And in MS. letter from Coleridge to Sir George Beaumont, 1802
.
| 1820 |
|
... singing ...
|
1807 |
And MS. 1802.
| 1807 |
|
... happy ...
|
MS. 1802. |
| 1807 |
|
And they who lived in genial faith found nought
that grew more willingly than genial good;
|
MS. 1802. |
| 1815 |
|
... who perished in his pride;
|
MS. 1802. |
... that perished in its pride;
|
1807 |
| 1820 |
|
Behind his plough, upon the mountain-side:
|
1807 |
And MS. 1802.
And MS. 1802.
| 1807 |
|
... was ...
|
MS. 1802. |
| 1807 |
|
... that ...
|
MS. 1802. |
| 1820 |
|
When up and down my fancy thus was driven,
And I with these untoward thoughts had striven,
|
1807 |
And MS. 1802.
| 1807 |
|
I spied ...
|
MS. 1802. |
| date |
|
My course I stopped as soon as I espied
The Old Man in that naked wilderness:
Close by a Pond, upon the further side, i
He stood alone: a minute's space I guess
I watch'd him, he continuing motionless:
To the Pool's further margin then I drew;
He being all the while before me full in view. ii
|
1807 |
This stanza, which appeared in the editions of 1807 and 1815, was, on Coleridge's advice, omitted from subsequent ones.
| 1807 |
|
... that ...
|
MS. 1802. |
And MS. 1802.
| 1820 |
|
... in their pilgrimage
|
And MS. 1802. |
| 1807 |
|
... his age ...
|
MS. 1802. |
| 1836 |
|
Himself he propp'd, both body, limbs, and face,
|
MS. 1802. |
... his body, ...
|
1807 |
| 1820 |
|
Beside the little pond or moorish flood
|
1807 |
And MS. 1802.
| date |
|
... moves ...
|
MS. 1802. |
He wore a Cloak the same as women wear
As one whose blood did needful comfort lack;
His face look'd pale as if it had grown fair;
And, furthermore he had upon his back,
Beneath his cloak, a round and bulky Pack;
A load of wool or raiment as might seem.
That on his shoulders lay as if it clave to him.
|
This stanza appeared only in MS. 1802. |
| 1820 |
|
And now such freedom as I could I took;
|
1807 |
And MS. 1802.
| 1820 |
|
"What kind of work is that which you pursue?
|
1807 |
And MS. 1802.
| 1807 |
|
... for such as ...
|
MS. |
| 1836 |
|
He answer'd me with pleasure and surprize;
And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes.
|
1807 and MS. 1802 |
He answered, while a flash of mild surprise
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes.
|
1820 |
And MS. 1802.
| 1807 |
|
... pompous ....
|
MS. 1802. |
| 1807 |
|
...words ...
|
MS. |
...beyond ...
|
MS. 1802. |
| 1827 |
|
He told me that he to the pond had come
|
MS. 1802. |
... this pond ...
|
1807 |
| 1807 |
|
This was his calling, better far than some,
Though he had ...
|
MS. 1802. |
| 1807 |
|
But soon ...
|
MS. 1802. |
| 1827 |
|
... and strong admonishment.
|
1807 |
... by strong admonishment.
|
1820 |
And MS. 1802.
| 1820 |
|
And now, not knowing what the Old Man had said,
|
1807 and MS. 1802 |
But now, perplex'd by what the Old Man had said,
|
1815 |
| 1807 |
|
... live? what is it that you do?"
|
MS. 1802. |
| 1827 |
|
And said, that wheresoe'er they might be spied
He gather'd Leeches, stirring at his feet
The waters in the Ponds ...
|
MS. 1802 |
And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide
He travelled; stirring thus about his feet
The waters of the Ponds ...
|
1807 |
| 1807 |
|
Once he could meet with them on every side;
But fewer they became from day to day,
And so his means of life before him died away.
|
MS. 1802. |
| 1807 |
|
And now ...
|
MS. 1802. |
| 1807 |
|
Which he delivered with demeanour kind,
Yet stately ...
|
MS. 1802. |
... hither side,
|
MS. 1802. |
He all the while before me being full in view.
|
MS. 1802. |
Some have thought that Wordsworth had S.T.C. in his mind,
in writing this stanza. I cannot agree with this. The value and interest
of the poem would be lessened by our imagining that Wordsworth's heart
never failed him; and that, when he appears to moralise at his own
expense, he was doing so at Coleridge's. Besides, the date of this poem,
taken in connection with entries in the Grasmere Journal of Dorothy
Wordsworth, makes it all but certain that Coleridge was not referred
to.—Ed.
Compare in The Matron of Jedborough and her Husband, p.
417, ll. 66-69:
'Some inward trouble suddenly
Broke from the Matron's strong black eye—
A remnant of uneasy light,
A flash of something over-bright!'
Ed.
Additional variants obtained from this source are
inserted as "MS. 1802."—Ed.
Note:
The late Bishop of Lincoln, in the Memoirs of his uncle (vol. i. pp.
172, 173), quotes from a letter, written by Wordsworth "to some friends,
which has much interest as bearing on this poemC. The following are
extracts from it:
"It is not a matter of indifference whether you are pleased with his
figure and employment, it may be comparatively whether you are pleased
with this Poem; but it is of the utmost importance that you should
have had pleasure in contemplating the fortitude, independence,
persevering spirit, and the general moral dignity of this old man's
character." Again, "I will explain to you, in prose, my feelings in
writing that poem.... I describe myself as having been exalted to
the highest pitch of delight by the joyousness and beauty of nature;
and then as depressed, even in the midst of those beautiful objects,
to the lowest dejection and despair. A young poet in the midst of the
happiness of nature is described as overwhelmed by the thoughts of the
miserable reverses which have befallen the happiest of all men, viz.
poets. I think of this till I am so deeply impressed with it, that I
consider the manner in which I was rescued from my dejection and
despair almost as an interposition of Providence. A person reading the
poem with feelings like mine will have been awed and controlled,
expecting something spiritual or supernatural. What is brought
forward? A lonely place, 'a pond, by which an old man was, far from
all house or home:' not stood, nor sat, but was—the figure
presented in the most naked simplicity possible. This feeling of
spirituality or supernaturalness is again referred to as being strong
in my mind in this passage. How came he here? thought I, or what can
he be doing? I then describe him, whether ill or well is not for me to
judge with perfect confidence; but this I can confidently affirm,
that though I believe God has given me a strong imagination, I cannot
conceive a figure more impressive than that of an old man like this,
the survivor of a wife and ten children, travelling alone among the
mountains and all lonely places, carrying with him his own fortitude
and the necessities which an unjust state of society has laid upon
him. You speak of his speech as tedious. Every thing is tedious when
one does not read with the feelings of the author. The Thorn is
tedious to hundreds; and so is The Idiot Boy to hundreds. It is in
the character of the old man to tell his story, which an impatient
reader must feel tedious. But, good heavens! such a figure, in such a
place; a pious, self-respecting, miserably infirm and pleased old man
telling such a tale!"
Ed.