The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth Volume Iii Part 64

BOOK TWELFTH

IMAGINATION AND TASTE, HOW IMPAIRED AND RESTORED

Long time have human ignorance and guilt Detained us, on what spectacles of woe Compelled to look, and inwardly oppressed With sorrow, disappointment, vexing thoughts, Confusion of the judgment, zeal decayed, 5 And, lastly, utter loss of hope itself And things to hope for! Not with these began Our song, and not with these our song must end.-- Ye motions of delight, that haunt the sides Of the green hills; ye breezes and soft airs, 10 Whose subtle intercourse with breathing flowers, Feelingly watched, might teach Man's haughty race How without injury to take, to give Without offence [A]; ye who, as if to show The wondrous influence of power gently used, 15 Bend the complying heads of lordly pines, And, with a touch, s.h.i.+ft the stupendous clouds Through the whole compa.s.s of the sky; ye brooks, Muttering along the stones, a busy noise By day, a quiet sound in silent night; 20 Ye waves, that out of the great deep steal forth In a calm hour to kiss the pebbly sh.o.r.e, Not mute, and then retire, fearing no storm; And you, ye groves, whose ministry it is To interpose the covert of your shades, 25 Even as a sleep, between the heart of man And outward troubles, between man himself, Not seldom, and his own uneasy heart: Oh! that I had a music and a voice Harmonious as your own, that I might tell 30 What ye have done for me. The morning s.h.i.+nes, Nor heedeth Man's perverseness; Spring returns,-- I saw the Spring return, and could rejoice, In common with the children of her love, Piping on boughs, or sporting on fresh fields, 35 Or boldly seeking pleasure nearer heaven On wings that navigate cerulean skies.

So neither were complacency, nor peace, Nor tender yearnings, wanting for my good Through these distracted times; in Nature still 40 Glorying, I found a counterpoise in her, Which, when the spirit of evil reached its height.

Maintained for me a secret happiness.

This narrative, my Friend! hath chiefly told Of intellectual power, fostering love, 45 Dispensing truth, and, over men and things, Where reason yet might hesitate, diffusing Prophetic sympathies of genial faith: So was I favoured--such my happy lot-- Until that natural graciousness of mind 50 Gave way to overpressure from the times And their disastrous issues. What availed, When spells forbade the voyager to land, That fragrant notice of a pleasant sh.o.r.e Wafted, at intervals, from many a bower 55 Of blissful grat.i.tude and fearless love?

Dare I avow that wish was mine to see, And hope that future times _would_ surely see, The man to come, parted, as by a gulph, From him who had been; that I could no more 60 Trust the elevation which had made me one With the great family that still survives To illuminate the abyss of ages past, Sage, warrior, patriot, hero; for it seemed That their best virtues were not free from taint 65 Of something false and weak, that could not stand The open eye of Reason. Then I said, "Go to the Poets, they will speak to thee More perfectly of purer creatures;--yet If reason be n.o.bility in man, 70 Can aught be more ign.o.ble than the man Whom they delight in, blinded as he is By prejudice, the miserable slave Of low ambition or distempered love?"

In such strange pa.s.sion, if I may once more 75 Review the past, I warred against myself-- A bigot to a new idolatry-- Like a cowled monk who hath forsworn the world, Zealously laboured to cut off my heart From all the sources of her former strength; 80 And as, by simple waving of a wand, The wizard instantaneously dissolves Palace or grove, even so could I unsoul As readily by syllogistic words Those mysteries of being which have made, 85 And shall continue evermore to make, Of the whole human race one brotherhood.

What wonder, then, if, to a mind so far Perverted, even the visible Universe Fell under the dominion of a taste 90 Less spiritual, with microscopic view Was scanned, as I had scanned the moral world?

O Soul of Nature! excellent and fair!

That didst rejoice with me, with whom I, too, Rejoiced through early youth, before the winds 95 And roaring waters, and in lights and shades That marched and countermarched about the hills In glorious apparition, Powers on whom I daily waited, now all eye and now All ear; but never long without the heart 100 Employed, and man's unfolding intellect: O Soul of Nature! that, by laws divine Sustained and governed, still dost overflow With an impa.s.sioned life, what feeble ones Walk on this earth! how feeble have I been 105 When thou wert in thy strength! Nor this through stroke Of human suffering, such as justifies Remissness and inapt.i.tude of mind, But through presumption; even in pleasure pleased Unworthily, disliking here, and there 110 Liking; by rules of mimic art transferred To things above all art; but more,--for this, Although a strong infection of the age, Was never much my habit--giving way To a comparison of scene with scene, 115 Bent overmuch on superficial things, Pampering myself with meagre novelties Of colour and proportion; to the moods Of time and season, to the moral power, The affections and the spirit of the place, 120 Insensible. Nor only did the love Of sitting thus in judgment interrupt My deeper feelings, but another cause, More subtle and less easily explained, That almost seems inherent in the creature, 125 A twofold frame of body and of mind.

I speak in recollection of a time When the bodily eye, in every stage of life The most despotic of our senses, gained Such strength in _me_ as often held my mind 130 In absolute dominion. Gladly here, Entering upon abstruser argument, Could I endeavour to unfold the means Which Nature studiously employs to thwart This tyranny, summons all the senses each 135 To counteract the other, and themselves, And makes them all, and the objects with which all Are conversant, subservient in their turn To the great ends of Liberty and Power.

But leave we this: enough that my delights 140 (Such as they were) were sought insatiably.

Vivid the transport, vivid though not profound; I roamed from hill to hill, from rock to rock, Still craving combinations of new forms, New pleasure, wider empire for the sight, 145 Proud of her own endowments, and rejoiced To lay the inner faculties asleep.

Amid the turns and counterturns, the strife And various trials of our complex being, As we grow up, such thraldom of that sense 150 Seems hard to shun. And yet I knew a maid, [B]

A young enthusiast, who escaped these bonds; Her eye was not the mistress of her heart; Far less did rules prescribed by pa.s.sive taste, Or barren intermeddling subtleties, 155 Perplex her mind; but, wise as women are When genial circ.u.mstance hath favoured them, She welcomed what was given, and craved no more; Whate'er the scene presented to her view, That was the best, to that she was attuned 160 By her benign simplicity of life, And through a perfect happiness of soul, Whose variegated feelings were in this Sisters, that they were each some new delight.

Birds in the bower, and lambs in the green field, 165 Could they have known her, would have loved; methought Her very presence such a sweetness breathed, That flowers, and trees, and even the silent hills, And every thing she looked on, should have had An intimation how she bore herself 170 Towards them and to all creatures. G.o.d delights In such a being; for her common thoughts Are piety, her life is grat.i.tude.

Even like this maid, before I was called forth From the retirement of my native hills, 175 I loved whate'er I saw: nor lightly loved, But most intensely; never dreamt of aught More grand, more fair, more exquisitely framed Than those few nooks to which my happy feet Were limited. I had not at that time 180 Lived long enough, nor in the least survived The first diviner influence of this world, As it appears to unaccustomed eyes.

Wors.h.i.+pping then among the depth of things, As piety ordained; could I submit 185 To measured admiration, or to aught That should preclude humility and love?

I felt, observed, and pondered; did not judge, Yea, never thought of judging; with the gift Of all this glory filled and satisfied. 190 And afterwards, when through the gorgeous Alps Roaming, I carried with me the same heart: In truth, the degradation--howsoe'er Induced, effect, in whatsoe'er degree, Of custom that prepares a partial scale 195 In which the little oft outweighs the great; Or any other cause that hath been named; Or lastly, aggravated by the times And their impa.s.sioned sounds, which well might make The milder minstrelsies of rural scenes 200 Inaudible--was transient; I had known Too forcibly, too early in my life, Visitings of imaginative power For this to last: I shook the habit off Entirely and for ever, and again 205 In Nature's presence stood, as now I stand, A sensitive being, a _creative_ soul.

There are in our existence spots of time, That with distinct pre-eminence retain A renovating virtue, whence, depressed 210 By false opinion and contentious thought, Or aught of heavier or more deadly weight, In trivial occupations, and the round Of ordinary intercourse, our minds Are nourished and invisibly repaired; 215 A virtue, by which pleasure is enhanced, That penetrates, enables us to mount, When high, more high, and lifts us up when fallen.

This efficacious spirit chiefly lurks Among those pa.s.sages of life that give 220 Profoundest knowledge to what point, and how, The mind is lord and master--outward sense The obedient servant of her will. Such moments Are scattered everywhere, taking their date From our first childhood. [C] I remember well, 225 That once, while yet my inexperienced hand Could scarcely hold a bridle, with proud hopes I mounted, and we journeyed towards the hills: [D]

An ancient servant of my father's house Was with me, my encourager and guide: 230 We had not travelled long, ere some mischance Disjoined me from my comrade; and, through fear Dismounting, down the rough and stony moor I led my horse, and, stumbling on, at length Came to a bottom, where in former times 235 A murderer had been hung in iron chains.

The gibbet-mast had mouldered down, the bones And iron case were gone; but on the turf, Hard by, soon after that fell deed was wrought, Some unknown hand had carved the murderer's name. 240 The monumental letters were inscribed In times long past; but still, from year to year, By superst.i.tion of the neighbourhood, The gra.s.s is cleared away, and to this hour The characters are fresh and visible: 245 A casual glance had shown them, and I fled, Faltering and faint, and ignorant of the road: Then, reascending the bare common, saw A naked pool that lay beneath the hills, The beacon on the summit, and, more near, 250 A girl, who bore a pitcher on her head, And seemed with difficult steps to force her way Against the blowing wind. It was, in truth, An ordinary sight; but I should need Colours and words that are unknown to man, 255 To paint the visionary dreariness Which, while I looked all round for my lost guide, Invested moorland waste, and naked pool, The beacon crowning the lone eminence, The female and her garments vexed and tossed 260 By the strong wind. When, in the blessed hours Of early love, the loved one at my side, [E]

I roamed, in daily presence of this scene, Upon the naked pool and dreary crags, And on the melancholy beacon, fell 265 A spirit of pleasure and youth's golden gleam; And think ye not with radiance more sublime For these remembrances, and for the power They had left behind? So feeling comes in aid Of feeling, and diversity of strength 270 Attends us, if but once we have been strong.

Oh! mystery of man, from what a depth Proceed thy honours. I am lost, but see In simple childhood something of the base On which thy greatness stands; but this I feel, 275 That from thyself it comes, that thou must give, Else never canst receive. The days gone by Return upon me almost from the dawn Of life: the hiding-places of man's power Open; I would approach them, but they close. 280 I see by glimpses now; when age comes on, May scarcely see at all; and I would give, While yet we may, as far as words can give, Substance and life to what I feel, enshrining, Such is my hope, the spirit of the Past 285 For future restoration.--Yet another Of these memorials;-- One Christmas-time, [F]

On the glad eve of its dear holidays, Feverish, and tired, and restless, I went forth Into the fields, impatient for the sight 290 Of those led palfreys that should bear us home; My brothers and myself. There rose a crag, That, from the meeting-point of two highways [F]

Ascending, overlooked them both, far stretched; Thither, uncertain on which road to fix 295 My expectation, thither I repaired, Scout-like, and gained the summit; 'twas a day Tempestuous, dark, and wild, and on the gra.s.s I sate half-sheltered by a naked wall; Upon my right hand couched a single sheep, 300 Upon my left a blasted hawthorn stood; With those companions at my side, I watched, Straining my eyes intensely, as the mist Gave intermitting prospect of the copse And plain beneath. Ere we to school returned,--305 That dreary time,--ere we had been ten days Sojourners in my father's house, he died, And I and my three brothers, orphans then, Followed his body to the grave. The event, With all the sorrow that it brought, appeared 310 A chastis.e.m.e.nt; and when I called to mind That day so lately past, when from the crag I looked in such anxiety of hope; With trite reflections of morality, Yet in the deepest pa.s.sion, I bowed low 315 To G.o.d, Who thus corrected my desires; And, afterwards, the wind and sleety rain, And all the business of the elements, The single sheep, and the one blasted tree, And the bleak music from that old stone wall, 320 The noise of wood and water, and the mist That on the line of each of those two roads Advanced in such indisputable shapes; All these were kindred spectacles and sounds To which I oft repaired, and thence would drink, 325 As at a fountain; and on winter nights, Down to this very time, when storm and rain Beat on my roof, or, haply, at noon-day, While in a grove I walk, whose lofty trees, Laden with summer's thickest foliage, rock 330 In a strong wind, some working of the spirit, Some inward agitations thence are brought, Whate'er their office, whether to beguile Thoughts over busy in the course they took, Or animate an hour of vacant ease. 335

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Compare Shakespeare's "Stealing and giving odour."

('Twelfth Night', act I. scene i. l. 7.)--Ed.]

[Footnote B: Mary Hutchinson.--Ed.]

[Footnote C: Compare the 'Ode, Intimations of Immortality', stanzas v.

and ix.--Ed.]

[Footnote D: Either amongst the Lorton Fells, or the north-western slopes of Skiddaw.--Ed.]

[Footnote E: His sister.--Ed.]

[Footnote F: The year was evidently 1783, but the locality is difficult to determine. It may have been one or other of two places. Wordsworth's father died at Penrith, and it was there that the sons went for their Christmas holiday. The road from Penrith to Hawkshead was by Kirkstone Pa.s.s, and Ambleside; and the "led palfreys" sent to take the boys home would certainly come through the latter town. Now there are only two roads from Ambleside to Hawkshead, which meet at a point about a mile north of Hawkshead, called in the Ordnance map "Outgate." The eastern road is now chiefly used by carriages, being less hilly and better made than the western one. The latter would be quite as convenient as the former for horses. If one were to walk out from Hawkshead village to the place where the two roads separate at "Outgate," and then ascend the ridge between them, he would find several places from which he could overlook _both_ roads "far stretched," were the view not now intercepted by numerous plantations. (The latter are of comparatively recent growth.) Dr. Cradock,--to whom I am indebted for this, and for many other suggestions as to localities alluded to by Wordsworth,--thinks that

"a point, marked on the map as 'High Crag' between the two roads, and about three-quarters of a mile from their point of divergence, answers the description as well as any other. It may be nearly two miles from Hawkshead, a distance of which an active eager school-boy would think nothing. The 'blasted hawthorn' and the 'naked wall' are probably things of the past as much as the 'single sheep.'"

Doubtless this may be the spot,--a green, rocky knoll with a steep face to the north, where a quarry is wrought, and with a plantation to the east. It commands a view of both roads. The other possible place is a crag, not a quarter of a mile from Outgate, a little to the right of the place where the two roads divide. A low wall runs up across it to the top, dividing a plantation of oak, hazel, and ash, from the firs that crown the summit. These firs, which are larch and spruce, seem all of this century. The top of the crag may have been bare when Wordsworth lived at Hawkshead. But at the foot of the path along the dividing wall there are a few (probably older) trees; and a solitary walk beneath them, at noon or dusk, is almost as suggestive to the imagination, as repose under the yews of Borrowdale, listening to "the mountain flood"

on Glaramara. There one may still hear the bleak music from the old stone wall, and "the noise of wood and water," while the loud dry wind whistles through the underwood, or moans amid the fir trees of the Crag, on the summit of which there is a "blasted hawthorn" tree. It may be difficult now to determine the precise spot to which the boy Wordsworth climbed on that eventful day--afterwards so significant to him, and from the events of which, he says, he drank "as at a fountain"--but I think it may have been to one or other of these two crags. (See, however, Mr.

Rawnsley's conjecture in Note V. in the Appendix to this volume, p.

391.)--Ed.]

BOOK THIRTEENTH

IMAGINATION AND TASTE, HOW IMPAIRED AND RESTORED--concluded.

From Nature doth emotion come, and moods Of calmness equally are Nature's gift: This is her glory; these two attributes Are sister horns that const.i.tute her strength.

Hence Genius, born to thrive by interchange 5 Of peace and excitation, finds in her His best and purest friend; from her receives That energy by which he seeks the truth, From her that happy stillness of the mind Which fits him to receive it when unsought. [A] 10

Such benefit the humblest intellects Partake of, each in their degree; 'tis mine To speak, what I myself have known and felt; Smooth task! for words find easy way, inspired By grat.i.tude, and confidence in truth. 15 Long time in search of knowledge did I range The field of human life, in heart and mind Benighted; but, the dawn beginning now To re-appear, 'twas proved that not in vain I had been taught to reverence a Power 20 That is the visible quality and shape And image of right reason; that matures Her processes by steadfast laws; gives birth To no impatient or fallacious hopes, No heat of pa.s.sion or excessive zeal, 25 No vain conceits; provokes to no quick turns Of self-applauding intellect; but trains To meekness, and exalts by humble faith; Holds up before the mind intoxicate With present objects, and the busy dance 30 Of things that pa.s.s away, a temperate show Of objects that endure; and by this course Disposes her, when over-fondly set On throwing off inc.u.mbrances, to seek In man, and in the frame of social life, 35 Whate'er there is desirable and good Of kindred permanence, unchanged in form And function, or, through strict vicissitude Of life and death, revolving. Above all Were re-established now those watchful thoughts 40 Which, seeing little worthy or sublime In what the Historian's pen so much delights To blazon--power and energy detached From moral purpose--early tutored me To look with feelings of fraternal love 45 Upon the una.s.suming things that hold A silent station in this beauteous world.

Thus moderated, thus composed, I found Once more in Man an object of delight, Of pure imagination, and of love; 50 And, as the horizon of my mind enlarged, Again I took the intellectual eye For my instructor, studious more to see Great truths, than touch and handle little ones.

Knowledge was given accordingly; my trust 55 Became more firm in feelings that had stood The test of such a trial; clearer far My sense of excellence--of right and wrong: The promise of the present time retired Into its true proportion; sanguine schemes, 60 Ambitious projects, pleased me less; I sought For present good in life's familiar face, And built thereon my hopes of good to come.