[Footnote 13: I. F. note. See vol. i. p. 5.]

[Footnote 14: I. F. note. See vol. i. p. 32.]

[Footnote 15: Advertisement. See vol. i. p. 78.]

[Footnote 16: How much of this poem was Wordsworth's own has not been definitely ascertained. I am of opinion that very little, if any of it, was his. It has been said that his nephew, the late Bishop of Lincoln, wrote most of it; but more recent evidence tends to show that it was the work of his son-in-law, Edward Quillinan.]

[Footnote 17: In a letter to the writer in 1882.]

[Footnote 18: 'The Poetry of Byron, chosen and arranged by Matthew Arnold'. London: Macmillan and Co.]

[Footnote 19: It may not be too trivial a fact to mention that Wordsworth numbered the lines of his earliest publication, 'An Evening Walk, in 1793.—Ed.]

[Footnote 20: Another fact, not too trivial to mention, is that in the original MS. of the 'Lines composed at Grasmere', etc., Wordsworth sent it to the printer "Lines written," but changed it in proof to "Lines composed."—Ed.]



* * * * *



EXTRACT FROM THE CONCLUSION OF A POEM, COMPOSED IN ANTICIPATION OF LEAVING SCHOOL

Composed 1786.—Published 1815

This poem was placed by Wordsworth among his "Juvenile Pieces." The following note was prefixed to that Series, from 1820 to 1832:

"Of the Poems in this class, "THE EVENING WALK" and "DESCRIPTIVE SKETCHES" were first published in 1793. They are reprinted with some unimportant alterations that were chiefly made very soon after their publication. It would have been easy to amend them, in many passages, both as to sentiment and expression, and I have not been altogether able to resist the temptation: but attempts of this kind are made at the risk of injuring those characteristic features, which, after all, will be regarded as the principal recommendation of juvenile poems."

In 1836 "unimportant" was erased before "alterations"; and after "temptation" the following was added, "as will be obvious to the attentive reader, in some instances: these are few, for I am aware that attempts of this kind," etc.

"The above, which was written some time ago, scarcely applies to the Poem, 'Descriptive Sketches', as it now stands. The corrections, though numerous, are not, however, such as to prevent its retaining with propriety a place in the class of 'Juvenile Pieces.'"

In the editions of 1845 and 1849, Wordsworth called his "Juvenile Pieces," "Poems written in Youth."—Ed.

["Dear native regions," etc., 1786, Hawkshead. The beautiful image with which this poem concludes suggested itself to me while I was resting in a boat along with my companions under the shade of a magnificent row of sycamores, which then extended their branches from the shore of the promontory upon which stands the ancient, and at that time the more picturesque, Hall of Coniston, the Seat of the Le Flemings from very early times. The Poem of which it was the conclusion, was of many hundred lines, and contained thoughts and images, most of which have been dispersed through my other writings.—I. F.]

In the editions 1815 to 1832, the title given to this poem was 'Extract from the conclusion of a Poem, composed upon leaving School'. The row of sycamores at Hawkshead, referred to in the Fenwick note, no longer exists.

In the "Autobiographical Memoranda," dictated by Wordsworth at Rydal Mount in November 1847, he says, " .... I wrote, while yet a schoolboy, a long poem running upon my own adventures, and the scenery of the county in which I was brought up. The only part of that poem which has been preserved is the conclusion of it, which stands at the beginning of my collected Poems." [A]

In the eighth book of 'The Prelude', (lines 468-475), this fragment is introduced, and there Wordsworth tells us that once, when boating on Coniston Lake (Thurston-mere) in his boyhood, he entered under a grove of trees on its "western marge," and glided "along the line of low-roofed water," "as in a cloister." He adds,

while, in that shade Loitering, I watched the golden beams of light Flung from the setting sun, as they reposed In silent beauty on the naked ridge Of a high eastern hill—thus flowed my thoughts In a pure stream of words fresh from the heart:

Ed.

* * * * *

THE POEM

Dear native regions, [B] I foretell, From what I feel at this farewell, That, wheresoe'er my steps may [1] tend, And whensoe'er my course shall end,

If in that hour a single tie [2] 5 Survive of local sympathy, My soul will cast the backward view, The longing look alone on you.

Thus, while the Sun sinks down to rest Far in the regions of the west, 10 Though to the vale no parting beam Be given, not one memorial gleam, [3] A lingering light he fondly throws [4] On the dear hills [5] where first he rose.



* * * * *

[Footnote A: See the 'Memoirs of William Wordsworth', by Christopher Wordsworth (1851), vol. i. pp. 10-31.—ED]

[Footnote B: Compare the 'Ode, composed in January 1816', stanza v.—Ed.]

* * * * *

[Variant 1:

1832.

....shall 1815.]

[Variant 2:

1815.

That, when the close of life draws near, And I must quit this earthly sphere, If in that hour a tender tie MS.]

[Variant 3:

1845.

Thus, when the Sun, prepared for rest, Hath gained the precincts of the West, Though his departing radiance fail To illuminate the hollow Vale, 1815.

Thus, from the precincts of the West, The Sun, when sinking down to rest, 1832.

... while sinking ... 1836.

Hath reached the precincts ... MS.]

[Variant 4:

1815.

A lingering lustre fondly throws 1832.

The edition of 1845 reverts to the reading of 1815.]

[Variant 5:

1815.

On the dear mountain-tops ... 1820.

The edition of 1845 returns to the text of 1815.]



* * * * *



WRITTEN IN VERY EARLY YOUTH

Composed 1786. [A]—Published 1807 [B]

From 1807 to 1843 this was placed by Wordsworth in his group of "Miscellaneous Sonnets." In 1845, it was transferred to the class of "Poems written in Youth." It is doubtful if it was really written in "'very' early youth." Its final form, at any rate, may belong to a later period.—Ed.

* * * * *

Calm is all nature as a resting wheel. The kine are couched upon the dewy grass; The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass, Is cropping audibly [1] his later meal: [C] Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal 5 O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky. Now, in this blank of things, a harmony, Home-felt, and home-created, comes [2] to heal That grief for which the senses still supply Fresh food; for only then, when memory 10 Is hushed, am I at rest. My Friends! restrain Those busy cares that would allay my pain; Oh! leave me to myself, nor let me feel The officious touch that makes me droop again.

* * * * *

[Footnote A: The date of the composition of this fragment is quite unknown.—Ed.]

[Footnote B: But previously, in 'The Morning Post', Feb. 13, 1802.—Ed.]

[Footnote C: Canon Ainger calls attention to the fact that there is here a parallel, possibly a reminiscence, from the 'Nocturnal Reverie' of the Countess of Winchelsea.

Whose stealing pace and lengthened shade we fear, Till torn-up forage in his teeth we hear.

Ed.]

* * * * *

[Variant 1:

1827.

Is up, and cropping yet ... 1807.]

[Variant 2:

1838.

... seems ... 1807.]



* * * * *



AN EVENING WALK

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY

Composed 1787-9. [A]—Published 1793

[The young Lady to whom this was addressed was my Sister. It was composed at School, and during my first two College vacations. There is not an image in it which I have not observed; and, now in my seventy-third year, I recollect the time and place, when most of them were noticed. I will confine myself to one instance:

Waving his hat, the shepherd, from the vale, Directs his winding dog the cliffs to scale,— The dog, loud barking, 'mid the glittering rocks, Hunts, where his master points, the intercepted flocks.

I was an eye-witness of this for the first time while crossing the Pass of Dunmail Raise. Upon second thought, I will mention another image:

And, fronting the bright west, yon oak entwines Its darkening boughs and leaves, in stronger lines.

This is feebly and imperfectly expressed, but I recollect distinctly the very spot where this first struck me. It was on the way between Hawkshead and Ambleside, and gave me extreme pleasure. The moment was important in my poetical history; for I date from it my consciousness of the infinite variety of natural appearances which had been unnoticed by the poets of any age or country, so far as I was acquainted with them; and I made a resolution to supply in some degree the deficiency. I could not have been at that time above fourteen years of age. The description of the swans, that follows, was taken from the daily opportunities I had of observing their habits, not as confined to the gentleman's park, but in a state of nature. There were two pairs of them that divided the lake of Esthwaite, and its in-and-out flowing streams, between them, never trespassing a single yard upon each other's separate domain. They were of the old magnificent species, bearing in beauty and majesty about the same relation to the Thames swan which that does to the goose. It was from the remembrance of those noble creatures, I took, thirty years after, the picture of the swan which I have discarded from the poem of 'Dion'. [B] While I was a schoolboy, the late Mr. Curwen introduced a little fleet of these birds, but of the inferior species, to the lake of Windermere. Their principal home was about his own island; but they sailed about into remote parts of the lake, and either from real or imagined injury done to the adjoining fields, they were got rid of at the request of the farmers and proprietors, but to the great regret of all who had become attached to them from noticing their beauty and quiet habits. I will conclude my notice of this poem by observing that the plan of it has not been confined to a particular walk, or an individual place; a proof (of which I was unconscious at the time) of my unwillingness to submit the poetic spirit to the chains of fact and real circumstance. The country is idealised rather than described in any one of its local aspects.—I. F.]

The title of this poem, as first published in 1793, was 'An Evening Walk. An epistle; in verse. Addressed to a Young Lady, from the Lakes of the North of England. By W. Wordsworth, B.A., of St. John's, Cambridge'. Extracts from it were published in all the collected editions of the poems under the general title of "Juvenile Pieces," from 1815 to 1843; and, in 1845 and 1849, of "Poems written in Youth." The following prefatory note to the "Juvenile Pieces" occurs in the editions 1820 to 1832.

"They are reprinted with some unimportant alterations that were chiefly made very soon after their publication. It would have been easy to amend them, in many passages, both as to sentiment and expression, and I have not been altogether able to resist the temptation: but attempts of this kind are made at the risk of injuring those characteristic features, which, after all, will be regarded as the principal recommendation of juvenile poems."

To this, Wordsworth added, in 1836,

"The above, which was written some time ago, scarcely applies to the Poem, 'Descriptive Sketches', as it now stands. The corrections, though numerous, are not, however, such as to prevent its retaining with propriety a place in the class of 'Juvenile Pieces.'"

In May 1794 Wordsworth wrote to his friend Mathews,

"It was with great reluctance that I sent these two little works into the world in so imperfect a state. But as I had done nothing at the University, I thought these little things might show that I could do something."

Wordsworth's notes to this poem are printed from the edition of 1793. Slight variations in the text of these notes in subsequent editions, in the spelling of proper names, and in punctuation, are not noted.—Ed.

'General Sketch of the Lakes—Author's regret of his Youth which was passed amongst them—Short description of Noon—Cascade—Noon-tide Retreat—Precipice and sloping Lights—Face of Nature as the Sun declines—Mountain-farm, and the Cock—Slate-quarry—Sunset—Superstition of the Country connected with that moment—Swans—Female Beggar—Twilight-sounds—Western Lights—Spirits—Night—Moonlight—Hope—Night-sounds—Conclusion'.

* * * * *

THE POEM

Far from my dearest Friend, 'tis mine to rove Through bare grey dell, high wood, and pastoral cove; Where Derwent rests, and listens to the roar That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lodore; [1] Where peace to Grasmere's lonely island leads, 5 To willowy hedge-rows, and to emerald meads; Leads to her bridge, rude church, and cottaged grounds, Her rocky sheepwalks, and her woodland bounds; Where, undisturbed by winds, Winander [C] sleeps [2] 'Mid clustering isles, and holly-sprinkled steeps; 10 Where twilight glens endear my Esthwaite's shore, And memory of departed pleasures, more.

Fair scenes, erewhile, I taught, a happy child, The echoes of your rocks my carols wild: The spirit sought not then, in cherished sadness, 15 A cloudy substitute for failing gladness. [3] In youth's keen [4] eye the livelong day was bright, The sun at morning, and the stars at night, Alike, when first the bittern's hollow bill Was heard, or woodcocks [D] roamed the moonlight hill. [5] 20

In thoughtless gaiety I coursed the plain, [6] And hope itself was all I knew of pain; For then, the inexperienced heart would beat [7] At times, while young Content forsook her seat, And wild Impatience, pointing upward, showed, 25 Through passes yet unreached, a brighter road. [8] Alas! the idle tale of man is found Depicted in the dial's moral round; Hope with reflection blends her social rays [9] To gild the total tablet of his days; 30 Yet still, the sport of some malignant power, He knows but from its shade the present hour. [10] But why, ungrateful, dwell on idle pain? To show what pleasures yet to me remain, [11] Say, will my Friend, with unreluctant ear, [12] 35 The history of a poet's evening hear?

When, in the south, the wan noon, brooding still, Breathed a pale steam around the glaring hill, And shades of deep-embattled clouds were seen, 40 Spotting the northern cliffs with lights between; When crowding cattle, checked by rails that make A fence far stretched into the shallow lake, Lashed the cool water with their restless tails, Or from high points of rock looked out for fanning gales;[13] 45 When school-boys stretched their length upon the green; And round the broad-spread oak, a glimmering scene, In the rough fern-clad park, the herded deer [14] Shook the still-twinkling tail and glancing ear; When horses in the sunburnt intake [E] stood, 50 And vainly eyed below the tempting flood, Or tracked the passenger, in mute distress, With forward neck the closing gate to press—[15] Then, while I wandered where the huddling rill Brightens with water-breaks the hollow ghyll [F] [16] 55 As by enchantment, an obscure retreat [17] Opened at once, and stayed my devious feet. While thick above the rill the branches close, In rocky basin its wild waves repose, Inverted shrubs, [G] and moss of gloomy green, 60 Cling from the rocks, with pale wood-weeds between; And its own twilight softens the whole scene, [H] Save where aloft the subtle sunbeams shine On withered briars that o'er the crags recline; [18] Save where, with sparkling foam, a small cascade, 65 Illumines, from within, the leafy shade; [19] Beyond, along the vista of the brook, Where antique roots its bustling course [20] o'erlook, The eye reposes on a secret bridge [J] Half grey, half shagged with ivy to its ridge; 70 There, bending o'er the stream, the listless swain Lingers behind his disappearing wain. [21] —Did Sabine grace adorn my living line, Blandusia's praise, wild stream, should yield to thine! Never shall ruthless minister of death 75 'Mid thy soft glooms the glittering steel unsheath; No goblets shall, for thee, be crowned with flowers, No kid with piteous outcry thrill thy bowers; The mystic shapes that by thy margin rove A more benignant sacrifice approve— 80 A mind, that, in a calm angelic mood Of happy wisdom, meditating good, Beholds, of all from her high powers required, Much done, and much designed, and more desired,— Harmonious thoughts, a soul by truth refined, 85 Entire affection for all human kind.

Dear Brook, [22] farewell! To-morrow's noon again Shall hide me, wooing long thy wildwood strain; But now the sun has gained his western road, And eve's mild hour invites my steps abroad. 90

While, near the midway cliff, the silvered kite In many a whistling circle wheels her flight; Slant watery lights, from parting clouds, apace Travel along the precipice's base; Cheering its naked waste of scattered stone, 95 By lichens grey, and scanty moss, o'ergrown; Where scarce the foxglove peeps, or [23] thistle's beard; And restless [24] stone-chat, all day long, is heard.

How pleasant, as the sun declines, to view [25] The spacious landscape change in form and hue! 100 Here, vanish, as in mist, before a flood Of bright obscurity, hill, lawn, and wood; There, objects, by the searching beams betrayed, Come forth, and here retire in purple shade; Even the white stems of birch, the cottage white, 105 Soften their glare before the mellow light; The skiffs, at anchor where with umbrage wide Yon chestnuts half the latticed boat-house hide, Shed from their sides, that face the sun's slant beam, Strong flakes of radiance on the tremulous stream: 110 Raised by yon travelling flock, a dusty cloud Mounts from the road, and spreads its moving shroud; The shepherd, all involved in wreaths of fire, Now shows a shadowy speck, and now is lost entire.

Into a gradual calm the breezes [26] sink, [27] 115 A blue rim borders all the lake's still brink; There doth the twinkling aspen's foliage sleep, And insects clothe, like dust, the glassy deep: [28] And now, on every side, the surface breaks Into blue spots, and slowly lengthening streaks; 120 Here, plots of sparkling water tremble bright With thousand thousand twinkling points of light; There, waves that, hardly weltering, die away, Tip their smooth ridges with a softer ray; And now the whole wide lake in deep repose 125 Is hushed, and like a burnished mirror glows, [29] Save where, along the shady western marge, Coasts, with industrious oar, the charcoal barge. [30]

Their panniered train a group of potters goad, Winding from side to side up the steep road; 130 The peasant, from yon cliff of fearful edge Shot, down the headlong path darts with his sledge; [31] Bright beams the lonely mountain-horse illume Feeding 'mid purple heath, "green rings," [K] and broom; While the sharp slope the slackened team confounds, 135 Downward [L] the ponderous timber-wain resounds; [32] In foamy breaks the rill, with merry song, Dashed o'er [33] the rough rock, lightly leaps along; From lonesome chapel at the mountain's feet, Three humble bells their rustic chime repeat; 140 Sounds from the water-side the hammered boat; And 'blasted' quarry thunders, heard remote!

Even here, amid the sweep of endless woods, Blue pomp of lakes, high cliffs and falling floods, Not undelightful are the simplest charms, 145 Found by the grassy [34] door of mountain-farms.

Sweetly ferocious, [M] round his native walks, Pride of [35] his sister-wives, the monarch stalks; Spur-clad his nervous feet, and firm his tread; A crest of purple tops the warrior's head. [36] 150 Bright sparks his black and rolling [37] eye-ball hurls Afar, his tail he closes and unfurls; [38] On tiptoe reared, he strains [39] his clarion throat, Threatened by faintly-answering farms remote: Again with his shrill voice the mountain rings, 155 While, flapped with conscious pride, resound his wings! [40]

Where, mixed with graceful birch, the sombrous pine And yew-tree [41] o'er the silver rocks recline; I love to mark the quarry's moving trains, Dwarf panniered steeds, and men, and numerous wains: 160 How busy all [42] the enormous hive within, While Echo dallies with its [43] various din! Some (hear you not their chisels' clinking sound?) [44] Toil, small as pigmies in the gulf profound; Some, dim between the lofty [45] cliffs descried, 165 O'erwalk the slender [46] plank from side to side; These, by the pale-blue rocks that ceaseless ring, In airy baskets hanging, work and sing.[47]

Just where a cloud above the mountain rears [48] An [49] edge all flame, the broadening sun appears; 170 A long blue bar its aegis orb divides, And breaks the spreading of its golden tides; And now that orb has touched the purple steep Whose softened image penetrates the deep.[50]

'Cross the calm lake's blue shades the cliffs aspire, 175 With towers and woods, a "prospect all on fire"; [N] While [51] coves and secret hollows, through a ray Of fainter gold, a purple gleam betray. Each slip of lawn the broken rocks between Shines in the light with more than earthly green: [52] 180 Deep yellow beams the scattered stems [53] illume, Far in the level forest's central gloom: Waving his hat, the shepherd, from [54] the vale, Directs his winding dog the cliffs to scale,— The dog, loud barking, 'mid the glittering rocks, 185 Hunts, where his master points, the intercepted flocks. [55] Where oaks o'erhang the road the radiance shoots On tawny earth, wild weeds, and twisted roots; The druid-stones a brightened ring unfold; [56] And all the babbling brooks are liquid gold; 190 Sunk to a curve, the day-star lessens still, Gives one bright glance, and drops [57] behind the hill. [P]

In these secluded vales, if village fame, Confirmed by hoary hairs, belief may claim; When up the hills, as now, retired the light, 195 Strange apparitions mocked the shepherd's sight. [58]

The form appears of one that spurs his steed Midway along the hill with desperate speed; [59] Unhurt pursues his lengthened flight, while all Attend, at every stretch, his headlong fall. 200 Anon, appears a brave, a gorgeous show Of horsemen-shadows moving to and fro; [60] At intervals imperial banners stream, [61] And now the van reflects the solar beam; [62] The rear through iron brown betrays a sullen gleam. 205 While silent stands the admiring crowd below, Silent the visionary warriors go, Winding in ordered pomp their upward way [Q] Till the last banner of their [63] long array Has disappeared, and every trace is fled 210 Of splendour—save the beacon's spiry head Tipt with eve's latest gleam of burning red. [64]

Now, while the solemn evening shadows sail, On slowly-waving pinions, [65] down the vale; And, fronting the bright west, yon oak entwines 215 Its darkening boughs and leaves, in stronger lines; [66] 'Tis pleasant near the tranquil lake to stray [67] Where, winding on along some secret bay, [68] The swan uplifts his chest, and backward flings His neck, a varying arch, between his towering wings: 220 The eye that marks the gliding creature sees How graceful, pride can be, and how majestic, ease. [69]

While tender cares and mild domestic loves With furtive watch pursue her as she moves, The female with a meeker charm succeeds, 225 And her brown little-ones around her leads, Nibbling the water lilies as they pass, Or playing wanton with the floating grass. She, in a mother's care, her beauty's pride Forgetting, calls the wearied to her side; [70] 230 Alternately they mount her back, and rest Close by her mantling wings' embraces prest. [R]

Long may they float upon this flood serene; Theirs be these holms untrodden, still, and green, Where leafy shades fence off the blustering gale, 235 And breathes in peace the lily of the vale![71] Yon isle, which feels not even the milk-maid's feet, Yet hears her song, "by distance made more sweet," [72] [S] Yon isle conceals their home, their hut-like bower; Green water-rushes overspread the floor; [73] 240 Long grass and willows form the woven wall, And swings above the roof the poplar tall. Thence issuing often with unwieldy stalk, They crush with broad black feet their flowery walk; [74] Or, from the neighbouring water, hear at morn [75] 245 The hound, the horse's tread, and mellow horn; Involve their serpent-necks in changeful rings, Rolled wantonly between their slippery wings, Or, starting up with noise and rude delight, Force half upon the wave their cumbrous flight. [76] 250

Fair Swan! by all a mother's joys caressed, Haply some wretch has eyed, and called thee blessed; When with her infants, from some shady seat By the lake's edge, she rose—to face the noontide heat; Or taught their limbs along the dusty road 255 A few short steps to totter with their load. [77]

I see her now, denied to lay her head, On cold blue nights, in hut or straw-built shed, Turn to a silent smile their sleepy cry, By pointing to the gliding moon [78] on high. 260

—[79] When low-hung clouds each star of summer hide, And fireless are the valleys far and wide, Where the brook brawls along the public [80] road Dark with bat-haunted ashes stretching broad, [81] Oft has she taught them on her lap to lay 265 The shining glow-worm; or, in heedless play, Toss it from hand to hand, disquieted; While others, not unseen, are free to shed Green unmolested light upon their mossy bed. [82]

Oh! when the sleety showers her path assail, 270 And like a torrent roars the headstrong gale; [83] No more her breath can thaw their fingers cold, Their frozen arms her neck no more can fold; [84] Weak roof a cowering form two babes to shield, And faint the fire a dying heart can yield! 275 Press the sad kiss, fond mother! vainly fears Thy flooded cheek to wet them with its tears; [85] No tears can chill them, and no bosom warms, Thy breast their death-bed, coffined in thine arms!

Sweet are the sounds that mingle from afar, 280 Heard by calm lakes, as peeps the folding star, Where the duck dabbles 'mid the rustling sedge, And feeding pike starts from the water's edge, Or the swan stirs the reeds, his neck and bill Wetting, that drip upon the water still; 285 And heron, as resounds the trodden shore, Shoots upward, darting his long neck before. [86] Now, with religious awe, the farewell light Blends with the solemn colouring of night; [87] 'Mid groves of clouds that crest the mountain's brow, 290 And round the west's proud lodge their shadows throw, Like Una [T] shining on her gloomy way, The half-seen form of Twilight roams astray; Shedding, through paly loop-holes mild and small, Gleams that upon the lake's still bosom fall; [88] 295 [89] Soft o'er the surface creep those lustres pale Tracking the motions of the fitful gale. [90] With restless interchange at once the bright Wins on the shade, the shade upon the light. No favoured eye was e'er allowed to gaze 300 On lovelier spectacle in faery days; When gentle Spirits urged a sportive chase, Brushing with lucid wands the water's face; While music, stealing round the glimmering deeps, Charmed the tall circle of the enchanted steeps. 305 —The lights are vanished from the watery plains: No wreck of all the pageantry remains. Unheeded night has overcome the vales: On the dark earth the wearied vision fails; The latest lingerer of the forest train, 310 The lone black fir, forsakes the faded plain; Last evening sight, the cottage smoke, no more, Lost in the thickened darkness, glimmers hoar; And, towering from the sullen dark-brown mere, Like a black wall, the mountain-steeps appear. [91] 315

—Now o'er the soothed accordant heart we feel A sympathetic twilight slowly steal, And ever, as we fondly muse, we find The soft gloom deepening on the tranquil mind. Stay! pensive, sadly-pleasing visions, stay! 320 Ah no! as fades the vale, they fade away: Yet still the tender, vacant gloom remains; Still the cold cheek its shuddering tear retains.

The bird, who ceased, with fading light, to thread Silent the hedge or steamy rivulet's bed, [92] 325 From his grey re-appearing tower shall soon Salute with gladsome note the rising moon, While with a hoary light she frosts the ground, And pours a deeper blue to Aether's bound; Pleased, as she moves, her pomp of clouds to fold 330 In robes of azure, fleecy-white, and gold. [93]

Above yon eastern hill, [94] where darkness broods O'er all its vanished dells, and lawns, and woods; Where but a mass of shade the sight can trace, Even now she shows, half-veiled, her lovely face: [95] 335 Across [96] the gloomy valley flings her light, Far to the western slopes with hamlets white; And gives, where woods the chequered upland strew, To the green corn of summer, autumn's hue.

Thus Hope, first pouring from her blessed horn 340 Her dawn, far lovelier than the moon's own morn, 'Till higher mounted, strives in vain to cheer The weary hills, impervious, blackening near; Yet does she still, undaunted, throw the while On darling spots remote her tempting smile. 345

Even now she decks for me a distant scene, (For dark and broad the gulf of time between) Gilding that cottage with her fondest ray, (Sole bourn, sole wish, sole object of my way; 350 How fair its lawns and sheltering [97] woods appear! How sweet its streamlet murmurs in mine ear!) Where we, my Friend, to happy [98] days shall rise, 'Till our small share of hardly-paining sighs (For sighs will ever trouble human breath) 355 Creep hushed into the tranquil breast of death.

But now the clear bright Moon her zenith gains, And, rimy without speck, extend the plains: The deepest cleft the mountain's front displays [99] Scarce hides a shadow from her searching rays; 360 From the dark-blue faint silvery threads divide The hills, while gleams below the azure tide; Time softly treads; throughout the landscape breathes A peace enlivened, not disturbed, by wreaths Of charcoal-smoke, that o'er the fallen wood, 365 Steal down the hill, and spread along the flood.[100]

The song of mountain-streams, unheard by day, Now hardly heard, beguiles my homeward way. [U] Air listens, like the sleeping water, still, To catch the spiritual music of the hill, [101] 370 Broke only by the slow clock tolling deep, Or shout that wakes the ferry-man from sleep, The echoed hoof nearing the distant shore, The boat's first motion—made with dashing oar; [102] Sound of closed gate, across the water borne, 375 Hurrying the timid [103] hare through rustling corn; The sportive outcry of the mocking owl; [104] And at long intervals the mill-dog's howl; The distant forge's swinging thump profound; Or yell, in the deep woods, of lonely hound. 380



* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE ABOVE POEM:

[Variant 1:

1836.

His wizard course where hoary Derwent takes Thro' craggs, and forest glooms, and opening lakes, Staying his silent waves, to hear the roar That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lodore: Where silver rocks the savage prospect chear Of giant yews that frown on Rydale's mere; 1793.

Where Derwent stops his course to hear the roar That stuns the tremulous cliffs ... 1827.

(Omitting two lines of the 1793 text quoted above.)]

[Variant 2:

1836.

Where, bosom'd deep, the shy Winander peeps 1793.

Where, deep embosom'd, shy Winander peeps 1827.]

[Variant 3:

1836.

Fair scenes! with other eyes, than once, I gaze, The ever-varying charm your round displays, Than when, ere-while, I taught, "a happy child," The echoes of your rocks my carols wild: Then did no ebb of chearfulness demand Sad tides of joy from Melancholy's hand; 1793.

Upon the varying charm your round displays, 1820.]

[Variant 4:

1820.

... wild ... 1793.]

[Variant 5:

1836.

... stars of night, Alike, when first the vales the bittern fills, Or the first woodcocks roam'd the moonlight hills. 1793.

Alike, when heard the bittern's hollow bill, Or the first woodcocks roam'd the moonlight hill. 1820.]

[Variant 6:

1820.

Return Delights! with whom my road begun, When Life rear'd laughing up her morning sun; When Transport kiss'd away my april tear, "Rocking as in a dream the tedious year"; When link'd with thoughtless Mirth I cours'd the plain, 1793.]

[Variant 7:

1836.

For then, ev'n then, the little heart would beat 1793.]

[Variant 8:

1836.

And wild Impatience, panting upward, show'd Where tipp'd with gold the mountain-summits glow'd. 1793.]

[Variant 9:

1836.

With Hope Reflexion blends her social rays 1793.]

[Variant 10:

1820.

While, Memory at my side, I wander here, Starts at the simplest sight th' unbidden tear, A form discover'd at the well-known seat, A spot, that angles at the riv'let's feet, The ray the cot of morning trav'ling nigh, And sail that glides the well-known alders by.

Only in the edition of 1793.]

[Variant 11:

1820.

To shew her yet some joys to me remain, 1793.]

[Variant 12:

1820.

... with soft affection's ear, 1793.]

[Variant 13:

1836.

... with lights between; Gazing the tempting shades to them deny'd, When stood the shorten'd herds amid' the tide, Where, from the barren wall's unshelter'd end, Long rails into the shallow lake extend; 1793.

When, at the barren wall's unsheltered end, Where long rails far into the lake extend, Crowded the shortened herds, and beat the tides With their quick tails, and lash'd their speckled sides; 1820.]

[Variant 14:

1836.

And round the humming elm, a glimmering scene! In the brown park, in flocks, the troubl'd deer 1793.

... in herds, ... 1820.]

[Variant 15:

1820.

When horses in the wall-girt intake stood, Unshaded, eying far below, the flood, Crouded behind the swain, in mute distress, With forward neck the closing gate to press; And long, with wistful gaze, his walk survey'd, 'Till dipp'd his pathway in the river shade; 1793.]

[Variant 16:

1845.

—Then Quiet led me up the huddling rill, Bright'ning with water-breaks the sombrous gill; 1793.

—Then, while I wandered up the huddling rill Brightening with water-breaks the sombrous ghyll, 1820.

Then, while I wandered where the huddling rill Brightens with water-breaks the sombrous ghyll, 1836.]

[Variant 17:

1820.

To where, while thick above the branches close, In dark-brown bason its wild waves repose, Inverted shrubs, and moss of darkest green, Cling from the rocks, with pale wood-weeds between; Save that, atop, the subtle sunbeams shine, On wither'd briars that o'er the craggs recline; Sole light admitted here, a small cascade, Illumes with sparkling foam the twilight shade. Beyond, along the visto of the brook, Where antique roots its bustling path o'erlook, The eye reposes on a secret bridge Half grey, half shagg'd with ivy to its ridge. —Sweet rill, farewel! ... 1793.]

[Variant 18:

1845.

But see aloft the subtle sunbeams shine, On withered briars that o'er the crags recline; Thus beautiful! as if the sight displayed, By its own sparkling foam that small cascade; Inverted shrubs, with moss of gloomy green Cling from the rocks, with pale wood-weeds between. C.

Inverted shrubs with pale wood weeds between Cling from the moss-grown rocks, a darksome green, Save where aloft the subtle sunbeams shine And its own twilight softens the whole scene. And sparkling as it foams a small cascade Illumines from within the impervious shade Below, right in the vista of the brook, Where antique roots, etc. MS.]

[Variant 19:

1845.

Sole light admitted here, a small cascade, Illumes with sparkling foam the impervious shade; 1820.]

[Variant 20:

1827.

... path ... 1793.]

[Variant 21:

1845.

Whence hangs, in the cool shade, the listless swain Lingering behind his disappearing wain. 1820.]

[Variant 22:

1845.

—Sweet rill, ... 1793.]

[Variant 23:

1820.

... and ... 1793.]

[Variant 24:

1845.

And desert ... 1793]

[Variant 25:

1820.

How pleasant, as the yellowing sun declines, And with long rays and shades the landscape shines; To mark the birches' stems all golden light, That lit the dark slant woods with silvery white! The willow's weeping trees, that twinkling hoar, Glanc'd oft upturn'd along the breezy shore, Low bending o'er the colour'd water, fold Their moveless boughs and leaves like threads of gold; The skiffs with naked masts at anchor laid, Before the boat-house peeping thro' the shade; Th' unwearied glance of woodman's echo'd stroke; And curling from the trees the cottage smoke. Their pannier'd train ... 1793.]

[Variant 26:

1845.

... zephyrs ... 1820.]

[Variant 27: This stanza was added in the edition of 1820.]

[Variant 28:

1845.

This couplet was added in 1845.]

[Variant 29:

1845.

And now the universal tides repose, And, brightly blue, the burnished mirror glows, 1820.]

[Variant 30:

1845.

The sails are dropped, the poplar's foliage sleeps, And insects clothe, like dust, the glassy deeps.

This couplet followed l. 127 from 1820 to 1843.]

[Variant 31:

1820

Shot, down the headlong pathway darts his sledge; 1793.]

[Variant 32:

1820.

Beside their sheltering [i] cross of wall, the flock Feeds on in light, nor thinks of winter's shock;

Only in the edition of 1793.]

[Variant 33:

1820.

Dashed down ... 1793.]

[Variant 34:

1836.

... verdant ... 1793.]

[Variant 35:

1820.

Gazed by ... 1793.]

[Variant 36:

1836.

... his warrior head. 1793.]

[Variant 37:

1836.

... haggard ... 1793.]

[Variant 38:

1836.

Whose state, like pine-trees, waving to and fro, Droops, and o'er canopies his regal brow,

This couplet was inserted in the editions 1793 to 1832.]

[Variant 39:

1820.

... blows ... 1793.]

[Variant 40: This couplet was first printed in the edition of 1820.]

[Variant 41:

1836.

Bright'ning the cliffs between where sombrous pine, And yew-trees ... 1793.]

[Variant 42:

1836.

How busy the enormous hive within, 1793.]

[Variant 43:

1836.

... with the ... 1793.]

[Variant 44:

1836.

Some hardly heard their chissel's clinking sound, 1793.]

[Variant 45:

1836.

... th' aereal ... 1793.]

[Variant 46:

1815.

... viewless ... 1793.]

[Variant 47:

1836.

Glad from their airy baskets hang and sing. 1793.]

[Variant 48:

1836.

Hung o'er a cloud, above the steep that rears 1793.]

[Variant 49:

1820.

It's ... 1793.]

[Variant 50:

1845.

And now it touches on the purple steep That flings his shadow on the pictur'd deep. 1793.

That flings its image ... 1832.

And now the sun has touched the purple steep Whose softened image penetrates the deep. 1836.]

[Variant 51:

1836.

The coves ... 1793]

[Variant 52:

1836.

The gilded turn arrays in richer green Each speck of lawn the broken rocks between; 1793.

... invests with richer green 1820.]

[Variant 53:

1827.

... boles ... 1793.]

[Variant 54:

1827.

... in ... 1793.]

[Variant 55:

1836.

That, barking busy 'mid the glittering rocks, Hunts, where he points, the intercepted flocks; 1793.]

[Variant 56:

1845.

The Druid stones [ii] their lighted fane unfold, 1793.

... a burnished ring unfold; 1836.]

[Variant 57:

1827.

... sinks ... 1793.]

[Variant 58:

1845.

In these lone vales, if aught of faith may claim, Thin silver hairs, and ancient hamlet fame; When up the hills, as now, retreats the light, Strange apparitions mock the village sight. 1793.

In these secluded vales, if village fame, Confirmed by silver hairs, belief may claim; When up the hills, as now, retired the light, Strange apparitions mocked the gazer's sight. 1820.

... shepherd's sight. 1836.]

[Variant 59:

1836.

A desperate form appears, that spurs his steed, Along the midway cliffs with violent speed; 1793.]

[Variant 60:

1836.

Anon, in order mounts a gorgeous show Of horsemen shadows winding to and fro; 1793.]

[Variant 61: This line was added in 1820.]

[Variant 62:

1820.

... is gilt with evening's beam, 1793.]

[Variant 63:

1849.

... of the ... 1836.]

[Variant 64:

1836.

Lost gradual o'er the heights in pomp they go, While silent stands th' admiring vale below; Till, but the lonely beacon all is fled, That tips with eve's last gleam his spiry head. 1793.

Till, save the lonely beacon, ... 1820.

In the edition of 1836 the seven lines of the printed text—205-211—replaced these four lines of the editions 1793-1832.]

[Variant 65:

1836.

On red slow-waving pinions ... 1793.]

[Variant 66:

1820.

And, fronting the bright west in stronger lines, The oak its dark'ning boughs and foliage twines, 1793.

The edition of 1815 omitted this couplet. It was restored in its final form in the edition of 1820.]

[Variant 67:

1836.

I love beside the glowing lake to stray, 1793.

How pleasant near the tranquil lake to stray, 1815.]

[Variant 68:

1836.

... to stray, Where winds the road along the secret bay; By rills that tumble down the woody steeps, And run in transport to the dimpling deeps; Along the "wild meand'ring shore" to view, Obsequious Grace the winding swan pursue. 1793.

... a secret bay; 1813.

... meandering shore" ... 1815.]

[Variant 69:

1836.

He swells his lifted chest, and backward flings His bridling neck between his tow'ring wings; Stately, and burning in his pride, divides And glorying looks around, the silent tides: On as he floats, the silver'd waters glow, Proud of the varying arch and moveless form of snow. 1793.

... his towering wings; In all the majesty of ease divides, 1815.]

[Variant 70:

1845.

... her beauty's pride Forgets, unweary'd watching every side, She calls them near, and with affection sweet Alternately relieves their weary feet; 1793.]

[Variant 71:

1836.

Long may ye roam these hermit waves that sleep, In birch-besprinkl'd cliffs embosom'd deep; These fairy holms untrodden, still, and green, Whose shades protect the hidden wave serene; Whence fragrance scents the water's desart gale, The violet, and the [iii] lily of the vale; 1793.

Long may ye float upon these floods serene; Yours be these holms untrodden, still, and green, Whose leafy shades fence off the blustering gale, Where breathes in peace the lily of the vale. 1827.]

[Variant 72:

1820.

Where, tho' her far-off twilight ditty steal, They not the trip of harmless milkmaid feel. 1793.]

[Variant 73:

1836.

Yon tuft conceals your home, your cottage bow'r. Fresh water rushes strew the verdant floor; 1793.

Yon isle conceals ... 1820.]

[Variant 74:

1836.

Thence issuing oft, unwieldly as ye stalk, Ye crush with broad black feet your flow'ry walk; 1793.

Thence issuing often with unwieldly stalk, With broad black feet ye crush your flow'ry walk; 1820.]

[Variant 75:

1820.

Safe from your door ye hear at breezy morn, 1793.]

[Variant 76:

1836.

... and mellow horn; At peace inverted your lithe necks ye lave, With the green bottom strewing o'er the wave; No ruder sound your desart haunts invades, Than waters dashing wild, or rocking shades. Ye ne'er, like hapless human wanderers, throw Your young on winter's winding sheet of snow. 1793.

... and mellow horn; Involve your serpent necks in changeful rings, Rolled wantonly between your slippery wings, Or, starting up with noise and rude delight, Force half upon the wave your cumbrous flight. 1820.]

[Variant 77:

1836.

Fair Swan! by all a mother's joys caress'd, Haply some wretch has ey'd, and call'd thee bless'd; Who faint, and beat by summer's breathless ray, Hath dragg'd her babes along this weary way; While arrowy fire extorting feverish groans Shot stinging through her stark o'er labour'd bones. —With backward gaze, lock'd joints, and step of pain, Her seat scarce left, she strives, alas! in vain, To teach their limbs along the burning road A few short steps to totter with their load, Shakes her numb arm that slumbers with its weight, And eyes through tears the mountain's shadeless height; And bids her soldier come her woes to share, Asleep on Bunker's [iv] charnel hill afar; For hope's deserted well why wistful look? Chok'd is the pathway, and the pitcher broke. 1793.

In 1793 this passage occupied the place of the six lines of the final text (250-255).

... and called thee bless'd; The whilst upon some sultry summer's day She dragged her babes along this weary way; Or taught their limbs along the burning road A few short steps to totter with their load. 1820.

The while ... 1832.]

[Variant 78:

1845.

... a shooting star ... 1793.]

[Variant 79:

1845.

I hear, while in the forest depth he sees, The Moon's fix'd gaze between the opening trees, In broken sounds her elder grief demand, And skyward lift, like one that prays, his hand, If, in that country, where he dwells afar, His father views that good, that kindly star; —Ah me! all light is mute amid the gloom, The interlunar cavern of the tomb. 1793-1832.

In broken sounds her elder child demand, While toward the sky he lifts his pale bright hand, 1836.

—Alas! all light ... 1836.

Those eight lines were withdrawn in 1845.]

[Variant 80:

1836.

... painful ... 1793.]

[Variant 81:

1820.

The distant clock forgot, and chilling dew, Pleas'd thro' the dusk their breaking smiles to view,

Only in the edition of 1793.]

[Variant 82:

1836.

... on her lap to play Delighted, with the glow-worm's harmless ray Toss'd light from hand to hand; while on the ground Small circles of green radiance gleam around. 1793.]

[Variant 83:

1836.

Oh! when the bitter showers her path assail, And roars between the hills the torrent gale, 1793.

... sleety showers ... 1827.]

[Variant 84:

1827.

Scarce heard, their chattering lips her shoulder chill, And her cold back their colder bosoms thrill; All blind she wilders o'er the lightless heath, Led by Fear's cold wet hand, and dogg'd by Death; Death, as she turns her neck the kiss to seek, Breaks off the dreadful kiss with angry shriek. Snatch'd from her shoulder with despairing moan, She clasps them at that dim-seen roofless stone.— "Now ruthless Tempest launch thy deadliest dart! Fall fires—but let us perish heart to heart." 1793.

The first, third, and fourth of these couplets were omitted from the edition of 1820. The whole passage was withdrawn in 1827.]

[Variant 85:

1820.

Soon shall the Light'ning hold before thy head His torch, and shew them slumbering in their bed,

Only in the edition of 1793.]

[Variant 86:

1820.

While, by the scene compos'd, the breast subsides, Nought wakens or disturbs it's tranquil tides; Nought but the char that for the may-fly leaps, And breaks the mirror of the circling deeps; Or clock, that blind against the wanderer born Drops at his feet, and stills his droning horn. —The whistling swain that plods his ringing way Where the slow waggon winds along the bay; The sugh [v] of swallow flocks that twittering sweep, The solemn curfew swinging long and deep; The talking boat that moves with pensive sound, Or drops his anchor down with plunge profound; Of boys that bathe remote the faint uproar, And restless piper wearying out the shore; These all to swell the village murmurs blend, That soften'd from the water-head descend. While in sweet cadence rising small and still The far-off minstrels of the haunted hill, As the last bleating of the fold expires, Tune in the mountain dells their water lyres.

Only in the edition of 1793.]

[Variant 87:

1845.

... of the night; 1793.]

[Variant 88:

1815.

Thence, from three paly loopholes mild and small, Slow lights upon the lake's still bosom fall, 1793.]

[Variant 89:

1827.

Beyond the mountain's giant reach that hides In deep determin'd gloom his subject tides. —Mid the dark steeps repose the shadowy streams, As touch'd with dawning moonlight's hoary gleams, Long streaks of fairy light the wave illume With bordering lines of intervening gloom, 1793.

The second and third of these couplets were cancelled in the edition of 1815, and the whole passage was withdrawn in 1827.]

[Variant 90:

1836.

Soft o'er the surface creep the lustres pale Tracking with silvering path the changeful gale. 1793.

... those lustres pale Tracking the fitful motions of the gale. 1815.]

[Variant 91:

1815.

—'Tis restless magic all; at once the bright ǐ Breaks on the shade, the shade upon the light, Fair Spirits are abroad; in sportive chase Brushing with lucid wands the water's face, While music stealing round the glimmering deeps Charms the tall circle of th' enchanted steeps. —As thro' th' astonished woods the notes ascend, The mountain streams their rising song suspend; Below Eve's listening Star, the sheep walk stills It's drowsy tinklings on th' attentive hills; The milkmaid stops her ballad, and her pail Stays it's low murmur in th' unbreathing vale; No night-duck clamours for his wilder'd mate, Aw'd, while below the Genii hold their state. —The pomp is fled, and mute the wondrous strains, No wrack of all the pageant scene remains, [vii] So vanish those fair Shadows, human Joys, But Death alone their vain regret destroys. Unheeded Night has overcome the vales, On the dark earth the baffl'd vision fails, If peep between the clouds a star on high, There turns for glad repose the weary eye; The latest lingerer of the forest train, The lone-black fir, forsakes the faded plain; Last evening sight, the cottage smoke no more, Lost in the deepen'd darkness, glimmers hoar; High towering from the sullen dark-brown mere, Like a black wall, the mountain steeps appear, Thence red from different heights with restless gleam Small cottage lights across the water stream, Nought else of man or life remains behind To call from other worlds the wilder'd mind, Till pours the wakeful bird her solemn strains [viii] Heard by the night-calm of the watry plains. —No purple prospects now the mind employ Glowing in golden sunset tints of joy, But o'er the sooth'd ...

Only in the edition of 1793.]

[Variant 92:

1836.

The bird, with fading light who ceas'd to thread Silent the hedge or steaming rivulet's bed, 1793.

The bird, who ceased, with fading light, to thread 1815.]

[Variant 93:

1836.

Salute with boding note the rising moon, Frosting with hoary light the pearly ground, And pouring deeper blue to Aether's bound; Rejoic'd her solemn pomp of clouds to fold In robes of azure, fleecy white, and gold, While rose and poppy, as the glow-worm fades, Checquer with paler red the thicket shades. 1793.

The last two lines occur only in the edition of 1793.

And pleased her solemn pomp of clouds to fold 1815.]

[Variant 94:

1836.

Now o'er the eastern hill, ... 1793.

See, o'er ... 1815.]

[Variant 95:

1836.

She lifts in silence up her lovely face; 1793.]

[Variant 96:

1836.

Above ... 1793.]

[Variant 97:

1815.

... silvery ... 1793.]

[Variant 98:

1815.

... golden ... 1793.]

[Variant 99:

1836.

The deepest dell the mountain's breast displays, 1793.

... the mountain's front ... 1820.]

[Variant 100:

1836.

The scene is waken'd, yet its peace unbroke, By silver'd wreaths of quiet charcoal smoke, That, o'er the ruins of the fallen wood, Steal down the hills, and spread along the flood. 1793.]



[Variant 101:

1836.

All air is, as the sleeping water, still, List'ning th' aereal music of the hill, 1793.

Air listens, as the sleeping water still, To catch the spiritual music of the hill, 1832.]

[Variant 102:

1836.

Soon follow'd by his hollow-parting oar, And echo'd hoof approaching the far shore; 1793.]

[Variant 103:

1836.

... the feeding ... 1793.]

[Variant 104:

1836.

The tremulous sob of the complaining owl; 1793.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON VARIANTS (Sub-Footnotes)

[Sub-Footnote i: These rude structures, to protect the flocks, are frequent in this country: the traveller may recollect one in Withburne, another upon Whinlatter.—W. W. 1793.]

[Sub-Footnote ii: Not far from Broughton is a Druid monument, of which I do not recollect that any tour descriptive of this country makes mention. Perhaps this poem may fall into the hands of some curious traveller, who may thank me for informing him, that up the Duddon, the river which forms the aestuary at Broughton, may be found some of the most romantic scenery of these mountains.—W. W. 1793.

This circle is at the top of Swinside, a glen about four miles from Broughton. It consists of 50 stones, 90 yards in circumference; and is on the fell, which is part of the range terminating in Black Combe.—Ed.]

[Sub-Footnote iii: The lily of the valley is found in great abundance in the smaller islands of Winandermere.—W. W. 1793.]

[Sub-Footnote iv: In the 1793 edition this line reads "Asleep on Minden's charnel plain afar." The 'errata', list inserted in some copies of that edition gives "Bunker's charnel hill."—Ed.]

[Sub-Footnote v: Sugh, a Scotch word, expressive, as Mr. Gilpin explains it, of the sound of the motion of a stick through the air, or of the wind passing through the trees. See Burns' 'Cottar's Saturday Night'.—W. W. 1793.

The line is in stanza ii., l. 1:

November chill blaws loud, wi' angry sugh.—Ed.]

[Sub-Footnote vi: This long passage occupies, in the edition of 1793, the place of lines 297-314 in the final text given above.—Ed.]

[Sub-Footnote vii:

"So break those glittering shadows, human joys"

(YOUNG).—W. W. 1793.

The line occurs 'Night V, The Complaint', l. 1042, or l. 27 from the end.—Ed.]

[Sub-Footnote viii:

"Charming the night-calm with her powerful song."

A line of one of our older poets.—W. W. 1793.

This line I have been unable to discover, but see Webster and Dekker in 'Westward Hoe', iv. c.

"Charms with her excellent voice an awful silence through all this building."

Ed.]



* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: See note to the "Juvenile Pieces" in the edition of 1836 (p. 1).—Ed.]

[Footnote B: It may not be irrelevant to mention that our late poet, Robert Browning, besought me—both in conversation, and by letter—to restore this "discarded" picture, in editing 'Dion'.—Ed.]

[Footnote C: These lines are only applicable to the middle part of that lake.—W. W. 1793.]

[Footnote D: In the beginning of winter, these mountains, in the moonlight nights, are covered with immense quantities of woodcocks; which, in the dark nights, retire into the woods.—W. W. 1793.]

[Footnote E: The word 'intake' is local, and signifies a mountain-inclosure.—W. W. 1793.]

[Footnote F: Gill is also, I believe, a term confined to this country. Glen, gill, and dingle, have the same meaning.—W. W. 1793.

The spelling "Ghyll" is first used in the edition of 1820 in the text. In the note to that edition it remains "gill". In 1827 the spelling in the note was "ghyll."—Ed.]

[Footnote G: Compare Dr. John Brown:

Not a passing breeze Sigh'd to the grove, which in the midnight air Stood motionless, and in the peaceful floods Inverted hung.

and see note A to page 31.—Ed. [Footnote U of this poem]]

[Footnote H: This line was first inserted in the edition of 1845. In the following line, the edition of 1793 has

Save that, atop, the subtle ...

Subsequent editions previous to 1845 have

Save that aloft ...

Ed.]

[Footnote J: The reader, who has made the tour of this country, will recognize, in this description, the features which characterize the lower waterfall in the gardens of Rydale.—W. W. 1793.]

[Footnote K:

"Vivid rings of green."

Greenwood's Poem on Shooting.—W. W. 1793.

The title is 'A Poem written during a Shooting Excursion on the Moors'. It was published by Cruttwell at Bath in 1787, 4to, pp. 25. The quotation is from stanza xvi., l. 11.—Ed.]

[Footnote L:

"Down the rough slope the pondrous waggon rings."

BEATTIE.—W. W.

1793. See 'The Minstrel', stanza xxxix., l. 4.—Ed.]

[Footnote M:

"Dolcemente feroce."

TASSO. In this description of the cock, I remembered a spirited one of the same animal in the 'L'Agriculture ou Les Georgiques Francoises', of M. Rossuet.—W. W. 1793.]

[Footnote N: I am unable to trace this quotation.—Ed.]

[Footnote P: From Thomson: see Scott's 'Critical Essays'.—W. W. 1793.

It is difficult to know to what Wordsworth here alludes, but compare 'The Seasons', "Summer," l. 1467.

and now a golden curve, Gives one bright glance, then total disappears.—Ed.]

[Footnote Q: See a description of an appearance of this kind in Clark's 'Survey of the Lakes', accompanied with vouchers of its veracity, that may amuse the reader.—W. W. 1793.

The passage in Clark's folio volume, 'A Survey of the Lakes', etc., which suggested to Wordsworth the above lines in the 'Evening Walk', is to be found in chapter i. of the second book, p. 55. It gives a weird account of the appearance of horsemen being exercised in troops upon

"Southen-fell side, as seen on the 25th of June 1744 by William Lancaster of Blakehills, and a farm servant, David Strichet:

"These visionary horsemen seemed to come from the lowest part of Southen-fell, and became visible just at a place called Knott. They then moved in regular troops along the side of the fell, till they came opposite Blakehills, when they went over the mountain. Then they described a kind of curvilinear path upon the side of the fell, and both these first and last appearances were bounded by the top of the mountain.

"Frequently the last, or last but one, in a troop would leave his place, and gallop to the front, and then take the same pace with the rest—a regular swift walk. Thus changes happened to every troop (for many troops appeared) and oftener than once or twice, yet not at all times alike.... Nor was this phenomenon seen at Blakehill only, it was seen by every person at every cottage within the distance of a mile. Neither was it confined to a momentary view, for from the time that Strichet first observed it, the appearance must have lasted at least two hours and a half, viz. from half past seven till the night coming on prevented further view."

This interesting optical illusion—which suggests the wonderful island in the Atlantic, seen from the isles of Aran near Galway, alluded to in the 'Chorographical description of West, or H-Ier-Connaught', of R. O'Flaherty—was caused by the peculiar angle of the light from the setting sun, the reflection of the water of the Solway, and the refraction of the vapour and clouds above the Solway. These aerial and visionary horsemen were being exercised somewhere above the Kirkcudbright shore. It was not the first time the phenomenon had been seen within historic times, on the same fell-side, and at the same time of year. Canon Rawnsley writes to me,

"I have an idea that the fact that it took place at midsummer eve (June 27), the eve of the Feast of St. John, upon which occasion the shepherds hereabout used to light bonfires on the hills (no doubt a relic of the custom of the Beltane fires of old Norse days, perhaps of earlier sun-worship festivals of British times), may have had something to do with the naming of the mountain Blencathara of which Southen-fell (or Shepherd's-fell, as the name implies) is part. Blencathara, we are told, may mean the Hill of Demons, or the haunted hill. My suggestion is that the old sun-worshippers, who met in midsummer eve on Castrigg at the Druid circle or Donn-ring, saw just the same phenomenon as Strichet and Lancaster saw upon Southen-fell, and hence the name. Nay, perhaps the Druid circle was built where it is, because it was well in view of the Demon Hill."

Ed.]

[Footnote R: This is a fact of which I have been an eye-witness.—W. W. 1793.]

[Footnote S: The quotation is from Collins' 'The Passions', l. 60. Compare 'Personal Talk', l. 26.—Ed.]

[Footnote T: Alluding to this passage of Spenser:

... Her angel face As the great eye of Heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in that shady place. W. W. 1793.

This passage is in 'The Fairy Queen', book I. canto iii. stanza 4.—Ed.]

[Footnote U: Compare Dr. John Brown:

But the soft murmur of swift-gushing rills, Forth issuing from the mountain's distant steep (Unheard till now, and now scarce heard), proclaim'd All things at rest.

This Dr. John Brown—a singularly versatile English divine (1717-1766)—was one of the first, as Wordsworth pointed put, to lead the way to a true estimate of the English Lakes. His description of the Vale of Keswick, in a letter to a friend, is as fine as anything in Gray's 'Journal'. Wordsworth himself quotes the lines given in this footnote in the first section of his 'Guide through the District of the Lakes'.—Ed.]



* * * * *



LINES WRITTEN WHILE SAILING IN A BOAT AT EVENING

Composed 1789.—Published 1798

[This title is scarcely correct. It was during a solitary walk on the banks of the Cam that I was first struck with this appearance, and applied it to my own feelings in the manner here expressed, changing the scene to the Thames, near Windsor. This, and the three stanzas of the following poem, 'Remembrance of Collins', formed one piece; but, upon the recommendation of Coleridge, the three last stanzas were separated from the other.—I. F.]

The title of the poem in 1798, when it consisted of five stanzas, was 'Lines written near Richmond, upon the Thames, at Evening'. When, in the edition of 1800, it was divided, the title of the first part was, 'Lines written when sailing in a Boat at Evening'; that of the second part was 'Lines written near Richmond upon the Thames'.

From 1815 to 1843, both poems were placed by Wordsworth among those "of Sentiment and Reflection." In 1845 they were transferred to "Poems written in Youth."—Ed.

* * * * *

THE POEM

How richly glows the water's breast Before us, tinged with evening hues, [1] While, facing thus the crimson west, The boat her silent course [2] pursues! And see how dark the backward stream! 5 A little moment past so smiling! And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam, Some other loiterers [3] beguiling.

Such views the youthful Bard allure; But, heedless of the following gloom, 10 He deems their colours shall endure Till peace go with him to the tomb. —And let him nurse his fond deceit, And what if he must die in sorrow! Who would not cherish dreams so sweet, 15 Though grief and pain may come to-morrow?

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1815.

How rich the wave, in front, imprest With evening-twilight's summer hues, 1798.]

[Variant 2:

1802.

... path ... 1798.]

[Variant 3:

1815.

... loiterer ... 1798.]



* * * * *



REMEMBRANCE OF COLLINS

COMPOSED UPON THE THAMES NEAR RICHMOND [A]

Composed 1789.—Published 1798

* * * * *

Glide gently, thus for ever glide,[B] O Thames! that other bards may see As lovely visions by thy side As now, fair river! come to me. O glide, fair stream! for ever so, 5 Thy quiet soul on all bestowing, Till all our minds for ever flow As thy deep waters now are flowing.

Vain thought!—Yet be as now thou art, That in thy waters may be seen 10 The image of a poet's heart, How bright, how solemn, how serene! Such as did once the Poet bless, [1] Who murmuring here a later [C] ditty, [2] Could find no refuge from distress 15 But in the milder grief of pity.

Now let us, as we float along, [3] For him [4] suspend the dashing oar; [D] And pray that never child of song May know that Poet's sorrows more. [5] 20 How calm! how still! the only sound, The dripping of the oar suspended! —The evening darkness gathers round By virtue's holiest Powers attended.



* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1800.

Such heart did once the poet bless, 1798.]

[Variant 2:

1815.

Who, pouring here a later [i] ditty, 1798.]

[Variant 3:

1802.

Remembrance, as we glide along, 1798.

... float ... 1800.]

[Variant 4:

1802.

For him ... 1798.]

[Variant 5:

1802.

May know his freezing sorrows more. 1798.]

[Sub-Footnote i: The italics only occur in the editions of 1798 and 1800.—Ed.]



* * * * *

FOOTNOTES TO THE TEXT

[Footnote A: The title in the editions 1802-1815 was 'Remembrance of Collins, written upon the Thames near Richmond'.—Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare the 'After-thought' to "The River Duddon. A Series of Sonnets":

Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide.

Ed.]

[Footnote C: Collins's 'Ode on the Death of Thomson', the last written, I believe, of the poems which were published during his life-time. This Ode is also alluded to in the next stanza.—W. W. 1798.]

[Footnote D: Compare Collins's 'Ode on the Death of Thomson', 'The Scene on the Thames near Richmond':

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore When Thames in summer wreaths is drest. And oft suspend the dashing oar To bid his gentle spirit rest.

As Mr. Dowden suggests, the him was probably italicised by Wordsworth, "because the oar is suspended not for Thomson but for Collins." The italics were first used in the edition of 1802.—Ed.]



* * * * *



DESCRIPTIVE SKETCHES TAKEN DURING A PEDESTRIAN TOUR AMONG THE ALPS

Composed 1791-2. [A]—Published 1793

TO THE REV. ROBERT JONES, FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE

DEAR SIR, [B]—However desirous I might have been of giving you proofs of the high place you hold in my esteem, I should have been cautious of wounding your delicacy by thus publicly addressing you, had not the circumstance of our having been companions among the Alps, seemed to give this dedication a propriety sufficient to do away any scruples which your modesty might otherwise have suggested. [C]

In inscribing this little work to you, I consult my heart. You know well how great is the difference between two companions lolling in a post-chaise, and two travellers plodding slowly along the road, side by side, each with his little knapsack of necessaries upon his shoulders. How much more of heart between the two latter!

I am happy in being conscious that I shall have one reader who will approach the conclusion of these few pages with regret. You they must certainly interest, in reminding you of moments to which you can hardly look back without a pleasure not the less dear from a shade of melancholy. You will meet with few images without recollecting the spot where we observed them together; consequently, whatever is feeble in my design, or spiritless in my colouring, will be amply supplied by your own memory.

With still greater propriety I might have inscribed to you a description of some of the features of your native mountains, through which we have wandered together, in the same manner, with so much pleasure. But the sea-sunsets, which give such splendour to the vale of Clwyd, Snowdon, the chair of Idris, the quiet village of Bethgelert, Menai and her Druids, the Alpine steeps of the Conway, and the still more interesting windings of the wizard stream of the Dee, remain yet untouched. Apprehensive that my pencil may never be exercised on these subjects, I cannot let slip this opportunity of thus publicly assuring you with how much affection and esteem

I am, dear Sir, Most sincerely yours, W. WORDSWORTH.

LONDON, 1793.

[Much the greatest part of this poem was composed during my walks upon the banks of the Loire, in the years 1791, 1792. I will only notice that the description of the valley filled with mist, beginning—'In solemn shapes'—was taken from that beautiful region of which the principal features are Lungarn and Sarnen. Nothing that I ever saw in Nature left a more delightful impression on my mind than that which I have attempted, alas, how feebly! to convey to others in these lines. Those two lakes have always interested me especially, from bearing in their size and other features, a resemblance to those of the North of England. It is much to be deplored that a district so beautiful should be so unhealthy as it is.—I. F.]

As the original text of the 'Descriptive Sketches' is printed in Appendix I. (p. 309) to this volume—with all the notes to that edition of 1793—it is not quoted in the footnotes to the final text in the pages which follow, except in cases which will justify themselves. Therefore the various readings which follow begin with the edition of 1815, which was, however, a mere fragment of the original text. Almost the whole of the poem of 1793 was reproduced in 1820, but there were many alterations of the text in that edition, and in those of 1827, 1832, 1836 and 1845. Wordsworth's own footnotes here reproduced are those which he retained in the edition of 1849.

'Descriptive Sketches' was ranked among the "Juvenile Pieces" from 1815 onwards: but in 1836 it was put in a class by itself along with the 'Female Vagrant'. [D]—Ed.

'Happiness (if she had been to be found on earth) among the charms of Nature—Pleasures of the pedestrian Traveller—Author crosses France to the Alps—Present state of the Grande Chartreuse—Lake of Como—Time, Sunset—Same Scene, Twilight—Same Scene, Morning; its voluptuous Character; Old man and forest-cottage music—River Tusa—Via Mala and Grison Gipsy—Sckellenen-thal—Lake of Uri—Stormy sunset—Chapel of William Tell—Force of local emotion—Chamois-chaser—View of the higher Alps—Manner of Life of a Swiss mountaineer, interspersed with views of the higher Alps—Golden Age of the Alps—Life and views continued—Ranz des Vaches, famous Swiss Air—Abbey of Einsiedlen and its pilgrims—Valley of Chamouny—Mont Blanc—Slavery of Savoy—Influence of liberty on cottage-happiness—France—Wish for the Extirpation of slavery—Conclusion'.

* * * * *

THE POEM

Were there, below, a spot of holy ground Where from distress a refuge might be found, And solitude prepare the soul for heaven; Sure, nature's God that spot to man had given [1] Where falls the purple morning far and wide 5 In flakes of light upon the mountain-side; Where with loud voice the power of water shakes [2] The leafy wood, or sleeps in quiet lakes.

Yet not unrecompensed the man shall roam, Who at the call of summer quits his home, 10 And plods through some wide realm o'er vale and height, Though seeking only holiday delight; [3] At least, not owning to himself an aim To which the sage would give a prouder name. [4] No gains too cheaply earned his fancy cloy, 15 Though every passing zephyr whispers joy; Brisk toil, alternating with ready ease, Feeds the clear current of his sympathies. [5] For him sod-seats the cottage-door adorn; And peeps the far-off spire, his evening bourn! 20 Dear is the forest frowning o'er his head, And dear the velvet green-sward to his tread: [6] Moves there a cloud o'er mid-day's flaming eye? Upward he looks—"and calls it luxury:" [E] Kind Nature's charities his steps attend; 25 In every babbling brook he finds a friend; While [7] chastening thoughts of sweetest use, bestowed By wisdom, moralise his pensive road. Host of his welcome inn, the noon-tide bower, To his spare meal he calls the passing poor; 30 He views the sun uplift his golden fire, Or sink, with heart alive like Memnon's lyre; [F] Blesses the moon that comes with kindly ray, To light him shaken by his rugged way. [8] Back from his sight no bashful children steal; 35 He sits a brother at the cottage-meal; [9] His humble looks no shy restraint impart; Around him plays at will the virgin heart. While unsuspended wheels the village dance, The maidens eye him with enquiring glance, 40 Much wondering by what fit of crazing care, Or desperate love, bewildered, he came there. [10]

A hope, that prudence could not then approve, That clung to Nature with a truant's love, O'er Gallia's wastes of corn my footsteps led; 45 Her files of road-elms, high above my head In long-drawn vista, rustling in the breeze; Or where her pathways straggle as they please By lonely farms and secret villages. But lo! the Alps ascending white in air, [11] 50 Toy with the sun and glitter from afar.

And now, emerging from the forest's gloom, I greet thee, Chartreuse, while I mourn thy doom. Whither is fled that Power whose frown severe Awed sober Reason till she crouched in fear? [12] 55 That Silence, once in deathlike fetters bound, Chains that were loosened only by the sound Of holy rites chanted in measured round? [13]

—The voice of blasphemy the fane alarms, The cloister startles at the gleam of arms. [14] 60 The [15] thundering tube the aged angler hears, [G] Bent o'er the groaning flood that sweeps away his tears. [16] Cloud-piercing pine-trees nod their troubled heads, [17] Spires, rocks, and lawns a browner night o'erspreads; Strong terror checks the female peasant's sighs, 65 And start the astonished shades at female eyes. From Bruno's forest screams the affrighted jay, And slow the insulted eagle wheels away. A viewless flight of laughing Demons mock The Cross, by angels planted [H] on the aerial rock. [18] 70 The "parting Genius" [J] sighs with hollow breath Along the mystic streams of Life and Death.[K] Swelling the outcry dull, that long resounds Portentous through her old woods' trackless bounds, Vallombre, [L] 'mid her falling fanes deplores 75 For ever broke, the sabbath of her bowers.

More pleased, my foot the hidden margin roves Of Como, bosomed deep in chestnut groves. No meadows thrown between, the giddy steeps Tower, bare or sylvan, from the narrow deeps. 80 —To towns, whose shades of no rude noise [19] complain, From ringing team apart [20] and grating wain— To flat-roofed towns, that touch the water's bound, Or lurk in woody sunless glens profound, Or, from the bending rocks, obtrusive cling, 85 And o'er the whitened wave their shadows fling— The pathway leads, as round the steeps it twines; [21] And Silence loves its purple roof of vines. The loitering traveller [22] hence, at evening, sees From rock-hewn steps the sail between the trees; 90 Or marks, 'mid opening cliffs, fair dark-eyed maids Tend the small harvest of their garden glades; Or stops the solemn mountain-shades to view Stretch o'er the pictured mirror broad and blue, And track the yellow lights from steep to steep, 95 As up the opposing hills they slowly creep. [23] Aloft, here, half a village shines, arrayed In golden light; [24] half hides itself in shade: While, from amid the darkened roofs, the spire, Restlessly flashing, seems to mount like fire: [25] 100 There, all unshaded, blazing forests throw Rich golden verdure on the lake [26] below. Slow glides the sail along the illumined shore, And steals into the shade the lazy oar; Soft bosoms breathe around contagious sighs, 105 And amorous music on the water dies.

How blest, delicious scene! the eye that greets Thy open beauties, or thy lone retreats; Beholds the unwearied sweep of wood that scales Thy cliffs; the endless waters of thy vales; [27] 110 Thy lowly cots that sprinkle all the shore, [28] Each with its [29] household boat beside the door; [30] Thy torrents shooting from the clear-blue sky; Thy towns, that cleave, like swallows' nests, on high; [31] That glimmer hoar in eve's last light descried 115 Dim from the twilight water's shaggy side, Whence lutes and voices down the enchanted woods Steal, and compose the oar-forgotten floods; [32]—Thy lake, that, streaked or dappled, blue or grey, 'Mid smoking woods gleams hid from morning's ray [33] 120 Slow-travelling down the western hills, to' enfold [34] Its green-tinged margin in a blaze of gold; Thy glittering steeples, whence the matin bell Calls forth the woodman from his desert cell, And quickens the blithe sound of oars that pass 125 Along the steaming lake, to early mass. [35] But now farewell to each and all—adieu To every charm, and last and chief to you, [36] Ye lovely maidens that in noontide shade Rest near your little plots of wheaten glade; [37] 130 To all that binds [38] the soul in powerless trance, Lip-dewing song, and ringlet-tossing dance; Where sparkling eyes and breaking smiles illume The sylvan cabin's lute-enlivened gloom. —Alas! the very murmur of the streams 135 Breathes o'er the failing soul voluptuous dreams, While Slavery, forcing the sunk mind to dwell On joys that might disgrace the captive's cell, Her shameless timbrel shakes on Como's marge, And lures [39] from bay to bay the vocal barge. 140

Yet are thy softer arts with power indued To soothe and cheer the poor man's solitude. By silent cottage-doors, the peasant's home Left vacant for the day, I loved to roam. [40] But once I pierced the mazes of a wood 145 In which a cabin undeserted stood; [41] There an old man an olden measure scanned On a rude viol touched with withered hand. [42] As lambs or fawns in April clustering lie [43] Under a hoary oak's thin canopy, 150 Stretched at his feet, with stedfast upward eye, His children's children listened to the sound; [44] —A Hermit with his family around!

But let us hence; for fair Locarno smiles Embowered in walnut slopes and citron isles: 155 Or seek at eve the banks of Tusa's stream, Where, [45] 'mid dim towers and woods, her [M] waters gleam. From the bright wave, in solemn gloom, retire The dull-red steeps, and, darkening still, aspire To where afar rich orange lustres glow 160 Round undistinguished clouds, and rocks, and snow: Or, led where Via Mala's chasms confine The indignant waters of the infant Rhine, Hang o'er the abyss, whose else impervious gloom [46] His burning eyes with fearful light illume. 165

The mind condemned, without reprieve, to go O'er life's long deserts with its charge of woe, With sad congratulation joins the train Where beasts and men together o'er the plain Move on—a mighty caravan of pain: 170 Hope, strength, and courage, social suffering brings, Freshening the wilderness with shades and springs. —There be whose lot far otherwise is cast: Sole human tenant of the piny waste, [47] By choice or doom a gipsy wanders here, 175 A nursling babe her only comforter; Lo, where she sits beneath yon shaggy rock, A cowering shape half hid in curling smoke! [48]

When lightning among clouds and mountain-snows Predominates, and darkness comes and goes, 180 And the fierce torrent, at the flashes broad Starts, like a horse, beside the glaring road— She seeks a covert from the battering shower In the roofed bridge [N]; the bridge, in that dread hour, Itself all trembling at the torrent's power. [49] 185

Nor is she more at ease on some still night, When not a star supplies the comfort of its light; Only the waning moon hangs dull and red Above a melancholy mountain's head, Then sets. In total gloom the Vagrant sighs, 190 Stoops her sick head, and shuts her weary eyes; Or on her fingers counts the distant clock, Or, to the drowsy crow of midnight cock, Listens, or quakes while from the forest's gulf Howls near and nearer yet the famished wolf. [50] 195

From the green vale of Urseren smooth and wide Descend we now, the maddened Reuss our guide; [51] By rocks that, shutting out the blessed day, Cling tremblingly to rocks as loose as they; By cells [P] upon whose image, while he prays, 200 The kneeling peasant scarcely dares to gaze; By many a votive death-cross [Q] planted near, And watered duly with the pious tear, That faded silent from the upward eye Unmoved with each rude form of peril nigh; [52] 205 Fixed on the anchor left by Him who saves Alike in whelming snows, and roaring waves.

But soon a peopled region on the sight Opens—a little world of calm delight; [53] Where mists, suspended on the expiring gale, 210 Spread roof like o'er the deep secluded vale, [54] And beams of evening slipping in between, Gently illuminate a sober scene:—[55] Here, on the brown wood-cottages [R] they sleep, [56] There, over rock or sloping pasture creep. [57] 215 On as we journey, in clear view displayed, The still vale lengthens underneath its shade Of low-hung vapour: on the freshened mead The green light sparkles;—the dim bowers recede. [58] While pastoral pipes and streams the landscape lull, 220 And bells of passing mules that tinkle dull, In solemn shapes before the admiring eye Dilated hang the misty pines on high, Huge convent domes with pinnacles and towers, And antique castles seen through gleamy [59] showers. 225

From such romantic dreams, my soul, awake! To sterner pleasure, where, by Uri's lake In Nature's pristine majesty outspread, Winds neither road nor path for foot to tread: [60] The rocks rise naked as a wall, or stretch, 230 Far o'er the water, hung with groves of beech; [61] Aerial pines from loftier steeps ascend, Nor stop but where creation seems to end. [62] Yet here and there, if 'mid the savage scene Appears a scanty plot of smiling green, 235 Up from the lake a zigzag path will creep To reach a small wood-hut hung boldly on the steep. [63] —Before those thresholds (never can they know [64] The face of traveller passing to and fro,) No peasant leans upon his pole, to tell 240 For whom at morning tolled the funeral bell; Their watch-dog ne'er his angry bark foregoes, Touched by the beggar's moan of human woes; The shady porch ne'er offered a cool seat To pilgrims overcome by summer's heat. [65] 245 Yet thither the world's business finds its way At times, and tales unsought beguile the day, And there are those fond thoughts which Solitude, [66] However stern, is powerless to exclude. [67] There doth the maiden watch her lover's sail 250 Approaching, and upbraid the tardy gale; At midnight listens till his parting oar, And its last echo, can be heard no more. [68]

And what if ospreys, cormorants, herons cry, Amid tempestuous vapours driving by, [69] 255 Or hovering over wastes too bleak to rear That common growth of earth, the foodful ear; [70] Where the green apple shrivels on the spray, And pines the unripened pear in summer's kindliest ray; [71] Contentment shares the desolate domain [72] 260 With Independence, child of high Disdain. Exulting 'mid the winter of the skies, Shy as the jealous chamois, Freedom flies, And grasps by fits her sword, and often eyes; And sometimes, as from rock to rock she bounds 265 The Patriot nymph starts at imagined sounds, And, wildly pausing, oft she hangs aghast, Whether some old Swiss air hath checked her haste Or thrill of Spartan fife is caught between the blast. [73]

Swoln with incessant rains from hour to hour, [74] 270 All day the floods a deepening murmur pour: The sky is veiled, and every cheerful sight: Dark is the region as with coming night; But what a sudden burst of overpowering light! Triumphant on the bosom of the storm, 275 Glances the wheeling eagle's glorious form![75] Eastward, in long perspective glittering, shine The wood-crowned cliffs that o'er the lake recline; Those lofty cliffs a hundred streams unfold, [76] At once to pillars turned that flame with gold: 280 Behind his sail the peasant shrinks, to shun The west, [77] that burns like one dilated sun, A crucible of mighty compass, felt By mountains, glowing till they seem to melt. [78]

But, lo! the boatman, overawed, before 285 The pictured fane of Tell suspends his oar; Confused the Marathonian tale appears, While his eyes sparkle with heroic tears. [79] And who, that walks where men of ancient days Have wrought with godlike arm the deeds of praise, 290 Feels not the spirit of the place control, Or rouse [80] and agitate his labouring soul? Say, who, by thinking on Canadian hills, Or wild Aosta lulled by Alpine rills, On Zutphen's plain; or on that highland dell, 295 Through which rough Garry cleaves his way, can tell What high resolves exalt the tenderest thought Of him whom passion rivets to the spot, [81] Where breathed the gale that caught Wolfe's happiest sigh, And the last sunbeam fell on Bayard's eye; 300 Where bleeding Sidney from the cup retired, And glad Dundee in "faint huzzas" [S] expired?

But now with other mind I stand alone Upon the summit of this naked cone, And watch the fearless chamois-hunter chase 305 His prey, through tracts abrupt of desolate space, [82] [T] Through vacant worlds where Nature never gave A brook to murmur or a bough to wave, Which unsubstantial Phantoms sacred keep; Thro' worlds where Life, and Voice, and Motion sleep; 310 Where silent Hours their death-like sway extend, Save when the avalanche breaks loose, to rend Its way with uproar, till the ruin, drowned In some dense wood or gulf of snow profound, Mocks the dull ear of Time with deaf abortive sound. [83] 315 —'Tis his, while wandering on from height to height, To see a planet's pomp and steady light In the least star of scarce-appearing night; While the pale moon moves near him, on the bound Of ether, shining with diminished round, [84] 320 And far and wide the icy summits blaze, Rejoicing in the glory of her rays: To him the day-star glitters small and bright, Shorn of its beams, insufferably white, And he can look beyond the sun, and view 325 Those fast-receding depths of sable blue Flying till vision can no more pursue! [85] —At once bewildering mists around him close, And cold and hunger are his least of woes; The Demon of the snow, with angry roar 330 Descending, shuts for aye his prison door. Soon with despair's whole weight his spirits sink; Bread has he none, the snow must be his drink; And, ere his eyes can close upon the day, [86] The eagle of the Alps o'ershades her prey. 335