Thou art not beyond the moon, But a thing "beneath our shoon:" [A] 50 Let the bold Discoverer thrid In his bark the polar sea; Rear who will a pyramid; [5] Praise it is enough for me, If there be but three or four 55 Who will love my little Flower.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1836.

... risen ... 1807.]

[Variant 2:

1832.

... shelter'd ... 1807.]

[Variant 3:

1845.

Bright as any of the train 1807.]

[Variant 4: This stanza was added in 1845. (See note [Footnote B, To the Small Celandine], p. 302.)]

[Variant 5:

1845.

Let, as old Magellen did, Others roam about the sea; Build who will a pyramid; [a] 1807.

Let, with bold advent'rous skill, Others thrid the polar sea; Rear a pyramid who will; 1820.

Let the bold Adventurer thrid In his bark the polar sea; Rear who will a pyramid; 1827.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: This may be an imperfect reminiscence of 'Comus', ll. 634-5.—Ed.]

* * * * *

SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Sub-Footnote a: Barron Field asked Wordsworth to restore these lines of 1807, and Wordsworth promised to do so, but never did it.—Ed.]

The following is an extract from Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal. Saturday, May 1.

"A heavenly morning. We went into the garden, and sowed the scarlet beans about the house. It was a clear sky. I sowed the flowers, William helped me. We then went and sat in the orchard till dinner time. It was very hot. William wrote 'The Celandine' (second part). We planned a shed, for the sun was too much for us."

Ed.



* * * * *



STANZAS WRITTEN IN MY POCKET COPY OF THOMSON'S "CASTLE OF INDOLENCE"

Begun 9th May, finished 11th May, 1802.—Published 1815

[Composed in the orchard, Town-end, Grasmere, Coleridge living with us much at this time: his son Hartley has said, that his father's character and habits are here preserved in a livelier way than in anything that has been written about him. I.F.]

One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."—Ed.



Within our happy Castle there dwelt One Whom without blame I may not overlook; For never sun on living creature shone Who more devout enjoyment with us took: Here on his hours he hung as on a book, 5 On his own time here would he float away, As doth a fly upon a summer brook; But go to-morrow, or belike to-day, Seek for him,—he is fled; and whither none can say.

Thus often would he leave our peaceful home, 10 And find elsewhere his business or delight; Out of our Valley's limits did he roam: Full many a time, upon a stormy night, [A] His voice came to us from the neighbouring height: Oft could [1] we see him driving full in view 15 At midday when the sun was shining bright; What ill was on him, what he had to do, A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew.

Ah! piteous sight it was to see this Man When he came back to us, a withered flower,—20 Or like a sinful creature, pale and wan. Down would he sit; and without strength or power Look at the common grass from hour to hour: And oftentimes, how long I fear to say, Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower, 25 Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay; [B] And, like a naked Indian, slept himself away.

Great wonder to our gentle tribe it was Whenever from our Valley he withdrew; For happier soul no living creature has 30 Than he had, being here the long day through. Some thought he was a lover, and did woo: Some thought far worse of him, and judged him wrong; But verse was what he had been wedded to; And his own mind did like a tempest strong 35 Come to him thus, and drove the weary Wight along.[C]

With him there often walked in friendly guise, Or lay upon the moss by brook or tree, A noticeable Man with large grey eyes, And a pale face that seemed undoubtedly 40 As if a blooming face it ought to be; Heavy his low-hung lip did oft appear, Deprest by weight of musing Phantasy; Profound his forehead was, though not severe; Yet some did think that he had little business here: 45

Sweet heaven forefend! his was a lawful right; Noisy he was, and gamesome as a boy; His limbs would toss about him with delight Like branches when strong winds the trees annoy. Nor lacked his calmer hours device or toy 50 To banish listlessness and irksome care; He would have taught you how you might employ Yourself; and many did to him repair,— And certes not in vain; he had inventions rare.

Expedients, too, of simplest sort he tried: 55 Long blades of grass, plucked round him as he lay, Made, to his ear attentively applied, A pipe on which the wind would deftly play; Glasses he had, that little things display, The beetle panoplied in gems and gold, [2] 60 A mailed angel on a battle-day; The mysteries that cups of flowers enfold, [3] And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.

He would entice that other Man to hear His music, and to view his imagery: 65 And, sooth, these two were each to the other dear: No livelier love in such a place could be: [4] There did they dwell-from earthly labour free, As happy spirits as were ever seen; If but a bird, to keep them company, 70 Or butterfly sate down, they were, I ween, As pleased as if the same had been a Maiden-queen.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1836.

... did ... 1815.]

[Variant 2:

1827.

The beetle with his radiance manifold, 1815.]

[Variant 3:

1827.

And cups of flowers, and herbage green and gold; 1815.]

[Variant 4:

1836.

And, sooth, these two did love each other dear, As far as love in such a place could be; 1815.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Compare

'And oft he traced the uplands to survey, When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn, The crimson cloud.'

Beattie's 'Minstrel', book I, st. 20.

'And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb When all in mist the world below was lost.'

Book I. st. 21.

'And of each gentle, and each dreadful scene In darkness, and in storm, he found delight.'

Book I. st. 22. Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare the stanza in 'A Poet's Epitaph' (p. 77), beginning

'He is retired as noontide dew.'

Ed.]

[Footnote C: Many years ago Canon Ainger pointed out to me a parallel between Beattie's description of 'The Minstrel' and Wordsworth's account of himself in this poem. It is somewhat curious that Dorothy Wordsworth, writing to Miss Pollard from Forncett in 1793, quotes the line from 'The Minstrel', book I. stanza 22,

"In truth he was a strange and wayward wight,"

and adds

"That verse of Beattie's 'Minstrel' always reminds me of him, and indeed the whole character of Edwin resembles much what William was when I first knew him after leaving Halifax."

Mr. T. Hutchinson called the attention of Professor Dowden to the same resemblance between the two pictures. With lines 35, 36, compare in Shelley's 'Adonais', stanza xxxi.:

'And his own thoughts, along that rugged way, Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.'

Ed.]

There can now be no doubt that, in the first four of these 'Stanzas', Wordsworth refers to himself; and that, in the last four, he refers to Coleridge. For a time it was uncertain whether in the earlier stanzas he had Coleridge, or himself, in view; and whether, in the later ones, some one else was, or was not, described. De Quincey, quoting (as he often did) in random fashion, mixes up extracts from each set of the stanzas, and applies them both to Coleridge; and Dorothy Wordsworth, in her Journal, gives apparent (though only apparent) sanction to a reverse order of allusion, by writing of "the stanzas about C. and himself" (her brother). The following are her references to the poem in that Journal:

"9th May (1802).-After tea he (W.) wrote two stanzas in the manner of Thomson's 'Castle of Indolence', and was tired out.

"10th May.—William still at work, though it is past ten o'clock ... William did not sleep till three o'clock."

"11th May.—William finished the stanzas about C. and himself. He did not go out to-day. ... He completely finished his poem. He went to bed at twelve o'clock."

From these extracts two things are evident,

(1) who the persons are described in the stanzas, and

(2) the immense labour bestowed upon the poem.

In the 'Memoirs of Wordsworth', by the late Bishop of Lincoln, there is a passage (vol. ii. chap. li. p. 309) amongst the "Personal Reminiscences, 1836," in which the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge virtually decides the question of the identity of the two persons referred to, in his record of a conversation with the poet. It is as follows:

"October 10th.—I have passed a great many hours to-day with Wordsworth in his home. I stumbled on him with proof sheets before him. He read me nearly all the sweet stanzas written in his copy of the 'Castle of Indolence', describing himself and my uncle; and he and Mrs. W. both assured me the description of the latter at that time was perfectly accurate; and he was almost as a great boy in feelings, and had all the tricks and fancies there described. Mrs. W. seemed to look back on him, and those times, with the fondest affection."

I think "the neighbouring height" referred to is the height of White Moss Common, behind the Fir-Grove, where Wordsworth was often heard murmuring out his verses," booing" as the country folks said: and the

'driving full in view At midday when the sun was shining bright,'

aptly describes his habits as recorded in his sister's Journal, and elsewhere. The "withered flower," the "creature pale and wan," are significant of those terrible reactions of spirit, which followed his joyous hours of insight and inspiration. Stanzas IV. to VII. of 'Resolution and Independence' (p. 314), in which Wordsworth undoubtedly described himself, may be compared with stanza III. of this poem. The lines

'Down would he sit; and without strength or power Look at the common grass from hour to hour,'

are aptly illustrated by such passages in his sister's Journal, as the following, of 29th April 1802:

"We went to John's Grove, sate a while at first; afterwards William lay, and I lay in the trench, under the fence—he with his eyes closed, and listening to the waterfalls and the birds. There was no one waterfall above another—it was a kind of water in the air—the voice of the air. We were unseen by one another."

Again, April 23rd,

"Coleridge and I pushed on before. We left William sitting on the stones, feasting with silence."

And this recalls the first verse of 'Expostulation and Reply', written at Alfoxden in 1798;

'Why, William, on that old grey stone, Thus for the length of half a day, Why, William, sit you thus alone, And dream your time away?'

The retreat where "apple-trees in blossom made a bower," and where he so often "slept himself away," was evidently the same as that described in the poem 'The Green Linnet':

'Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow white blossoms on my head.'

On the other hand, the "low-hung lip" and "profound" forehead of the other, the "noticeable Man with large grey eyes," mark him out as S. T. C.; "the rapt One, of the god-like forehead," described in the 'Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg'. The description "Noisy he was, and gamesome as a boy," is verified by what the poet and his wife said to Mr. Justice Coleridge in 1836. In addition, Mr. Hutchinson of Kimbolton tells me he "often heard his father say that Coleridge was uproarious in his mirth."

Matthew Arnold wrote me an interesting letter some years ago about these stanzas, from which I make the following extract:

"When one looks uneasily at a poem it is easy to fidget oneself further, and neither the Wordsworth nor the Coleridge of our common notions seem to be exactly hit off in the 'Stanzas'; still, I believe that the first described is Wordsworth and that the second described is Coleridge. I have myself heard Wordsworth speak of his prolonged exhausting wanderings among the hills. Then Miss Fenwick's notes show that Coleridge is certainly one of the two personages of the poem, and there are points in the description of the second man which suit him very well. The 'profound forehead' is a touch akin to the 'god-like forehead' in the mention of Coleridge in a later poem.

"I have a sort of recollection of having heard something about the 'inventions rare,' and Coleridge is certain to have dabbled, at one time or other, in natural philosophy."

In 1796 Coleridge wrote to his friend Cottle from Nether Stowey:

" ... I should not think of devoting less than 20 years to an Epic Poem: ten to collect materials and warm my mind with universal science. I would be a tolerable Mathematician, I would thoroughly know Mechanics, Hydrostatics, Optics, and Astronomy, Botany, Metallurgy, Fossilism, Chemistry, Geology, Anatomy, Medicine—then the 'mind of man'—then the 'minds of men'—in all Travels, Voyages, and Histories. So I would spend ten years—the next five to the composition of the poem—and the last five to the correction of it. So would I write, haply not unhearing of the divine and rightly whispering Voice," etc.

Mr. T. Hutchinson (Dublin) writes in 'The Athenaeum', Dec. 15, 1894:

"I take it for granted these lines were written, not only on the fly-leaf of Wordsworth's copy of the 'Castle of Indolence', but also by way of Supplement to that poem; i. e. as an 'addendum' to the descriptive list of the denizens of the Castle given in stanzas LVII-LXIX of Canto I.; that, in short, they are meant to be read as though they were an after-thought of James Thomson's. Their author, therefore, has rightly imparted to them the curiously blended flavour of 'romantic melancholy and slippered mirth,' of dreamlike vagueness and smiling hyperbole, which forms the distinctive mark of Thomson's poem; and thus the Poet and the Philosopher-Friend of Wordsworth's stanzas, like Thomson's companion sketches of the splenetic Solitary, the 'bard more fat than bard beseems,' and the 'little, round, fat, oily Man of God,' are neither more nor less than gentle caricatures."

It has been suggested by Coleridge's grandson that Wordsworth was describing S. T. C. in all the stanzas of this poem; that he drew two separate pictures of him; in the first four stanzas a realistic "character portrait," and in the last four a "companion picture, figuring the outward semblance of Coleridge, but embodying characteristics drawn from a third person"; so that we have a "fancy sketch" mixed up with a real one. I cannot agree with this. The evidence against it is

(1) Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal; (2) the poet's and his wife's remarks to Mr. Justice Coleridge; (3) the fact that Wordsworth was not in the habit of "passing from realism into artistic composition," except where he distinctly indicated it, as in the case of the Hawkshead Schoolmaster, in the "Matthew" poems. Such composite or conglomerate work was quite foreign to Wordsworth's genius.

Ed.



* * * * *



RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE

Begun May 3, finished July 4, 1802.—Published 1807

[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. This old man I met a few hundred yards from my cottage; and the account of him is taken from his own mouth. I was in the state of feeling described in the beginning of the poem, while crossing over Barton Fell from Mr. Clarkson's, at the foot of Ullswater, towards Askham. The image of the hare I then observed on the ridge of the Fell.—I.F.]

This poem was known in the Wordsworth household as "The Leech-Gatherer," although it never received that name in print. An entry in Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal of Friday, 3rd October 1800, may preface what she wrote in 1802 about the composition of the poem.

"When William and I returned from accompanying Jones, we met an old man almost double. He had on a coat thrown over his shoulders above his waistcoat and coat. Under this he carried a bundle, and had an apron on, and a night-cap. His face was interesting. He had dark eyes, and a long nose. John, who afterwards met him at Wytheburn, took him for a Jew. He was of Scotch parents, but had been born in the army. He had had a wife, 'and a good woman, and it pleased God to bless him with ten children.' All these were dead but one, of whom he had not heard for many years, a sailor. His trade was to gather leeches; but now leeches were scarce, and he had not strength for it. He lived by begging, and was making his way to Carlisle where he would buy a few books to sell. He said leeches were very scarce, partly owing to this dry season; but many years they had been scarce. He supposed it was owing to their being much sought after; that they did not breed fast; and were of slow growth. Leeches were formerly 2s. 6d. the 100; now they were 30s. He had been hurt in driving a cart, his leg broken, his body driven over, his skull fractured. He felt no pain till he recovered from his first insensibility. It was late in the evening, when the light was just going away."

It is most likely that this walk of William and Dorothy Wordsworth "accompanying Jones," was on the day of Jones's departure from Dove Cottage, viz. 26th September.

The Journal continues:

"Tuesday, 4th May, 1802.—Though William went to bed nervous and jaded in the extreme, he rose refreshed. I wrote out 'The Leech-Gatherer' for him, which he had begun the night before, and of which he wrote several stanzas in bed this morning...."

(They started to walk up the Raise to Wytheburn.)

"It was very hot; we rested several times by the way, read, and repeated 'The Leech-Gatherer.'"

"Friday, 7th May.—William had slept uncommonly well, so, feeling himself strong, he fell to work at 'The Leech-Gatherer'; he wrote hard at it till dinner time, then he gave over, tired to death—he had finished the poem."

"Sunday morning, 9th May.—William worked at 'The Leech-Gatherer' almost incessantly from morning till tea-time. I copied 'The Leech-Gatherer' and other poems for Coleridge. I was oppressed and sick at heart, for he wearied himself to death."

"Sunday, 4th July.—... William finished 'The Leech-Gatherer' to-day."

"Monday, 5th July.—I copied out 'The Leech-Gatherer' for Coleridge, and for us."

From these extracts it is clear that Dorothy Wordsworth considered the poem as "finished" on the 7th of May, and on the 9th she sent a copy to Coleridge; but that it was not till the 4th of July that it was really finished, and then a second copy was forwarded to Coleridge. It is impossible to say from which of the two MSS. sent to him Coleridge transcribed the copy which he forwarded to Sir George Beaumont. From that copy of a copy (which is now amongst the Beaumont MSS. at Coleorton) the various readings given, on Coleridge's authority, in the notes to the poem, were obtained some years ago.

The Fenwick note to the poem illustrates Wordsworth's habit of blending in one description details which were originally separate, both as to time and place. The scenery and the incidents of the poem are alike composite. As he tells us that he met the leech-gatherer a few hundred yards from Dove Cottage, the "lonely place" with its "pool, bare to the eye of heaven," at once suggests White Moss Common and its small tarn; but he adds that, in the opening stanzas of the poem, he is describing a state of feeling he was in, when crossing the fells at the foot of Ullswater to Askam, and that the image of the hare "running races in her mirth," with the glittering mist accompanying her, was observed by him, not on White Moss Common, but in one of the ridges of Moor Divock. To H. C. Robinson he said of the "Leech-Gatherer" (Sept. 10, 1816), that "he gave to his poetic character powers of mind which his original did not possess." (Robinson's 'Diary', etc., vol. ii. p. 24.)

One of the "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.



I There was a roaring in the wind all night; The rain came heavily and fell in floods; But now the sun is rising calm and bright; The birds are singing in the distant woods; Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods; 5 The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters; And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.

II All things that love the sun are out of doors; The sky rejoices in the morning's birth; The grass is bright with rain-drops;—on the moors 10 The hare is running races in her mirth; And with her feet she from the plashy earth Raises a mist; that, [1] glittering in the sun, Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.

III I was a Traveller then upon the moor; 15 I saw the hare that raced about with joy; I heard the woods and distant waters roar; Or heard them not, as happy as a boy: The pleasant season did my heart employ: My old remembrances went from me wholly; 20 And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy.

IV But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might Of joy in minds that can no further go, As high as we have mounted in delight In our dejection do we sink as low; 25 To me that morning did it happen so; And fears and fancies thick upon me came; Dim sadness—and blind thoughts, I knew not, nor could name.

V I heard the sky-lark warbling [2] in the sky; And I bethought me of the playful hare: 30 Even such a happy Child of earth am I; Even as these blissful [3] creatures do I fare; Far from the world I walk, and from all care; But there may come another day to me— Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty. 35

VI My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought, As if life's business were a summer mood; As if all needful things would come unsought To genial faith, still rich in genial good; [4] But how can He expect that others should 40 Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all? [A]

VII I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy, The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride; [5] Of Him who walked in glory and in joy 45 Following his plough, along the mountain-side: [6] By our own spirits are we deified: We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof come [7] in the end despondency and madness.

VIII Now, whether it were [8] by peculiar grace, 50 A leading from above, a something given, Yet it befel, that, in this [9] lonely place, When I with these untoward thoughts had striven, Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven [10] I saw [11] a Man before me unawares: 55 The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs. [12]

IX As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie Couched on the bald top of an eminence; Wonder to all who [13] do the same espy, By what means it could thither come, and whence; 60 So that it seems a thing endued with sense: Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that [14] on a shelf Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself;

X Such seemed this Man, not all alive nor dead, Nor all asleep—in his extreme old age: 65 His body was bent double, feet and head Coming together in life's pilgrimage; [15] As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage Of sickness felt by him in times long past, A more than human weight upon his frame [16] had cast. 70

XI Himself he propped, limbs, body, and pale face, [17] Upon a long grey staff of shaven wood: And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, Upon the margin of that moorish flood [18] Motionless as a cloud the old Man stood, 75 That heareth not the loud winds when they call; And moveth all together, if it move [19] at all. [20]

XII At length, himself unsettling, he the pond Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look Upon the muddy water, which he conned, 80 As if he had been reading in a book: And now a stranger's privilege I took; [21] And, drawing to his side, to him did say, "This morning gives us promise of a glorious day."

XIII A gentle answer did the old Man make, 85 In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew: And him with further words I thus bespake, "What occupation do you there pursue? [22 This is a lonesome place for one like [23] you." Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise 90 Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes. [24] [B]

XIV His words came feebly, from a feeble chest, But [25] each in solemn order followed each, With something of a lofty [26] utterance drest— Choice word [27] and measured phrase, above [27] the reach 95 Of ordinary men; a stately speech; Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use, Religious men, who give to God and man their dues.

XV He told, that to these waters he had come [28] To gather leeches, being old and poor: 100 Employment hazardous and wearisome! And he had many hardships to endure: [29] From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor; Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance; And in this way he gained an honest maintenance. 105

XVI The old Man still stood talking by my side; But now [30] his voice to me was like a stream Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide; And the whole body of the Man did seem Like one whom I had met with in a dream; 110 Or like a man from some far region sent, To give me human strength, by apt admonishment. [31]

XVII My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills; And [32] hope that is unwilling to be fed; Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills; 115 And mighty Poets in their misery dead. —Perplexed, and longing to be comforted, [33] My question eagerly did I renew, "How is it that you live, and what is it you do?" [34]

XVIII He with a smile did then his words repeat; 120 And said, that, gathering leeches, far and wide He travelled; stirring thus about his feet The waters of the pools where they abide. [35] "Once I could meet with them on every side; But they have dwindled long by slow decay; 125 Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may." [36]

XIX While he was talking thus, the lonely place, The old Man's shape, and speech—all troubled me: In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace About the weary moors continually, 130 Wandering about alone and silently. While I these thoughts within myself pursued, He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed.

XX And soon [37] with this he other matter blended, Cheerfully uttered, with demeanour kind, 135 But stately in the main; and when he ended, [38] I could have laughed myself to scorn to find In that decrepit Man so firm a mind. "God," said I, "be my help and stay secure; I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor!" 140

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1827.

... which, ... 1807.

And in MS. letter from Coleridge to Sir George Beaumont, 1802.[i]]



[Variant 2:

1820.

... singing ... 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 3:

1807.

... happy ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 4:

1807.

And they who lived in genial faith found nought that grew more willingly than genial good; MS. 1802.]

[Variant 5:

1815.

... who perished in his pride; MS. 1802.

... that perished in its pride; 1807.]

[Variant 6:

1820.

Behind his plough, upon the mountain-side: 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 7:

1836.

... comes ... 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 8:

1807.

... was ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 9:

1807.

... that ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 10:

1820.

When up and down my fancy thus was driven, And I with these untoward thoughts had striven, 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 11:

1807.

I spied ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 12:

My course I stopped as soon as I espied The Old Man in that naked wilderness: Close by a Pond, upon the further side, [i] He stood alone: a minute's space I guess I watch'd him, he continuing motionless: To the Pool's further margin then I drew; He being all the while before me full in view. [ii] 1807.

This stanza, which appeared in the editions of 1807 and 1815, was, on Coleridge's advice, omitted from subsequent ones.]

[Variant 13:

1807.

... that ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 14:

1820.

... which ... 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 15:

1820.

... in their pilgrimage 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 16:

1807.

... his age ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 17:

1836.

Himself he propp'd, both body, limbs, and face, MS. 1802.

... his body, ... 1807.]

[Variant 18:

1820.

Beside the little pond or moorish flood 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 19.

1807.

... moves . . MS. 1802.]

[Variant 20.

He wore a Cloak the same as women wear As one whose blood did needful comfort lack; His face look'd pale as if it had grown fair; And, furthermore he had upon his back, Beneath his cloak, a round and bulky Pack; A load of wool or raiment as might seem. That on his shoulders lay as if it clave to him.

This stanza appeared only in MS. 1802.]

[Variant 21.

1820.

And now such freedom as I could I took; 1807.

And Ms. 1802.]

[Variant 22.

1820.

"What kind of work is that which you pursue? 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 23.

1807.

... for such as ... MS.]

[Variant 24.

1836.

He answer'd me with pleasure and surprize; And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes. 1807.

And MS. 1802.

He answered, while a flash of mild surprise Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes. 1820.]

[Variant 25.

1820.

Yet ... 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 26.

1807.

... pompous ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 27.

1807.

...words ... MS.

...beyond ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 28.

1827.

He told me that he to the pond had come ... MS. 1802.

....this pond ... 1807.]

[Variant 29.

1807.

This was his calling, better far than some, Though he had ...... MS. 1802.]



[Variant 30:

1807.

But soon ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 31:

1827.

... and strong admonishment. 1807.

... by strong admonishment. 1820.]

[Variant 32:

1815.

The ... 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 33:

1820.

And now, not knowing what the Old Man had said, 1807.

And MS. 1802.

But now, perplex'd by what the Old Man had said, 1815.]

[Variant 34.

1807.

... live? what is it that you do?" MS. 1802.]

[Variant 35:

1827.

And said, that wheresoe'er they might be spied He gather'd Leeches, stirring at his feet The waters in the Ponds ... MS. 1802.

And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide He travelled; stirring thus about his feet The waters of the Ponds ... 1807.]

[Variant 36:

1807.

Once he could meet with them on every side; But fewer they became from day to day, And so his means of life before him died away. MS. 1802.]

[Variant 37:

1807.

And now ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 38:

1807.

Which he delivered with demeanour kind, Yet stately ... MS. 1802.]

* * * * *

SUB-VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Sub-Variant i:

... hither side, MS. 1802.]

[Sub-Variant ii:

He all the while before me being full in view. MS. 1802.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Some have thought that Wordsworth had S.T.C. in his mind, in writing this stanza. I cannot agree with this. The value and interest of the poem would be lessened by our imagining that Wordsworth's heart never failed him; and that, when he appears to moralise at his own expense, he was doing so at Coleridge's. Besides, the date of this poem, taken in connection with entries in the Grasmere Journal of Dorothy Wordsworth, makes it all but certain that Coleridge was not referred to.—Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare in 'The Matron of Jedborough and her Husband', p. 417, ll. 66-69:

'Some inward trouble suddenly Broke from the Matron's strong black eye— A remnant of uneasy light, A flash of something over-bright!'

Ed.]

* * * * *

SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Sub-Footnote i: Additional variants obtained from this source are inserted as "MS. 1802."—Ed.]

The late Bishop of Lincoln, in the 'Memoirs' of his uncle (vol. i. pp. 172, 173), quotes from a letter, written by Wordsworth "to some friends, which has much interest as bearing on this poem. [C] The following are extracts from it:

"It is not a matter of indifference whether you are pleased with his figure and employment, it may be comparatively whether you are pleased with this Poem; but it is of the utmost importance that you should have had pleasure in contemplating the fortitude, independence, persevering spirit, and the general moral dignity of this old man's character." Again, "I will explain to you, in prose, my feelings in writing that poem.... I describe myself as having been exalted to the highest pitch of delight by the joyousness and beauty of nature; and then as depressed, even in the midst of those beautiful objects, to the lowest dejection and despair. A young poet in the midst of the happiness of nature is described as overwhelmed by the thoughts of the miserable reverses which have befallen the happiest of all men, viz. poets. I think of this till I am so deeply impressed with it, that I consider the manner in which I was rescued from my dejection and despair almost as an interposition of Providence. A person reading the poem with feelings like mine will have been awed and controlled, expecting something spiritual or supernatural. What is brought forward? A lonely place, 'a pond, by which an old man was, far from all house or home:' not stood, nor sat, but was—the figure presented in the most naked simplicity possible. This feeling of spirituality or supernaturalness is again referred to as being strong in my mind in this passage. How came he here? thought I, or what can he be doing? I then describe him, whether ill or well is not for me to judge with perfect confidence; but this I can confidently affirm, that though I believe God has given me a strong imagination, I cannot conceive a figure more impressive than that of an old man like this, the survivor of a wife and ten children, travelling alone among the mountains and all lonely places, carrying with him his own fortitude and the necessities which an unjust state of society has laid upon him. You speak of his speech as tedious. Every thing is tedious when one does not read with the feelings of the author. 'The Thorn' is tedious to hundreds; and so is 'The Idiot Boy' to hundreds. It is in the character of the old man to tell his story, which an impatient reader must feel tedious. But, good heavens! such a figure, in such a place; a pious, self-respecting, miserably infirm and pleased old man telling such a tale!"

Ed.

[Footnote A: It is unfortunate that in this, as in many other similar occasions in these delightful volumes by the poet's nephew, the reticence as to names—warrantable perhaps in 1851, so soon after the poet's death—has now deprived the world of every means of knowing to whom many of Wordsworth's letters were addressed. Professor Dowden asks about it—and very naturally:

"Was it the letter to Mary and Sara" (Hutchinson) "about 'The Leech-Gatherer,' mentioned in Dorothy's Journal of 14th June 1802?"

Ed.]



* * * * *



"I GRIEVED FOR BUONAPARTE"

Composed May 21, 1802.—Published 1807 [A]

[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, etc.'; one of the others was never written down; the third, which was I believe preserved, I cannot particularise.—I.F.]

One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty," afterwards called "Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty." From the edition of 1815 onwards, it bore the title '1801'.—Ed.



I grieved for Buonaparte, with a vain And an unthinking grief! The tenderest mood [1] Of that Man's mind—what can it be? what food Fed his first hopes? what knowledge could he gain? 'Tis not in battles that from youth we train 5 The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood. Wisdom doth live with children round her knees: Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk 10 Man holds with week-day man in the hourly walk Of the mind's business: these are the degrees By which true Sway doth mount; this is the stalk True Power doth grow on; and her rights are these.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1837.

... grief! the vital blood Of that man's mind, what can it be? What food Fed his first hopes? what knowledge could he gain? 1802.

... grief! for, who aspires To genuine greatness but from just desires, And knowledge such as He could never gain? 1815.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: It had twice seen the light previously in 'The Morning Post', first on September 16, 1802, unsigned, and again on January 29, 1803, when it was signed W. L. D.—Ed.]

Wordsworth's date 1801, in the Fenwick note, should have been 1802. His sister writes, in her Journal of 1802:

"May 21.—W. wrote two sonnets on Buonaparte, after I had read Milton's sonnets to him."

The "irregular" sonnet, written "at school," to which Wordsworth refers, is probably the one published in the 'European Magazine' in 1787, vol. xi. p. 202, and signed Axiologus.—Ed.



* * * * *



A FAREWELL

Composed May 29, 1802.—Published 1815

[Composed just before my Sister and I went to fetch Mrs. Wordsworth from Gallow-hill, near Scarborough.—I.F.]

This was one of the "Poems founded on the Affections." It was published in 1815 and in 1820 without a title, but with the sub-title 'Composed in the Year 1802'. In 1827 and 1832 it was called 'A Farewell', to which the sub-title was added. The sub-title was omitted in 1836, and afterwards.—Ed.



Farewell, thou little Nook of mountain-ground, Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair Of that magnificent temple which doth bound One side of our whole vale with grandeur rare; Sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair, 5 The loveliest spot that man hath ever found, Farewell!—we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care, Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround.

Our boat is safely anchored by the shore, And there will safely ride [1] when we are gone; 10 The flowering shrubs that deck our humble door [2] Will prosper, though untended and alone: Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none: These narrow bounds contain our private store Of things earth makes, and sun doth shine upon; 15 Here are they in our sight—we have no more.

Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell! For two months now in vain we shall be sought; We leave you here in solitude to dwell With these our latest gifts of tender thought; 20 Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat, Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell! Whom from the borders of the Lake we brought, And placed together near our rocky Well.

We go for One to whom ye will be dear; 25 And she will prize this Bower, this Indian shed, Our own contrivance, Building without peer! —A gentle Maid, whose heart is lowly bred, Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered, With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer, 30 Will come [3] to you; to you herself will wed; And love the blessed life that [4] we lead here.

Dear Spot! which we have watched with tender heed, Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown Among the distant mountains, flower and weed, 35 Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own. Making all kindness registered and known; Thou for our sakes, though Nature's child indeed, Fair in thyself and beautiful alone, Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need. 40

And O most constant, yet most fickle Place, That hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost show To them who look not daily on [5] thy face; Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know, And say'st, when we forsake thee, "Let them go!" 45 Thou easy-hearted Thing, with thy wild race Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow, And travel with the year at a soft pace.

Help us to tell Her tales of years gone by, And this sweet spring, the best beloved and best; 50 Joy will be flown in its mortality; Something must stay to tell us of the rest. Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's breast Glittered at evening like a starry sky; And in this bush our sparrow built her nest, 55 Of which I sang [6] one song that will not die. [A]

O happy Garden! whose seclusion deep Hath been so friendly to industrious hours; And to soft slumbers, that did gently steep Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers, 60 And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers; Two burning months let summer overleap, And, coming back with Her who will be ours, Into thy bosom we again shall creep.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1836.

And safely she will ride ... 1815.

... will she ... 1832.]

[Variant 2:

1836.

... that decorate our door 1815.]

[Variant 3:

1820.

She'll come ... 1815.]

[Variant 4:

1827.

... which ... 1815]

[Variant 5:

1827.

... in ... 1815.]

[Variant 6:

1832.

... sung ... 1815.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: See 'The Sparrow's Nest', p. 236.—Ed.]

"May 29.—William finished his poem on going for Mary. I wrote it out. A sweet day. We nailed up the honeysuckle and hoed the scarlet beans."

She added on the 31st,

"I wrote out the poem on our departure, which he seemed to have finished;"

and on June 13th,

"William has been altering the poem to Mary this morning."

The "little Nook of mountain-ground" is in much the same condition now, as it was in 1802. The "flowering shrubs" and the "rocky well" still exist, and "the steep rock's breast" is "thronged with primroses" in spring. The "bower" is gone; but, where it used to be, a seat is now erected.

The Dove Cottage orchard is excellently characterised in Mr. Stopford Brooke's pamphlet describing it (1890). See also 'The Green Linnet', p. 367, with the note appended to it, and Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal, passim.—Ed.



* * * * *



"THE SUN HAS LONG BEEN SET"

Composed June 8, 1802.—Published 1807

[This Impromptu appeared, many years ago, among the Author's poems, from which, in subsequent editions, it was excluded. [A] It is reprinted, at the request of the Friend in whose presence the lines were thrown off.—I.F.]

One of the "Evening Voluntaries."—Ed.



The sun has long been set, The stars are out by twos and threes, The little birds are piping yet Among the bushes and trees; [1] There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, 5 And a far-off wind that rushes, And a sound of water that gushes, [2] And the cuckoo's sovereign cry Fills all the hollow of the sky.

Who would go "parading" 10 In London, "and masquerading," [B] On such a night of June With that beautiful soft half-moon, And all these innocent blisses? On such a night as this is! 15

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1807.

... and the trees; 1836.

The edition of 1837 returns to the text of 1807.]

[Variant 2:

1835.

And a noise of wind that rushes, With a noise of water that gushes; 1807.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: It appeared in 1807 as No. II. of "Moods of my own Mind," and not again till the publication of "Yarrow Revisited" in 1835.—Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare:

'At operas and plays parading, Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading.'

Burns, 'The Two Dogs, a Tale', II. 124-5.—Ed.]

"June 8th (1802).—After tea William came out and walked, and wrote that poem, 'The sun has long been set,' etc. He walked on our own path, and wrote the lines; he called me into the orchard and there repeated them to me."

(Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal.) The "Friend in whose presence the lines were thrown off," was his sister.—Ed.



* * * * *



COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPTEMBER 3, 1802

Composed July 31, 1802.—Published 1807

[Written on the roof of a coach, on my way to France.—I.F.]

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.



Earth has not any thing to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul [1] who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, 5 Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; 10 Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1807.

... heart ... MS.]



The date which Wordsworth gave to this sonnet on its first publication in 1807, viz. September 3, 1803,—and which he retained in all subsequent editions of his works till 1836,—is inaccurate. He left London for Dover, on his way to Calais, on the 31st of July 1802. The sonnet was written that morning as he travelled towards Dover. The following record of the journey is preserved in his sister's Journal:

"July 30. [A]—Left London between five and six o'clock of the morning outside the Dover coach. A beautiful morning. The city, St. Paul's, with the river—a multitude of little boats, made a beautiful sight as we crossed Westminster Bridge; the houses not overhung by their clouds of smoke, and were hung out endlessly; yet the sun shone so brightly, with such a pure light, that there was something like the purity of one of Nature's own grand spectacles."

This sonnet underwent no change in successive editions.

In illustration of it, an anecdote of the late Bishop of St. David's may be given, as reported by Lord Coleridge.

"In the great debate on the abolition of the Irish Establishment in 1869, the Bishop of St. David's, Dr. Thirlwall, had made a very remarkable speech, and had been kept till past daybreak in the House of Lords, before the division was over, and he was able to walk home. He was then an old man, and in failing health. Some time after, he was asked whether he had not run some risk to his health, and whether he did not feel much exhausted. 'Yes,' he said, 'perhaps so; but I was more than repaid by walking out upon Westminster Bridge after the division, seeing London in the morning light as Wordsworth saw it, and repeating to myself his noble sonnet as I walked home.'"

This anecdote was told to the Wordsworth Society, at its meeting on the 3rd of May 1882, after a letter had been read by the Secretary, from Mr. Robert Spence Watson, recording the following similar experience:

"... As confirming the perfect truth of Wordsworth's description of the external aspects of a scene, and the way in which he reached its inmost soul, I may tell you what happened to me, and may have happened to many others. Many years ago, I think it was in 1859, I chanced to be passing (in a pained and depressed state of mind, occasioned by the death of a friend) over Waterloo Bridge at half-past three on a lovely June morning. It was broad daylight, and I was alone. Never when alone in the remotest recesses of the Alps, with nothing around me but the mountains, or upon the plains of Africa, alone with the wonderful glory of the southern night, have I seen anything to approach the solemnity—the soothing solemnity—of the city, sleeping under the early sun:

'Earth has not any thing to show more fair.'

"How simply, yet how perfectly, Wordsworth has interpreted it! It was a happy thing for us that the Dover coach left at so untimely an hour. It was this sonnet, I think, that first opened my eyes to Wordsworth's greatness as a poet. Perhaps nothing that he has written shows more strikingly the vast sympathy which is his peculiar dower."

Ed.

[Footnote A: This is an error of date. Saturday, the day of their departure from London, was the 31st of July.—Ed.]



* * * * *



COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE, NEAR CALAIS, AUGUST, 1802

Composed August, 1802.—Published 1807

One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty"; re-named in 1845, "Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty."—Ed.



Fair Star of evening, Splendour of the west, Star of my Country!—on the horizon's brink Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink On England's bosom; yet well pleased to rest, Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest 5 Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think, Should'st be my Country's emblem; and should'st wink, Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot Beneath thee, that is England; there she lies. [1] 10 Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot, One life, one glory!—I, with many a fear For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs, Among men who do not love her, linger here.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1837.

... it is England; there it lies. 1807.]

This sonnet, and the seven that follow it, were written during Wordsworth's residence at Calais, in the month of August, 1802. The following extract from his sister's Journal illustrates it:

"We arrived at Calais at four o'clock on Sunday morning the 31st of July. We had delightful walks after the heat of the day was passed—seeing far off in the west the coast of England, like a cloud, crested with Dover Castle, the evening Star, and the glory of the sky; the reflections in the water were more beautiful than the sky itself; purple waves brighter than precious stones, for ever melting away upon the sands."

Ed.



* * * * *



CALAIS, AUGUST, 1802

Composed August 7, 1802—Published 1807 [A]

One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty"; re-named in 1845, "Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty."—Ed.



Is it a reed that's shaken by the wind, Or what is it that ye go forth to see? Lords, lawyers, statesmen, squires of low degree, Men known, and men unknown, sick, lame, and blind, Post forward all, like creatures of one kind, 5 With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee In France, before the new-born Majesty. 'Tis ever thus. Ye men of prostrate mind, [1] A seemly reverence may be paid to power; But that's a loyal virtue, never sown 10 In haste, nor springing with a transient shower: When truth, when sense, when liberty were flown, What hardship had it been to wait an hour? Shame on you, feeble Heads, to slavery prone!

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1807.

Thus fares it ever. Men of prostrate mind! 1803.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: This sonnet was first published in 'The Morning Post', Jan. 29, 1803, under the signature W. L. D., along with the one beginning, "I grieved for Buonaparte, with a vain," and was afterwards printed in the 1807 edition of the Poems. Mr. T. Hutchinson (Dublin) suggests that the W. L. D. stood either for Wordsworthius Libertatis Defensor, or (more likely) Wordsworthii Libertati Dedicatunt (carmen).—Ed.]



* * * * *



COMPOSED NEAR CALAIS, ON THE ROAD LEADING TO ARDRES, AUGUST 7, 1802 [A]

Composed August, 1802.—Published 1807

One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty"; re-named in 1845, "Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty."—Ed.



Jones! as [1] from Calais southward you and I Went pacing side by side, this public Way Streamed with the pomp of a too-credulous day, [B] When faith was pledged to new-born Liberty: [2] A homeless sound of joy was in the sky: 5 From hour to hour the antiquated Earth, [3] Beat like the heart of Man: songs, garlands, mirth, [4] Banners, and happy faces, far and nigh! And now, sole register that these things were, Two solitary greetings have I heard, 10 "Good morrow, Citizen!" a hollow word, As if a dead man spake it! Yet despair Touches me not, though pensive as a bird Whose vernal coverts winter hath laid bare. [5]

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1837.

... when ... 1807.

... while ... 1820.]

[Variant 2:

1837.

Travell'd on foot together; then this Way, Which I am pacing now, was like the May With festivals of new-born Liberty: 1807.

Where I am walking now ... MS.

Urged our accordant steps, this public Way Streamed with the pomp of a too-credulous day, When faith was pledged to new-born Liberty: 1820.]

[Variant 3:

1845.

The antiquated Earth, as one might say, 1807.

The antiquated Earth, hopeful and gay, 1837.]

[Variant 4:

1845.

... garlands, play, 1807.]

[Variant 5:

1827.

I feel not: happy am I as a Bird: Fair seasons yet will come, and hopes as fair. 1807.

I feel not: jocund as a warbling Bird; 1820.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: In the editions of 1807 to 1837 this is a sub-title, the chief title being 'To a Friend'. In the editions of 1840-1843, the chief title is retained in the Table of Contents, but is erased in the text.—Ed.]

[Footnote B: 14th July 1790.—W. W. 1820.]

This sonnet, originally entitled 'To a Friend, composed near Calais, on the Road leading to Ardres, August 7th, 1802', was addressed to Robert Jones, of Plas-yn-llan, near Ruthin, Denbighshire, a brother collegian at Cambridge, and afterwards a fellow of St. John's College, and incumbent of Soulderne, near Deddington, in Oxfordshire. It was to him that Wordsworth dedicated his 'Descriptive Sketches', which record their wanderings together in Switzerland; and it is to the pedestrian tour, undertaken by the two friends in the long vacation of 1790, that he refers in the above sonnet. The character of Jones is sketched in the poem written in 1800, beginning:

'I marvel how Nature could ever find space,' [A]

and his parsonage in Oxfordshire is described in the sonnet—

'Where holy ground begins, unhallowed ends, Is marked by no distinguishable line.'

The following note on Jones was appended to the edition of 1837:

"This excellent Person, one of my earliest and dearest friends, died in the year 1835. We were under-graduates together of the same year, at the same college; and companions in many a delightful ramble through his own romantic Country of North Wales. Much of the latter part of his life he passed in comparative solitude; which I know was often cheered by remembrance of our youthful adventures, and of the beautiful regions which, at home and abroad, we had visited together. Our long friendship was never subject to a moment's interruption,—and, while revising these volumes for the last time, I have been so often reminded of my loss, with a not unpleasing sadness, that I trust the Reader will excuse this passing mention of a Man who well deserves from me something more than so brief a notice. Let me only add, that during the middle part of his life he resided many years (as Incumbent of the Living) at a Parsonage in Oxfordshire, which is the subject of one of the 'Miscellaneous Sonnets.'"

Ed.

[Footnote A: See p. 208 ['A Character'].—Ed.]



* * * * *



CALAIS, AUGUST 15, 1802

Composed August 15, 1802.—Published 1807 [A]

One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty"; re-named in 1845, "Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty."—Ed.



Festivals have I seen that were not names: This is young Buonaparte's natal day, And his is henceforth an established sway— Consul for life. With worship France proclaims Her approbation, and with pomps and games. 5 Heaven grant that other Cities may be gay! Calais is not: and I have bent my way To the [1] sea-coast, noting that each man frames His business as he likes. Far other show My youth here witnessed, in a prouder time; [2] 10 The senselessness of joy was then sublime! Happy is he, who, caring not for Pope, Consul, or King, can sound himself to know The destiny of Man, and live in hope.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1807.

... this ... 1803.]

[Variant 2:

1827.

... Another time That was, when I was here twelve years ago. 1803.

... long years ago: 1807.

... Far different time That was, which here I witnessed, long ago; 1820.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: It had appeared in 'The Morning Post', February 26, 1803, under the initials W. L. D.—Ed.]



* * * * *



"IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING, CALM AND FREE"

Composed August, 1802.—Published 1807

[This was composed on the beach near Calais, in the autumn of 1802.—I. F.]

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets." In 1807 it was No. 19 of that series.—Ed.



It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, [1] The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea: [2] 5 Listen! [3] the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder—everlastingly. Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, [A] If thou appear untouched by solemn thought, [4] 10 Thy nature is not therefore less divine: Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not. [B]

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1807.

Air sleeps,—from strife or stir the clouds are free; 1837.

A fairer face of evening cannot be; 1840.

The text of 1845 returns to that of 1807.]

[Variant 2:

1837.

... is on the Sea: 1807.]

[Variant 3:

1807.

But list! ... 1837.

The text of 1840 returns to that of 1807.]

[Variant 4:

1845.

Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, If thou appear'st untouch'd by solemn thought, 1807.

Dear Child! dear happy Girl! if thou appear Heedless—untouched with awe or serious thought, 1837.

Heedless-unawed, untouched with serious thought, 1838.

The text of 1840 returns to that of 1807.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: I thought, for some time, that the "girl" referred to was Dorothy Wordsworth. Her brother used to speak, and to write, of her under many names, "Emily," "Louisa," etc.; and to call her a "child" in 1802—a "child of Nature" she was to the end of her days—or a "girl," seemed quite natural. However, a more probable suggestion was made by Mr. T. Hutchinson to Professor Dowden, that it refers to the girl Caroline mentioned in Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal.

"We arrived at Calais at four o'clock on Sunday morning, the 3rd of July.... We found out Annette and C., chez Madame Avril dans la rue de la Tete d'or. The weather was very hot. We walked by the shore almost every evening with Annette and Caroline, or William and I alone.... It was beautiful on the calm hot night to see the little boats row out of harbour with wings of fire, and the sail-boats with the fiery track which they cut as they went along, and which closed up after them with a hundred thousand sparkles and streams of glowworm light. Caroline was delighted."

I have been unable to discover who Annette and Caroline were. Dorothy Wordsworth frequently records in her Grasmere Journal that either William, or she, "wrote to Annette," but who she was is unknown to either the Wordsworth or the Hutchinson family.—Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare:

'The Child is father of the Man, etc.'

p. 292.

Also S. T. C. in 'The Friend', iii. p. 46:

'The sacred light of childhood,'

and 'The Prelude', book v. l. 507. Ed.]



* * * * *



ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC

Composed August, 1802.—Published 1807

This and the following ten sonnets were included among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty"; re-named in 1845, "Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty."—Ed.



Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee; And was the safeguard of the west: the worth Of Venice did not fall below her birth, Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty. She was a maiden City, bright and free; 5 No guile seduced, no force could violate; And, when she took unto herself a Mate, She must espouse the everlasting Sea. [A] And what if she had seen those glories fade, Those titles vanish, and that strength decay; 10 Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid When her long life hath reached its final day: Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade Of that which once was great, is passed away.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Compare 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage' (canto iv. II):

'The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord.'

Ed.]

"Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee."

The special glory of Venice dates from the conquest of Constantinople by the Latins in 1202. The fourth Crusade—in which the French and Venetians alone took part—started from Venice, in October 1202, under the command of the Doge, Henry Dandolo. Its aim, however, was not the recovery of Palestine, but the conquest of Constantinople. At the close of the crusade, Venice received the Morea, part of Thessaly, the Cyclades, many of the Byzantine cities, and the coasts of the Hellespont, with three-eighths of the city of Constantinople itself, the Doge taking the curious title of Duke of three-eighths of the Roman Empire.

"And was the safeguard of the west."

This may refer to the prominent part which Venice took in the Crusades, or to the development of her naval power, which made her mistress of the Mediterranean for many years, and an effective bulwark against invasions from the East.

"The eldest Child of Liberty."

The origin of the Venetian State was the flight of many of the inhabitants of the mainland—on the invasion of Italy by Attila—to the chain of islands that lie at the head of the Adriatic.

"In the midst of the waters, free, indigent, laborious, and inaccessible, they gradually coalesced into a republic: the first foundations of Venice were laid in the island of Rialto.... On the verge of the two empires the Venetians exult in the belief of primitive and perpetual independence."

Gibbon's 'Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire', chap. lx.

"And, when she took unto herself a Mate, She must espouse the everlasting Sea."

In 1177, Pope Alexander III. appealed to the Venetian Republic for protection against the German Emperor. The Venetians were successful in a naval battle at Saboro, against Otho, the son of Frederick Barbarossa. In return, the Pope presented the Doge Liani with a ring, with which he told him to wed the Adriatic, that posterity might know that the sea was subject to Venice, "as a bride is to her husband."

In September 1796, nearly six years before this sonnet was written, the fate of the old Venetian Republic was sealed by the treaty of Campo Formio. The French army under Napoleon had subdued Italy, and, having crossed the Alps, threatened Vienna. To avert impending disaster, the Emperor Francis arranged a treaty which extinguished the Venetian Republic. He divided its territory between himself and Napoleon, Austria retaining Istria, Dalmatia, and the left bank of the Adige in the Venetian State, with the "maiden city" itself; France receiving the rest of the territory and the Ionian Islands. Since the date of that treaty the city has twice been annexed to Italy.—Ed.



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THE KING OF SWEDEN

Composed August, 1802.—Published 1807



The Voice of song from distant lands shall call To that great [1] King; shall hail the crowned Youth Who, taking counsel of unbending Truth, By one example hath set forth to all How they with dignity may stand; or fall, 5 If fall they must. Now, whither doth it tend? And what to him and his shall be the end? That thought is one which neither can appal Nor cheer him; for the illustrious Swede hath done The thing which ought to be; is raised above [2] 10 All consequences: work he hath begun Of fortitude, and piety, and love, Which all his glorious ancestors approve: The heroes bless him, him their rightful son.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1807.

... bold ... In 1838 only.]

[Variant 2:

1845.

... He stands above 1807.]

The following is Wordsworth's note to this sonnet, added in 1837:

"In this and a succeeding Sonnet on the same subject, let me be understood as a Poet availing himself of the situation which the King of Sweden occupied, and of the principles AVOWED IN HIS MANIFESTOS; as laying hold of these advantages for the purpose of embodying moral truths. This remark might, perhaps, as well have been suppressed; for to those who may be in sympathy with the course of these Poems, it will be superfluous; and will, I fear, be thrown away upon that other class, whose besotted admiration of the intoxicated despot hereafter placed [A] in contrast with him, is the most melancholy evidence of degradation in British feeling and intellect which the times have furnished."

The king referred to is Gustavus IV., who was born in 1778, proclaimed king in 1792, and died in 1837. His first public act after his accession was to join in the coalition against Napoleon, and dislike of Napoleon was the main-spring of his policy. It is to this that Wordsworth refers in the sonnet:

'... the illustrious Swede hath done The thing which ought to be ...'

It made him unpopular, however, and gave rise to a conspiracy against him, and to his consequent abdication in 1809. He "died forgotten and in poverty."—Ed.

[Footnote A: See the sonnet beginning "Call not the royal Swede unfortunate," vol. iv. p. 224.—Ed.]



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TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE

Composed August, 1802.—Published 1807 [A]



Toussaint, the most unhappy man of men! [B] Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough Within thy hearing, or thy head be now Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den;—[1] O miserable Chieftain! where and when 5 Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; do thou Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow: Though fallen thyself, never to rise again, Live, and take comfort. [2] Thou hast left behind Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies; 10 There's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind. [C]

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VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1827.

Whether the rural milk-maid by her cow Sing in thy hearing, or thou liest now Alone in some deep dungeon's earless den, 1803.

Whether the all-cheering sun be free to shed His beams around thee, or thou rest thy head Pillowed in some dark dungeon's noisome den, 1815.

Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough Within thy hearing, or Thou liest now Buried in some deep dungeon's earless den;—1820.]

[Variant 2:

1807.

... Yet die not; be thou Life to thyself in death; with chearful brow Live, loving death, nor let one thought in ten Be painful to thee ... 1803.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: But previously printed in 'The Morning Post' of February 2, 1803, under the signature W. L. D.—Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare Massinger, 'The Bondman', act I. scene iii. l. 8:

'Her man of men, Timoleon.'

Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare Rowe's 'Tamerlane', iii. 2:

'But to subdue the unconquerable mind.'

Also Gray's poem 'The Progress of Poesy', ii. 2, l. 10:

'Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame.'

Ed.]



Francois Dominique Toussaint (who was surnamed L'Ouverture), the child of African slaves, was born at St. Domingo in 1743. He was a Royalist in political sympathy till 1794, when the decree of the French convention, giving liberty to the slaves, brought him over to the side of the Republic. He was made a general of division by Laveux, and succeeded in taking the whole of the north of the island from the English. In 1796 he was made chief of the French army of St. Domingo, and first the British commander, and next the Spanish, surrendered everything to him. He became governor of the island, which prospered under his rule. Napoleon, however, in 1801, issued an edict re-establishing slavery in St. Domingo. Toussaint professed obedience, but showed that he meant to resist the edict. A fleet of fifty-four vessels was sent from France to enforce it. Toussaint was proclaimed an outlaw. He surrendered, and was received with military honours, but was treacherously arrested and sent to Paris in June 1802, where he died, in April 1803, after ten months' hardship in prison. He had been two months in prison when Wordsworth addressed this sonnet to him.—Ed.



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COMPOSED IN THE VALLEY NEAR DOVER, ON THE DAY OF LANDING

Composed August 30, 1802.—Published 1807



Here, on our native soil, we breathe once more. [1] The cock that crows, the smoke that curls, that sound Of bells;—those boys who [2] in yon meadow-ground In white-sleeved shirts are playing; [A] and the roar Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore;—[3] 5 All, all are English. Oft have I looked round With joy in Kent's green vales; but never found Myself so satisfied in heart before. Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass, Thought for another moment. Thou art free, 10 My Country! and 'tis joy enough and pride For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the grass Of England once again, and hear and see, With such a dear Companion at my side.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1827.

Dear fellow Traveller! here we are once more. 1807.]

[Variant 2:

1820.

... that ... 1807.]

[Variant 3:

1815.

In white sleev'd shirts are playing by the score, And even this little River's gentle roar, 1807.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: At the beginning of Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Journal of a Tour on the Continent' in 1820, she writes (July 10, 1820):

"When within a mile of Dover saw crowds of people at a cricket match, the numerous combatants dressed in 'white-sleeved shirts;' and it was in the very same field, where, when we 'trod the grass of England once again,' twenty years ago, we had seen an assemblage of youths, engaged in the same sport, so very like the present that all might have been the same. (See my brother's sonnet.)"

Ed.]

Dorothy Wordsworth writes in her Journal,

"On Sunday, the 29th of August, we left Calais, at twelve o'clock in the morning, and landed at Dover at one on Monday the 30th. It was very pleasant to me, when we were in the harbour at Dover, to breathe the fresh air, and to look up and see the stars among the ropes of the vessel. The next day was very hot, we bathed, and sat upon the Dover Cliffs, and looked upon France with many a melancholy and tender thought. We could see the shores almost as plain as if it were but an English lake. We mounted the coach, and arrived in London at six, the 30th August."

Ed.



* * * * *



SEPTEMBER 1, 1802

Composed September 1, 1802.—Published 1807 [A]

Among the capricious acts of Tyranny that disgraced these times, was the chasing of all Negroes from France by decree of the Government: we had a Fellow-passenger who was one of the expelled.—W. W. 1827.



We had a female Passenger who came [1] From Calais with us, spotless [2] in array, A white-robed Negro, [3] like a lady gay, Yet downcast [4] as a woman fearing blame; Meek, destitute, as seemed, of hope or aim [5] 5 She sate, from notice turning not away, But on all proffered intercourse did lay [6] A weight of languid speech, or to the same No sign of answer made by word or face: Yet still her eyes retained their tropic fire, 10 That, burning independent of the mind, Joined with the lustre of her rich attire To mock the Outcast—O ye Heavens, be kind! And feel, thou Earth, for this afflicted Race![7]

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1845.

We had a fellow-passenger that came 1803.

... who ... 1807.

Driven from the soil of France, a Female came 1827.

The edition of 1838 returns to the text of 1807, but the edition of 1840 reverts to that of 1827.]

[Variant 2:

1845.

... gaudy ... 1803.

... brilliant ... 1827.]

[Variant 3:

1845.

A negro woman, ... 1803.]

[Variant 4:

1827.

Yet silent ... 1803.]

[Variant 5:

1827.

Dejected, downcast, meek, and more than tame: 1803.

Dejected, meek, yea pitiably tame, 1807.]

[Variant 6:

1827.

But on our proffer'd kindness still did lay 1803.]

[Variant 7:

1845.

... or at the same Was silent, motionless in eyes and face. She was a negro woman, out of France, Rejected, like all others of that race: Not one of whom may now find footing there. What is the meaning of this ordinance? Dishonour'd Despots, tell us if ye dare. 1803.

... driv'n from France, Rejected like all others of that race, Not one of whom may now find footing there; This the poor Out-cast did to us declare, Nor murmur'd at the unfeeling Ordinance. 1807.

Meanwhile those eyes retained their tropic fire, Which, burning independent of the mind, Joined with the lustre of her rich attire To mock the outcast—O ye Heavens, be kind! And feel, thou Earth, for this afflicted Race! 1827.

Yet still those eyes retained their tropic fire, 1837.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: First printed in 'The Morning Post', February 11, 1803, under the title of 'The Banished Negroes', and signed W. L. D.—Ed.]



It was a natural arrangement which led Wordsworth to place this sonnet, in his edition of 1807, immediately after the one addressed 'To Toussaint L'Ouverture'.—Ed.



* * * * *



SEPTEMBER, 1802, NEAR DOVER [A]

Composed September, 1802.—Published 1807



Inland, within a hollow vale, I stood; And saw, while sea was calm and air was clear, The coast of France—the coast of France how near! Drawn almost into frightful neighbourhood. I shrunk; for verily the barrier flood 5 Was like a lake, or river bright and fair, A span of waters; yet what power is there! What mightiness for evil and for good! [B] Even so doth God protect us if we be Virtuous and wise. Winds blow, and waters roll, 10 Strength to the brave, and Power, and Deity; Yet in themselves are nothing! One decree Spake laws to them, and said that by the soul Only, the Nations shall be great and free.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: From 1807 to 1843 the title was 'September, 1802'; "near Dover" appeared in the "Sonnets" of 1838, but did not become a permanent part of the title until 1845.—Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare in S. T. 'Coleridge's Ode to the Departing Year', stanza vii.:

'And Ocean 'mid his uproar wild Speaks safety to his island-child.'

Ed.]

In 'The Friend' (ed. 1818, vol. i. p. 107), Coleridge writes:

"The narrow seas that form our boundaries, what were they in times of old? The convenient highway for Danish and Norman pirates. What are they now? Still, but a 'Span of Waters.' Yet they roll at the base of the Ararat, on which the Ark of the Hope of Europe and of Civilization rested!"

He then quotes this sonnet from the line "Even so doth God protect us if we be."

The note appended to the sonnet, 'Composed in the Valley near Dover, on the day of Landing' (p. 341), shows that this one refers to the same occasion; and that while "Inland, within a hollow vale," Wordsworth was, at the same time, on the Dover Cliffs; the "vale" being one of the hollow clefts in the headland, which front the Dover coast-line. The sonnet may, however, have been finished afterwards in London.—Ed.



* * * * *



WRITTEN IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1802

Composed September, 1802.—Published 1807

[This was written immediately after my return from France to London, when I could not but be struck, as here described, with the vanity and parade of our own country, especially in great towns and cities, as contrasted with the quiet, and I may say the desolation, that the Revolution had produced in France. This must be borne in mind, or else the reader may think that in this and the succeeding Sonnets I have exaggerated the mischief engendered and fostered among us by undisturbed wealth. It would not be easy to conceive with what a depth of feeling I entered into the struggle carried on by the Spaniards for their deliverance from the usurped power of the French. Many times have I gone from Allan Bank in Grasmere Vale, where we were then residing, to the top of Raise-gap, as it is called, so late as two o'clock in the morning, to meet the carrier bringing the newspapers from Keswick. Imperfect traces of the state of mind in which I then was may be found in my tract on the Convention of Cintra, as well as in these Sonnets.—I. F.]



O FRIEND! [A] I know not which way I must look [1] For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, To think that now our life is only drest For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, Or groom!—We must run glittering like a brook 5 In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: The wealthiest man among us is the best: No grandeur now in nature or in book Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore: 10 Plain living and high thinking are no more: The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws. [B]

* * * * *

VARIANT ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1807.

O thou proud City! which way shall I look 1838.

The text of 1840 returns to that of 1807.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: The "Friend" was Coleridge. In the original MS. it stands "Coleridge! I know not," etc. Wordsworth changed it in the proof stage.—Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare—in Hartley Coleridge's 'Lives of Distinguished Northerners'—what is said of this sonnet, in his life of Anne Clifford, where the passing cynicism of Wordsworth's poem is pointed out.—Ed.]

Wordsworth stayed in London from August 30th to September 22nd 1802.—Ed.



* * * * *



LONDON, 1802

Composed September, 1802.—Published 1807



Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower 5 Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart: Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: 10 Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet [A] thy heart The lowliest duties on herself [1] did lay.

* * * * *

VARIANT ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1820.

... itself ... 1807.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: In old English "yet" means "continuously" or "always"; and it is still used in Cumberland with this signification.—Ed.]



* * * * *



"GREAT MEN HAVE BEEN AMONG US; HANDS THAT PENNED"

Composed September, 1802.—Published 1807



Great men have been among us; hands that penned And tongues that uttered wisdom—better none: The later Sidney, Marvel, Harrington, Young Vane, [A] and others who called Milton friend. These moralists could act and comprehend: 5 They knew how genuine glory was put on; Taught us how rightfully a nation shone In splendour: what strength was, that would not bend But in [1] magnanimous meekness. France, 'tis strange, Hath brought forth no such souls as we had then. 10 Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change! No single volume paramount, no code, No master spirit, no determined road; But equally a want of books and men!

* * * * *

VARIANT ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1807.

But to ... MS.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: See Clarendon's 'History of the Rebellion', book iii.—Ed.]



* * * * *



"IT IS NOT TO BE THOUGHT OF THAT THE FLOOD"

Composed September, 1802.—Published 1807 [A]



It is not to be thought of that the Flood Of British freedom, which, to the open sea Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, unwithstood,"[B] Roused though it be full often to a mood 5 Which spurns the check of salutary bands, [1] That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands Should perish; and to evil and to good Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung Armoury of the invincible Knights of old: 10 We must be [2] free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.—In every thing we are sprung Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1827.

... unwithstood, Road by which all might come and go that would, And bear out freights of worth to foreign lands; 1803.]

[Variant 2:

1807.

... must live ... 1803.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: It was first printed in 'The Morning Post', April 16. 1803, and signed W. L. D.—Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare Daniel's 'Civil War', book ii. stanza 7.—Ed.]



* * * * *



"WHEN I HAVE BORNE IN MEMORY WHAT HAS TAMED"

Composed September, 1802.—Published 1807 [A]



When I have borne in memory what has tamed Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country!—am I to be blamed? 5 Now, [1] when I think of thee, and what thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart, Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. [2] For dearly must we prize thee; we who find In thee a bulwark for the cause of men; [3] 10 And I by my affection was beguiled: What wonder if a Poet now and then, Among the many movements of his mind, Felt for thee as a lover or a child!

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1.

1845.

But,... 1803.]

[Variant 2.

1807.

I of those fears of mine am much ashamed. 1803.]

[Variant 3.

1845.

But dearly do I prize thee for I find In thee a bulwark of the cause of men; 1803.

But dearly must we prize thee; we who find 1807.

... for the cause of men; 1827.

Most dearly 1838.

The text of 1840 returns to that of 1827.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: But printed previously in 'The Morning Post', September 17, 1803, under the title 'England', and signed W. L. D. Also, see Coleridge's 'Poems on Political Events', 1828-9.—Ed.]



* * * * *



COMPOSED AFTER A JOURNEY ACROSS THE HAMBLETON HILLS, [A] YORKSHIRE

Composed October 4, 1802.—Published 1807

[Composed October 4th, 1802, 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 Wensleydale, we were stopped by one of the horses proving restive, 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 Scroops, 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.—I. F.]

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.



Dark and more dark the shades of evening fell; The wished-for point was reached—but at an hour When little could be gained from that rich dower [1] Of prospect, whereof many thousands tell. Yet did the glowing west with marvellous power 5 Salute us; there stood Indian citadel, Temple of Greece, and minster with its tower Substantially expressed—a place for bell Or clock to toll from! Many a tempting isle, With groves that never were imagined, lay 10 'Mid seas how steadfast! objects all for the eye Of silent rapture; but we felt the while [2] We should forget them; they are of the sky, And from our earthly memory fade away.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1837.

Ere we had reach'd the wish'd-for place, night fell: We were too late at least by one dark hour, And nothing could we see of all that power Of prospect, ... 1807.

Dark, and more dark, the shades of Evening fell; The wish'd-for point was reach'd—but late the hour; And little could we see of all that power 1815.

And little could be gained from all that dower 1827.]

[Variant 2:

1837.

The western sky did recompence us well With Grecian Temple, Minaret, and Bower; And, in one part, a Minster with its Tower Substantially distinct, a place for Bell Or Clock to toll from. Many a glorious pile Did we behold, sights that might well repay All disappointment! and, as such, the eye Delighted in them; but we felt, the while, 1807.

Substantially expressed—... 1815.

Did we behold, fair sights that might repay 1815.

Yet did the glowing west in all its power 1827.

The text of 1827 is otherwise identical with that of 1837.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Called by Wordsworth, "The Hamilton Hills" in the editions from 1807 to 1827.—Ed.]

The following extract from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal indicates, as fully as any other passage in it, the use which her brother occasionally made of it. We have the "Grecian Temple," and the "Minster with its Tower":

"Before we had crossed the Hambleton Hill and reached the point overlooking Yorkshire it was quite dark. We had not wanted, however, fair prospects before us, as we drove along the flat plain of the high hill; far, far off from us, in the western sky, we saw shapes of castles, ruins among groves—a great, spreading wood, rocks, and single trees—a Minster with its Tower unusually distinct, Minarets in another quarter, and a round Grecian Temple also; the colours of the sky of a bright grey, and the forms of a sober grey, with a dome. As we descended the hill there was no distinct view, but of a great space, only near us, we saw the wild (and as the people say) bottomless Tarn in the hollow at the side of the hill. It seemed to be made visible to us only by its own light, for all the hill about us was dark."

Wordsworth and his sister crossed over the Hambleton (or Hamilton) Hills, on their way from Westmoreland to Gallow Hill, Yorkshire, to visit the Hutchinsons, before they went south to London and Calais, where they spent the month of August, 1802. But after his marriage to Mary Hutchinson, on the 4th of October, Wordsworth, his wife, and sister, recrossed these Hambleton Hills on their way to Grasmere, which they reached on the evening of the 6th October. The above sonnet was composed on the evening of the 4th October, as the Fenwick note indicates.—Ed.



* * * * *



TO H. C.

SIX YEARS OLD

Composed 1802.—Published 1807

One of the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood."—Ed.



O thou! whose fancies from afar are brought; Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel, And fittest to unutterable thought The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol; Thou faery voyager! that dost float 5 In such clear water, that thy boat May rather seem To brood on air [A] than on an earthly stream; Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, Where earth and heaven do make one imagery; 10 O blessed vision! happy child! Thou [1] art so exquisitely wild, I think of thee with many fears For what may be thy lot in future years.

I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest, 15 Lord of thy house and hospitality; And Grief, uneasy lover! never rest But when she sate within the touch of thee. O too industrious folly! O vain and causeless melancholy! 20 Nature will either end thee quite; Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, Preserve for thee, by individual right, A young lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks. What hast thou to do with sorrow, 25 Or the injuries of to-morrow? Thou art a dew-drop, which the morn brings forth, Ill fitted to sustain [2] unkindly shocks, Or to be trailed along the soiling earth; A gem that glitters while it lives, 30 And no forewarning gives; But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife Slips in a moment out of life.