Part 3

[Observed by me in Leicester-square, as here described.--I. F.]

One of the "Poems of the Imagination."--ED.

What crowd[1] is this? what have we here! we must not[2] pass it by; A Telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the sky: Long is it as a barber's pole, or mast of little boat, Some little pleasure skiff, that doth on Thames's waters float.

The Show-man chooses well his place, 'tis Leicester's busy 5 Square; And is[3] as happy in his night, for the heavens are blue and fair; Calm, though impatient, is[4] the crowd; each stands ready[5] with the fee, And envies him that's looking[6];--what an insight must it be!

Yet, Show-man, where can lie[7] the cause? Shall thy Implement have blame, A boaster, that when he is tried, fails, and is put to shame? 10 Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in fault? Their eyes, or minds? or, finally, is yon[8] resplendent vault?

Is nothing of that radiant pomp so good as we have here? Or gives a thing but small delight that never can be dear? The silver moon with all her vales, and hills of mightiest fame, 15 Doth she betray us when they're seen? or[9] are they but a name?

Or is it rather that Conceit rapacious is and strong, And bounty never yields[10] so much but it seems to do her wrong? Or is it, that when human Souls a journey long have had And are returned into themselves, they cannot but be sad?[A] 20

Or must we be constrained to think that these Spectators rude, Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the multitude, Have souls which never yet have risen, and therefore prostrate lie? No, no, this cannot be;--men thirst for power and majesty![11]

Does, then, a deep and earnest thought[12] the blissful mind 25 employ Of him who gazes, or has gazed? a grave and steady joy, That doth reject all show of pride, admits no outward sign, Because not of this noisy world, but silent and divine!

Whatever be the cause,[13] 'tis sure that they who pry and pore Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than before: 30 One after One they take their turn,[14] nor have I one espied That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied.

Doubtless "observed" during the visit to London in April and May 1806.--ED.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1807.

What throng ... MS.

[2] 1807

... we cannot ... MS.

[3] 1827.

And he's ... 1807.

[4] 1807.

... are ...

MS. letter, D. W. to Lady Beaumont, Nov. 15, 1806.

[5] 1827.

... Each is ready ... 1807.

[6] 1807.

Impatient till his moment comes-- ... 1827.

... come;-- ... 1836.

The text of 1840 returns to that of 1807.

[7] 1807.

... be ... MS.

[8] 1832.

... this ... 1807.

And MS. letter, D. W. to Lady Beaumont, Nov. 15, 1806.

[9] 1827.

Do they betray us when they're seen? and ... 1807.

And MS. letter, D. W. to Lady Beaumont, Nov. 15, 1806.

[10] 1807.

... cannot yield ... MS.

[11] 1807.

Or is it but unwelcome thought! that these Spectators rude, Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the multitude, Have souls which never yet have risen, and therefore prostrate lie, Not to be lifted up at once to power and majesty?

MS. letter, D. W. to Lady Beaumont, Nov. 15, 1806.

[12] 1807.

Or does some deep and earnest joy ...

MS. letter, D. W. to Lady Beaumont, Nov. 15, 1806.

[13] 1807.

Whate'er the cause may be, ...

MS. letter, D. W. to Lady Beaumont, Nov. 15, 1806.

[14] 1827.

... turns, ... 1807.

And MS. letter, D. W. to Lady Beaumont, Nov. 15, 1806.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] "Compare Shelley's statement in _Julian and Maddalo_--where he speaks of material not spiritual voyaging--that coming homeward 'always makes the spirit tame'" (Professor Dowden).

"YES, IT WAS THE MOUNTAIN ECHO"

Composed 1806.--Published 1807

[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. The echo came from Nab-scar, when I was walking on the opposite side of Rydal Mere. I will here mention, for my dear Sister's sake, that, while she was sitting alone one day high up on this part of Loughrigg Fell, she was so affected by the voice of the Cuckoo heard from the crags at some distance that she could not suppress a wish to have a stone inscribed with her name among the rocks from which the sound proceeded. On my return from my walk I recited these verses to Mrs. Wordsworth.--I. F.]

Classed among the "Poems of the Imagination."--ED.

Yes, it was the mountain Echo, Solitary, clear, profound, Answering to the shouting Cuckoo, Giving to her sound for sound![1]

[2]

Unsolicited reply 5 To a babbling wanderer sent;[3] Like her ordinary cry, Like--but oh, how different!

Hears not also mortal Life? Hear not we, unthinking Creatures! 10 Slaves of folly, love, or strife-- Voices of two different natures?

Have not _we_[4] too?--yes, we have Answers, and we know not whence; Echoes from beyond the grave, 15 Recognised intelligence!

Such rebounds our inward ear[A] Catches sometimes from afar--[5] Listen, ponder, hold them dear;[6] For of God,--of God they are. 20

The place where this echo was heard can easily be identified by any one walking along the southern or Loughrigg shore of Rydal. The Fenwick note refers to a wish of Dorothy Wordsworth to have her name inscribed on a stone among the rocks of Loughrigg Fell. It is impossible to know whether it was ever carried out or not. If it was, the place is undiscoverable, like the spot on the banks of the Rotha, where Joanna's name was graven "deep in the living rock," or the place where Wordsworth carved his wife's initials (as recorded in Mrs. Hemans' _Memoirs_), or where the daisy was found, which suggested the lines beginning

Small service is true service while it lasts;

and it is well that they are undiscoverable. It is so easy for posterity to vulgarise, by idle and unappreciative curiosity, spots that are sacred only to the few who feel them to be shrines. The very grave where Wordsworth rests runs the risk of being thus abused by the unthinking crowd. But, in the hope that no one will desecrate it, as the Rock of Names has been injured, I may mention that there is a stone near Rydal Mere, on the north-eastern slope of Loughrigg, with the initial "M." deeply cut. The exact locality I need not more minutely indicate.--ED.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1827.

Yes! full surely 'twas the Echo, Solitary, clear, profound, Answering to Thee, shouting Cuckoo! Giving to thee Sound for Sound. 1807.

[2] Whence the Voice? from air or earth? This the Cuckoo cannot tell; But a startling sound had birth, As the Bird must know full well;

Only in the edition of 1807.

[3] 1815.

Like the voice through earth and sky By the restless Cuckoo sent; 1807.

[4] _Italics_ were first used in the edition of 1836.

[5] 1836.

Such within ourselves we hear Oft-times, ours though sent from far; 1807.

Such rebounds our inward ear Often catches from afar;-- 1827.

Often as thy inward ear Catches such rebounds, beware,-- 1832.

[6] 1807.

Giddy Mortals! hold them dear; 1827.

The edition of 1832 returns to the text of 1807.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Writing to Barron Field about this stanza of the poem in 1827, Wordsworth said, "The word 'rebounds' I wish much to introduce here; for the imaginative warning turns upon the echo, which ought to be revived as near the conclusion as possible."--ED.

"NUNS FRET NOT AT THEIR CONVENT'S NARROW ROOM"

Composed 1806.--Published 1807

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

From 1807 to 1820 this was named _Prefatory Sonnet_, as introducing the series of "Miscellaneous Sonnets" in these editions. In 1827 it took its place as the first in that series, following the Dedication _To ----_.--ED.

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, 5 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:[A] and hence for me,[1] In sundry moods,'twas pastime to be bound 10 Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground; Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be) Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,[B] Should find brief[2] solace there, as I have found.

In Wordsworth's time "Furness-fells" was a generic phrase for all the hills east of the Duddon, south of the Brathay, and west of Windermere; including the Coniston group, Wetherlam, with the Yewdale and Tilberthwaite fells. The district of Furness, like that of Craven in Yorkshire, being originally ecclesiastical, had a wide area, of which the abbey of Furness was the centre.

In the Fenwick note prefixed to this sonnet, Wordsworth refers to his earliest attempt at sonnet writing. He says he wrote an irregular one at school, and the next were three sonnets written one afternoon in Dove Cottage in the year 1801, after his sister had read the sonnets of Milton. This note is not, however, to be trusted. It was not in 1801, but on the 21st of May 1802, that his sister read to him these sonnets of Milton; and he afterwards wrote not one but two sonnets on Buonaparte. What the irregular sonnet written at school was it is impossible to say, unless he refers to the one entitled, in 1807 and subsequent editions, _Written in Very Early Youth_; and beginning--

Calm is all nature as a resting wheel.

But on a copy of _An Evening Walk_ (1793 edition) Wordsworth wrote:--"This is the first of my published poems, with the exception of a sonnet, written when I was a schoolboy, and published in the _European Magazine_ in June or July 1786, and signed Axiologus." Even as to this date his memory was at fault. It was published in 1787, when he was seventeen years of age. Its full title may be given; although, for reasons already stated, it would be unjustifiable to republish the sonnet, except in an appendix to the poems, and mainly for its biographical interest. It was entitled, _Sonnet, on seeing Miss Maria Williams weep at a Tale of Distress_. But, fully ten years before the date mentioned by Dorothy Wordsworth in her Grasmere Journal--as the day on which she read Milton's sonnets to her brother, and on which he wrote the two on Buonaparte--he had written others, the existence of which he had evidently forgotten. On the 6th of May 1792, his sister wrote thus from Forncett Rectory in Norfolk to her friend, Miss Jane Pollard:--"I promised to transcribe some of William's compositions. As I made the promise, I will give you a little sonnet.... I take the first that offers. It is very valuable to me, because the cause which gave birth to it was the favourite evening walk of William and me.... I have not chosen this sonnet from any particular beauty it has. _It was the first I laid my hands upon._" From the clause I have italicised, it would almost seem that other sonnets belong to that period, viz. before 1793, when _An Evening Walk_ appeared. She would hardly have spoken of it as she did, if this was the only sonnet her brother had then written. Though very inferior to his later work, this sonnet may be preserved as a specimen of Wordsworth's earlier manner, before he had broken away, by the force of his own imagination, from the trammels of the conventional style, which he inherited. It is printed in the Appendix to volume viii.

It will be seen that Wordsworth's memory cannot be always relied upon, in reference to dates, and similar details, in the Fenwick memoranda.--ED.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1849.

... to me, 1807.

[2] 1827.

... short ... 1807.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Compare in Lovelace's poem, _To Althea from Prison_--

Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for a hermitage. ED.

[B] Compare the line in the _Ode to Duty_ vol. iii. p. 40--

Me this unchartered freedom tires. ED.

PERSONAL TALK

Composed 1806.--Published 1807

[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. The last line but two stood, at first, better and more characteristically, thus:--

"By my half-kitchen and half-parlour fire."

My sister and I were in the habit of having the tea-kettle in our little sitting room; and we toasted the bread ourselves, which reminds me of a little circumstance not unworthy to be set down among these minutiæ. Happening both of us to be engaged a few minutes one morning when we had a young prig of a Scotch lawyer to breakfast with us, my dear Sister, with her usual simplicity, put the toasting fork with a slice of bread into the hands of this Edinburgh genius. Our little book-case stood on one side of the fire. To prevent loss of time, he took down a book, and fell to reading, to the neglect of the toast, which was burnt to a cinder. Many a time have we laughed at this circumstance, and other cottage simplicities of that day. By the bye, I have a spite at one of this series of Sonnets (I will leave the reader to discover which) as having been the means of nearly putting off for ever our acquaintance with dear Miss Fenwick, who has always stigmatized one line of it as vulgar, and worthy only of having been composed by a country squire.--I. F.]

In 1815, this was classed among the "Poems proceeding from Sentiment and Reflection." From 1820 to 1843, it found a place among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets," and in 1845 was restored to its earlier one among the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--ED.

I

I am not One who much or oft delight To season my fireside with personal talk,-- Of[1] friends, who live within an easy walk, Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight: And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright, 5 Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk,[A] These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night. Better than such discourse doth silence long, Long, barren silence, square with my desire; 10 To sit without emotion, hope, or aim, In the loved presence of my cottage-fire,[2] And listen to the flapping of the flame, Or kettle whispering its faint undersong.

II

"Yet life," you say, "is life; we have seen and see, 15 And with a living pleasure we describe; And fits of sprightly malice do but bribe The languid mind into activity. Sound sense, and love itself, and mirth and glee Are fostered by the comment and the gibe." 20 Even be it so: yet still among your tribe, Our daily world's true Worldlings, rank not me! Children are blest, and powerful; their world lies More justly balanced; partly at their feet, And part far from them:--sweetest melodies 25 Are those that are by distance made more sweet;[B] Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes, He is a Slave; the meanest we can meet![C]

III

Wings have we,--and as far as we can go We may find pleasure: wilderness and wood, 30 Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood Which with the lofty sanctifies the low. Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow. 36 There find I personal themes, a plenteous store, Matter wherein right voluble I am, To which I listen with a ready ear; Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear,--[3] 40 The gentle Lady married to the Moor;[D] And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb.

IV

Nor can I not believe but that hereby Great gains are mine; for thus I live remote From evil-speaking; rancour, never sought, 45 Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie. Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought: And thus from day to day my little boat Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably. 50 Blessings be with them--and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares-- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays! Oh! might my name be numbered among theirs, 55 Then gladly would I end my mortal days.

The text of the poem was little altered, and was fixed in 1827. It had no title in 1807 and 1815.

The reading of 1807,

my half-kitchen my half-parlour fire,

was a reminiscence of Dove Cottage, which we regret to lose in the later editions.

In the Baptistery of Westminster Abbey, there is a statue of Wordsworth by Frederick Thrupp of great merit, placed there by the late Dean Stanley, beside busts of Keble, Maurice, and Kingsley. Underneath the statue of Wordsworth are the four lines from _Personal Talk_--

Blessings be with them--and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares-- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays!

Dean Stanley found it difficult to select from Wordsworth's poems the lines most appropriate for inscription, and adopted these at the suggestion of his friend, Principal Shairp.--ED.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1815.

About ... 1807.

[2] 1815.

By my half-kitchen my half-parlour fire, 1807.

[3] 1827.

There do I find a never-failing store Of personal themes, and such as I love best; Matter wherein right voluble I am: Two will I mention, dearer than the rest; 1807.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] This is the line referred to by Wordsworth in the Fenwick note. Compare _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act I. scene i. ll. 75-78.--ED.

[B] Compare Collins, _The Passions_, l. 60, and _An Evening Walk_, l. 237 and note (vol. i. p. 22).--ED.

[C] Compare _The Prelude_, book xii. l. 151 (vol. iii. p. 349)--

I knew a maid, A young enthusiast, who escaped these bonds; Her eye was not the mistress of her heart. ED.

[D] Wordsworth said on one occasion, as Professor Dowden has reminded us, that he thought _Othello_, the close of the _Phædo_, and Walton's _Life of George Herbert_, the three "most pathetic" writings in the world.--ED.

ADMONITION

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

Composed 1806.--Published 1807

Classed among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."--ED.

Well may'st thou halt--and gaze with brightening eye![1] The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook Hath stirred thee deeply; with its own dear brook, Its own small pasture, almost its own sky![A] But covet not the Abode;--forbear to sigh,[2] 5 As many do, repining while they look; Intruders--who would tear[3] from Nature's book This precious leaf, with harsh impiety.[4] Think what the Home must[5] be if it were thine, Even thine, though few thy wants!--Roof, window, door, 10 The very flowers are sacred to the Poor, The roses to the porch which they entwine: Yea, all, that now enchants thee, from the day On which it should be touched, would melt away.[6]

The cottage at Town-end, Grasmere--where this sonnet was composed--may have suggested it. Some of the details, however, are scarcely applicable to Dove Cottage; the "brook" (referred to elsewhere) is outside the orchard ground, and there is scarcely anything in the garden to warrant the phrase, "its own small pasture." It is unnecessary to localise the allusions.--ED.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1837.

Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye! 1807.

[2] 1827.

... oh! do not sigh, 1807.

[3] 1827.

Sighing a wish to tear ... 1807.

[4] 1827.

This blissful leaf, with worst impiety. 1807.

... with harsh impiety. 1815.

[5] 1827.

... would ... 1807.

[6] 1838.

... would melt, and melt away! 1807.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Compare the lines in _Peter Bell_, vol. ii. p. 13--

Where deep and low the hamlets lie Beneath their little patch of sky And little lot of stars. ED.

"'BELOVED VALE!' I SAID, 'WHEN I SHALL CON'"

Composed 1806.--Published 1807

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."--ED.

"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." 5 But, when into the Vale I came, no fears Distressed me; from mine eyes escaped no tears;[1] Deep thought, or dread remembrance, had I none.[2] By doubts and thousand petty fancies crost[3] I stood, of simple shame the blushing Thrall;[A] 10 So narrow seemed the brooks, the fields so small![4] A Juggler's balls old Time about him tossed; I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed; and all The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

Doubtless the "Vale" referred to is that of Hawkshead; the "brooks" may refer to the one that feeds Esthwaite lake, or to Sawrey beck, or (more likely) to the streamlet, "the famous brook within our garden boxed," described in _The Prelude_, books i. and ii. (vol. iii.) See also _The Fountain_, vol. ii. p. 92.--ED.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1827.

Distress'd me; I look'd round, I shed no tears; 1807.

[2] 1837.

... or awful vision, I had none. 1807.

... had I none. 1827.

[3] 1827.

By thousand petty fancies I was cross'd, 1807.

[4] 1827.

To see the Trees, which I had thought so tall, Mere dwarfs; the Brooks so narrow, Fields so small. 1807.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Compare _Hart-Leap Well_, l. 117 (vol. ii. p. 134).--ED.

"HOW SWEET IT IS, WHEN MOTHER FANCY ROCKS"

Composed 1806.--Published 1807

Placed among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."--ED.