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Title7 Lyrical Ballads, With Other Poems, 1!!, "ol# $#
8uthor7 William Words%orth
1elease +ate7 3e)tember, 9!!: ;EBook &4!:< ;-es, %e are more than one
year ahead of schedule< ;This file %as first )osted on 8ugust 9', 9!!'<
Edition7 1!
Language7 English
... 3T81T O/ T2E P1O=E(T G>TE?BE1G EBOO@ L-1$(8L
B8LL8+3, "OL# $ ...
Produced by =onathan $ngram, 1obert Prince and the +P Team
LYRICAL BALLADS,
WITH OTHER POEMS.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
1!!
By W# WO1+3WO1T2#
Auam nihil ad genium, Pa)iniane, tuum6
VOL. I.
SECOND EDITION.
CONTENTS.
E0)ostulation and 1e)ly
The Tables turnedB an E*ening 3cene, on the same subject
8nimal TranCuillity and +ecay, a 3ketch
The (om)laint of a forsaken $ndian Woman
The Last of the /lock
Lines left u)on a 3eat in a -e%Dtree %hich stands near the Lake of
Esth%aite
The /osterDEotherFs Tale
Goody Blake and 2arry Gill
The Thorn
We are 3e*en
8necdote for /athers
Lines %ritten at a small distance from my 2ouse and sent me by my
little Boy to the Person to %hom they are addressed
The /emale "agrant
The +ungeon
3imon Lee, the old 2untsman
Lines %ritten in early 3)ring
The ?ightingale, %ritten in 8)ril, 154#
Lines %ritten %hen sailing in a Boat at E*ening
Lines %ritten near 1ichmond, u)on the Thames
The $diot Boy
Lo*e
The Ead Eother
The 8ncient Eariner
Lines %ritten abo*e Tintern 8bbey
PREFACE.
The /irst "olume of these Poems has already been submitted to general
)erusal# $t %as )ublished, as an e0)eriment %hich, $ ho)ed, might be of some
use to ascertain, ho% far, by fitting to metrical arrangement a selection of the
real language of men in a state of *i*id sensation, that sort of )leasure and that
Cuantity of )leasure may be im)arted, %hich a Poet may rationally endea*our
to im)art#
$ had formed no *ery inaccurate estimate of the )robable effect of those
Poems7 $ flattered myself that they %ho should be )leased %ith them %ould
read them %ith more than common )leasure7 and on the other hand $ %as %ell
a%are that by those %ho should dislike them they %ould be read %ith more
than common dislike# The result has differed from my e0)ectation in this only,
that $ ha*e )leased a greater number, than $ *entured to ho)e $ should )lease#
/or the sake of *ariety and from a consciousness of my o%n %eakness $ %as
induced to reCuest the assistance of a /riend, %ho furnished me %ith the
Poems of the 8?($E?T E81$?E1, the /O3TE1DEOT2E1F3 T8LE, the
?$G2T$?G8LE, the +>?GEO?, and the Poem entitled LO"E# $ should not,
ho%e*er, ha*e reCuested this assistance, had $ not belie*ed that the )oems of
my /riend %ould in a great measure ha*e the same tendency as my o%n, and
that, though there %ould be found a difference, there %ould be found no
discordance in the colours of our styleB as our o)inions on the subject of
)oetry do almost entirely coincide#
3e*eral of my /riends are an0ious for the success of these Poems from a
belief, that if the *ie%s, %ith %hich they %ere com)osed, %ere indeed
realiGed, a class of Poetry %ould be )roduced, %ell ada)ted to interest
mankind )ermanently, and not unim)ortant in the multi)licity and in the
Cuality of its moral relations7 and on this account they ha*e ad*ised me to
)refi0 a systematic defence of the theory, u)on %hich the )oems %ere %ritten#
But $ %as un%illing to undertake the task, because $ kne% that on this
occasion the 1eader %ould look coldly u)on my arguments, since $ might be
sus)ected of ha*ing been )rinci)ally influenced by the selfish and foolish
ho)e of reasoning him into an a))robation of these )articular Poems7 and $
%as still more un%illing to undertake the task, because adeCuately to dis)lay
my o)inions and fully to enforce my arguments %ould reCuire a s)ace %holly
dis)ro)ortionate to the nature of a )reface# /or to treat the subject %ith the
clearness and coherence, of %hich $ belie*e it susce)tible, it %ould be
necessary to gi*e a full account of the )resent state of the )ublic taste in this
country, and to determine ho% far this taste is healthy or de)ra*edB %hich
again could not be determined, %ithout )ointing out, in %hat manner language
and the human mind act and react on each other, and %ithout retracing the
re*olutions not of literature alone but like%ise of society itself# $ ha*e
therefore altogether declined to enter regularly u)on this defenceB yet $ am
sensible, that there %ould be some im)ro)riety in abru)tly obtruding u)on the
Public, %ithout a fe% %ords of introduction, Poems so materially different
from those, u)on %hich general a))robation is at )resent besto%ed#
$t is su))osed, that by the act of %riting in *erse an 8uthor makes a formal
engagement that he %ill gratify certain kno%n habits of association, that he
not only thus a))riGes the 1eader that certain classes of ideas and e0)ressions
%ill be found in his book, but that others %ill be carefully e0cluded# This
e0)onent or symbol held forth by metrical language must in different aeras of
literature ha*e e0cited *ery different e0)ectations7 for e0am)le, in the age of
(atullus Terence and Lucretius, and that of 3tatius or (laudian, and in our
o%n country, in the age of 3hakes)eare and Beaumont and /letcher, and that
of +onne and (o%ley, or +ryden, or Po)e# $ %ill not take u)on me to
determine the e0act im)ort of the )romise %hich by the act of %riting in *erse
an 8uthor in the )resent day makes to his 1eaderB but $ am certain it %ill
a))ear to many )ersons that $ ha*e not fulfilled the terms of an engagement
thus *oluntarily contracted# $ ho)e therefore the 1eader %ill not censure me, if
$ attem)t to state %hat $ ha*e )ro)osed to myself to )erform, and also, Has far
as the limits of a )reface %ill )ermitI to e0)lain some of the chief reasons
%hich ha*e determined me in the choice of my )ur)ose7 that at least he may
be s)ared any un)leasant feeling of disa))ointment, and that $ myself may be
)rotected from the most dishonorable accusation %hich can be brought against
an 8uthor, namely, that of an indolence %hich )re*ents him from
endea*ouring to ascertain %hat is his duty, or, %hen his duty is ascertained
)re*ents him from )erforming it#
The )rinci)al object then %hich $ )ro)osed to myself in these Poems %as to
make the incidents of common life interesting by tracing in them, truly though
not ostentatiously, the )rimary la%s of our nature7 chiefly as far as regards the
manner in %hich %e associate ideas in a state of e0citement# Lo% and rustic
life %as generally chosen because in that situation the essential )assions of the
heart find a better soil in %hich they can attain their maturity, are less under
restraint, and s)eak a )lainer and more em)hatic languageB because in that
situation our elementary feelings e0ist in a state of greater sim)licity and
conseCuently may be more accurately contem)lated and more forcibly
communicatedB because the manners of rural life germinate from those
elementary feelingsB and from the necessary character of rural occu)ations are
more easily com)rehendedB and are more durableB and lastly, because in that
situation the )assions of men are incor)orated %ith the beautiful and
)ermanent forms of nature# The language too of these men is ado)ted H)urified
indeed from %hat a))ear to be its real defects, from all lasting and rational
causes of dislike or disgustI because such men hourly communicate %ith the
best objects from %hich the best )art of language is originally deri*edB and
because, from their rank in society and the sameness and narro% circle of their
intercourse, being less under the action of social *anity they con*ey their
feelings and notions in sim)le and unelaborated e0)ressions# 8ccordingly
such a language arising out of re)eated e0)erience and regular feelings is a
more )ermanent and a far more )hiloso)hical language than that %hich is
freCuently substituted for it by Poets, %ho think that they are conferring
honour u)on themsel*es and their art in )ro)ortion as they se)arate
themsel*es from the sym)athies of men, and indulge in arbitrary and
ca)ricious habits of e0)ression in order to furnish food for fickle tastes and
fickle a))etites of their o%n creation#;1<
;/ootnote 17 $t is %orth %hile here to obser*e that the affecting )arts of
(haucer are almost al%ays e0)ressed in language )ure and uni*ersally
intelligible e*en to this day#<
$ cannot be insensible of the )resent outcry against the tri*iality and meanness
both of thought and language, %hich some of my contem)oraries ha*e
occasionally introduced into their metrical com)ositionsB and $ ackno%ledge
that this defect %here it e0ists, is more dishonorable to the WriterFs o%n
character than false refinement or arbitrary inno*ation, though $ should
contend at the same time that it is far less )ernicious in the sum of its
conseCuences# /rom such *erses the Poems in these *olumes %ill be found
distinguished at least by one mark of difference, that each of them has a
%orthy purpose# ?ot that $ mean to say, that $ al%ays began to %rite %ith a
distinct )ur)ose formally concei*edB but $ belie*e that my habits of meditation
ha*e so formed my feelings, as that my descri)tions of such objects as
strongly e0cite those feelings, %ill be found to carry along %ith them
a purpose# $f in this o)inion $ am mistaken $ can ha*e little right to the name
of a Poet# /or all good )oetry is the s)ontaneous o*erflo% of )o%erful
feelingsB but though this be true, Poems to %hich any *alue can be attached,
%ere ne*er )roduced on any *ariety of subjects but by a man %ho being
)ossessed of more than usual organic sensibility had also thought long and
dee)ly# /or our continued influ0es of feeling are modified and directed by our
thoughts, %hich are indeed the re)resentati*es of all our )ast feelingsB and as
by contem)lating the relation of these general re)resentati*es to each other,
%e disco*er %hat is really im)ortant to men, so by the re)etition and
continuance of this act feelings connected %ith im)ortant subjects %ill be
nourished, till at length, if %e be originally )ossessed of much organic
sensibility, such habits of mind %ill be )roduced that by obeying blindly and
mechanically the im)ulses of those habits %e shall describe objects and utter
sentiments of such a nature and in such connection %ith each other, that the
understanding of the being to %hom %e address oursel*es, if he be in a
healthful state of association, must necessarily be in some degree enlightened,
his taste e0alted, and his affections ameliorated#
$ ha*e said that each of these )oems has a )ur)ose# $ ha*e also informed my
1eader %hat this )ur)ose %ill be found )rinci)ally to be7 namely to illustrate
the manner in %hich our feelings and ideas are associated in a state of
e0citement# But s)eaking in less general language, it is to follo% the flu0es
and reflu0es of the mind %hen agitated by the great and sim)le affections of
our nature# This object $ ha*e endea*oured in these short essays to attain by
*arious meansB by tracing the maternal )assion through many of its more
subtle %indings, as in the )oems of the $+$OT BO- and the E8+ EOT2E1B
by accom)anying the last struggles of a human being at the a))roach of death,
clea*ing in solitude to life and society, as in the Poem of the /O138@E?
$?+$8?B by she%ing, as in the 3tanGas entitled WE 81E 3E"E?, the
)er)le0ity and obscurity %hich in childhood attend our notion of death, or
rather our utter inability to admit that notionB or by dis)laying the strength of
fraternal, or to s)eak more )hiloso)hically, of moral attachment %hen early
associated %ith the great and beautiful objects of nature, as in T2E
B1OT2E13B or, as in the $ncident of 3$EO? LEE, by )lacing my 1eader in
the %ay of recei*ing from ordinary moral sensations another and more
salutary im)ression than %e are accustomed to recei*e from them# $t has also
been )art of my general )ur)ose to attem)t to sketch characters under the
influence of less im)assioned feelings, as in the OL+ E8? T18"ELL$?G,
T2E TWO T2$E"E3, Jc# characters of %hich the elements are sim)le,
belonging rather to nature than to manners, such as e0ist no% and %ill
)robably al%ays e0ist, and %hich from their constitution may be distinctly and
)rofitably contem)lated# $ %ill not abuse the indulgence of my 1eader by
d%elling longer u)on this subjectB but it is )ro)er that $ should mention one
other circumstance %hich distinguishes these Poems from the )o)ular Poetry
of the dayB it is this, that the feeling therein de*elo)ed gi*es im)ortance to the
action and situation and not the action and situation to the feeling# Ey
meaning %ill be rendered )erfectly intelligible by referring my 1eader to the
Poems entitled POO1 3>38? and the (2$L+LE33 /8T2E1, )articularly to
the last 3tanGa of the latter Poem#
$ %ill not suffer a sense of false modesty to )re*ent me from asserting, that $
)oint my 1eaderFs attention to this mark of distinction far less for the sake of
these )articular Poems than from the general im)ortance of the subject# The
subject is indeed im)ortant6 /or the human mind is ca)able of e0citement
%ithout the a))lication of gross and *iolent stimulantsB and he must ha*e a
*ery faint )erce)tion of its beauty and dignity %ho does not kno% this, and
%ho does not further kno% that one being is ele*ated abo*e another in
)ro)ortion as he )ossesses this ca)ability# $t has therefore a))eared to me that
to endea*our to )roduce or enlarge this ca)ability is one of the best ser*ices in
%hich, at any )eriod, a Writer can be engagedB but this ser*ice, e0cellent at all
times, is es)ecially so at the )resent day# /or a multitude of causes unkno%n
to former times are no% acting %ith a combined force to blunt the
discriminating )o%ers of the mind, and unfitting it for all *oluntary e0ertion
to reduce it to a state of almost sa*age tor)or# The most effecti*e of these
causes are the great national e*ents %hich are daily taking )lace, and the
encreasing accumulation of men in cities, %here the uniformity of their
occu)ations )roduces a cra*ing for e0traordinary incident %hich the ra)id
communication of intelligence hourly gratifies# To this tendency of life and
manners the literature and theatrical e0hibitions of the country ha*e
conformed themsel*es# The in*aluable %orks of our elder %riters, $ had
almost said the %orks of 3hakes)eare and Eilton, are dri*en into neglect by
frantic no*els, sickly and stu)id German Tragedies, and deluges of idle and
e0tra*agant stories in *erse#KWhen $ think u)on this degrading thirst after
outrageous stimulation $ am almost ashamed to ha*e s)oken of the feeble
effort %ith %hich $ ha*e endea*oured to counteract itB and reflecting u)on the
magnitude of the general e*il, $ should be o))ressed %ith no dishonorable
melancholy, had $ not a dee) im)ression of certain inherent and indestructible
Cualities of the human mind, and like%ise of certain )o%ers in the great and
)ermanent objects that act u)on it %hich are eCually inherent and
indestructibleB and did $ not further add to this im)ression a belief that the
time is a))roaching %hen the e*il %ill be systematically o))osed by men of
greater )o%ers and %ith far more distinguished success#
2a*ing d%elt thus long on the subjects and aim of these Poems, $ shall reCuest
the 1eaderFs )ermission to a))riGe him of a fe% circumstances relating to
their style, in order, among other reasons, that $ may not be censured for not
ha*ing )erformed %hat $ ne*er attem)ted# E0ce)t in a *ery fe% instances the
1eader %ill find no )ersonifications of abstract ideas in these *olumes, not
that $ mean to censure such )ersonifications7 they may be %ell fitted for
certain sorts of com)osition, but in these Poems $ )ro)ose to myself to imitate,
and, as far as )ossible, to ado)t the *ery language of men, and $ do not find
that such )ersonifications make any regular or natural )art of that language# $
%ish to kee) my 1eader in the com)any of flesh and blood, )ersuaded that by
so doing $ shall interest him# ?ot but that $ belie*e that others %ho )ursue a
different track may interest him like%ise7 $ do not interfere %ith their claim, $
only %ish to )refer a different claim of my o%n# There %ill also be found in
these *olumes little of %hat is usually called )oetic dictionB $ ha*e taken as
much )ains to a*oid it as others ordinarily take to )roduce itB this $ ha*e done
for the reason already alleged, to bring my language near to the language of
men, and further, because the )leasure %hich $ ha*e )ro)osed to myself to
im)art is of a kind *ery different from that %hich is su))osed by many
)ersons to be the )ro)er object of )oetry# $ do not kno% ho% %ithout being
cul)ably )articular $ can gi*e my 1eader a more e0act notion of the style in
%hich $ %ished these )oems to be %ritten than by informing him that $ ha*e at
all times endea*oured to look steadily at my subject, conseCuently $ ho)e it
%ill be found that there is in these Poems little falsehood of descri)tion, and
that my ideas are e0)ressed in language fitted to their res)ecti*e im)ortance#
3omething $ must ha*e gained by this )ractice, as it is friendly to one )ro)erty
of all good )oetry, namely good senseB but it has necessarily cut me off from a
large )ortion of )hrases and figures of s)eech %hich from father to son ha*e
long been regarded as the common inheritance of Poets# $ ha*e also thought it
e0)edient to restrict myself still further, ha*ing abstained from the use of
many e0)ressions, in themsel*es )ro)er and beautiful, but %hich ha*e been
foolishly re)eated by bad Poets till such feelings of disgust are connected %ith
them as it is scarcely )ossible by any art of association to o*er)o%er#
$f in a Poem there should be found a series of lines, or e*en a single line, in
%hich the language, though naturally arranged and according to the strict la%s
of metre, does not differ from that of )rose, there is a numerous class of critics
%ho, %hen they stumble u)on these )rosaisms as they call them, imagine that
they ha*e made a notable disco*ery, and e0ult o*er the Poet as o*er a man
ignorant of his o%n )rofession# ?o% these men %ould establish a canon of
criticism %hich the 1eader %ill conclude he must utterly reject if he %ishes to
be )leased %ith these *olumes# 8nd it %ould be a most easy task to )ro*e to
him that not only the language of a large )ortion of e*ery good )oem, e*en of
the most ele*ated character, must necessarily, e0ce)t %ith reference to the
metre, in no res)ect differ from that of good )rose, but like%ise that some of
the most interesting )arts of the best )oems %ill be found to be strictly the
language of )rose %hen )rose is %ell %ritten# The truth of this assertion might
be demonstrated by innumerable )assages from almost all the )oetical
%ritings, e*en of Eilton himself# $ ha*e not s)ace for much CuotationB but, to
illustrate the subject in a general manner, $ %ill here adduce a short
com)osition of Gray, %ho %as at the head of those %ho by their reasonings
ha*e attem)ted to %iden the s)ace of se)aration bet%i0t Prose and Eetrical
com)osition, and %as more than any other man curiously elaborate in the
structure of his o%n )oetic diction#
$n *ain to me the smiling mornings shine,
8nd reddening Phoebus lifts his golden fire7
The birds in *ain their amorous descant join,
Or chearful fields resume their green attire7
These ears alas6 for other notes re)ineB
A different object do these eyes require;
My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine;
And in my breast the imperfect joys expire;
-et Eorning smiles the busy race to cheer,
8nd ne%Dborn )leasure brings to ha))ier menB
The fields to all their %onted tribute bearB
To %arm their little lo*es the birds com)lain#
I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear
And weep the more because I weep in vain.
$t %ill easily be )ercei*ed that the only )art of this 3onnet %hich is of any
*alue is the lines )rinted in $talics7 it is eCually ob*ious that e0ce)t in the
rhyme, and in the use of the single %ord ,fruitless, for fruitlessly, %hich is so
far a defect, the language of these lines does in no res)ect differ from that of
)rose#
$s there then, it %ill be asked, no essential difference bet%een the language of
)rose and metrical com)ositionL $ ans%er that there neither is nor can be any
essential difference# We are fond of tracing the resemblance bet%een Poetry
and Painting, and, accordingly, %e call them 3isters7 but %here shall %e find
bonds of connection sufficiently strict to ty)ify the affinity bet%i0t metrical
and )rose com)ositionL They both s)eak by and to the same organsB the
bodies in %hich both of them are clothed may be said to be of the same
substance, their affections are kindred and almost identical, not necessarily
differing e*en in degreeB Poetry ;9< sheds no tears ,such as 8ngels %ee),, but
natural and human tearsB she can boast of no celestial $chor that distinguishes
her *ital juices from those of )roseB the same human blood circulates through
the *eins of them both#
;/ootnote 97 $ here use the %ord ,Poetry, Hthough against my o%n judgmentI
as o))osed to the %ord Prose, and synonomous %ith metrical com)osition#
But much confusion has been introduced into criticism by this
contradistinction of Poetry and Prose, instead of the more )hiloso)hical one of
Poetry and 3cience# The only strict antithesis to Prose is Eetre#<
$f it be affirmed that rhyme and metrical arrangement of themsel*es constitute
a distinction %hich o*erturns %hat $ ha*e been saying on the strict affinity of
metrical language %ith that of )rose, and )a*es the %ay for other distinctions
%hich the mind *oluntarily admits, $ ans%er that the distinction of rhyme and
metre is regular and uniform, and not, like that %hich is )roduced by %hat is
usually called )oetic diction, arbitrary and subject to infinite ca)rices u)on
%hich no calculation %hate*er can be made# $n the one case the 1eader is
utterly at the mercy of the Poet res)ecting %hat imagery or diction he may
choose to connect %ith the )assion, %hereas in the other the metre obeys
certain la%s, to %hich the Poet and 1eader both %illingly submit because they
are certain, and because no interference is made by them %ith the )assion but
such as the concurring testimony of ages has she%n to heighten and im)ro*e
the )leasure %hich coDe0ists %ith it# $t %ill no% be )ro)er to ans%er an
ob*ious Cuestion, namely, %hy, )rofessing these o)inions ha*e $ %ritten in
*erseL To this in the first )lace $ re)ly, because, ho%e*er $ may ha*e restricted
myself, there is still left o)en to me %hat confessedly constitutes the most
*aluable object of all %riting %hether in )rose or *erse, the great and uni*ersal
)assions of men, the most general and interesting of their occu)ations, and the
entire %orld of nature, from %hich $ am at liberty to su))ly myself %ith
endless combinations of forms and imagery# ?o%, granting for a moment that
%hate*er is interesting in these objects may be as *i*idly described in )rose,
%hy am $ to be condemned if to such descri)tion $ ha*e endea*oured to
su)eradd the charm %hich by the consent of all nations is ackno%ledged to
e0ist in metrical languageL To this it %ill be ans%ered, that a *ery small )art
of the )leasure gi*en by Poetry de)ends u)on the metre, and that it is
injudicious to %rite in metre unless it be accom)anied %ith the other artificial
distinctions of style %ith %hich metre is usually accom)anied, and that by
such de*iation more %ill be lost from the shock %hich %ill be thereby gi*en to
the 1eaderFs associations than %ill be counterbalanced by any )leasure %hich
he can deri*e from the general )o%er of numbers# $n ans%er to those %ho thus
contend for the necessity of accom)anying metre %ith certain a))ro)riate
colours of style in order to the accom)lishment of its a))ro)riate end, and
%ho also, in my o)inion, greatly underDrate the )o%er of metre in itself, it
might )erha)s be almost sufficient to obser*e that )oems are e0tant, %ritten
u)on more humble subjects, and in a more naked and sim)le style than %hat $
ha*e aimed at, %hich )oems ha*e continued to gi*e )leasure from generation
to generation# ?o%, if nakedness and sim)licity be a defect, the fact here
mentioned affords a strong )resum)tion that )oems some%hat less naked and
sim)le are ca)able of affording )leasure at the )resent dayB and all that $ am
no% attem)ting is to justify myself for ha*ing %ritten under the im)ression of
this belief#
But $ might )oint out *arious causes %hy, %hen the style is manly, and the
subject of some im)ortance, %ords metrically arranged %ill long continue to
im)art such a )leasure to mankind as he %ho is sensible of the e0tent of that
)leasure %ill be desirous to im)art# The end of Poetry is to )roduce
e0citement in coe0istence %ith an o*erbalance of )leasure# ?o%, by the
su))osition, e0citement is an unusual and irregular state of the mindB ideas
and feelings do not in that state succeed each other in accustomed order# But if
the %ords by %hich this e0citement is )roduced are in themsel*es )o%erful, or
the images and feelings ha*e an undue )ro)ortion of )ain connected %ith
them, there is some danger that the e0citement may be carried beyond its
)ro)er bounds# ?o% the coD)resence of something regular, something to
%hich the mind has been accustomed %hen in an une0cited or a less e0cited
state, cannot but ha*e great efficacy in tem)ering and restraining the )assion
by an interte0ture of ordinary feeling# This may be illustrated by a))ealing to
the 1eaderFs o%n e0)erience of the reluctance %ith %hich he comes to the reD
)erusal of the distressful )arts of (larissa 2arlo%e, or the Gamester# While
3hakes)eareFs %ritings, in the most )athetic scenes, ne*er act u)on us as
)athetic beyond the bounds of )leasureKan effect %hich is in a great degree
to be ascribed to small, but continual and regular im)ulses of )leasurable
sur)rise from the metrical arrangement#KOn the other hand H%hat it must be
allo%ed %ill much more freCuently ha))enI if the PoetFs %ords should be
incommensurate %ith the )assion, and inadeCuate to raise the 1eader to a
height of desirable e0citement, then, Hunless the PoetFs choice of his metre has
been grossly injudiciousI in the feelings of )leasure %hich the 1eader has
been accustomed to connect %ith metre in general, and in the feeling, %hether
chearful or melancholy, %hich he has been accustomed to connect %ith that
)articular mo*ement of metre, there %ill be found something %hich %ill
greatly contribute to im)art )assion to the %ords, and to effect the com)le0
end %hich the Poet )ro)oses to himself#
$f $ had undertaken a systematic defence of the theory u)on %hich these
)oems are %ritten, it %ould ha*e been my duty to de*elo)e the *arious causes
u)on %hich the )leasure recei*ed from metrical language de)ends# 8mong the
chief of these causes is to be reckoned a )rinci)le %hich must be %ell kno%n
to those %ho ha*e made any of the 8rts the object of accurate reflectionB $
mean the )leasure %hich the mind deri*es from the )erce)tion of similitude in
dissimilitude# This )rinci)le is the great s)ring of the acti*ity of our minds and
their chief feeder# /rom this )rinci)le the direction of the se0ual a))etite, and
all the )assions connected %ith it take their origin7 $t is the life of our ordinary
con*ersationB and u)on the accuracy %ith %hich similitude in dissimilitude,
and dissimilitude in similitude are )ercei*ed, de)end our taste and our moral
feelings# $t %ould not ha*e been a useless em)loyment to ha*e a))lied this
)rinci)le to the consideration of metre, and to ha*e she%n that metre is hence
enabled to afford much )leasure, and to ha*e )ointed out in %hat manner that
)leasure is )roduced# But my limits %ill not )ermit me to enter u)on this
subject, and $ must content myself %ith a general summary#
$ ha*e said that Poetry is the s)ontaneous o*erflo% of )o%erful feelings7 it
takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranCuillity7 the emotion is
contem)lated till by a s)ecies of reaction the tranCuillity gradually disa))ears,
and an emotion, similar to that %hich %as before the subject of contem)lation,
is gradually )roduced, and does itself actually e0ist in the mind# $n this mood
successful com)osition generally begins, and in a mood similar to this it is
carried onB but the emotion, of %hate*er kind and in %hate*er degree, from
*arious causes is Cualified by *arious )leasures, so that in describing any
)assions %hatsoe*er, %hich are *oluntarily described, the mind %ill u)on the
%hole be in a state of enjoyment# ?o% if ?ature be thus cautious in )reser*ing
in a state of enjoyment a being thus em)loyed, the Poet ought to )rofit by the
lesson thus held forth to him, and ought es)ecially to take care, that %hate*er
)assions he communicates to his 1eader, those )assions, if his 1eaderFs mind
be sound and *igorous, should al%ays be accom)anied %ith an o*erbalance of
)leasure# ?o% the music of harmonious metrical language, the sense of
difficulty o*ercome, and the blind association of )leasure %hich has been
)re*iously recei*ed from %orks of rhyme or metre of the same or similar
construction, all these im)erce)tibly make u) a com)le0 feeling of delight,
%hich is of the most im)ortant use in tem)ering the )ainful feeling %hich %ill
al%ays be found intermingled %ith )o%erful descri)tions of the dee)er
)assions# This effect is al%ays )roduced in )athetic and im)assioned )oetryB
%hile in lighter com)ositions the ease and gracefulness %ith %hich the Poet
manages his numbers are themsel*es confessedly a )rinci)al source of the
gratification of the 1eader# $ might )erha)s include all %hich it is necessary to
say u)on this subject by affirming %hat fe% )ersons %ill deny, that of t%o
descri)tions either of )assions, manners, or characters, each of them eCually
%ell e0ecuted, the one in )rose and the other in *erse, the *erse %ill be read a
hundred times %here the )rose is read once# We see that Po)e by the )o%er of
*erse alone, has contri*ed to render the )lainest common sense interesting,
and e*en freCuently to in*est it %ith the a))earance of )assion# $n
conseCuence of these con*ictions $ related in metre the Tale of GOO+-
BL8@E and 2811- G$LL, %hich is one of the rudest of this collection# $
%ished to dra% attention to the truth that the )o%er of the human imagination
is sufficient to )roduce such changes e*en in our )hysical nature as might
almost a))ear miraculous# The truth is an im)ortant oneB the fact Hfor it is
a factI is a *aluable illustration of it# 8nd $ ha*e the satisfaction of kno%ing
that it has been communicated to many hundreds of )eo)le %ho %ould ne*er
ha*e heard of it, had it not been narrated as a Ballad, and in a more im)ressi*e
metre than is usual in Ballads#
2a*ing thus ad*erted to a fe% of the reasons %hy $ ha*e %ritten in *erse, and
%hy $ ha*e chosen subjects from common life, and endea*oured to bring my
language near to the real language of men, if $ ha*e been too minute in
)leading my o%n cause, $ ha*e at the same time been treating a subject of
general interestB and it is for this reason that $ reCuest the 1eaderFs )ermission
to add a fe% %ords %ith reference solely to these )articular )oems, and to
some defects %hich %ill )robably be found in them# $ am sensible that my
associations must ha*e sometimes been )articular instead of general, and that,
conseCuently, gi*ing to things a false im)ortance, sometimes from diseased
im)ulses $ may ha*e %ritten u)on un%orthy subjectB but $ am less
a))rehensi*e on this account, than that my language may freCuently ha*e
suffered from those arbitrary connections of feelings and ideas %ith )articular
%ords, from %hich no man can altogether )rotect himself# 2ence $ ha*e no
doubt that in some instances feelings e*en of the ludicrous may be gi*en to
my 1eaders by e0)ressions %hich a))eared to me tender and )athetic# 3uch
faulty e0)ressions, %ere $ con*inced they %ere faulty at )resent, and that they
must necessarily continue to be so, $ %ould %illingly take all reasonable )ains
to correct# But it is dangerous to make these alterations on the sim)le authority
of a fe% indi*iduals, or e*en of certain classes of menB for %here the
understanding of an 8uthor is not con*inced, or his feelings altered, this
cannot be done %ithout great injury to himself7 for his o%n feelings are his
stay and su))ort, and if he sets them aside in one instance, he may be induced
to re)eat this act till his mind loses all confidence in itself and becomes utterly
debilitated# To this it may be added, that the 1eader ought ne*er to forget that
he is himself e0)osed to the same errors as the Poet, and )erha)s in a much
greater degree7 for there can be no )resum)tion in saying that it is not
)robable he %ill be so %ell acCuainted %ith the *arious stages of meaning
through %hich %ords ha*e )assed, or %ith the fickleness or stability of the
relations of )articular ideas to each otherB and abo*e all, since he is so much
less interested in the subject, he may decide lightly and carelessly#
Long as $ ha*e detained my 1eader, $ ho)e he %ill )ermit me to caution him
against a mode of false criticism %hich has been a))lied to Poetry in %hich
the language closely resembles that of life and nature# 3uch *erses ha*e been
trium)hed o*er in )arodies of %hich +r# =ohnsonFs 3tanGa is a fair s)ecimen#
,$ )ut my hat u)on my head,
8nd %alkFd into the 3trand,
8nd there $ met another man
Whose hat %as in his hand#,
$mmediately under these lines $ %ill )lace one of the most justly admired
stanGas of the ,Babes in the Wood#,
,These )retty Babes %ith hand in hand
Went %andering u) and do%nB
But ne*er more they sa% the Ean
8))roaching from the To%n#,
$n both of these stanGas the %ords, and the order of the %ords, in no res)ect
differ from the most unim)assioned con*ersation# There are %ords in both, for
e0am)le, ,the 3trand,, and ,the To%n,, connected %ith none but the most
familiar ideasB yet the one stanGa %e admit as admirable, and the other as a
fair e0am)le of the su)erlati*ely contem)tible# Whence arises this differenceL
?ot from the metre, not from the language, not from the order of the %ordsB
but the matter e0)ressed in +r# =ohnsonFs stanGa is contem)tible# The )ro)er
method of treating tri*ial and sim)le *erses to %hich +r# =ohnsonFs stanGa
%ould be a fair )arallelism is not to say this is a bad kind of )oetry, or this is
not )oetry, but this %ants senseB it is neither interesting in itself, nor
can lead to any thing interestingB the images neither originate in that sane state
of feeling %hich arises out of thought, nor can e0cite thought or feeling in the
1eader# This is the only sensible manner of dealing %ith such *erses7 Why
trouble yourself about the s)ecies till you ha*e )re*iously decided u)on the
genusL Why take )ains to )ro*e that an 8)e is not a ?e%ton %hen it is selfD
e*ident that he is not a man#
$ ha*e one reCuest to make of my 1eader, %hich is, that in judging these
Poems he %ould decide by his o%n feelings genuinely, and not by reflection
u)on %hat %ill )robably be the judgment of others# 2o% common is it to hear
a )erson say, ,$ myself do not object to this style of com)osition or this or that
e0)ression, but to such and such classes of )eo)le it %ill a))ear mean or
ludicrous#, This mode of criticism so destructi*e of all sound unadulterated
judgment is almost uni*ersal7 $ ha*e therefore to reCuest that the 1eader
%ould abide inde)endently by his o%n feelings, and that if he finds himself
affected he %ould not suffer such conjectures to interfere %ith his )leasure#
$f an 8uthor by any single com)osition has im)ressed us %ith res)ect for his
talents, it is useful to consider this as affording a )resum)tion, that, on other
occasions %here %e ha*e been dis)leased, he ne*ertheless may not ha*e
%ritten ill or absurdlyB and, further, to gi*e him so much credit for this one
com)osition as may induce us to re*ie% %hat has dis)leased us %ith more
care than %e should other%ise ha*e besto%ed u)on it# This is not only an act
of justice, but in our decisions u)on )oetry es)ecially, may conduce in a high
degree to the im)ro*ement of our o%n taste7 for an accurate taste in Poetry
and in all the other arts, as 3ir =oshua 1eynolds has obser*ed, is
an acquired talent, %hich can only be )roduced by thought and a long
continued intercourse %ith the best models of com)osition# This is mentioned
not %ith so ridiculous a )ur)ose as to )re*ent the most ine0)erienced 1eader
from judging for himself, H$ ha*e already said that $ %ish him to judge for
himselfBI but merely to tem)er the rashness of decision, and to suggest that if
Poetry be a subject on %hich much time has not been besto%ed, the judgment
may be erroneous, and that in many cases it necessarily %ill be so#
$ kno% that nothing %ould ha*e so effectually contributed to further the end
%hich $ ha*e in *ie% as to ha*e she%n of %hat kind the )leasure is, and ho%
the )leasure is )roduced %hich is confessedly )roduced by metrical
com)osition essentially different from %hat $ ha*e here endea*oured to
recommendB for the 1eader %ill say that he has been )leased by such
com)osition and %hat can $ do more for himL The )o%er of any art is limited
and he %ill sus)ect that if $ )ro)ose to furnish him %ith ne% friends it is only
u)on condition of his abandoning his old friends# Besides, as $ ha*e said, the
1eader is himself conscious of the )leasure %hich he has recei*ed from such
com)osition, com)osition to %hich he has )eculiarly attached the endearing
name of PoetryB and all men feel an habitual gratitude, and something of an
honorable bigotry for the objects %hich ha*e long continued to )lease them7
%e not only %ish to be )leased, but to be )leased in that )articular %ay in
%hich %e ha*e been accustomed to be )leased# There is a host of arguments in
these feelingsB and $ should be the less able to combat them successfully, as $
am %illing to allo%, that, in order entirely to enjoy the Poetry %hich $ am
recommending, it %ould be necessary to gi*e u) much of %hat is ordinarily
enjoyed# But %ould my limits ha*e )ermitted me to )oint out ho% this
)leasure is )roduced, $ might ha*e remo*ed many obstacles, and assisted my
1eader in )ercei*ing that the )o%ers of language are not so limited as he may
su))oseB and that it is )ossible that )oetry may gi*e other enjoyments, of a
)urer, more lasting, and more e0Cuisite nature# But this )art of my subject $
ha*e been obliged altogether to omit7 as it has been less my )resent aim to
)ro*e that the interest e0cited by some other kinds of )oetry is less *i*id, and
less %orthy of the nobler )o%ers of the mind, than to offer reasons for
)resuming, that, if the object %hich $ ha*e )ro)osed to myself %ere
adeCuately attained, a s)ecies of )oetry %ould be )roduced, %hich is genuine
)oetryB in its nature %ell ada)ted to interest mankind )ermanently, and
like%ise im)ortant in the multi)licity and Cuality of its moral relations# /rom
%hat has been said, and from a )erusal of the Poems, the 1eader %ill be able
clearly to )ercei*e the object %hich $ ha*e )ro)osed to myself7 he %ill
determine ho% far $ ha*e attained this objectB and, %hat is a much more
im)ortant Cuestion, %hether it be %orth attainingB and u)on the decision of
these t%o Cuestions %ill rest my claim to the a))robation of the )ublic#
EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY.
,Why, William, on that old grey stone,
Thus for the length of half a day,
Why, William, sit you thus alone,
8nd dream your time a%ayL,
,Where are your booksL that light beCueathFd
To beings else forlorn and blind6
>)6 >)6 and drink the s)irit breathFd
/rom dead men to their kind#,
,-ou look round on your mother earth,
8s if she for no )ur)ose bore youB
8s if you %ere her firstDborn birth,
8nd none had li*ed before you6,
One morning thus, by Esth%aite lake,
When life %as s%eet, $ kne% not %hy,
To me my good friend Eatthe% s)ake,
8nd thus $ made re)ly#
,The eye it cannot chuse but see,
We cannot bid the ear be stillB
Our bodies feel, %hereFer they be,
8gainst, or %ith our %ill#,
,?or less $ deem that there are )o%ers
Which of themsel*es our minds im)ress,
That %e can feed this mind of ours
$n a %ise )assi*eness#,
,Think you, mid all this mighty sum
Of things for e*er s)eaking,
That nothing of itself %ill come,
But %e must still be seekingL,
,KThen ask not %herefore, here, alone,
(on*ersing as $ may,
$ sit u)on this old grey stone,
8nd dream my time a%ay#,
THE TABLES TURNED;
An vening !cene" on the same !ubject,
>)6 u)6 my friend, and clear your looks,
Why all this toil and troubleL
>)6 u)6 my friend, and Cuit your books,
Or surely youFll gro% double#
The sun, abo*e the mountainFs head,
8 freshening lustre mello%
Through all the long green fields has s)read,
2is first s%eet e*ening yello%#
Books6 Ftis dull and endless strife,
(ome, here the %oodland linnet,
2o% s%eet his musicB on my life
ThereFs more of %isdom in it#
8nd hark6 ho% blithe the throstle sings6
8nd he is no mean )reacherB
(ome forth into the light of things,
Let ?ature be your teacher#
3he has a %orld of ready %ealth,
Our minds and hearts to blessK
3)ontaneous %isdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by chearfulness#
One im)ulse from a *ernal %ood
Eay teach you more of manB
Of moral e*il and of good,
Than all the sages can#
3%eet is the lore %hich nature bringsB
Our meddling intellect
Eisha)es the beauteous forms of thingsB
KWe murder to dissect#
Enough of science and of artB
(lose u) these barren lea*esB
(ome forth, and bring %ith you a heart
That %atches and recei*es#
A#IMA$ %&A#'(I$$I%) * +,A)
A SKETCH.
The little hedgeDro% birds
That )eck along the road, regard him not#
2e tra*els on, and in his face, his ste),
2is gait, is one e0)ressionB e*ery limb,
2is look and bending figure, all bes)eak
8 man %ho does not mo*e %ith )ain, but mo*es
With thoughtK2e is insensibly subdued
To settled Cuiet7 he is one by %hom
8ll effort seems forgotten, one to %hom
Long )atience has such mild com)osure gi*en,
That )atience no% doth seem a thing, of %hich
2e hath no need# 2e is by nature led
To )eace so )erfect, that the young behold
With en*y, %hat the old man hardly feels#
K$ asked him %hither he %as bound, and %hat
The object of his journeyB he re)lied
That he %as going many miles to take
8 last lea*e of his son, a mariner,
Who from a seaDfight had been brought to /almouth,
8nd there %as lying in an hos)ital#
THE COMPLAINT OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN
WOMAN.
;-hen a #orthern Indian" from sic.ness" is unable to continue his journey
with his companions; he is left behind" covered over with +eer/s.ins" and is
supplied with water" food" and fuel if the situation of the place will afford it.
0e is informed of the trac. which his companions intend to pursue" and if he
is unable to follow" or overta.e them" he perishes alone in the +esart; unless
he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other %ribes of Indians. It
is unnecessary to add that the females are equally" or still more" exposed to
the same fate. !ee that very interesting wor., 2earneFs =ourney from 2udsonFs
Bay to the ?orthern Ocean# In the high #orthern $atititudes" as the same
writer informs us" when the #orthern $ights vary their position in the air" they
ma.e a rustling and a crac.ling noise. %his circumstance is alluded to in the
first stan1a of the following poem.<
T2E (OEPL8$?T, etc#
Before $ see another day,
Oh let my body die a%ay6
$n slee) $ heard the northern gleamsB
The stars they %ere among my dreamsB
$n slee) did $ behold the skies,
$ sa% the crackling flashes dri*eB
8nd yet they are u)on my eyes,
8nd yet $ am ali*e#
Before $ see another day,
Oh let my body die a%ay6
Ey fire is dead7 it kne% no )ainB
-et is it dead, and $ remain#
8ll stiff %ith ice the ashes lieB
8nd they are dead, and $ %ill die#
When $ %as %ell, $ %ished to li*e,
/or clothes, for %armth, for food, and fireB
But they to me no joy can gi*e,
?o )leasure no%, and no desire#
Then here contented %ill $ lieB
8lone $ cannot fear to die#
8las6 you might ha*e dragged me on
8nother day, a single one6
Too soon des)air oFer me )re*ailedB
Too soon my heartless s)irit failedB
When you %ere gone my limbs %ere stronger,
8nd Oh ho% grie*ously $ rue,
That, after%ards, a little longer,
Ey friends, $ did not follo% you6
/or strong and %ithout )ain $ lay,
Ey friends, %hen you %ere gone a%ay#
Ey child6 they ga*e thee to another,
8 %oman %ho %as not thy mother#
When from my arms my babe they took,
On me ho% strangely did he look6
Through his %hole body something ran,
8 most strange something did $ seeB
K8s if he stro*e to be a man,
That he might )ull the sledge for me#
8nd then he stretched his arms, ho% %ild6
Oh mercy6 like a little child#
Ey little joy6 my little )ride6
$n t%o days more $ must ha*e died#
Then do not %ee) and grie*e for meB
$ feel $ must ha*e died %ith thee#
Oh %ind that oFer my head art flying,
The %ay my friends their course did bend,
$ should not feel the )ain of dying,
(ould $ %ith thee a message send#
Too soon, my friends, you %ent a%ayB
/or $ had many things to say#
$Fll follo% you across the sno%,
-ou tra*el hea*ily and slo%7
$n s)ite of all my %eary )ain,
$Fll look u)on your tents again#
Ey fire is dead, and sno%y %hite
The %ater %hich beside it stoodB
The %olf has come to me toDnight,
8nd he has stolen a%ay my food#
/or e*er left alone am $,
Then %herefore should $ fear to dieL
Ey journey %ill be shortly run,
$ shall not see another sun,
$ cannot lift my limbs to kno%
$f they ha*e any life or no#
Ey )oor forsaken child6 if $
/or once could ha*e thee close to me,
With ha))y heart $ then should die,
8nd my last thoughts %ould ha))y be#
$ feel my body die a%ay,
$ shall not see another day#
THE LAST OF THE FLOCK.
$n distant countries $ ha*e been,
8nd yet $ ha*e not often seen
8 healthy man, a man full gro%n,
Wee) in the )ublic roads alone#
But such a one, on English ground,
8nd in the broad highD%ay, $ metB
8long the broad highD%ay he came,
2is cheeks %ith tears %ere %et#
3turdy he seemed, though he %as sadB
8nd in his arms a lamb he had#
2e sa% me, and he turned aside,
8s if he %ished himself to hide7
Then %ith his coat he made essay
To %i)e those briny tears a%ay#
$ follo%Fd him, and said, ,Ey friend
What ails youL %herefore %ee) you soL,
K,3hame on me, 3ir6 this lusty lamb,
2e makes my tears to flo%#
ToDday $ fetched him from the rockB
2e is the last of all my flock#,
When $ %as young, a single man,
8nd after youthful follies ran#
Though little gi*en to care and thought,
-et, so it %as, a e%e $ boughtB
8nd other shee) from her $ raised,
8s healthy shee) as you might see,
8nd then $ married, and %as rich
8s $ could %ish to beB
Of shee) $ numbered a full score,
8nd e*ery year increasFd my store#
-ear after year my stock it gre%,
8nd from this one, this single e%e,
/ull fifty comely shee) $ raised,
8s s%eet a flock as e*er graGed6
>)on the mountain did they feedB
They thro*e, and %e at home did thri*e#
KThis lusty lamb of all my store
$s all that is ali*eB
8nd no% $ care not if %e die,
8nd )erish all of )o*erty#
3i0 children, 3ir6 had $ to feed,
2ard labour in a time of need6
Ey )ride %as tamed, and in our grief,
$ of the )arish askFd relief#
They said $ %as a %ealthy manB
Ey shee) u)on the mountain fed,
8nd it %as fit that thence $ took
Whereof to buy us bread7
,+o thisB ho% can %e gi*e to you,,
They cried, ,%hat to the )oor is dueL,
$ sold a shee) as they had said,
8nd bought my little children bread,
8nd they %ere healthy %ith their foodB
/or me it ne*er did me good#
8 %oeful time it %as for me,
To see the end of all my gains,
The )retty flock %hich $ had reared
With all my care and )ains,
To see it melt like sno% a%ay6
/or me it %as a %oeful day#
8nother still6 and still another6
8 little lamb, and then its mother6
$t %as a *ein that ne*er sto))Fd,
Like bloodDdro)s from my heart they dro))Fd#
Till thirty %ere not left ali*e
They d%indled, d%indled, one by one,
8nd $ may say that many a time
$ %ished they all %ere gone7
They d%indled one by one a%ayB
/or me it %as a %oeful day#
To %icked deeds $ %as inclined,
8nd %icked fancies crossFd my mind,
8nd e*ery man $ chancFd to see,
$ thought he kne% some ill of me#
?o )eace, no comfort could $ find,
?o ease, %ithin doors or %ithout,
8nd craGily, and %earily
$ %ent my %ork about#
OftDtimes $ thought to run a%ayB
/or me it %as a %oeful day#
3ir6 Ft%as a )recious flock to me,
8s dear as my o%n children beB
/or daily %ith my gro%ing store
$ lo*ed my children more and more#
8las6 it %as an e*il timeB
God cursed me in my sore distress,
$ )rayed, yet e*ery day $ thought
$ lo*ed my children lessB
8nd e*ery %eek, and e*ery day,
Ey flock, it seemed to melt a%ay#
They d%indled# 3ir, sad sight to see6
/rom ten to fi*e, from fi*e to three,
8 lamb, a %eather, and a e%eB
8nd then at last, from three to t%oB
8nd of my fifty, yesterday
$ had but only one,
8nd here it lies u)on my arm,
8las6 and $ ha*e noneB
ToDday $ fetched it from the rockB
$t is the last of all my flock#
LINES
$eft upon a seat in a )-/%&" which stands near the $a.e of
!%0-AI%" on a desolate part of the shore" yet commanding a
beautiful prospect#
K?ay, Tra*eller6 rest# This lonely ye%Dtree stands
/ar from all human d%elling7 %hat if here
?o s)arkling ri*ulet s)read the *erdant herbB
What if these barren boughs the bee not lo*esB
-et, if the %ind breathe soft, the curling %a*es,
That break against the shore, shall lull thy mind
By one soft im)ulse sa*ed from *acancy#
KWho he %as
That )iled these stones, and %ith the mossy sod
/irst co*ered oFer and taught this aged tree
With its dark arms to form a circling bo%er,
$ %ell remember#K2e %as one %ho o%ned
?o common soul# $n youth by science nursed
8nd led by nature into a %ild scene
Of lofty ho)es, he to the %orld %ent forth,
8 fa*ored being, kno%ing no desire
Which genius did not hallo%, Fgainst the taint
Of dissolute tongues, and jealousy, and hate
8nd scorn, against all enemies )re)ared#
8ll but neglect# The %orld, for so it thought,
O%ed him no ser*ice7 he %as like a )lant
/air to the sun, the darling of the %inds,
But hung %ith fruit %hich no one, that )assed by,
1egarded, and, his s)irit dam)ed at once,
With indignation did he turn a%ay
8nd %ith the food of )ride sustained his soul
$n solitude#K3tranger6 these gloomy boughs
2ad charms for himB and here he lo*ed to sit,
2is only *isitants a straggling shee),
The stoneDchat, or the glancing sandD)i)erB
8nd on these barren rocks, %ith juni)er,
8nd heath, and thistle, thinly s)rinkled oFer,
/i0ing his do%ncast eye, he many an hour
8 morbid )leasure nourished, tracing here
8n emblem of his o%n unfruitful life7
8nd lifting u) his head, he then %ould gaGe
On the more distant sceneB ho% lo*ely Ftis
Thou seest, and he %ould gaGe till it became
/ar lo*elier, and his heart could not sustain
The beauty still more beauteous# ?or, that time
When ?ature had subdued him to herself
Would he forget those beings, to %hose minds,
Warm from the labours of bene*olence,
The %orld, and man himself, a))eared a scene
Of kindred lo*eliness7 then he %ould sigh
With mournful joy, to think that others felt
What he must ne*er feel7 and so, lost man6
On *isionary *ie%s %ould fancy feed,
Till his eye streamed %ith tears# $n this dee) *ale
2e died, this seat his only monument#
$f thou be one %hose heart the holy forms
Of young imagination ha*e ke)t )ure,
3tranger6 henceforth be %arnedB and kno%, that )ride,
2o%eFer disguised in its o%n majesty,
$s littlenessB that he, %ho feels contem)t
/or any li*ing thing, hath faculties
Which he has ne*er usedB that thought %ith him
$s in its infancy# The man, %hose eye
$s e*er on himself, doth look on one,
The least of natureFs %orks, one %ho might mo*e
The %ise man to that scorn %hich %isdom holds
>nla%ful, e*er# O, be %iser thou6
$nstructed that true kno%ledge leads to lo*e,
True dignity abides %ith him alone
Who, in the silent hour of in%ard thought,
(an still sus)ect, and still re*ere himself,
$n lo%liness of heart#
T2E /O3TE1DEOT2E1F3 T8LE#
A #arration in +ramatic Blan. 2erse#
But that entrance, Eother6
FOSTER-MOTHER.
(an no one hearL $t is a )erilous tale6
MARIA.
?o one#
FOSTER-MOTHER.
Ey husbandFs father told it me,
Poor old Leoni6K8ngels rest his soul6
2e %as a %oodman, and could fell and sa%
With lusty arm# -ou kno% that huge round beam
Which )ro)s the hanging %all of the old cha)elL
Beneath that tree, %hile yet it %as a tree
2e found a baby %ra)t in mosses, lined
With thistle beards, and such small locks of %ool
8s hang on brambles# Well, he brought him home,
8nd reared him at the then Lord "eleGF cost#
8nd so the babe gre% u) a )retty boy,
8 )retty boy, but most unteachableK
8nd ne*er learnt a )rayer, nor told a bead#
But kne% the names of birds, and mocked their notes,
8nd %histled, as he %ere a bird himself7
8nd all the autumn Ft%as his only )lay
To get the seeds of %ild flo%ers, and to )lant them
With earth and %ater, on the stum)s of trees#
8 /riar, %ho gathered sim)les in the %ood,
8 greyDhaired manKhe lo*ed this little boy,
The boy lo*ed himKand, %hen the /riar taught him,
2e soon could %rite %ith the )en7 and from that time,
Li*ed chiefly at the (on*ent or the (astle#
3o he became a *ery learned youth#
But Oh6 )oor %retch6Khe read, and read, and read,
Till his brain turnedKand ere his t%entieth year,
2e had unla%ful thoughts of many things7
8nd though he )rayed, he ne*er lo*ed to )ray
With holy men, nor in a holy )laceK
But yet his s)eech, it %as so soft and s%eet,
The late Lord "eleG neFer %as %earied %ith him#
8nd once, as by the north side of the (ha)el
They stood together, chained in dee) discourse,
The earth hea*ed under them %ith such a groan,
That the %all tottered, and had %ellDnigh fallen
1ight on their heads# Ey Lord %as sorely frightenedB
8 fe*er seiGed him, and he made confession
Of all the heretical and la%less talk
Which brought this judgment7 so the youth %as seiGed
8nd cast into that cell# Ey husbandFs father
3obbed like a childKit almost broke his heart7
8nd once as he %as %orking in the cellar,
2e heard a *oice distinctlyB Ft%as the youthFs
Who sang a doleful song about green fields,
2o% s%eet it %ere on lake or %ild sa*annah,
To hunt for food, and be a naked man,
8nd %ander u) and do%n at liberty#
Leoni doted on the youth, and no%
2is lo*e gre% des)erateB and defying death,
2e made that cunning entrance $ described7
8nd the young man esca)ed#
MARIA.
FTis a s%eet tale#
8nd %hat became of himL
FOSTER-MOTHER.
2e %ent on shi)Dboard
With those bold *oyagers, %ho made disco*ery
Of golden lands# LeoniFs younger brother
Went like%ise, and %hen he returned to 3)ain,
2e told Leoni, that the )oor mad youth,
3oon after they arri*ed in that ne% %orld,
$n s)ite of his dissuasion, seiGed a boat,
8nd all alone, set sail by silent moonlight
>) a great ri*er, great as any sea,
8nd neFer %as heard of more7 but Ftis su))osed,
2e li*ed and died among the sa*age men#
GOO+- BL8@E J 2811- G$LL,
A TRUE STORY,
Oh6 %hatFs the matterL %hatFs the matterL
What isFt that ails young 2arry GillL
That e*ermore his teeth they chatter,
(hatter, chatter, chatter still#
Of %aistcoats 2arry has no lack,
Good duffle grey, and flannel fineB
2e has a blanket on his back,
8nd coats enough to smother nine#
$n Earch, +ecember, and in =uly,
FTis all the same %ith 2arry GillB
The neighbours tell, and tell you truly,
2is teeth they chatter, chatter still#
8t night, at morning, and at noon,
FTis all the same %ith 2arry GillB
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon,
2is teeth they chatter, chatter still#
-oung 2arry %as a lusty dro*er,
8nd %ho so stout of limb as heL
2is cheeks %ere red as ruddy clo*er,
2is *oice %as like the *oice of three#
8uld Goody Blake %as old and )oor,
$ll fed she %as, and thinly cladB
8nd any man %ho )assFd her door,
Eight see ho% )oor a hut she had#
8ll day she s)un in her )oor d%elling,
8nd then her three hoursF %ork at night6
8las6 Ft%as hardly %orth the telling,
$t %ould not )ay for candleDlight#
KThis %oman d%elt in +orsetshire,
2er hut %as on a cold hillDside,
8nd in that country coals are dear,
/or they come far by %ind and tide#
By the same fire to boil their )ottage,
T%o )oor old dames as $ ha*e kno%n,
Will often li*e in one small cottage,
But she, )oor %oman, d%elt alone#
FT%as %ell enough %hen summer came,
The long, %arm, lightsome summerDday,
Then at her door the canty dame
Would sit, as any linnet gay#
But %hen the ice our streams did fetter,
Oh6 then ho% her old bones %ould shake6
-ou %ould ha*e said, if you had met her,
FT%as a hard time for Goody Blake#
2er e*enings then %ere dull and deadB
3ad case it %as, as you may think,
/or *ery cold to go to bed,
8nd then for cold not slee) a %ink#
Oh joy for her6 %heneFer in %inter
The %inds at night had made a rout,
8nd scatterFd many a lusty s)linter,
8nd many a rotten bough about#
-et ne*er had she, %ell or sick,
8s e*ery man %ho kne% her says,
8 )ile before hand, %ood or stick,
Enough to %arm her for three days#
?o% %hen the frost %as )ast enduring,
8nd made her )oor old bones to ache,
(ould any thing be more alluring,
Than an old hedge to Goody BlakeL
8nd no% and then, it must be said,
When her old bones %ere cold and chill,
3he left her fire, or left her bed,
To seek the hedge of 2arry Gill#
?o% 2arry he had long sus)ected
This tres)ass of old Goody Blake,
8nd *o%Fd that she should be detected,
8nd he on her %ould *engeance take#
8nd oft from his %arm fire heFd go,
8nd to the fields his road %ould take,
8nd there, at night, in frost and sno%,
2e %atchFd to seiGe old Goody Blake#
8nd once, behind a rick of barley,
Thus looking out did 2arry standB
The moon %as full and shining clearly,
8nd cris) %ith frost the stubble land#
K2e hears a noiseKheFs all a%akeK
8gainLKon ti)Dtoe do%n the hill
2e softly cree)sKFTis Goody Blake,
3heFs at the hedge of 2arry Gill#
1ight glad %as he %hen he beheld herB
3tick after stick did Goody )ull,
2e stood behind a bush of elder,
Till she had filled her a)ron full#
When %ith her load she turned about,
The byeDroad back again to take,
2e started for%ard %ith a shout,
8nd s)rang u)on )oor Goody Blake#
8nd fiercely by the arm he took her,
8nd by the arm he held her fast,
8nd fiercely by the arm he shook her,
8nd cried, ,$F*e caught you then at last6,
Then Goody, %ho had nothing said,
2er bundle from her la) let fallB
8nd kneeling on the sticks, she )rayFd
To God that is the judge of all#
3he )rayFd, her %itherFd hand u)rearing,
While 2arry held her by the armK
,God6 %ho art ne*er out of hearing,
O may he ne*er more be %arm6,
The cold, cold moon abo*e her head,
Thus on her knees did Goody )ray,
-oung 2arry heard %hat she had saidB
8nd icyDcold he turned a%ay#
2e %ent com)laining all the morro%
That he %as cold and *ery chill7
2is face %as gloom, his heart %as sorro%,
8las6 that day for 2arry Gill6
That day he %ore a ridingDcoat,
But not a %hit the %armer he7
8nother %as on Thursday brought,
8nd ere the 3abbath he had three#
FT%as all in *ain, a useless matter,
8nd blankets %ere about him )innFdB
-et still his ja%s and teeth they clatter,
Like a loose casement in the %ind#
8nd 2arryFs flesh it fell a%ayB
8nd all %ho see him say Ftis )lain,
That, li*e as long as li*e he may,
2e ne*er %ill be %arm again#
?o %ord to any man he utters,
8Dbed or u), to young or oldB
But e*er to himself he mutters,
,Poor 2arry Gill is *ery cold#,
8Dbed or u), by night or dayB
2is teeth they chatter, chatter still#
?o% think, ye farmers all, $ )ray,
Of Goody Blake and 2arry Gill#
THE THORN.
I.
There is a thornB it looks so old,
$n truth youFd find it hard to say,
2o% it could e*er ha*e been young,
$t looks so old and grey#
?ot higher than a t%o yearsF child
$t stands erect this aged thornB
?o lea*es it has, no thorny )ointsB
$t is a mass of knotted joints,
8 %retched thing forlorn#
$t stands erect, and like a stone
With lichens it is o*ergro%n#
II.
Like rock or stone, it is oFergro%n
With lichens to the *ery to),
8nd hung %ith hea*y tufts of moss,
8 melancholy cro)7
>) from the earth these mosses cree),
8nd this )oor thorn6 they clas) it round
3o close, youFd say that they %ere bent
With )lain and manifest intent,
To drag it to the groundB
8nd all had joinFd in one endea*our
To bury this )oor thorn for e*er#
III.
2igh on a mountainFs highest ridge,
Where oft the stormy %inter gale
(uts like a scythe, %hile through the clouds
$t s%ee)s from *ale to *aleB
?ot fi*e yards from the mountainD)ath,
This thorn you on your left es)yB
8nd to the left, three yards beyond,
-ou see a little muddy )ond
Of %ater, ne*er dryB
$F*e measured it from side to side7
FTis three feet long, and t%o feet %ide#
IV.
8nd close beside this aged thorn,
There is a fresh and lo*ely sight,
8 beauteous hea), a hill of moss,
=ust half a foot in height#
8ll lo*ely colours there you see,
8ll colours that %ere e*er seen,
8nd mossy net%ork too is there,
8s if by hand of lady fair
The %ork had %o*en been,
8nd cu)s, the darlings of the eye,
3o dee) is their *ermillion dye#
V.
8h me6 %hat lo*ely tints are there6
Of oli*e green and scarlet bright,
$n s)ikes, in branches, and in stars,
Green, red, and )early %hite#
This hea) of earth oFergro%n %ith moss,
Which close beside the thorn you see,
3o fresh in all its beauteous dyes,
$s like an infantFs gra*e in siGe
8s like as like can be7
But ne*er, ne*er any %here,
8n infantFs gra*e %as half so fair#
VI.
?o% %ould you see this aged thorn,
This )ond and beauteous hill of moss,
-ou must take care and chuse your time
The mountain %hen to cross#
/or oft there sits, bet%een the hea)
ThatFs like an infantFs gra*e in siGe
8nd that same )ond of %hich $ s)oke,
8 %oman in a scarlet cloak,
8nd to herself she cries,
,Oh misery6 oh misery6
Oh %oe is me6 oh misery6,
VII.
8t all times of the day and night
This %retched %oman thither goes,
8nd she is kno%n to e*ery star,
8nd e*ery %ind that blo%sB
8nd there beside the thorn she sits
When the blue dayDlightFs in the skies,
8nd %hen the %hirl%indFs on the hill,
Or frosty air is keen and still,
8nd to herself she cries,
,Oh misery6 oh misery6
Oh %oe is me6 oh miseryB,
VIII.
,?o% %herefore thus, by day and night,
$n rain, in tem)est, and in sno%
Thus to the dreary mountainDto)
+oes this )oor %oman goL
8nd %hy sits she beside the thorn
When the blue dayDlightFs in the sky,
Or %hen the %hirl%indFs on the hill,
Or frosty air is keen and still,
8nd %herefore does she cryLK
Oh %hereforeL %hereforeL tell me %hy
+oes she re)eat that doleful cryL,
IX.
$ cannot tellB $ %ish $ couldB
/or the true reason no one kno%s,
But if youFd gladly *ie% the s)ot,
The s)ot to %hich she goesB
The hea) thatFs like an infantFs gra*e,
The )ondKand thorn, so old and grey#
Pass by her doorKtis seldom shutK
8nd if you see her in her hut,
Then to the s)ot a%ay6K
$ ne*er heard of such as dare
8))roach the s)ot %hen she is there#
X.
,But %herefore to the mountainDto),
(an this unha))y %oman go,
Whate*er star is in the skies,
Whate*er %ind may blo%L,
?ay rack your brainKFtis all in *ain,
$Fll tell you e*ery thing $ kno%B
But to the thorn and to the )ond
Which is a little ste) beyond,
$ %ish that you %ould go7
Perha)s %hen you are at the )lace
-ou something of her tale may trace#
XI.
$Fll gi*e you the best hel) $ can7
Before you u) the mountain go,
>) to the dreary mountainDto),
$Fll tell you all $ kno%#
FTis no% some t%o and t%enty years,
3ince she Hher name is Eartha 1ayI
Ga*e %ith a maidenFs true good %ill
2er com)any to 3te)hen 2illB
8nd she %as blithe and gay,
8nd she %as ha))y, ha))y still
WheneFer she thought of 3te)hen 2ill#
XII.
8nd they had fi0Fd the %eddingDday,
The morning that must %ed them bothB
But 3te)hen to another maid
2ad s%orn another oathB
8nd %ith this other maid to church
>nthinking 3te)hen %entK
Poor Eartha6 on that %oful day
8 cruel, cruel fire, they say,
$nto her bones %as sent7
$t dried her body like a cinder,
8nd almost turnFd her brain to tinder#
XII.
They say, full si0 months after this,
While yet the summer lea*es %ere green,
3he to the mountainDto) %ould go,
8nd there %as often seen#
FTis said, a child %as in her %omb,
8s no% to any eye %as )lainB
3he %as %ith child, and she %as mad,
-et often she %as sober sad
/rom her e0ceeding )ain#
Oh me6 ten thousand times $Fd rather,
That he had died, that cruel father6
XIV.
3ad case for such a brain to hold
(ommunion %ith a stirring child6
3ad case, as you may think, for one
Who had a brain so %ild6
Last (hristmas %hen %e talked of this,
Old /armer 3im)son did maintain,
That in her %omb the infant %rought
8bout its motherFs heart, and brought
2er senses back again7
8nd %hen at last her time dre% near,
2er looks %ere calm, her senses clear#
XV.
?o more $ kno%, $ %ish $ did,
8nd $ %ould tell it all to youB
/or %hat became of this )oor child
ThereFs none that e*er kne%7
8nd if a child %as born or no,
ThereFs no one that could e*er tell
8nd if Ft%as born ali*e or dead,
ThereFs no one kno%s, as $ ha*e said,
But some remember %ell,
That Eartha 1ay about this time
Would u) the mountain often climb#
XVI.
8nd all that %inter, %hen at night
The %ind ble% from the mountainD)eak,
FT%as %orth your %hile, though in the dark,
The churchDyard )ath to seek7
/or many a time and oft %ere heard
(ries coming from the mountainDhead,
3ome )lainly li*ing *oices %ere,
8nd others, $F*e heard many s%ear,
Were *oices of the dead7
$ cannot think, %hateFer they say,
They had to do %ith Eartha 1ay#
XVII.
But that she goes to this old thorn,
The thorn %hich $F*e described to you,
8nd there sits in a scarlet cloak,
$ %ill be s%orn is true#
/or one day %ith my telesco)e,
To *ie% the ocean %ide and bright,
When to this country first $ came,
Ere $ had heard of EarthaFs name,
$ climbed the mountainFs height7
8 storm came on, and $ could see
?o object higher than my knee#
XVIII.
FT%as mist and rain, and storm and rain,
?o screen, no fence could $ disco*er,
8nd then the %ind6 in faith, it %as
8 %ind full ten times o*er#
2ooked around, $ thought $ sa%
8 jutting crag, and off $ ran,
2eadDforemost, through the dri*ing rain,
The shelter of the crag to gain,
8nd, as $ am a man,
$nstead of jutting crag, $ found
8 %oman seated on the ground#
XIX.
$ did not s)eakK$ sa% her face,
$n truth it %as enough for meB
$ turned about and heard her cry,
,O misery6 O misery6,
8nd there she sits, until the moon
Through half the clear blue sky %ill go,
8nd %hen the little breeGes make
The %aters of the )ond to shake,
8s all the country kno%
3he shudders, and you hear her cry,
,Oh misery6 oh misery6,
XX.
,But %hatFs the thornL and %hatFs the )ondL
8nd %hatFs the hill of moss to herL
8nd %hatFs the cree)ing breeGe that comes
The little )ond to stirL,
$ cannot tellB but some %ill say
3he hanged her baby on the tree,
3ome say she dro%ned it in the )ond,
Which is a little ste) beyond,
But all and each agree,
The little babe %as buried there,
Beneath that hill of moss so fair#
XXI.
$F*e heard, the moss is s)otted red
With dro)s of that )oor infantFs bloodB
But kill a ne%Dborn infant thus6
$ do not think she could#
3ome say, if to the )ond you go,
8nd fi0 on it a steady *ie%,
The shado% of a babe you trace,
8 baby and a babyFs face,
8nd that it looks at youB
WheneFer you look on it, Ftis )lain
The baby looks at you again#
XXII.
8nd some had s%orn an oath that she
3hould be to )ublic justice broughtB
8nd for the little infantFs bones
With s)ades they %ould ha*e sought#
But then the beauteous bill of moss
Before their eyes began to stirB
8nd for full fifty yards around,
The grass it shook u)on the groundB
But all do still a*er
The little babe is buried there#
Beneath that hill of moss so fair#
XXIII.
$ cannot tell ho% this may be,
But )lain it is, the thorn is bound
With hea*y tufts of moss, that stri*e
To drag it to the ground#
8nd this $ kno%, full many a time,
When she %as on the mountain high,
By day, and in the silent nightB
When all the stars shone clear and bright,
That $ ha*e heard her cry,
,Oh misery6 oh misery6
O %oe is me6 oh misery6,
WE ARE SEVEN.
8 sim)le child, dear brother =im,
That lightly dra%s its breath,
8nd feels its life in e*ery limb,
What should it kno% of deathL
$ met a little cottage girl,
3he %as eight years old, she saidB
2er hair %as thick %ith many a curl
That clusterFd round her head#
3he had a rustic, %oodland air,
8nd she %as %ildly cladB
2er eyes %ere fair, and *ery fair,
K2er beauty made me glad#
,3isters and brothers, little maid,
2o% many may you beL,
,2o% manyL se*en in all,, she said,
8nd %ondering looked at me#
,8nd %here are they, $ )ray you tellL,
3he ans%ered, ,3e*en are %e,
8nd t%o of us at (on%ay d%ell,
8nd t%o are gone to sea#,
,T%o of us in the churchDyard lie,
Ey sister and my brother,
8nd in the churchDyard cottage, $
+%ell near them %ith my mother#,
,-ou say that t%o at (on%ay d%ell,
8nd t%o are gone to sea,
-et you are se*enB $ )ray you tell
3%eet Eaid, ho% this may beL,
Then did the little Eaid re)ly,
,3e*en boys and girls are %eB
T%o of us in the churchDyard lie,
Beneath the churchDyard tree#,
,-ou run about, my little maid,
-our limbs they are ali*eB
$f t%o are in the churchDyard laid,
Then ye are only fi*e#,
,Their gra*es are green, they may be seen,,
The little Eaid re)lied,
,T%el*e ste)s or more from my motherFs door,
8nd they are side by side#,
,Ey stockings there $ often knit,
Ey Fkerchief there $ hemB
8nd there u)on the ground $ sitK
$ sit and sing to them#,
,8nd often after sunset, 3ir,
When it is light and fair,
$ take my little )orringer,
8nd eat my su))er there#,
,The first that died %as little =aneB
$n bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her )ain,
8nd then she %ent a%ay#,
,3o in the churchDyard she %as laid,
8nd all the summer dry,
Together round her gra*e %e )layed,
Ey brother =ohn and $#,
,8nd %hen the ground %as %hite %ith sno%,
8nd $ could run and slide,
Ey brother =ohn %as forced to go,
8nd he lies by her side#,
,2o% many are you then,, said $,
,$f they t%o are in 2ea*enL,
The little Eaiden did re)ly,
,O Easter6 %e are se*en#,
,But they are deadB those t%o are dead6
Their s)irits are in hea*en6,
FT%as thro%ing %ords a%ayB for still
The little Eaid %ould ha*e her %ill,
8nd said, ,?ay, %e are se*en6,
A#,+3% for 4A%0&!"
!hewing how the practice of $ying may be taught.
$ ha*e a boy of fi*e years old,
2is face is fair and fresh to seeB
2is limbs are cast in beautyFs mould,
8nd dearly he lo*es me#
One morn %e strollFd on our dry %alk,
Our Cuiet house all full in *ie%,
8nd held such intermitted talk
8s %e are %ont to do#
Ey thoughts on former )leasures ranB
$ thought of @il*eFs delightful shore,
Ey )leasant home, %hen 3)ring began,
8 long, long year before#
8 day it %as %hen $ could bear
To think, and think, and think againB
With so much ha))iness to s)are,
$ could not feel a )ain#
Ey boy %as by my side, so slim
8nd graceful in his rustic dress6
8nd oftentimes $ talked to him
$n *ery idleness#
The young lambs ran a )retty raceB
The morning sun shone bright and %armB
,@il*e,, said $, ,%as a )leasant )lace,
8nd so is Lis%yn farm#,
,Ey little boy, %hich like you more,,
$ said and took him by the armK
,Our home by @il*eFs delightful shore,
Or here at Lis%yn farmL,
,8nd tell me, had you rather be,,
$ said and heldDhim by the arm,
,8t @il*eFs smooth shore by the green sea,
Or here at Lis%yn farmL,
$n careless mood he looked at me,
While still $ held him by the arm,
8nd said, ,8t @il*e $Fd rather be
Than here at Lis%yn farm#,
,?o%, little Ed%ard, say %hy soB
Ey little Ed%ard, tell me %hyB,
,$ cannot tell, $ do not kno%#,
,Why this is strange,, said $#
,/or, here are %oods and green hills %arm7
There surely must some reason be
Why you %ould change s%eet Lis%yn farm,
/or @il*e by the green sea#,
8t this, my boy hung do%n his head,
2e blushFd %ith shame, nor made re)lyB
8nd fi*e times to the child $ said,
,Why, Ed%ard, tell me, %hyL,
2is head he raisedKthere %as in sight,
$t caught his eye, he sa% it )lainK
>)on the houseDto), glittering bright,
8 broad and gilded *ane#
Then did the boy his tongue unlock,
8nd thus to me he made re)lyB
,8t @il*e there %as no %eatherDcock,
8nd thatFs the reason %hy#,
Oh dearest, dearest boy6 my heart
/or better lore %ould seldom yearn
(ould $ but teach the hundredth )art
Of %hat from thee $ learn#
$I#!
-ritten at a small distance from my 0ouse" and sent by
my little boy to the person to whom they are addressed.
$t is the first mild day of Earch7
Each minute s%eeter than before,
The redDbreast sings from the tall larch
That stands beside our door#
There is a blessing in the air,
Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees, and mountains bare,
8nd grass in the green field#
Ey 3ister6 HFtis a %ish of mineI
?o% that our morning meal is done,
Eake haste, your morning task resignB
(ome forth and feel the sun#
Ed%ard %ill come %ith you, and )ray,
Put on %ith s)eed your %oodland dress,
8nd bring no book, for this one day
WeFll gi*e to idleness#
?o joyless forms shall regulate
Our li*ing (alendar7
We from toDday, my friend, %ill date
The o)ening of the year#
Lo*e, no% an uni*ersal birth,
/rom heart to heart is stealing,
/rom earth to man, from man to earth,
K$t is the hour of feeling#
One moment no% may gi*e us more
Than fifty years of reasonB
Our minds shall drink at e*ery )ore
The s)irit of the season#
3ome silent la%s our hearts may make,
Which they shall long obeyB
We for the year to come may take
Our tem)er from toDday#
8nd from the blessed )o%er that rolls
8bout, belo%, abo*eB
WeFll frame the measure of our souls,
They shall be tuned to lo*e#
Then come, my sister $ come, $ )ray,
With s)eed )ut on your %oodland dress,
8nd bring no bookB for this one day
WeFll gi*e to idleness#
THE FEMALE VAGRANT
By +er%entFs side my /atherFs cottage stood,
HThe Woman thus her artless story toldI
One field, a flock, and %hat the neighbouring flood
3u))lied, to him %ere more than mines of gold#
Light %as my slee)B my days in trans)ort rollFd7
With thoughtless joy $ stretchFd along the shore
Ey fatherFs nets, or from the mountain fold
3a% on the distant lake his t%inkling oar
Or %atchFd his laGy boat still lessFning more and more
Ey father %as a good and )ious man,
8n honest man by honest )arents bred,
8nd $ belie*e that, soon as $ began
To lis), he made me kneel beside my bed,
8nd in his hearing there my )rayers $ said7
8nd after%ards, by my good father taught,
$ read, and lo*ed the books in %hich $ readB
/or books in e*ery neighbouring house $ sought,
8nd nothing to my mind a s%eeter )leasure brought#
(an $ forget %hat charms did once adorn
Ey garden, stored %ith )ease, and mint, and thyme,
8nd rose and lilly for the sabbath mornL
The sabbath bells, and their delightful chimeB
The gambols and %ild freaks at shearing timeB
Ey henFs rich nest through long grass scarce es)iedB
The co%sli)Dgathering at EayFs de%y )rimeB
The s%ans, that, %hen $ sought the %aterDside,
/rom far to meet me came, s)reading their sno%y )ride#
The staff $ yet remember %hich u)bore
The bending body of my acti*e sireB
2is seat beneath the honeyed sycamore
When the bees hummed, and chair by %inter fireB
When marketDmorning came, the neat attire
With %hich, though bent on haste, myself $ deckFdB
Ey %atchful dog, %hose starts of furious ire,
When stranger )assed, so often $ ha*e checkFdB
The redDbreast kno%n for years, %hich at my casement )eckFd#
The suns of t%enty summers danced along,K
8h6 little marked, ho% fast they rolled a%ay7
Then rose a stately hall our %oods among,
8nd cottage after cottage o%ned its s%ay#
?o joy to see a neighbouring house, or stray
Through )astures not his o%n, the master tookB
Ey /ather dared his greedy %ish gainsayB
2e lo*ed his old hereditary nook,
8nd ill could $ the thought of such sad )arting brook#
But %hen he had refused the )roffered gold,
To cruel injuries he became a )rey,
3ore tra*ersed in %hateFer he bought and sold7
2is troubles gre% u)on him day by day,
Till all his substance fell into decay#
2is little range of %ater %as deniedB ;'<
8ll but the bed %here his old body lay#
8ll, all %as seiGed, and %ee)ing, side by side,
We sought a home %here %e uninjured might abide#
;/ootnote '7 3e*eral of the Lakes in the north of England are let out to
different /ishermen, in )arcels marked out by imaginary lines dra%n from
rock to rock#<
(an $ forget that miserable hour,
When from the last hillDto), my sire sur*eyed,
Peering abo*e the trees, the stee)le to%er
That on his marriageDday s%eet music madeL
Till then he ho)ed his bones might there be laid,
(lose by my mother in their nati*e bo%ers7
Bidding me trust in God, he stood and )rayed,K
$ could not )ray7Kthrough tears that fell in sho%ers,
GlimmerFd our dearDlo*ed home, alas6 no longer ours6
There %as a youth %hom $ had lo*ed so long#
That %hen $ lo*ed him not $ cannot say#
FEid the green mountains many and many a song
We t%o had sung, like gladsome birds in Eay#
When %e began to tire of childish )lay
We seemed still more and more to )riGe each otherB
We talked of marriage and our marriage dayB
8nd $ in truth did lo*e him like a brother,
/or ne*er could $ ho)e to meet %ith such another#
2is father said, that to a distant to%n
2e must re)air, to )ly the artistFs trade#
What tears of bitter grief till then unkno%nL
What tender *o%s our last sad kiss delayed6
To him %e turned7K%e had no other aid#
Like one re*i*ed, u)on his neck $ %e)t,
8nd her %hom he had lo*ed in joy, he said
2e %ell could lo*e in grief7 his faith he ke)tB
8nd in a Cuiet home once more my father sle)t#
/our years each day %ith daily bread %as blest,
By constant toil and constant )rayer su))lied#
Three lo*ely infants lay u)on my breastB
8nd often, *ie%ing their s%eet smiles, $ sighed,
8nd kne% not %hy# Ey ha))y father died
When sad distress reduced the childrensF meal7
Thrice ha))y6 that from him the gra*e did hide
The em)ty loom, cold hearth, and silent %heel,
8nd tears that flo%ed for ills %hich )atience could not heal#
FT%as a hard change, an e*il time %as comeB
We had no ho)e, and no relief could gain#
But soon, %ith )roud )arade, the noisy drum
Beat round, to s%ee) the streets of %ant and )ain#
Ey husbandFs arms no% only ser*ed to strain
Ee and his children hungering in his *ie%7
$n such dismay my )rayers and tears %ere *ain7
To join those miserable men he fle%B
8nd no% to the seaDcoast, %ith numbers more, %e dre%#
There foul neglect for months and months %e bore,
?or yet the cro%ded fleet its anchor stirred#
Green fields before us and our nati*e shore,
By fe*er, from )olluted air incurred,
1a*age %as made, for %hich no knell %as heard#
/ondly %e %ished, and %ished a%ay, nor kne%,
FEid that long sickness, and those ho)es deferrFd,
That ha))ier days %e ne*er more must *ie%7
The )arting signal streamed, at last the land %ithdre%#
But from delay the summer calms %ere )ast#
On as %e dro*e, the eCuinoctial dee)
1an mountainsDhigh before the ho%ling blast#
We gaGed %ith terror on the gloomy slee)
Of them that )erished in the %hirl%indFs s%ee),
>ntaught that soon such anguish must ensue,
Our ho)es such har*est of affliction rea),
That %e the mercy of the %a*es should rue#
We readied the %estern %orld, a )oor, de*oted cre%#
Oh $ dreadful )rice of being to resign
8ll that is dear in being6 better far
$n WantFs most lonely ca*e till death to )ine,
>nseen, unheard, un%atched by any starB
Or in the streets and %alks %here )roud men are,
Better our dying bodies to obtrude,
Than dogDlike, %ading at the heels of %ar,
Protract a curst e0istence, %ith the brood
That la) Htheir *ery nourishment6I their brotherFs blood#
The )ains and )lagues that on our heads came do%nB
+isease and famine, agony and fear,
$n %ood or %ilderness, in cam) or to%n,
$t %ould thy brain unsettle e*en to hear#
8ll )erishedKall, in one remorseless year,
2usband and children6 one by one, by s%ord
8nd ra*enous )lague, all )erished7 e*ery tear
+ried u), des)airing, desolate, on board
8 British shi) $ %aked, as from a trance restored#
Peaceful as some immeasurable )lain
By the first beams of da%ning light im)ressFdB
$n the calm sunshine sle)t the glittering main,
The *ery ocean has its hour of rest,
That comes not to the human mournerFs breast#
1emote from man, and storms of mortal care,
8 hea*enly silence did the %a*es in*est7
$ looked and looked along the silent air,
>ntil it seemed to bring a joy to my des)air#
8h6 ho% unlike those late terrific slee)s6
8nd groans, that rage of racking famine s)oke7
The unburied dead that lay in festering hea)s6
The breathing )estilence that rose like smoke6
The shriek that from the distant battle broke6
The mineFs dire earthCuake, and the )allid host
+ri*en by the bombFs incessant thunderDstroke
To loathsome *aults, %here heartDsick anguish tossFd,
2o)e died, and fear itself in agony %as lost6
-et does that burst of %oe congeal my frame,
When the dark streets a))eared to hea*e and ga)e,
While like a sea the storming army came,
8nd /ire from hell reared his gigantic sha)e,
8nd Eurder, by the ghastly gleam, and 1a)e
3eiGed their joint )rey, the mother and the child6
But from these craGing thoughts my brain, esca)e6
K/or %eeks the balmy air breathed soft and mild,
8nd on the gliding *essel 2ea*en and Ocean smiled#
3ome mighty gul)h of se)aration )ast,
$ seemed trans)orted to another %orld7K
8 thought resigned %ith )ain, %hen from the mast
The im)atient mariner the sail unfurlFd,
8nd %histling, called the %ind that hardly curled
The silent sea# /rom the s%eet thoughts of home,
8nd from all ho)e $ %as fore*er hurled#
/or meKfarthest from earthly )ort to roam
Was best, could $ but shun the s)ot %here man might
come#
8nd oft, robbFd of my )erfect mind, $ thought
8t last my feet a restingD)lace had found7
2ere %ill $ %ee) in )eace, Hso fancy %rought,I
1oaming the illimitable %aters roundB
2ere %atch, of e*ery human friend diso%ned,
8ll day, my ready tomb the oceanDfloodK
To break my dream the *essel reached its bound7
8nd homeless near a thousand homes $ stood,
8nd near a thousand tables )ined, and %anted food#
By grief enfeebled %as $ turned adrift,
2el)less as sailor cast on desert rockB
?or morsel to my mouth that day did lift,
?or dared my hand at any door to knock#
$ lay, %here %ith his dro%sy mates, the cock
/rom the cross timber of an outDhouse hungB
2o% dismal tolled, that night, the city clock6
8t morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung,
?or to the beggarFs language could $ frame my tongue#
3o )assed another day, and so the third7
Then did $ try, in *ain, the cro%dFs resort,
$n dee) des)air by frightful %ishes stirrFd,
?ear the seaDside $ reached a ruined fort7
There, )ains %hich nature could no more su))ort,
With blindness linked, did on my *itals fallB
+iGGy my brain, %ith interru)tion short
Of hideous senseB $ sunk, nor ste) could cra%l,
8nd thence %as borne a%ay to neighbouring hos)ital#
1eco*ery came %ith food7 but still, my brain
Was %eak, nor of the )ast had memory#
$ heard my neighbours, in their beds, com)lain
Of many things %hich ne*er troubled meB
Of feet still bustling round %ith busy glee,
Of looks %here common kindness had no )art#
Of ser*ice done %ith careless cruelty,
/retting the fe*er round the languid heart,
8nd groans, %hich, as they said, %ould make a dead man start#
These things just ser*ed to stir the tor)id sense,
?or )ain nor )ity in my bosom raised#
Eemory, though slo%, returned %ith strength7 and thence
+ismissed, again on o)en day $ gaGed,
8t houses, men, and common light, amaGed#
The lanes $ sought, and as the sun retired,
(ame, %here beneath the trees a faggot blaGedB
The %ild brood sa% me %ee), my fate enCuired,
8nd ga*e me food, and rest, more %elcome, more desired#
Ey heart is touched to think that men like these,
The rude earthFs tenants, %ere my first relief7
2o% kindly did they )aint their *agrant ease6
8nd their long holiday that feared not grief,
/or all belonged to all, and each %as chief#
?o )lough their sine%s strainedB on grating road
?o %ain they dro*e, and yet, the yello% sheaf
$n e*ery *ale for their delight %as sto%ed7
/or them, in natureFs meads, the milky udder flo%ed,
3emblance, %ith stra% and )anniered ass, they made
Of )otters %andering on from door to door7
But life of ha))ier sort to me )ourtrayed,
8nd other joys my fancy to allureB
The bagD)i)e dinning on the midnight moor
$n barn u)lighted, and com)anions boon
Well met from far %ith re*elry secure,
$n de)th of forest glade, %hen jocund =une
1olled fast along the sky his %arm and genial moon#
But ill it suited me, in journey dark
OFer moor and mountain, midnight theft to hatchB
To charm the surly houseDdogFs faithful bark,
Or hang on ti)toe at the lifted latchB
The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match,
The black disguise, the %arning %histle shrill,
8nd ear still busy on its nightly %atch,
Were not for me, brought u) in nothing illB
Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts %ere brooding still#
What could $ do, unaided and unblestL
Poor /ather6 gone %as e*ery friend of thine7
8nd kindred of dead husband are at best
3mall hel), and, after marriage such as mine,
With little kindness %ould to me incline#
$ll %as $ then for toil or ser*ice fit7
With tears %hose course no effort could confine,
By highD%ay side forgetful %ould $ sit
Whole hours, my idle arms in mo)ing sorro% knit#
$ li*ed u)on the mercy of the fields
8nd oft of cruelty the sky accusedB
On haGard, or %hat general bounty yields#
?o% coldly gi*en, no% utterly refused,
The fields $ for my bed ha*e often used7
But, %hat afflicts my )eace %ith keenest ruth
$s, that $ ha*e my inner self abused,
/oregone the home delight of constant truth,
8nd clear and o)en soul, so )riGed in fearless youth#
Three years a %anderer, often ha*e $ *ie%Fd,
$n tears, the sun to%ards that country tend
Where my )oor heart lost all its fortitude7
8nd no% across this moor my ste)s $ bendK
Oh6 tell me %hitherKfor no earthly friend
2a*e $#K3he ceased, and %ee)ing turned a%ay,
8s if because her tale %as at an end
3he %e)tBKbecause she had no more to say
Of that )er)etual %eight %hich on her s)irit lay#
THE DUNGEON.
8nd this )lace our forefathers made for man6
This is the )rocess of our lo*e and %isdom
To each )oor brother %ho offends against usK
Eost innocent, )erha)sKand %hat if guiltyL
$s this the only cureL Eerciful God6
Each )ore and natural outlet shri*ellFd u)
By ignorance and )arching )o*erty,
2is energies roll back u)on his heart,
8nd stagnate and corru)tB till changed to )oison,
They break out on him, like a loathsome )lague s)ot#
Then %e call in our )am)erFd mountebanksK
8nd this is their best cure6 uncomforted#
8nd friendless solitude, groaning and tears#
8nd sa*age faces, at the clanking hour,
3een through the steams and *a)our of his dungeon,
By the lam)Fs dismal t%ilight6 3o he lies
(ircled %ith e*il, till his *ery soul
>nmoulds its essence, ho)elessly deformed
By sights of e*er more deformity6
With other ministrations thou, O nature6F
2ealest thy %andering and distem)ered child7
Thou )ourest on him thy soft influences#
Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sheets,
Thy melodies of %oods, and %inds, and %aters,
Till he relent, and can no more endure
To be a jarring and a dissonant thing,
8mid this general dance and minstrelsyB
But, bursting into tears, %ins back his %ay,
2is angry s)irit healed and harmoniGed
By the benignant touch of lo*e and beauty#
!IM3# $" %0 3$+ 0(#%!MA#"
-ith an incident in which he was concerned.
$n the s%eet shire of (ardigan,
?ot far from )leasant $*orDhall,
8n old man d%ells, a little man,
$F*e heard he once %as tall#
Of years he has u)on his back,
?o doubt, a burthen %eightyB
2e says he is three score and ten,
But others say heFs eighty#
8 long blue li*eryDcoat has he,
ThatFs fair behind, and fair beforeB
-et, meet him %here you %ill, you see
8t once that he is )oor#
/ull fi*e and t%enty years he li*ed
8 running huntsman merryB
8nd, though he has but one eye left,
2is cheek is like a cherry#
?o man like him the horn could sound,
8nd no man %as so full of gleeB
To say the least, four counties round#
2ad heard of 3imon LeeB
2is masterFs dead, and no one no%
+%ells in the hall of $*orB
Een, dogs, and horses, all are deadB
2e is the sole sur*i*or#
2is hunting feats ha*e him bereft
Of his right eye, as you may see7
8nd then, %hat limbs those feats ha*e left
To )oor old 3imon Lee6
2e has no son, he has no child,
2is %ife, an aged %oman,
Li*es %ith him, near the %aterfall,
>)on the *illage common#
8nd he is lean and he is sick,
2is d%indled bodyFs half a%ry,
2is ancles they are s%oln and thickB
2is legs are thin and dry#
When he %as young he little kne%
FOf husbandry or tillageB
8nd no% heFs forced to %ork, though %eak,
KThe %eakest in the *illage#
2e all the country could outrun,
(ould lea*e both man and horse behindB
8nd often, ere the race %as done,
2e reeled and %as stoneDblind#
8nd still thereFs something in the %orld
8t %hich his heart rejoicesB
/or %hen the chiming bounds are out,
2e dearly lo*es their *oices6
Old 1uth %orks out of doors %ith him#
8nd does %hat 3imon cannot doB
/or she, not o*er stout of limb,
$s stouter of the t%o#
8nd though you %ith your utmost skill
/rom labour could not %ean them,
8las6 Ftis *ery little, all
Which they can do bet%een them#
Beside their mossDgro%n hut of clay,
?ot t%enty )aces from the door,
8 scra) of land they ha*e, but they
8re )oorest of the )oor#
This scra) of land he from the heath
Enclosed %hen he %as strongerB
But %hat a*ails the land to them,
Which they can till no longerL
/e% months of life has he in store,
8s he to you %illDtell,
/or still, the more he %orks, the more
2is )oor old ancles s%ell#
Ey gentle reader, $ )ercei*e
2o% )atiently youF*e %aited,
8nd $Fm afraid that you e0)ect
3ome tale %ill be related#
O reader6 had you in your mind
3uch stores as silent thought can bring,
O gentle reader6 you %ould find
8 tale in e*ery thing#
What more $ ha*e to say is short,
$ ho)e youFll kindly take itB
$t is no taleB but should you think,
Perha)s a tale youFll make it#
One summerDday $ chanced to see
This old man doing all he could
8bout the root of an old tree,
8 stum) of rotten %ood#
The mattock totterFd in his handB
3o *ain %as his endea*our
That at the root of the old tree
2e might ha*e %orked for e*er#
,-ouF*e o*ertasked, good 3imon Lee,
Gi*e me your tool, to him $ saidB
8nd at the %ord right gladly he
1ecei*ed my )rofferFd aid#
$ struck, and %ith a single blo%
The tangled root $ se*erFd,
8t %hich the )oor old man so long
8nd *ainly had endea*oured#
The tears into his eyes %ere brought,
8nd thanks and )raises seemed to run
3o fast out of his heart, $ thought
They ne*er %ould ha*e done#
K$F*e heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning#
8las6 the gratitude of men
2as oftner left me mourning#
$I#!
-ritten in early !pring#
$ heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a gro*e $ sate reclined,
$n that s%eet mood %hen )leasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind#
To her fair %orks did nature link
The human soul that through me ranB
8nd much it grie*Fd my heart to think
What man has made of man#
Through )rimrose tufts, in that s%eet bo%er,
The )eri%inkle trailFd its %reathesB
8nd Ftis my faith that e*ery flo%er
Enjoys the air it breathes#
The birds around me ho))Fd and )layFd7
Their thoughts $ cannot measure,
But the least motion %hich they made,
$t seemFd a thrill of )leasure#
The budding t%igs s)read out their fan,
To catch the breeGy airB
8nd $ must think, do all $ can,
That there %as )leasure there#
$f $ these thoughts may not )re*ent,
$f such be of my creed the )lan,
2a*e $ not reason to lament
What man has made of manL
%he #I50%I#5A$.
-ritten in April" 6789.
?o cloud, no reliCue of the sunken day
+istinguishes the West, no long thin sli)
Of sullen Light, no obscure trembling hues#
(ome, %e %ill rest on this old mossy Bridge6
-ou see the glimmer of the stream beneath,
But hear no murmuring7 it flo%s silently
OFer its soft bed of *erdure# 8ll is still,
8 balmy night6 and thoF the stars be dim,
-et let us think u)on the *ernal sho%ers
That gladden the green earth, and %e shall find
8 )leasure in the dimness of the stars#
8nd hark6 the ?ightingale begins its song
,Eost musical, most melancholy, ;M< Bird6
8 melancholy BirdL O idle thought6
$n nature there is nothing melancholy#
KBut some night %andering Ean, %hose heart %as )iercFd
With the remembrance of a grie*ous %rong,
Or slo% distem)er or neglected lo*e,
H8nd so, )oor Wretch6 fillFd all things %ith himself
8nd made all gentle sounds tell back the tale
Of his o%n sorro%sI he and such as he
/irst named these notes a melancholy strain7
8nd many a )oet echoes the conceitB
Poet, %ho hath been building u) the rhyme
;/ootnote M7 ,Most musical" most melancholy#, This )assage in Eilton
)ossesses an e0cellence far su)erior to that of mere descri)tion7 it is s)oken in
the character of the melancholy Ean, and has therefore a dramatic )ro)riety#
The 8uthor makes this remark, to rescue himself from the charge of ha*ing
alluded %ith le*ity to a line in Eilton7 a charge than %hich none could be
more )ainful to him, e0ce)t )erha)s that of ha*ing ridiculed his Bible#<
When he had better far ha*e stretchFd his limbs
Beside a Fbrook in mossy forestDdell
By sun or moonlight, to the influ0es
Of sha)es and sounds and shifting elements
3urrendering his %hole s)irit, of his song
8nd of his fame forgetful6 so his fame
3hould share in natureFs immortality,
8 *enerable thing6 and so his song
3hould make all nature lo*elier, and itself
Be lo*Fd, like nature6KBut Ft%ill not be soB
8nd youths and maidens most )oetical
Who lose the dee)Fning t%ilights of the s)ring
$n ballDrooms and hot theatres, they still
/ull of meek sym)athy must hea*e their sighs
OFer PhilomelaFs )ityD)leading strains#
Ey /riend, and my /riendFs 3ister6 %e ha*e learnt
8 different lore7 %e may not thus )rofane
?atureFs s%eet *oices al%ays full of lo*e
8nd joyance6 Tis the merry ?ightingale
That cro%ds, and hurries, and )reci)itates
With fast thick %arble his delicious notes,
8s he %ere fearful, that an 8)ril night
Would be too short for him to utter forth
2iL lo*eDchant, and disburthen his full soul
Of all its music6 8nd $ kno% a gro*e
Of large e0tent, hard by a castle huge
Which the great lord inhabits not7 and so
This gro*e is %ild %ith tangling under%ood,
8nd the trim %alks are broken u), and grass,
Thin grass and kingDcu)s gro% %ithin the )aths#
But ne*er else%here in one )lace $ kne%
3o many ?ightingales7 and far and near
$n %ood and thicket o*er the %ide gro*e
They ans%er and )ro*oke each otherFs songsK
With skirmish and ca)ricious )assagings,
8nd murmurs musical and s%ift jug jug
8nd one lo% )i)ing sound more s%eet than allK
3tirring the air %ith such an harmony,
That should you close your eyes, you might almost
/orget it %as not day6
8 most gentle maid
Who d%elleth in her hos)itable home
2ard by the (astle, and at latest e*e,
HE*en like a Lady *o%Fd and dedicate
To something more than nature in the gro*eI
Glides throF the )ath%aysB she kno%s all their notes,
That gentle Eaid6 and oft, a momentFs s)ace,
What time the moon %as lost behind a cloud,
2ath heard a )ause of silence7 till the Eoon
Emerging, hath a%akenFd earth and sky
With one sensation, and those %akeful Birds
2a*e all burst forth in choral minstrelsy,
8t if one Cuick and sudden Gale had s%e)t
8n hundred airy har)s6 8nd she hath %atchFd
Eany a ?ightingale )erch giddily
On blosmy t%ig still s%inging from the breeGe,
8nd to that motion tune his %anton song,
Like ti)sy =oy that reels %ith tossing head#
/are%ell, O Warbler6 till toDmorro% e*e,
8nd you, my friends6 fare%ell, a short fare%ell6
We ha*e been loitering long and )leasantly,
8nd no% for our dear homes#KThat strain again6
/ull fain it %ould delay me6DEy dear Babe,
Who, ca)able of no articulate sound,
Ears all things %ith his imitati*e lis),
2o% he %ould )lace his hand beside his ear,
2is little hand, the small forefinger u),
8nd bid us listen6 8nd $ deem it %ise
To make him ?atureFs )laymate# 2e kno%s %ell
The e*ening star7 and once %hen he a%oke
$n most distressful mood Hsome in%ard )ain
2ad made u) that strange thing, an infantFs dreamI
$ hurried %ith him to our orchard )lot,
8nd he beholds the moon, and hushFd at once
3us)ends his sobs, and laughs most silently,
While his fair eyes that s%am %ith undro)t tears
+id glitter in the yello% moonDbeam6 WellK
$t is a fatherFs tale# But if that 2ea*en
3hould gi*e me life, his childhood shall gro% u)
/amiliar %ith these songs, that %ith the night
2e may associate =oy6 Once more fare%ell,
3%eet ?ightingale6 once more, my friends6 fare%ell#
$I#!
-ritten when sailing in a Boat At 2#I#5.
2o% rich the %a*e, in front, im)rest
With e*ening t%ilights summer hues,
While, facing thus the crimson %est,
The boat her silent )ath )ursues6
8nd see ho% dark the back%ard stream6
8 little moment )ast, so smiling6
8nd still, )erha)s, %ith faithless gleam,
3ome other loiterer beguiling#
3uch *ie%s the youthful bard allure,
But, heedless of the follo%ing gloom,
2e deems their colours shall endure
FTill )eace go %ith him to the tomb#
K8nd let him nurse his fond deceit,
8nd %hat if he must die in sorro%6
Who %ould not cherish dreams so s%eet,
Though grief and )ain may come toDmorro%L
$I#!
-ritten near &ichmond upon the %hames.
Glide gently, thus for e*er glide,
O Thames6 that other bards may see,
8s lo*ely *isions by thy side
8s no%, fair ri*er6 come to me#
Oh glide, fair stream6 for e*er soB
Thy Cuiet soul on all besto%ing,
FTill all our minds for e*er flo%,
8s thy dee) %aters no% are flo%ing#
"ain thought6 yet be as no% thou art,
That in thy %aters may be seen
The image of a )oetFs heart,
2o% bright, ho% solemn, ho% serene6
3uch as did once the )oet bless,
Who, )ouring here a later ditty,
(ould find no refuge from distress,
But in the milder grief of )ity#
1emembrance6 as %e float along,
/or him sus)end the dashing oar,
8nd )ray that ne*er child of 3ong
Eay kno% his freeGing sorro%s more#
2o% calm6 ho% still6 the only sound,
The dri))ing of the oar sus)ended6
KThe e*ening darkness gathers round
By *irtueFs holiest )o%ers attended# ;:<
;/ootnote :7 (ollinsFs Ode on the death of Thomson, the last %ritten,
$ belie*e, of the )oems %hich %ere )ublished during his lifeDtime#
This Ode is also alluded to in the ne0t stanGa#<
THE IDIOT BOY.
%he I+I3% B3)#
FTis eight oFclock,Ka clear Earch night,
The moon is u)Kthe sky is blue,
The o%let in the moonlight air,
2e shouts from nobody kno%s %hereB
2e lengthens out his lonely shout,
2alloo6 halloo6 a long halloo6
KWhy bustle thus about your door,
What means this bustle, Betty /oyL
Why are you in this mighty fretL
8nd %hy on horseback ha*e you set
2im %hom you lo*e, your idiot boyL
Beneath the moon that shines so bright,
Till she is tired, let Betty /oy
With girt and stirru) fiddleDfaddleB
But %herefore set u)on a saddle
2im %hom she lo*es, her idiot boyL
ThereFs scarce a soul thatFs out of bedB
Good Betty )ut him do%n againB
2is li)s %ith joy they burr at you,
But, Betty6 %hat has he to do
With stirru), saddle, or %ith reinL
The %orld %ill say Ftis *ery idle,
Bethink you of the time of nightB
ThereFs not a mother, no not one,
But %hen she hears %hat you ha*e done,
Oh6 Betty sheFll be in a fright#
But BettyFs bent on her intent,
/or her good neighbour, 3usan Gale,
Old 3usan, she %ho d%ells alone,
$s sick, and makes a )iteous moan,
8s if her *ery life %ould fail#
ThereFs not a house %ithin a mile,
?o hand to hel) them in distressB
Old 3usan lies a bed in )ain,
8nd sorely )uGGled are the t%ain,
/or %hat she ails they cannot guess#
8nd BettyFs husbandFs at the %ood,
Where by the %eek he doth abide,
8 %oodman in the distant *aleB
ThereFs none to hel) )oor 3usan Gale,
What must be doneL %hat %ill betideL
8nd Betty from the lane has fetched
2er )ony, that is mild and good,
Whether he be in joy or )ain,
/eeding at %ill along the lane,
Or bringing faggots from the %ood#
8nd he is all in tra*elling trim,
8nd by the moonlight, Betty /oy
2as u) u)on the saddle set,
The like %as ne*er heard of yet,
2im %hom she lo*es, her idiot boy#
8nd he must )ost %ithout delay
8cross the bridge thatFs in the dale,
8nd by the church, and oFer the do%n,
To bring a doctor from the to%n,
Or she %ill die, old 3usan Gale#
There is no need of boot or s)ur,
There is no need of %hi) or %and,
/or =ohnny has his hollyDbough,
8nd %ith a hurlyDburly no%
2e shakes the green bough in his hand#
8nd Betty oFer and oFer has told
The boy %ho is her best delight,
Both %hat to follo%, %hat to shun,
What do, and %hat to lea*e undone,
2o% turn to left, and ho% to right#
8nd BettyFs most es)ecial charge,
Was, ,=ohnny6 =ohnny6 mind that you
(ome home again, nor sto) at all,
(ome home again, %hateFer befal,
Ey =ohnny do, $ )ray you do#,
To this did =ohnny ans%er make,
Both %ith his head, and %ith his hand,
8nd )roudly shook the bridle too,
8nd then6 his %ords %ere not a fe%,
Which Betty %ell could understand#
8nd no% that =ohnny is just going,
Though BettyFs in a mighty flurry,
3he gently )ats the )onyFs side,
On %hich her idiot boy must ride,
8nd seems no longer in a hurry#
But %hen the )ony mo*ed his legs,
Oh6 then for the )oor idiot boy6
/or joy he cannot hold the bridle,
/or joy his head and heels are idle,
2eFs idle all for *ery joy#
8nd %hile the )ony mo*es his legs,
$n =ohnnyFs left hand you may see,
The green boughFs motionless and dead7
The moon that shines abo*e his head
$s not more still and mute than he#
2is heart it %as so full of glee,
That till full fifty yards %ere gone,
2e Cuite forgot his holly %hi),
8nd all his skill in horsemanshi),
Oh6 ha))y, ha))y, ha))y =ohn#
8nd BettyFs standing at the door,
8nd BettyFs face %ith joy oFerflo%s,
Proud of herself, and )roud of him,
3he sees him in his tra*elling trimB
2o% Cuietly her =ohnny goes#
The silence of her idiot boy,
What ho)es it sends to BettyFs heart6
2eFs at the guideD)ostKhe turns right,
3he %atches till heFs out of sight,
8nd Betty %ill not then de)art#
Burr, burrKno% =ohnnyFs li)s they burr,
8s loud as any mill, or near it,
Eeek as a lamb the )ony mo*es,
8nd =ohnny makes the noise he lo*es,
8nd Betty listens, glad to hear it#
8%ay she hies to 3usan Gale7
8nd =ohnnyFs in a merry tune,
The o%lets hoot, the o%lets )urr,
8nd =ohnnyFs li)s they burr, burr, burr,
8nd on he goes beneath the moon#
2is steed and he right %ell agree,
/or of this )ony thereFs a rumour,
That should he lose his eyes and ears,
8nd should he li*e a thousand years,
2e ne*er %ill be out of humour#
But then he is a horse that thinks6
8nd %hen he thinks his )ace is slackB
?o%, though he kno%s )oor =ohnny %ell,
-et for his life he cannot tell
What he has got u)on his back#
3o through the moonlight lanes they go,
8nd far into the moonlight dale,
8nd by the church, and oFer the do%n,
To bring a doctor from the to%n,
To comfort )oor old 3usan Gale#
8nd Betty, no% at 3usanFs side,
$s in the middle of her story,
What comfort =ohnny soon %ill bring,
With many a most di*erting thing,
Of =ohnnyFs %it and =ohnnyFs glory#
8nd BettyFs still at 3usanFs side7
By this time sheFs not Cuite so flurriedB
+emure %ith )orringer and )late
3he sits, as if in 3usanFs fate
2er life and soul %ere buried#
But Betty, )oor good %oman6 she,
-ou )lainly in her face may read it,
(ould lend out of that momentFs store
/i*e years of ha))iness or more,
To any that might need it#
But yet $ guess that no% and then
With Betty all %as not so %ell,
8nd to the road she turns her ears,
8nd thence full many a sound she hears,
Which she to 3usan %ill not tell#
Poor 3usan moans, )oor 3usan groans,
,8s sure as thereFs a moon in hea*en,,
(ries Betty, ,heFll be back againB
TheyFll both be here, Ftis almost ten,
TheyFll both be here before ele*en#,
Poor 3usan moans, )oor 3usan groans,
The clock gi*es %arning for ele*enB
FTis on the strokeK,$f =ohnnyFs near,,
Auoth Betty ,he %ill soon be here,
8s sure as thereFs a moon in hea*en#,
The clock is on the stroke of t%el*e,
8nd =ohnny is not yet in sight,
The moonFs in hea*en, as Betty sees,
But Betty is not Cuite at easeB
8nd 3usan has a dreadful night#
8nd Betty, half an hour ago,
On =ohnny *ile reflections cast7
,8 little idle sauntering thing6,
With other names, an endless string#
But no% that time is gone and )ast#
8nd BettyFs droo)ing at the heart#
That ha))y time all )ast and gone,
,2o% can it be he is so lateL
The +octor he has made him %ait,
3usan6 theyFll both be here anon#,
8nd 3usanFs gro%ing %orse and %orse,
8nd BettyFs in a sad CuandaryB
8nd then thereFs nobody to say
$f she must go or she must stay7
K3heFs in a sad Cuandary#
The clock is on the stroke of oneB
But neither +octor nor his guide
8))ear along the moonlight road,
ThereFs neither horse nor man abroad,
8nd BettyFs still at 3usanFs side#
8nd 3usan she begins to fear
Of sad mischances not a fe%,
That =ohnny may )erha)s be dro%nFd,
Or lost )erha)s, and ne*er foundB
Which they must both for e*er rue#
3he )refaced half a hint of this
With, ,God forbid it should be true6,
8t the first %ord that 3usan said
(ried Betty, rising from the bed,
,3usan, $Fd gladly stay %ith you#,
,$ must be gone, $ must a%ay,
(onsider, =ohnnyFs but halfD%iseB
3usan, %e must take care of him,
$f he is hurt in life or limb,K
,Oh God forbid6, )oor 3usan cries#
,What can $ doL, says Betty, going,
,What can $ do to ease your )ainL
Good 3usan tell me, and $Fll stayB
$ fear youFre in a dreadful %ay,
But $ shall soon be back again#,
,?ay, Betty, go6 good Betty, go6
ThereFs nothing that can ease my )ain#,
Then off she hies, but %ith a )rayer
That God )oor 3usanFs life %ould s)are,
Till she comes back again#
3o, through the moonlight lane she goes,
8nd far into the moonlight daleB
8nd ho% she ran, and ho% she %alked,
8nd all that to herself she talked,
Would surely be a tedious tale#
$n high and lo%, abo*e, belo%,
$n great and small, in round and sCuare,
$n tree and to%er %as =ohnny seen,
$n bush and brake, in black and green,
FT%as =ohnny, =ohnny, e*ery %here#
3heFs )ast the bridge thatFs in the dale,
8nd no% the thought torments her sore,
=ohnny )erha)s his horse forsook,
To hunt the moon thatFs in the brook,
8nd ne*er %ill be heard of more#
8nd no% sheFs high u)on the do%n,
8lone amid a )ros)ect %ideB
ThereFs neither =ohnny nor his horse,
8mong the fern or in the gorseB
ThereFs neither doctor nor his guide#
,Oh saints6 %hat is become of himL
Perha)s heFs climbed into an oak,
Where he %ill stay till he is deadB
Or sadly he has been misled,
8nd joined the %andering gy)seyDfolk#,
,Or him that %icked )onyFs carried
To the dark ca*e, the goblinsF hall,
Or in the castle heFs )ursuing,
8mong the ghosts, his o%n undoingB
Or )laying %ith the %aterfall,,
8t )oor old 3usan then she railed,
While to the to%n she )osts a%ayB
,$f 3usan had not been so ill,
8las6 $ should ha*e had him still,
Ey =ohnny, till my dying day#,
Poor Betty6 in this sad distem)er,
The doctorFs self %ould hardly s)are,
>n%orthy things she talked and %ild,
E*en he, of cattle the most mild,
The )ony had his share#
8nd no% sheFs got into the to%n,
8nd to the doctorFs door she hiesB
FTis silence all on e*ery sideB
The to%n so long, the to%n so %ide,
$s silent as the skies#
8nd no% sheFs at the doctorFs door,
3he lifts the knocker, ra), ra), ra),
The doctor at the casement she%s,
2is glimmering eyes that )ee) and doGeB
8nd one hand rubs his old nightDca)#
,Oh +octor6 +octor6 %hereFs my =ohnnyL,
,$Fm here, %hat isFt you %ant %ith meL,
,Oh 3ir6 you kno% $Fm Betty /oy,
8nd $ ha*e lost my )oor dear boy,
-ou kno% himKhim you often seeB,
,2eFs not so %ise as some folks be,,
,The de*il take his %isdom6, said
The +octor, looking some%hat grim,
,What, %oman6 should $ kno% of himL,
8nd, grumbling, he %ent back to bed#
,O %oe is me6 O %oe is me6
2ere %ill $ dieB here %ill $ dieB
$ thought to find my =ohnny here,
But he is neither far nor near,
Oh6 %hat a %retched mother $6,
3he sto)s, she stands, she looks about,
Which %ay to turn she cannot tell#
Poor Betty6 it %ould ease her )ain
$f she had heart to knock againB
KThe clock strikes threeKa dismal knell6
Then u) along the to%n she hies,
?o %onder if her senses fail,
This )iteous ne%s so much it shockFd her,
3he Cuite forgot to send the +octor,
To comfort )oor old 3usan Gale#
8nd no% sheFs high u)on the do%n,
8nd she can see a mile of road,
,Oh cruel6 $Fm almost threeDscoreB
3uch night as this %as neFer before,
ThereFs not a single soul abroad#,
3he listens, but she cannot hear
The foot of horse, the *oice of manB
The streams %ith softest sound are flo%ing,
The grass you almost hear it gro%ing,
-ou hear it no% if eFer you can#
The o%lets through the long blue night
8re shouting to each other still7
/ond lo*ers, yet not Cuite hob nob,
They lengthen out the tremulous sob,
That echoes far from hill to hill#
Poor Betty no% has lost all ho)e,
2er thoughts are bent on deadly sinB
8 greenDgro%n )ond she just has )assFd,
8nd from the brink she hurries fast,
Lest she should dro%n herself therein#
8nd no% she sits her do%n and %ee)sB
3uch tears she ne*er shed beforeB
,Oh dear, dear )ony6 my s%eet joy6
Oh carry back my idiot boy6
8nd %e %ill neFer oFerload thee more#,
8 thought it come into her headB
,The )ony he is mild and good,
8nd %e ha*e al%ays used him %ellB
Perha)s heFs gone along the dell,
8nd carried =ohnny to the %ood#,
Then u) she s)rings as if on %ingsB
3he thinks no more of deadly sinB
$f Betty fifty )onds should see,
The last of all her thoughts %ould be,
To dro%n herself therein#
Oh reader6 no% that $ might tell
What =ohnny and his horse are doing6
What theyF*e been doing all this time,
Oh could $ )ut it into rhyme,
8 most delightful tale )ursuing6
Perha)s, and no unlikely thought6
2e %ith his )ony no% doth roam
The cliffs and )eaks so high that are,
To lay his hands u)on a star,
8nd in his )ocket bring it home#
Perha)s heFs turned himself about,
2is face unto his horseFs tail,
8nd still and mute, in %onder lost,
8ll like a silent horseDman ghost,
2e tra*els on along the *ale#
8nd no%, )erha)s, heFs hunting shee),
8 fierce and dreadful hunter he6
-on *alley, thatFs so trim and green,
$n fi*e monthsF time, should he be seen,
8 desart %ilderness %ill be#
Perha)s, %ith head and heels on fire,
8nd like the *ery soul of e*il,
2eFs gallo)ing a%ay, a%ay,
8nd so heFll gallo) on for aye,
The bane of all that dread the de*il#
$ to the muses ha*e been bound
These fourteen years, by strong indentures7
Oh gentle muses6 let me tell
But half of %hat to him befel,
/or sure he met %ith strange ad*entures#
Oh gentle muses6 is this kind
Why %ill ye thus my suit re)elL
Why of your further aid berea*e meL
8nd can ye thus unfriended lea*e meL
-e muses6 %hom $ lo*e so %ell#
WhoFs yon, that, near the %aterfall,
Which thunders do%n %ith headlong force,
Beneath the moon, yet shining fair,
8s careless as if nothing %ere,
3its u)right on a feeding horseL
>nto his horse, thatFs feeding free,
2e seems, $ think, the rein to gi*eB
Of moon or stars he takes no heedB
Of such %e in romances read,
KTis =ohnny6 =ohnny6 as $ li*e#
8nd thatFs the *ery )ony too#
Where is she, %here is Betty /oyL
3he hardly can sustain her fearsB
The roaring %aterDfall she hears,
8nd cannot find her idiot boy#
-our )onyFs %orth his %eight in gold,
Then calm your terrors, Betty /oy6
3heFs coming from among the trees,
8nd no% all full in *ie% she sees
2im %hom she lo*es, her idiot boy#
8nd Betty sees the )ony too7
Why stand you thus Good Betty /oyL
$t is no goblin, Ftis no ghost,
FTis he %hom you so long ha*e lost,
2e %hom you lo*e, your idiot boy#
3he looks againDher arms are u)K
3he screamsKshe cannot mo*e for joyB
3he darts as %ith a torrentFs force,
3he almost has oFerturned the horse,
8nd fast she holds her idiot boy#
8nd =ohnny burrs, and laughs aloud,
Whether in cunning or in joy,
$ cannot tellB but %hile he laughs,
Betty a drunken )leasure Cuaffs,
To hear again her idiot boy#
8nd no% sheFs at the )onyFs tail,
8nd no% sheFs at the )onyFs head,
On that side no%, and no% on this,
8nd almost stifled %ith her bliss,
8 fe% sad tears does Betty shed#
3he kisses oFer and oFer again,
2im %hom she lo*es, her idiot boy,
3heFs ha))y here, sheFs ha))y there#
3he is uneasy e*ery %hereB
2er limbs are all ali*e %ith joy#
3he )ats the )ony, %here or %hen
3he kno%s not, ha))y Betty /oy6
The little )ony glad may be,
But he is milder far than she,
-ou hardly can )ercei*e his joy#
,Oh6 =ohnny, ne*er mind the +octorB
-ouF*e done your best, and that is all#,
3he took the reins, %hen this %as said,
8nd gently turned the )onyFs head
/rom the loud %aterDfall#
By this the stars %ere almost gone,
The moon %as setting on the hill,
3o )ale you scarcely looked at her7
The little birds began to stir,
Though yet their tongues %ere still#
The )ony, Betty, and her boy,
Wind slo%ly through the %oody daleB
8nd %ho is she, beDtimes abroad,
That hobbles u) the stee) rough roadL
Who is it, but old 3usan GaleL
Long 3usan lay dee) lost in thought,
8nd many dreadful fears beset her,
Both for her messenger and nurseB
8nd as her mind gre% %orse and %orse,
2er body it gre% better#
3he turned, she tossFd herself in bed,
On all sides doubts and terrors met herB
Point after )oint did she discussB
8nd %hile her mind %as fighting thus,
2er body still gre% better#
,8las6 %hat is become of themL
These fears can ne*er be endured,
$Fll to the %ood#,KThe %ord scarce said,
+id 3usan rise u) from her bed,
8s if by magic cured#
8%ay she )osts u) hill and do%n,
8nd to the %ood at length is come,
3he s)ies her friends, she shouts a greetingB
Oh me6 it is a merry meeting,
8s e*er %as in (hristendom#
The o%ls ha*e hardly sung their last,
While our four tra*ellers home%ard %endB
The o%ls ha*e hooted all night long,
8nd %ith the o%ls began my song,
8nd %ith the o%ls must end#
/or %hile they all %ere tra*elling home,
(ried Betty, ,Tell us =ohnny, do,
Where all this long night you ha*e been,
What you ha*e heard, %hat you ha*e seen,
8nd =ohnny, mind you tell us true#,
?o% =ohnny all night long had heard
The o%ls in tuneful concert stri*eB
?o doubt too he the moon had seenB
/or in the moonlight he had been
/rom eight oFclock till fi*e#
8nd thus to BettyFs Cuestion, he,
Eade ans%er, like a tra*eller bold,
H2is *ery %ords $ gi*e to you,I
,The cocks did cro% toD%hoo, toD%hoo,
8nd the sun did shine so cold#,
KThus ans%ered =ohnny in his glory,
8nd that %as all his tra*elFs story#
LOVE.
8ll Thoughts, all Passions, all +elights,
Whate*er stirs this mortal /rame,
8ll are but Einisters of Lo*e,
8nd feed his sacred flame#
Oft in my %aking dreams do $
Li*e oFer again that ha))y hour,
When mid%ay on the Eount $ lay
Beside the 1uinFd To%er#
The Eoonshine stealing oFer the scene
2ad blended %ith the Lights of E*eB
8nd she %as there, my 2o)e, my =oy,
Ey o%n dear Gene*ie*e6
3he leanFd against the 8rmed Ean,
The 3tatue of the 8rmed @night7
3he stood and listenFd to my 2ar)
8mid the lingFring Light#
/e% 3orro%s hath she of her o%n,
Ey 2o)e, my =oy, my Gene*ie*e6
3he lo*es me best, %heneFer $ sing
The 3ongs, that make her grie*e#
$ )layFd a soft and doleful 8ir,
$ sang an old and mo*ing 3toryK
8n old rude 3ong that fitted %ell
The 1uin %ild and hoary#
3he listenFd %ith a flitting Blush,
With do%ncast Eyes and modest GraceB
/or %ell she kne%, $ could not choose
But gaGe u)on her /ace#
$ told her of the @night, that %ore
>)on his 3hield a burning BrandB
8nd that for ten long -ears he %ooFd
%he $ady of the $and#
$ told her, ho% he )inFd7 and, ah6
The lo%, the dee), the )leading tone,
With %hich $ sang anotherFs Lo*e,
$nter)reted my o%n#
3he listenFd %ith a flitting Blush,
With do%ncast Eyes and modest GraceB
8nd she forga*e me, that $ gaGFd
Too fondly on her /ace6
But %hen $ told the cruel scorn
Which craGFd this bold and lo*ely @night,
8nd that be crossFd the mountain %oods
?or rested day nor nightB
That sometimes from the sa*age +en,
8nd sometimes from the darksome 3hade,
8nd sometimes starting u) at once
$n green and sunny Glade,
There came, and lookFd him in the face,
8n 8ngel beautiful and brightB
8nd that he kne%, it %as a /iend,
This miserable @night6
8nd that, unkno%ing %hat he did,
2e lea)t amid a murdFrous Band,
8nd sa*Fd from Outrage %orse than +eath
The Lady of the LandB
8nd ho% she %e)t and clas)Fd his knees
8nd ho% she tended him in *ainK
8nd e*er stro*e to e0)iate
The 3corn, that craGFd his Brain
8nd that she nursFd him in a (a*eB
8nd ho% his Eadness %ent a%ay
When on the yello% forest lea*es
8 dying Ean he layB
2is dying %ordsKbut %hen $ reachFd
That tenderest strain of all the +itty,
Ey faltFring "oice and )ausing 2ar)
+isturbFd her 3oul %ith Pity6
8ll $m)ulses of 3oul and 3ense
2ad thrillFd my guileless Gene*ie*e,
The Eusic, and the doleful Tale,
The rich and balmy E*eB
8nd 2o)es, and /ears that kindle 2o)e,
8n undistinguishable Throng6
8nd gentle Wishes long subdued,
3ubdued and cherishFd long6
3he %e)t %ith )ity and delight,
3he blushFd %ith lo*e and maiden shameB
8nd, like the murmur of a dream,
$ heard her breathe my name#
2er Bosom hea*FdKshe ste))Fd asideB
8s conscious of my Look, she ste))FdK
Then suddenly %ith timorous eye
3he fled to me and %e)t#
3he half inclosed me %ith her arms,
3he )ressFd me %ith a meek embraceB
8nd bending back her head lookFd u),
8nd gaGFd u)on my face#
FT%as )artly Lo*e, and )artly /ear,
8nd )artly Ft%as a bashful 8rt
That $ might rather feel than see
The 3%elling of her 2eart#
$ calmFd her TearsB and she %as calm,
8nd told her lo*e %ith *irgin Pride#
8nd so $ %on my Gene*ie*e,
Ey bright and beauteous Bride6
%he MA+ M3%0&#
2er eyes are %ild, her head is bare,
The sun has burnt her coalDblack hair,
2er eyeDbro%s ha*e a rusty stain,
8nd she came far from o*er the main#
3he has a baby on her arm,
Or else she %ere aloneB
8nd underneath the hayDstack %arm,
8nd on the greenD%ood stone,
3he talked and sung the %oods amongB
8nd it %as in the English tongue#
,3%eet babe6 they say that $ am mad,
But nay, my heart is far too gladB
8nd $ am ha))y %hen $ sing
/ull many a sad and doleful thing7
Then, lo*ely baby, do not fear6
$ )ray thee ha*e no fear of me,
But, safe as in a cradle, here
Ey lo*ely baby6 thou shalt be,
To thee $ kno% too much $ o%eB
$ cannot %ork thee any %oe#,
8 fire %as once %ithin my brainB
8nd in my head a dull, dull )ainB
8nd fiendish faces one, t%o, three,
2ung at my breasts, and )ulled at me#
But then there came a sight of joyB
$t came at once to do me goodB
$ %aked, and sa% my little boy,
Ey little boy of flesh and bloodB
Oh joy for me that sight to see6
/or he %as here, and only he#
3uck, little babe, oh suck again6
$t cools my bloodB it cools my brainB
Thy li)s $ feel them, baby6 they
+ra% from my heart the )ain a%ay#
Oh6 )ress me %ith thy little handB
$t loosens something at my chestB
8bout that tight and deadly band
$ feel thy little fingers )ressFd#
The breeGe $ see is in the treeB
$t comes to cool my babe and me#
Oh6 lo*e me, lo*e me, little boy6
Thou art thy motherFs only joyB
8nd do not dread the %a*es belo%,
When oFer the seaDrockFs edge %e goB
The high crag cannot %ork me harm,
?or lea)ing torrents %hen they ho%lB
The babe $ carry on my arm,
2e sa*es for me my )recious soulB
Then ha))y lie, for blest am $B
Without me my s%eet babe %ould die#
Then do not fear, my boy6 for thee
Bold as a lion $ %ill beB
8nd $ %ill al%ays be thy guide,
Through hollo% sno%s and ri*ers %ide#
$Fll build an $ndian bo%erB $ kno%
The lea*es that make the softest bed7
8nd if from me thou %ilt not go#
But still be true Ftill $ am dead,
Ey )retty thing6 then thou shalt sing,
8s merry as the birds in s)ring#
Thy father cares not for my breast,
FTis thine, s%eet baby, there to rest7
FTis all thine o%n6 and if its hue
Be changed, that %as so fair to *ie%,
FTis fair enough for thee, my do*e6
Ey beauty, little child, is flo%nB
But thou %ill li*e %ith me in lo*e,
8nd %hat if my )oor cheek be bro%nL
FTis %ell for me, thou canst not see
2o% )ale and %an it else %ould be#
+read not their taunts, my little life6
$ am thy fatherFs %edded %ifeB
8nd underneath the s)reading tree
We t%o %ill li*e in honesty#
$f his s%eet boy he could forsake,
With me he ne*er %ould ha*e stayFd7
/rom him no harm my babe can take,
But he, )oor man6 is %retched made,
8nd e*ery day %e t%o %ill )ray
/or him thatFs gone and far a%ay#
$Fll teach my boy the s%eetest thingsB
$Fll teach him ho% the o%let sings#
Ey little babe6 thy li)s are still,
8nd thou hast almost suckFd thy fill#
KWhere art thou gone my o%n dear childL
What %icked looks are those $ seeL
8las6 alas6 that look so %ild,
$t ne*er, ne*er came from me7
$f thou art mad, my )retty lad,
Then $ must be for e*er sad#
Oh6 smile on me, my little lamb6
/or $ thy o%n dear mother am#
Ey lo*e for thee has %ell been tried7
$F*e sought thy father far and %ide#
$ kno% the )oisons of the shade,
$ kno% the earthDnuts fit for foodB
Then, )retty dear, be not afraidB
WeFll find thy father in the %ood#
?o% laugh and be gay, to the %oods a%ay6
8nd there, my babeB %eFll li*e for aye#
THE ANCIENT MARINER,
A POET'S REVERIE.
ARGUMENT.
2o% a 3hi), ha*ing first sailed to the ECuator, %as dri*en by 3torms, to the
cold (ountry to%ards the 3outh PoleB ho% the 8ncient Eariner cruelly, and in
contem)t of the la%s of hos)itality, killed a 3eaDbirdB and ho% he %as
follo%ed by many and strange =udgementsB and in %hat manner he came back
to his o%n (ountry#
%he A#,I#% MA&I#&#
A POET'S REVERIE.
I.
$t is an ancient Eariner,
8nd he sto))eth one of three7
,By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye
?o% %herefore sto))est meL,
,The BridegroomFs doors are o)enFd %ide
8nd $ am ne0t of kinB
The Guests are met, the /east is set,K
EayFst hear the merry din#,
But still he holds the %edding guestK
,There %as a 3hi), Cuoth heK,
,?ay, if thouFst got a laughsome tale,
Eariner6 come %ith me#,
2e holds him %ith his skinny hand,
Auoth he, there %as a 3hi)K
,?o% get thee hence, thou greyDbeard Loon
Or my 3taff shall make thee ski)#,
2e holds him %ith his glittering eyeK
The %edding guest stood still
8nd listens like a three yearFs childB
The Eariner hath his %ill#
The %eddingDguest sate on a stone,
2e cannot chuse but hear7
8nd thus s)ake on that ancient man,
The brightDeyed Eariner#
The 3hi) %as cheerFd, the 2arbour clearFdK
Eerrily did %e dro)
Belo% the @irk, belo% the 2ill,
Belo% the LightDhouse to)#
The 3un came u) u)on the left,
Out of the 3ea came he7
8nd he shone bright, and on the right
Went do%n into the 3ea#
2igher and higher e*ery day,
Till o*er the mast at noonK
The %eddingDguest here beat his breast,
/or he heard the loud bassoon#
The Bride hath )acFd into the 2all,
1ed as a rose is sheB
?odding their heads before her goes
The merry Einstralsy#
The %eddingDguest he beat his breast,
-et he cannot chuse but hear7
8nd thus s)ake on that ancient Ean,
The brightDeyed Eariner#
But no% the ?orth%ind came more fierce,
There came a Tem)est strong6
8nd 3outh%ard still for days and %eeks
Like (haff %e dro*e along#
8nd no% there came both Eist and 3no%,
8nd it gre% %ondFrous coldB
8nd $ce mastDhigh came floating by
8s green as Emerald#
8nd throF the drifts the sno%y clifts
+id send a dismal sheenB
?or sha)es of men nor beasts %e kenK
The $ce %as all bet%een#
The $ce %as here, the $ce %as there,
The $ce %as all around7
$t crackFd and gro%lFd, and roarFd and ho%lFdK
8 %ild and ceaseless sound#
8t length did cross an 8lbatross,
Thorough the /og it cameB
8s if it had been a (hristian 3oul,
We hailFd it in GodFs name#
The Eariners ga*e it biscuitD%orms,
8nd round and round it fle%7
The $ce did s)lit %ith a ThunderDfitB
The 2elmsman steerFd us throF#
8nd a good south %ind s)rung u) behind#
The 8lbatross did follo%B
8nd e*ery day for food or )lay
(ame to the EarinerFs hollo6
$n mist or cloud on mast or shroud
$t )erchFd for *es)ers nine,
Whiles all the night throF fogDsmoke %hite
GlimmerFd the %hite moonDshine#
,God sa*e thee, ancient Eariner6
/rom the fiends that )lague thee thusK,
,Why lookFst thou soLK%ith my cross bo%
$ shot the 8lbatross#,
II:
The 3un no% rose u)on the right,
Out of the 3ea came heB
3till hid in mistB and on the left
Went do%n into the 3ea#
8nd the good south %ind still ble% behind,
But no s%eet Bird did follo%
?or any day for food or )lay
(ame to the EarinerFs hollo6
8nd $ had done an hellish thing
8nd it %ould %ork eFm %oe7
/or all a*errFd, $ had killFd the Bird
That made the BreeGe to blo%#
?or dim nor red, like an 8ngelFs head,
The glorious 3un u)rist7
Then all a*errFd, $ had killFd the Bird
That brought the fog and mist#
FT%as right, said they, such birds to slay
That bring the fog and mist#
The breeGes ble%, the %hite foam fle%,
The furro% follo%Fd free7
We %ere the first that e*er burst
$nto that silent 3ea#
+o%n dro)t the breeGe, the 3ails dro)t do%n,
FT%as sad as sad could be
8nd %e did s)eak only to break
The silence of the 3ea#
8ll in a hot and co))er sky
The bloody sun at noon,
1ight u) abo*e the mast did stand,
?o bigger than the moon#
+ay after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion,
8s idle as a )ainted 3hi)
>)on a )ainted Ocean#
Water, %ater, e*ery %here
8nd all the boards did shrinkB
Water, %ater, e*ery %here,
?or any dro) to drink#
The *ery dee)s did rot7 O (hrist6
That e*er this should be6
-ea, slimy things did cra%l %ith legs
>)on the slimy 3ea#
8bout, about, in reel and rout
The +eathDfires dancFd at nightB
The %ater, like a %itchFs oils#
Burnt green and blue and %hite#
8nd some in dreams assured %ere
Of the 3)irit that )lagued us so7
?ine fathom dee) he had follo%Fd us
/rom the Land of Eist and 3no%#
8nd e*ery tongue throF utter drouth
Was %itherFd at the rootB
We could not s)eak no more than if
We had been choked %ith soot#
8h %elDaDday6 %hat e*il looks
2ad $ from old and youngB
$nstead of the (ross the 8lbatross
8bout my neck %as hung#
III.
3o )ast a %eary timeB each throat
Was )archFd, and glaGFd each eye,
When, looking %est%ard, $ beheld
8 something in the sky#
8t first it seemFd a little s)eck
8nd then it seemFd a mist7
$t mo*Fd and mo*Fd, and took at last
8 certain sha)e, $ %ist#
8 s)eck, a mist, a sha)e, $ %ist6
8nd still it nearFd and nearFdB
8nd, as if it dodgFd a %aterDs)rite,
$t )lungFd and tackFd and *eerFd#
With throat unslackFd, %ith black li)s bakFd
We could nor laugh nor %ailB
ThroF utter drouth all dumb %e stood
Till $ bit my arm and suckFd the blood,
8nd cryFd, 8 sail6 a sail6
With throat unslackFd, %ith black li)s bakFd
8ga)e they heard me call7
Gramercy6 they for joy did grin
8nd all at once their breath dre% in
8s they %ere drinking all#
3ee6 3ee6 H$ cryFdI she tacks no more6
2ither to %ork us %eal
Without a breeGe, %ithout a tide
3he steddies %ith u)right keel6
The %estern %a*e %as all a flame,
The day %as %ell nigh done6
8lmost u)on the %estern %a*e
1ested the broad bright 3unB
When that strange sha)e dro*e suddenly
Bet%i0t us and the 3un#
8nd strait the 3un %as fleckFd %ith bars
H2ea*enFs mother send us graceI
8s if throF a dungeon grate he )eerFd
With broad and burning face#
8las6 Hthought $, and my heart beat loudI
2o% fast she nears and nears6
8re those her 3ails that glance in the 3un
Like restless gossameresL
8re those her 1ibs, throF %hich the 3un
+id )eer, as throF a grateL
8nd are those t%o all, all her cre%#
That Woman, and her EateL
0is bones %ere black %ith many a crack,
8ll black and bare, $ %eenB
=etDblack and bare, sa*e %here %ith rust
Of mouldy dam)s and charnel crust
They %ere )atchFd %ith )ur)le and green#
0er li)s %ere red, her looks %ere free,
0er locks %ere yello% as gold7
2er skin %as as %hite as le)rosy,
8nd she %as far liker +eath than heB
2er flesh made the still air cold#
The naked 2ulk alongside came
8nd the T%ain %ere )laying diceB
,The Game is done6 $F*e %on, $F*e %on6,
Auoth she, and %histled thrice#
8 gust of %ind sterte u) behind
8nd %histled throF his bonesB
ThroF the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth
2alfD%histles and halfDgroans#
With ne*er a %his)er in the 3ea
Off darts the 3)ectreDshi)B
While clombe abo*e the Eastern bar
The horned Eoon, %ith one bright 3tar
8lmost bet%een the ti)s#
One after one by the horned Eoon
HListen, O 3tranger6 to meI
Each turnFd his face %ith a ghastly )ang
8nd cursFd me %ith his ee#
/our times fifty li*ing men,
With ne*er a sigh or groan,
With hea*y thum), a lifeless lum)
They dro))Fd do%n one by one#
Their souls did from their bodies fly,K
They fled to bliss or %oeB
8nd e*ery soul it )assFd me by,
Like, the %hiG of my (rossDbo%#
IV.
,$ fear thee, ancient Eariner6
$ fear thy skinny handB
8nd thou art long and lank and bro%n
8s is the ribbFd 3eaDsand#,
,$ fear thee and thy glittering eye
8nd thy skinny hand so bro%nK,
,/ear not, fear not, thou %edding guest6
This body dro)t not do%n#,
8lone, alone, all all alone
8lone on the %ide %ide 3eaB
8nd (hrist %ould take no )ity on
Ey soul in agony#
The many men so beautiful,
8nd they all dead did lie6
8nd a million million slimy things
Li*Fd onKand so did $#
$ lookFd u)on the rotting 3ea,
8nd dre% my eyes a%ayB
$ lookFd u)on the ghastly deck,
8nd there the dead men lay#
$ lookFd to 2ea*en, and tryFd to )rayB
But or e*er a )rayer had gusht,
8 %icked %his)er came and made
Ey heart as dry as dust#
$ closFd my lids and ke)t them close,
Till the balls like )ulses beatB
/or the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky
Lay like a load on my %eary eye,
8nd the dead %ere at my feet#
The cold s%eat melted from their limbs,
?or rot, nor reek did theyB
The look %ith %hich they lookFd on me,
2ad ne*er )assFd a%ay#
8n or)hanFs curse %ould drag to 2ell
8 s)irit from on high7
But O6 more horrible than that
$s the curse in a dead manFs eye6
3e*en days, se*en nights $ sa% that curse,
8nd yet $ could not die#
The mo*ing Eoon %ent u) the sky
8nd no %here did abide7
3oftly she %as going u)
8nd a star or t%o besideK
2er beams bemockFd the sultry main
Like 8)ril hoarDfrost s)readB
But %here the shi)Fs huge shado% lay,
The charmed %ater burnt al%ay
8 still and a%ful red#
Beyond the shado% of the shi)
$ %atchFd the %aterDsnakes7
They mo*Fd in tracks of shining %hiteB
8nd %hen they rearFd, the elfish light
/ell off in hoary flakes#
Within the shado% of the shi)
$ %atchFd their rich attire7
Blue, glossy green, and *el*et black
They coilFd and s%amB and e*ery track
Was a flash of golden fire#
O ha))y li*ing things6 no tongue
Their beauty might declare7
8 s)ring of lo*e gusht from my heart,
8nd $ blessFd them una%are6
3ure my kind saint took )ity on me,
8nd $ blessFd them una%are#
The selfDsame moment $ could )rayB
8nd from my neck so free
The 8lbatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea#
V.
O slee), it is a gentle thing
Belo*Fd from )ole to )ole6
To EaryDCueen the )raise be gi*en
3he sent the gentle slee) from hea*en
That slid into my soul#
The silly buckets on the deck
That had so long remainFd,
$ dreamt that they %ere fillFd %ith de%
8nd %hen $ a%oke it rainFd#
Ey li)s %ere %et, my throat %as cold,
Ey garments all %ere dankB
3ure $ had drunken in my dreams
8nd still my body drank#
$ mo*Fd and could not feel my limbs,
$ %as so light, almost
$ thought that $ had died in slee),
8nd %as a blessed Ghost#
8nd soon $ heard a roaring %ind,
$t did not come anearB
But %ith its sound it shook the sails
That %ere so thin and sere#
The u))er air burst into life
8nd a hundred fireDflags sheen
To and fro they %ere hurried aboutB
8nd to and fro, and in and out
The %an stars dancFd bet%een#
8nd the coming %ind did roar more loudB
8nd the sails did sigh like sedge7
8nd the rain )ourFd do%n from one black cloud
The moon %as at its edge#
The thick black cloud %as cleft, and still
The Eoon %as at its side7
Like %aters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell, %ith ne*er a jag
8 ri*er stee) and %ide#
The loud %ind ne*er reachFd the 3hi),
-et no% the 3hi) mo*Fd on6
Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men ga*e a groan#
They groanFdB they stirrFd, they all u)rose,
?or s)ake, nor mo*Fd their eyes7
$t had been strange, e*en in a dream
To ha*e seen those dead men rise,
The helmsman steerd, the shi) mo*Fd onB
-et ne*er a breeGe u)Dble%B
The Eariners all gan %ork the ro)es,
Where they %ere %ont to do7
They raisFd their limbs like lifeless toolsK
We %ere a ghastly cre%#
The body of my brotherFs son
3tood by me knee to knee7
The body and $ )ullFd at one ro)e,
But he said nought to me#
,$ fear thee, ancient Eariner6,
,Be calm, thou %edding guest6
FT%as not those souls, that fled in )ain,
Which to their corses came again,
But a troo) of 3)irits blest7,
,/or %hen it da%nFdKthey dro))Fd their arms,
8nd clusterFd round the mast7
3%eet sounds rose slo%ly throF their mouths
8nd from their bodies )assFd#,
8round, around, fle% each s%eet sound,
Then darted to the sun7
3lo%ly the sounds came back again
?o% mi0Fd, no% one by one#
3ometimes a dro))ing from the sky
$ heard the 3kyDlark singB
3ometimes all little birds that are
2o% they seemFd to fill the sea and air
With their s%eet jargoning#
8nd no% Ft%as like all instruments,
?o% like a lonely fluteB
8nd no% it is an angelFs song
That makes the hea*ens be mute#
$t ceasFd7 yet still the sails made on
8 )leasant noise till noon,
8 noise like of a hidden brook
$n the leafy month of =une,
That to the slee)ing %oods all night,
3ingeth a Cuiet tune#
Till noon %e silently sailFd on
-et ne*er a breeGe did breathe7
3lo%ly and smoothly %ent the 3hi)
Eo*Fd on%ard from beneath#
>nder the keel nine fathom dee)
/rom the land of mist and sno%
The s)irit slid7 and it %as 2e
That made the 3hi) to go#
The sails at noon left off their tune
8nd the 3hi) stood still also#
The sun right u) abo*e the mast
2ad fi0Fd her to the ocean7
But in a minute she Fgan stir
With a short uneasy motionK
Back%ards and for%ards half her length
With a short uneasy motion#
Then, like a )a%ing horse let go,
3he made a sudden bound7
$t flung the blood into my head,
8nd $ fell into a s%ound#
2o% long in that same fit $ lay,
$ ha*e not to declareB
But ere my li*ing life returnFd,
$ heard and in my soul discernFd
T%o *oices in the air#
,$s it heL, Cuoth one, ,$s this the manL
By him %ho died on cross,
With his cruel bo% he layFd full lo%
The harmless 8lbatross#,
,The s)irit %ho Fbideth by himself
$n the land of mist and sno%,
2e lo*Fd the bird that lo*Fd the man
Who shot him %ith his bo%#,
The other %as a softer *oice,
8s soft as honeyDde%7
Auoth he the man hath )enance done,
8nd )enance more %ill do#
VI.
FIRST VOICE.
,But tell me, tell me6 s)eak again,
Thy soft res)onse rene%ingK
What makes that shi) dri*e on so fastL
What is the Ocean doingL,
SECOND VOICE.
,3till as a 3la*e before his Lord,
The Ocean hath no blast7
2is great bright eye most silently
>) to the moon is castK,
,$f he may kno% %hich %ay to go,
/or she guides him smooth or grim,
3ee, brother, see6 ho% graciously
3he looketh do%n on him#,
FIRST VOICE.
,But %hy dri*es on that shi) so fast
Without or %a*e or %indL,
SECOND VOICE.
,The air is cut a%ay before,
8nd closes from behind#,
,/ly, brother, fly6 more high, more high,
Or %e shall be belated7
/or slo% and slo% that shi) %ill go,
When the EarinerFs trance is abated#,
$ %oke, and %e %ere sailing on
8s in a gentle %eather7
FT%as night, calm night, the moon %as highB
The dead men stood together#
8ll stood together on the deck,
/or a charnelDdungeon fitter7
8ll fi0Fd on me their stony eyes
That in the moon did glitter#
The )ang, the curse, %ith %hich they died,
2ad ne*er )assFd a%ayB
$ could not dra% my eyes from theirs
?or turn them u) to )ray#
8nd no% this s)ell %as sna)t7 once more
$ *ie%Fd the ocean green,
8nd lookFd far forth, yet little sa%
Of %hat had else been seen#
Like one, that on a lonesome road
+oth %alk in fear and dread,
8nd ha*ing once turnFd round, %alks on
8nd turns no more his head7
Because he kno%s, a frightful fiend
+oth close behind him tread#
But soon there breathFd a %ind on me,
?or sound nor motion made7
$ts )ath %as not u)on the sea
$n ri))le or in shade#
$t raisFd my hair, it fannFd my cheek,
Like a meado%Dgale of s)ringK
$t mingled strangely %ith my fears,
-et it felt like a %elcoming#
3%iftly, s%iftly fle% the shi)
-et she sailFd softly too7
3%eetly, s%eetly ble% the breeGeK
On me alone it ble%#
O dream of joy6 is this indeed
The lightDhouse to) $ seeL
$s this the 2illL $s this the @irkL
$s this mine o%n countrNeL
We drifted oFer the 2arbourDbar,
8nd $ %ith sobs did )rayK
,O let me be a%ake, my God6
Or let me slee) al%ay6,
The harbourDbay %as clear as glass,
3o smoothly it %as stre%n6
8nd on the bay the moonlight lay,
8nd the shado% of the moon#
The rock shone bright, the kirk no less7
That stands abo*e the rock7
The moonlight stee)Fd in silentness
The steady %eathercock#
8nd the bay %as %hite %ith silent light,
Till rising from the same
/ull many sha)es, that shado%s %ere,
$n crimson colours came#
8 little distance from the )ro%
Those crimson shado%s %ere7
$ turnFd my eyes u)on the deckK
O (hrist6 %hat sa% $ thereL
Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flatB
8nd by the 2oly rood
8 man all light, a sera)hDman,
On e*ery corse there stood#
This sera)hDband, each %a*Fd his hand7
$t %as a hea*enly sight7
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lo*ely light7
This sera)hDband, each %a*Fd his hand,
?o *oice did they im)artK
?o *oiceB but O6 the silence sank,
Like music on my heart#
But soon $ heard the dash of oars,
$ heard the )ilotFs cheer7
Ey head %as turnFd )erforce a%ay
8nd $ sa% a boat a))ear#
The )ilot, and the )ilotFs boy
$ heard them coming fast7
+ear Lord in 2ea*en6 it %as a joy,
The dead men could not blast#
$ sa% a thirdK$ heard his *oice7
$t is the 2ermit good6
2e singeth loud his godly hymns
That he makes in the %ood#
2eFll shri*e my soul, heFll %ash a%ay
The 8lbatrossFs blood#
VII.
This 2ermit good li*es in that %ood
Which slo)es do%n to the 3ea#
2o% loudly his s%eet *oice he rears6
2e lo*es to talk %ith Eariners
That come from a far countrNe#
2e kneels at morn and noon and e*eK
2e hath a cushion )lum)7
$t is the moss, that %holly hides
The rotted old OakDstum)#
The 3kiffDboat nerFd7 $ heard them talk,
,Why, this is strange, $ tro%6
Where are those lights so many and fair
That signal made but no%L,
,3trange, by my faith6, the 2ermit saidK
,8nd they ans%erFd not our cheer#
The )lanks look %ar)Fd, and see those sails
2o% thin they are and sere6
$ ne*er sa% aught like to them
>nless )erchance it %ere,
,The skeletons of lea*es that lag
Ey forest brook along7
When the $*yDtod is hea*y %ith sno%,
8nd the O%let %hoo)s to the %olf belo%
That eats the sheD%olfFs young#,
,+ear Lord6 it has a fiendish lookK,
HThe Pilot made re)lyI
,$ am aDfearFd#,K,Push on, )ush on6,
,3aid the 2ermit cheerily#,
The Boat came closer to the 3hi),
But $ nor s)ake nor stirrFd6
The Boat came close beneath the 3hi),
8nd strait a sound %as heard6
>nder the %ater it rumbled on,
3till louder and more dread7
$t reachFd the 3hi), it s)lit the bayB
The 3hi) %ent do%n like lead#
3tunnFd by that loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote7
Like one that hath been se*en days dro%nFd
Ey body lay afloat7
But, s%ift as dreams, myself $ found
Within the PilotFs boat#
>)on the %hirl, %here sank the 3hi),
The boat s)un round and round7
8nd all %as still, sa*e that the hill
Was telling of the sound#
$ mo*Fd my li)s7 the Pilot shriekFd
8nd fell do%n in a fit#
The 2oly 2ermit raisFd his eyes
8nd )rayFd %here he did sit#
$ took the oars7 the PilotFs boy,
Who no% doth craGy go,
LaughFd loud and long, and all the %hile
2is eyes %ent to and fro,
,2a6 ha6, Cuoth heK,full )lain $ see,
The de*il kno%s ho% to ro%#,
8nd no% all in mine o%n (ountrNe
$ stood on the firm land6
The 2ermit ste))Fd forth from the boat,
8nd scarcely he could stand#
,O shrie*e me, shrie*e me, holy Ean6,
The 2ermit crossFd his bro%K
,3ay Cuick,, Cuoth he, ,$ bid thee say
What manner man art thouL,
/orth%ith this frame of mind %as %renchFd
With a %oeful agony,
Which forcFd me to begin my tale
8nd then it left me free#
3ince then at an uncertain hour,
That agency returnsB
8nd till my ghastly tale is told
This heart %ithin me burns#
$ )ass, like night, from land to landB
$ ha*e strange )o%er of s)eechB
The moment that his face $ see
$ kno% the man that must hear meB
To him my tale $ teach#
What loud u)roar bursts from that door6
The WeddingDguests are thereB
But in the GardenDbo%er the Bride
8nd BrideDmaids singing are7
8nd hark the little "es)erDbell
Which biddeth me to )rayer#
O WeddingDguest6 this soul hath been
8lone on a %ide %ide sea7
3o lonely Ft%as, that God himself
3carce seemed there to be#
O s%eeter than the EarriageDfeast,
FTis s%eeter far to me
To %alk together to the @irk
With a goodly com)any#
To %alk together to the @irk
8nd all together )ray,
While each to his great father bends,
Old men, and babes, and lo*ing friends,
8nd -ouths, and Eaidens gay#
/are%ell, fare%ell6 but this $ tell
To thee, thou %eddingDguest6
2e )rayeth %ell %ho lo*eth %ell
Both man, and bird and beast#
2e )rayeth best %ho lo*eth best
8ll things both great and small7
/or the dear God, %ho lo*eth us,
2e made and lo*eth all#
The Eariner, %hose eye is bright,
Whose beard %ith age is hoar,
$s goneB and no% the %eddingDguest
TurnFd from the bridegroomFs door#
2e %ent, like one that hath been stunnFd
8nd is of sense forlorn7
8 sadder and a %iser man
2e rose the morro% morn,
$I#!
-ritten a few miles above %I#%&# ABB)" an revisiting the ban.s of
the -) during a %our#
:uly 6;" 6789#
/i*e years ha*e )assedB fi*e summers, %ith the length
Of fi*e long %inters6 and again $ hear
These %aters, rolling from their mountainDs)rings
With a s%eet inland murmur# ;O<KOnce again
+o $ behold these stee) and lofty cliffs,
Which on a %ild secluded scene im)ress
Thoughts of more dee) seclusionB and connect
The landsca)e %ith the Cuiet of the sky#
;/ootnote O7 The ri*er is not affacted by the tides a fe% miles abo*e Tintern#<
The day is come %hen $ again re)ose
2ere, under this dark sycamore, and *ie%
These )lots of cottageDground, these orchardDtufts,
Which, at this season, %ith their unri)e fruits,
8mong the %oods and co)ses lose themsel*es,
?or, %ith their green and sim)le hue, disturb
The %ild green landsca)e# Once again $ see
These hedgeDro%s, hardly hedgeDro%s, little lines
Of s)orti*e %ood run %ildB these )astoral farms
Green to the *ery doorB and %reathes of smoke
3ent u), in silence, from among the trees,
With some uncertain notice, as might seem,
Of *agrant d%ellers in the houseless %oods,
Or of some hermitFs ca*e, %here by his fire
The hermit sits alone#
Though absent long#
These forms of beauty ha*e not been to me,
8s is a landsca)e to a blind manFs eye7
But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din
Of to%ns and cities, $ ha*e o%ed to them,
$n hours of %ariness, sensations s%eet,
/elt in the blood, and felt along the heart,
8nd )assing e*en into my )urer mind,
With tranCuil restoration7Kfeelings too
Of unremembered )leasure7 such, )erha)s,
8s may ha*e had no tri*ial influence
On that best )ortion of a good manFs lifeB
2is little, nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and of lo*e# ?or less, $ trust,
To them $ may ha*e o%ed another gift,
Of as)ect more sublimeB that blessed mood,
$n %hich the burthen of the mystery,
$n %hich the hea*y and the %eary %eight
Of all this unintelligible %orld
$s lightenFd7Kthat serene and blessed moodB
$n %hich the affections gently lead us on,
>ntil, the breath of this cor)oreal frame,
8nd e*en the motion of our human blood
8lmost sus)ended, %e are laid aslee)
$n body, and become a li*ing soul7
While %ith an eye made Cuiet by the )o%er
Of harmony, and the dee) )o%er of joy,
We see into the life of things#
$f this
Be but a *ain belief, yet, oh6 ho% oft,
$n darkness, and amid the many sha)es
Of joyless dayDlightB %hen the fretful stir
>n)rofitable, and the fe*er of the %orld,
2a*e hung u)on the beatings of my heart,
2o% oft, in s)irit, ha*e $ turned to thee
O syl*an Wye6 Thou %anderer through the %oods,
2o% often has my s)irit turned to thee6
8nd no%, %ith gleams, of halfDe0tinguishFd thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,
8nd some%hat of a sad )er)le0ity,
The )icture of the mind re*i*es again7
While here $ stand, not only %ith the sense
Of )resent )leasure, but %ith )leasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
/or future years# 8nd so $ dare to ho)e
Though changed, no doubt, from %hat $ %as, %hen first
$ came among these hillsB %hen like a roe
$ bounded oFer the mountains, by the sides
Of the dee) ri*ers, and the lonely streams,
Where*er nature led7 more like a man
/lying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he lo*ed# /or nature then
HThe coarser )leasures of my boyish days,
8nd their glad animal mo*ements all gone by,I
To me %as all in all#K$ cannot )aint
What then $ %as# The sounding cataract
2aunted me like a )assion7 the tall rock,
The mountain, and the dee) and gloomy %ood,
Their colours and their forms, %ere then to me
8n a))etite7 a feeling and a lo*e,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought su))lied, or any interest
>nborro%ed from the eye#KThat time is )ast,
8nd all its aching joys are no% no more,
8nd all its diGGy ra)tures# ?ot for this
/aint $, nor mourn nor murmur7 other gifts
2a*e follo%ed, for such loss, $ %ould belie*e
8bundant recom)ence# /or $ ha*e learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
?or harsh nor grating, though of am)le )o%er
To chasten and subdue# 8nd $ ha*e felt
8 )resence that disturbs me %ith the joy
Of ele*ated thoughtsB a sense sublime
Of something far more dee)ly interfused,
Whose d%elling is the light of setting suns,
8nd the round ocean, and the li*ing air,
8nd the blue sky, and in the mind of man,
8 motion and a s)irit, that im)els
8ll thinking things, all objects of all thought,
8nd rolls through all things# Therefore am $ still
8 lo*er of the meado%s and the %oods,
8nd mountainsB and of all that %e behold
/rom this green earthB of all the mighty %orld
Of eye and earB both %hat they half create, ;5<
8nd %hat )ercei*eB %ell )leased to recogniGe
$n nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my )urest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being#
;/ootnote 57 This line has a close resemblance to an admirable line of -oung,
the e0act e0)ression of %hich $ cannot recollect#<
?or, )erchance,
$f $ %ere not thus taught, should $ the more
3uffer my genial s)irits to decayL
/or thou art %ith me, here, u)on the banks
Of this fair ri*erB thou, my dearest /riend,
Ey dear, dear /riend, and in thy *oice $ catch
The language of my former heart, and read
Ey former )leasures in the shooting lights
Of thy %ild eyes# Oh6 yet a little %hile
Eay $ behold in thee %hat $ %as once,
Ey dear, dear 3ister6 8nd this )rayer $ make,
@no%ing that ?ature ne*er did betray
The heart that lo*ed herB Ftis her )ri*ilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
/rom joy to joy7 for she can so inform
The mind that is %ithin us, so im)ress
With Cuietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither e*il tongues,
1ash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
?or greetings %here no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
3hall eFer )re*ail against us, or disturb
Our chearful faith that all %hich %e behold
$s full of blessings# Therefore let the moon
3hine on thee in thy solitary %alkB
8nd let the misty mountain %inds be free
To blo% against thee7 and in after years,
When these %ild ecstasies shall be matured
$nto a sober )leasure, %hen thy mind
3hall be a mansion for all lo*ely forms,
Thy memory be as a d%ellingD)lace
/or all s%eet sounds and harmoniesB Oh6 then,
$f solitude, or fear, or )ain, or grief,
3hould be thy )ortion, %ith %hat healing thoughts
Of tender joy %ilt thou remember me,
8nd these my e0hortations6 ?or )erchance,
$f $ should be, %here $ no more can hear
Thy *oice, nor catch from thy %ild eyes these gleams
Of )ast e0istence, %ilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood togetherB and that $, so long
8 %orshi))er of ?ature, hither came,
>n%earied in that ser*ice7 rather say
With %armer lo*e, oh6 %ith far dee)er Geal
Of holier lo*e# ?or %ilt thou then forget,
That after many %anderings, many years
Of absence, these stee) %oods and lofty cliffs,
8nd this green )astoral landsca)e, %ere to me
Eore dear, both for themsel*es, and for thy sake#
NOTES
?OTE to T2E T2O1?KThis Poem ought to ha*e been )receded by an
introductory Poem, %hich $ ha*e been )re*ented from %riting by ne*er ha*ing
felt myself in a mood %hen it %as )robable that $ should %rite it %ell#KThe
character %hich $ ha*e here introduced s)eaking is sufficiently common# The
1eader %ill )erha)s ha*e a general notion of it, if he has e*er kno%n a man, a
(a)tain of a small trading *essel for e0am)le, %ho being )ast the middle age
of life, had retired u)on an annuity or small inde)endent income to some
*illage or country to%n of %hich he %as not a nati*e, or in %hich he had not
been accustomed to li*e# 3uch men ha*ing little to do become credulous and
talkati*e from indolenceB and from the same cause, and other )redis)osing
causes by %hich it is )robable that such men may ha*e been affected, they are
)rone to su)erstition# On %hich account it a))eared to me )ro)er to select a
character like this to e0hibit some of the general la%s by %hich su)erstition
acts u)on the mind# 3u)erstitious men are almost al%ays men of slo%
faculties and dee) feelingsB their minds are not loose but adhesi*eB they ha*e a
reasonable share of imagination, by %hich %ord $ mean the faculty %hich
)roduces im)ressi*e effects out of sim)le elementsB but they are utterly
destitute of fancy, the )o%er by %hich )leasure and sur)riGe are e0cited by
sudden *arieties of situation and by accumulated imagery#
$t %as my %ish in this )oem to she% the manner in %hich such men clea*e to
the same ideasB and to follo% the turns of )assion, al%ays different, yet not
)al)ably different, by %hich their con*ersation is s%ayed# $ had t%o objects to
attainB first, to re)resent a )icture %hich should not be unim)ressi*e yet
consistent %ith the character that should describe it, secondly, %hile $ adhered
to the style in %hich such )ersons describe, to take care that %ords, %hich in
their minds are im)regnated %ith )assion, should like%ise con*ey )assion to
1eaders %ho are not accustomed to sym)athiGe %ith men feeling in that
manner or using such language# $t seemed to me that this might be done by
calling in the assistance of Lyrical and ra)id Eetre# $t %as necessary that the
Poem, to be natural, should in reality mo*e slo%lyB yet $ ho)ed, that, by the
aid of the metre, to those %ho should at all enter into the s)irit of the Poem, it
%ould a))ear to mo*e Cuickly# The 1eader %ill ha*e the kindness to e0cuse
this note as $ am sensible that an introductory Poem is necessary to gi*e this
Poem its full effect#
>)on this occasion $ %ill reCuest )ermission to add a fe% %ords closely
connected %ith T2E T2O1? and many other Poems in these "olumes# There
is a numerous class of readers %ho imagine that the same %ords cannot be
re)eated %ithout tautology7 this is a great error7 *irtual tautology is much
oftener )roduced by using different %ords %hen the meaning is e0actly the
same# Words, a PoetFs %ords more )articularly, ought to be %eighed in the
balance of feeling and not measured by the s)ace %hich they occu)y u)on
)a)er# /or the 1eader cannot be too often reminded that Poetry is )assion7 it is
the history or science of feelings7 no% e*ery man must kno% that an attem)t is
rarely made to communicate im)assioned feelings %ithout something of an
accom)anying consciousness of the inadeCuateness of our o%n )o%ers, or the
deficiencies of language# +uring such efforts there %ill be a cra*ing in the
mind, and as long as it is unsatisfied the 3)eaker %ill cling to the same %ords,
or %ords of the same character# There are also *arious other reasons %hy
re)etition and a))arent tautology are freCuently beauties of the highest kind#
8mong the chief of these reasons is the interest %hich the mind attaches to
%ords, not only as symbols of the )assion, but as things, acti*e and efficient,
%hich are of themsel*es )art of the )assion# 8nd further, from a s)irit of
fondness, e0ultation, and gratitude, the mind lu0uriates in the re)etition of
%ords %hich a))ear successfully to communicate its feelings# The truth of
these remarks might be she%n by innumerable )assages from the Bible and
from the im)assioned )oetry of e*ery nation#
,8%ake, a%ake +eborah7 a%ake, a%ake, utter a song7,
,8rise Barak, and lead thy ca)ti*ity ca)ti*e, thou 3on of 8binoam#,
,8t her feet he bo%ed, he fell, he lay do%n7 at her feet be bo%ed,
he fellB %here he bo%ed there he fell do%n dead#,
,Why is his (hariot so long in comingL Why tarry the Wheels of his
(hariotL,K=udges, (ha)# :th# "erses 19th, 95th, and )art of 9th#
K3ee also the %hole of that tumultuous and %onderful Poem#
?OTE to the 8?($E?T E81$?E1, )# 1::#K$ cannot refuse myself the
gratification of informing such 1eaders as may ha*e been )leased %ith this
Poem, or %ith any )art of it, that they o%e their )leasure in some sort to meB
as the 8uthor %as himself *ery desirous that it should be su))ressed# This
%ish had arisen from a consciousness of the defects of the Poem, and from a
kno%ledge that many )ersons had been much dis)leased %ith it# The Poem of
my /riend has indeed great defectsB first, that the )rinci)al )erson has no
distinct character, either in his )rofession of Eariner, or as a human being %ho
ha*ing been long under the controul of su)ernatural im)ressions might be
su))osed himself to )artake of something su)ernatural7 secondly, that he does
not act, but is continually acted u)on7 thirdly, that the e*ents ha*ing no
necessary connection do not )roduce each otherB and lastly, that the imagery is
some%hat too laboriously accumulated# -et the Poem contains many delicate
touches of )assion, and indeed the )assion is e*ery %here true to natureB a
great number of the stanGas )resent beautiful images, and are e0)ressed %ith
unusual felicity of languageB and the *ersification, though the metre is itself
unfit for long )oems, is harmonious and artfully *aried, e0hibiting the utmost
)o%ers of that metre, and e*ery *ariety of %hich it is ca)able# $t therefore
a))eared to me that these se*eral merits Hthe first of %hich, namely that of the
)assion, is of the highest kind,I ga*e to the Poem a *alue %hich is not often
)ossessed by better Poems# On this account $ reCuested of my /riend to )ermit
me to re)ublish it#
?OTE to the Poem O? 1E"$3$T$?G T2E W-E, )# 9!1#K$ ha*e not
*entured to call this Poem an OdeB but it %as %ritten %ith a ho)e that in the
transitions, and the im)assioned music of the *ersification %ould be found the
)rinci)al reCuisites of that s)ecies of com)osition#
END OF VOL. I.
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