of Helm-Crag, where the stone still lies, with others of like form and character, though much of the wood that veiled it from the glare of day has been felled. This beautiful ground was lately purchased by our friend, Mrs. Fletcher, the ancient owners, most respected persons, being obliged to part with it in consequence of the imprudence, if not misconduct, of a son. It is gratifying to mention that instead of murmuring and repining at this change of fortune they offered their services to Mrs. Fletcher, the husband as an out-door labourer and the wife as a domestic servant. I have witnessed the pride and pleasure with which the man worked at improvements of the ground round the house. Indeed he expressed them to me himself, and the countenance and manner of his wife always denoted feelings of the same character. I believe a similar disposition to contentment under change of fortune is common among the class to which these good people belong. Yet, in proof that to part with their patrimony is most painful to them, I may refer to those stanzas entitled ‘Repentance,’ no inconsiderable part of which was taken verbatim from the language of the speaker himself. [In pencil — Herself, M.N.]

  205. Sonnet XI.

  ‘Dark and more dark,’ &c.

  October 3d or 4th, 1802. Composed after a journey over the Hambleton Hills, on a day memorable to me — the day of my marriage. The horizon commanded by those hills is most magnificent.

  The next day, while we were travelling in a post-chaise up Wensley Dale, we were stopt by one of the horses proving restiff, and were obliged to wait two hours in a severe storm before the post-boy could fetch from the Inn another to supply its place. The spot was in front of Bolton Hall, where Mary Queen of Scots was kept prisoner soon after her unfortunate landing at Workington. The place then belonged to the Scroopes, and memorials of her are yet preserved there. To beguile the time I composed a sonnet. The subject was our own confinement contrasted with hers; but it was not thought worthy of being preserved.

  206. Sonnet XIII.

  ‘While not a leaf,’ &c.

  September 1815. ‘For me, who under kindlier laws,’ &c. (l. 9). This conclusion has more than once, to my great regret, excited painfully sad feelings in the hearts of young persons fond of poetry and poetic composition by contrast of their feeble and declining health with that state of robust constitution which prompted me to rejoice in a season of frost and snow as more favourable to the Muses than summer itself.

  207. Sonnet XIV.

  ‘How clear, how keen,’ &c.

  November 1st. Suggested on the banks of the Brathay by the sight of Langdale Pikes. It is delightful to remember those moments of far-distant days, which probably would have been forgotten if the impression had not been transferred to verse. The same observation applies to the rest.

  208. Sonnet XV.

  One who was suffering,’ &c.

  Composed during a storm in Rydal Wood by the side of a torrent.

  209. Sonnet XVIII.

  ‘Lady, the songs of Spring,’ &c.

  1807. To Lady Beaumont. The winter garden of Coleorton, fashioned out of an old quarry under the su
perintendence and direction of Mrs. Wordsworth and my sister Dorothy, during the Winter and Spring of the year we resided there.

  210. Sonnet XIX.

  ‘There is a pleasure,’ &c.

  Written on a journey from Brinsop Court, Herefordshire.

  211. Sonnet XXIX.

  ‘Though narrow,’ &c.

  1807. Coleorton. This old man’s name was Mitchell. He was, in all his ways and conversation, a great curiosity, both individually and as a representative of past times. His chief employment was keeping watch at night by pacing round the house at that time building, to keep off depredators. He has often told me gravely of having seen the ‘Seven Whistlers and the Hounds’ as here described. Among the groves of Coleorton, where I became familiar with the habits and notions of old Mitchell, there was also a labourer of whom I regret I had no personal knowledge; for, more than forty years after, when he was become an old man, I learnt that while I was composing verses, which I usually did aloud, he took much pleasure, unknown to me, in following my steps, that he might catch the words I uttered, and, what is not a little remarkable, several lines caught in this way kept their place in his memory. My volumes have lately been given to him, by my informant, and surely he must have been gratified to meet in print his old acquaintance.

  212. Sonnet XXX. ‘Four fiery steeds,’ &c.

  Suggested on the road between Preston and Lancaster, where it first gives a view of the Lake country, and composed on the same day, on the roof of the coach.

  213. Sonnet XXXI. ‘Brook! whose society,’ &c.

  Also composed on the roof of a coach, on my way to France, September 1802.