[CT] Compare Walter Savage Landor's Count Julian, v. 3—

Ed.
The very tear .    .    . drops audible.

[CU] Possibly this refers to his sister Dorothy. Among the poems on the Tour of 1833 is one To a Friend. This friend was the poet's son, pastor at Brigham, Cockermouth. See the note appended to the present poem.—Ed.

THE LONGEST DAY

Addressed to my Daughter, Dora[257]

Composed 1817.—Published 1820

[Suggested by the sight of my daughter (Dora) playing in front of Rydal Mount; and composed in a great measure the same afternoon. I have often wished to pair this poem upon the longest, with one upon the shortest, day, and regret even now that it has not been done.—I. F.]

One of the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood."—Ed.

Let us quit the leafy arbour,
And the torrent murmuring by;
For the sun is in his harbour,[258]
Weary of the open sky.
5
Evening now unbinds the fetters
Fashioned by the glowing light;
All that breathe are thankful debtors
To the harbinger of night.
Yet by some grave thoughts attended
10
Eve renews her calm career;
For the day that now is ended,
Is the longest of the year.
Dora![259] sport, as now thou sportest,
On this platform, light and free;
15
Take thy bliss, while longest, shortest,
Are indifferent to thee!
Who would check the happy feeling
That inspires the linnet's song?
Who would stop the swallow, wheeling
20
On her pinions swift and strong?
Yet at this impressive season,
Words which tenderness can speak
From the truths of homely reason,
Might exalt the loveliest cheek;
25
And, while shades to shades succeeding
Steal the landscape from the sight,
I would urge this moral pleading,
Last forerunner of "Good-night!"
Summer ebbs;—each day that follows
30
Is a reflux from on high,
Tending to the darksome hollows
Where the frosts of winter lie.
He who governs the creation,
In his providence, assigned
35
Such a gradual declination
To the life of human kind.
Yet we mark it not;—fruits redden,
Fresh flowers blow, as flowers have blown,
And the heart is loth to deaden
40
Hopes that she so long hath known.
Be thou wiser, youthful Maiden!
And when thy decline shall come,
Let not flowers, or boughs fruit-laden,
Hide the knowledge of thy doom.
45
Now, even now, ere wrapped in slumber,
Fix thine eyes[260] upon the sea
That absorbs time, space, and number;
Look thou to Eternity![261]
Follow thou the flowing river
50
On whose breast are thither borne
All deceived, and each deceiver,
Through the gates of night and morn;
Through the year's successive portals;
Through the bounds which many a star
55
Marks, not mindless of frail mortals,
When his[262] light returns from far.
Thus when thou with Time hast travelled
Toward[263] the mighty gulf of things,
And the mazy stream unravelled[264]
60
With thy best imaginings;[265]
Think, if thou on beauty leanest,
Think how pitiful that stay,
Did not virtue give the meanest
Charms superior to decay.
65
Duty, like a strict[266] preceptor,
Sometimes frowns, or seems to frown;
Choose her thistle for thy sceptre,
While youth's roses are thy crown.[267]
Grasp it,—if thou shrink and tremble,
70
Fairest damsel of the green,
Thou wilt lack the only symbol
That proclaims a genuine queen;
And ensure those palms of honour
Which selected spirits wear,
75
Bending low before the Donor,
Lord of heaven's unchanging year!

VARIANTS:

[257] 1849.

1820.
Addressed to ——, On the longest day.

[258] 1845.

ms. and 1820.
Sol has dropped into his harbour,

[259] 1845.

ms. and 1820.
Laura! .    .    .

[260] 1820.

ms.
Fix thy thoughts .    .    .

[261] 1836.

ms. and 1820.
Look towards Eternity! .    .    .

[262] 1820.

ms.
.    .    . her .    .    .

[263] 1832.

1820.
Tow'rds .    .    .

[264] 1820.

From mysterious springs .    .    .
ms.
And his mazes has unravelled

[265] This stanza is an interpolation by the poet in the ms.

[266] 1820.

ms.
.    .    . true .    .    .

[267] 1845.

ms. and 1820.
While thy brow youth's roses crown.

HINT FROM THE MOUNTAINS,

For certain Political Pretenders[268]

Composed 1817.—Published 1820

[Bunches of fern may often be seen wheeling about in the wind as here described. The particular bunch that suggested these verses was noticed in the Pass of Dunmail Raise. The verses were composed in 1817, but the application is for all times and places.—I. F.]

Included among the "Poems of the Fancy."—Ed.

"Who but hails the sight with pleasure[269]
When the wings of genius rise,
Their ability to measure
With great enterprise;
5
But in man was ne'er such daring
As yon Hawk exhibits, pairing
His brave spirit with the war in
The stormy skies!
"Mark him, how his power he uses,
10
Lays it by, at will resumes!
Mark, ere for his haunt he chooses
Clouds and utter glooms!
There, he wheels in downward mazes;
Sunward now his flight he raises,
15
Catches fire, as seems, and blazes
With uninjured plumes!"—

ANSWER

"Stranger,[270] 'tis no act of courage
Which aloft thou dost discern;
No bold bird gone forth to forage
20
'Mid the tempest stern;
But such mockery as the nations
See, when public perturbations[271]
Lift men from their native stations,
Like yon Tuft of fern;
25
"Such it is; the aspiring creature[272]
Soaring on undaunted wing,
(So you fancied) is by nature
A dull helpless thing,[273]
Dry and withered, light and yellow;—
30
That to be the tempest's fellow!
Wait—and you shall see how hollow
Its endeavouring!"

VARIANTS:

[268] 1827.

1820.
.    .    . political aspirants.

[269] 1827.

1820.
Stranger, 'tis a sight of pleasure

[270] 1827.

1820.
Traveller, .    .    .

[271] 1827.

1820.
See, when Commonwealth-vexations

[272] 1827.

1820.
Such it is, and not a Haggard

[273] 1827.

'Tis by nature dull and laggard,
1820.
A poor helpless Thing,

THE PASS OF KIRKSTONE[CV]

Composed June 27, 1817.—Published 1820

[Written at Rydal Mount. Thoughts and feelings of many walks in all weathers, by day and night, over this Pass, alone and with beloved friends.—I. F.]

Included among the "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.

I

Within the mind strong fancies work,
A deep delight the bosom thrills,
Oft as I pass along the fork
Of these fraternal hills:
5
Where, save the rugged road, we find
No appanage of human kind,
Nor hint of man; if stone or rock
Seem not his handy-work to mock
By something cognizably shaped;
10
Mockery[274]—or model roughly hewn,
And left as if by earthquake strewn,
Or from the Flood escaped:
Altars for Druid service fit;
(But where no fire was ever lit,
15
Unless the glow-worm to the skies
Thence offer nightly sacrifice)
Wrinkled Egyptian monument;
Green moss-grown tower; or hoary tent;
Tents of a camp that never shall be razed—[275]
20
On which four thousand years have gazed!

II

Ye plough-shares sparkling on the slopes!
Ye snow-white lambs that trip
Imprisoned 'mid the formal props
Of restless ownership!
25
Ye trees, that may[276] to-morrow fall
To feed the insatiate Prodigal![277]
Lawns, houses, chattels, groves, and fields,
All that the fertile valley shields;[278]
Wages of folly—baits of crime,
30
Of life's uneasy game the stake,
Playthings that keep the eyes awake
Of drowsy, dotard Time;—
O care! O guilt!—O vales and plains,
Here, 'mid[279] his own unvexed domains,
35
A Genius dwells, that can subdue
At once all memory of You,—
Most potent when mists veil the sky,
Mists that distort and magnify;
While the coarse rushes, to the sweeping breeze,
40
Sigh forth their ancient melodies!

III

List to those shriller notes!—that march
Perchance was on the blast,
When, through this Height's inverted arch,
Rome's earliest legion passed![CW]
45
—They saw, adventurously impelled,
And older[280] eyes than theirs beheld,
This[281] block—and yon, whose church-like frame
Gives to this[282] savage Pass its name.[CX]
Aspiring Road! that lov'st to hide
50
Thy daring in a vapoury bourn,
Not seldom may the hour return
When thou shalt be my guide:
And I (as all men may find cause,[283]
When life is at a weary pause,
55
And they[284] have panted up the hill
Of duty with reluctant will)
Be thankful, even though tired and faint,
For the rich bounties of constraint;
Whence oft invigorating transports flow
60
That choice lacked courage to bestow!

IV

My[285] Soul was grateful for delight
That wore a threatening brow;
A veil is lifted—can she slight
The scene that opens now?
65
Though habitation none appear,[CY]
The greenness tells, man must be there;[286]
The shelter—that the pérspective
Is of the clime[287] in which we live;
Where Toil pursues his daily round;
70
Where Pity sheds sweet tears[288]—and Love,
In woodbine bower or birchen grove,
Inflicts his tender wound.
—Who comes not hither ne'er shall know
How beautiful the world below;
75
Nor can he guess how lightly leaps
The brook adown the rocky steeps,[CZ]
Farewell, thou desolate Domain!
Hope, pointing to the cultured plain,
Carols like a shepherd-boy;
80
And who is she?—Can that be Joy![DA]
Who, with a sunbeam for her guide,
Smoothly skims the meadows wide;
While Faith, from yonder opening cloud,
To hill and vale proclaims aloud,
85
"Whate'er the weak may dread, the wicked dare,
Thy lot, O Man, is good, thy portion fair!"[289]

A copy of this poem, sent in MS. to the Beaumonts at Coleorton, contains the following preface—"Composed chiefly in a walk from the top of Kirkstone to Patterdale, by W. Wordsworth, 1817"; and on the back of this MS. (in which those variations from the earliest published version occur, which are printed as "MS." readings in the previous footnotes, and which ends with stanza iii.), the date is given, "Mr. Wordsworth's verses, June 27, 1817."—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[274] 1820.

ms. copy, sent to Coleorton.
Rockery .    .    .

[275] 1857.

1820.
.    .    . raised;

[276] 1820.

ms.
.    .    . shall .    .    .

[277] 1820.

ms.
To feed the careless Prodigal,
ms.
So bids the careless Prodigal,

[278] 1820.

ms.
All that the beauteous valley shields.

[279] 1820.

ms.
Here in .    .    .

[280] 1820.

ms.
.    .    . other .    .    .

[281] 1820.

ms.
That .    .    .

[282] 1836.

ms. and 1820.
.    .    . the .    .    .

[283] 1836.

ms. and 1820.
And I (as often we find cause,

[284] 1836.

ms. and 1820.
.    .    . we .    .    .

[285] 1820.

ms.
The .    .    .

[286] 1820.

ms.
   .    . tells us Man is near

[287] 1820.

ms.
.    .    . world .    .    .

[288] 1820.

ms.
Where Pity's tears are shed    .    .

[289] 1820.

Who comes not hither can he know
How beautiful the Vale below?
Companion of the Brook that leaps
And twines adown the rocky steeps,
As if impatient for the plain.
I utter a repentant strain,
And this the burden—cares enthral
And troubles crush—but spite of all
The weak are tempted to, the wicked dare,
ms.
Our lot is good, our portion fair.

FOOTNOTES:

[CV] The title in the edition of 1820 was Ode, The Pass of Kirkstone.—Ed.

[CW] The top of Kirkstone Pass is aptly described as an "inverted arch." There are numerous signs of the Roman occupation of Britain still surviving in the district; the old Roman road to Penrith running along the top of High Street, a little to the east of Kirkstone.—Ed.

[CX] The block, which from its shape was called the Kirkstone, lies to the west of the road, and a little way from the summit of the Pass, on the right as one ascends from Patterdale.—Ed.

[CY] Towards Brothers Water.—Ed.

[CZ] "The walk up Kirkstone was very interesting. The becks among the rocks were all alive. William showed me the little mossy streamlet which he had before loved when he saw its bright green track in the snow. The view above Ambleside very beautiful. There we sat and looked down on the green vale. We watched the crows at a little distance from us become white as silver as they flew in the sunshine, and when they went still further, they looked like shapes of water passing over the green fields." (Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal, 16th April 1802.)—Ed.

[DA] Compare Ode, Intimations of Immortality, stanza iii.—

Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy
Ed.
Shepherd-boy!

LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS

On the Eve of a New Year

Composed 1817.—Published 1820

[This arose out of a flash of moonlight that struck the ground when I was approaching the steps that lead from the garden at Rydal Mount to the front of the house. "From her sunk eyes a stagnant tear stole forth" is taken, with some loss, from a discarded poem, The Convict, in which occurred, when he was discovered lying in the cell, these lines:—

But now he upraises the deep-sunken eye,
The motion unsettles a tear;
The silence of sorrow it seems to supply,
And asks of me—why I am here.—I. F.]

This was first published in "The River Duddon," etc., in 1820, but was omitted from the four-volume edition of the "Poems" of 1820. In 1827 it was placed among the "Poems founded on the Affections."—Ed.

I

Smile of the Moon!—for so I name
That silent greeting from above;
A gentle flash of light that came
From her whom drooping captives love;
5
Or art thou of still higher birth?
Thou that didst part the clouds of earth,
My torpor to reprove!

II

Bright boon of pitying Heaven!—alas,
I may not trust thy placid cheer!
10
Pondering that Time to-night will pass
The threshold of another year;
For years to me are sad and dull;
My very moments are too full
Of hopelessness and fear.

III

15
And yet, the soul-awakening gleam,
That struck perchance the farthest cone
Of Scotland's rocky wilds, did seem
To visit me, and me alone;
Me, unapproached by any friend,
20
Save[290] those who to my sorrows lend
Tears due unto their own.
[291]

IV

To-night the church-tower bells will ring
Through these wide[292] realms a festive peal;
To the new year a welcoming;
25
A tuneful offering[293] for the weal
Of happy millions lulled in sleep;
While I am forced to watch and weep,[294]
By wounds that may not heal.

V

Born all too high, by wedlock raised
30
Still higher—to be cast thus low!
Would that mine eyes had never gazed
On aught of more ambitious show
Than the sweet flowerets of the fields!
—It is my royal state that yields
35
This bitterness of woe.

VI

Yet how?—for I, if there be truth
In the world's voice, was passing fair;
And beauty, for confiding youth,
Those shocks of passion can prepare
40
That kill the bloom before its time;
And blanch, without the owner's crime,
The most resplendent hair.[295]

VII

Unblest distinction! showered on me
To bind a lingering life in chains:
45
All that could quit my grasp, or flee,[296]
Is gone;—but not the subtle stains
Fixed in the spirit; for even here
Can I be proud that jealous fear
Of what I was remains.[297]

VIII