THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
VOL. VI

THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

EDITED BY

WILLIAM KNIGHT

VOL. VI

London

MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd.
NEW YORK: MACMILLAN & CO.
1896

CONTENTS

1814

PAGE

Laodamia

1

Memorials of a Tour in Scotland—

The Brownie's Cell 16 Composed at Cora Linn, in sight of Wallace's Tower 26 Effusion, in the Pleasure-Ground on the Banks of the Bran, near Dunkeld 28 "From the dark chambers of dejection freed" 33 Yarrow Visited 35

Lines written on a blank leaf in a copy of the author's poem

The Excursion, upon hearing of the death of the late Vicar of Kendal 40

1815

PAGE

Dedication to the White Doe of Rylstone

42

Artegal and Elidure

45

To B.R. Haydon

61

November 1

63

September, 1815

64

"The fairest, brightest, hues of ether fade"

65

"Weak is the will of Man, his judgment blind"

67

"Hail, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour!"

67

"The Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said"

68

"Even as a dragon's eye that feels the stress"

69

"Mark the concentred hazels that enclose"

71

"Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind"

72

1816

PAGE

Ode. The Morning of the Day appointed for a General Thanksgiving.

January 18, 1816 74

Ode

88

Invocation to the Earth

95

Ode

96

Ode

104

The French Army in Russia, 1812-13

107

On the Same Occasion

109

Siege of Vienna raised by John Sobieski

110

Occasioned by the Battle of Waterloo

111

Occasioned by the Battle of Waterloo

112

"Emperors and Kings, how oft have temples rung"

113

Feelings of a French Royalist, on the Disinterment of the

Remains of the Duke D'Enghien 114

Dion

116

A Fact, and an Imagination; or, Canute and Alfred, on the

Sea-shore 130

"A little onward lend thy guiding hand"

132

To ——-, on her first Ascent to the Summit of Helvellyn

135

1817

PAGE

Vernal Ode

138

Ode to Lycoris

145

To the Same

149

The Longest Day

153

Hint from the Mountains, for certain Political Pretenders

156

The Pass of Kirkstone

158

Lament of Mary Queen of Scots

162

1818

PAGE

The Pilgrim's Dream; or, the Star and the Glow-worm

167

Inscriptions supposed to be found in and near a Hermit's Cell

170

Composed upon an Evening of Extraordinary Splendour and Beauty

176

1819

PAGE

This, and the two following, were suggested by Mr. W. Westall's Views

of the Caves, etc., in Yorkshire 183

Malham Cove

184

Gordale

185

Composed during a Storm

187

"Aerial Rock—whose solitary brow"

187

The Wild Duck's Nest

189

Written upon a blank leaf in "The Complete Angler"

190

Captivity—Mary Queen of Scots

191

To a Snow-Drop

191

"When haughty expectations prostrate lie"

192

To the River Derwent

193

Composed in one of the Valleys of Westmoreland, on Easter Sunday

194

"Grief, thou hast lost an ever ready friend"

195

"I watch, and long have watched, with calm regret"

197

"I heard (alas! 'twas only in a dream)"

198

The Haunted Tree

199

September, 1819

201

Upon the Same Occasion

202

1820

PAGE

Composed on the Banks of a Rocky Stream

208

On the Death of His Majesty (George the Third)

209

"The stars are mansions built by Nature's hand"

210

To the Lady Mary Lowther

211

On the Detraction which followed the Publication of a certain Poem

212

Oxford, May 30, 1820

213

Oxford, May 30, 1820

214

June, 1820

214

The Germans on the Heights of Hock Heim

216

A Parsonage in Oxfordshire

217

To Enterprise

218

The River Duddon—

To the Rev. Dr. Wordsworth 227 "Not envying Latian shades—if yet they throw" 230 "Child of the clouds! remote from every taint" 231 "How shall I paint thee?—Be this naked stone" 232 "Take, cradled Nursling of the mountain, take" 233 "Sole listener, Duddon! to the breeze that played" 234 Flowers 235 "Change me, some God, into that breathing rose!" 237 "What aspect bore the Man who roved or fled" 237 The Stepping-Stones 239 The Same Subject 240 The Faëry Chasm 241 Hints for the Fancy 242 Open Prospect 243 "O mountain Stream! the Shepherd and his Cot" 245 "From this deep chasm, where quivering sunbeams play" 245 American Tradition 246 Return 248 Seathwaite Chapel 249 Tributary Stream 250 The Plain of Donnerdale 251 "Whence that low voice?—A whisper from the heart" 252 Tradition 253 Sheep-Washing 253 The Resting-Place 254 "Methinks 'twere no unprecedented feat" 255 "Return, Content! for fondly I pursued" 255 "Fallen, and diffused into a shapeless heap" 256 Journey Renewed 257 "No record tells of lance opposed to lance" 258 "Who swerves from innocence, who makes divorce" 260 "The Kirk of Ulpha to the pilgrim's eye" 260 "Not hurled precipitous from steep to steep" 261 Conclusion 262 After-Thought 263 Postscript 264 Note to Sonnets XVII. and XVIII. 267 Memoir of the Rev. Robert Walker 270

Memorials of a Tour on the Continent—

Dedication 285 Fish-women—on Landing at Calais 286 Brugès 288 Brugès 290 After visiting the Field of Waterloo 292 Between Namur and Liege 293 Aix-la-Chapelle 295 In the Cathedral at Cologne 297 In a Carriage, upon the Banks of the Rhine 299 Hymn, for the Boatmen, as they approach the Rapids under the Castle of Heidelberg 301 The Source of the Danube 303 On approaching the Staubbach, Lauterbrunnen 306 The Fall of the Aar—Handec 308 Memorial, near the Outlet of the Lake of Thun 310 Composed in one of the Catholic Cantons 312 After-Thought 315 Scene on the Lake of Brientz 315 Engelberg, the Hill of Angels 316 Our Lady of the Snow 318 Effusion, in Presence of the Painted Tower of Tell, at Altorf 321 The Town of Schwytz 324 On hearing the "Ranz des Vaches" on the Top of the Pass of St. Gothard 326 Fort Fuentes 328 The Church of San Salvador, seen from the Lake of Lugano 332 The Italian Itinerant, and the Swiss Goatherd 338 The Last Supper, by Leonardo da Vinci, in the Refectory of the Convent of Maria della Grazia—Milan 343 The Eclipse of the Sun, 1820 345 The Three Cottage Girls 351 The Column intended by Buonaparte for a Triumphal Edifice in Milan, now lying by the wayside in the Simplon Pass 356 Stanzas composed in the Simplon Pass 357 Echo, upon the Gemmi 360 Processions. Suggested on a Sabbath Morning in the Vale of Chamouny 363 Elegiac Stanzas 371 Sky-Prospect—From the Plain of France 377 On being Stranded near the Harbour of Boulogne 378 After Landing—the Valley of Dover, Nov. 1820 380 At Dover 381 Desultory Stanzas, upon receiving the preceding Sheets from the Press 382 Appendix

—

Note A 387 Note B 389 Addendum 396

WORDSWORTH'S POETICAL WORKS
1814

The Excursion—to which the fifth volume of this edition is devoted—has been assigned to the year 1814; since it was finished, and first published, in that year,—although commenced in 1795. During the earlier stages of its composition, this poem was known, in the Wordsworth household, as "The Pedlar"; and Dorothy Wordsworth tells us in one of her letters to the Beaumonts, preserved amongst the Coleorton MSS., that "The Pedlar" was finished at Christmas 1804. See also the Memoirs of Wordsworth, by his nephew (vol. i. p. 304, etc.), and Dorothy's Grasmere Journal, passim. But The Excursion, as we have it now, was finished for press in 1814. The poems more immediately belonging to that year are Laodamia, the Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, Dion, and two Sonnets.—Ed.

LAODAMIA

Composed 1814.—Published 1815.

[Written at Rydal Mount. The incident of the trees growing and withering put the subject into my thoughts, and I wrote with the hope of giving it a loftier tone than, so far as I know, has been given to it by any of the Ancients who have treated of it. It cost me more trouble than almost anything of equal length I have ever written.—I.F.]

In 1815 and 1820 this poem was one of those "founded on the Affections"; afterwards it was classed among the "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.

"With sacrifice before the rising morn

Vows have I made by fruitless hope inspired;

And from the infernal Gods, 'mid shades forlorn

Of night, my slaughtered Lord have I required:[1]

5

Celestial pity I again implore;—

Restore him to my sight—great Jove, restore!"

So speaking, and by fervent love endowed

With faith, the Suppliant heaven-ward lifts her hands;

While, like the sun emerging from a cloud,

10

Her countenance brightens—and her eye expands;

Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows;

And she expects the issue in repose.

O terror! what hath she perceived?—O joy!

What doth she look on?—whom doth she behold?

15

Her Hero slain upon the beach of Troy?

His vital presence? his corporeal mould?

It is—if sense deceive her not—'tis He!

And a God leads him, wingèd Mercury!

Mild Hermes spake—and touched her with his wand

20

That calms all fear; "Such grace hath crowned thy prayer,

Laodamía! that at Jove's command

Thy Husband walks the paths of upper air:

He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space;

Accept the gift, behold him face to face!"

Forth sprang the impassioned Queen her Lord to clasp;

26

Again that consummation she essayed;

But unsubstantial Form eludes her grasp

As often as that eager grasp was made.

The Phantom parts—but parts to re-unite,

30

And re-assume his place before her sight.

"Protesiláus, lo! thy guide is gone!

Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice:

This is our palace,—yonder is thy throne;

Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice.

35

Not to appal me have the gods bestowed

This precious boon; and blest a sad abode."

"Great Jove, Laodamía! doth not leave

His gifts imperfect:—Spectre though I be,

I am not sent to scare thee or deceive;

40

But in reward of thy fidelity.

And something also did my worth obtain;

For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain.

"Thou knowest, the Delphic oracle foretold

That the first Greek who touched the Trojan strand

Should die; but me the threat could[2] not withhold:

46

A generous cause a victim did demand;

And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain;

A self-devoted chief—by Hector slain."

"Supreme of Heroes—bravest, noblest, best!

50

Thy matchless courage I bewail no more,

Which[3] then, when tens of thousands were deprest

By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore;

Thou found'st—and I forgive thee—here thou art—

A nobler counsellor than my poor heart.

55

"But thou, though capable of sternest deed,

Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave;

And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed

Thou should'st elude[4] the malice of the grave:

Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair

60

As when their breath enriched Thessalian air.

"No Spectre greets me,—no vain Shadow this;

Come, blooming Hero, place thee by my side!

Give, on this well known couch, one nuptial kiss

To me, this day, a second time thy bride!"

Jove frowned in heaven: the conscious Parcæ threw

66

Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue.

"This visage tells thee that my doom is past:

Nor should the change be mourned, even if the joys[5]

Of sense were able to return as fast

70

And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys

Those raptures duly—Erebus disdains:

Calm pleasures there abide—majestic pains.

"Be taught, O faithful Consort, to control

Rebellious passion: for the Gods approve

75

The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul;

A fervent, not ungovernable, love.[6]

Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn

When I depart, for brief is my sojourn—"

"Ah, wherefore?—Did not Hercules by force

80

Wrest from the guardian Monster of the tomb

Alcestis, a reanimated corse,

Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom?[7]

Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years,

And Æson stood a youth 'mid youthful peers.

85

"The Gods to us are merciful—and they

Yet further may relent: for mightier far

Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway

Of magic potent over sun and star,

89

Is love, though oft to agony distrest,

And though his favourite seat be feeble woman's breast.

"But if thou goest, I follow—" "Peace!" he said,—

She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered;

The ghastly colour from his lips had fled;

In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared

95

Elysian beauty, melancholy grace,

Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

He spake of love, such love as Spirits feel

In worlds whose course is equable and pure;

No fears to beat away—no strife to heal—

100

The past unsighed for, and the future sure;

Spake of heroic arts in graver mood

Revived, with finer harmony pursued;[8]

Of all that is most beauteous—imaged there

In happier beauty; more pellucid streams,

105

An ampler ether, a diviner air,

And fields invested with purpureal gleams;

Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day

Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey.

Yet there the Soul shall enter which hath earned

110

That privilege by virtue.—"Ill," said he,

"The end of man's existence I discerned,

Who from ignoble games and revelry

Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight,

While tears were thy best pastime, day and night;

115

"And while my youthful peers before my eyes

(Each hero following his peculiar bent)

Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise

By martial sports,—or, seated in the tent,

Chieftains and kings in council were detained;

120

What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained.[A]

"The wished-for wind was given:—I then revolved

The oracle, upon the silent sea;[9]

And, if no worthier led the way, resolved

That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be

125

The foremost prow in pressing to the strand,—

Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand.

"Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang

When of thy loss I thought, belovèd Wife!

On thee too fondly did my memory hang,

130

And on the joys we shared in mortal life,—

The paths which we had trod—these fountains, flowers;

My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers.

"But should suspense permit the Foe to cry,

'Behold they tremble!—haughty their array,

135

Yet of their number no one dares to die?'

In soul I swept the indignity away:

Old frailties then recurred:—but lofty thought,

In act embodied, my deliverance wrought.

"And Thou, though strong in love, art all too weak

140

In reason, in self-government, too slow;

I counsel thee by fortitude to seek

Our blest re-union in the shades below.

The invisible world with thee hath sympathised;

Be thy affections raised and solemnised.

145

"Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend

Seeking[10] a higher object. Love was given,

Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that[11] end;

For this the passion to excess was driven—

That self might be annulled; her bondage prove

150

The fetters of a dream, opposed to love."—

Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes re-appears!

Round the dear Shade she would have clung—'tis vain:

The hours are past—too brief had they been years;

And him no mortal effort can detain:

155

Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day,

He through the portal takes his silent way,

And on the palace-floor a lifeless corse She lay.

Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved,

She perished; and, as for a wilful crime,

160

By the just Gods whom no weak pity moved,

Was doomed to wear out her appointed time,

Apart from happy Ghosts, that gather flowers[12]

Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers.

—Yet tears to human suffering are due;

165

And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown

Are mourned by man, and not by man alone,

As fondly he believes.—Upon the side

Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained)

A knot of spiry trees for ages grew

170

From out the tomb of him for whom she died;

And ever, when such stature they had gained

That Ilium's walls were subject to their view,

The trees' tall summits withered at the sight;

A constant interchange of growth and blight![C]

After meeting the Wordsworths at Charles Lamb's, on the 9th May 1815, Henry Crabb Robinson wrote in his Diary: "It is the mere power which he is conscious of exerting in which he delights, not the production of a work in which men rejoice on account of the sympathies and sensibilities it excites in them. Hence, he does not much esteem his Laodamia, as it belongs to the inferior class of poems founded on the affections." (See Diary, Reminiscences, and Correspondence, vol. i. p. 482.)

Wordsworth wrote thus to Walter Savage Landor, from Rydal Mount, on the 21st of January 1824:—

"You have condescended to minute criticism upon the Laodamia.[D] I concur with you in the first stanza, and had several times attempted to alter it upon your grounds. I cannot, however, accede to your objection to the 'second birth,' merely because the expression has been degraded by Conventiclers.[E] I certainly meant nothing more by it than the eadem cura, and the largior æther, etc., of Virgil's Sixth Æneid. All religions owe their origin or acceptation to the wish of the human heart to supply in another state of existence the deficiencies of this, and to carry still nearer to perfection what we admire in our present condition, so that there must be many modes of expression arising out of this coincidence, or rather identity of feeling common to all Mythologies; and under this observation I should shelter the phrase from your censure—but I may be wrong in the particular case, though certainly not in the general principle. This leads to a remark in your last—'that you are disgusted with all books that treat of religion.' I am afraid it is a bad sign in me, that I have little relish for any other. Even in poetry it is the imaginative only, viz., that which is conversant with or turns upon Infinity, that powerfully affects me. Perhaps I ought to explain: I mean to say that except in those passages, where things are lost in each other, and limits vanish, and aspirations are raised, I read with something too like indifference; but all great Poets are in this view powerful Religionists."

In 1815 Charles Lamb wrote to Wordsworth, "Laodamia is a very original poem; I mean original with reference to your own manner. You have nothing like it. I should have seen it in a strange place, and greatly admired it, but not suspected its derivation." (The Letters of Charles Lamb, edited by Alfred Ainger, vol. i. p. 284.)

Mr. Hazlitt wrote of Laodamia: "It breathes the pure spirit of the finest fragments of antiquity—the sweetness, the gravity, the strength, the beauty, and the languor of Death. Its glossy brilliancy arises from the perfection of the finishing, like that of careful sculpture, not from gaudy colouring—the texture of the thoughts has the smoothness and solidity of marble. It is a poem that might be read aloud in Elysium, and the spirits of departed heroes and sages would gather round to listen to it."

I am indebted to the Headmaster of Fettes College, Edinburgh, the Rev. W. A. Heard, for the following illustrative notes on Laodamia:—

"This poem illustrates more completely than any other the sympathy of the poet with the spirit of antiquity in its purest and most exalted forms. The idea that underlies the poem is the same conception of 'pietas' which Virgil has embodied in the Æneid, and with which he has associated, especially in the sixth book, which Wordsworth in many passages recalls, great ethical and religious conceptions, derived in the main from the philosophy of Plato. 'Pietas' embraces all the duties of life that are based upon the affections—love of home and parents and children, love of the Gods of our Fathers, and a reverence for that great order of things in which man finds himself a part. The pious man believes in a destiny, or order transcending his own will: to exalt any passion, however innocent, above this, is a rebellion; to intensify any passion, so as to disturb the appropriate calm of resignation, is to act irreverently against the gods. Lesser duties must give way to greater: love of wife must give way to love of country, and the sorrow of bereavement must not obscure the larger issues of life. Thus, not only did Laodamia's yearning for the restoration of her husband to life show a failure to recognise the fixity of eternal laws, but her death was 'ὑπὲρ μόρον' and in reason's spite; it was, after all, self-will, and could not win the favour of heaven.

Blending with this notion of 'pietas,' we find the Platonic repudiation of sensuous and material life. This life is only a discipline under imperfect conditions, and to be set free from the passion and fretfulness of existence is the choice and longing of the wise.

The poem is thus notable, not so much for the assimilation of details, as for natural affinity to the spirituality of antiquity, of which Virgil is the purest exponent. Virgil's seriousness, his tenderness, his conception of the inevitable, and yet moral, order of the world, his desire for purification, his sadness, and yet complete freedom from unmanliness, his love of nature and belief in the sympathy of nature with man—all these are points of contact between the ancient and modern poet.

With sacrifice before the rising morn.

Offerings were made to the infernal deities in the interval between midnight and sunrise. See Virgil's Æneid, vi. 242-258. Sil. Ital., xiii. 405.

mactare repostis

Mos umbris, inquit, consueta piacula nigras

Sub lucem pecudes.

It is men's wont to offer to the buried shades the proper expiations of black sheep on the verge of dawn.

Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows.

Non voltus, non color unus,

Non comptae mansere comae; sed pectus anhelum,

Et rabie fera corda tument; majorque videri,

Nec mortale sonans.Æneid vi. 47.

Neither face nor hue remained unchanged, nor braided the locks of her hair: but the bosom heaves and the heart swells wild with frenzy, and she is more majestic to behold, and her voice has no mortal sound.

.    .    .    .    wingèd Mercury.

Ἑρμῆς ψυχαγωγός or ψυχοπομπός, the conductor of souls.

.    .    .    .    with his wand.

Tum virgam capit: hac animas ille evocat Orco,

Pallentes, alias sub Tartara tristia mittit,

Dat somnos adimitque.Æneid iv. 242.

Then he takes the wand: with this he summons pale ghosts from Orcus, others he sends to gloomy Tartarus below: with this he gives and takes away sleep.

But unsubstantial Form eludes her grasp.

Ter conatus ibi collo dare bracchia circum,

Ter frustra comprensa manus effugit imago,

Par levibus ventis volucrique simillima somno.

Æneid vi. 700.

Thrice thereon he tried to cast his arms around his neck: thrice was the phantom grasped in vain and escaped the embrace, unsubstantial as the fleeting winds and shadowy like as winged sleep.

But in reward of thy fidelity.

And something also did my worth obtain.

'Vicit iter durum pietas,' is realised by these lines. 'Fidelity has prevailed to traverse the awful path.'

Thou knowest, the Delphic oracle foretold.

Sors quoque nescio quem fato designat iniquo,

Qui primus Danaum Troada tangat humum.

Ovid, Heroides, xiii. 93.

An oracle, moreover, destines some one or other for a cruel doom, who first of the Greeks sets foot on Trojan soil.

A nobler counsellor than my poor heart.

See Laodamia's words, Ovid, Heroides, xiii. 95.

Infelix quae prima virum lugebit ademptum;

Di faciant ne tu strenuus esse velis.

Hoc quoque praemoneo: de nave novissimus exi,

Non est quo properes terra paterna tibi.

Unhappy wife who shall be the first to lament a husband slain: God grant you may not choose the forward part: this warning too I give, be last to disembark: 'tis no fatherland to hasten to, no fatherland for you.

Give, on this well known couch, one nuptial kiss.

This is probably an adaptation of Ovid, Heroides, xiii. 117.

Quando erit ut lecto mecum bene junctus in uno

Militiae referas splendida facta tuae.

When will the time be that you will share the couch, and lovingly at my side recount the glorious deeds of your warfare?

Be taught, O faithful Consort, to control

Rebellious passion: for the Gods approve

The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul, etc.

Cf. Euripides, Iphigeneia in Aulide, 547:

γαλανείᾳ χρησάμενοι

μαινομένων οἴστρων.

Stilling to calmness the frenzied passions of love.

And again:

εἴη δέ μοι μετρία μὲν

χάρις πόθοι δ' ὅσιοι.

Mine be 'moderate transports' and holy yearnings.

.    .    .    Did not Hercules by force.

This refers to the struggle between Hercules and Θάνατος.

Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years.

The story is found in Ovid, Metamorphoses, vii. 159-293.

Elysian beauty, melancholy grace,

Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

This is a perfect rendering of the tone of the Sixth Æneid.

Spake of heroic arts in graver mood

Revived, with finer harmony pursued.

Quae gratia currum

Armorumque fuit vivis, quae cura nitentes

Pascere equos, eadem sequitur tellure repostos.

Æneid vi. 653.

The charm of chariot and armour that they had in life, and the same care to pasture their glossy steeds, follow them deep buried under earth.

An ampler ether, a diviner air.

Largior hic campos aether et lumine vestit

Purpureo, solemque suum, sua sidera norunt.

Here an 'ampler ether' spreads around the plains, and clothes them in purple light, and they recognise a sun of their own, their own constellations.—Æneid vi. 640.

Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang.

Cf. Agamemnon's words, Iphigeneia in Aulide, 451-468.

My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers.

Cf. Homer, Iliad, ii. 700.

τοῦ δὲ καὶ ἀμφιδρυφὴς ἄλοχος Φυλάκῃ ἐλέλειπτο

καὶ δόμος ἡμιτελής.

But his wife too had been left at Phylace, her cheeks all marred with grief, and his palace half-finished.

In soul I swept the indignity away.

καὶ γὰρ οὐδέ τοί τι λίαν ἐμὲ φιλοψυχεῖν χρεών.

For neither of a surety ought I to cling to life too fondly.—Iphigeneia in Aulide, 1385.

It is from the character of Iphigeneia that Wordsworth derives these traits.

By the just Gods whom no weak pity moved.

We think of Virgil's tender line in the similar passage about Orpheus and Eurydice. Georg. iv. 488.

Quum subita incautum dementia cepit amantem,

Ignoscenda quidem, scirent si ignoscere Manes.

Pardonable indeed, were pardon known in the world of death.

Was doomed to wear out her appointed time.

Virg. Æn. vi. 445—

His Phaedram Procrimque locis maestamque Eriphylen

Crudelis nati monstrantem volnera cernit,

Evadnenque et Pasiphaën:

His Laodamia

It comes.

Those who died of love dwelt in the 'Lugentes Campi,' in the outer regions of Orcus.

A knot of spiry trees ...

The passage in Pliny is—

Sunt hodie ex adverso Iliensium urbis juxta Hellespontum in Protesilai sepulcro arbores, quae omnibus aevis cum in tantum accrevere ut Ilium aspiciant, inarescunt rursusque adolescunt.—Hist. Nat. 16, 44 (88).

Opposite to Ilium and close to the Hellespont there are to this day trees growing on Protesilaus' tomb, which, in every generation, as soon as they have grown high enough to see Ilium, wither away and again shoot up.

Cf. Anthologia Graeca Pal. vii. 141.

σᾶμα δέ τοι πτελέῃσι συηρεφὲς ἀμφικομεῦσι

Νύμφαι ἀπεχθομένης Ἰλίου ἀντιπέρας,

δένδρεα δυσμήνιτα, καὶ ἤν ποτε τεῖχος ἴδωσι

Τρώϊον αὐαλέην φυλλοχοεῦντι κόμην.

But right opposite hated Ilium the nymphs shroud thy tomb with a roof of elms; trees blighting with a lasting wrath, and if ever they see the walls of Troy, they shed their withering leaves.

And again, vii. 385—

καρφοῦται πετάλων κόσμον ἀναινόμενα.

They wither, disowning the glory of leaves.

For a legend showing a similar sympathy between nature and man, see Æneid, iii. 22."

As Wordsworth tells us in the Fenwick note to Laodamia, that "it cost him more trouble than almost anything of equal length he had ever written," and as there are many incomplete passages and suppressed readings among his MSS., the two following stanzas—intended at first to follow the second stanza in the poem as it now stands—may be given in a supplementary note.—Ed.

That rapture failing, the distracted Queen

Knelt, and embraced the Statue of the God:

"Mighty the boon I ask, but Earth has seen

Effects as awful from thy gracious nod;

All-ruling Jove, unbind the mortal chain,

Nor let the force of prayer be spent in vain!"

Round the high-seated Temple a soft breeze

Along the columns sighed—all else was still—

Mute, vacant as the face of summer seas,

No sign accorded of a favouring will.

Dejected she withdraws—her palace-gate

Enters—and, traversing a room of state,

O terror! etc. etc.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1827.

.    .    . before the rising morn

Performed, my slaughtered Lord have I required;

And in thick darkness, amid shades forlorn,

1815.

Him of the infernal Gods have I desired:

[2] 1820.

1815.

.    .    . did .    .    .

[3] 1820.

1815.

That .    .    . did .    .    .

[4] 1845.

1815.

That thou should'st cheat .    .    .

[5] 1836.

1815.

Know, virtue were not virtue if the joys

[6] 1820.

1815.

The fervor—not the impotence of love.

[7] 1827.

1815.

Towards .    .    . in beauty's bloom?

[8] 1827.

Spake, as a witness, of a second birth

1815.

For all that is most perfect upon earth;

[9] 1820.

1815.

Our future course, upon the silent sea;[B]

[10] 1836.

1815.

Towards .    .    .

[11] 1827.

1815.

.    .    . this .    .    .

[12] 1845.

Ah, judge her gently who so deeply loved!

Her, who, in reason's spite, yet without crime,

Was in a trance of passion thus removed;

Delivered from the galling yoke of time

1815.

And these frail elements—to gather flowers

By no weak pity might the Gods be moved;

She who thus perished not without the crime

Of Lovers that in Reason's spite have loved,

Was doomed to wander in a grosser clime,

1827.

Apart from happy Ghosts—that gather flowers

Was doomed to wear out her appointed time,

1832.

Apart from happy Ghosts—

She—who, though warned, exhorted, and reproved,

Thus died, from passion desperate to a crime—

By the just Gods, whom no weak pity moved,

1840.

Was doomed to wear out.

She perished thus, admonished and reproved

In vain; and even as for a wilful crime

c.

By the just Gods,

Thus, though forewarned, exhorted, and reproved,

c.

She perished; and even as for a wilful crime,

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Wordsworth mentioned in a letter to De Quincey (February 8, 1815) that this stanza was added while the poem was passing through the press.—Ed.

[B] The original MS. of Laodamia, however, contained the finally adopted reading "The oracle." Wordsworth explained to De Quincey (February 8, 1815) that he substituted the phrase "our future course," in case the words should seem to allude to the other answer of the oracle which commanded the sacrifice of Iphigenia.—Ed.

[C] For the account of these long-lived trees, see Pliny's Natural History, lib. xvi. cap. 44; and for the features in the character of Protesilaus see the Iphigenia in Aulis of Euripides. Virgil places the Shade of Laodamia in a mournful region, among unhappy Lovers:—

His Laodamia
It comes. W. W. 1827.

To his nephew, John Wordsworth, the poet wrote in 1831, explaining the alterations he had made in the last stanza of Laodamia: "As at first written, the heroine was dismissed to happiness in Elysium. To what purpose then the mission of Protesilaus? He exhorts her to moderate her passions; the exhortation is fruitless, and no punishment follows. So it stood: at present she is placed among unhappy ghosts for disregard of the exhortation. Virgil also places her there, but compare the two passages, and give me your opinion." (William Wordsworth, by Elizabeth Wordsworth, p. 131.)

With the last two lines of the poem, compare Hart-Leap Well, part ii. stanza 4 (vol. ii. p. 133)—

The trees were grey, with neither arms nor head;

Half wasted the square mound of tawny green, etc.Ed.

[D] Compare Imaginary Conversations, third series: "Southey and Porson."—Ed.

[E] He practically admitted its force, however, in the edition of 1827.—Ed.

MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN SCOTLAND

1814

On the 18th July 1814, Wordsworth left Rydal, on a second visit to Scotland, accompanied by his wife, and her sister, Sarah Hutchinson.—Ed.

[In this tour, my wife and her sister Sara were my companions. The account of the "Brownie's Cell" and the Brownies was given me by a man we met with on the banks of Loch Lomond, a little above Tarbert, and in front of a huge mass of rock, by the side of which, we were told, preachings were often held in the open air. The place is quite a solitude, and the surrounding scenery very striking. How much is it to be regretted that, instead of writing such Poems as the Holy Fair and others, in which the religious observances of his country are treated with so much levity and too often with indecency, Burns had not employed his genius in describing religion under the serious and affecting aspects it must so frequently take.[F]—I.F.]

The poems of this series were collected under their common title in the edition of 1827.—Ed.

I

SUGGESTED BY A BEAUTIFUL RUIN UPON ONE OF THE ISLANDS OF LOCH LOMOND, A PLACE CHOSEN FOR THE RETREAT OF A SOLITARY INDIVIDUAL,[13] FROM WHOM THIS HABITATION ACQUIRED THE NAME OF

THE BROWNIE'S CELL

Composed 1814.—Published 1820

I

To barren heath, bleak moor, and quaking fen,[14]

Or depth of[15] labyrinthine glen;

Or into trackless forest set

With trees, whose lofty umbrage met;

5

World-wearied Men withdrew of yore;

(Penance their trust, and prayer their store;)

And in the wilderness were bound

To such apartments as they found;

Or with a new ambition raised;

10

That God might suitably be praised.

II

High lodged the Warrior,[16] like a bird of prey;

Or where broad waters round him lay:

But this wild Ruin is no ghost

Of his devices—buried, lost!

15

Within this little lonely isle

There stood a consecrated Pile;

Where tapers burned, and mass was sung,

For them whose timid Spirits clung

To mortal succour, though the tomb

20

Had fixed, for ever fixed, their doom!

III

Upon[17] those servants of another world

When madding Power[18] her bolts had hurled,

Their habitation shook;—it fell,

And perished, save one narrow cell;

25

Whither, at length, a Wretch retired

Who neither grovelled nor aspired:

He, struggling in the net of pride,

The future scorned, the past defied;

Still tempering, from the unguilty forge

30

Of vain conceit, an iron scourge!

IV

Proud Remnant was he of a fearless Race,[19]

Who stood and flourished face to face

With their perennial hills;—but Crime,

Hastening the stern decrees of Time,

35

Brought low a Power, which from its home

Burst, when repose grew wearisome;

And, taking impulse from the sword,

And, mocking its own plighted word,

Had found, in ravage widely dealt,

40

Its warfare's bourn, its travel's belt![20]

V

All, all were dispossessed, save him whose smile

Shot lightning through this lonely Isle!

No right had he but what he made

To this small[21] spot, his leafy shade;

45

But the ground lay within that ring

To which he only dared to cling;

Renouncing here,[22] as worse than dead,

The craven few who bowed the head

Beneath the change; who heard a claim

50

How loud! yet lived in peace with shame.

VI

From year to year[23] this shaggy Mortal went

(So seemed it) down a strange descent:

Till they, who saw his outward frame,

Fixed on him an unhallowed name;

55

Him, free from all malicious taint,

And guiding, like the Patmos Saint,

A pen unwearied—to indite,

In his lone Isle,[24] the dreams of night;

Impassioned dreams, that strove to span

60

The faded glories of his Clan!

VII

Suns that through blood their western harbour sought,

And stars that in their courses fought;

Towers rent, winds combating with woods,

Lands deluged by unbridled floods;

65

And beast and bird that from the spell

Of sleep took import terrible;—

These types mysterious (if the show

Of battle and the routed foe

Had failed) would furnish an array

70

Of matter for the dawning day!

VIII

How disappeared He?—ask the newt and toad,

Inheritors of his abode;

The otter crouching undisturbed,

In her dank cleft;—but be thou curbed,

75

O froward Fancy! 'mid a scene

Of aspect winning and serene;

For those offensive creatures shun

The inquisition of the sun!

And in this region flowers delight,

80

And all is lovely to the sight.

IX

Spring finds not here a melancholy breast,

When she applies her annual test

To dead and living; when her breath

Quickens, as now, the withered heath;—

85

Nor flaunting[25] Summer—when he throws

His soul into the briar-rose;

Or calls the lily from her sleep

Prolonged beneath the bordering deep;

Nor Autumn, when the viewless wren

90

Is warbling near the Brownie's Den.

X

Wild Relique! beauteous as the chosen spot

In Nysa's isle, the embellished grot;[G]

Whither, by care of Libyan Jove,

(High Servant of paternal Love)

95

Young Bacchus was conveyed—to lie

Safe from his step-dame Rhea's eye;

Where bud, and bloom, and fruitage, glowed,

Close-crowding round the infant-god;

All colours,—and the liveliest streak

100

A foil to his celestial cheek!

The text of this poem was unaltered in the successive editions with a single exception, occurring in the first line. It was suggested by, and was a reminiscence of the tour in Scotland of 1814; but in 1803 Wordsworth visited the same spot alluded to in the Fenwick note, accompanied by his sister, who thus describes it: "The most remarkable object we saw was a huge single stone, I believe three or four times the size of Bowder Stone. The top of it, which on one side was sloping like the roof of a house, was covered with heather.... The ferryman told us that a preaching was held there once in three months by a certain minister—I think of Arrochar—who engages, as a part of his office, to perform the service. The interesting feelings we had connected with the Highland Sabbath and Highland worship returned here with double force. The rock, though on one side a high perpendicular wall, in no place overhung so as to form a shelter, in no place could it be more than a screen from the elements. Why then had it been selected for such a purpose? Was it merely from being a central situation and a conspicuous object? Or did there belong to it some inheritance of superstition from old times? It is impossible to look at the stone without asking, How came it hither? Had then that obscurity and unaccountableness, that mystery of power which is about it, any influence over the first persons who resorted hither for worship? Or have they now on those who continue to frequent it? The lake is in front of the perpendicular wall, and behind, at some distance, and totally detached from it, is the continuation of the ridge of mountain which forms the Vale of Loch Lomond—a magnificent temple, of which this spot is a noble Sanctum Sanctorum." (Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland, A.D. 1803, pp. 225-6.) The late Rev. William Macintosh of Buchanan supplied me with the following information in reference to the Brownie's Cell and the Pulpit Rock:—"I have little doubt that the Brownie's Cell is the name given by Wordsworth to a small vault, itself a ruin among the ruins of an old stronghold of the Macfarlanes in Eilan Vhow, an islet about three miles from the head of the Loch. The name of the islet is spelt in different ways; sometimes as I have given it, sometimes Eilan Vow, or Eilan-a Vhu; no one whom I consulted could tell me the right spelling. In the early part of this century, the vault was the headquarters of a pedlar of the name of Macfarlane. He may have been the Hermit; and there is a story of his having been frightened by the sudden apparition of a negro, (probably the first he had ever seen), who had been ordered by his master—an English officer—to swim across for that purpose: and it is said that he never again visited the cell.

The Pulpit Rock, also called by a Gaelic name meaning the Bull Stone, is a very large boulder, or detached rock, which is likely to 'stand' as long as Ben Lomond. In the face of it, there is an artificial doorway and recess, which at one time the Parish Minister used to occupy as a Pulpit for occasional services. The audience sat on turf seats ranged round the foot of the Rock. The pulpit was reached by a few steps cut out, I suppose, in the Rock: but it has never been used for the last twenty years. The 'occasional' services are now held in a neighbouring schoolroom."

Mr. Malcolm M'Farlane, a very intelligent sheep farmer in Buchanan parish, supplies the following additional information about the Cell and the Rock:—"The 'Pulpit Rock' is a cell in the face of a large stone, blasted out with gunpowder. The proper appellation is, in Gaelic, 'Clach-nan-Tairbh,' literally translated the 'Stone of the Bulls.' It was formed about 50 or 60 years ago, the then minister of Arrochar, Mr. Proudfoot, had promised to preach in that part of his parish, on several occasions during the year, provided they would get up a place for his reception.... It was capable of containing three or four persons inside, was done up with wood work, an outer and inner door, with stone steps leading to the recess. They were not formed out of the rock, but other stones got up for the purpose, and turf seats laid out for the hearers, who were all exposed to the weather, except so far as they might be sheltered by the rock. The service has been discontinued at the rock for about twenty-five years, and is now held at a schoolhouse. The doors are gone, and no portion of the wood work remains. The cell is now used only as a nightly retreat for mendicants, tinkers," etc. Wordsworth's reference, in the Fenwick note, to Burns's Holy Fair induces me to quote what follows in Mr. M'Farlane's letter:—"Open air preaching was then very general in the Highlands: the people came long distances, travelled over hills, even in inclement weather, to attend them. An individual who kept a small inn, on the loch side opposite Inversnaid, used regularly to attend the meetings with a supply of whisky; but he remained behind the 'rock' till the services were over, when the people partook of his refreshments. Also, on the north side of Loch Katrine, the minister of Callander used to conduct services in the open air, on several occasions during the year, in that distant part of his parish. An old man, who lived near the Trossachs, whom I remember very well, regularly attended with a supply of whisky. Dr. Robertson, who was then minister, after concluding the sermon, had gone to an adjoining farm house. The people had indulged too freely, so that a fight commenced (the same thing had happened on several occasions before). The Doctor had to leave his dinner in order to get them separated, and to put an end to the battle, but he never allowed any more whisky to be brought to the place afterwards.... These may be irrelevant matters, but they might illustrate a chapter in Lecky's History of Morals, as there is more decorum now observed. Since writing the above, I have thought that if the pulpit-rock is mentioned in Miss Wordsworth's Tour, Mr. M'Nicol, my informant, must have made a mistake in stating the time it was made, as about 50 or 60 years ago; but it cannot have been much more than 80 years, as it is not very long since some of the people who were engaged in the operation died.

"Regarding the island near the head of Loch Lomond which is termed 'Eilan (Island) Vow' in Black's Guide, and somewhat differently spelt in others, in the original Gaelic it is 'Eilan a Bhūth.' Būth is a Gaelic name for a shop, so that it is 'the island of the shop.' The English Vow has no connection whatever with the Gaelic, and is perfectly unintelligible. It is part of undoubted traditional history that the chiefs of the Clan M'Farlane, who owned a considerable portion of the adjoining lands, had their residence here. In these turbulent times islands were considered more secure, as surrounded with water. They kept a 'shop' in the island, from which they supplied the little wants of the surrounding population, so that it is perfectly clear how the Island derived its name. A good portion of the stronghold is still in good preservation. A part of the wall is about thirty feet high. It is a very old building. Mr. M'Nicol states that he had learned from his grandfather, by the tradition in the family, that it was erected between the eleventh and the twelfth century. The late Sir James Colquhoun, about twelve years ago, laid out some money for keeping the walls in preservation. At the bottom of the Fort, and below the level of the floor, is the 'Brownie's Cell,' several steps leading down to it, and it is partly underground. It is about twelve feet wide, and sixteen feet long, with an arched roof, the mason work being still in good repair. There is some glimmering light emitted by two small apertures formed in the walls at each end. I have been unable to obtain any specific information what purpose it served in connection with the other building. Some said that it must have been a prison, and others a store for the shop. It might have been a prison at first, and afterwards, in more pacific times, used as a store.

"About the beginning of this century, the Island was occupied by a very eccentric individual, who led the life of a hermit, and took up his abode in this recess. He made frequent excursions out of it, but always returned to his Island-home before the end of the week. It was not then planted with wood, so that he cultivated a part of the ground, raised some crops, kept some poultry. He trained the poultry to fly on the approach of any stranger, so that they could not be got hold of, or taken away in his absence from the Island. He also kept a curious diary, in which local events, his own doings and opinions, were recorded in great detail, expressed in very quaint language. It was by the age of the moon, and not by the days of the month, that events were entered in the diary. He also cultivated astrology, and believed in the evil influence of some of the stars. He had a firm belief in ghosts; but he never was so frightened as when the Black Man (that is the negro), who he thought belonged to the invisible world, swam to the island. Of that adventure I have not been able to obtain a more detailed account, but his landing there very nearly put him out of his wits. The grandfather of the present Duke of Montrose had, on one occasion, visited the Island; and, when landing, the Hermit addressed him, 'James Graham, the Duke of Montrose, you are welcome to come and see my Island.'..."

There is no evidence that the ruin was once "a consecrated Pile," as stated in the poem. Wordsworth had evidently heard of the Hermit's writings, as mentioned by Mr. M'Farlane. See stanza vi., "guiding a pen unwearied."

In the Diary, Reminiscences, and Correspondence of Henry Crabb Robinson, there is an entry, dated January 2, 1820:—"Went to Lamb's, where I found Mr. and Mrs. Wordsworth.... Not much was said about his (W.'s) new volume of Poems. He himself spoke of The Brownie's Cell as his favourite" (vol. ii. p. 162). In the following year Mr. Crabb Robinson himself visited Scotland, and wrote thus on the 16th September:—"Being on the western side of Loch Lomond, opposite the Mill at Inversnaid, some women kindled a fire, the smoke of which was to be a signal for a ferryboat. No ferryman came; and a feeble old man offering himself as a boatman, I intrusted myself to him. I asked the women who he was. They said, 'That's old Andrew.' According to their account he lived a hermit's life in a lone island on the lake; the poor peasantry giving him meal, and what he wanted, and he picking up pence. On my asking him whether he would take me across the lake, he said, 'I wull, if you'll gi'e me saxpence.' So I consented. But before I was half over I repented of my rashness, for I feared the oars would fall out of his hands. A breath of wind would have rendered half the voyage too much for him. There was some cunning mixed up with the fellow's seeming imbecility, for when his strength was failing he rested, and entered into talk, manifestly to amuse me. He said he could see things before they happened. He saw the Radicals before they came, etc. He had picked up a few words of Spanish and German, which he uttered ridiculously, and laughed. But when I put troublesome questions he affected not to understand me; and was quite astonished, as well as delighted, when I gave him two sixpences instead of the one he had bargained for. The simple-minded women, who affected to look down on him, seemed, however, to stand in awe of him, and no wonder. On my telling Wordsworth this history, he exclaimed, 'That's my "Brownie!"' His Brownie's Cell is by no means one of my favourite poems. My sight of old Andrew showed me the stuff out of which a poetical mind can weave such a web" (vol. ii. pp. 212, 213).

Compare the sequel to this poem, The Brownie, in the "Yarrow Revisited and other Poems," of the Tour made in Scotland in the autumn of 1831.—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[13] 1820.

ms.

individual, a sketch of whose character is given in the Poem,

[14] 1837.

1820.

To barren heath, and quaking fen,

ms.

To {swampy} heath, and quaking fen,

{sandy }

[15] 1820.

ms.

Dark moor and .    .    .

[16] Italics were first used in 1827.

[17] 1820.

ms.

When on .    .    .

[18] 1820.

ms.

Distempered Power .    .    .

[19] 1820.

Last of an else extinguished Highland clan,

Last glimmering spark, was this rude man;

ms.

Sole remnant of a haughty race,

[20] 1820.

With their perennial hills; but Time

Brought low a power that could not climb,

Though, from its well-defended Home,

When, sword in hand, it chose to roam,

Its warfare's bourne, its travel's belt,

ms.

Was devastation widely dealt.

With their perennial hills; but Crime,

That hastens the decrees of time,

Brought low a Power, which, when it chose

To spurn confinement and repose,

Made devastation widely dealt,

ms.

Its warfare's bourne, its travel's belt.

[21] 1820.

ms.

.    .    . lone .    .    .

[22] 1820.

ms.

For he renounc'd .    .    .

ms.

For less than exiled, .    .    .

[23] 1820.

ms.

Here lodged and fed .    .    .

ms.

In Being's scale .    .    .

[24] 1820.

.    .    .    .    .    . descent;

Till he—half dreaded, half disdained,

The title of a Brownie gained:

{He who} to no malicious taint

{But he}

Was subject—like the Patmos Saint;

His ruling case, his chief delight,

ms.

To pen by day

[25] 1820.

ms.

Nor wanton .    .    .

FOOTNOTES:

[F] Compare Wordsworth's Letter to a Friend of Burns (passim).—Ed.

[G] Diodorus mentions this tradition (see his History, book iii. chap. 4), that the infant Bacchus was carried by Ammon, the Libyan Jupiter, to a cave on an island near Mount Nysa, from fear of Rhea, and that he was handed over to the care and the tuition of Nysa, the daughter of Aristæus. From this mountain the young Bacchus was supposed to have derived his name, Dionysus.—Ed.

II
COMPOSED AT CORA LINN,

In sight of Wallace's Tower

—How Wallace fought for Scotland, left the name

Of Wallace to be found, like a wild flower,

All over his dear Country; left the deeds

Of Wallace, like a family of ghosts,

To people the steep rocks and river banks,

Her natural sanctuaries, with a local soul

Of independence and stern liberty. ms.[H]

Composed 1814.—Published 1820

[I had seen this celebrated Waterfall twice before; but the feelings to which it had given birth were not expressed till they recurred in presence of the object on this occasion.—I.F.]

Lord of the vale! astounding Flood;

The dullest leaf in this thick wood

Quakes—conscious of thy power;

The caves reply with hollow moan;

5

And vibrates, to its central stone,

Yon time-cemented Tower![I]

And yet how fair the rural scene!

For thou, O Clyde, hast ever been

Beneficent as strong;

10

Pleased in refreshing dews to steep

The little trembling flowers that peep

Thy shelving rocks among.

Hence all who love their country, love

To look on thee—delight to rove

15

Where they thy voice can hear;

And, to the patriot-warrior's Shade,

Lord of the vale! to Heroes laid

In dust, that voice is dear!

Along thy banks, at dead of night

20

Sweeps visibly the Wallace Wight;

Or stands, in warlike vest,

Aloft, beneath the moon's pale beam,

A Champion worthy of the stream,

Yon grey tower's living crest!

25

But clouds and envious darkness hide

A Form not doubtfully descried:—

Their transient mission o'er,

O say to what blind region flee

These Shapes of awful phantasy?

30

To what untrodden shore?

Less than divine command they spurn;

But this we from the mountains learn,

And this the valleys show;

That never will they deign to hold

35

Communion where the heart is cold

To human weal and woe.

The man of abject soul in vain

Shall walk the Marathonian plain;

Or thrid the shadowy gloom,

40

That still invests the guardian Pass,

Where stood, sublime, Leonidas

Devoted to the tomb.[J]

And let no Slave his head incline,

Or kneel, before the votive shrine

45

By Uri's lake, where Tell

Leapt, from his storm-vext boat, to land,[K]

Heaven's Instrument, for by his hand

That day the Tyrant fell.[26]

VARIANT:

[26] 1845.

Nor deem that it can aught avail

For such to glide with oar or sail

Beneath the piny wood,

Where Tell once drew, by Uri's lake,

His vengeful shafts—prepared to slake

1820.

Their thirst in Tyrants' blood!

FOOTNOTES:

[H] Compare The Prelude (vol. iii. p. 139), to which may be added the following Wallace Memorials:—"The barrel, or cave, in Bothwell parish; caves in Lasswade, Torphichen, and Lesmahagow parishes; chair at Bonniton, near Lanark; cradle on hill, two miles south by west of Linlithgow; house at Elderslie, in Renfrewshire; larder at Ardrossan; leap in Roseneath parish; monument on Abbey Craig, near Stirling; oaks at Elderslie and at Torwood; seats in Biggar, Kilbarchan, and Dumbarton parishes; statues at Lanark, and adjacent to the Tweed, near Dryburgh; stone in Polmont parish; towers in Ayr town, Roxburgh parish, Auchterhouse parish, and Kirkmichael parish, Dumfriesshire; trench in Kincardine-in-Monteith parish; and well in Biggar parish."—Wilson's Gazetteer of Scotland, 1882 (article, "Wallace Memorials").—Ed.

[I] The "time-cemented Tower" of the old castle of Cora still overlooks the waterfall. Compare the Address to Kilchurn Castle in the "Memorials of a Tour in Scotland," 1803 (vol. ii. p. 400); and, with

The dullest leaf in this thick wood

Quakes—conscious of thy power,

compare the Lines written in Early Spring (vol. i. p. 268).—Ed.

[J] Leonidas, king of Sparta, killed in the heroic defence of the pass of Thermopylæ, B.C. 480.—Ed.

[K] On the western side of the bay of Uri, in the lake of Lucerne, is Tell's Platte, where on a ledge of rock stands the chapel—rebuilt in 1880, but said to have been originally built in 1388—on the spot where the Swiss Patriot leapt out of Gessler's boat, and shot the tyrant.—Ed.

III
EFFUSION,

In the Pleasure-Ground on the Banks of the Bran, near Dunkeld

Composed 1814.—Published 1827

[I am not aware that this condemnatory effusion was ever seen by the owner of the place. He might be disposed to pay little attention to it; but were it to prove otherwise I should be glad, for the whole exhibition is distressingly puerile.—I.F.]

"The waterfall, by a loud roaring, warned us when we must expect it. We were first, however, conducted into a small apartment, where the Gardener desired us to look at a picture of Ossian, which, while he was telling the history of the young Artist who executed the work, disappeared, parting in the middle—flying asunder as by the touch of magic—and lo! we are at the entrance of a splendid apartment, which was almost dizzy and alive with waterfalls, that tumbled in all directions; the great cascade, opposite the window, which faced us, being reflected in innumerable mirrors upon the ceiling and against the walls."—Extract from the Journal of my Fellow-Traveller.[L]

What He—who, mid the kindred throng

Of Heroes that inspired his song,

Doth yet frequent the hill of storms,

The stars dim-twinkling through their forms!

5

What! Ossian here—a painted Thrall,

Mute fixture on a stuccoed wall;

To serve—an unsuspected screen

For show that must not yet be seen;

And, when the moment comes, to part

10

And vanish by mysterious art;

Head, harp, and body, split asunder,

For ingress to a world of wonder;

A gay saloon, with waters dancing

Upon the sight wherever glancing;

15

One loud cascade in front, and lo!

A thousand like it, white as snow—

Streams on the walls, and torrent-foam

As active round the hollow dome,

Illusive cataracts! of their terrors

20

Not stripped, nor voiceless in the mirrors,

That catch the pageant from the flood

Thundering adown a rocky wood.

What pains to dazzle and confound!

What strife of colour, shape and sound

25

In this quaint medley, that might seem

Devised out of a sick man's dream![27]

Strange scene, fantastic and uneasy

As ever made a maniac dizzy,

When disenchanted from the mood

30

That loves on sullen thoughts to brood!

O Nature—in thy changeful visions,

Through all thy most abrupt transitions[28]

Smooth, graceful, tender, or sublime—

Ever averse to pantomime,

35

Thee neither do they know nor us

Thy servants, who can trifle thus;

Else verily[29] the sober powers

Of rock that frowns, and stream that roars,

Exalted by congenial sway

40

Of Spirits, and the undying Lay,

And Names that moulder not away,

Had wakened[30] some redeeming thought

More worthy of this favoured Spot;

Recalled some feeling—to set free

45

The Bard from such indignity!

[M]The Effigies of a valiant Wight

I once beheld, a Templar Knight;

Not prostrate, not like those that rest

On tombs, with palms together prest,

50

But sculptured out of living stone,

And standing upright and alone,

Both hands with rival energy

Employed in setting his sword free

From its dull sheath—stern sentinel

55

Intent to guard St. Robert's cell;[N]

As if with memory of the affray

Far distant, when, as legends say,

The Monks of Fountain's[O] thronged to force

From its dear home the Hermit's corse,

60

That in their keeping it might lie,

To crown their abbey's sanctity.

So had they rushed into the grot

Of sense despised, a world forgot,

And torn him from his loved retreat,

65

Where altar-stone and rock-hewn seat

Still hint that quiet best is found,

Even by the Living, under ground;

But a bold Knight, the selfish aim

Defeating, put the Monks to shame,

70

There where you see his Image stand

Bare to the sky, with threatening bran

Which lingering Nid is proud to show

Reflected in the pool below.

Thus, like the men of earliest days,

75

Our sires set forth their grateful praise:

Uncouth the workmanship, and rude!

But, nursed in mountain solitude,

Might some aspiring artist dare

To seize whate'er, through misty air,

80

A ghost, by glimpses, may present

Of imitable lineament,

And give the phantom an array

That less[31] should scorn the abandoned clay;

Then let him hew with patient stroke

85

An Ossian out of mural rock,

And leave the figurative Man—

Upon thy margin, roaring Bran!—

Fixed, like the Templar of the steep,

An everlasting watch to keep;

90

With local sanctities in trust,

More precious than a hermit's dust;

And virtues through the mass infused,

Which old idolatry abused.

What though the Granite would deny

95

All fervour to the sightless eye;

And touch from rising suns in vain

Solicit a Memnonian strain;[P]

Yet, in some fit of anger sharp,

The wind might force the deep-grooved harp

100

To utter melancholy moans

Not unconnected with the tones

Of soul-sick flesh and weary bones;

While grove and river notes would lend,

Less deeply sad, with these to blend!

105

Vain pleasures of luxurious life,

For ever with yourselves at strife;

Through town and country both deranged

By affectations interchanged,

And all the perishable gauds

110

That heaven-deserted man applauds;

When will your hapless patrons learn

To watch and ponder—to discern

The freshness, the everlasting youth,[32]

Of admiration sprung from truth;

115

From beauty infinitely growing

Upon a mind with love o'erflowing—

To sound the depths of every Art

That seeks its wisdom through the heart?

Thus (where the intrusive Pile, ill-graced

120

With baubles of theatric taste,

O'erlooks the torrent breathing showers

On motley bands of alien flowers

In stiff confusion set or sown,

Till Nature cannot find her own,

125

Or keep a remnant of the sod

Which Caledonian Heroes trod)

I mused; and, thirsting for redress,

Recoiled into the wilderness.

VARIANTS:

[27] The preceding four lines were added in the edition of 1837.

[28] 1827.

c.

Through all thy numberless transitions

c.

Throughout thy infinite transitions

[29] 1832.

1827.

Else surely had .    .    .

[30] 1832.

1827.

Awakened .    .    .

[31] 1837.

.    .    . such array

1827.

As less .    .    .

And so inspired in shape display

c.

That less .    .    .

[32] 1837.

1827.

.    .    . the eternal youth,

FOOTNOTES:

[L] See the Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland, 1803, by Dorothy Wordsworth, p. 210.—Ed.

[M] On the banks of the River Nid, near Knaresborough.—W. W. 1827.

[N] "The cliffs overhanging the Nid have been hollowed out into numerous cavities, some of which serve as dwellings, walled in front, and some having chimneys carried out at the tops; sometimes with windows and doors let into the rock itself. The most remarkable of these is St. Robert's Chapel, scooped out, and inhabited (it is said) by the same St. Robert, whose cave is farther down the river. An altar has been cut out of the rock, and one or two rude figures carved within this so-called chapel. The figure of an armed man with his sword in his hand is sculptured outside, as if guarding the entrance."—Murray's Yorkshire, p. 240 (edition 1867).—Ed.

[O] Fountains Abbey, near Studley Royal, in Yorkshire.—Ed.

[P] The statue of Amenophis in the vicinity of Thebes—called by the Greeks the statue of Memnon—was fabled to give forth a musical strain, when touched by the first ray of sunrise.—Ed.

"FROM THE DARK CHAMBERS OF DEJECTION FREED"

Composed 1814.—Published 1815

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

Classed among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets." In 1815 the sonnet was headed To ——.—Ed.

From the dark chambers of dejection freed,

Spurning the unprofitable yoke of care,

Rise, Gillies, rise:[33] the gales of youth shall bear

Thy genius forward like a wingèd steed.

5

Though bold Bellerophon (so Jove decreed

In wrath) fell headlong from the fields of air,

Yet a rich[34] guerdon waits on minds that dare,

If aught be in them of immortal seed,

And reason govern that audacious flight

Which heaven-ward they direct.—Then droop not thou,

11

Erroneously renewing a sad vow

In the low dell 'mid Roslin's faded grove:[35]

A cheerful life is what the Muses love,

A soaring spirit is their prime delight.

I am indebted to Miss Margaret Gillies—the artist referred to in the Fenwick note—for information in reference to her cousin, the subject of this sonnet. Robert Pearce Gillies was a man of unquestionable talent, but eccentric and extravagant. He inherited a considerable fortune, some £1500 a year, from his father, which he lost. He was editor of the Foreign Quarterly Review, was very intimate with De Quincey, and knew Sir Walter Scott, Wordsworth, and Quillinan well. He translated several German poems and novels, of which Scott thought highly. He was the author of Memoirs of a Literary Veteran (1851), in which (vol. ii. pp. 137-173) there is a sketch of Wordsworth, and several letters from him. He was also an accomplished musician, playing the violin admirably. He lived near Hawthornden.

The expression "faded" or "fading grove," which Wordsworth applies to Roslin, may refer merely to the season of the year, viz. September.—Ed.

A sonnet written by Gillies, and addressed to Wordsworth, may be quoted in this note. It was transcribed by Mrs. Wordsworth into a copy of the 4to edition of The Excursion (1814), which was presented by the Poet to his grandson.

To the Author of The Excursion

Though feebly in my harassed mind the light

Of fancy burn, yet thy inspiring strain

Wordsworth! has power to lull the sense of pain,

And bring long lost illusions to my sight.

Methinks the autumnal fields,—the mist-wreaths white,—

The woods,—the distant waters of the main

Their wonted hues of wild enchantment gain,

And, for a space, my cares are put to flight.

Then, how much more shall this immortal Lay

For the "free Soul" celestial sweets disclose!—

But, thine it is, oh Bard! with magic sway

To charm each meaner passion to repose;—

To guide the faltering pilgrim on his way,

And energise the weak, and soothe the mourner's woes.

R. P. Gillies.

VARIANTS:

[33] 1820.

1815.

Rise,    *   *   *   rise: .    .    .

[34] 1827.

1815.

.    .    . high .    .    .

[35] 1827.

1815.

.    .    . fading grove:

IV
YARROW VISITED

September, 1814

Composed 1814.—Published 1815

[As mentioned in my verses on the death of the Ettrick Shepherd, my first visit to Yarrow was in his company. We had lodged the night before at Traquair, where Hogg had joined us, and also Dr. Anderson, the Editor of the British Poets, who was on a visit at the Manse. Dr. A. walked with us till we came in view of the Vale of Yarrow, and, being advanced in life, he then turned back. The old man was passionately fond of poetry, though with not much of a discriminating judgment, as the Volumes he edited sufficiently shew. But I was much pleased to meet with him, and to acknowledge my obligation to his collection, which had been my brother John's companion in more than one voyage to India, and which he gave me before his departure from Grasmere, never to return. Through these Volumes I became first familiar with Chaucer, and so little money had I then to spare for books, that, in all probability, but for this same work, I should have known little of Drayton, Daniel, and other distinguished poets of the Elizabethan age, and their immediate successors, till a much later period of my life. I am glad to record this, not from any importance of its own, but, as a tribute of gratitude to this simple-hearted old man, whom I never again had the pleasure of meeting. I seldom read or think of this poem without regretting that my dear Sister was not of the party, as she would have had so much delight in recalling the time, when, travelling together in Scotland, we declined going in search of this celebrated stream, not altogether, I will frankly confess, for the reasons assigned in the poem on the occasion.—I.F.]

In 1815 and 1820 this was one of the "Poems of the Imagination." In 1827 it became one of the "Memorials of a Tour in Scotland" of 1814.

The MS. readings to this poem are taken from a copy in a letter by Dorothy Wordsworth to Mrs. Clarkson, dated November 11, 1814.—Ed.

And is this—Yarrow?—This the Stream

Of which my fancy cherished,

So faithfully, a waking dream?[36]

An image that hath perished!

5

O that some Minstrel's harp were near,

To utter notes[37] of gladness,

And chase this silence from the air,

That fills my heart with sadness!

Yet why?—a silvery current flows

10

With uncontrolled meanderings;

Nor have these eyes by greener hills

Been soothed, in all my wanderings.

And, through her depths,[38] Saint Mary's Lake

Is visibly delighted;

15

For not a feature of those hills

Is in the mirror slighted.

A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow vale,

Save where that pearly whiteness

Is round the rising sun diffused,

20

A tender hazy brightness;

Mild dawn of promise! that excludes

All profitless dejection;

Though not unwilling here to admit

A pensive recollection.

25

Where was it that the famous Flower

Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding?

His bed perchance was yon smooth mound

On which the herd is feeding:

And haply from this crystal pool,

30

Now peaceful as the morning,

The Water-wraith ascended thrice—

And gave his doleful warning.

Delicious is the Lay that sings

The haunts of happy Lovers,

35

The path that leads them to the grove,

The leafy grove that covers:

And Pity sanctifies the Verse

That paints, by strength of sorrow,

The unconquerable strength of love;

40

Bear witness, rueful Yarrow!

But thou, that didst appear so fair

To fond imagination,

Dost rival in the light of day

Her delicate creation:

45

Meek loveliness is round thee spread,

A softness still and holy;

The grace of forest charms decayed,

And pastoral melancholy.

That region left, the vale unfolds

50

Rich groves of lofty stature,

With Yarrow winding through the pomp

Of cultivated nature;

And, rising from those lofty groves,

Behold a Ruin hoary!

55

The shattered front of Newark's Towers,

Renowned in Border story.[Q]

Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom,

For sportive youth to stray in;

For manhood to enjoy his strength;

60

And age to wear away in!

Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss,

A covert for protection

Of tender thoughts, that nestle there—

The brood of chaste affection.[38a]

65

How sweet, on this autumnal day,

The wild-wood[39] fruits to gather,

And on my True-love's forehead plant

A crest of blooming heather!

And what if I enwreathed my own!

70

'Twere no offence to reason;

The sober Hills thus deck their brows

To meet the wintry season.

I see—but not by sight alone,

Loved Yarrow, have I won thee;

75

A ray of fancy still survives—

Her sunshine plays upon thee!

Thy ever-youthful waters keep

A course of lively pleasure;

And gladsome notes my lips can breathe,

80

Accordant to the measure.

The vapours linger round the Heights,

They melt, and soon must vanish;

One hour is theirs, nor more is mine—

Sad thought, which I would banish,

85

But that I know, where'er I go,

Thy genuine image, Yarrow!

Will dwell with me—to heighten joy,

And cheer my mind in sorrow.

Compare Yarrow Unvisited, vol. ii. p. 411; also Yarrow Revisited, composed in 1831; and Principal Shairp's Essay entitled "The Three Yarrows," in his Aspects of Poetry. "I meant to mention Yarrow Visited, with that stanza, 'But thou, that didst appear so fair'; than which I think no lovelier stanza can be found in the wide world of poetry;—yet the poem, on the whole, seems condemned to leave behind it a melancholy of imperfect satisfaction, as if you had wronged the feeling with which, in what preceded it, you had resolved never to visit it, and as if the Muse had determined, in the most delicate manner, to make you, and scarce make you, feel it. Else, it is far superior to the other,[R] which has but one exquisite verse in it, the last but one, or the last two: this is all fine, except perhaps that that of 'studious ease, and generous cares,' has a little tinge of the less romantic about it." Charles Lamb to Wordsworth, in 1815. (See The Letters of Charles Lamb, edited by Alfred Ainger, vol. i. p. 286.)—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[36] 1815.

Of which so long I cherished,

ms. 1814.

A Fancy dear to waking thought.

[37] 1815.

ms. 1814.

.    .    . words .    .    .

[38] 1815.

ms. 1814.

With her own depths .    .    .

[38a] 1827.

It promises protection

To studious ease, and generous cares,

1815.

And every chaste affection.

To all the nestling brood of thoughts

1820.

Sustained by chaste affection!

[39] 1827.

1815.

The wild wood's .    .    .

FOOTNOTES:

[Q] Newark Castle, a "large, square, roofless, ancient castle, scene of Sir Walter Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel, four miles west by north of Selkirk." (Wilson's Gazetteer of Scotland.)—Ed.

[R] i.e. Yarrow Unvisited.—Ed.

LINES

Written[40] on a blank leaf in a copy of the author's poem "The Excursion," upon hearing of the death of the late Vicar of Kendal.

Composed 1814.—Published 1815

One of the "Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces."—Ed.

To public notice, with reluctance strong,

Did I deliver this unfinished Song;

Yet for one happy issue;—and I look

With self-congratulation on the Book

5

Which pious, learned, Murfitt saw and read;—

Upon my thoughts his saintly Spirit fed;

He conned the new-born Lay with grateful heart—

Foreboding not how soon he must depart;

Unweeting that to him the joy was given

10

Which good men take with them from earth to heaven.

The Annals of Kendal—an octavo volume containing information on all subjects of historical or antiquarian interest connected with the town—contains no reference to Mr. Murfitt, except a copy of the inscription on his monument. He was instituted vicar of Kendal in 1806, and died on the 7th November 1814. The following is a copy of the inscription.

To the Memory of

The Reverend Matthew Murfitt, A.M.

Vicar of Kendal

And formerly Fellow of Trinity College

Cambridge,

Who died Nov. 7, 1814, aged 50 years.

He was a pious, learned, and eloquent Divine,

A sincere Friend, a kind husband

And in every relation of Life

A most worthy man.

The monument is erected against the north wall of the Parish Church of Kendal.

The phrase in the second line of the sonnet, "this unfinished Song," refers to The Excursion being only part of a longer unfinished poem, The Recluse. (See the preface to the edition of 1814.)—Ed.

VARIANT:

[40] 1845.

1815.

Written, November 13, 1814,   .    .    .

1815

In 1815 few poems were written, with the exception of the Dedication to The White Doe of Rylstone, one or two sonnets, and Artegal and Elidure. If we were to trust entirely to the Fenwick note to Laodamia, Artegal and Elidure would require to be transferred, along with it and Dion, to 1814. When Wordsworth, in 1845, separated the Ode, beginning

Imagination—ne'er before content

from the Ode, the morning of the Day appointed for a General Thanksgiving, January 18, 1816, he gave to the former the date 1815; and it is possible that it was composed towards the close of that year. But it was originally published in 1816 as part of the Thanksgiving Ode; and, although (in conformity with the plan of adopting the Author's latest view of his own text) it is printed by itself,—as finally approved by him,—it is not placed in the year 1815, but in 1816. The chief reason for this is, that it is kindred in theme, structure, and tendency with the other Odes belonging to that year; and it seems better—when there is a doubt as to the date—to bring together those poems that are kindred in character. It does not follow, however, that part of the Thanksgiving Ode itself may not have been written in 1815. Wordsworth, writing to Southey in 1816, said:—"It is a poem composed, or supposed to be composed, on the morning of the thanksgiving." Those belonging to the year 1815 are, therefore, few in number.—Ed.

DEDICATION TO THE WHITE DOE OF RYLSTONE

In trellised shed, with clustering roses gay, etc.

Although this Dedication was only written in April 1815, it has, for obvious reasons, been already published—along with the poem itself—in its chronological place (1807) (see vol. iv. p. 100); but as I have seen a MS. copy of this Dedication, which differs considerably from the final text, and was probably the first draft of the poem, it may be printed here. In the MS. I refer to, it is called Epistle Dedicatory.—Ed.

EPISTLE DEDICATORY

When years of wedded life were as a day

Whose current answers to the heart's desire,

Oft in some bowers, with clustering roses gay,

Or haply by the blazing winter fire,

5

Did we together read in Spenser's Lay

How Una, sad of soul, in sad attire,

The gentle Una, born of heavenly birth,

To seek her knight went wandering o'er the earth.

Ah, then, Belovèd, pleasing was the smart,

10

And the tear precious in compassion shed

For Her, who, pierced by sorrow's thrilling dart,

Did meekly bear the pang unmerited;

Meek as that Emblem of her lowly heart

The milk-white Lamb, which in a line she led,

15

And faithful, loyal in her innocence,

Like the brave Lion slain in her defence.

Notes could we hear as of a faery shell

Attuned to words with sacred wisdom fraught;

Free fancy prized each specious miracle,

20

And all its finer inspiration caught

Mid the green bower, and in our rustic Cell;

Till we by lamentable change were taught

That bliss with mortal man may not abide,

How nearly joy and sorrow are allied![S]

25

For us the stream of fiction ceased to flow,

For us the voice of melody was mute:

But as soft gales dissolve the dreary snow,

And give the timid herbage leave to shoot,

Heaven's breathing spirit failed not to bestow

30

Its timely influence—promising fair fruit

Of pensive pleasure and serene content,

From blossoms wild of fancies innocent.

It soothed us—it beguiled us—then, to hear

Once more of troubles wrought by magic spell,

35

And griefs whose aery motion comes not near

The pangs that tempt the spirit to rebel;

Then, with mild Una in her sober cheer,

High over hill and low adown the dell

Again we wandered, willing to partake

40

All that she suffered for her dear Lord's sake.

      *      *      *      *      *      *     *

Then, too, this Song of mine once more could please,

Where anguish, strange as dreams of restless sleep,

Is tempered and allayed by sympathies

Aloft ascending, and descending deep,

45

Even to the inferior Kinds; whom forest-trees

Protect from beating sunbeams, and the sweep

Of the sharp winds;—fair Creatures!—to whom Heaven

A calm and sinless life, with love, hath given.

      *      *      *      *      *      *     *

This tragic story cheered us, for it speaks

50

Of female patience winning firm repose,

And of the high reward which conscience seeks

A bright encouraging example shows;

Needful when o'er wide realms the tempest breaks,

Needful amid life's ordinary woes;—

55

A tale which now, dear helpmate, I present

To thee and to the world with pure intent.[T]

He serves the Muses erringly and ill,

Whose aim is pleasure light and fugitive:

O, that my mind were equal to fulfil

60

The comprehensive mandate which they give—

Vain aspiration of an earnest will!

Yet in this moral Strain a power may live,

Belovèd Wife! such solace to impart,

As it hath yielded to thy tender heart.

FOOTNOTES:

[S] Another version of this stanza follows:—

But like a wreath, composed of bud and bell,

Spring's flowery garland, in a whirlwind caught,

Or like the warblings of a sea-nymph's shell

When the distempered air with storms is fraught;

Those pleasures vanished from our rustic cell,

And we by lamentable change were taught

That bliss with mortal man may not abide,

How nearly joy and sorrow are allied!Ed.

[T] Two variations of the last couplet follow in the MS.:—

And therefore not unfitted to impress

On happier hours a holier happiness.

Hence, not for those unfitted who would bless

A happy hour with holier happiness.Ed.

ARTEGAL AND ELIDURE

(SEE THE CHRONICLE OF GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH AND MILTON'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND)

Composed 1815.—Published 1820

[This was written at Rydal Mount, as a token of affectionate respect for the memory of Milton. "I have determined," says he, in his preface to his History of England, "to bestow the telling over even of these reputed tales, be it for nothing else but in favour of our English Poets and Rhetoricians, who by their wit will know how to use them judiciously."—I.F.]

One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."

The extract given in the Fenwick note is not from the "preface," but from the first book of Milton's History of England.—Ed.

Where be the temples which,[41] in Britain's Isle,

For his paternal Gods, the Trojan raised?[U]

Gone like a morning dream, or like a pile

Of clouds that in cerulean ether blazed!

5

Ere Julius landed on her white-cliffed shore,[V]

They sank, delivered o'er

To fatal dissolution; and, I ween,

No vestige then was left that such had ever been.

Nathless, a British record (long concealed

10

In old Armorica, whose secret springs

No Gothic conqueror ever drank) revealed

The marvellous[42] current of forgotten things;[W]

How Brutus came, by oracles impelled,

And Albion's giants quelled,[X]

15

A brood whom no civility could melt,

"Who never tasted grace, and goodness ne'er had felt."

By brave Corineus aided, he subdued,[Y]

And rooted out the intolerable kind;

And this too-long-polluted land[43] imbued

20

With goodly[44] arts and usages refined;

Whence golden harvests, cities, warlike towers,

And pleasure's sumptuous[45] bowers;

Whence all the fixed[46] delights of house and home,

Friendships[47] that will not break, and love that cannot roam.[Z]

25

O, happy Britain! region all too fair

For self-delighting fancy[48] to endure

That silence only should inhabit there,

Wild beasts, or uncouth savages impure!

But, intermingled with the generous seed,

30

Grew[49] many a poisonous weed;

Thus fares it still with all that takes its birth

From human care, or grows upon the breast of earth.

Hence, and how soon! that war of vengeance waged

By Guendolen against her faithless lord;[AA]

35

Till she, in jealous fury unassuaged

Had slain his paramour with ruthless sword:

Then, into Severn hideously defiled,

She flung her[50] blameless child,

39

Sabrina,—vowing that the stream should bear

That name through every age, her hatred to declare.[AB]

So speaks the Chronicle, and tells of Lear

By his ungrateful daughters turned adrift.

Ye lightnings, hear his voice!—they cannot hear,

Nor can the winds restore his simple gift.

45

But One there is, a Child of nature meek,

Who comes her Sire to seek;

And he, recovering sense, upon her breast

Leans smilingly, and sinks into a perfect rest.[AC]

There too we read of Spenser's fairy themes,

50

And those that Milton loved in youthful years;

The sage enchanter Merlin's subtle schemes;

The feats of Arthur and his knightly peers;[AD]

Of Arthur,—who, to upper light restored,

With that terrific sword[AE]

55

Which yet he brandishes for future war,[51]

Shall lift his country's fame above the polar star!

What wonder, then, if in such[52] ample field

Of old tradition, one particular flower

Doth seemingly in vain its fragrance yield,

60

And bloom unnoticed even to this late hour?

Now, gentle Muses, your assistance grant,

While I this flower transplant

Into a garden stored with Poesy;[53]

Where flowers and herbs unite, and haply some weeds be,[54]

That, wanting not wild grace, are from all mischief free![55]

66

A King more worthy of respect and love

Than wise Gorbonian ruled not in his day;[AF]

And grateful Britain prospered far above

All neighbouring countries through his righteous sway;

70

He poured rewards and honours on the good;

The oppressor he withstood;

And while he served the Gods with reverence due,

Fields smiled, and temples rose, and towns and cities grew.

He died, whom Artegal succeeds—his son;

75

But how unworthy of that sire[56] was he!

A hopeful reign, auspiciously begun,

Was darkened soon by foul iniquity.

From crime to crime he mounted, till at length

The nobles leagued their strength

80

With a vexed people, and the tyrant chased;

And, on the vacant throne, his worthier Brother placed.

From realm to realm the humbled Exile went,

Suppliant for aid his kingdom to regain;

In many a court, and many a warrior's tent,

85

He urged his persevering suit in vain.

Him, in whose wretched heart ambition failed,

Dire poverty assailed;

And, tired with slights his pride no more could brook,

He towards his native country cast a longing look.[57]

90

Fair blew the wished-for wind—the voyage sped;

He landed; and, by many dangers scared,

"Poorly provided, poorly followèd,"

To Calaterium's forest he repaired.

How changed from him who, born to highest place,

95

Had swayed the royal mace,

Flattered and feared, despised yet deified,

In Troynovant, his seat by silver Thames's side![AG]

From that wild region where the crownless King

Lay in concealment with his scanty train,

100

Supporting life by water from the spring,

And such chance food as outlaws can obtain,

Unto the few whom he esteems his friends

A messenger he sends;

And from their secret loyalty requires

105

Shelter and daily bread,—the sum[58] of his desires.

While he the issue waits, at early morn

Wandering by stealth abroad, he chanced to hear

A startling outcry made by hound and horn,

From which the tusky wild boar flies in fear;[59]

110

And, scouring toward[60] him o'er the grassy plain,

Behold the hunter train!

He bids his little company advance

With seeming unconcern and steady countenance.

The royal Elidure, who leads the chase,

115

Hath checked his foaming courser:—can it be!

Methinks that I should recognise that face,

Though much disguised by long adversity!

He gazed rejoicing, and again he gazed,

Confounded and amazed—

120

"It is the king, my brother!" and, by sound

Of his own voice confirmed, he leaps upon the ground.

Long, strict, and tender was the embrace he gave,

Feebly returned by daunted Artegal;

Whose natural affection doubts enslave,

125

And apprehensions dark and criminal.

Loth to restrain the moving interview,

The attendant lords withdrew;

And, while they stood upon the plain apart,

Thus Elidure, by words, relieved his struggling heart.

125

"By heavenly Powers conducted, we have met;

—O Brother! to my knowledge lost so long,

But neither lost to love, nor to regret,

Nor to my wishes lost;—forgive the wrong,

(Such it may seem) if I thy crown have borne,

135

Thy royal mantle worn:

I was their natural guardian; and 'tis just

That now I should restore what hath been held in trust."

A while the astonished Artegal stood mute,

Then thus exclaimed: "To me, of titles shorn,

140

And stripped of power! me, feeble, destitute,

To me a kingdom! spare the bitter scorn:

If justice ruled the breast[61] of foreign kings,

Then, on the wide-spread wings

Of war, had I returned to claim my right;

145

This will I here avow, not dreading thy despite."

"I do not blame thee," Elidure replied;

"But, if my looks did with my words agree,

I should at once be trusted, not defied,

And thou from all disquietude be free.

150

May the unsullied Goddess of the chase,[62][AH]

Who to this blessed place

At this blest moment led me, if I speak

With insincere intent, on me her vengeance wreak!

"Were this same spear, which in my hand I grasp,

155

The British sceptre, here would I to thee

The symbol yield; and would undo this clasp,

If it confined the robe of sovereignty.

Odious to me the pomp of regal court,

And joyless sylvan sport,

160

While thou art roving, wretched and forlorn,

Thy couch the dewy earth, thy roof the forest thorn!"

Then Artegal thus spake: "I only sought,

Within this realm a place of safe retreat;

Beware of rousing an ambitious thought;

165

Beware of kindling hopes, for me unmeet!

Thou art reputed wise, but in my mind

Art pitiably blind:

Full soon this generous purpose thou may'st rue,

When that which has been done[63] no wishes can undo.

170

"Who, when a crown is fixed upon his head,

Would balance claim with claim, and right with right?

But thou—I know not how inspired, how led—

Wouldst change the course of things in all men's sight!

And this for one who cannot imitate

175

Thy virtue, who may hate:

For, if, by such strange sacrifice restored,

He reign, thou still must be his king, and sovereign lord;

"Lifted in magnanimity above

Aught that my feeble nature could perform,

180

Or even conceive; surpassing me in love

Far as in power the eagle doth the worm:

I, Brother! only should be king in name,

And govern to my shame;

A shadow in a hated land, while all

185

Of glad or willing service to thy share would fall."

"Believe it not," said Elidure; "respect

Awaits on virtuous life, and ever most

Attends on goodness with dominion decked,

Which stands the universal empire's boast;

190

This can thy own experience testify:

Nor shall thy foes deny

That, in the gracious opening of thy reign,

Our father's spirit seemed in thee to breathe again.

"And what if o'er that bright unbosoming

195

Clouds of disgrace and envious fortune past!

Have we not seen the glories of the spring

By veil of noontide darkness overcast?

The frith[64] that glittered like a warrior's shield,

The sky, the gay green field,

200

Are vanished; gladness ceases in the groves,

And trepidation strikes the blackened mountain-coves.

"But is that gloom dissolved? how passing clear

Seems the wide world, far brighter than before!

Even so thy latent worth will re-appear,

205

Gladdening the people's heart[65] from shore to shore;

For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone;

Re-seated on thy throne,

Proof shalt thou furnish that misfortune, pain,

And sorrow, have confirmed thy native[66] right to reign.

210

"But, not to overlook what thou may'st know,

Thy enemies are neither weak nor few;

And circumspect must be our course, and slow,

Or from my purpose ruin may ensue.

Dismiss thy followers;—let them calmly wait

215

Such change in thy estate

As I already have in thought devised;

And which, with caution due, may soon be realised."

The Story tells what courses were pursued,

Until king Elidure, with full consent

220

Of all his peers, before the multitude,

Rose,—and, to consummate this just intent,

Did place upon his brother's head the crown,

Relinquished by his own;

Then to his[67] people cried, "Receive your lord,

Gorbonian's first-born son, your rightful king restored!"

226

The people answered with a loud acclaim:

Yet more;—heart-smitten by the heroic deed,

The reinstated Artegal became

Earth's noblest penitent;[68] from bondage freed

230

Of vice—thenceforth unable[69] to subvert

Or shake his high desert.

Long did he reign; and, when he died, the tear

Of universal grief bedewed his honoured bier.

Thus was a Brother by a Brother saved;[AI]

235

With whom a crown (temptation that hath set

Discord in hearts of men till they have braved

Their nearest kin with deadly purpose met)

'Gainst duty weighed, and faithful love, did seem

A thing of no esteem;

240

And, from this triumph of affection pure,

He bore the lasting name of "pious Elidure!"[AJ]

VARIANTS:

[41] 1820

ms.

.    .    . that, .    .    .

[42] 1836.

1820 and ms.

The wonderous .    .    .

[43] 1820.

ms.

.    .    . soil .    .    .

[44] 1820.

ms.

.    .    . gentle .    .    .

[45] 1820.

ms.

.    .    . fragrant .    .    .

[46] 1820.

ms.

.    .    . mild .    .    .

[47] 1820.

ms.

Friendship .    .    .

[48] 1820.

ms.

For fondly favouring Nature .    .    .

[49] 1820.

ms.

Lurked .    .    .

[50] 1820.

ms.

She flung their .    .    .

ms.

Cast this, her .    .    .

[51] 1836.

1820.

Which yet he wields in subterranean war,

ms.

Which yet he wields in subterraneous war,

Which yet he graspeth, meditating war,

ms.

To lift

[52] 1820.

ms.

.    .    . this .    .    .

[53] 1820.

ms.

Into a Garden of pure Poesy;

ms.

.    .    . stocked with Poesy;

[54] 1820.

ms.

.    .    . some be weeds,

[55] 1820.

.    .    . Poesy

ms.

Which hath been tended long with all humility.

[56] 1836.

1820 and ms.

.    .    . of such sire .    .    .

[57] 1836.

And, tired with slights which he no more could brook,

1820 and ms.

Towards his native soil he cast a longing look.

[58] 1836.

1820 and ms.

.    .    . the amount .    .    .

[59] 1845.

1820 and ms.

.    .    . tusky boar hath fled in fear;

[60] 1832.

1820 and ms.

.    .    . tow'rds .    .    .

[61] 1820.

ms.

.    .    . in breasts .    .    .

[62] 1827.

1820.

May spotless Dian, Goddess of the chace,

[63] 1820.

ms.

When that which thou hast done .    .    .

[64] 1820.

ms.

The Lake .    .    .

[65] 1820.

ms.

.    .    . hearts .    .    .

[66] 1820.

ms.

.    .    . inborn .    .    .

[67] 1820.

ms.

.    .    . the .    .    .

[68] 1820.

ms.

A thorough penitent; .    .    .

[69] 1827.

1820.

Of vice,—of vice unable .    .    .

ms.

Of vice—henceforth unable .    .    .

FOOTNOTES:

[U] Brutus, reputed great-grandson of Æneas the Trojan Prince, the legendary founder of the British race—according to the story in Geoffrey of Monmouth's Chronicle—after a somewhat chequered career in Greece, consulted Diana where he should go and settle. To whom Diana in a vision replied:—

Brutus, far to the West, in th' Ocean wide,

Beyond the realm of Gaul, a land there lies,

Sea-girt it lies, where Giants dwelt of old,

Now void, it fits thy people; thither bend

Thy course, there shalt thou find a lasting seat,

There to thy sons another Troy shall rise,

And kings be born of thee....

"Brutus guided now," says Milton (following Monmouth), "by Divine conduct, speeds him towards the West."... After some adventures in the Adriatic and in Gaul, "with an easy course, arriving at Totness, in Devonshire, quickly perceives here to be the promised end of his labours.

"The island, not yet Britain but Albion, was in a manner desert, and inhospitable; kept only by a remnant of Giants; whose excessive Force and Tyrannie had consumed the rest. Them Brutus destroies, and to his people divides the Land, which with som reference to his own name, he henceforth calls Britain." (Milton's History of England, book i.)—Ed.

[V] Julius Caesar landed for the first time in Britain, 55 B.C.—Ed.

[W] Compare The Solitary Reaper, II. 18-20 (vol. ii. p. 398):—

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow

For old, unhappy, far-off things,

And battles long ago.Ed.

[X] See note A on the previous page.—Ed.

[Y] Corineus, according to the old legend, was the chief of a Trojan race who came with Brutus into Aquitania, and afterwards into Britain. Cornwall fell to Corineus by lot, in the portioning out of the new territory, "the rather by him liked," says Milton, "for that the hugest Giants in Rocks and Caves were said to lurk still there; which kind of Monsters to deal with was his old exercise." (Milton's History of England, book i.)—Ed.

[Z] Compare To a Skylark (1825)—

Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;

True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home.Ed.

[AA] Locrine, Brutus' son, was engaged to marry Corineus' daughter, Guendolen. But, after defeating Humber, King of the Huns, and finding Estrildis, daughter of a German king, amongst the spoil, he took her captive. He married Guendolen, but loved Estrildis, and on the death of Corineus, he divorced Guendolen, and married Estrildis. The rest may be told in Milton's words: "Guendolen all in rage departs into Cornwal;... And gathering an army of her Father's Friends and Subjects, gives Battail to her Husband by the River Sture; wherein Locrine, shot with an arrow, ends his life. But not so ends the fury of Guendolen; for Estrildis, and her daughter Sabra, she throws into a River: and to leave a Monument of Revenge, proclaims that the Stream be henceforth called after the Damsel's name; which by length of time is changed now to Sabrina or Severn." (History of England, book i.)—Ed.

[AB] See note on the previous page.—Ed.

[AC] "Leir who next Reigned, had only three Daughters, and no Male Issue: governed laudably, and built Caer-Leir, now Leicester, on the bank of Sora. But at last, failing through Age, he determines to bestow his Daughters, and so among them to divide his Kingdom. Yet first to try which of them loved him best, (a Trial that might have made him, had he known as wisely how to try, as he seemed to know how much the trying behooved him) he resolves a simple resolution, to ask them solemnly in order; and which of them should profess largest, her to beleev. Gonorill the Eldest, apprehending too well her Father's weakness, makes answer invoking Heaven, That she loved him above her Soul. Therefore, quoth the old man, overjoyed, since thou so honourst my declined Age, to thee and the Husband whom thou shalt choose, I give the third part of my Realm. So fair a speeding for a few words soon uttered, was to Regan the second, ample instruction what to say. She on the same demand spares no protesting, and the Gods must witness that otherwise to express her thoughts she knew not, but that she loved him above all Creatures; and so receavs an equal reward with her Sister. But Cordeilla, the youngest, though hitherto best beloved, and now before her Eyes the rich and present hire of a little easie soothing, the danger also, and the loss likely to betide plain dealing, yet moves not from the solid purpose of a sincere and vertuous answer. Father, saith she, my love towards you, is as my duty bids; what should a Father seek, what can a Child promise more? they who pretend beyond this, flatter. When the old man, sorry to hear this, and wishing her to recall those words, persisted asking, with a loiall sadness at her Father's infirmity, but something on the sudden, harsh, and glancing, rather at her Sisters, then speaking her own mind, Two waies only, saith she, I have to answer what you require mee; the former, Your command is, I should recant; accept then this other which is left me; look how much you have, so much is your value, and so much I love you. Then hear thou, quoth Leir now all in passion, what thy ingratitude hath gained thee; because thou hast not reverenced thy aged father equall to thy Sisters, part in my Kingdom, or what else is mine reck'n to have none. And without delay gives in marriage his other Daughters, Gonorill to Maglannus Duke of Albana, Regan to Henninus Duke of Cornwal; with them in present half his Kingdom; the rest to follow at his Death. In the mean while Fame was not sparing to divulge the wisdom, and other Graces of Cordeilla, insomuch that Aganippus a great King in Gaul (however he came by his Greek name) seeks her to Wife, and nothing alter'd at the loss of her Dowry, receavs her gladly in such manner as she was sent him. After this King Leir, more and more drooping with years, became an easy prey to his Daughters and thir Husbands; who now by dayly encroachment had seis'd the whole Kingdom into thir hands: and the old King is put to sojorn with his Eldest Daughter, attended only by three score Knights. But they in a short while grudged at, as too numerous and disorderly for continuall guests, are reduced to thirty. Not brooking that affront, the old King betakes him to his second Daughter; but there also discord soon arising between the Servants of differing Masters in one Family, five only are suffer'd to attend him. Then back again he returns to the other; hoping that she his Eldest could not but have more pity on his Gray Hairs: but she now refuses to admitt him, unless he be content with one only of his followers. At last the remembrance of his youngest Cordeilla comes to his thoughts; and now acknowledging how true her words had bin, though with little hope from whom he had so injur'd, be it but to pay her the last recompence she can have from him, his confession of her wise forewarning, that so perhaps his misery, the prooff and experiment of her Wisdom, might somthing soft'n her, he takes his Journey into France. Now might be seen a difference between the silent, or downright spok'n affection of som Children to thir Parents, and the talkative obsequiousness of others: while the hope of Inheritance over-acts them, and on the Tongue's end enlarges thir duty. Cordeilla out of meer love, without the suspicion of expected reward, at the message only of her Father in distress, pours forth true filial tears. And not enduring either that her own, or any other Eye should see him in such forlorn condition as his Messenger declar'd, discreetly appoints one of her trusted Servants, first to convay him privately toward som good Sea Town, there to array him, bathe him, cherish him, furnish him with such Attendance and State, as beseem'd his Dignity. That then, as from his first Landing, he might send word of his Arrival to her Husband Aganippus. Which don with all mature and requisite contrivance, Cordeilla with the King her Husband, and all the Barony of his Realm, who then first had news of his passing the Sea, goe out to meet him; and after all honourable and joyfull entertainment, Aganippus, as to his Wives Father, and his Royall Guest, surrenders him, during his abode there, the power, and disposal of his whole Dominion; permitting his Wife Cordeilla to go with an Army, and set her Father upon his Throne. Wherein her piety so prospered, as that she vanquished her impious Sisters with those Dukes, and Leir again, as saith the story, three years obtained the Crown. To whom dying, Cordeilla with all regal Solemnities gave Burial in the Town of Leicester. And then as right Heir succeeding, and her Husband dead, rul'd the land five years in peace." (Milton, History of England, book i.)—Ed.

[AD] See Milton's History of England, book iii.—Ed.

[AE] The sword Excalibur, given to King Arthur by the Lady of the Lake. Compare Tennyson's Morte d'Arthur.—Ed.

[AF] The following is Milton's account of Gorbonian, Archigallo, and Elidure:—"Gorbonian the Eldest of his five Sons, then whom a juster man liv'd not in his Age, was a great builder of Temples, and gave to all what was thir due; to his Gods devout Worship, to men of desert honour and preferment; to the Commons encouragement in thir Labours, and Trades, defence and protection from injuries and oppressions, so that the Land florish'd above her Neighbours, Violence and Wrong seldom was heard of; his Death was a general loss; he was buried in Trinovant.

"Archigallo the second Brother followed not his Example; but depress'd the ancient Nobility, and by peeling the wealthier sort, stuff'd his Treasury, and took the right way to be depos'd.

"Elidure the next Brother, surnamed the Pious, was set up in his place; a mind so noble, and so moderat, as almost is incredible to have bin ever found. For having held the Scepter five years, hunting one day in the Forest of Calater, he chanc'd to meet his deposed Brother, wandering in mean condition; who had bin long in vain beyond the Seas, importuning Foren aides to his Restorement: and was now in a poor Habit, with only ten followers, privatly return'd to find subsistence among his secret friends. At the unexpected sight of him, Elidure himself also then but thinly accompanied, runs to him with open Arms; and after many dear and sincere welcomings, convaies him to the Citty Alclud; there hides him in his own Bed-Chamber. Afterwards faining himself sick, summons all his Peers as about greatest affairs; where admitting them one by one, as if his weakness endur'd not the disturbance of more at once, causes them, willing or unwilling, once more to swear Allegiance to Archigallo. Whom after reconciliation made on all sides, he leads to York: and from his own Head, places the Crown on the Head of his Brother, who thenceforth, Vice itself dissolving in him, and forgetting her firmest hold with the admiration of a deed so Heroic, became a true converted man: rul'd worthily 10 years; dy'd and was Buried in Caer-Leir. Thus was a Brother saved by a Brother, to whom love of a Crown, the thing that so often dazles, and vitiates mortal man, for which thousands of neerest blood have destroy'd each other, was in respect of Brotherly dearness, a contemptible thing." (Milton, History of England, book i.)—Ed.

[AG] The legendary story tells that Brutus, the founder of the British race, having come from Troy (see note [U] to p. 45), "in a chosen place builds Troia nova, changed in time to Trinovantum, now London."—Ed.

[AH] It may not be too insignificant to note that it was Diana, the "Goddess of the chase," whom Brutus, according to the legend, consulted as to where he should settle, and who directed him to the land "to the West, in th' Ocean wide." (See note [U] p. 45.)—Ed.

[AI] See Milton's History of England, quoted in footnote, p. 51.—Ed.

[AJ] The various (tentative) versions of Artegal and Elidure—especially of some of the stanzas—are more numerous than in the case of any other poem I have seen in MS., and several of them may be preserved.

Stanza 1

Where be the Temples which in Albion's Isle,

As stories tell, the Trojan Brutus reared?

The form and substance of each stately pile

Were gone, the very dust had disappeared;

Ere Julius reached the white-cliffed shore,

They sank, delivered o'er

To utter dissolution, whence I ween

A general doubt prevails, if such have ever been.

Sunk are the Temples which, as stories tell,

In Britain's Isle the Trojan Brutus reared,

For his transplanted Gods therein to dwell?

Ere Julius landed on the white-cliffed shore,

The sacred structures were delivered o'er

To utter desolation, whence I ween

A general doubt prevails if such have ever been.

Where be the Temples which in Britain's Isle,

As legends tell, the Trojan Founder reared?

Gone like a dream of morning, or a pile

{ Of glittering clouds that in the East appeared. }

{ Of gorgeous clouds that in the west appeared. }

Ere Julius landed on her white-cliffed shore,

They sank, delivered o'er

To fatal dissolution, and I ween

No vestige there was left that such had ever been.

Stanza 2

Yet in unvanquished Cambria lay concealed

'Mid Snowdon's forests, or by Vaga's springs,

A Book whose leaves to later times revealed

The {mighty|wondrous} course of these forgotten things,

How Brutus sailed, by oracles impelled,

And hideous giants quelled,

A Brood whom no civility could melt,

Who never tasted grace, and goodness ne'er had felt.

Yet in the wilds of Cambria lay concealed

By Snowdon's forests or by Vaga's springs,

A Book whose leaves to later time revealed

The wondrous course of {those|long} forgotten things;

How Brutus came, etc.

A British record that had lain concealed

In old Armorica (whose sacred springs

No Gothic conqueror ever drank) revealed

The wondrous course of those forgotten things;

How Brutus came, etc.

Stanza 3

By brave Corineus aided, he subdued

And rooted out the intolerable kind,

And this too long-polluted soil imbued

With {gentle|goodly} arts, and usages refined;

Whence golden harvests, cities, warlike towers,

{ And for soft pleasures, bowers,}

{ And pleasure's {fragrant|leafy} bowers, }

Whence all the fixed delights of house and home,

Friendship that will not break, and love that cannot roam.

Stanza 4

O happy Britain! region all too fair

For fondly-favouring Nature to endure

      *      *      *      *      *     *

      *      *      *      *      *     *

Lurked many a poisonous weed;

Stanza 6

Who has not wept the wrongs of aged Lear

By his ungrateful daughter turned adrift?

Hear him, ye elements!—they cannot hear,

Nor can the winds restore his simple gift,

But One there is, a child of nature meek,

Who comes her sire to seek;

And he, recovering sense, upon her breast

Leans smilingly, and sinks into a { happy/passing} rest.

Stanza 7

{Honoured, for ever honoured be the page,   }

{Prized be the Book, and honoured the Page,}

When England's Darling found a basis laid

To those dread scenes which on the tragic stage

To trembling multitudes his art displayed;

And to {that chronicle/the same for this} be praise decreed

That there men first did read

Of Merlin's insight into future years,

And all the mighty feats of Arthur and his peers.

Stanza 8

What wonder, then, if 'mid the vast domain

Of that rich Volume, one particular Flower

Hath breathed its fragrance seemingly in vain

And bloomed unnoticed even to this late hour,

Ye gentle Muses, your assistance grant,

While I this flower transplant

Into a garden pure of poesy,

Small garden which I tend in all humility.

The following (suppressed) Stanza followed No. 10

The winds and waves have aided him to reach

That coast, the object of his heart's desire,

But, while the crownless sovereign trod the beach,

His eyeballs kindle with resentful ire,

As if incensed with all that he beholds,

Dark fields, and naked wolds,

And these few Followers, a helpless band

That to his fortunes cleave, and wait on his command.

Stanza 12

{"Bear with me, Friends," said Artegal ashamed,}

{"Forgive this passion," Artegal exclaimed, }

And, as he spake, they dive into a wood,

And from its shady boughs protection claimed,

For light he fears, and open neighbourhood.

How changed from him who born to highest place

Stanza 13

Oft by imaginary terrors scared,

And sometimes into real dangers brought,

To Calaterium's forest he repaired,

And in its depth secure a refuge sought,

Thence to a few whom he esteems his friends

A messenger he sends,

Stanza 14

With his attendants here at break of morn,

Wandering by stealth abroad he chanced to hear

A startling outcry made by hound and horn,

From which the tusky Boar hath fled in fear,

And, etc.

Stanza 16

Feebly returned by {wandering/trembling} Artegal,

Stanza 17

{Heir of Gorbonian! Brother gladly met,  }

{Gorbonian's heir, my brother gladly met,}

Stanza 25

And what if o'er this bright unbosoming

A cloud of time, and envious fortune past!

Have we not seen the glories of the spring

By noontide darkness veiled and overcast?

The lakes that glittered like a sunbright shield,

The sky, the gay green field,

All vanish in a moment, as if night

Were sister to the sun, and darkness born of light.

Stanza 26

But should the sun victorious glimmer forth,

Far brighter seems the wide world than before:

Such power is latent in thy native worth,

To spread delight and joy from shore to shore:

For past misdeeds how grateful to atone,

Re-seated on thy throne,

Give proof that long adversity, and pain,

And sorrow have confirmed thy inborn right to reign.

From Stanza 28 to end

The story tells that Artegal away

Was by his brother privily conveyed

To a far distant city (at that day

Alclwyd named), whose fortress undismayed

By the hostility of mortals stood

In sight of field and flood,

Obnoxious only on the lofty Rock

To the careering storm, and perilous lightning stroke.

When this impregnable retreat was gained,

In prudent furtherance of his just intent,

King Elidure a mortal illness feigned,

And to his mightiest Lords a summons sent

Softly, and one by one into the gloom,

(As suits a sick man's room),

The attendants introduced each potent peer,

There, singly and alone, his sovereign will to hear.

Said Elidure, Behold our rightful King,

The banished Artegal, before thee stands:

Kneel, and renew to him the offering

Of thy allegiance; justice this demands,

Immortal justice, speaking through my voice,

Accept him, and rejoice.

    .        .        .        .  he will prove

Worthier than I have been of reverence and love.

If firm command and mild persuasion failed

To change the temper of an adverse mind,

With such by other engines he prevailed,

Threatening to fling their bodies to the wind

From the dread summit of the lonely block,

That castle-crested Rock,

Alclwyd then, but now Dunbarton named,

A memorable crag through spacious Albion famed.

Departing thence, to York their way they bent,

While the glad people flowers before them strewed,

And then King Elidure with full consent

Of all his peers, before the multitude

Upon his brother's head he placed the crown,

Relinquished by his own;

Triumph of justice, and affection pure,

Whence he the title gained of "pious Elidure."

The people answered with a loud acclaim,

Through admiration of the heroic deed.

The reinstated Artegal became

Earth's noblest penitent; from bondage freed

Of vice, henceforth unable to control

The motions of his soul.

{And when he died, the worthy and the brave }

{Shed tears of fond regret upon his honoured grave. }

{Long did he reign: and, when he died, the tear }

{Of fond regret was shed upon his honoured bier.     }

Thus was a Brother by a Brother saved.

With whom a crown (temptation that hath set

Discord in hearts of men till they have braved

Their nearest kin in deadly battle met),

With duty weighed, and faithful love did seem

A thing of no esteem;

And from this triumph of affection pure,

He won the lasting name of "pious Elidure."

TO B. R. HAYDON

Composed December 1815.—Published March 31, 1816.

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets." The title "Esq." was appended to the name in the editions of 1820 to 1832.—Ed.

High is our calling, Friend!—Creative Art

(Whether the instrument of words she use,

Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues)

Demands the service of a mind and heart,

5

Though sensitive, yet, in their weakest part,

Heroically fashioned—to infuse

Faith in the whispers of the lonely Muse,

While the whole world seems adverse to desert.

And, oh! when Nature sinks, as oft she may

10

Through long-lived pressure of obscure distress,

Still to be strenuous for the bright reward,

And in the soul admit of no decay,

Brook no continuance of weak-mindedness—

Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!

This sonnet was first published in The Examiner (March 31, 1816). It was composed in December 1815. On November 27, Haydon wrote to Wordsworth: "I have benefited, and have been supported in the troubles of life by your poetry. I will bear want, pain, misery, and blindness, but I will never yield one step I have gained on the road I am determined to travel over." (See his Correspondence and Table Talk, vol. ii. pp. 19, 20.) To this Wordsworth replied in the following letter which is explanatory of the above sonnet, and of the two sonnets that follow it.

"Rydal Mount, near Ambleside,
December 21st, 1815.

      *      *      *      *      *      *

"Now for the poems, which are sonnets: one composed the evening I received your letter; the other the next day; and the third the day following. I shall not transcribe them in the order in which they were written, but inversely.

"The last you will find was occasioned, I might say inspired, by your last letter, if there be any inspiration in it; the second records a feeling excited in me by the object it describes in the month of October last; and the first by a still earlier sensation, which the revolution of the year impressed me with last autumn."

(Then follow the three sonnets transcribed in the following order—

"While not a leaf seems faded; while the fields."

"How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright."

"High is our calling, Friend!—Creative Art.")

      *      *      *      *      *      *

"With high respect, I am, my dear sir, most faithfully yours.
"William Wordsworth."

(See the Autobiography of B. R. Haydon, vol. i. chap. xvi. p. 325.)

Haydon replied to Wordsworth, December 29 (see his Correspondence, vol. ii. pp. 20-23): "I must say that I have felt melancholy ever since receiving your sonnets, as if I was elevated so exceedingly, with such a drunken humming in my brain, that my nature took refuge in quiet humbleness and gratitude to God."

It will be observed that in his letter of December 21, Wordsworth mentions the order in which these three sonnets were composed in three consecutive days. In his subsequent arrangement of the sonnets he altered this order, assigning "While not a leaf seems faded" to "September," and "How clear, how keen," to "November 1" (another instance of the inaccuracy of his dates). The detailed statement in this letter to Haydon must be trusted, however, in preference to the "afterthought" of the editions of 1820 and 1827. It may not be superfluous to note the dates of the first publication of this trilogy of sonnets, all of which Wordsworth sent to The Examiner.

"How clear, how keen," etc.Jan. 28th.     }

"While not a leaf," etc. Feb. 11th.     } 1816.

"High is our calling," etc. March 31st.  }

Ed.

NOVEMBER 1

Composed October 1815.—Published January 28, 1816

[Suggested on the banks of the Brathay by the sight of Langdale Pikes. It is delightful to remember these moments of far-distant days, which probably would have been forgotten if the impression had not been transferred to verse. The same observation applies to the next.[AK]—I. F.]

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets." In the editions of 1816 and 1820 the title was November 1, 1815.—Ed.

How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright

The effluence from yon distant mountain's head,

Which, strewn with snow smooth as the sky can shed,[70]

Shines like another sun—on mortal sight

5

Uprisen, as if to check approaching Night,

And all her twinkling stars. Who now would tread,

If so he might, yon mountain's glittering head—

Terrestrial, but a surface, by the flight

Of sad mortality's earth-sullying wing,

10

Unswept, unstained? Nor shall the aërial Powers

Dissolve that beauty, destined to endure,

White, radiant, spotless, exquisitely pure,

Through all vicissitudes, till genial Spring

Has[71] filled the laughing vales with welcome flowers.

This sonnet originally appeared in The Examiner, January 28, 1816. It is rare indeed, if ever, that the Langdale Pikes retain the first snows of November till spring; although, as described in another poem, the cove on Helvellyn, in which Red Tarn lies—sheltered from the sun, and high up on the mountain—may

Keep till June December's snow.

See Fidelity (vol. iii. p. 44), and the note to the sonnet addressed to Haydon, p. 62 of this vol.—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[70] 1837.

1816.

.    .    . as smooth as Heaven can shed,

1832.

.    .    . smooth as the heaven can shed,

[71] 1838.

1816.

Have .    .    .

FOOTNOTES:

[AK] i.e. the sonnet entitled Composed during a Storm, which followed November 1 in the edition in which the Fenwick notes first appeared.

SEPTEMBER, 1815

Composed October 1815.—Published February 11, 1816

["For me, who under kindlier laws." This conclusion has more than once, to my great regret, excited painfully sad feelings in the hearts of young persons fond of poetry and poetic composition, by contrast of their feeble and declining health with that state of robust constitution which prompted me to rejoice in a season of frost and snow as more favourable to the Muses than summer itself.—I. F.]

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.

While not a leaf seems faded; while the fields,

With ripening harvest[72] prodigally fair,

In brightest sunshine bask; this nipping air,

Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields

5

His icy scimitar, a foretaste yields

Of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware;

And whispers to the silent birds, "Prepare

Against the threatening foe your trustiest shields."

For me, who under kindlier laws belong

10

To Nature's tuneful quire, this rustling dry

Through leaves yet green,[73] and yon crystalline sky,

Announce a season potent to renew,

'Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song,

And nobler cares than listless summer knew.

This sonnet was first published in The Examiner, February 11, 1816. See the note to the sonnet addressed to Haydon, p. 62.—Ed.

"THE FAIREST, BRIGHTEST, HUES OF
ETHER FADE"

Published 1815

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

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.

The fairest, brightest, hues of ether fade;

The sweetest notes must terminate and die;

O Friend! thy flute has breathed a harmony

Softly resounded through this rocky glade;

5

Such strains of rapture as[AL] the Genius played

In his still haunt on Bagdad's summit high;

He who stood visible to Mirza's eye,

Never before to human sight betrayed.

Lo, in the vale, the mists of evening spread!

10

The visionary Arches are not there,

Nor the green Islands, nor the shining Seas;

Yet sacred is to me this Mountain's head,

Whence I have risen, uplifted[74] on the breeze

Of harmony, above all earthly care.

The following reference to Mr. Tillbrook, referred to in the Fenwick note, is from the Diary, Correspondence, etc., of Henry Crabb Robinson, September 5, 1816:—"An evening was spent at Wordsworth's. Mr. Tillbrook, of Cambridge, formerly Thomas Clarkson's tutor, was there.... Mr. Walter sang some airs to Mr. Tillbrook's flute."—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[72] 1820.

1816.

With ripening harvests .    .    .

[73] 1827.

1816.

Through the green leaves, .    .    .

[74] 1837.

1815.

From which I have been lifted .    .    .

FOOTNOTE:

[AL] See the vision of Mirza in the Spectator.—W. W. 1815.

"WEAK IS THE WILL OF MAN, HIS JUDGMENT BLIND"

Published 1815

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.

"Weak is the will of Man, his judgment blind;

Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays;

Heavy is woe;—and joy, for human-kind,

A mournful thing, so transient is the blaze!"

5

Thus might he paint our lot of mortal days

Who wants the glorious faculty assigned

To elevate the more-than-reasoning Mind,

And colour life's dark cloud with orient rays.

Imagination is that sacred power,[AM]

10

Imagination lofty and refined:

'Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine flower

Of Faith, and round the Sufferer's temples bind

Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower,

And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.

FOOTNOTES:

[AM] Compare the distinction Wordsworth draws between Fancy and Imagination in his "Preface" to the Poems published in 1815, and his definition of the function of the Imagination in that essay.—Ed.

"HAIL, TWILIGHT, SOVEREIGN OF ONE
PEACEFUL HOUR"

Published 1815

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.

Hail, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour!

Not dull art Thou as undiscerning Night;

But studious only to remove from sight

Day's mutable distinctions.—Ancient Power!

5

Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains lower,

To the rude Briton, when, in wolf-skin vest

Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest

On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower

Looked ere his eyes were closed. By him was seen

10

The self-same Vision which we now behold,

At thy meek bidding, shadowy Power! brought forth;

These mighty barriers, and the gulf between;

The flood,[75] the stars,—a spectacle as old

As the beginning of the heavens and earth!

VARIANTS:

[75] 1837.

1815.

The floods,— .    .    .

"THE SHEPHERD, LOOKING EASTWARD,
SOFTLY SAID"

Published 1815

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.

The Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said,

"Bright is thy veil, O Moon, as thou art bright!"

Forthwith, that little cloud, in ether spread

And penetrated all with tender light,

5

She cast away, and showed her fulgent head

Uncovered; dazzling the Beholder's sight

As if to vindicate her beauty's right,

Her beauty thoughtlessly disparagèd.

Meanwhile that veil, removed or thrown aside,

10

Went floating from her, darkening as it went;

And a huge mass, to bury or to hide,

Approached this glory of the firmament;

Who meekly yields, and is obscured—content

With one calm triumph of a modest pride.

"EVEN AS A DRAGON'S EYE THAT FEELS THE STRESS"

Published 1815

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.

Even as a dragon's eye that feels the stress

Of a bedimming sleep, or as a lamp

Suddenly[76] glaring through sepulchral damp,

So burns yon Taper 'mid a[77] black recess

5

Of mountains, silent, dreary, motionless:

The lake below reflects it not; the sky

Muffled in clouds, affords no company

To mitigate and cheer its loneliness.

Yet, round the body of that joyless Thing

10

Which sends so far its melancholy light,

Perhaps are seated in domestic ring

A gay society with faces bright,

Conversing, reading, laughing;—or they sing,

While hearts and voices in the song unite.

The light of the "Taper" referred to shone from Allan Bank; the "black recess of mountains" described the heights of Silver Howe, and Easdale, round to Helm Crag; the "lake below," which "reflected it not" (because of the distance of Allan Bank from the side of the mere), was, of course, Grasmere. Wordsworth is looking at this "lamp suddenly glaring through sepulchral damp," however, from the eastern side of the lake, perhaps from the neighbourhood of "The Wishing Gate." I am indebted to the Rev. W. A. Harrison, Vicar of St. Anne's, Lambeth, for the following note to this sonnet:—

'In the Sonnet No. xxiv., 'Poems of the Imagination,' [i.e. 'Miscellaneous Sonnets'] these lines occur:—

Even as a dragon's eye that feels the stress

Of a bedimming sleep, or as a lamp

Suddenly glaring through sepulchral damp,

So burns yon Taper 'mid a black recess

Of mountains, silent, dreary, motionless:

etc. etc. etc.

"In line 3, all the later editions read 'Suddenly glaring.' But why 'suddenly'? There is nothing in the imagery of the poem which is at all suggestive of suddenness or unexpectedness in the appearance of the burning taper. The idea is alien from the spirit of the context. The dragon is drowsy and overborne with sleep. The taper is 'dreary' and 'motionless.' Everything is suggestive of 'sluggish stillness,' not of rapid, flashing movement.

"Yet I find the reading 'suddenly' in the one vol. ed. of 1828, which is said to be a reprint of the edition of 1827 in 5 vols.; in that of 1836-7; in that of 1840; and in all the later editions.

"In the edition of 1815, however, the reading given is one that is in strict keeping with the rest of the imagery, namely—

'Sullenly glaring.'

"Is it likely that 'sullenly' was deliberately altered by Wordsworth to 'suddenly,' or is 'suddenly' a misprint that has been perpetuated through successive editions?

"The sonnet in question is not dated, but it was probably written after 1807 and before 1815.

"Now, in a well-known and often-quoted passage in Wordsworth's letter in answer to Mathetes (Friend, vol. iii. 35, etc.), he speaks of the 'sullen light' which survives the extinguished flame of the candle that the schoolboy has blown out. 'It continues,' he says, 'to shine with an endurance which in its apparent weakness is a mystery; it protracts its existence so long ... that the observer who had lain down in his bed so easy-minded, becomes sad and melancholy,' etc. etc. etc.

"In the sonnet the same ideas occur, only the 'melancholy' is here predicated figuratively of the 'light' itself:—

the sky,

Muffled in clouds, affords no company

To mitigate and cheer its loneliness.

Yet, round the body of that joyless Thing

Which sends so far its melancholy light,

Perhaps are seated, etc. etc.

"This paper in The Friend was written in 1810; and it is possible that the sonnet was written at about the same time.—W. A. Harrison."—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[76] 1827.

1815.

Sullenly .    .    .

[77] 1827.

1815.

.    .    . 'mid its .    .    .

"MARK THE CONCENTRED HAZELS THAT ENCLOSE"

Published 1815

[Suggested in the wild hazel wood at the foot of Helm-crag, where the stone still lies, with others of like form and character, though much of the wood that veiled it from the glare of day has been felled. This beautiful ground was lately purchased by our friend Mrs. Fletcher; the ancient owners, most respected persons, being obliged to part with it in consequence of the imprudence of a son. It is gratifying to mention that, instead of murmuring and repining at this change of fortune, they offered their services to Mrs. Fletcher, the husband as an outdoor labourer, and the wife as a domestic servant. I have witnessed the pride and pleasure with which the man worked at improvements of the ground round the house. Indeed he expressed those feelings to me himself, and the countenance and manner of his wife always denoted feelings of the same character. I believe a similar disposition to contentment under change of fortune is common among the class to which these good people belong. Yet, in proof that to part with their patrimony is most painful to them, I may refer to those stanzas entitled Repentance, no inconsiderable part of which was taken verbatim from the language of the speaker herself.—I. F.]

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.

Mark the concentred hazels that enclose

Yon old grey Stone, protected from the ray

Of noontide suns:—and even the beams that play

And glance, while wantonly the rough wind blows,

5

Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows

Upon that roof, amid embowering gloom,

The very image framing of a Tomb,

In which some ancient Chieftain finds repose

Among the lonely mountains.—Live, ye trees!

10

And thou, grey Stone, the pensive likeness keep

Of a dark chamber where the Mighty sleep:

For more than Fancy to the influence bends

When solitary Nature condescends

To mimic Time's forlorn humanities.

This "old grey Stone" is a prominent feature in the Lancrigg Terrace-Walk. It is still moss-grown, and embowered by the hazel underwood. Not far from it, the path opens to the spot where the most of The Prelude was composed; first hummed aloud—as the poet walked to and fro along the terrace—and then dictated to his wife or sister. See Lady Richardson's account of this, in her article in Sharpe's London Magazine, in 1851, and in the Autobiography of Mrs. Fletcher (her mother), p. 244; also her contributions to the Memoirs of Wordsworth, vol. ii. p. 438, etc.—Ed.

"SURPRISED BY JOY—IMPATIENT AS THE WIND"

Published 1815

[This was in fact suggested by my daughter Catherine long after her death.[AN]—I. F.]

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.

Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind

I turned[78] to share the transport—Oh! with whom

But Thee, deep buried [79] in the silent tomb,

That spot which no vicissitude can find?

5

Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—

But how could I forget thee? Through what power,

Even for the least division of an hour,

Have I been so beguiled as to be blind

To my most grievous loss?—That thought's return

10

Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,

Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,

Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;

That neither present time, nor years unborn

Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

Compare the poem entitled Characteristics of a Child three years old (vol. iv. p. 252), written in 1811, and which referred, like this one, to the poet's daughter Catherine, who died the year after. Compare also The Excursion, book iii. ll. 636-649, and the sonnet beginning, "Desponding Father! mark this altered bough," 1835.—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[78] 1820.

1815.

I wished .    .    .

[79] 1820.

1815.

.    .    . long buried .    .    .

FOOTNOTES:

[AN] Wordsworth's daughter, Catherine, was born on the 6th September 1808, and died 4th June 1812.—Ed.

1816

Most of the poems belonging to 1816 were suggested by the stirring political events of that year on the Continent of Europe. Four odes, and a number of sonnets,—referring to the Fall of Napoleon, the French army in Russia, the battle of Waterloo, etc.,—a translation of part of Virgil's Æneid, and one or two smaller fragments, make up the series. Wordsworth had not been so much inspired by the political events of his time, since the years 1809 and 1810—when he wrote the Tyrolese Sonnets, and others, "Dedicated to Liberty," etc.—but, both before and during the year 1816, he spent some time in preparing his eldest son for the University. He read the Latin poets with him; and very probably it was this that led him to translate into English verse, the three first books of the Æneid, which he did at this time. Some fragments of his Translations will be found in the Appendix to vol. viii.—Ed.

ODE
The Morning of the Day appointed for a General Thanksgiving. January 18, 1816

Composed 1816.—Published 1816.

[The first stanza of this Ode was composed almost extempore, in front of Rydal Mount, before church-time, and on such a morning and precisely with such objects before my eyes as are here described. The view taken of Napoleon's character and proceedings is little in accordance with that taken by some historians and critical philosophers. I am glad and proud of the difference, and trust that this series of poems, infinitely below the subject as they are, will survive to counteract, in unsophisticated minds, the pernicious and degrading tendency of those views and doctrines that lead to the idolatry of power, as power, and, in that false splendour, to lose sight of its real nature and constitution as it often acts for the gratification of its possessor without reference to a beneficial end—an infirmity that has characterised men of all ages, classes, and employments, since Nimrod became a mighty hunter before the Lord.—I. F.]

"It is not to bespeak favour or indulgence, but to guard against misapprehension, that the author presumes to state that the present publication owes its existence to a patriotism, anxious to exert itself in commemorating that course of action, by which Great Britain has, for some time past, distinguished herself above all other countries.

"Wholly unworthy of touching upon so momentous a subject would that Poet be, before whose eyes the present distresses under which this kingdom labours, could interpose a veil sufficiently thick to hide, or even to obscure, the splendour of this great moral triumph. If the author has given way to exultation, unchecked by these distresses, it might be sufficient to protect him from a charge of insensibility, should he state his own belief that these sufferings will be transitory. On the wisdom of a very large majority of the British nation, rested that generosity which poured out the treasures of this country for the deliverance of Europe: and in the same national wisdom, presiding in time of peace over an energy not inferior to that which has been displayed in war, they confide, who encourage a firm hope, that the cup of our wealth will be gradually replenished. There will, doubtless, be no few ready to indulge in regrets and repinings; and to feed a morbid satisfaction, by aggravating these burthens in imagination, in order that calamity so confidently prophesied, as it has not taken the shape which their sagacity allotted to it, may appear as grievous as possible under another. But the body of the nation will not quarrel with the gain, because it might have been purchased at a less price: and acknowledging in these sufferings, which they feel to have been in a great degree unavoidable, a consecration of their noble efforts, they will vigorously apply themselves to remedy the evil.

"Nor is it at the expense of rational patriotism, or in disregard of sound philosophy, that the author hath given vent to feelings tending to encourage a martial spirit in the bosoms of his countrymen, at a time when there is a general outcry against the prevalence of these dispositions. The British army, both by its skill and valour in the field, and by the discipline which has rendered it much less formidable than the armies of other powers, to the inhabitants of the several countries where its operations were carried on, has performed services for humanity too important and too obvious to allow any one to recommend, that the language of gratitude and admiration be suppressed, or restrained (whatever be the temper of the public mind), through a scrupulous dread, lest the tribute due to the past, should prove an injurious incentive for the future. Every man, deserving the name of Briton, adds his voice to the chorus which extols the exploits of his countrymen, with a consciousness, at times overpowering the effort, that they transcend all praise. But this particular sentiment, thus irresistibly excited, is not sufficient. The nation would err grievously, if she suffered the abuse which other states have made of military power, to prevent her from perceiving that no people ever was, or can be, independent, free, or secure, much less great, in any sane application of the word, without martial propensities, and an assiduous cultivation of military virtues[AO]. Nor let it be overlooked, that the benefits derivable from these sources, are placed within the reach of Great Britain, under conditions peculiarly favourable. The same insular position which, by rendering territorial incorporation impossible, utterly precludes the desire of conquest under the most seductive shape it can assume, enables her to rely, for her defence against foreign foes, chiefly upon a species of armed force from which her own liberties have nothing to fear. Such are the blessed privileges of her situation; and, by permitting, they invite her to give way to the courageous instincts of human nature, and to strengthen and to refine them by culture.

"But some have more than insinuated, that a design exists to subvert the civil character of the English people by unconstitutional applications and unnecessary increase of military power. The advisers and abettors of such a design, were it possible that it should exist, would be guilty of the most heinous crime, which, upon this planet, can be committed. The author, trusting that this apprehension arises from the delusive influences of an honourable jealousy, hopes that the martial qualities, which he venerates, will be fostered by adhering to those good old usages which experience has sanctioned; and by availing ourselves of new means of indisputable promise; particularly by applying, in its utmost possible extent, that system of tuition, of which the master-spring is a habit of gradually enlightened subordination; by imparting knowledge, civil, moral, and religious, in such measure that the mind, among all classes of the community, may love, admire, and be prepared and accomplished to defend that country, under whose protection its faculties have been unfolded, and its riches acquired; by just dealing towards all orders of the state, so that no members of it being trampled upon, courage may everywhere continue to rest immoveably upon its ancient English foundation, personal self-respect; by adequate rewards, and permanent honours, conferred upon the deserving; by encouraging athletic exercises and manly sports among the peasantry of the country; and by especial care to provide and support sufficient institutions, in which, during a time of peace, a reasonable proportion of the youth of the country may be instructed in military science.

"Bent upon instant savings, a member of the House of Commons lately recommended that the Military College should be suppressed as an unnecessary expense; for, said he, 'our best officers have been formed in the field.' More unwise advice has rarely been given! Admirable officers, indeed, have been formed in the field, but at how deplorable an expense of the lives of their surrounding brethren in arms, a history of the military operations in Spain, and particularly of the sieges, composed with thorough knowledge, and published without reserve, would irresistibly demonstrate.[AP]

"The author has only to add that he should feel little satisfaction in giving to the world these limited attempts to celebrate the virtues of his country, if he did not encourage a hope that a subject, which it has fallen within his province to treat only in the mass, will by other poets be illustrated in that detail which its importance calls for, and which will allow opportunities to give the merited applause to persons as well as to things."W. Wordsworth.
"Rydal Mount, March 18, 1816."[AQ]

This Ode was originally published—along with the three that follow it, and some sonnets—in 1816, under the title, Thanksgiving Ode, January 18, 1816, with other short pieces, chiefly referring to recent public events, and with the prefatory announcement: "This Publication may be considered as a sequel to the Author's 'Sonnets dedicated to Liberty.'" To the whole there was prefixed an "Advertisement," beginning as at p. 75, "It is not," etc., and continuing to "W. Wordsworth," p. 77.—Ed.

I

Hail, orient Conqueror of gloomy Night![80]

Thou that canst shed the bliss of gratitude

On hearts howe'er insensible or rude;

Whether thy punctual[81] visitations smite

5

The haughty towers where monarchs dwell;

Or thou, impartial Sun, with presence bright

Cheer'st the low threshold of the peasant's cell!

Not unrejoiced I see thee climb the sky

In naked splendour, clear from mist or haze,

10

Or cloud approaching to divert the rays,

Which even in deepest winter testify

Thy power and majesty,

Dazzling the vision that presumes to gaze.

—Well does thine aspect usher in this Day;

15

As aptly suits therewith that modest pace

Submitted to the chains[82]

That bind thee to the path which God ordains

That thou shall trace,

Till, with the heavens and earth, thou pass away!

20

Nor less, the stillness of these frosty plains,

Their utter stillness, and the silent grace

Of yon ethereal summits white with snow,[AR]

(Whose tranquil pomp and spotless purity

Report of storms gone by

25

To us who tread below)

Do with the service of this Day accord.

—Divinest Object which the uplifted eye

Of mortal man is suffered to behold;

Thou, who upon those[83] snow-clad Heights hast poured

30

Meek lustre,[84] nor forget'st the humble Vale;

Thou who dost warm Earth's universal mould,

And for thy bounty wert not unadored

By pious men of old;

Once more, heart-cheering Sun, I bid thee hail!

Bright be thy course to-day, let not this promise fail!

II

36

'Mid the deep quiet of this morning hour,

All nature seems to hear me while I speak,

By feelings urged that do not vainly seek

Apt language, ready as the tuneful notes

40

That stream in blithe succession from the throats

Of birds, in leafy bower,

Warbling a farewell to a vernal shower.

—There is a radiant though[85] a short-lived flame,

That burns for Poets in the dawning east;

45

And oft my soul hath kindled at the same,

When the captivity of sleep had ceased;

But He who fixed immoveably the frame

Of the round world, and built, by laws as strong,

A solid refuge for distress—

50

The towers of righteousness;

He knows that from a holier altar came

The quickening spark of this day's sacrifice;

Knows that the source is nobler whence doth rise

The current of this matin song;

55

That deeper far it lies

Than aught dependent on the fickle skies.

III

Have we not conquered?—by the vengeful sword?

Ah no, by dint of Magnanimity;

That curbed the baser passions, and left free

60

A loyal band to follow their liege Lord,

Clear-sighted Honour, and his staid Compeers,

Along a track of most unnatural years;[AS]

In execution of heroic deeds

Whose memory, spotless as the crystal beads

65

Of morning dew upon the untrodden meads,

Shall live enrolled above the starry spheres.

He, who in concert with an earthly string[86]

Of Britain's acts would sing,

He with enraptured voice will tell

70

Of One whose spirit no reverse could quell;

Of One that 'mid the failing never failed[AT]—

Who paints how Britain struggled and prevailed

Shall represent her labouring with an eye

Of circumspect humanity;

75

Shall show her clothed with strength and skill,

All martial duties to fulfil;

Firm as a rock in stationary fight;

In motion rapid as the lightning's gleam;

Fierce as a flood-gate bursting at mid night[87]

80

To rouse the wicked from their giddy dream—

Woe, woe to all that face her in the field!

Appalled she may not be, and cannot yield.

IV

And thus is missed[88] the sole true glory

That can belong to human story!

85

At which they[89] only shall arrive

Who through the abyss of weakness dive.

The very humblest are too proud of heart;

And one brief day is rightly set apart

For Him[90] who lifteth up and layeth low;

90

For that Almighty God to whom we owe,

Say not that we have vanquished—but that we survive.

V

How dreadful the dominion of the impure!

Why should the Song be tardy to proclaim

That less than power unbounded[91] could not tame

95

That soul of Evil—which, from hell let loose,

Had filled the astonished world with such abuse

As boundless patience only could endure?

—Wide-wasted regions—cities wrapt in flame—

Who sees,[92] may lift a streaming eye

To Heaven;—who never saw, may heave a sigh;

101

But the foundation of our nature shakes,

And with an infinite pain the spirit aches,

When desolated countries, towns on fire,

Are but the avowed attire

105

Of warfare waged with desperate mind

Against the life of virtue in mankind;[AU]

Assaulting without ruth

The citadels of truth;

While the fair gardens of civility,

110

By ignorance defaced,

By violence laid waste,

Perish without reprieve for flower or tree![93]

VI

A crouching purpose—a distracted will—

Opposed to hopes that battened upon scorn,

115

And to desires whose ever-waxing horn

Not all the light of earthly power could fill;

Opposed to dark, deep plots of patient skill,

And to[94] celerities of lawless force;

Which, spurning God, had flung away remorse—

120

What could they gain but shadows of redress?

—So bad proceeded propagating worse;

And discipline was passion's dire excess.[AV]

Widens the fatal web, its lines extend,

And deadlier poisons in the chalice blend.

125

When will your trials teach you to be wise?

—O prostrate Lands, consult your agonies!

VII

No more—the guilt is banish'd,

And, with the guilt, the shame is fled;

And, with the guilt and shame, the Woe hath vanish'd,

130

Shaking the dust and ashes from her head!

—No more—these lingerings of distress

Sully the limpid stream of thankfulness.

What robe can Gratitude employ

So seemly as the radiant vest of Joy?

135

What steps so suitable as those that move

In prompt obedience to spontaneous measures

Of glory, and felicity, and love,

Surrendering the whole heart to sacred pleasures?

VIII

O Britain! dearer far than life is dear,[AW]

140

If one there be

Of all thy progeny[95]

Who can forget thy prowess, never more

Be that[96] ungrateful Son allowed to hear

Thy green leaves rustle or thy torrents roar.

145

As springs the lion from his den,

As from a forest-brake

Upstarts a glistering snake,

The bold Arch-despot re-appeared;[97][AX]—again

Wide Europe heaves, impatient to be cast,

150

With all her armèd Powers,

On that offensive soil, like waves upon a thousand shores.[98]

The trumpet blew a universal blast![AY]

But Thou art foremost in the field:[AZ]—there stand:

Receive the triumph destined to thy hand!

155

All States have glorified themselves;—their claims

Are weighed by Providence, in balance even;

And now, in preference to the mightiest names,

To Thee the exterminating sword[99] is given.

Dread mark of approbation, justly gained!

160

Exalted office, worthily sustained!

IX

Preserve, O Lord! within our hearts

The memory of thy favour,

That else insensibly departs,

And loses its sweet savour!

165

Lodge it within us!—as the power of light

Lives inexhaustibly in precious gems,

Fixed on the front of Eastern diadems,

So shine our thankfulness for ever bright!

What offering, what transcendent monument

170

Shall our sincerity to Thee present?

—Not work of hands; but trophies that may reach

To highest Heaven—the labour of the Soul;

That builds, as thy unerring precepts teach,

Upon the internal conquests made by each,[100]

175

Her hope of lasting glory for the whole.

Yet will not heaven disown nor earth gainsay[101]

The outward service of this day;

Whether the worshippers entreat

Forgiveness from God's mercy-seat;

180

Or thanks and praises to His throne ascend

That He has[102] brought our warfare to an end,

And that we need no second[103] victory!—[BA]

Ha! what a ghastly sight for man to see;

And to the heavenly saints in peace who dwell,

185

For a brief moment, terrible;

But, to thy sovereign penetration, fair,

Before whom all things are, that were,

All judgments that have been, or e'er shall be;

Links in the chain of thy tranquillity!

190

Along the bosom of this favoured Nation,

Breathe Thou, this day, a vital undulation!

Let all who do this land inherit

Be conscious of thy moving spirit!

Oh, 'tis a goodly Ordinance,—the sight,

195

Though sprung from bleeding war, is one of pure delight;

Bless Thou the hour, or ere the hour arrive,

When a whole people shall kneel down in prayer,

And, at one moment, in one rapture,[104] strive

With lip and heart to tell their gratitude

200

For thy protecting care,

Their solemn joy—praising the Eternal Lord

For tyranny subdued,

And for the sway of equity renewed,

204

For liberty confirmed, and peace restored!

X

But hark—the summons!—down the placid lake

Floats the soft cadence of the church-tower bells;[BB]

Bright shines the Sun, as if his beams would wake[105]

The tender insects sleeping in their cells;

Bright shines the Sun—and not a breeze to shake

210

The drops that tip[106] the melting icicles.

O, enter now his temple gate!

Inviting words—perchance already flung

(As the crowd press devoutly down the aisle

Of some old Minster's venerable pile)

215

From voices into zealous passion stung,

While the tubed engine feels the inspiring blast,

And has begun—its clouds of sound to cast

Forth towards[107] empyreal Heaven,

As if the fretted roof were riven.

220

Us, humbler ceremonies now await;

But in the bosom, with devout respect

The banner of our joy we will erect,

And strength of love our souls shall elevate:

For to a few collected in his name,

225

Their heavenly Father will incline an ear

Gracious to service hallowed by its aim;—[108]

Awake! the majesty of God revere!

Go—and with foreheads meekly bowed

Present your prayers—go—and rejoice aloud—

230

The Holy One will hear!

And what, 'mid silence deep, with faith sincere,

Ye, in your low and undisturbed estate,

Shall simply feel and purely meditate—

Of warnings—from the unprecedented might,

235

Which, in our time, the impious have disclosed;

And of more arduous duties thence imposed

Upon the future advocates of right;

Of mysteries revealed,

And judgments unrepealed,

240

Of earthly revolution,

And final retribution,—

To his omniscience will appear

An offering not unworthy to find place,

On this high Day of Thanks, before the Throne of Grace!

Replying to some criticism on this Ode by Southey, Wordsworth wrote to his friend as follows:—"I am much of your mind in respect to my Ode. Had it been a hymn, uttering the sentiments of a multitude, a stanza would have been indispensable. But though I have called it a 'Thanksgiving Ode,' strictly speaking it is not so, but a poem, composed, or supposed to be composed, on the morning of the thanksgiving, uttering the sentiments of an individual upon that occasion. It is a dramatised ejaculation; and this, if anything can, must excuse the irregular frame of the metre. In respect to a stanza for a grand subject designed to be treated comprehensively, there are great objections. If the stanza be short, it will scarcely allow of fervour and importunity, unless so short, as that the sense is run perpetually from one stanza to another, as in Horace's Alcaics; and if it be long, it will be as apt to generate diffuseness as to check it. Of this we have innumerable instances in Spenser and the Italian poets. The sense required cannot be included in one given stanza, so that another whole stanza is added, not infrequently, for the sake of matter which would naturally include itself in a very few lines.

"If Gray's plan be adopted, there is not time to become acquainted with the arrangement, and to recognise with pleasure the recurrence of the movement.

"Be so good as let me know where you found most difficulty in following me. The passage which I most suspect of being misunderstood is

And thus is missed the sole true glory;

and the passage where I doubt most about the reasonableness of expecting that the reader should follow me in the luxuriance of the imagery and the language, is the one that describes, under so many metaphors, the spreading of the news of the Waterloo victory over the globe."

The last reference in this letter is to the lines in that part of the Ode, which follows—

Joyful annunciation!—it went forth—

It pierced the caverns of the sluggish North, etc."

Ed.

VARIANTS:

[80] 1837.

1816.

Hail, universal Source of pure delight!

[81] 1837.

1816.

Whether thy orient .    .    .

[82] 1837.

.    .    .  that timid pace,

1816.

Framed in subjection to the chains

.    .    .  that timid pace

1827.

Submitted to the chains

[83] 1850.

1816.

.    .    .   yon .    .    .

[84] 1837.

1816.

.    .    .   splendour, .    .    .

[85] 1837.

1816.

.    .    .   but .    .    .

[86] 1837.

1816.

—Who to the murmurs of an earthly string

[87] 1837.

1816.

.    .    .   in the night

[88] "Missed" italicised in 1837 and subsequent editions.

[89] "They" italicised in the editions from 1816 to 1832.

[90] 1837.

1816.

To Him.    .    .

[91] 1816.

c.

.    .    . power eternal .    .    .

[92] 1837.

1816.

Who sees, and feels,.    .    .

[93] 1837.

While the old forest of civility

1816.

Is doomed to perish, to the last fair tree.

While the whole forest of civility

1827.

Is doomed to perish, to the last fair tree!

c.

Perish without reprieve for herb, or flower, or tree.

[94] 1827.

1816.

And the.    .    .

[95] 1816.

c.

From shore to shore

[96] 1845.

Land of our fathers! precious unto me

Since the first joys of thinking infancy;

When of thy gallant chivalry I read,

And hugged the volume on my sleepless bed!

O England!—dearer far than life is dear,

If I forget thy prowess, never more

1816.

Be thy .    .    .

Land of our fathers! loved by me

Since the first joys of thinking infancy;

Loved with a passion since I caught thy praise

A Listener, at or on some patient knee,

With an ear fastened to rude ballad lays—

Or of thy gallant chivalry I read,

And hugged the volume on a sleepless bed!

1837.

O England!—dearer far, etc.

[97] 1816

c.

.    .    . reappears .    .    .

[98] 1845.

.    .    .    .    .    .     .     torrents roar!

But how can He be faithless to the past,

Whose soul, intolerant of base decline,

Saw in thy virtue a celestial sign,

That bade him hope, and to his hope cleave fast!

The nations strove with puissance;—at length

Wide Europe heaved, impatient to be cast,

With all her living strength,

With all her armed powers,

1816.

Upon the offensive shores.

[99] The words "exterminating sword" were italicised in 1816 only. In Lord Coleridge's copy the MS. reading "vindicating sword" is given.

[100] 1845.

1816.

Upon the inward victories of each,

[101] 1816.

c.

Yet no one shall gainsay

[102] 1820.

1816.

That Thou hast .    .    .

[103] 1820.

1816.

.    .    . further .    .    .

[104] 1827.

1816.

.    .    . spirit, .    .    .

[105] 1837.

1816.

.    .    . might wake

[106] 1827.

1816.

.    .    . point .    .    .

[107] 1837.

1816.

Towards the .    .    .

[108] 1827.

.    .    .   incline his ear,

1816.

Hallowing himself the service which they frame;—

FOOTNOTES:

[AO] "Without a cultivation of military virtues."—W. W. 1845.

[AP] In all editions subsequent to that of 1816, this paragraph was omitted.—Ed.

[AQ] This "Advertisement" was prefixed to the poem, in all editions from 1816 to 1843. In 1845, when part of the Ode, beginning

Imagination—ne'er before content

was detached from the rest, and turned into a separate Ode, with the date 1815 appended, the "Advertisement" was thrown into a "note" at the end of the volume, and it retained this place in subsequent editions. In Lord Coleridge's copy of the edition of 1836-37—before the stanzas which were afterwards separated to form the second Ode—"Waterloo" is written.—Ed.

[AR] The heights of Wansfell and Loughrigg.—Ed.

[AS] The whole period of the Peninsular and Continental wars with Napoleon.—Ed.

[AT] Wellington.—Ed.

[AU] The outcome of Napoleonic ambition.—Ed.

[AV] "A discipline the rule whereof is passion" (Lord Brooke).—W. W. 1816.

[AW] Compare the lines beginning

O dearer far than light and life are dear,

addressed to Mrs. Wordsworth in 1824.—Ed.

[AX] Napoleon escaped from Elba in February 1815.—Ed.

[AY] The Allied Sovereigns declared against Napoleon, March 1815.—Ed.

[AZ] Wellington took the command in April 1815.—Ed.

[BA] Napoleon's power being finally broken at Waterloo.—Ed.

[BB] From Grasmere Church, over Rydal Mere.—Ed.

ODE

Composed 1816.—Published 1816

The first and the fourth stanzas of this Ode formed stanzas ix. and xii. of the Thanksgiving Ode from 1816 to 1842. In 1845 it was printed as number XLV. of the "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.

I

Imagination—ne'er before content,

But aye ascending, restless in her pride

From all that martial feats could yield

To her desires, or to her hopes present—

5

Stooped to the Victory, on that Belgic field

Achieved, this closing deed magnificent,[109]

And with the embrace was satisfied.[110]

—Fly, ministers of Fame,

With every help that ye from earth and heaven may claim![111]

10

Bear through the world these tidings of delight!

—Hours, Days, and Months, have borne them in the sight

Of mortals, hurrying like a sudden shower[112]

That land-ward stretches from the sea,

The morning's splendours to devour;

15

But this swift travel scorns the company

Of irksome change, or threats from saddening power.[113]

—The shock is given—the Adversaries bleed—

Lo, Justice triumphs! Earth is freed!

Joyful annunciation!—it went forth—[114]

20

It pierced the caverns of the sluggish North—[BC]

It found no barrier on the ridge

Of Andes—frozen gulphs became its bridge—

The vast Pacific gladdens with the freight—

Upon the Lakes of Asia 'tis bestowed—

25

The Arabian desert shapes a willing road

Across her burning breast,

For this refreshing incense from the West!—[BD]

—Where snakes and lions breed,

Where towns and cities thick as stars appear,

30

Wherever fruits are gathered, and where'er

The upturned soil receives the hopeful seed—

While the Sun rules, and cross the shades of night—

The unwearied arrow hath pursued its flight!

The eyes of good men thankfully give heed,

35

And in its sparkling progress read

Of virtue crowned with glory's deathless meed:[115]

Tyrants exult to hear of kingdoms won,

And slaves are pleased to learn that mighty feats are done;

Even the proud Realm, from whose distracted borders

40

This messenger of good was launched in air,

France, humbled[116] France, amid her wild disorders,

Feels, and hereafter shall the truth declare,

That she too lacks not reason to rejoice,

And utter England's name with sadly-plausive voice.

II

45

O genuine glory, pure renown!

And well might it beseem that mighty Town[BE]

Into whose bosom earth's best treasures flow,[117]

To whom all persecuted men retreat;

If a new Temple lift her[118] votive brow

50

High on[119] the shore of silver Thames—to greet

The peaceful guest advancing from afar.

Bright be the Fabric,[120] as a star

Fresh risen, and beautiful within!—there meet

Dependence infinite, proportion just;

55

A Pile that Grace approves, and Time can trust

With his most sacred wealth, heroic dust.[121]

III

But if the valiant of this land

In reverential modesty demand,

That all observance, due to them, be paid

60

Where their serene progenitors are laid;

Kings, warriors, high-souled poets, saint-like sages,

England's illustrious sons of long, long ages;

Be it not unordained that solemn rites,

Within the circuit of those Gothic walls,[BF]

65

Shall be performed at pregnant intervals;

Commemoration holy that unites

The living generations with the dead;

By the deep soul-moving sense

Of religious eloquence,—

70

By visual pomp, and by the tie

Of sweet and threatening harmony;

Soft notes, awful as the omen

Of destructive tempests coming,

And escaping from that sadness

75

Into elevated gladness;

While the white-rob'd choir attendant,

Under mouldering banners pendant,

Provoke all potent symphonies to raise

Songs of victory and praise,

80

For them who bravely stood unhurt, or bled

With medicable wounds, or found their graves

Upon the battle field, or under ocean's waves;

Or were conducted home in single state,

And long procession—there to lie,

85

Where their sons' sons, and all posterity,

Unheard by them, their deeds shall celebrate!

IV

Nor will the God of peace and love

Such martial service disapprove.

He guides the Pestilence—the cloud

90

Of locusts travels on his breath;

The region that in hope was ploughed

His drought consumes, his mildew taints with death;

He springs the hushed Volcano's mine,

He puts the Earthquake on her still design,[BG]

95

Darkens the sun, hath bade the forest sink,

And, drinking towns and cities, still can drink

Cities and towns—'tis Thou—the work is Thine!—

The fierce Tornado sleeps within thy courts—

He hears the word—he flies—

100

And navies perish in their ports;

For Thou art angry with thine enemies!

For these, and mourning for our errors,[122]

And sins, that point their terrors,

We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud

105

And magnify thy name, Almighty God!

But Man is thy most awful instrument,

In working out a pure intent;[123]

Thou cloth'st the wicked in their dazzling mail,

And for thy righteous purpose[124] they prevail;

110

Thine arm from peril guards the coasts

Of them who in thy laws delight:

Thy presence turns the scale of doubtful fight,

Tremendous God of battles, Lord of Hosts![BH]

V

Forbear:—to Thee—

115

Father and Judge of all, with fervent tongue

But in a gentler strain[125]

Of contemplation, by no sense of wrong

(Too quick and keen) incited to disdain

Of pity pleading from the heart in vain—[126]

120

To Thee—To Thee

Just God of christianised Humanity

Shall praises be poured forth, and thanks ascend,[127]

That thou hast brought our warfare to an end,

And that we need no second[128] victory!

125

Blest, above measure blest,

If on thy love our Land her hopes shall rest,

And all the Nations labour to fulfil

Thy law, and live henceforth in peace, in pure good will.[129]

In an early MS. copy of this Ode, it concludes thus, after the line "And that we need no further victory!"

Ha! what a ghastly sight for man to see;

And to the heavenly saints in peace who dwell,

For a brief moment, terrible;

But to thy sovereign penetration fair,

Before whom all things are that were,

All judgments that have been, or e'er shall be,

Links in the chain of thy tranquillity!

Along the bosom of this favoured nation,

Breathe thou, this day, a vital undulation!

Let all who do this land inherit

Be conscious of Thy moving spirit!

Oh, 'tis a goodly Ordinance,—the sight,

Though sprung from bleeding war, is one of pure delight;

Bless thou the hour, or ere the hour arrive,

When a whole people shall kneel down in prayer,

And, at one moment, in one spirit, strive

With lip and heart to tell their gratitude

For thy protecting care,

Their solemn joy—praising the Eternal Lord

For tyranny subdued,

And for the sway of equity renewed,

For liberty confirmed, and peace restored!

VARIANTS:

[109] 1845.

From all that man's performance could present,

1816.

Stoops to that closing deed magnificent,

[110] 1845.

1816.

.    .    . is satisfied.

[111] 1845.

1816.

Whate'er your means, whatever help ye claim,

[112] 1837.

1816.

.    .    . travelling faster than the shower,

[113] 1845.

.    .    . to devour;

But this appearance scattered extacy,—

1816.

And heart-sick Europe blessed the healing power.

.    .    . to devour,

In summer's loveliest hour;

But this assurance travelled fraught with glee,

1837.

And heart-sick Europe blessed its healing power.

.    .    . to devour,

But this assurance travelled fraught with glee,

1841.

And heart-sick Europe blessed its healing power.

[114] 1837.

1816.

Such glad assurance suddenly went forth—

[115] 1837.

1816.

How virtue triumphs, from her bondage freed!

[116] 1845.

1816.

.    .    . conquered .    .    .

[117] 1845.

—Yet might it well become that City now,

1816.

Into whose breast the tides of grandeur flow,

[118] 1820.

1816.

.    .    . its .    .    .

[119] 1837.

1819.

Upon .    .    .

[120] 1850.

1816.

Bright be the distant fabric, .    .    .

1845.

Bright be the peaceful Fabric, .    .    .

[121] 1827.

1816.

.    .    . and time can trust.

The next line was omitted in 1816.

[122] 1845.

1816.

.    .    . and for our errors,

[123] 1845.

But thy most dreaded instrument,

In working out a pure intent,

Is Man—arrayed for mutual slaughter,—

1816.

Yea, Carnage is thy daughter!

1837.

But thy most awful instrument

[124] 1837.

1816.

And by thy just permission .    .    .

[125] 1845.

.    .    .   to Thee—

1837.

With fervent thoughts, but in a gentler strain

[126] The above six lines were added in 1837.

[127] 1845.

.    .    .   to Thee—

1816.

On this appointed Day shall thanks ascend,

.    .    .   Humanity,

1837.

On this appointed day shall thanks ascend,

[128] 1845.

1816.

.    .    .   further .    .    .  

[129] The last four lines were added in 1845, but another version of the last two lines was written by Wordsworth in MS. on his edition of 1837—

And all the nations labouring to fulfil

Thy law shall live henceforth in peace and brotherly goodwill.

FOOTNOTES:

[BC] Compare this description of the news of Waterloo spreading over the nations with the effect of the lady's laugh in To Joanna. See "Poems on the Naming of Places" (vol. ii. p. 159).—Ed.

[BD] See note A on preceding page.—Ed.

[BE] London.—Ed.

[BF] In Westminster Abbey.—Ed.

[BG] Compare the Psalter, civ. 32.—Ed.

[BH] Compare the Psalter, passim, e.g. xlvi., lxvi., cvi., and Shakespeare, Henry V. act IV. scene i.: "If these men have defeated the law and outrun native punishment, though they can outstrip men, they have no wings to fly from God: war is his beadle, war is his vengeance."—Ed.

INVOCATION TO THE EARTH[BI]

FEBRUARY, 1816

Composed 1816.—Published 1816

[Composed immediately after the Thanksgiving Ode, to which it may be considered as a second part.—I. F.]

One of the "Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces."—Ed.

I

"Rest, rest, perturbèd Earth![BJ]

O rest, thou doleful Mother of Mankind!"

A Spirit sang in tones more plaintive than the wind:

"From regions where no evil thing has birth

5

I come—thy stains to wash away,

Thy cherished fetters to unbind,

And open[130] thy sad eyes upon a milder day.

The Heavens are thronged with martyrs that have risen

From out thy noisome prison;

10

The penal caverns groan

With tens of thousands rent from off the tree

Of hopeful life,[BK]—by battle's whirlwind blown

Into the deserts of Eternity.

Unpitied havoc! Victims unlamented!

15

But not on high, where madness is resented,

And murder causes some sad tears to flow,

Though, from the widely-sweeping blow,

The choirs of Angels spread, triumphantly augmented.

II

"False Parent of Mankind!

20

Obdurate, proud, and blind,

I sprinkle thee with soft celestial dews,

Thy lost, maternal heart to re-infuse!

Scattering this far-fetched moisture from my wings,

Upon the act a blessing I implore,

25

Of which the rivers in their secret springs,

The rivers stained so oft with human gore,

Are conscious;—may the like return no more!

May Discord—for a Seraph's care

Shall be attended with a bolder prayer—

30

May she, who once disturbed the seats of bliss

These mortal spheres above,

Be chained for ever to the black abyss!

And thou, O rescued Earth, by peace and love,

And merciful desires, thy sanctity approve!"

35

The Spirit ended his mysterious rite,

And the pure vision closed in darkness infinite."

VARIANTS:

[130] 1837.

1816.

To open .    .    .

FOOTNOTES:

[BI] The title which this Invocation to the Earth bore when first published in the Thanksgiving Ode, with other short pieces chiefly referring to recent public events, in 1816, was "Elegiac Verses, February 1816."—Ed.

[BJ] Compare Hamlet, act I. scene V., l. 183—

Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! Ed.

[BK] "The loss of human life, on the French side alone, in the wars consequent on the Revolution, was estimated (in 1815) to have been 4,556,000." (Blair's Chronological Tables, p. 724.)—Ed.

ODE[BL]

Composed January 1816.—Published 1816

Carmina possumus

Donare, et pretium dicere muneri.

Non incisa notis marmora publicis,

Per quæ spiritus et vita redit bonis

Post mortem ducibus

clarius indicant

Laudes, quam——Pierides; neque,

Si chartæ sileant quod bene feceris,

Mercedem tuleris. Hor. Car. 8, lib. 4.[BM]

This was one of the "Poems of the Imagination," in 1820. In 1827 it was placed among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty."—Ed.

I

When the soft hand of sleep had closed the latch

On the tired household of corporeal sense,

And Fancy, keeping unreluctant watch,

Was free her choicest favours to dispense;[131]

5

I saw, in wondrous pérspective displayed,

A landscape more august than happiest skill[132]

Of pencil ever clothed with light and shade;

An intermingled pomp of vale and hill,

City, and naval stream, suburban grove,[133]

10

And stately forest where the wild deer rove;

Nor wanted lurking hamlet, dusky towns,

And scattered rural farms of aspect bright;

And, here and there, between the pastoral downs,

The azure sea upswelled upon the sight.

15

Fair prospect, such as Britain only shows!

But not a living creature could be seen

Through its wide circuit, that, in deep repose,

And, even to sadness, lonely and serene,

Lay hushed; till—through a portal in the sky

20

Brighter than brightest loop-hole, in a storm,

Opening before the sun's triumphant eye—

Issued, to sudden view, a glorious Form![134]

Earthward it glided with a swift descent:

Saint George himself this Visitant must be;[135]

25

And, ere a thought could ask on what intent

He sought the regions of humanity,

A thrilling voice was heard, that vivified

City and field and flood;—aloud it cried—

"Though from my celestial home,

30

Like a Champion, armed I come;

On my helm the dragon crest,

And the red cross on my breast;

I, the Guardian of this Land,[136]

Speak not now of toilsome duty;

35

Well obeyed was that command—

Whence bright days of festive beauty;[137]

Haste, Virgins, haste!—the flowers which summer gave

Have perished in the field;

But the green thickets plenteously shall yield[138]

40

Fit garlands for the brave,

That will be welcome, if by you entwined;

Haste, Virgins, haste; and you, ye Matrons grave,

Go forth with rival youthfulness of mind,

And gather what ye find

45

Of hardy laurel and wild holly boughs—

To deck your stern Defenders' modest brows!

Such simple gifts prepare,

Though they have gained a worthier meed;

And in due time shall share

50

Those palms and amaranthine wreaths

Unto their martyred Countrymen decreed,

In realms where everlasting freshness breathes!"

II

And lo! with crimson banners proudly streaming,

And upright weapons innocently gleaming,

55

Along the surface of a spacious plain

Advance in order the redoubted Bands,

And there receive green chaplets from the hands

Of a fair female train—

Maids and Matrons, dight

60

In robes of dazzling white;[139]

While from the crowd bursts[140] forth a rapturous noise

By the cloud-capt hills retorted;

And a throng of rosy boys

In loose fashion tell their joys;[141]

65

And grey-haired sires, on staffs supported,

Look[142] round, and by their smiling seem[143] to say,

Thus strives a grateful Country to display

The mighty debt which nothing can repay!

III

Anon before my sight a palace rose

70

Built of all precious substances,—so pure

And exquisite, that sleep alone bestows

Ability like splendour to endure:

Entered, with streaming thousands, through the gate,

I saw the banquet spread beneath a Dome of state,

75

A lofty Dome, that dared to emulate

The heaven of sable night

With starry lustre; yet had power to throw

Solemn effulgence, clear as solar light,

Upon a princely company below,

80

While the vault rang with choral harmony,

Like some Nymph-haunted grot beneath the roaring sea,

—No sooner ceased that peal, than on the verge

Of exultation hung a dirge[144]

Breathed from a soft and lonely instrument,

85

That kindled recollections

Of agonised affections;[BN]

And, though some tears the strain attended,

The mournful passion ended

In peace of spirit, and sublime content!

IV

90

But garlands wither; festal shows depart,

Like dreams themselves; and sweetest sound—

(Albeit of effect profound)

It was—and it is gone!

Victorious England! bid the silent Art

95

Reflect, in glowing hues that shall not fade,

Those[145] high achievements;[BO] even as she arrayed

With second life the deed of Marathon

Upon Athenian walls;[BP]

So may she labour for thy civic halls:

100

And be the guardian spaces

Of consecrated places,

As nobly graced by Sculpture's patient toil;

And let imperishable Columns rise[146]

Fixed in the depths of this courageous soil;[BQ]

105

Expressive signals[147] of a glorious strife,

And competent to shed a spark divine

Into the torpid breast of daily life;—

Records on which, for pleasure of all eyes,

The morning sun may shine[148]

110

With gratulation thoroughly benign![BR]

V

And ye, Pierian Sisters,[BS] sprung from Jove

And sage Mnemosyne,—full long debarred[149]

From your first mansions, exiled all too long[150]

From many a hallowed stream and grove,[151]

115

Dear native regions[BT] where ye wont to rove,

Chanting for patriot heroes the reward

Of never-dying song!

Now (for, though Truth descending from above

The Olympian summit hath destroyed for aye

120

Your kindred Deities, Ye live and move,[BU]

Spared for obeisance from perpetual love

For privilege redeemed of god-like sway)

Now,[152] on the margin of some spotless fountain,

Or top serene of unmolested mountain,

125

Strike audibly the noblest of your lyres,

And for a moment meet the soul's desires![153]

That I, or some more favoured Bard, may hear

What ye, celestial Maids! have often sung

Of Britain's acts,—may catch it with rapt ear,

130

And give the treasure to our British tongue!

So shall the characters of that proud page

Support their mighty theme from age to age;

And, in the desert places of the earth,

When they to future empires have given birth,

135

So shall the people gather and believe

The bold report, transferred to every clime;

And the whole world, not envious but admiring,

And to the like aspiring,

Own—that the progeny of this fair Isle

140

Had power as lofty actions to achieve

As were performed in man's heroic prime;

Nor wanted, when their fortitude had held

Its even tenor, and the foe was quelled,

A corresponding virtue to beguile

145

The hostile purpose of wide-wasting Time—

That not in vain they laboured to secure,

For their great deeds, perpetual memory,

And fame as largely spread as land and sea,

By Works of spirit high and passion pure!

VARIANTS:

[131] 1827.

And Fancy in her airy bower kept watch,

Free to exert some kindly influence;

I saw—but little boots it that my verse

A shadowy visitation should rehearse,

For to our Shores such glory hath been brought,

1816.

That dreams no brighter are than waking thought—

1820.

Free to exert her kindliest influence;

[132] 1827.

1816.

A landscape richer than the happiest skill

[133] 1827.

1816.

Tower, town, and city—and suburban grove,

[134] 1832.

    .    .    . wild deer rove;

And, in a clouded quarter of the sky,

Through such a portal as with chearful eye

The traveller greets in time of threatened storm,

1816.

Issued, to sudden view, a radiant Form!

Nor wanted lurking hamlet, dusky towns,

And scattered rural farms of aspect bright,

And, here and there, between the pastoral downs,

The azure sea upswelled upon the sight.

Fair prospect, such as Britain only shows!

But not a living creature could be seen

Through its wide circuit, hushed in deep repose,

Yea, even to sadness, quiet and serene!

Amid this solitude of earth and sky,

Through portal clear as loop-hole in a storm

Opening before the sun's triumphant eye,

1827.

Issued, to sudden view, a radiant form!

[135] 1845

1816.

  .    .    .           may be;

[136] 1827

A thrilling voice was heard, that vivified

My patriotic heart;—aloud it cried,

1816.

"I, the Guardian of this Land,

[137] 1837.

1816.

"Days are come of festive beauty;

1827.

Hence bright days of festive beauty;

[138] 1820.

1816.

  .    .    .   .    .    .     will yield

[139] 1827.

1816.

  .    .    .       of purest white,—

[140] 1827.

1816.

  .    .    . burst   .    .    .

[141] 1827.

1816.

  .    .    .     told their joys,—

[142] 1827.

1816.

Looked   .    .    .  

[143] 1827.

1816.

  .    .    .   seemed   .    .    .  

[144] 1837.

Anon, I saw, beneath a dome of state,

The feast dealt forth with bounty unconfined;

And while the vaulted roof did emulate

The starry heavens through splendour of the show,

It rang with music,—and methought the wind

Scattered the tuneful largess far and near,

That they who asked not might partake the cheer,

Who listened not could hear,

Where'er the wild winds were allowed to blow!

—That work reposing, on the verge

1816.

Of busiest exultation hung a dirge,

1827.

  .    .    .   and had power to throw

The edition of 1827 is otherwise identical with that of 1837.

[145] 1837.

1816.

These   .    .    .  

[146] 1845.

Graced with such gifts as Sculpture can bestow,

When inspiration guides her patient toil;

1816.

And let imperishable trophies grow

As nobly graced by Sculpture's patient toil;

1827.

And let imperishable structures grow

[147] 1827.

1816.

  .    .    .   records   .    .    .  

[148] 1845.

Trophies on which the morning sun may shine,

1816.

As changeful ages flow,

Records on which the morning sun may shine,

1827.

As changeful ages flow,

[149] 1816.

c.

  .    .    .  Ye muses long debarred

[150] 1816.

  .    .    .   As mythic lore

c.

For not unwise belief proclaimed of yore

[151] 1827.

1816.

  .    .    .   consecrated stream and grove,

[152] 1845.

  .    .    .     .    .    . and move,

And exercise unblamed a generous sway,)

1816.

Now,   .    .    .   .    .    .

1837.

And exercise unblamed a god-like sway)

[153] 1837.

1816.

  .    .    .   my soul's desires!

FOOTNOTES:

[BL] The title of this Ode, when first published along with the Thanksgiving Ode, was Ode, composed in January 1816. In 1845 the date 1814 was given; but there seems no reason to distrust the earlier one.—Ed.

[BM] These lines were first inserted in the edition of 1827.—Ed.

[BN] Compare Ode, Intimations of Immortality, etc., stanza ix.—

But for those first affections,

Ed.

Those shadowy recollections.

[BO] Haydon painted Wellington on the field of Waterloo. Compare the sonnet which Wordsworth wrote on that picture, in 1840, beginning—

Ed.

By Art's hold privilege Warrior and War-horse stand.

[BP] The allusion is to the picture of the battle of Marathon, on the walls of the Stoa Poecile, in Athens. Compare the Effusion, in presence of Tell's Tower, in the "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent" (1820), st. i. and note.—Ed.

[BQ] In many places throughout Britain this was carried out. Statues to the memory of Wellington were erected in many towns, and buildings were named after him.—Ed.

[BR] In many places throughout Britain this was carried out. Statues to the memory of Wellington were erected in many towns, and buildings were named after him.—Ed.

[BS] The nine Muses, called the Pierides, from Pieria, near Olympus, where they were said to have been born, or first worshipped by the Thracians.—Ed.

[BT] Compare the first line of the Extract from the conclusion of a poem, composed in anticipation of leaving school (vol. i. p. 2)—

. Ed.

Dear native regions, I foretell>

[BU] Compare Schiller's Piccolomini, in S. T. Coleridge's version (act II. scene 4)—

The intelligible forms of ancient poets,

The fair humanities of old religion,

The power, the beauty, and the majesty,

That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain,

Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring,

Or chasms and wat'ry depths; all these have vanished.

They live no longer in the faith of reason!

But still the heart doth need a language, still

Doth the old instinct bring back the old names,

And to yon starry world they now are gone,

Spirits or gods, that used to share this earth

With man as with their friend; and to the lover

Yonder they move, from yonder visible sky

Shoot influence down: and even at this day

'Tis Jupiter who brings whate'er is great,

Ed.

And Venus who brings everything that's fair!

ODE

Composed 1816.—Published 1816

Included in 1820 among the "Poems of the Imagination," afterwards placed among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty."—Ed.

I

Who rises on the banks of Seine,

And binds her temples with the civic wreath?

What joy to read the promise of her mien!

How sweet to rest her wide-spread wings beneath!

5

But they are ever playing,

And twinkling in the light,

And, if a breeze be straying,

That breeze she will invite;

And stands on tiptoe, conscious she is fair,

10

And calls a look of love into her face,

And spreads her arms, as if the general air

Alone could satisfy her wide embrace.

—Melt, Principalities, before her melt!

Her love ye hailed—her wrath have felt!

15

But She through many a change of form hath gone,

And stands amidst you now an armèd creature,

Whose panoply is not a thing put on,

But the live scales of a portentous nature;

19

That, having forced[154] its way from birth to birth,

Stalks round-abhorred by Heaven, a terror to the Earth!

II

I marked the breathings of her dragon crest;

My Soul, a sorrowful interpreter,

In many a midnight vision bowed

Before the ominous aspect of her spear;[155]

25

Whether the mighty beam, in scorn upheld,

Threatened her foes,—or, pompously at rest,

Seemed to bisect her orbèd shield,

As stretches a blue bar of solid cloud[156]

Across the setting sun and all the fiery west.[157]

III

30

So did she daunt the Earth, and God defy!

And, wheresoe'er she spread her sovereignty,

Pollution tainted all that was most pure.

—Have we not known—and live we not to tell—

That Justice seemed to hear her final knell?

35

Faith buried deeper in her own deep breast

Her stores, and sighed to find them insecure!

And Hope was maddened by the drops that fell

From shades, her chosen place of short-lived rest.[158]

Shame followed shame, and woe supplanted woe—

40

Is this the only change that time can show?

How long shall vengeance sleep? Ye patient Heavens, how long?

—Infirm ejaculation! from the tongue

Of Nations wanting virtue to be strong

Up to the measure of accorded might,

45

And daring not to feel the majesty of right!

IV

Weak Spirits are there—who would ask,

Upon the pressure of a painful thing,

The lion's sinews, or the eagle's wing;

Or let their wishes loose, in forest-glade,

50

Among the lurking powers

Of herbs and lowly flowers,

Or seek, from saints above, miraculous aid—

That Man may be accomplished for a task

Which his own nature hath enjoined;—and why?

55

If, when that interference hath relieved him,

He must sink down to languish

In worse than former helplessness—and lie

Till the caves roar,—and, imbecility

Again engendering anguish,

60

The same weak wish returns, that had before deceived him.

V

But Thou, supreme Disposer! may'st[159] not speed

The course of things, and change the creed

Which hath been held aloft before men's sight

Since the first framing of societies,

65

Whether, as bards have told in ancient song,

Built up by soft seducing harmonies;

Or prest together by the appetite,

And by the power, of wrong.

The date of the composition of this Ode is uncertain. Wordsworth himself gives no clue: but it seems to refer to the rise of the French Republic, with its illusive promises of Liberty: the freedom of the many being sacrificed to the despotism of one. The Republic passed "through many a change of form." It became both tyrannous and aggressive. The "Principalities" of Europe "melted" before it. It stood forth "an armèd creature," and "a terror to the Earth." It in turn put down "Justice," "Faith," and "Hope" throughout Europe; and the writer of the Ode says,

How long shall vengeance sleep? Ye patient Heavens, how long?

The allusions in stanza iv. suggest that this Ode was written before Waterloo, and the final overthrow of the power of Napoleon, but it is difficult, if not impossible, to determine the point with exactness from internal evidence.

The reference in the last stanza may be to the legend of Amphion moving stones, and building up the walls of Thebes, by the sound of his lyre; the stones advancing to their places, and being fitted together, as he played his instrument. Compare Tennyson's Amphion.—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[154] 1845.

1816.

That, having wrought    .    .    .

[155] 1827.

My soul in many a midnight vision bowed

1816.

Before the meanings which her spear expressed;

[156] 1827.

Seemed to bisect the orbit of her shield,

1816.

Like to a long blue bar of solid cloud

[157] 1845.

1816.

At evening stretched across the fiery West.

1827.

Across the setting sun, and through the fiery west.

1837.

Across the setting sun—and through all the fiery west.

[158] 1827.

   .    .    . short-lived rest,

1816.

Which, when they first received her, she had blest:

[159] 1827.

1816.

   .    .    .    .    . might'st    .    .    .

THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA, 1812-13[160]

Composed 1816.—Published 1816

This was first published in 1816 in the "Miscellaneous Pieces, referring chiefly to recent public Events," in the volume entitled Thanksgiving Ode, January 18, 1816, with other short pieces, etc. In 1820 it was placed among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty, Part II."—Ed.

Humanity, delighting to behold

A fond reflection of her own decay,

Hath painted Winter like a traveller old,

Propped on a staff, and, through the sullen day,

5

In hooded mantle, limping o'er the plain,[161]

As though his weakness were disturbed by pain:

Or, if a juster fancy should allow

An undisputed symbol of command,

The chosen sceptre is a withered bough,

10

Infirmly grasped within a palsied hand.

These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn;

But mighty Winter the device shall scorn.

For he it was—dread Winter! who beset,

Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net,

15

That host, when from the regions of the Pole

They shrunk, insane ambition's barren goal—

That host, as huge and strong as e'er defied

Their God, and placed their trust in human pride!

As fathers persecute rebellious sons,

20

He smote the blossoms of their warrior youth;

He called on Frost's inexorable tooth

Life to consume in Manhood's firmest hold;

Nor spared the reverend blood that feebly runs;

For why—unless for liberty enrolled

25

And sacred home—ah! why should hoary Age be bold?

Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed,

But fleeter far the pinions of the Wind,

Which from Siberian caves the Monarch freed,

And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind,

30

And bade the Snow their ample backs bestride,

And to the battle ride.

No pitying voice commands a halt,

No courage can repel the dire assault;

Distracted, spiritless, benumbed, and blind,

35

Whole legions sink—and, in one instant, find

Burial and death: look for them—and descry,

When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky,

A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy!

The French "retreat from Moscow was perhaps the most disastrous on record since the days of Xerxes.... On the night of 6th November, the temperature suddenly fell to that of the most rigorous winter. In that dreadful night thousands of men perished, and nearly all the horses, which compelled the abandonment of the greater part of the convoys. From this point the road began to be strewn with corpses, presenting the aspect of one continuous battlefield.... At Smolensk the cold was at 20 degrees of Réaumur." (Dyer's History of Modern Europe, vol. iv. pp. 518, 519.)—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[160] 1827.

The original title was Composed in Recollection of the Expedition of the French into Russia.
1816. February 1816.

[161] 1820.

Hath painted Winter like a shrunken, old,

And close-wrapt Traveller—through the weary day—

1816.

Propped on a staff, and limping o'er the Plain,

ON THE SAME OCCASION[162]

Composed 1816.—Published 1816

One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty."—Ed.

Ye Storms, resound the praises of your King!

And ye mild Seasons—in a sunny clime,

Midway on some high hill, while father Time

Looks on delighted—meet in festal ring,

5

And loud and long of Winter's triumph sing!

Sing ye, with blossoms crowned, and fruits, and flowers,

Of Winter's breath surcharged with sleety showers,

And the dire flapping of his hoary wing!

Knit the blithe dance upon the soft green grass;

10

With feet, hands, eyes, looks, lips, report your gain;

Whisper it to the billows of the main,

And to the aërial zephyrs as they pass,

That old decrepit Winter—He hath slain

That Host, which rendered all your bounties vain!

VARIANTS:

[162] 1820.

The title in 1816 was
Sonnet on the same occasion. February 1816.

SIEGE OF VIENNA RAISED BY JOHN
SOBIESKI[BV]

February, 1816

Composed February 4, 1816.—Published 1816

One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty."—Ed.

O, for a kindling touch from that pure flame

Which ministered, erewhile, to a sacrifice

Of gratitude, beneath Italian skies,

In words like these: "Up, Voice of Song! proclaim

5

Thy saintly rapture with celestial aim:

For lo! the Imperial City stands released[163]

From bondage threatened by the embattled East,

And Christendom respires;[164] from guilt and shame

Redeemed, from miserable fear set free

10

By one day's feat, one mighty victory.

—Chant the Deliverer's praise in every tongue!

The cross shall spread, the crescent hath waxed dim;

He conquering, as in joyful Heaven is sung,[165]

He conquering through God, and God by him." [BW]

VARIANTS:

[BV] 1816.

The title at first was February 1816.—Ed.

[163] 1837.

.    .    . touch of that pure flame

Which taught the offering of song to rise

From thy lone bower, beneath Italian skies,

Great Filicaia!—With celestial aim

It rose,—thy saintly rapture to proclaim,

1816.

Then, when the imperial city stood released

[164] 1837.

1816.

.    .    . respired; .    .    .

[165] 1837.

1816.

.    .    . —as in Earth and Heaven was sung—

FOOTNOTES:

[BW]

Ond' è ch' Io grido e griderò: giugnesti,

Guerregiasti, e vincesti;

Si, si, vincesti, o Campion forte e pio,

Per Dio vincesti, e per te vinse Iddio.

See Filicaia's Canzone, addressed to (Sir) John Sobieski, king of Poland, upon his raising the siege of Vienna. This, and his other poems on the same occasion, are superior perhaps to any lyrical pieces that contemporary events have ever given birth to, those of the Hebrew Scriptures only excepted.—W. W. (1816 and 1820.)

Vienna, besieged in 1683 by Mahomet IV., was relieved by John Sobieski. The following is Dyer's account of it in his Modern Europe (vol. iii. p. 109):—"At one time Vienna seemed beyond the reach of human aid. The Turks sat down before it on 14th July, and such were their numbers that their encampment is said to have contained more than 100,000 tents. It was the middle of August before John Sobieski could leave Cracow with 25,000 men, and by the end of that month the situation of Vienna had become extremely critical. Provisions and ammunition began to fail; the garrison had lost 6000 men, and numbers died every day by pestilence, or at the hands of the enemy. It was not till 9th September that Sobieski and his Poles formed a junction on the plain of Tuln with the Austrian forces under the Duke of Lorraine, and the other German contingents. On 11th September, the allies reached the heights of Kahlenberg, within sight of Vienna, and announced their arrival to the beleaguered citizens by means of rockets. On the following day the Turks were attacked, and, after a few hours' resistance, completely routed.... The Turkish camp, with vast treasures in money, jewels, horses, arms, and ammunition, became the spoil of the victors."

The Italian poet Filicaia referred to by Wordsworth (Filicaja, Vincenzo), wrote six odes on the deliverance of Vienna by Sobieski. They were published in Florence in the following year, 1684, and established the writer's fame. Queen Christina of Sweden was much struck by them; and, being a generous patroness and admirer of letters, she enabled Filicaja to devote himself to poetry exclusively as his life-work. He wrote numerous patriotic sonnets and heroic odes, in Italian and in Latin.—Ed.

OCCASIONED BY THE BATTLE
OF WATERLOO[166]

(The last six lines intended for an Inscription.)

February, 1816

Composed February 4, 1816.—Published 1816

One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty."—Ed.