The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth Volume Ii Part 1

The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth.

Vol. II.

by William Wordsworth.

PETER BELL: A TALE [A]

Composed 1798. [B]--Published 1819.

'What's in a Name?' [C]

'Brutus will start a Spirit as soon as Caesar!' [D]

To ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ., P.L., ETC., ETC.

MY DEAR FRIEND--The Tale of 'Peter Bell', which I now introduce to your notice, and to that of the Public, has, in its Ma.n.u.script state, nearly survived its _minority_:--for it first saw the light in the summer of 1798. During this long interval, pains have been taken at different times to make the production less unworthy of a favourable reception; or, rather, to fit it for filling _permanently_ a station, however humble, in the Literature of our Country. This has, indeed, been the aim of all my endeavours in Poetry, which, you know, have been sufficiently laborious to prove that I deem the Art not lightly to be approached; and that the attainment of excellence in it, may laudably be made the princ.i.p.al object of intellectual pursuit by any man, who, with reasonable consideration of circ.u.mstances, has faith in his own impulses.

The Poem of 'Peter Bell', as the Prologue will show, was composed under a belief that the Imagination not only does not require for its exercise the intervention of supernatural agency, but that, though such agency be excluded, the faculty may be called forth as imperiously and for kindred results of pleasure, by incidents, within the compa.s.s of poetic probability, in the humblest departments of daily life. Since that Prologue was written, _you_ have exhibited most splendid effects of judicious daring, in the opposite and usual course. Let this acknowledgment make my peace with the lovers of the supernatural; and I am persuaded it will be admitted, that to you, as a Master in that province of the art, the following Tale, whether from contrast or congruity, is not an unappropriate offering. Accept it, then, as a public testimony of affectionate admiration from one with whose name yours has been often coupled (to use your own words) for evil and for good; and believe me to be, with earnest wishes that life and health may be granted you to complete the many important works in which you are engaged, and with high respect, Most faithfully yours,

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

RYDAL MOUNT, April 7, 1819.

[Written at Alfoxden. Founded upon an anecdote which I read in a newspaper, of an a.s.s being found hanging his head over a ca.n.a.l in a wretched posture. Upon examination a dead body was found in the water, and proved to be the body of its master. The countenance, gait, and figure of Peter were taken from a wild rover with whom I walked from Builth, on the river Wye, downwards, nearly as far as the town of Hay.

He told me strange stories. It has always been a pleasure to me through life, to catch at every opportunity that has occurred in my rambles of becoming acquainted with this cla.s.s of people. The number of Peter's wives was taken from the trespa.s.ses, in this way, of a lawless creature, who lived in the county of Durham, and used to be attended by many women, sometimes not less than half a dozen, as disorderly as himself, and a story went in the country that he had been heard to say, while they were quarrelling, "Why can't ye be quiet, there's none so many of you?" Benoni, or the child of sorrow, I knew when I was a schoolboy. His mother had been deserted by a gentleman in the neighbourhood, she herself being a gentlewoman by birth. The circ.u.mstances of her story were told me by my dear old dame, Ann Tyson, who was her confidante. The lady died broken-hearted. In the woods of Alfoxden I used to take great delight in noticing the habits, tricks, and physiognomy of a.s.ses; and I have no doubt that I was thus put upon writing the poem out of liking for the creature that is often so dreadfully abused. The crescent moon, which makes such a figure in the prologue, a.s.sumed this character one evening while I was watching its beauty in front of Alfoxden House. I intended this poem for the volume before spoken of, but it was not published for more than twenty years afterwards. The wors.h.i.+p of the Methodists, or Ranters, is often heard during the stillness of the summer evening, in the country, with affecting accompaniments of rural beauty. In both the psalmody and voice of the preacher there is, not unfrequently, much solemnity likely to impress the feelings of the rudest characters under favourable circ.u.mstances.--I. F.]

Cla.s.sed by Wordsworth among his "Poems of the Imagination."--ED.

PROLOGUE

There's something in a flying horse, There's something [1] in a huge balloon; But through the clouds I'll never float Until I have a little Boat, Shaped like [2] the crescent-moon. 5

And now I _have_ a little Boat, In shape a very crescent-moon: Fast through the clouds my boat can sail; But if perchance your faith should fail, Look up--and you shall see me soon! 10

The woods, my Friends, are round you roaring, Rocking and roaring like a sea; The noise of danger's in [3] your ears, And ye have all a thousand fears Both for my little Boat and me! 15

Meanwhile untroubled I admire [4]

The pointed horns of my canoe; And, did not pity touch my breast, To see how ye are all distrest, Till my ribs ached, I'd laugh at you! 20

Away we go, my Boat and I-- Frail man ne'er sate in such another; Whether among the winds we strive, Or deep into the clouds [5] we dive, Each is contented with the other. 25

Away we go--and what care we For treasons, tumults, and for wars?

We are as calm in our delight As is the crescent-moon so bright Among the scattered stars. 30

Up goes my Boat among [6] the stars Through many a breathless field of light, Through many a long blue field of ether, Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her: Up goes my little Boat so bright! 35

The Crab, the Scorpion, and the Bull-- We pry among them all; have shot High o'er the red-haired race of Mars, Covered from top to toe with scars; Such company I like it not! 40

The towns in Saturn are decayed, And melancholy Spectres throng them;--[7]

The Pleiads, that appear to kiss Each other in the vast abyss, With joy I sail among [8] them, 45

Swift Mercury resounds with mirth, Great Jove is full of stately bowers; But these, and all that they contain, What are they to that tiny grain, That little Earth [9] of ours? 50

Then back to Earth, the dear green Earth:-- Whole ages if I here should roam, The world for my remarks and me Would not a whit the better be; I've left my heart at home. 55

See! there she is, [10] the matchless Earth!

There spreads the famed Pacific Ocean!

Old Andes thrusts yon craggy spear Through the grey clouds; the Alps are here, Like waters in commotion! 60

Yon tawny slip is Libya's sands That silver thread the river Dnieper; And look, where clothed in brightest green Is a sweet Isle, of isles the Queen; Ye fairies, from all evil keep her! 65

And see the town where I was born!

Around those happy fields we span In boyish gambols;--I was lost Where I have been, but on this coast I feel I am a man. 70

Never did fifty things at once Appear so lovely, never, never;-- How tunefully the forests ring!

To hear the earth's soft murmuring Thus could I hang for ever! 75

"Shame on you!" cried my little Boat, "Was ever such a homesick [11] Loon, Within a living Boat to sit, And make no better use of it; A Boat twin-sister of the crescent-moon! 80

[12]

"Ne'er in the breast of full-grown Poet Fluttered so faint a heart before;-- Was it the music of the spheres That overpowered your mortal ears?

--Such din shall trouble them no more. 85

"These nether precincts do not lack Charms of their own;--then come with me; I want a comrade, and for you There's nothing that I would not do; Nought is there that you shall not see. 90

"Haste! and above Siberian snows We'll sport amid the boreal morning; Will mingle with her l.u.s.tres gliding Among the stars, the stars now hiding, And now the stars adorning. 95

"I know the secrets of a land Where human foot did never stray; Fair is that land [13] as evening skies, And cool, though in the depth it lies Of burning Africa. 100

"Or we'll into the realm of Faery, Among the lovely shades of things; The shadowy forms of mountains bare, And streams, and bowers, and ladies fair, The shades of palaces and kings! 105

"Or, if you thirst with hardy zeal Less quiet regions to explore, Prompt voyage shall to you reveal How earth and heaven are taught to feel The might of magic lore!" 110

"My little vagrant Form of light, My gay and beautiful Canoe, Well have you played your friendly part; As kindly take what from my heart Experience forces--then adieu! 115

"Temptation lurks among your words; But, while these pleasures you're pursuing Without impediment or let, No wonder if you quite forget [14]

What on the earth is doing. 120

"There was a time when all mankind Did listen with a faith sincere To tuneful tongues in mystery versed; _Then_ Poets fearlessly rehea.r.s.ed The wonders of a wild career. 125

"Go--(but the world's a sleepy world, And 'tis, I fear, an age too late) Take with you some ambitious Youth!