Chapter 3

Up to the Tavern-door we post; Of Alice and her grief I told; And I gave money to the Host, To buy a new Cloak for the old.

"And let it be of duffil grey, As warm a cloak as man can sell!" Proud Creature was she the next day, The little Orphan, Alice Fell! 60

5. RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE.

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; The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters; And all the air is fill'd with pleasant noise of waters.

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; which, glittering in the sun, Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.

I was a Traveller then upon the moor; I saw the Hare that rac'd 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.

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

I heard the Sky-lark singing 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 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.

My whole life I have liv'd 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; 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?

I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy, The sleepless Soul that perish'd in its pride; Of Him who walk'd in glory and in joy Behind his plough, upon the mountain-side: By our own spirits are we deified; We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness.

Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, 50 A leading from above, a something given, Yet it befel, that, in this lonely place, When up and down my fancy thus was driven, And I with these untoward thoughts had striven, I saw a Man before me unawares: The oldest Man he seem'd that ever wore grey hairs.

My course I stopped as soon as I espied The Old Man in that naked wilderness: Close by a Pond, upon the further side, He stood alone: a minute's space I guess 60 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.

As a huge Stone is sometimes seen to lie Couch'd on the bald top of an eminence; Wonder to all who do the same espy By what means it could thither come, and whence; So that it seems a thing endued with sense: Like a Sea-beast crawl'd forth, which on a shelf Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself. 70

Such seem'd this Man, not all alive nor dead, Nor all asleep; in his extreme old age: His body was bent double, feet and head Coming together in their pilgrimage; 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 had cast.

Himself he propp'd, his body, limbs, and face, Upon a long grey Staff of shaven wood: And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, 80 Beside the little pond or moorish flood Motionless as a Cloud the Old Man stood; That heareth not the loud winds when they call; And moveth altogether, if it move at all.

At length, himself unsettling, he the Pond Stirred with his Staff, and fixedly did look Upon the muddy water, which he conn'd, As if he had been reading in a book: And now such freedom as I could I took; And, drawing to his side, to him did say, 90 "This morning gives us promise of a glorious day."

A gentle answer did the Old Man make, In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew: And him with further words I thus bespake, "What kind of work is that which you pursue? This is a lonesome place for one like you." He answer'd me with pleasure and surprize; And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes.

His words came feebly, from a feeble chest, Yet each in solemn order follow'd each, 100 With something of a lofty utterance drest; Choice word, and measured phrase; above the reach Of ordinary men; a stately speech! Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use, Religious men, who give to God and Man their dues.

He told me that he to this pond had come To gather Leeches, being old and poor: Employment hazardous and wearisome! And he had many hardships to endure: From Pond to Pond he roam'd, from moor to moor, 110 Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance: And in this way he gain'd an honest maintenance.

The Old Man still stood talking by my side; But now 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; Or like a Man from some far region sent; To give me human strength, and strong admonishment.

My former thoughts return'd: the fear that kills; 120 The hope that is unwilling to be fed; Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills; And mighty Poets in their misery dead. And now, not knowing what the Old Man had said, My question eagerly did I renew, "How is it that you live, and what is it you do?"

He with a smile did then his words repeat; And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide He travelled; stirring thus about his feet The waters of the Ponds where they abide. 130 "Once I could meet with them on every side; But they have dwindled long by slow decay; Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may."

While he was talking thus, the lonely place, The Old Man's shape, and speech, all troubled me: In my mind's eye I seem'd to see him pace About the weary moors continually, Wandering about alone and silently. While I these thoughts within myself pursued, He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed. 140

And soon with this he other matter blended, Chearfully uttered, with demeanour kind, But stately in the main; and, when he ended, I could have laugh'd 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."

SONNETS.

PREFATORY SONNET.

* * * * *

Nuns fret not at their Convent's narrow room; And Hermits are contented with their Cells; And Students with their pensive Citadels: Maids at the Wheel, the Weaver at his Loom, Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest Peak of Furness Fells, Will murmur by the hour in Foxglove bells: In truth, the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is: and hence to me, In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground: Pleas'd if some Souls (for such there needs must be) Who have felt the weight of too much liberty, Should find short solace there, as I have found.

PART THE FIRST.

* * * * *

MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS.

1.

* * * * *

How sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood! An old place, full of many a lovely brood, Tall trees, green arbours, and ground flowers in flocks; And Wild rose tip-toe upon hawthorn stocks, Like to a bonny Lass, who plays her pranks At Wakes and Fairs with wandering Mountebanks, When she stands cresting the Clown's head, and mocks The crowd beneath her. Verily I think, Such place to me is sometimes like a dream Or map of the whole world: thoughts, link by link Enter through ears and eyesight, with such gleam Of all things, that at last in fear I shrink, And leap at once from the delicious stream.

2.

* * * * *

Where lies the Land to which yon Ship must go? Festively she puts forth in trim array; As vigorous as a Lark at break of day: Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow? What boots the enquiry? Neither friend nor foe She cares for; let her travel where she may, She finds familiar names, a beaten way Ever before her, and a wind to blow. Yet still I ask, what Haven is her mark? And, almost as it was when ships were rare, From time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there Crossing the waters; doubt, and something dark, Of the old Sea some reverential fear, Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark!

3. COMPOSED after a Journey across THE HAMILTON HILLS, YORKSHIRE.

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, whereof many thousands tell. 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, We should forget them: they are of the sky, And from our earthly memory fade away.

4.

...._they are of the sky, And from our earthly memory fade away_.

These words were utter'd in a pensive mood, Even while mine eyes were on that solemn sight: A contrast and reproach to gross delight, And life's unspiritual pleasures daily woo'd! But now upon this thought I cannot brood: It is unstable, and deserts me quite; Nor will I praise a Cloud, however bright, Disparaging Man's gifts, and proper food. The Grove, the sky-built Temple, and the Dome, Though clad in colours beautiful and pure, Find in the heart of man no natural home: The immortal Mind craves objects that endure: These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam, Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure.

5. TO SLEEP.

O gentle Sleep! do they belong to thee, These twinklings of oblivion? Thou dost love To sit in meekness, like the brooding Dove, A Captive never wishing to be free. This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to me A Fly, that up and down himself doth shove Upon a fretful rivulet, now above, Now on the water vex'd with mockery. I have no pain that calls for patience, no; Hence am I cross and peevish as a child: Am pleas'd by fits to have thee for my foe, Yet ever willing to be reconciled: O gentle Creature! do not use me so, But once and deeply let me be beguiled.

6. TO SLEEP.

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by, One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky; I've thought of all by turns; and still I lie Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodies Must hear, first utter'd from my orchard trees; And the first Cuckoo's melancholy cry. Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth: So do not let me wear to night away: Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier betwixt day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

7. TO SLEEP.

Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep! And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names; The very sweetest words that fancy frames When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep! Dear bosom Child we call thee, that dost steep In rich reward all suffering; Balm that tames All anguish; Saint that evil thoughts and aims Takest away, and into souls dost creep, Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone; I surely not a man ungently made, Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost? Perverse, self-will'd to own and to disown, Mere Slave of them who never for thee pray'd, Still last to come where thou art wanted most!

8.

With Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh, Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed; Some lying fast at anchor in the road, Some veering up and down, one knew not why. A goodly Vessel did I then espy Come like a Giant from a haven broad; And lustily along the Bay she strode, Her tackling rich, and of apparel high. This Ship was nought to me, nor I to her, Yet I pursued her with a Lover's look; This Ship to all the rest did I prefer: When will she turn, and whither? She will brook No tarrying; where she comes the winds must stir: On went She, and due north her journey took.

9. TO THE RIVER DUDDON.

O mountain Stream! the Shepherd and his Cot Are privileg'd Inmates of deep solitude: Nor would the nicest Anchorite exclude A Field or two of brighter green, or Plot Of tillage-ground, that seemeth like a spot Of stationary sunshine: thou hast view'd These only, Duddon! with their paths renew'd By fits and starts, yet this contents thee not. Thee hath some awful Spirit impell'd to leave, Utterly to desert, the haunts of men, Though simple thy Companions were and few; And through this wilderness a passage cleave Attended but by thy own Voice, save when The Clouds and Fowls of the air thy way pursue.

10. FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHAEL ANGELO.

Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace, And I be undeluded, unbetray'd; For if of our affections none find grace In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made The world which we inhabit? Better plea Love cannot have, than that in loving thee Glory to that eternal Peace is paid, Who such Divinity to thee imparts As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts. His hope is treacherous only whose love dies With beauty, which is varying every hour; But, in chaste hearts uninfluenced by the power Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower, That breathes on earth the air of paradise.

11. FROM THE SAME.

No mortal object did these eyes behold When first they met the placid light of thine, And my Soul felt her destiny divine, And hope of endless peace in me grew bold: Heav'n-born, the Soul a heav'n-ward course must hold; Beyond the visible world She soars to seek, For what delights the sense is false and weak, Ideal Form, the universal mould. The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest In that which perishes: nor will he lend His heart to aught which doth on time depend. 'Tis sense, unbridled will, and not true love, Which kills the soul: Love betters what is best, Even here below, but more in heaven above.

12. FROM THE SAME.

TO THE SUPREME BEING.

The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed If Thou the spirit give by which I pray: My unassisted heart is barren clay, Which of its native self can nothing feed: Of good and pious works thou art the seed, Which quickens only where thou say'st it may: Unless thou shew to us thine own true way No man can find it: Father! thou must lead. Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind By which such virtue may in me be bred That in thy holy footsteps I may tread; The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind, That I may have the power to sing of thee, And sound thy praises everlastingly.

13.

_Written in very early Youth_.

Calm is all nature as a resting wheel. The Kine are couch'd upon the dewy grass; The Horse alone, seen dimly as I pass, Is up, and cropping yet his later meal: Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky. Now, in this blank of things, a harmony Home-felt, and home-created seems to heal That grief for which the senses still supply Fresh food; for only then, when memory Is hush'd, 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.

14. COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, Sept. 3, 1803.

Earth has not any thing to shew more fair: Dull would he be of soul 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, 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 splendor valley, rock, or hill; 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!

15.

"Beloved Vale!" I said, "when I shall con Those many records of my childish years, Remembrance of myself and of my peers Will press me down: to think of what is gone Will be an awful thought, if life have one." But, when into the Vale I came, no fears Distress'd me; I look'd round, I shed no tears; Deep thought, or awful vision, I had none. By thousand petty fancies I was cross'd, To see the Trees, which I had thought so tall, Mere dwarfs; the Brooks so narrow, Fields so small. A Juggler's Balls old Time about him toss'd; I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed; and all The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

16.

Methought I saw the footsteps of a throne Which mists and vapours from mine eyes did shroud, Nor view of him who sate thereon allow'd; But all the steps and ground about were strown With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone Ever put on; a miserable crowd, Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud, "Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan." I seem'd to mount those steps; the vapours gave Smooth way; and I beheld the face of one Sleeping alone within a mossy cave, With her face up to heaven; that seem'd to have Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone; A lovely Beauty in a summer grave!

17. _To the_ ----.

Lady! the songs of Spring were in the grove While I was framing beds for winter flowers; While I was planting green unfading bowers, And shrubs to hang upon the warm alcove, And sheltering wall; and still, as fancy wove The dream, to time and nature's blended powers I gave this paradise for winter hours, A labyrinth Lady! which your feet shall rove. Yes! when the sun of life more feebly shines, Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom Or of high gladness you shall hither bring; And these perennial bowers and murmuring pines Be gracious as the music and the bloom And all the mighty ravishment of Spring.

18.

The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The Winds that will be howling at all hours And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for every thing, we are out of tune; It moves us not--Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus coming from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

19.

It is a beauteous Evening, calm and free; The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea: Listen! 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, If thou appear'st untouch'd by solemn thought, 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.

20. TO THE MEMORY OF _RAISLEY CALVERT_.

Calvert! it must not be unheard by them Who may respect my name that I to thee Ow'd many years of early liberty. This care was thine when sickness did condemn Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem: That I, if frugal and severe, might stray Where'er I liked; and finally array My temples with the Muse's diadem. Hence, if in freedom I have lov'd the truth, If there be aught of pure, or good, or great, In my past verse; or shall be, in the lays Of higher mood, which now I meditate, It gladdens me, O worthy, short-lived Youth! To think how much of this will be thy praise.

END OF THE FIRST PART.

PART THE SECOND.

SONNETS

DEDICATED _TO LIBERTY_.

1. COMPOSED BY THE _SEA-SIDE, near CALAIS_, August, 1802.

Fair Star of Evening, Splendor 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 pleas'd to rest, Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest 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, it is England; there it lies. 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.

2. _CALAIS_, August, 1802.

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, With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee In France, before the new-born Majesty. 'Tis ever thus. Ye Men of prostrate mind! A seemly reverence may be paid to power; But that's a loyal virtue, never sown 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!

3. TO A FRIEND, COMPOSED NEAR CALAIS, On the Road leading to Ardres, August 7th, 1802.

Jones! when from Calais southward you and I Travell'd on foot together; then this Way, Which I am pacing now, was like the May With festivals of new-born Liberty: A homeless sound of joy was in the Sky; The antiquated Earth, as one might say, Beat like the heart of Man: songs, garlands, play, Banners, and happy faces, far and nigh! And now, sole register that these things were, Two solitary greetings have I heard, "_Good morrow, Citizen_!" a hollow word, As if a dead Man spake it! Yet despair I feel not: happy am I as a Bird: Fair seasons yet will come, and hopes as fair.

4.