The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth Volume Iii Part 55

Enough of humble arguments; recal, My Song! those high emotions which thy voice Has heretofore made known; that bursting forth Of sympathy, inspiring and inspired, When everywhere a vital pulse was felt, 480 And all the several frames of things, like stars, Through every magnitude distinguishable, Shone mutually indebted, or half lost Each in the other's blaze, a galaxy Of life and glory. In the midst stood Man, 485 Outwardly, inwardly contemplated, As, of all visible natures, crown, though born Of dust, and kindred to the worm; a Being, Both in perception and discernment, first In every capability of rapture, 490 Through the divine effect of power and love; As, more than anything we know, instinct With G.o.dhead, and, by reason and by will, Acknowledging dependency sublime.

Ere long, the lonely mountains left, I moved, 495 Begirt, from day to day, with temporal shapes Of vice and folly thrust upon my view, Objects of sport, and ridicule, and scorn, Manners and characters discriminate, And little bustling pa.s.sions that eclipse, 500 As well they might, the impersonated thought, The idea, or abstraction of the kind.

An idler among academic bowers, Such was my new condition, as at large Has been set forth; [n] yet here the vulgar light 505 Of present, actual, superficial life, Gleaming through colouring of other times, Old usages and local privilege, Was welcome, softened, if not solemnised.

This notwithstanding, being brought more near 510 To vice and guilt, forerunning wretchedness I trembled,--thought, at times, of human life With an indefinite terror and dismay, Such as the storms and angry elements Had bred in me; but gloomier far, a dim 515 a.n.a.logy to uproar and misrule, Disquiet, danger, and obscurity.

It might be told (but wherefore speak of things Common to all?) that, seeing, I was led Gravely to ponder--judging between good 520 And evil, not as for the mind's delight But for her guidance--one who was to _act_, As sometimes to the best of feeble means I did, by human sympathy impelled: And, through dislike and most offensive pain, 525 Was to the truth conducted; of this faith Never forsaken, that, by acting well, And understanding, I should learn to love The end of life, and every thing we know.

Grave Teacher, stern Preceptress! for at times 530 Thou canst put on an aspect most severe; London, to thee I willingly return.

Erewhile my verse played idly with the flowers Enwrought upon thy mantle; satisfied With that amus.e.m.e.nt, and a simple look 535 Of child-like inquisition now and then Cast upwards on thy countenance, to detect Some inner meanings which might harbour there.

But how could I in mood so light indulge, Keeping such fresh remembrance of the day, 540 When, having thridded the long labyrinth Of the suburban villages, I first Entered thy vast dominion? [o] On the roof Of an itinerant vehicle I sate, With vulgar men about me, trivial forms 545 Of houses, pavement, streets, of men and things,-- Mean shapes on every side: but, at the instant, When to myself it fairly might be said, The threshold now is overpast, (how strange That aught external to the living mind 550 Should have such mighty sway! yet so it was), A weight of ages did at once descend Upon my heart; no thought embodied, no Distinct remembrances, but weight and power,-- Power growing under weight: alas! I feel 555 That I am trifling: 'twas a moment's pause,-- All that took place within me came and went As in a moment; yet with Time it dwells, And grateful memory, as a thing divine.

The curious traveller, who, from open day, 560 Hath pa.s.sed with torches into some huge cave, The Grotto of Antiparos, [p] or the Den In old time haunted by that Danish Witch, Yordas; [q] he looks around and sees the vault Widening on all sides; sees, or thinks he sees, 565 Erelong, the ma.s.sy roof above his head, That instantly unsettles and recedes,-- Substance and shadow, light and darkness, all Commingled, making up a canopy Of shapes and forms and tendencies to shape 570 That shift and vanish, change and interchange Like spectres,--ferment silent and sublime!

That after a short s.p.a.ce works less and less, Till, every effort, every motion gone, The scene before him stands in perfect view 575 Exposed, and lifeless as a written book!-- But let him pause awhile, and look again, And a new quickening shall succeed, at first Beginning timidly, then creeping fast, Till the whole cave, so late a senseless ma.s.s, 580 Busies the eye with images and forms Boldly a.s.sembled,--here is shadowed forth From the projections, wrinkles, cavities, A variegated landscape,--there the shape Of some gigantic warrior clad in mail, 585 The ghostly semblance of a hooded monk.

Veiled nun, or pilgrim resting on his staff: Strange congregation! yet not slow to meet Eyes that perceive through minds that can inspire.

Even in such sort had I at first been moved, 590 Nor otherwise continued to be moved, As I explored the vast metropolis, Fount of my country's destiny and the world's; That great emporium, chronicle at once And burial-place of pa.s.sions, and their home 595 Imperial, their chief living residence.

With strong sensations teeming as it did Of past and present, such a place must needs Have pleased me, seeking knowledge at that time Far less than craving power; yet knowledge came, 600 Sought or unsought, and influxes of power Came, of themselves, or at her call derived In fits of kindliest apprehensiveness, From all sides, when whate'er was in itself Capacious found, or seemed to find, in me 605 A correspondent amplitude of mind; Such is the strength and glory of our youth!

The human nature unto which I felt That I belonged, and reverenced with love, Was not a punctual presence, but a spirit 610 Diffused through time and s.p.a.ce, with aid derived Of evidence from monuments, erect, Prostrate, or leaning towards their common rest In earth, the widely scattered wreck sublime Of vanished nations, or more clearly drawn 615 From books and what they picture and record.

'Tis true, the history of our native land, With those of Greece compared and popular Rome, And in our high-wrought modern narratives Stript of their harmonising soul, the life 620 Of manners and familiar incidents, Had never much delighted me. And less Than other intellects had mine been used To lean upon extrinsic circ.u.mstance Of record or tradition; but a sense 625 Of what in the Great City had been done And suffered, and was doing, suffering, still, Weighed with me, could support the test of thought; And, in despite of all that had gone by, Or was departing never to return, 630 There I conversed with majesty and power Like independent natures. Hence the place Was thronged with impregnations like the Wilds In which my early feelings had been nursed-- Bare hills and valleys, full of caverns, rocks, 635 And audible seclusions, dashing lakes, Echoes and waterfalls, and pointed crags That into music touch the pa.s.sing wind.

Here then my young imagination found No uncongenial element; could here 640 Among new objects serve or give command, Even as the heart's occasions might require, To forward reason's else too scrupulous march.

The effect was, still more elevated views Of human nature. Neither vice nor guilt, 645 Debas.e.m.e.nt undergone by body or mind, Nor all the misery forced upon my sight, Misery not lightly pa.s.sed, but sometimes scanned Most feelingly, could overthrow my trust In what we _may_ become; induce belief 650 That I was ignorant, had been falsely taught, A solitary, who with vain conceits Had been inspired, and walked about in dreams.

From those sad scenes when meditation turned, Lo! every thing that was indeed divine 655 Retained its purity inviolate, Nay brighter shone, by this portentous gloom Set off; such opposition as aroused The mind of Adam, yet in Paradise Though fallen from bliss, when in the East he saw 660 [r] Darkness ere day's mid course, and morning light More orient in the western cloud, that drew O'er the blue firmament a radiant white, Descending slow with something heavenly fraught.

Add also, that among the mult.i.tudes 665 Of that huge city, oftentimes was seen Affectingly set forth, more than elsewhere Is possible, the unity of man, One spirit over ignorance and vice Predominant, in good and evil hearts; 670 One sense for moral judgments, as one eye For the sun's light. The soul when smitten thus By a sublime _idea_, whencesoe'er Vouchsafed for union or communion, feeds On the pure bliss, and takes her rest with G.o.d. 675 Thus from a very early age, O Friend!

My thoughts by slow gradations had been drawn To human-kind, and to the good and ill Of human life: Nature had led me on; And oft amid the "busy hum" I seemed [s] 680 To travel independent of her help, As if I had forgotten her; but no, The world of human-kind outweighed not hers In my habitual thoughts; the scale of love, Though filling daily, still was light, compared 685 With that in which _her_ mighty objects lay.

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

... which ...

MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont, 1805.]

[Variant 2:

Is yon a.s.sembled in the gay green field?

MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont, 1805.]

[Variant 3:

... family of men, Twice twenty with their children and their wives, And here and there a stranger interspersed.

Such show, on this side now, ...

MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805.]

[Variant 4:

Sees annually; if storms be not abroad And mists have left him ...

MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805.]

[Variant 5:

It is a summer Festival, a Fair, The only one which that secluded Glen Has to be proud of ...

MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805.]

[Variant 6:

... heat of noon, Behold! the cattle are driven down, the sheep That have for this day's traffic been call'd out

MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805.]

[Variant 7:

... visitant!

The showman with his freight upon his back, And once, perchance, in lapse of many years

MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805.]

[Variant 8:

But one is here, ...

MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805.]

[Variant 9:

... orchard, apples, pears, (On this day only to such office stooping) She carries in her basket and walks round

MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805.]