Wordsworth (6 page)

305  
    
Fair seed-time had my soul, and I grew up

Foster’d alike by beauty and by fear;

Much favor’d in my birthplace, and no less

In that beloved Vale to which, erelong,

I was transplanted. Well I call to mind

310  
(’Twas at an early age, ere I had seen

Nine summers) when upon the mountain slope

The frost and breath of frosty wind had snapp’d

The last autumnal crocus, ’twas my joy

To wander half the night among the Cliffs

315  
And the smooth Hollows, where the woodcocks ran

Along the open turf. In thought and wish

That time, my shoulder all with springes hung,

I was a fell destroyer. On the heights

Scudding away from snare to snare, I plied

320  
My anxious visitation, hurrying on,

Still hurrying, hurrying onward; moon and stars

Were shining o’er my head; I was alone,

And seem’d to be a trouble to the peace

That was among them. Sometimes it befel

325  
In these night-wanderings, that a strong desire

O’erpower’d my better reason, and the bird

Which was the captive of another’s toils

Became my prey; and, when the deed was done

I heard among the solitary hills

330  
Low breathings coming after me, and sounds

Of undistinguishable motion, steps

Almost as silent as the turf they trod.

Nor less in springtime when on southern banks

The shining sun had from his knot of leaves

335  
Decoy’d the primrose flower, and when the Vales

And woods were warm, was I a plunderer then

In the high places, on the lonesome peaks

Where’er, among the mountains and the winds,

The Mother Bird had built her lodge. Though mean

340  
My object, and inglorious, yet the end

Was not ignoble. Oh! When I have hung

Above the raven’s nest, by knots of grass

And half-inch fissures in the slippery rock

But ill sustain’d, and almost, as it seem’d,

345  
Suspended by the blast which blew amain,

Shouldering the naked crag; Oh! at that time,

While on the perilous ridge I hung alone,

With what strange utterance did the loud dry wind

Blow through my ears! the sky seem’d not a sky

350  
Of earth, and with what motion mov’d the clouds!

    The mind of Man is fram’d even like the breath

And harmony of music. There is a dark

Invisible workmanship that reconciles

Discordant elements, and makes them move

355  
In one society. Ah me! that all

The terrors, all the early miseries

Regrets, vexations, lassitudes, that all

The thoughts and feelings which have been infus’d

Into my mind, should ever have made up

360  
The calm existence that is mine when I

Am worthy of myself! Praise to the end!

Thanks likewise for the means! But I believe

That Nature, oftentimes, when she would frame

A favor’d Being, from his earliest dawn

365  
Of infancy doth open out the clouds,

As at the touch of lightning, seeking him

With gentlest visitation; not the less,

Though haply aiming at the self-same end,

Does it delight her sometimes to employ

370  
Severer interventions, ministry

More palpable, and so she dealt with me.

    One evening (surely I was led by her)

I went alone into a Shepherd’s Boat,

A Skiff that to a Willow tree was tied

375  
Within a rocky Cave, its usual home.

’Twas by the shores of Patterdale, a Vale

Wherein I was a Stranger, thither come

A School-boy Traveller, at the Holidays.

Forth rambled from the Village Inn alone

380  
No sooner had I sight of this small Skiff,

Discover’d thus by unexpected chance,

Than I unloos’d her tether and embark’d.

The moon was up, the Lake was shining clear

Among the hoary mountains; from the Shore

385  
I push’d, and struck the oars and struck again

In cadence, and my little Boat mov’d on

Even like a Man who walks with stately step

Though bent on speed. It was an act of stealth

And troubled pleasure; not without the voice

390  
Of mountain-echoes did my Boat move on,

Leaving behind her still on either side

Small circles glittering idly in the moon,

Until they melted all into one track

Of sparkling light. A rocky Steep uprose

395  
Above the Cavern of the Willow tree

And now, as suited one who proudly row’d

With his best skill, I fix’d a steady view

Upon the top of that same craggy ridge,

The bound of the horizon, for behind

400  
Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky.

She was an elfin Pinnace; lustily

I dipp’d my oars into the silent Lake,

And, as I rose upon the stroke, my Boat

Went heaving through the water, like a Swan;

405  
When from behind that craggy Steep, till then

The bound of the horizon, a huge Cliff,

As if with voluntary power instinct,

Uprear’d its head. I struck, and struck again,

And, growing still in stature, the huge Cliff

410  
Rose up between me and the stars, and still,

With measur’d motion, like a living thing,

Strode after me. With trembling hands I turn’d,

And through the silent water stole my way

Back to the Cavern of the Willow tree.

415  
There, in her mooring-place, I left my Bark,

And, through the meadows homeward went, with grave

And serious thoughts; and after I had seen

That spectacle, for many days, my brain

Work’d with a dim and undetermin’d sense

420  
Of unknown modes of being; in my thoughts

There was a darkness, call it solitude,

Or blank desertion, no familiar shapes

Of hourly objects, images of trees,

Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields;

425  
But huge and mighty Forms that do not live

Like living men mov’d slowly through my mind

By day and were the trouble of my dreams.

    Wisdom and Spirit of the universe!

Thou Soul that art the Eternity of Thought!

430  
That giv’st to forms and images a breath

And everlasting motion! not in vain,

By day or star-light thus from my first dawn

Of Childhood didst Thou intertwine for me

The passions that build up our human Soul,

435  
Not with the mean and vulgar works of Man,

But with high objects, with enduring things,

With life and nature, purifying thus

The elements of feeling and of thought,

And sanctifying, by such discipline,

440  
Both pain and fear, until we recognize

A grandeur in the beatings of the heart.

    Nor was this fellowship vouchsaf’d to me

With stinted kindness. In November days,

When vapours, rolling down the valleys, made

445  
A lonely scene more lonesome; among woods

At noon, and ’mid the calm of summer nights,

When, by the margin of the trembling Lake,

Beneath the gloomy hills I homeward went

In solitude, such intercourse was mine;

450  
’Twas mine among the fields both day and night,

And by the waters all the summer long.

    And in the frosty season, when the sun

Was set, and visible for many a mile

The cottage windows through the twilight blaz’d,

455  
I heeded not the summons: – happy time

It was, indeed, for all of us; to me

It was a time of rapture: clear and loud

The village clock toll’d six; I wheel’d about,

Proud and exulting, like an untired horse,

460  
That cares not for its home. – All shod with steel,

We hiss’d along the polish’d ice, in games

Confederate, imitative of the chace

And woodland pleasures, the resounding horn,

The Pack loud bellowing, and the hunted hare.

465  
So through the darkness and the cold we flew,

And not a voice was idle; with the din,

Meanwhile, the precipices rang aloud,

The leafless trees, and every icy crag

Tinkled like iron, while the distant hills

470  
Into the tumult sent an alien sound

Of melancholy, not unnoticed, while the stars,

Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west

The orange sky of evening died away.

    Not seldom from the uproar I retired

475  
Into a silent bay, or sportively

Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng,

To cut across the image of a star

That gleam’d upon the ice: and oftentimes

When we had given our bodies to the wind,

480  
And all the shadowy banks, on either side,

Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still

The rapid line of motion; then at once

Have I, reclining back upon my heels,

Stopp’d short, yet still the solitary Cliffs

485  
Wheeled by me, even as if the earth had roll’d

With visible motion her diurnal round;

Behind me did they stretch in solemn train

Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watch’d

Till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep.

490  
    Ye Presences of Nature, in the sky

Or on the earth! Ye Visions of the hills!

And Souls of lonely places! can I think

A vulgar hope was yours when Ye employ’d

Such ministry, when Ye through many a year

495  
Haunting me thus among my boyish sports,

On caves and trees, upon the woods and hills,

Impress’d upon all forms the characters

Of danger or desire, and thus did make

The surface of the universal earth

500  
With triumph, and delight, and hope, and fear,

Work like a sea?

                                        Not uselessly employ’d,

I might pursue this theme through every change

Of exercise and play, to which the year

Did summon us in its delightful round.

505  
    We were a noisy crew, the sun in heaven

Beheld not vales more beautiful than ours,

Nor saw a race in happiness and joy

More worthy of the fields where they were sown.

I would record with no reluctant voice

510  
The woods of autumn and their hazel bowers

With milk-white clusters hung; the rod and line,

True symbol of the foolishness of hope,

Which with its strong enchantment led us on

By rocks and pools, shut out from every star

515  
All the green summer, to forlorn cascades

Among the windings of the mountain brooks.

– Unfading recollections! at this hour

The heart is almost mine with which I felt

From some hill-top, on sunny afternoons

520  
The Kite high up among the fleecy clouds

Pull at its rein, like an impatient Courser,

Or, from the meadows sent on gusty days,

Beheld her breast the wind, then suddenly

Dash’d headlong; and rejected by the storm.

525  
    Ye lowly Cottages in which we dwelt,

A ministration of your own was yours,

A sanctity, a safeguard, and a love!

Can I forget you, being as ye were

So beautiful among the pleasant fields

530  
In which ye stood? Or can I here forget

The plain and seemly countenance with which

Ye dealt out your plain comforts? Yet had ye

Delights and exultations of your own.

Eager and never weary we pursued

535  
Our home amusements by the warm peat-fire

At evening; when with pencil and with slate,

In square divisions parcell’d out, and all

With crosses and with cyphers scribbled o’er,

We schemed and puzzled, head opposed to head

540  
In strife too humble to be named in Verse.

Or round the naked table, snow-white deal,

Cherry or maple, sate in close array,

And to the combat, Lu or Whist, led on

A thick-ribbed Army; not as in the world

545  
Neglected and ungratefully thrown by

Even for the very service they had wrought,

But husbanded through many a long campaign.

Uncouth assemblage was it, where no few

Had changed their functions, some, plebeian cards,

550  
Which Fate beyond the promise of their birth

Had glorified, and call’d to represent

The persons of departed Potentates.

Oh! with what echoes on the Board they fell!

Ironic Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts, Diamonds, Spades,

555  
A congregation piteously akin.

Cheap matter did they give to boyish wit,

Those sooty knaves, precipitated down

With scoffs and taunts, like Vulcan out of Heaven,

The paramount Ace, a moon in her eclipse,

560  
Queens, gleaming through their splendour’s last decay,

And Monarchs, surly at the wrongs sustain’d

By royal visages. Meanwhile, abroad

The heavy rain was falling, or the frost

Raged bitterly, with keen and silent tooth,

565  
And, interrupting oft the impassion’d game,

From Esthwaite’s neighbouring Lake the splitting ice,

While it sank down towards the water, sent,

Among the meadows and the hills, its long

And dismal yellings, like the noise of wolves

570  
When they are howling round the Bothnic Main.