“SHALL HE WHO GIVES HIS DAYS TO LOW
PURSUITS”
The following lines occur in the experimental efforts made
by Wordsworth to write an autobiographical poem. They
occur in one of his sister’s Journals, entitled “May to December,
1802”; and were probably either dictated to her in that
year, or were copied by her from some earlier fragment. They
stand related to passages in The Prelude. (See vol. iii. p.
269.)—Ed.
Shall he who gives his days to low pursuits
Amid the undistinguishable crowd
Of cities, ’mid the same eternal flow
Of the same objects, melted and reduced
To one identity, by differences 5
That have no law, no meaning, and no end,
Shall he feel yearning to those lifeless forms,
And shall we think that Nature is less kind
To those, who all day long, through a busy life,
Have walked within her sight? It cannot be. 10
1803
“I FIND IT WRITTEN OF SIMONIDES”
Published in The Morning Post, October 10, 1803
S.T.C. writing to Tom Poole, October 14, 1803, said that
Wordsworth wrote to The Morning Post “as W. L. D., and
sometimes with no signature.” There is ample evidence that
the following sonnet was written by Wordsworth. He had
contributed five sonnets to The Morning Post before the month
of September 1803; and on the 10th of October in that year
the following appeared.—Ed.
I find it written of Simonides,
That, travelling in strange countries, once he found
A corpse that lay expos’d upon the ground,
For which, with palms, he caus’d due obsequies
To be perform’d, and paid all holy fees. 5
Soon after this man’s ghost unto him came,
And told him not to sail, as was his aim,
On board a ship then ready for the seas.
Simonides, admonish’d by the ghost,
Remain’d behind: the ship the following day 10
Set sail, was wreck’d, and all on board were lost.
Thus was the tenderest Poet that could be,
Who sang in antient Greece his loving lay,
Sav’d out of many by his piety.
1804
“NO WHIMSEY OF THE PURSE IS HERE”
Writing to Sir George Beaumont, on Christmas Day, 1804,
Wordsworth said: “We have lately built in our little rocky
orchard a circular hut, lined with moss, like a wren’s nest, and
coated on the outside with heath, that stands most charmingly,
with several views from the different sides of it, of the
Lake, the Valley, and the Church.… I will copy a dwarf
inscription which I wrote for it” (i.e. the circular hut, in his
Orchard-Garden) “the other day before the building was
entirely finished, which indeed it is not yet.”[376]—Ed.
No whimsey of the purse is here,
No pleasure-house forlorn;
Use, comfort, do this roof endear;
A tributary shed to cheer
The little cottage that is near,
To help it and adorn.
1805
“PEACEFUL OUR VALLEY, FAIR AND
GREEN”
This is extracted from a copy of an appendix to Recollections
of a Tour in Scotland by Dorothy Wordsworth, written by Mrs.
Clarkson, September-November 1805. It was composed by
the poet’s sister. In February 1892 it was published in The
Monthly Packet under the title “Grasmere: a Fragment,” and
with the signature “Rydal Mount, September 26, 1829.” It
is now printed from the MS. of 1805.—Ed.
Peaceful our valley, fair and green;
And beautiful the cottages
Each in its nook, its sheltered hold,
Or underneath its tuft of trees.
Many and beautiful they are; 5
But there is one that I love best,
A lowly roof in truth it is,
A brother of the rest.
Yet when I sit on rock or hill
Down-looking on the valley fair, 10
That cottage with its grove of trees
Summons my heart; it settles there.
Others there are whose small domain
Of fertile fields with hedgerows green
Might more seduce the traveller’s mind 15
To wish that there his home had been.
Such wish be his! I blame him not,
My fancies they, perchance, are wild;
I love that house because it is
The very mountain’s child. 20
Fields hath it of its own, green fields;
But they are craggy, steep, and bare;
Their fence is of the mountain stone,
And moss and lichen flourish there.
And when the storm comes from the North 25
It lingers near that pastoral spot,
And piping through the mossy walls,
It seems delighted with its lot.
And let it take its own delight,
And let it range the pastures bare 30
Until it reach that grove of trees
——It may not enter there!
A green unfading grove it is,
Skirted with many a lesser tree,
Hazel and holly, beech and oak, 35
A fair and flourishing company!
Precious the shelter of those trees!
They screen the cottage that I love;
The sunshine pierces to the roof
And the tall pine trees tower above. 40
When first I saw that dear abode
It was a lovely winter’s day:
After a night of perilous storm
The West wind ruled with gentle sway;
A day so mild, it might have been 45
The first day of the gladsome spring;
The robins warbled; and I heard
One solitary throstle sing:
A stranger in the neighbourhood,
All faces then to me unknown, 50
I left my sole companion-friend
To wander out alone.
Lur’d by a little winding path,
I quitted soon the public road,
A smooth and tempting path it was 55
By sheep and shepherds trod.
Eastward, toward the mighty hills
This pathway led me on,
Until I reach’d a lofty Rock
With velvet moss o’ergrown. 60
With russet Oak and tufts of Fern
Its top was richly garlanded;
Its sides adorn’d with Eglantine
Bedropp’d with hips of glossy red.
There too in many a shelter’d chink 65
The foxglove’s broad leaves flourish’d fair,
And silver birch whose purple twigs
Bend to the softest breathing air.
Beneath that rock my course I stay’d
And, looking to its summit high, 70
“Thou wear’st,” said I, “a splendid garb,
Here winter keeps his revelry.
“I’ve been a dweller on the plains,
Have sigh’d when summer days were gone;
No more I’ll sigh; for winter here 75
Hath gladsome gardens of his own.
“What need of flowers? The splendid moss
Is gayer than an April mead;
More rich its hues of various green,
Orange and gold and glowing red.” 80
——Beside that gay and lovely rock
There came with merry voice
A foaming streamlet glancing by,
It seem’d to say “Rejoice!”
My youthful wishes all fulfill’d, 85
Wishes matured by thoughtful choice,
I stood an Inmate of this vale,
How could I but rejoice?
“AH! IF I WERE A LADY GAY”
The following two stanzas were added by Wordsworth to his
sister’s poem, entitled The Cottager to her Infant—composed in
1805, and issued in 1815 (see vol. iii. pp. 74, 75); but they
were never published in Wordsworth’s lifetime.—Ed.
Ah! if I were a lady gay
I should not grieve with thee to play;
Right gladly would I lie awake
Thy lively spirits to partake,
And ask no better cheer. 5
But, Babe! there’s none to work for me,
And I must rise to industry;
Soon as the cock begins to crow
Thy mother to the fold must go
To tend the sheep and kine. 10
1806
TO THE EVENING STAR OVER GRASMERE
WATER, JULY 1806
The Lake is thine,
The mountains too are thine, some clouds there are,
Some little feeble stars, but all is thine,
Thou, thou art king, and sole proprietor.
A moon among her stars, a mighty vale, 5
Fresh as the freshest field, scoop’d out, and green
As is the greenest billow of the sea.
The multitude of little rocky hills,
Rocky or green, that do like islands rise
From the flat meadow lonely there. 10
…
Embowering mountains, and the dome of Heaven
And waters in the midst, a Second Heaven.
MICHAEL ANGELO IN REPLY TO THE
PASSAGE UPON HIS STATUE OF NIGHT
SLEEPING
In the first volume of a copy of the edition of 1836,—long
kept by Wordsworth at Rydal Mount, and afterwards the
property of the late Lord Coleridge—which has been referred
to in the Preface to Vol. 1., and very often in the footnotes to
all the volumes, signed C.—Wordsworth wrote in MS. two
translations of a fragment of Michael Angelo’s on Sleep, and a
translation of some Latin verses by Thomas Warton on the
same subject. These fragments were never included in any
edition of his published works, and it is impossible to say to
what year they belong. From their close relation to other
translations from Michael Angelo, made by Wordsworth in
1806, I assign them, conjecturally, to the same year. The
title is from Wordsworth’s own MS.—Ed.
Grateful is Sleep, my life, in stone bound fast,
More grateful still: while wrong and shame shall last,
On me can Time no happier state bestow
Than to be left unconscious of the woe.
Ah then, lest you awaken me, speak low. 5
Grateful is Sleep, more grateful still to be
Of marble; for while shameless wrong and woe
Prevail, ’tis best to neither hear nor see.
Then wake me not, I pray you. Hush, speak low.
“COME, GENTLE SLEEP, DEATH’S IMAGE
THO’ THOU ART”
Come, gentle Sleep, Death’s image tho’ thou art,
Come share my couch, nor speedily depart;
How sweet thus living without life to lie,
Thus without death how sweet it is to die.
The Latin verse by Thomas Warton, of which these lines
are a translation, is as follows:—
Somne veni! quamvis placidissima Mortis imago es,
Consortem cupio te tamen esse tori;
Hue ades, haud abiture citò! nam sic sine vita
Vivere quam suave est, sic sine morte mori!
Thomas Warton, Fellow of Trinity College, Oxford, and
Professor of Poetry in that University, is chiefly known by his
History of English Poetry (1774-1781).—Ed.
“BROOK, THAT HAST BEEN MY SOLACE
DAYS AND WEEKS”
The following version of the sonnet beginning “Brook!
whose society the Poet seeks,” probably written in 1806 and
first published in 1815 (see vol. iv. p. 52), has come to light
since that volume was issued. The variants throughout are
sufficient to warrant its publication here. Had I received it
earlier they would have appeared in vol. iv.—Ed.
Brook, that hast been my solace days and weeks,
And months, and let me add the long year through,
I come to thee, thou dost my heart renew;
O happy Thing! among thy flowery creeks,
And happy, dancing down thy water-breaks: 5
If I some type of thee did wish to view,
Thee, and not thee thyself, I would not do
Like Grecian Poets, give thee human cheeks,
Channels for tears! No Naiad should’st thou be;
Have neither wings, feet, feathers, joints, nor hairs. 10
It seems the Eternal Soul is clothed in thee
With purer robes than those of flesh and blood,
And hath bestowed on thee a better good;
The joy of fleshly life without its cares.
TRANSLATION FROM MICHAEL ANGELO
The date of this is unknown, and the original MS. is difficult
to decipher. It is here and there illegible. It may belong to
the year of the “Ecclesiastical Sonnets,” but I place it beside
the other translation from Michael Angelo.—Ed.
Rid of a vexing and a heavy load,
Eternal Lord! and from the world set free,
Like a frail Bark, weary I turn to Thee,—
From frightful storms into a quiet road.
On much repentance Grace will be bestow’d. 5
The nails, the thorns, and thy two hands, thy face
Benign, meek, …, offers grace
To sinners whom their sins oppress and goad.
Let not thy justice view, O Light Divine,
My fault, and keep it from thy sacred ear. 10
…
Cleanse with thy blood my sins, to this incline
More readily, the more my years require
Prompt aid, forgiveness speedy and entire.
1808
GEORGE AND SARAH GREEN
Composed 1808.—Published 1839
This poem was first printed in De Quincey’s “Recollections
of Grasmere,” which appeared in Tait’s Edinburgh Magazine,
September 1839, p. 573, and afterwards in his Recollections of
the Lakes (1853), p. 23.
The text is printed as it is found in De Quincey’s article.
Doubtless Wordsworth, or some member of the family, had
supplied him with a copy of these verses. Wordsworth himself
seemed to have thought them unworthy of publication. A
copy of the poem was transcribed at Grasmere by Dorothy
Wordsworth for Lady Beaumont on the 20th April 1808. In
this copy there are numerous variations from the text as
published by De Quincey, and these are indicated in the
footnotes. In the letter to Lady Beaumont, Dorothy Wordsworth
says, “I am going to transcribe a poem composed by
my brother a few days after his return. It was begun in the
churchyard when he was looking at the grave of the Husband
and Wife, and is in fact supposed to be entirely composed
there.”
Wordsworth returned to his old home at Dove Cottage,
Grasmere, after a short visit to London, on the 6th April 1808;
and there he remained, till Allan Bank was ready for occupation.
I therefore conclude that this poem was written in
April 1808.
Compare De Quincey’s account of the disaster that befell
the Greens, as reported in his Early Recollections of Grasmere.
The Wordsworths had evidently taken part in the effort to
raise subscriptions in behalf of the orphan children. They
issued a printed appeal on the subject. The following is an
extract from a letter of Dorothy Wordsworth’s to Lady
Beaumont on the subject:—
“Grasmere, April 20th, 1808.
“We received your letter this morning, enclosing the half of
a £5 note. I am happy to inform you that the orphans have
been fixed under the care of very respectable people. The
baby is with its sister—she who filled the Mother’s place in the
house during their two days of fearless solitude. It has clung
to her ever since, and she has been its sole nurse. I went
with two ladies of the Committee (in my sister’s place, who
was then confined to poor John’s bedside) to conduct the family
to their separate homes. The two Girls are together, as I
have said; two Boys at another Home; and the third Boy by
himself at the house of an elderly man who had a particular
friendship for their father. The kind reception that the
children met with was very affecting.”
See the letters from
Wordsworth to Richard Sharpe, Esq., Mark Lane, London,
in a subsequent volume, referring to the catastrophe.—Ed.
Who weeps for strangers? Many wept
For George and Sarah Green;
Wept for that pair’s unhappy fate,
Whose grave may here be seen.
[377]
By night, upon these stormy fells,
[378] 5Did wife and husband roam;
Six little ones at home had left,
And could not find that home.
[379]
For any dwelling-place of man
As vainly did they seek. 10
He perish’d; and a voice was heard—
The widow’s lonely shriek.
[380]
Not many steps, and she was left
[381]A body without life—
A few short steps were the chain that bound
[382] 15The husband to the wife.
[383]
Now do those
[384] sternly-featured hills
Look gently on this grave;
And quiet now are the depths
[385] of air,
As a sea without a wave. 20
But deeper lies the heart of peace
In quiet more profound;
[386]The heart of quietness is here
Within this churchyard bound.
[387]
And from all agony of mind 25
It keeps them safe, and far
From fear and grief, and from all need
Of sun or guiding star.
[388]
O darkness of the grave! how deep,
[389]After that living night— 30
That last and dreary living one
Of sorrow and affright!
O sacred marriage-bed of death,
That keeps
[390] them side by side
In bond of peace, in bond of love,
[391] 35That may not be untied!
1818
“THE SCOTTISH BROOM ON BIRD-NEST BRAE”[392]
The Scottish Broom on Bird-nest brae
[393]Twelve tedious years ago,
When many plants strange blossoms bore
That puzzled high and low,
A not unnatural longing felt, 5
What longing would ye know?
Why, friend, to deck her supple twigs
With yellow in full blow.
To Lowther Castle she addressed
A prayer both bold and sly, 10
(For all the Brooms on Bird-nest brae
Can talk and speechify)
That flattering breezes blowing thence
Their succour would supply,
Then she would instantly put forth 15
A flag of yellow dye.
But from the Castle turret blew
A chill forbidding blast,
Which the poor Broom no sooner felt
Than she shrank up so fast; 20
Her wished-for yellow she forswore,
And since that time has cast
Fond looks on colours three or four
And put forth Blue at last.
And now, my lads, the Election comes 25
In June’s sunshining hours,
When every field and bank and brae
Is clad with yellow flowers.
While faction Blue from shops and booths
Tricks out her blustering powers, 30
Lo! smiling Nature’s lavish hand
Has furnished wreaths for ours.
PLACARD FOR A POLL BEARING AN OLD
SHIRT
Wordsworth was deeply interested in the successive parliamentary
elections for Westmoreland (see his “Addresses to
the Freeholders of Westmorland, 1818,” in the Prose Works.)
He particularly disliked Lord Brougham’s candidature. The
following squib is in MS. at Lowther Castle. He wrote on the
MS.—“For a version of part of B.’s famous London Tower
Speech see opposite page.”—Ed.
If money’s slack,
The shirt on my back
Shall off, and go to the hammer:
Though I sell shirt and skin
By Jove I’ll be in,
And raise up a radical clamor!
“CRITICS, RIGHT HONOURABLE BARD,
DECREE”
I have found this in a catalogue of Autograph Letters, and
have no knowledge of its date, or of the Bard referred to.
Solomon Gesner wrote a poem on The Death of Abel, which was
translated into English. See footnote to The Prelude, book
vii. l. 564.—Ed.