The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth Volume I Part 107

He plies his weary journey; seeing still, And seldom [6] knowing that he sees, some straw, Some scattered leaf, or marks which, in one track, 55 The nails of cart or chariot-wheel have left Impressed on the white road,--in the same line, At distance still the same. Poor Traveller!

His staff trails with him; scarcely do his feet [7]

Disturb the summer dust; he is so still 60 In look and motion, that the cottage curs, [8]

Ere he has [9] pa.s.sed the door, will turn away, Weary of barking at him. Boys and girls, The vacant and the busy, maids and youths, And urchins newly breeched--all pa.s.s him by: 65 Him even the slow-paced waggon leaves behind.

But deem not this Man useless.--Statesmen! ye Who are so restless in your wisdom, ye Who have a broom still ready in your hands To rid the world of nuisances; ye proud, 70 Heart-swoln, while in your pride ye contemplate Your talents, power, or [10] wisdom, deem him not A burthen of the earth! 'Tis nature's law That none, the meanest of created things, Of forms created the most vile and brute, 75 The dullest or most noxious, should exist Divorced from good--a spirit and pulse of good, A life and soul, to every mode of being Inseparably linked. Then be a.s.sured That least of all can aught--that ever owned 80 The heaven-regarding eye and front sublime [C]

Which man is born to--sink, howe'er depressed, So low as to be scorned without a sin; Without offence to G.o.d cast out of view; Like the dry remnant of a garden-flower 85 Whose seeds are shed, or as an implement Worn out and worthless. [11] While from door to door This old Man creeps, [12] the villagers in him Behold a record which together binds Past deeds and offices of charity, 90 Else unremembered, and so keeps alive The kindly mood in hearts which lapse of years, And that half-wisdom half-experience gives, Make slow to feel, and by sure steps resign To selfishness and cold oblivious cares. 95 Among the farms and solitary huts, Hamlets and thinly-scattered villages, Where'er the aged Beggar takes his rounds, The mild necessity of use compels To acts of love; and habit does the work 100 Of reason; yet prepares that after-joy Which reason cherishes. And thus the soul, By that sweet taste of pleasure unpursued Doth find herself [13] insensibly disposed To virtue and true goodness. 105 Some there are, By their good works exalted, lofty minds And meditative, authors of delight And happiness, which to the end of time Will live, and spread, and kindle: even such minds [14] 110 In childhood, from this solitary Being, Or from like wanderer, haply have received [15]

(A thing more precious far than all that books Or the solicitudes of love can do!) That first mild touch of sympathy and thought, 115 In which they found their kindred with a world Where want and sorrow were. The easy man Who sits at his own door,--and, like the pear That [16] overhangs his head from the green wall, Feeds in the sunshine; the robust and young, 120 The prosperous and unthinking, they who live Sheltered, and flourish in a little grove Of their own kindred;--all behold in him A silent monitor, which on their minds Must needs impress a transitory thought 125 Of self-congratulation, to the heart Of each recalling his peculiar boons, His charters and exemptions; and, perchance, Though he to no one give the fort.i.tude And circ.u.mspection needful to preserve 130 His present blessings, and to husband up The respite of the season, he, at least, And 'tis no vulgar service, makes them felt.

Yet further.--Many, I believe, there are Who live a life of virtuous decency, 135 Men who can hear the Decalogue and feel No self-reproach; who of the moral law Established in the land where they abide Are strict observers; and not negligent In acts of love to those with whom they dwell, [17] 140 Their kindred, and the children of their blood.

Praise be to such, and to their slumbers peace!

--But of the poor man ask, the abject poor; Go, and demand of him, if there be here In this cold abstinence from evil deeds, 145 And these inevitable charities, Wherewith to satisfy the human soul?

No--man is dear to man; the poorest poor Long for some moments in a weary life When they can know and feel that they have been, 150 Themselves, the fathers and the dealers-out Of some small blessings; have been kind to such As needed kindness, for this single cause, That we have all of us one human heart.

--Such pleasure is to one kind Being known, 155 My neighbour, when with punctual care, each week Duly as Friday comes, though pressed herself By her own wants, she from her store [18] of meal Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip Of this old Mendicant, and, from her door 160 Returning with exhilarated heart, Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in heaven.

Then let him pa.s.s, a blessing on his head!

And while in that vast solitude to which The tide of things has borne [19] him, he appears 165 To breathe and live but for himself alone, Unblamed, uninjured, let him bear about The good which the benignant law of Heaven Has hung around him: and, while life is his, Still let him prompt the unlettered villagers 170 To tender offices and pensive thoughts. [D]

--Then let him pa.s.s, a blessing on his head!

And, long as he can wander, let him breathe The freshness of the valleys; let his blood Struggle with frosty air and winter snows; 175 And let the chartered wind that sweeps the heath Beat his grey locks against his withered face.

Reverence the hope whose vital anxiousness Gives the last human interest to his heart.

May never HOUSE, misnamed of INDUSTRY, 180 Make him a captive!--for that pent-up din, Those life-consuming sounds that clog the air, Be his the natural silence of old age!

Let him be free of mountain solitudes; And have around him, whether heard or not, 185 The pleasant melody of woodland birds.

Few are his pleasures: if his eyes have now Been doomed so long to settle upon earth That not without some effort they behold The countenance of the horizontal sun, [20] 190 Rising or setting, let the light at least Find a free entrance to their languid orbs.

And let him, _where_ and _when_ he will, sit down Beneath the trees, or on a [21] gra.s.sy bank Of highway side, and with the little birds 195 Share his chance-gathered meal; and, finally, As in the eye of Nature he has lived, So in the eye of Nature let him die! [E]

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1805.

... eat ... 1800.]

[Variant 2:

1837.

The sauntering horseman-traveller does not throw With careless hand ... 1800.]

[Variant 3:

1827.

Towards the aged Beggar turns a look, 1800.]

[Variant 4:

1827.

... and, if perchance 1800.]

[Variant 5:

1800.

... and, evermore, Instead of Nature's fair variety,]

Her ample scope of hill and dale, of clouds And the blue sky, the same short span of earth Is all his prospect. When the little birds Flit over him, if their quick shadows strike Across his path, he does not lift his head Like one whose thoughts have been unsettled. So Brow-bent, his eyes for ever ... MS.]

[Variant 6:

1827.

And never ... 1800.]

[Variant 7:

1800.

... his slow footsteps scarce MS.]

[Variant 8:

1800.

... that the miller's dog Is tired of barking at him. MS.]

[Variant 9:

1837.

... have ... 1800.]

[Variant 10:

1837.

... and ... 1800.]