WRITTEN UPON A BLANK LEAF IN "THE
COMPLETE ANGLER"
Composed 1819.—Published 1819
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
While flowing rivers yield a blameless sport,
Shall live the name of Walton: Sage benign!
Whose pen, the mysteries of the rod and line
Unfolding, did not fruitlessly exhort
5
To reverend watching of each still report
That Nature utters from her rural shrine.
Meek, nobly versed in simple discipline—
He found the longest summer day too short,
To his
[369] loved pastime given by sedgy Lee,
Or down the tempting maze of Shawford brook—
Fairer than life itself, in this
[370] sweet Book,
The cowslip-bank
[371] and shady willow-tree;
And the fresh meads—where flowed, from every nook
Of his
[372] full bosom, gladsome Piety!
VARIANTS:
CAPTIVITY—MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS[373]
Composed 1819.—Published 1819
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
"As the cold aspect of a sunless way
Strikes through the Traveller's frame with deadlier chill,
Oft as appears a grove, or obvious hill,
Glistening with unparticipated ray,
5
Or shining slope where he must never stray;
So joys, remembered without wish or will,
Sharpen the keenest edge of present ill,—
On the crushed heart a heavier burthen lay.
Just Heaven, contract the compass of my mind
10
To fit proportion with my altered state!
Quench those felicities whose light I find
Reflected in
[374] my bosom all too late!—
O be my spirit, like my thraldom, strait;
And, like mine eyes that stream with sorrow, blind!"
Compare the Lament of Mary Queen of Scots, p. 162.
Why this sonnet was printed, from 1819 (in which year it
appeared in The Waggoner, a Poem, to which are added
Sonnets,) to the last edition of 1849, within inverted commas,
I have never been able to discover.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
TO A SNOW-DROP[375]
Composed 1819.—Published 1819
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Lone Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as they
But hardier far, once more I see thee bend
Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend,
Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day,
[376]Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, way-lay
The rising sun, and on the plains descend;
Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend
[377]Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May
Shall soon behold this border thickly set
10
With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing
On the soft west-wind and his frolic peers;
Nor will I then thy modest grace forget,
[378]Chaste Snow-drop, venturous harbinger of Spring,
And pensive monitor of fleeting years!
VARIANTS:
"WHEN HAUGHTY EXPECTATIONS
PROSTRATE LIE"
Composed 1819.—Published 1820
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
When haughty expectations prostrate lie,
[DN]And grandeur crouches like a guilty thing,
Oft shall the lowly weak, till nature bring
Mature release, in fair society
5
Survive, and Fortune's utmost anger try;
Like these frail snow-drops that together cling,
And nod their helmets, smitten by the wing
Of many a furious whirl-blast sweeping by.
Observe the faithful flowers!
[DO] if small to great
May lead the thoughts, thus struggling used to stand
11
The Emathian phalanx,
[DP] nobly obstinate;
And so the bright immortal Theban band,
[DQ]Whom onset, fiercely urged at Jove's command,
Might overwhelm, but could not separate!
FOOTNOTES:
TO THE RIVER DERWENT
Composed 1819.—Published 1819
This sonnet was first published along with The Waggoner.
In the editions from 1820 to 1832 it was placed among the
"Miscellaneous Sonnets." In 1835 it was included in the
series of "Poems, composed or suggested during a tour, in the
summer of 1833."—Ed.
Among the mountains were we nursed, loved Stream!
Thou near the eagle's nest—within brief sail,
I, of his bold wing floating on the gale,
Where thy deep voice could lull me! Faint the beam
5
Of human life when first allowed to gleam
On mortal notice.—Glory of the vale,
Such thy meek outset, with a crown, though frail,
Kept in perpetual verdure by the steam
Of thy soft breath!—Less vivid wreath
[379] entwined
Nemæan victor's brow; less bright was worn,
Meed of some Roman chief—in triumph borne
With captives chained; and shedding from his car
The sunset splendours of a finished war
Upon the proud enslavers of mankind!
The Derwent has its source on the slopes of Glaramara; and
an Eagle Crag rises above one of its affluents (the Langstrath
beck, separating the Langstrath from the Greenup Valley).
Doubtless there were eagles there in the last century when
Wordsworth was born, and they would soar over Skiddaw and
the Grasmere group of mountains towards Cockermouth, his
birth-place.—Ed.
VARIANT:
COMPOSED IN ONE OF THE VALLEYS OF
WESTMORELAND, ON EASTER SUNDAY[380]
Composed 1819.—Published 1819
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
With each recurrence of this glorious morn
That saw the Saviour in his human frame
Rise from the dead, erewhile the Cottage-dame
Put on fresh raiment—till that hour unworn:
5
Domestic
[381] hands the home-bred wool had shorn,
And she who span it culled
[382] the daintiest fleece,
In thoughtful reverence to the Prince of Peace,
Whose temples bled beneath the platted thorn.
A blest estate when piety sublime
These humble props disdained not! O green dales!
11
Sad may I be who heard your sabbath chime
When Art's abused inventions were unknown;
Kind Nature's various wealth was all your own;
And benefits were weighed in Reason's scales!
VARIANTS:
The following (incomplete) version of this Easter Sunday
sonnet exists in MS.:—
COMPOSED ON EASTER SUNDAY
Erewhile to celebrate this glorious morn
That saw the unvanquished Saviour of mankind
Rise from the grave, the Ruler and the Hind
Put on fresh raiment, till that hour unworn,
Fair cloth of home-bred wool which he had shorn,
Her hands had spun, culling her daintiest fleece,
Such reverence paid they to the Prince of Peace.
O blest estate, when Piety sublime
These humble props disdained not! Are thy flowers
Banished for aye, from Britain's hills and vales
Extinct, or lingering in a happier clime,
Where our abused inventions are unknown
Ed.
And benefits are weighed in Reason's scales?
"GRIEF, THOU HAST LOST AN EVER READY
FRIEND"
Composed 1819.—Published 1819
[I could write a treatise of lamentation upon the changes
brought about among the cottages of Westmoreland by the
silence of the spinning-wheel.[DR] During long winter nights and
wet days, the wheel upon which wool was spun gave employment
to a great part of a family. The old man, however infirm,
was able to card the wool, as he sate in a corner by the
fire-side; and often, when a boy, have I admired the cylinders
of carded wool which were softly laid upon each other by his
side. Two wheels were often at work on the same floor; and
others of the family, chiefly little children, were occupied in
teasing and cleaning the wool to fit it for the hand of the carder.
So that all, except the smallest infants, were contributing to
mutual support. Such was the employment that prevailed in
the pastoral vales. Where wool was not at hand, in the small
rural towns, the wheel for spinning flax was almost in as
constant use, if knitting was not preferred; which latter
occupation has the advantage (in some cases disadvantage) that,
not being of necessity stationary, it allowed of gossiping about
from house to house, which good housewives reckoned an idle
thing.—I. F.]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Grief, thou hast lost an ever ready friend
Now that the cottage Spinning-wheel is mute;
And Care—a comforter that best could suit
Her froward mood, and softliest reprehend;
5
And Love—a charmer's voice, that used to lend,
More efficaciously than aught that flows
From harp or lute, kind influence to compose
The throbbing pulse—else troubled without end:
Even Joy could tell,
[383] Joy craving truce and rest
From her own overflow, what power sedate
On those revolving motions did await
Assiduously—to soothe her aching breast;
And, to a point of just relief, abate
The mantling triumphs of a day too blest.
The following version of the last seven lines of this sonnet
is from a MS. copy of it:—
The panting breast else troubled without end:
And fancy prized the murmuring spinning-wheel
In sympathies inexplicably fine,
Instilled a confidence how sweet to feel!
That ever, in the night calm, when the sheep
Upon their grassy beds lay couched in sleep,
The quickening spindle drew a trustier line. Ed.
VARIANT:
FOOTNOTE:
"I WATCH, AND LONG HAVE WATCHED,
WITH CALM REGRET"
Composed 1819.—Published 1819[DS]
[Suggested in front of Rydal Mount, the rocky parapet being
the summit of Loughrigg Fell opposite. Not once only, but a
hundred times, have the feelings of this sonnet been awakened
by the same objects seen from the same place.—I. F.]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
I watch, and long have watched, with calm regret
Yon slowly-sinking star—immortal Sire
(So might he seem) of all the glittering quire!
Blue ether still surrounds him—yet—and yet;
5
But now the horizon's rocky parapet
Is reached, where, forfeiting his bright attire,
He burns—transmuted to a dusky fire—
Then pays submissively the appointed debt
To the flying moments, and is seen no more.
[384]Angels and gods! We struggle with our fate,
While health, power, glory, from their height decline,
[385]Depressed; and then extinguished: and our state,
In this, how different, lost Star, from thine,
That no to-morrow shall our beams restore!
[DT]
VARIANTS:
FOOTNOTES:
I HEARD (ALAS! 'TWAS ONLY IN A DREAM)
Composed 1819.—Published 1819
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
I heard (alas! 'twas only in a dream)
Strains—which, as sage Antiquity believed,
By waking
[386] ears have sometimes been received
Wafted adown the wind from lake or stream;
5
A most melodious requiem, a supreme
And perfect harmony of notes, achieved
By a fair Swan on drowsy billows heaved,
O'er which her pinions shed a silver gleam.
For is she not the votary of Apollo?
10
And knows she not, singing as he inspires,
[387]That bliss awaits her which the ungenial Hollow
[DU]Of the dull earth partakes not, nor desires?
Mount, tuneful Bird, and join the immortal quires!
She soared—and I awoke, struggling in vain to follow.
Socrates to Simmias.—"Will you not allow that I have as
much of the spirit of prophecy in me as the swans? For they,
when they perceive that they must die, having sung all their
life long, do then sing more than ever, rejoicing in the thought
that they are about to go away to the God, whose ministers they
are. But men, because they are themselves afraid of death,
slanderously affirm of the swans, that they sing a lament at the
last, not considering that no bird sings when cold, or hungry,
or in pain, not even the nightingale, nor the swallow, nor yet
the hoopoe, which are said indeed to tune a lay of sorrow,
although I do not believe this to be true of them any more than
of the swans. But because they are sacred to Apollo, they have
the gift of prophecy, and anticipate the good things of another
world; wherefore they sing and rejoice in that day more than
ever they did before. And I too, believing myself to be the
consecrated servant of the same God, and the fellow-servant of
the swans, and thinking that I have received from my master
gifts of prophecy which are not inferior to theirs, would not go
out of life less merrily than the swans." Phædo, 85 (Jowett's
translation, vol. i. p. 462).—Ed.
VARIANTS:
FOOTNOTE:
THE HAUNTED TREE[DV]
To ——
Composed 1819.—Published 1820
[This tree grew in the park of Rydal, and I have often
listened to its creaking as described.—I. F.]
One of the "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.
Those silver clouds collected round the sun
His mid-day warmth abate not, seeming less
To overshade than multiply his beams
4
By soft reflection—grateful to the sky,
To rocks, fields, woods. Nor doth our human sense
Ask, for its pleasure, screen or canopy
More ample than the
[388] time-dismantled Oak
Spreads o'er this tuft of heath, which now, attired
In the whole fulness of its bloom, affords
10
Couch beautiful as e'er for earthly use
[389]Was fashioned; whether by the hand of Art,
That eastern Sultan, amid flowers enwrought
On silken tissue, might diffuse his limbs
In languor; or, by Nature, for repose
15
Of panting Wood-nymph, wearied with the chase.
[390]O Lady! fairer in thy Poet's sight
Than fairest spiritual creature of the groves,
Approach;—and, thus invited, crown with rest
The noontide hour: though truly some there are
20
Whose footsteps superstitiously avoid
This venerable Tree; for, when the wind
Blows keenly, it sends forth a creaking sound
(Above the general roar of woods and crags)
Distinctly heard from far—a doleful note!
25
As if (so Grecian shepherds would have deemed)
The Hamadryad, pent within, bewailed
Some bitter wrong.
[DW] Nor is it unbelieved,
By ruder fancy, that a troubled ghost
Haunts the old trunk;
[391] lamenting deeds of which
The flowery ground is conscious. But no wind
Sweeps now along this elevated ridge;
Not even a zephyr stirs;—the obnoxious Tree
Is mute: and, in his silence, would look down,
O lovely Wanderer of the trackless hills,
35
On thy
[392] reclining form with more delight
Than his coevals in the sheltered vale
Seem to participate, the while they view
[393]Their own far-stretching arms and leafy heads
Vividly pictured in some glassy pool,
40
That, for a brief space, checks the hurrying stream!
Where this Haunted Tree stood in Rydal Park, or whether
it is still standing, cannot be determined. There are several
"time-dismantled oaks" in the Park, but none with a heather
couch beneath them, so far as I know. I have, however, heard
stories of this tree from old residenters. The "Lady," the
"lovely wanderer of the trackless hills," may have been the
poet's daughter, Dora, to whom (probably) this poem was
inscribed.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
FOOTNOTES:
SEPTEMBER, 1819
Composed 1819.—Published 1820
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."—Ed.
