The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth Volume Iii Part 25

Full proof of this the Country gained; 120 It knows how ye were vexed and strained, And forced unworthy stripes to bear, When trusted to another's care. [18]

Here was it--on this rugged slope, Which now ye climb with heart and hope, 125 I saw you, between rage and fear, Plunge, and fling back a spiteful ear, And ever more and more confused, As ye were more and more abused: [19]

As chance would have it, pa.s.sing by 130 I saw you in that [20] jeopardy: A word from me was like a charm; [D]

Ye pulled together with one mind; [21]

And your huge burthen, safe from harm, Moved like a vessel in the wind! 135 --Yes, without me, up hills so high 'Tis vain to strive for mastery.

Then grieve not, jolly team! though tough The road we travel, steep, and rough; [22]

Though Rydal-heights and Dunmail-raise, 140 And all their fellow banks and braes, Full often make you stretch and strain, And halt for breath and halt again, Yet to their st.u.r.diness 'tis owing That side by side we still are going! 145

While Benjamin in earnest mood His meditations thus pursued, A storm, which had been smothered long, Was growing inwardly more strong; And, in its struggles to get free, 150 Was busily employed as he.

The thunder had begun to growl-- He heard not, too intent of soul; The air was now without a breath-- He marked not that 'twas still as death. 155 But soon large rain-drops on his head [23]

Fell with the weight of drops of lead;-- He starts--and takes, at the admonition, A sage survey of his condition. [24]

The road is black before his eyes, 160 Glimmering faintly where it lies; Black is the sky--and every hill, Up to the sky, is blacker still-- Sky, hill, and dale, one dismal room, [25]

Hung round and overhung with gloom; 165 Save that above a single height Is to be seen a lurid light, Above Helm-crag [E]--a streak half dead, A burning of portentous red; And near that lurid light, full well 170 The ASTROLOGER, sage Sidrophel, Where at his desk and book he sits, Puzzling aloft [26] his curious wits; He whose domain is held in common With no one but the ANCIENT WOMAN, 175 Cowering beside her rifted cell, As if intent on magic spell;- Dread pair, that, spite of wind and weather, Still sit upon Helm-crag together!

The ASTROLOGER was not unseen 180 By solitary Benjamin; But total darkness came anon, And he and every thing was gone: And suddenly a ruffling breeze, (That would have rocked the sounding trees 185 Had aught of sylvan growth been there) Swept through the Hollow long and bare: [27]

The rain rushed down--the road was battered, As with the force of billows shattered; The horses are dismayed, nor know 190 Whether they should stand or go; And Benjamin is groping near them, Sees nothing, and can scarcely hear them.

He is astounded,--wonder not,-- With such a charge in such a spot; 195 Astounded in the mountain gap With thunder-peals, clap after clap, Close-treading on the silent flashes-- And somewhere, as he thinks, by crashes [28]

Among the rocks; with weight of rain, 200 And sullen [29] motions long and slow, That to a dreary distance go-- Till, breaking in upon the dying strain, A rending o'er his head begins the fray again.

Meanwhile, uncertain what to do, 205 And oftentimes compelled to halt, The horses cautiously pursue Their way, without mishap or fault; And now have reached that pile of stones, Heaped over brave King Dunmail's bones; 210 He who had once supreme command, Last king of rocky c.u.mberland; His bones, and those of all his Power, Slain here in a disastrous hour!

When, pa.s.sing through this narrow strait, 215 Stony, and dark, and desolate, Benjamin can faintly hear A voice that comes from some one near, A female voice:--"Whoe'er you be, Stop," it exclaimed, "and pity me!" 220 And, less in pity than in wonder, Amid the darkness and the thunder, The Waggoner, with prompt command, Summons his horses to a stand.

While, with increasing agitation, 225 The Woman urged her supplication, In rueful words, with sobs between-- The voice of tears that fell unseen; [30]

There came a flash--a startling glare, And all Seat-Sandal was laid bare! 230 'Tis not a time for nice suggestion, And Benjamin, without a question, Taking her for some way-worn rover, [31]

Said, "Mount, and get you under cover!"

Another voice, in tone as hoa.r.s.e 235 As a swoln brook with rugged course, Cried out, "Good brother, why so fast?

I've had a glimpse of you--'avast!'

Or, since it suits you to be civil, Take her at once--for good and evil!" 240

"It is my Husband," softly said The Woman, as if half afraid: By this time she was snug within, Through help of honest Benjamin; She and her Babe, which to her breast 245 With thankfulness the Mother pressed; And now the same strong voice more near Said cordially, "My Friend, what cheer?

Rough doings these! as G.o.d's my judge, The sky owes somebody a grudge! 250 We've had in half an hour or less A twelvemonth's terror [32] and distress!"

Then Benjamin entreats the Man Would mount, too, quickly as he can: The Sailor--Sailor now no more, 255 But such he had been heretofore-- To courteous Benjamin replied, "Go you your way, and mind not me; For I must have, whate'er betide, My a.s.s and fifty things beside,--260 Go, and I'll follow speedily!"

The Waggon moves--and with its load Descends along the sloping road; And the rough Sailor instantly Turns to a little tent hard by: [33] 265 For when, at closing-in of day, The family had come that way, Green pasture and the soft warm air Tempted [34] them to settle there.-- Green is the gra.s.s for beast to graze, 270 Around the stones of Dunmail-raise!

The Sailor gathers up his bed, Takes down the canva.s.s overhead; And, after farewell to the place, A parting word--though not of grace, 275 Pursues, with a.s.s and all his store, The way the Waggon went before.

CANTO SECOND

If Wytheburn's modest House of prayer, As lowly as the lowliest dwelling, Had, with its belfry's humble stock, 280 A little pair that hang in air, Been mistress also of a clock, (And one, too, not in crazy plight) Twelve strokes that clock would have been telling Under the brow of old Helvellyn--285 Its bead-roll of midnight, Then, when the Hero of my tale Was pa.s.sing by, and, down the vale (The vale now silent, hushed I ween As if a storm had never been) 290 Proceeding with a mind at ease; While the old Familiar of the seas [35]

Intent to use his utmost haste, Gained ground upon the Waggon fast, And gives another l.u.s.ty cheer; 295 For spite of rumbling of the wheels, A welcome greeting he can hear;-- It is a fiddle in its glee Dinning from the CHERRY TREE!

Thence the sound--the light is there--300 As Benjamin is now aware, Who, to his inward thoughts confined, Had almost reached the festive door, When, startled by the Sailor's roar, [36]

He hears a sound and sees the light, 305 And in a moment calls to mind That 'tis the village MERRY-NIGHT! [F]

Although before in no dejection, At this insidious recollection His heart with sudden joy is filled,--310 His ears are by the music thrilled, His eyes take pleasure in the road Glittering before him bright and broad; And Benjamin is wet and cold, And there are reasons manifold 315 That make the good, tow'rds which he's yearning, Look fairly like a lawful earning.

Nor has thought time to come and go, To vibrate between yes and no; For, cries the Sailor, "Glorious chance 320 That blew us. .h.i.ther!--let him dance, Who can or will!--my honest soul, Our treat shall be a friendly bowl!" [37]

He draws him to the door--"Come in, Come, come," cries he to Benjamin! 325 And Benjamin--ah, woe is me!

Gave the word--the horses heard And halted, though reluctantly.

"Blithe souls and lightsome hearts have we, Feasting at the CHERRY TREE!" 330 This was the outside proclamation, This was the inside salutation; What bustling--jostling--high and low!

A universal overflow!

What tankards foaming from the tap! 335 What store of cakes in every lap!

What thumping--stumping--overhead!

The thunder had not been more busy: With such a stir you would have said, This little place may well be dizzy! 340 'Tis who can dance with greatest vigour-- 'Tis what can be most prompt and eager; As if it heard the fiddle's call, The pewter clatters on the wall; The very bacon shows its feeling, 345 Swinging from the smoky ceiling!

A steaming bowl, a blazing fire, What greater good can heart desire?

'Twere worth a wise man's while to try The utmost anger of the sky: 350 To _seek_ for thoughts of a gloomy cast, If such the bright amends at last. [38]

Now should you say [39] I judge amiss, The CHERRY TREE shows proof of this; For soon of all [40] the happy there, 355 Our Travellers are the happiest pair; All care with Benjamin is gone-- A Caesar past the Rubicon!

He thinks not of his long, long strife;-- The Sailor, Man by nature gay, 360 Hath no resolves to throw away; [41]

And he hath now forgot his Wife, Hath quite forgotten her--or may be Thinks her the luckiest soul on earth, Within that warm and peaceful berth, [42] 365 Under cover, Terror over, Sleeping by her sleeping Baby.

With bowl that sped from hand to hand, The gladdest of the gladsome band, 370 Amid their own delight and fun, [43]

They hear--when every dance is done, When every whirling bout is o'er--[44]

The fiddle's _squeak_ [G]--that call to bliss, Ever followed by a kiss; 375 They envy not the happy lot, But enjoy their own the more!

While thus our jocund Travellers fare, Up springs the Sailor from his chair-- Limps (for I might have told before 380 That he was lame) across the floor-- Is gone--returns--and with a prize; With what?--a s.h.i.+p of l.u.s.ty size; A gallant stately Man-of-war, Fixed on a smoothly-sliding car. 385 Surprise to all, but most surprise To Benjamin, who rubs his eyes, Not knowing that he had befriended A Man so gloriously attended!

"This," cries the Sailor, "a Third-rate is--390 Stand back, and you shall see her gratis!

This was the Flag-s.h.i.+p at the Nile, The Vanguard--you may smirk and smile, But, pretty Maid, if you look near, You'll find you've much in little here! 395 A n.o.bler s.h.i.+p did never swim, And you shall see her in full trim: I'll set, my friends, to do you honour, Set every inch of sail upon her."

So said, so done; and masts, sails, yards, 400 He names them all; and interlards His speech with uncouth terms of art, Accomplished in the showman's part; And then, as from a sudden check, Cries out--"'Tis there, the quarter-deck 405 On which brave Admiral Nelson stood-- A sight that would have roused your blood!

One eye he had, which, bright as ten, Burned like a fire among his men; Let this be land, and that be sea, 410 Here lay the French--and _thus_ came we!" [H]

Hushed was by this the fiddle's sound, The dancers all were gathered round, And, such the stillness of the house, You might have heard a nibbling mouse; 415 While, borrowing helps where'er he may, The Sailor through the story runs Of s.h.i.+ps to s.h.i.+ps and guns to guns; And does his utmost to display The dismal conflict, and the might 420 And terror of that marvellous [45] night!

"A bowl, a bowl of double measure,"

Cries Benjamin, "a draught of length, To Nelson, England's pride and treasure, Her bulwark and her tower of strength!" 425 When Benjamin had seized the bowl, The mastiff, from beneath the waggon, Where he lay, watchful as a dragon, Rattled his chain;--'twas all in vain, For Benjamin, triumphant soul! 430 He heard the monitory growl; Heard--and in opposition quaffed A deep, determined, desperate draught!

Nor did the battered Tar forget, Or flinch from what he deemed his debt: 435 Then, like a hero crowned with laurel, Back to her place the s.h.i.+p he led; Wheeled her back in full apparel; And so, flag flying at mast head, Re-yoked her to the a.s.s:--anon, 440 Cries Benjamin, "We must be gone."

Thus, after two hours' hearty stay, Again behold them on their way!

CANTO THIRD

Right gladly had the horses stirred, When they the wished-for greeting heard, 445 The whip's loud notice from the door, That they were free to move once more.

You think, those [46] doings must have bred In them disheartening doubts and dread; No, not a horse of all the eight, 450 Although it be a moonless night, Fears either for himself or freight; For this they know (and let it hide, In part, the offences of their guide) That Benjamin, with clouded brains, 455 Is worth the best with all their pains; And, if they had a prayer to make, The prayer would be that they may take With him whatever comes in course, The better fortune or the worse; 460 That no one else may have business near them, And, drunk or sober, he may steer them.

So, forth in dauntless mood they fare, And with them goes the guardian pair.

Now, heroes, for the true commotion, 465 The triumph of your late devotion!

Can aught on earth impede delight, Still mounting to a higher height; And higher still--a greedy flight!

Can any low-born care pursue her, 470 Can any mortal clog come to her? [J]

No notion have they--not a thought, That is from joyless regions brought!

And, while they coast the silent lake, Their inspiration I partake; 475 Share their empyreal spirits--yea, With their enraptured vision, see-- O fancy--what a jubilee!

What s.h.i.+fting pictures--clad in gleams Of colour bright as feverish dreams! 480 Earth, spangled sky, and lake serene, Involved and restless all--a scene Pregnant with mutual exaltation, Rich change, and multiplied creation!

This sight to me the Muse imparts;--485 And then, what kindness in their hearts!