Ill-fated Chief! there are whose hopes are built
Upon the ruins of thy glorious name.

Callippus, an early friend of Dion's in Athens, and bound to him by a sacred association as he had initiated him into the mysteries, was now in Syracuse, and for selfish ends was plotting his friend's ruin, ἐλπίσας Σικελίαν ἆθλον ἕξειν τῆς ξενοκτονίας, 'hoping to get Sicily as the prize of his treachery.'

O matchless perfidy! portentous lust
Of monstrous crime!...

Not only was this Callippus his friend, not only had he initiated him into the mysteries at Athens, a bond of peculiar sanctity, but there was even a worse perfidy: to allay the suspicions of Dion's household he had taken 'the awful oath'. Descending into the sacred enclosure of Demeter, he had put on the purple robe of the goddess, and taking a burning torch in his hand, had disowned upon oath any thought of treachery. Yet in spite of this awful oath, he chose the very festival of the goddess as the moment for perpetrating the crime.

... The marble city wept.

cities of the ancient world, and contained a large number of splendid buildings built from the quarries adjacent to the city. Perhaps the most famous was the great theatre, the seats of which were formed with slabs of white marble.

... too just
To his own native greatness to desire
That wretched boon, days lengthened by mistrust.

ὁ μὲν Δίων, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐπὶ τοῖς κατὰ τὸν Ἡρακλείδην ἀχθόμενος καὶ τὸν φόνον ἐκεῖνον ὥς τινα τοῦ βίου καὶ τῶν πράξεων αὐτῷ κηλῖδα περικειμένην, δυσχεραίνων ἀεὶ καὶ βαρυνόμενος εἶπεν ὅτι πολλάκις ἤδη θνήσκειν ἕτοιμός ἐστι καὶ παρέχειν τῷ βουλομένῳ σφάττειν αὑτόν, εἰ ζῆν δεήσει μὴ μόνον τοὺς ἐχθρούς, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς φίλους φυλαττόμενον. His relations had been cautioning him against Callippus; but 'Dion, grieved at heart, it would seem, at the fate of Heracleides, and ever chafing at and brooding over the murder as a stain upon his life and conduct, was willing, he said, to die a thousand deaths and yield his neck to any who would strike the blow, if life was only to be had by guarding against friends as well as foes.'"—Ed.

FOOTNOTES:

[CA] See, at the close of the poem (p. 122), several experimental renderings of this stanza, printed from MS.—Ed.

[CB] That Wordsworth knew the Elgin marbles—where the half-recumbent Ilissus, a torso, is one of the finest pieces of the pediment—is certain. There is a reproduction of it in his nephew's (the late Bishop of Lincoln's) book on Greece. In Henry Crabb Robinson's Diary (vol. ii. p. 195) there is an interesting account of the poet's visit to the British Museum, to see the Elgin marbles, etc. See also the Autobiography of B. R. Haydon, where, in a letter to the artist, Wordsworth says, "I am not surprised to hear that Canova expressed himself highly pleased with the Elgin marbles: a man must be senseless as a clod, or as perverse as a fiend, not to be enraptured with them" (vol. i. p. 325).—Ed.


A FACT, AND AN IMAGINATION;

Or, Canute and Alfred, on the Sea-shore[199]

Composed 1816.—Published 1820

[The first and last fourteen lines of this poem each make a sonnet, and were composed as such; but I thought that by intermediate lines they might be connected so as to make a whole. One or two expressions are taken from Milton's History of England.—I. F.]

One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."—Ed.

The Danish Conqueror, on his royal chair,
Mustering a face of haughty[200] sovereignty,
To aid a covert purpose, cried—"O ye
Approaching Waters of the deep, that share
5
With this green isle my fortunes, come not where
Your Master's throne is set."—Deaf was the Sea;
Her waves rolled on, respecting his decree
Less than they heed a breath of wanton air.[201]
—Then Canute, rising from the invaded throne,
10
Said to his servile Courtiers,—"Poor the reach,[202]
The undisguised extent, of mortal sway!
He only is a King, and he alone
Deserves the name (this truth the billows preach)
Whose everlasting laws, sea, earth, and heaven, obey."
15
This just reproof the prosperous Dane
Drew from the influx of the main,
For some whose rugged northern mouths would strain
At oriental flattery;
And Canute (fact more worthy to be known)[203]
20
From that time forth did for his brows disown
The ostentatious symbol of a crown;
Esteeming earthly royalty
Contemptible as vain.[204]
Now hear what one of elder days,
25
Rich theme of England's fondest praise,
Her darling Alfred, might have spoken;[205]
To cheer the remnant of his host
When he was driven from coast to coast,
Distressed and harassed, but with mind unbroken:[206]
30
"My faithful followers, lo! the tide is spent
That rose, and steadily advanced to fill
The shores and channels, working Nature's will
Among the mazy streams that backward went,
34
And in the sluggish pools where ships are pent:
And now, his[207] task performed, the flood stands still,
At the green base of many an inland hill,[CC]
In placid beauty and sublime content![208]
Such the repose that sage and hero find;
Such measured rest the sedulous and good
40
Of humbler name; whose souls do, like the flood
Of Ocean, press right on; or gently wind,
Neither to be diverted nor withstood,
Until they reach the bounds by Heaven assigned."

The passage from Milton's History of England (book vi.), referred to in the Fenwick note, relates an incident, "which" (as Milton justly says), "unless to Court-Parasites, needed no such laborious demonstration." There is only one expression borrowed by Wordsworth: "The Sea, as before, came rolling on, ... whereat the King, quickly rising, wished all about him to behold and consider the weak and frivolous form of a King, and that none indeed deserved the name of a King, but he whose Eternal Laws both Heaven, Earth, and Sea obey."—Ed.


VARIANTS:

[199] 1820.

ms.
.    .    . by the sea-side.

[200] 1820.

ms.
.    .    . haughtiest .    .    .

[201] 1840.

Your Master's throne is set!"—Absurd decree!
A mandate uttered to the foaming sea,
ms. and 1820.
Is to its motions less than wanton air.

[202] 1820.

ms.
Said to his Courtiers, Scanty is the reach,

[203] 1845.

ms. and 1820.
And Canute (truth .    .    .
ms.
And Canute, which is worthiest to be known,
ms.
.    .    . what .    .    .
ms.
And in the self same Page is told that he

[204] 1857.

ms. and 1820.
Contemptible and vain.

[205] 1820.

.    .    . have taught
The Sea, the prompter of his thought,
ms.
Such words as these methinks he might have spoken

[206] 1820.

ms.
Distressed but not down broken:

[207] 1837.

ms. and 1820.
.    .    . its .    .    .

[208] 1820.

ms.
.    .    . entire content.

FOOTNOTE:

[CC] Compare Tennyson, In Memoriam, stanza xix.—

There twice a day the Severn fills;
The salt sea-water passes by,
And hushes half the babbling Wye,
Ed.
And makes a silence in the hills.

"A LITTLE ONWARD LEND THY GUIDING HAND"

Composed 1816.—Published 1820

[The complaint in my eyes, which gave occasion to this address to my daughter, first showed itself as a consequence of inflammation, caught at the top of Kirkstone, when I was over-heated by having carried up the ascent my eldest son, a lusty infant. Frequently has the disease recurred since, leaving my eyes in a state which has often prevented my reading for months, and makes me at this day incapable of bearing without injury any strong light by day or night. My acquaintance with books has therefore been far short of my wishes; and on this account, to acknowledge the services daily and hourly done me by my family and friends, this note is written.—I. F.]

One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."—Ed.

"A little onward lend thy guiding hand
To these dark steps, a little further on!"[CD]
—What trick of memory to my voice hath brought
4
This mournful iteration? For though Time,
The Conqueror, crowns the Conquered, on this brow
Planting his favourite silver diadem,
Nor he, nor minister of his—intent
To run before him, hath enrolled me yet,
Though not unmenaced, among those who lean
10
Upon a living staff, with borrowed sight.
—O my own Dora, my belovèd child![209][CE]
Should that day come—but hark! the birds salute
The cheerful dawn, brightening for me the east;
For me, thy natural leader, once again
15
Impatient to conduct thee, not as erst
A tottering infant, with compliant stoop
From flower to flower supported; but to curb
Thy nymph-like step swift bounding o'er the lawn,[CF]
Along the loose rocks, or the slippery verge
20
Of foaming torrents.[210]—From thy orisons
Come forth; and, while the morning air is yet
Transparent as the soul of innocent youth,
Let me, thy happy guide, now point thy way,
And now precede thee, winding to and fro,
25
Till we by perseverance gain the top
Of some smooth ridge, whose brink precipitous
Kindles intense desire for powers withheld
From this corporeal frame; whereon who stands,
Is seized with strong incitement to push forth
His arms, as swimmers use, and plunge—dread thought,
31
For pastime plunge—into the "abrupt abyss,"[CG]
Where ravens spread their plumy vans, at ease!
And yet more gladly thee would I conduct
Through woods and spacious forests,—to behold
35
There, how the Original of human art,
Heaven-prompted Nature, measures and erects
Her temples, fearless for the stately work,
Though waves, to every breeze,[211] its high-arched roof,
And storms the pillars rock. But we such schools
40
Of reverential awe will chiefly seek
In the still summer noon, while beams of light,
Reposing here, and in the aisles beyond
Traceably gliding through the dusk, recal
To mind the living presences of nuns;
45
A gentle, pensive, white-robed sisterhood,
Whose saintly radiance mitigates the gloom
Of those terrestrial fabrics, where they serve,
To Christ, the Sun of righteousness, espoused.
Now also shall the page of classic lore,
50
To these glad eyes from bondage freed, again
Lie open; and the book of Holy Writ,
Again unfolded, passage clear shall yield
To heights more glorious still, and into shades
More awful, where, advancing hand in hand,
55
We may be taught, O Darling of my care!
To calm the affections, elevate the soul,
And consecrate our lives to truth and love.[212]

VARIANTS:

[209] 1850.

1820.
—O my Antigone, beloved child!

[210] 1837.

1827.
.    .    . torrent .    .    .

[211] 1837.

1820.
Though waves in every breeze .    .    .

[212] 1827.

Re-open now thy everlasting gates,
Thou Fane of Holy Writ! ye classic Domes,
To these glad orbs from darksome bondage freed,
Unfold again your portals! Passage lies
Through you to heights more glorious still, and shades
More awful, where this Darling of my care,
Advancing with me hand in hand, may learn,
Without forsaking a too earnest world,
To calm the affections, elevate the soul,
1820.
And consecrate her life to truth and love.

FOOTNOTES:

[CD] The opening lines of Milton's Samson Agonistes. Compare also The Wanderings of Cain (canto ii. l. 1), by S. T. Coleridge: "A little farther, O my father, yet a little farther, and we shall come into the open moonlight." ... "Lead on, my child!" said Cain; "guide me, little child!"—Ed.

[CE] Dora Wordsworth died in 1847, a loss which cast a gloom over her father's remaining years; and it is not without interest that in the last revision of the text of his poems, in the year of his own death, he substituted

O my own Dora, my belovèd child!

for the earlier reading,

Ed.
O my Antigone, beloved child!

[CF] Compare in the lines on Lucy, beginning, "Three years she grew in sun and shower" (vol. ii. p. 81)—

She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Ed.
Or up the mountain springs.

[CG] Compare Paradise Lost, book ii. l. 409.—Ed.


TO ——,

On her first Ascent to the Summit of Helvellyn

Composed 1816.—Published 1820.

[Written at Rydal Mount. The lady was Miss Blackett, then residing with Mr. Montagu Burgoyne at Fox-Ghyll. We were tempted to remain too long upon the mountain; and I, imprudently, with the hope of shortening the way led her among the crags and down a steep slope which entangled us in difficulties that were met by her with much spirit and courage.—I. F.]

One of the "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.

Inmate of a mountain-dwelling,
Thou hast clomb aloft, and gazed
From the watch-towers of Helvellyn;
Awed, delighted, and amazed!
5
Potent was the spell that bound thee
Not unwilling to obey:[213]
For[214] blue Ether's arms, flung round thee,
Stilled the pantings of dismay.
Lo! the dwindled woods and meadows;
10
What a vast abyss is there!
Lo! the clouds, the solemn shadows,
And the glistenings—heavenly fair!
And a record of commotion
Which a thousand ridges yield;
15
Ridge, and gulf, and distant ocean
Gleaming like a silver shield!
Maiden! now take flight;—inherit[215]
Alps or Andes—they are thine!
With the morning's roseate Spirit,
20
Sweep their length of snowy line;
Or survey their[216] bright dominions
In the gorgeous colours drest
Flung from off the purple pinions,
Evening spreads throughout the west![217]
25
Thine are all the coral[218] fountains
Warbling in each sparry vault[219]
Of the untrodden lunar mountains;
Listen to their songs!—or halt,
To Niphates' top invited,[CH]
30
Whither spiteful Satan steered;
Or descend where the ark alighted,
When the green earth re-appeared;
For the power of hills is on thee,
As was witnessed through thine eye
35
Then, when old Helvellyn won thee
To confess their majesty!

With these stanzas to Miss Blackett, compare those addressed by Wordsworth to his sister, published in 1807, under the title To a Young Lady, who had been reproached for taking Long Walks in the Country; and the poem entitled Louisa, after accompanying her on a Mountain Excursion, also referring to his sister (vol. ii. pp. 362, 365).—Ed.


VARIANTS:

[213] 1827.

ms. and 1820.
In the moment of dismay,

[214] 1832.

1820.
While   .    .    .

[215] 1845.

ms. and 1820.
—Take thy flight;—possess, inherit
1836.
Now—take flight;—possess, inherit

[216] 1836.

1820.
.    .    . the .    .    .
ms.
.    .    . thy .    .    .

[217] 1820.

Or adopt the purple pinions
Evening spreads throughout the west,
And survey thy new dominions
ms.
In that bright reflection drest.

[218] 1832.

1820.
.    .    . choral .    .    .

[219] 1820.

ms.
.    .    . sparkling vault

FOOTNOTE:

[CH] A mountain in Asia, dividing Armenia from Assyria, whence the river Tigris has its source.

Satan, bowing low,
.      .      .      .      .      .
Throws his steep flight in many an aery wheel,
Nor staid till on Niphates' top he lights.
Ed.
Paradise Lost, book iii. ll. 736-742.

1817

The year 1817 was not specially productive of new poems. They may be arranged thus, The Vernal Ode, The Ode to Lycoris, its Sequel, The Longest Day, The Pass of Kirkstone, Hints from the Mountains, and the Lament of Mary Queen of Scots.


VERNAL ODE[220]

Composed 1817.—Published 1820

[Composed at Rydal Mount, to place in view the immortality of succession where immortality is denied, as far as we know, to the individual creature.—I. F.][CI]

Rerum Natura tota est nusquam magis quam in minimis.
Plin. Nat. Hist.[CJ]

This Vernal Ode was first published in the volume entitled "The River Duddon, a series of Sonnets: Vaudracour and Julia: and other poems. To which is annexed, a Topographical Description of the Country of the Lakes, in the north of England." In that volume its title was Ode.—1817. In 1820 it was placed among the "Poems of the Imagination." Its title was merely Ode, and in the table of contents it was called "Beneath the Concave"; the page heading "Vernal Ode" being given to it on the last three of its six pages. In 1827, and 1832, it was transferred to the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection." In 1836 it was returned to the class of "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.

I

Beneath the concave of an April sky,
When all the fields with freshest green were dight,
Appeared, in presence of the[221] spiritual eye
That aids or supersedes our grosser sight,
5
The form and rich habiliments of One
Whose countenance bore resemblance to the sun,
When it reveals, in evening majesty,
Features half lost amid their own pure light.
Poised like a weary cloud, in middle air[222]
10
He hung,—then floated with angelic ease
(Softening that bright effulgence by degrees)
Till he had reached a summit sharp and bare,[223]
Where oft the venturous heifer drinks the noontide[224] breeze.
Upon the apex of that lofty cone
15
Alighted, there the Stranger stood alone;
Fair as a gorgeous Fabric of the east
Suddenly raised by some enchanter's power,
Where nothing was; and firm as some old Tower
Of Britain's realm, whose leafy crest
20
Waves high, embellished by a gleaming shower!

II

Beneath the shadow of his purple wings
Rested a golden harp;—he touched the strings;
And, after prelude of unearthly sound
Poured through the echoing hills around,
He sang—
25
"No wintry desolations,
Scorching blight or noxious dew,
Affect my native habitations;
Buried in glory, far beyond the scope
Of man's inquiring gaze, but to his hope
30
Imaged, though faintly, in the hue[225]
Profound of night's ethereal blue;
And in the aspect of each radiant orb:—
Some fixed, some wandering with no timid curb:
But wandering star[226] and fixed, to mortal eye,
35
Blended in absolute serenity,
And free from semblance of decline;—
Fresh as if Evening brought their natal hour,
Her darkness splendour gave, her silence power,
To testify of Love and Grace divine.[227]

III[CK]

40
What if those bright fires
Shine subject to decay,
Sons haply of extinguished sires,
Themselves to lose their light, or pass away
44
Like clouds before the wind,
Be thanks poured out to Him whose hand bestows,
Nightly, on human kind
That vision[228] of endurance and repose.
—And though to every draught of vital breath
Renewed throughout the bounds of earth or ocean,
50
The melancholy gates of Death
Respond with sympathetic motion;[229]
Though all that feeds on nether air,
Howe'er magnificent or fair,
Grows but to perish, and entrust
55
Its ruins to their kindred dust:
Yet, by the Almighty's[230] ever-during care,
Her procreant vigils[231] Nature keeps
Amid the unfathomable deeps;
And saves the peopled[232] fields of earth
60
From dread[233] of emptiness or dearth.
Thus, in their stations, lifting tow'rd[234] the sky
The foliaged head in cloud-like majesty,
The shadow-casting race of trees survive:
Thus, in the train of Spring, arrive
65
Sweet flowers;—what living eye hath viewed
Their myriads?[235]—endlessly renewed,
Wherever strikes the sun's glad ray;
Where'er the subtle[236] waters stray;
Wherever sportive breezes[237] bend
70
Their course, or genial showers descend![238]
Mortals, rejoice![239] the very Angels quit
Their mansions unsusceptible of change,
Amid your pleasant bowers to sit,
And through your sweet vicissitudes to range!"

IV