[This Ode is on the model of Gray's Ode
to Adversity, which is copied from Horace's Ode to Fortune.
Many and many a time have I been twitted by my wife and sister for having
forgotten this dedication of myself to the stern law-giver. Transgressor
indeed I have been from hour to hour, from day to day: I would fain hope,
however, not more flagrantly, or in a worse way than most of my tuneful
brethren. But these last words are in a wrong strain. We should be
rigorous to ourselves, and forbearing, if not indulgent, to others; and,
if we make comparison at all, it ought to be with those who have morally
excelled us.—I. F.]
In pencil on the MS.,
"But is not the first stanza of Gray's from a chorus of Æschylus? And is not Horace's Ode also modelled on the Greek?"
This poem was placed by Wordsworth among his
"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."—Ed.
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Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove; Thou, who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe; From vain temptations dost set free; And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth: Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot; Who do thy work, and know it not: Oh, if through confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast. Serene will be our days and bright, And happy will our nature be, When love is an unerring light, And joy its own security. And they a blissful course may hold Even now, who, not unwisely bold, Live in the spirit of this creed; Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need. I, loving freedom, and untried; No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust: And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred The task, in smoother walks to stray; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control; But in the quietness of thought: Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance-desires: My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same. Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we any thing so fair As is the smile upon thy face: Flowers laugh before thee on their beds And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power! I call thee: I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; Oh, let my weakness have an end! Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give; And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live! Note Contents 1805 Main Contents |
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Footnote A:
This motto was added in the edition
of 1837.—Ed.
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Footnote B:
Compare S. T. C. in The Friend
(edition 1818, vol. iii. p. 62),
"Its instinct, its safety, its benefit, its glory is to love, to admire, to feel, and to labour."
Ed.
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Footnote C:
Compare Churchill's Gotham, i.
49:
'An Englishman in chartered freedom born.'
Ed.
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Footnote D:
Compare in Sartor Resartus,
"Happy he for whom a kind of heavenly sun brightens it [Necessity] into a ring of Duty, and plays round it with beautiful prismatic refractions."
Ed.
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Footnote E:
Compare Persius, Satura, ii.
l. 38:
'Quidquic calcaverit hic, rosa fiat.'
And Ben Jonson, in The Sad Shepherd, act I. scene i. ll. 8, 9:
'And where she went, the flowers took thickest root,
As she had sow'd them with her odorous foot.'
Also, a similar reference to Aphrodite in
Hesiod, Theogony, vv. 192 seq.—Ed.
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Footnote F: Compare S. T. C. in The Friend (edition
1818), vol. iii. p. 64.—Ed.
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Footnote G:
In the original MS. sent to the
printer, I find that this stanza was transcribed by Coleridge.—Ed.
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Note: Mr. J. R. Tutin has supplied me with the text of a
proof copy of the sheets of the edition of 1807, which was cancelled by
Wordsworth, in which the following stanzas take the place of the first
four of that edition:
'There are who tread a blameless way
In purity, and love, and truth,
Though resting on no better stay
Than on the genial sense of youth:
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do the right, and know it not:
May joy be theirs while life shall last
And may a genial sense remain, when youth is past.
Serene would be our days and bright;
And happy would our nature be;
If Love were an unerring light;
And Joy its own security.
And bless'd are they who in the main,
This creed, even now, do entertain,
Do in this spirit live; yet know
That Man hath other hopes; strength which elsewhere must grow.
I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust;
Resolv'd that nothing e'er should press
Upon my present happiness,
I shov'd unwelcome tasks away:
But henceforth I would serve; and strictly if I may.
O Power of Duty! sent from God
To enforce on earth his high behest,
And keep us faithful to the road
Which conscience hath pronounc'd the best:
Thou, who art Victory and Law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free,
From Strife, and from Despair, a glorious Ministry!G'
Ed.
The Poem
[Rydal Mount, 1825.A—I.
F.]
In pencil opposite,
"Where there are no skylarks; but the poet is everywhere."
In the
edition of 1807 this is No. 2 of the "Poems, composed during a Tour,
chiefly on foot."B In 1815 it became one of
the "Poems of the Fancy."—Ed.
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Up with me! up with me into the clouds! For thy song, Lark, is strong; Up with me, up with me into the clouds! Singing, singing, With clouds and sky about thee ringing, Lift me, guide me till I find That spot which seems so to thy mind! I have walked through wildernesses dreary, And to-day my heart is weary; Had I now the wings of a Faery, Up to thee would I fly. There is madness about thee, and joy divine In that song of thine; Lift me, guide me high and high To thy banqueting-place in the sky. Joyous as morning, Thou art laughing and scorning; Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest, And, though little troubled with sloth, Drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth To be such a traveller as I. Happy, happy Liver, With a soul as strong as a mountain river Pouring out praise to the almighty Giver, Joy and jollity be with us both! Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven, Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind; But hearing thee, or others of thy kind, As full of gladness and as free of heaven, I, with my fate contented, will plod on, And hope for higher raptures, when life's day is done. Note Contents 1805 Main Contents |
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Variant 5: This and the previous
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Footnote A:
So it is printed in the Prose Works
of Wordsworth (1876); but the date was 1805.—Ed.
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Footnote B: In a MS. copy this series is called "Poems
composed 'for amusement' during a Tour, chiefly on foot."—Ed.
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Note: Compare this poem with Shelley's Skylark,
and with Wordsworth's poem, on the same subject, written in the year 1825,
and the last five stanzas of his Morning Exercise written in 1827;
also with William Watson's First Skylark of Spring, 1895.—Ed.
The Poem
[The
young man whose death gave occasion to this poem was named Charles Gough,
and had come early in the spring to Patterdale for the sake of angling.
While attempting to cross over Helvellyn to Grasmere he slipped from a
steep part of the rock where the ice was not thawed, and perished. His
body was discovered as described in this poem. Walter Scott heard of the
accident, and both he and I, without either of us knowing that the other
had taken up the subject, each wrote a poem in admiration of the dog's
fidelity. His contains a most beautiful stanza:
"How long did'st thou think that his silence was slumber!
When the wind waved his garment how oft did'st thou start!"
I will add that the sentiment in the last
four lines of the last stanza of my verses was uttered by a shepherd with
such exactness, that a traveller, who afterwards reported his account in
print, was induced to question the man whether he had read them, which he
had not.—I. F.]
One
of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."—Ed.
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A barking sound the Shepherd hears, A cry as of a dog or fox; He halts—and searches with his eyes Among the scattered rocks: And now at distance can discern A stirring in a brake of fern; And instantly a dog is seen, Glancing through that covert green. The Dog is not of mountain breed; Its motions, too, are wild and shy; With something, as the Shepherd thinks, Unusual in its cry: Nor is there any one in sight All round, in hollow or on height; Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear; What is the creature doing here? It was a cove, a huge recess, That keeps, till June, December's snow; A lofty precipice in front, A silent tarn below! Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, Remote from public road or dwelling, Pathway, or cultivated land; From trace of human foot or hand. There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; The crags repeat the raven's croak, In symphony austere; Thither the rainbow comes—the cloud— And mists that spread the flying shroud; And sunbeams; and the sounding blast, That, if it could, would hurry past; But that enormous barrier holds it fast. Not free from boding thoughts, a while The Shepherd stood; then makes his way O'er rocks and stones, following the Dog As quickly as he may; Nor far had gone before he found A human skeleton on the ground; The appalled Discoverer with a sigh Looks round, to learn the history. From those abrupt and perilous rocks The Man had fallen, that place of fear! At length upon the Shepherd's mind It breaks, and all is clear: He instantly recalled the name, And who he was, and whence he came; Remembered, too, the very day On which the Traveller passed this way. But hear a wonder, for whose sake This lamentable tale I tell! A lasting monument of words This wonder merits well. The Dog, which still was hovering nigh, Repeating the same timid cry, This Dog, had been through three months' space A dweller in that savage place. Yes, proof was plain that, since the day When this ill-fated Traveller died, The Dog had watched about the spot, Or by his master's side: How nourished here through such long time He knows, who gave that love sublime; And gave that strength of feeling, great Above all human estimate! Note Contents 1805 Main Contents |
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Footnote A:
Tarn is a small Mere or Lake mostly high up in the
mountains,—W. W.
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Footnote B:
Compare the reference to Helvellyn,
and its "deep coves, shaped by skeleton arms," in the Musings near
Aquapendente (1837). Wordsworth here describes Red Tarn, under
Helvellyn, to the east; but Charles Gough was killed on the Kepplecove
side of Swirell Edge, and not at Red Tarn. Bishop Watson of Llandaff,
writing to Hayley (see Anecdotes of the Life of Bishop Watson, p.
440), writes about Charles Gouche (evidently Gough). He had been lodging
at "the Cherry Inn," near Wytheburn, sometime before his death.—Ed.
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Footnote C: Compare The Excursion, book iv. ll.
1185-94.—Ed.
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Note: Thomas Wilkinson—referred to in the notes
to The Solitary Reaper, vol. ii. pp. 399, 400, and the verses To
the Spade of a Friend, in vol. iv.—alludes to this incident at
some length in his poem, Emont Vale. Wilkinson attended the funeral
of young Gough, and writes of the incident with feeling, but without
inspiration. Gough perished early in April, and his body was not found
till July 22nd, 1805. A reference to his fate will be found in Lockhart's
Life of Scott (vol. ii. p. 274); also in a letter of Mr. Luff of
Patterdale, to his wife, July 23rd, 1805. Henry Crabb Robinson records
(see his Diary, Reminiscences, etc., vol. ii. p. 25) a conversation
with Wordsworth, in which he said of this poem, that "he purposely made
the narrative as prosaic as possible, in order that no discredit might be
thrown on the truth of the incident."—Ed.
The Poem
[This
dog I knew well. It belonged to Mrs. Wordsworth's brother, Mr. Thomas
Hutchinson, who then lived at Sockburn-on-the-Tees, a beautiful retired
situation, where I used to visit him and his sisters before my marriage.
My sister and I spent many months there after my return from Germany in
1799— I. F.]
One of
the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."—Ed.
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On his morning rounds the Master Goes to learn how all things fare; Searches pasture after pasture, Sheep and cattle eyes with care; And, for silence or for talk, He hath comrades in his walk; Four dogs, each pair of different breed, Distinguished two for scent, and two for speed. See a hare before him started! —Off they fly in earnest chase; Every dog is eager-hearted, All the four are in the race: And the hare whom they pursue, Knows from instinct what to do; Her hope is near: no turn she makes; But, like an arrow, to the river takes. Deep the river was, and crusted Thinly by a one night's frost; But the nimble Hare hath trusted To the ice, and safely crost; so She hath crost, and without heed All are following at full speed, When, lo! the ice, so thinly spread, Breaks—and the greyhound, Dart, is over-head! Better fate have Prince and Swallow— See them cleaving to the sport! Music has no heart to follow, Little Music, she stops short. She hath neither wish nor heart, Hers is now another part: A loving creature she, and brave! And fondly strives her struggling friend to save. From the brink her paws she stretches, Very hands as you would say! And afflicting moans she fetches, As he breaks the ice away. For herself she hath no fears,— Him alone she sees and hears,— Makes efforts with complainings; nor gives o'er Until her fellow sinks to re-appear no more. Contents 1805 Main Contents |
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Footnote A:
In 1807 and 1815 the title was Incident,
Characteristic of a favourite Dog, which belonged to a Friend of the
Author.—Ed.
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The Poem
[Was
written at the same time, 1805. The Dog Music died, aged and blind, by
falling into a draw-well at Gallow] Hill, to the great grief of the family
of the Hutchinsons, who, as has been before mentioned, had removed to that
place from Sockburn.—I. F.]
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."—Ed.
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Lie here, without a record of thy worth, Beneath a covering of the common earth! It is not from unwillingness to praise, Or want of love, that here no Stone we raise; More thou deserv'st; but this man gives to man, Brother to brother, this is all we can. Yet they to whom thy virtues made thee dear Shall find thee through all changes of the year: This Oak points out thy grave; the silent tree Will gladly stand a monument of thee. We grieved for thee, and wished thy end were past; And willingly have laid thee here at last: For thou hadst lived till every thing that cheers In thee had yielded to the weight of years; Extreme old age had wasted thee away, And left thee but a glimmering of the day; Thy ears were deaf, and feeble were thy knees,— I saw thee stagger in the summer breeze, Too weak to stand against its sportive breath, And ready for the gentlest stroke of death. It came, and we were glad; yet tears were shed; Both man and woman wept when thou wert dead; Not only for a thousand thoughts that were, Old household thoughts, in which thou hadst thy share; But for some precious boons vouchsafed to thee, Found scarcely any where in like degree! For love, that comes wherever life and sense Are given by God, in thee was most intense; A chain of heart, a feeling of the mind, A tender sympathy, which did thee bind Not only to us Men, but to thy Kind: Yea, for thy fellow-brutes in thee we saw A soul of love, love's intellectual law:— Hence, if we wept, it was not done in shame; Our tears from passion and from reason came, And, therefore, shalt thou be an honoured name! Contents 1805 Main Contents |
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Variant 1:
In the editions of 1807 to 1820 the following lines began the poem.
They were withdrawn in 1827.
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Placed by Wordsworth among his "Epitaphs and
Elegiac Pieces."—Ed.
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Sweet Flower! belike one day to have A place upon thy Poet's grave, I welcome thee once more: But He, who was on land, at sea, My Brother, too, in loving thee, Although he loved more silently, Sleeps by his native shore. Ah! hopeful, hopeful was the day When to that Ship he bent his way, To govern and to guide: His wish was gained: a little time Would bring him back in manhood's prime And free for life, these hills to climb; With all his wants supplied. And full of hope day followed day While that stout Ship at anchor lay Beside the shores of Wight; The May had then made all things green; And, floating there, in pomp serene, That Ship was goodly to be seen, His pride and his delight! Yet then, when called ashore, he sought The tender peace of rural thought: In more than happy mood To your abodes, bright daisy Flowers! He then would steal at leisure hours, And loved you glittering in your bowers, A starry multitude. But hark the word!—the ship is gone;— Returns from her long course:—anon Sets sail:—in season due, Once more on English earth they stand: But, when a third time from the land They parted, sorrow was at hand For Him and for his crew. Ill-fated Vessel!—ghastly shock! —At length delivered from the rock, The deep she hath regained; And through the stormy night they steer; Labouring for life, in hope and fear, To reach a safer shore—how near, Yet not to be attained! "Silence!" the brave Commander cried; To that calm word a shriek replied, It was the last death-shriek. —A few (my soul oft sees that sight) Survive upon the tall mast's height; But one dear remnant of the night— For Him in vain I seek. Six weeks beneath the moving sea He lay in slumber quietly; Unforced by wind or wave To quit the Ship for which he died, (All claims of duty satisfied;) And there they found him at her side; And bore him to the grave. Vain service! yet not vainly done For this, if other end were none, That He, who had been cast Upon a way of life unmeet For such a gentle Soul and sweet, Should find an undisturbed retreat Near what he loved, at last— That neighbourhood of grove and field To Him a resting-place should yield, A meek man and a brave! The birds shall sing and ocean make A mournful murmur for his sake; And Thou, sweet Flower, shalt sleep and wake Upon his senseless grave. Contents 1805 Main Contents |
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Variant 4: In the edition of
1827 and subsequent ones, Wordsworth here inserted a footnote, asking the
reader to refer to No. VI. of the "Poems on the Naming of Places,"
beginning "When, to the attractions of the busy world," p. 66. His note of
1837 refers also to the poem which there precedes the present one, viz.
the Elegiac Stanzas.—Ed.
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