The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth Volume Ii Part 96

1845.

'Twas twisted betwixt nave and spoke; Her help she lent, and with good heed Together we released the Cloak; 1807.

... between ... 1840.]

[Variant 7:

1836.

A wretched, wretched rag indeed! 1807.]

[Variant 8:

1845.

She sate like one past all relief; Sob after sob she forth did send In wretchedness, as if her grief 1807.]

[Variant 9:

1836.

And then, ... 1807.]

[Variant 10:

1836.

... she'd lost ... 1807.]

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: There was no sub-t.i.tle in the edition of 1807.--Ed.]

Charles Lamb wrote to Wordsworth in 1815, referring to the revisions of this and other poems:

"I am glad that you have not sacrificed a verse to those scoundrels. I would not have had you offer up the poorest rag that lingered upon the stript shoulders of little Alice Fell, to have atoned all their malice; I would not have given 'em a red cloak to save their souls."

See 'Letters of Charles Lamb' (Ainger), vol. i. p. 283.--Ed.

BEGGARS

Composed March 13th and 14th, 1802.--Published 1807

[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. Met, and described to me by my sister, near the quarry at the head of Rydal Lake, [A] a place still a chosen resort of vagrants travelling with their families.--I.F.]

The following are Dorothy Wordsworth's references to this poem in her Grasmere Journal. They justify the remark of the late Bishop of Lincoln,

"his poems are sometimes little more than poetical versions of her descriptions of the objects which she had seen, _and he treated them as seen by himself_."

(See 'Memoirs of Wordsworth', vol. i. pp. 180-1.)

"Sat.u.r.day (March 13, 1802).--William wrote the poem of the Beggar Woman, taken from a woman whom I had seen in May (now nearly two years ago), when John and he were at Gallow Hill. I sat with him at intervals all the morning, and took down his stanzas. After tea I read W. the account I had written of the little boy belonging to the tall woman: and an unlucky thing it was, for he could not escape from those very words, and so he could not write the poem. He left it unfinished, and went tired to bed. In our walk from Rydal he had got warmed with the subject, and had half cast the poem."

"Sunday Morning (March 14).--William had slept badly. He got up at 9 o'clock, but before he rose he had finished the Beggar Boy."

The following is the "account" written in her Journal on Tuesday, May 23, 1800:

"A very tall woman, tall much beyond the measure of tall women, called at the door. She had on a very long brown cloak, and a very white cap, without bonnet. Her face was brown, but it had plainly once been fair.

She led a little barefooted child about two years old by the hand, and said her husband, who was a tinker, was gone before with the other children. I gave her a piece of bread. Afterwards, on my road to Ambleside, beside the bridge at Rydal, I saw her husband sitting at the roadside, his two a.s.ses standing beside him, and the two young children at play upon the gra.s.s. The man did not beg. I pa.s.sed on, and about a quarter of a mile farther I saw two boys before me, one about ten, the other about eight years old, at play, chasing a b.u.t.terfly.

They were wild figures, not very ragged, but without shoes and stockings. The hat of the elder was wreathed round with yellow flowers; the younger, whose hat was only a rimless crown, had stuck it round with laurel leaves. They continued at play till I drew very near, and then they addressed me with the begging cant and the whining voice of sorrow. I said, 'I served your mother this morning' (the boys were so like the woman who had called at our door that I could not be mistaken). 'O,' says the elder, 'you could not serve my mother, for she's dead, and my father's in at the next town; he's a potter.' I persisted in my a.s.sertion, and that I would give them nothing. Says the elder, 'Come, let's away,' and away they flew like lightning. They had, however, sauntered so long in their road that they did not reach Ambleside before me, and I saw them go up to Mathew Harrison's house with their wallet upon the elder's shoulder, and creeping with a beggar's complaining foot. On my return through Ambleside I met, in the street, the mother driving her a.s.ses, in the two panniers of one of which were the two little children, whom she was chiding and threatening with a wand with which she used to drive on her a.s.ses, while the little things hung in wantonness over the pannier's edge.

The woman had told me in the morning that she was of Scotland, which her accent fully proved, and that she had lived (I think at Wigtown); that they could not keep a house, and so they travelled."

This was one of the "Poems of the Imagination."--Ed.

She had a tall man's height or more; Her face from summer's noontide heat No bonnet shaded, but she wore A mantle, to her very feet Descending with a graceful flow, 5 And on her head a cap as white as new-fallen snow. [1]

Her skin was of Egyptian brown: Haughty, as if her eye had seen Its own light to a distance thrown, She towered, fit person for a Queen [2] 10 To lead [3] those ancient Amazonian files; Or ruling Bandit's wife among the Grecian isles.

Advancing, forth she stretched her hand And begged an alms with doleful plea That ceased not; on our English land 15 Such woes, I knew, could never be; [4]

And yet a boon I gave her, for the creature Was beautiful to see--a weed of glorious feature. [B]

I left her, and pursued my way; And soon before me did espy 20 A pair of little Boys at play, Chasing a crimson b.u.t.terfly; The taller followed with his hat in hand, Wreathed round with yellow flowers the gayest of the land. [5]