part 780

Offering a sunny resting-place to them[591] Who seek the House of worship, while the bells Yet ring with all their voices, or before The last hath ceased its solitary knoll. Beneath the shade we all sate down;[592] and there 785 His office, uninvited, he resumed.

"As on a sunny bank, a tender lamb Lurks in safe shelter from the winds of March, Screened by its parent, so that little mound Lies guarded by its neighbour; the small heap 790 Speaks for itself; an Infant there doth rest; The sheltering hillock is the Mother's grave.[HY] If mild discourse, and manners that conferred A natural dignity on humblest rank; If gladsome spirits, and benignant looks, 795 That for a face not beautiful did more Than beauty for the fairest face can do; And if religious tenderness of heart, Grieving for sin, and penitential tears Shed when the clouds had gathered and distained 800 The spotless ether of a maiden life; If these may make a hallowed spot of earth More holy in the sight of God or Man; Then, o'er that mould,[593] a sanctity shall brood Till the stars sicken at the day of doom. 805

"Ah! what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could[594] any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed;[HZ] render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod! 810 There, by her innocent Baby's precious grave, And on the very turf[595] that roofs her own, The Mother oft was seen to stand, or kneel In the broad day, a weeping Magdalene.[596] Now she is not; the swelling turf reports 815 Of the fresh shower, but of poor Ellen's tears Is silent; nor is any vestige left Of the path worn by mournful tread of her Who, at her heart's light bidding, once had moved In virgin fearlessness, with step that seemed[597] 820 Caught from the pressure of elastic turf Upon the mountains gemmed[598] with morning dew, In the prime hour of sweetest scents and airs. --Serious and thoughtful was her mind; and yet, By reconcilement exquisite and rare, 825 The form, port, motions, of this Cottage-girl Were such as might have quickened and inspired A Titian's hand, addrest to picture forth Oread or Dryad glancing through the shade What time the hunter's earliest horn is heard 830 Startling the golden hills. "A wide-spread elm Stands in our valley, named THE JOYFUL TREE;[599] From dateless usage which our peasants hold Of giving welcome to the first of May By dances round its trunk.--And if the sky 835 Permit, like honours, dance and song, are paid To the Twelfth Night, beneath the frosty stars Or the clear moon. The queen of these gay sports, If not in beauty yet in sprightly air, Was hapless Ellen.--No one touched the ground 840 So deftly, and the nicest maiden's locks Less gracefully were braided;--but this praise, Methinks, would better suit another place.

"She loved, and fondly deemed herself beloved. --The road is dim, the current unperceived, 845 The weakness painful and most pitiful, By which a virtuous woman, in pure youth, May be delivered to distress and shame. Such fate was hers.--The last time Ellen danced, Among her equals, round THE JOYFUL TREE, 850 She bore a secret burthen; and full soon Was left to tremble for a breaking vow,-- Then, to bewail a sternly-broken vow, Alone, within her widowed Mother's house. It was the season of unfolding leaves, 855 Of days advancing toward their utmost length, And small birds singing happily to mates Happy as they. With spirit-saddening power Winds pipe through fading woods; but those blithe notes[600] Strike the deserted to the heart; I speak 860 Of what I know, and what we feel within. --Beside the cottage in which Ellen dwelt Stands a tall ash-tree; to whose topmost twig A thrush resorts, and annually chants, At morn and evening from that naked perch, 865 While all the undergrove is thick with leaves, A time-beguiling ditty, for delight Of his fond partner, silent in the nest. --'Ah why,' said Ellen, sighing to herself, 'Why do not words, and kiss, and solemn pledge; 870 And nature that is kind in woman's breast, And reason that in man is wise and good, And fear of him who is a righteous judge; Why do not these prevail for human life, To keep two hearts together, that began 875 Their spring-time with one love, and that have need Of mutual pity and forgiveness, sweet To grant, or be received; while that poor bird-- O come and hear him! Thou who hast to me Been faithless, hear him, though a lowly creature, One of God's simple children that yet know not 881 The universal Parent, how he sings As if he wished the firmament of heaven Should listen, and give back to him the voice Of his triumphant constancy and love; 885 The proclamation that he makes, how far His darkness doth transcend our fickle light!'

"Such was the tender passage, not by me Repeated without loss of simple phrase, Which I perused, even as the words had been 890 Committed by forsaken Ellen's hand To the blank margin of a Valentine, Bedropped with tears. 'Twill please you to be told That, studiously withdrawing from the eye Of all companionship, the Sufferer yet 895 In lonely reading found a meek resource: How thankful for the warmth of summer days, When she could slip into the cottage-barn, And find a secret oratory there; Or, in the garden, under friendly veil 900 Of their long twilight, pore upon her book[601] By the last lingering help of the open sky Until dark night[602] dismissed her to her bed! Thus did a waking fancy sometimes lose The unconquerable pang of despised love.[IA] 905

"A kindlier passion opened[603] on her soul When that poor Child was born. Upon its face She gazed[604] as on a pure and spotless gift Of unexpected promise, where a grief Or dread was all that had been thought of,--joy 910 Far livelier than bewildered traveller feels, Amid a perilous waste that all night long Hath harassed him toiling through fearful storm,[605] When he beholds the first pale speck serene Of day-spring, in the gloomy east, revealed, 915 And greets it with thanksgiving. 'Till this hour,' Thus, in her Mother's hearing Ellen spake, 'There was a stony region in my heart; 'But He, at whose command the parched rock 'Was smitten, and poured forth a quenching stream, 'Hath softened that obduracy, and made 921 'Unlooked-for gladness in the desert place, 'To save the perishing; and, henceforth, I breathe 'The air with cheerful spirit, for thy sake[606] 'My Infant! and for that good Mother dear, 925 'Who bore me; and hath prayed for me in vain;-- 'Yet not in vain; it shall not be in vain.' She spake, nor was the assurance unfulfilled; And if heart-rending thoughts would oft return, They stayed not long.--The blameless Infant grew; The Child whom Ellen and her Mother loved 931 They soon were proud of; tended it and nursed; A soothing comforter, although forlorn; Like a poor singing-bird from distant lands; Or a choice shrub, which he, who passes by 935 With vacant mind, not seldom may observe Fair-flowering in a thinly-peopled house, Whose window, somewhat sadly, it adorns.

"Through four months' space the Infant drew its food From the maternal breast; then scruples rose; 940 Thoughts, which the rich are free from, came and crossed The fond affection.[607] She no more could bear By her offence to lay a two-fold weight On a kind parent willing to forget Their slender means: so, to that parent's care 945 Trusting her child, she left their common home, And undertook with dutiful content[608] A Foster-mother's office. "'Tis, perchance, Unknown to you that in these simple vales The natural feeling of equality 950 Is by domestic service unimpaired;[IB] Yet, though such service be, with us, removed From sense of degradation, not the less The ungentle mind can easily find means To impose severe restraints and laws unjust, 955 Which hapless Ellen now was doomed to feel: For (blinded by an over-anxious dread Of such excitement and divided thought[609] As with her office would but ill accord)[610] The pair, whose infant she was bound to nurse, 960 Forbad her all communion with her own: Week after week, the mandate they enforced.[611] --So near! yet not allowed, upon that sight To fix her eyes-alas! 'twas hard to bear! But worse affliction must be borne--far worse; 965 For 'tis Heaven's will--that, after a disease Begun and ended within three days' space, Her child should die; as Ellen now exclaimed, Her own--deserted child!--Once, only once, She saw it in that mortal malady; 970 And, on the burial-day, could scarcely gain Permission to attend its obsequies. She reached the house, last of the funeral train; And some one, as she entered, having chanced To urge unthinkingly their prompt departure, 975 'Nay,' said she, with commanding look, a spirit Of anger never seen in her before, 'Nay, ye must wait my time!' and down she sate, And by the unclosed coffin kept her seat Weeping and looking, looking on and weeping, 980 Upon the last sweet slumber of her Child, Until at length her soul was satisfied.

"You see the Infant's Grave; and to this spot, The Mother, oft as she was sent abroad, On whatsoever errand, urged her steps: 985 Hither she came; here stood, and sometimes knelt[612] In the broad day, a rueful Magdalene! So call her; for not only she bewailed A mother's loss, but mourned in bitterness Her own transgression; penitent sincere 990 As ever raised to heaven a streaming eye! --At length the parents of the foster-child, Noting that in despite of their commands She still renewed and could not but renew Those visitations, ceased to send her forth; 995 Or, to the garden's narrow bounds, confined. I failed not to remind them that they erred; For holy Nature might not thus be crossed, Thus wronged in woman's breast: in vain I pleaded-- But the green stalk of Ellen's life was snapped, 1000 And the flower drooped; as every eye could see, It hung its head in mortal languishment. --Aided by this appearance, I at length Prevailed; and, from those bonds released, she went Home to her mother's house. "The Youth was fled; 1005 The rash betrayer could not face the shame Or sorrow which his senseless guilt had caused; And little would his presence, or proof given Of a relenting soul, have now availed; For, like a shadow, he was passed away 1010 From Ellen's thoughts; had perished to her mind For all concerns of fear, or hope, or love, Save only those which to their common shame, And to his moral being appertained: Hope from that quarter would, I know, have brought 1015 A heavenly comfort; there she recognised An unrelaxing bond, a mutual need; There, and, as seemed, there only. "She had built,[613] Her fond maternal heart had built, a nest In blindness all too near the river's edge; 1020 That work a summer flood with hasty swell Had swept away; and now her Spirit longed For its last flight to heaven's security. --The bodily frame wasted from day to day;[614] Meanwhile, relinquishing all other cares, 1025 Her mind she strictly tutored to find peace And pleasure in endurance. Much she thought, And much she read; and brooded feelingly Upon her own unworthiness. To me, As to a spiritual comforter and friend, 1030 Her heart she opened; and no pains were spared To mitigate, as gently as I could, The sting of self-reproach, with healing words. Meek Saint! through patience glorified on earth! In whom, as by her lonely hearth she sate, 1035 The ghastly face of cold decay put on A sun-like beauty, and appeared divine! May I not mention--that, within those[615] walls, In due observance of her pious wish, The congregation joined with me in prayer 1040 For her soul's good? Nor was that office vain. --Much did she suffer: but, if any friend, Beholding her condition, at the sight Gave way to words of pity or complaint, She stilled them with a prompt reproof, and said, 1045 'He who afflicts me knows what I can bear; 'And, when I fail, and can endure no more, 'Will mercifully take me to himself.' So, through the cloud of death, her Spirit passed Into that pure and unknown world of love 1050 Where injury cannot come:--and here is laid The mortal Body by her Infant's side."

The Vicar ceased; and downcast looks made known That each had listened with his inmost heart. For me, the emotion scarcely was less strong 1055 Or less benign than that which I had felt When seated near my venerable Friend, Under[616] those shady elms, from him I heard The story that retraced the slow decline Of Margaret, sinking on the lonely heath 1060 With the neglected house to which she clung.[617] --I noted that the Solitary's cheek Confessed the power of nature.--Pleased though sad, More pleased than sad, the grey-haired Wanderer sate; Thanks to his pure imaginative soul 1065 Capacious and serene; his blameless life, His knowledge, wisdom, love of truth, and love Of human kind! He was it who first broke The pensive silence, saying:-- "Blest are they Whose sorrow rather is to suffer wrong 1070 Than to do wrong, albeit[618] themselves have erred. This tale gives proof that Heaven most gently deals With such, in their affliction.--Ellen's fate, Her tender spirit, and her contrite heart, Call to my mind dark hints which I have heard 1075 Of one who died within this vale, by doom Heavier, as his offence was heavier far. Where, Sir, I pray you, where are laid the bones Of Wilfred Armathwaite?" The Vicar answered, "In that green nook, close by the Church-yard wall, 1080 Beneath yon hawthorn, planted by myself In memory and for warning, and in sign Of sweetness where dire anguish had been known, Of reconcilement after deep offence-- There doth he rest. No theme his fate supplies 1085 For the smooth glozings of the indulgent world; Nor need the windings of his devious course Be here retraced;--enough that, by mishap And venial error, robbed of competence, And her[619] obsequious shadow, peace of mind, 1090 He craved a substitute in troubled joy; Against his conscience rose in arms, and, braving Divine displeasure, broke the marriage-vow.[620] That which he had been weak enough to do Was misery in remembrance; he was stung, 1095 Stung by his inward thoughts, and by the smiles Of wife and children stung to agony. Wretched at home, he gained no peace abroad; Ranged through the mountains, slept upon the earth, Asked comfort of the open air, and found 1100 No quiet in the darkness of the night, No pleasure in the beauty of the day. His flock he slighted: his paternal fields Became a clog to him, whose spirit wished To fly--but whither! And this gracious Church, 1105 That wears a look so full of peace and hope And love, benignant mother of the vale, How fair amid her brood of cottages! She was to him a sickness and reproach. Much to the last remained unknown: but this 1110 Is sure, that through remorse and grief he died; Though pitied among men, absolved by God, He could not find forgiveness in himself; Nor could endure the weight of his own shame.

"Here rests a Mother. But from her I turn 1115 And from her grave.--Behold--upon that ridge, That,[621] stretching boldly from the mountain side, Carries into the centre of the vale Its rocks and woods--the Cottage where she dwelt; And where yet dwells her faithful Partner, left 1120 (Full eight years past) the solitary prop Of many helpless Children. I begin With words that[622] might be prelude to a tale Of sorrow and dejection; but I feel No sadness, when I think of what mine eyes 1125 See daily in that happy family. --Bright garland form they for the pensive brow Of their undrooping Father's widowhood, Those six fair Daughters, budding yet--not one, Not one of all the band, a full-blown flower. 1130 Deprest, and desolate of soul, as once That Father was, and filled with anxious fear, Now, by experience taught, he stands assured, That God, who takes away, yet takes not half Of what he seems to take; or gives it back, 1135 Not to our prayer, but far beyond our prayer; He gives it--the boon produce of a soil Which our endeavours have refused to till, And hope hath never watered. The Abode, Whose grateful owner can attest these truths, 1140 Even were the object nearer to our sight, Would seem in no distinction to surpass The rudest habitations. Ye might think That it had sprung self-raised from earth, or grown Out of the living rock, to be adorned 1145 By nature only; but, if thither led, Ye would discover, then, a studious work Of many fancies, prompting many hands.

"Brought from the woods the honeysuckle twines Around the porch, and seems, in that trim place, 1150 A plant no longer wild; the cultured rose There blossoms, strong in health, and will be soon Roof-high; the wild pink crowns the garden-wall, And with the flowers are intermingled stones Sparry and bright, rough scatterings[623] of the hills. 1155 These ornaments, that fade not with the year, A hardy Girl continues to provide; Who, mounting fearlessly the rocky heights, Her Father's prompt attendant, does for him All that a boy could do, but with delight 1160 More keen and prouder daring; yet hath she, Within the garden, like the rest, a bed For her own flowers and favourite herbs, a space, By sacred charter, holden for her use. --These, and whatever else the garden bears 1165 Of fruit or flower, permission asked or not, I freely gather; and my leisure draws A not unfrequent pastime from the hum Of bees around their range of sheltered hives Busy in that enclosure; while the rill,[624] 1170 That sparkling thrids the rocks, attunes his voice To the pure course of human life which there Flows on in solitude. But, when the gloom Of night is falling round my steps, then most This Dwelling charms me; often I stop short,[625] 1175 (Who could refrain?) and feed by stealth my sight With prospect of the company within, Laid open through the blazing window:--there I see the eldest Daughter at her wheel Spinning amain, as if to overtake 1180 The never-halting time; or, in her turn, Teaching some Novice of the sisterhood That skill in this or other household work, Which, from her Father's honoured hand, herself, While she was yet a little-one, had learned. 1185 Mild Man! he is not gay, but they are gay; And the whole house seems filled with gaiety. --Thrice happy, then, the Mother may be deemed, The Wife, from whose consolatory grave[626] I turned, that ye in mind might witness where, 1190 And how, her Spirit yet survives on earth!"

_Book Sixth, continued in Editions of 1814 and 1820 only_

"The next three Ridges--those upon the left-- By close connexion with our present thoughts Tempt me to add, in praise of humble worth, Their brief and unobtrusive history. 1195 --One Hillock, ye may note, is small and low, Sunk almost to a level with the plain By weight of time; the Others, undepressed, Are bold and swelling. There a Husband sleeps, Deposited, in pious confidence 1200 Of glorious resurrection with the just, Near the loved Partner of his early days; And, in the bosom of that family mold, A second Wife is gathered to his side; The approved Assistant of an arduous course 1205 From his mid noon of manhood to old age! He also of his Mate deprived, was left Alone--'mid many Children; One a Babe Orphaned as soon as born. Alas! 'tis not In course of nature that a Father's wing 1210 Should warm these Little-ones; and can he _feed_? That was a thought of agony more keen. For, hand in hand with Death, by strange mishap And chance-encounter on their diverse road, The ghastlier shape of Poverty had entered 1215 Into that House, unfeared and unforeseen. He had stepped forth, in time of urgent need, The generous Surety of a Friend: and now The widowed Father found that all his rights In his paternal fields were undermined. 1220 Landless he was and pennyless.--The dews Of night and morn that wet the mountain sides, The bright stars twinkling on their dusky tops, Were conscious of the pain that drove him forth From his own door, he knew not when--to range 1225 He knew not where; distracted was his brain, His heart was cloven; and full oft he prayed, In blind despair, that God would take them all. --But suddenly, as if in one kind moment To encourage and reprove, a gleam of light 1230 Broke from the very bosom of that cloud Which darkened the whole prospect of his days. For He, who now possessed the joyless right To force the Bondsman from his house and lands, In pity, and by admiration urged 1235 Of his unmurmuring and considerate mind Meekly submissive to the law's decree, Lightened the penalty with liberal hand. --The desolate Father raised his head, and looked On the wide world in hope. Within these walls, 1240 In course of time was solemnized the vow Whereby a virtuous Woman, of grave years And of prudential habits, undertook The sacred office of a wife to him, Of Mother to his helpless family. 1245 --Nor did she fail, in nothing did she fail, Through various exercise of twice ten years, Save in some partial fondness for that Child Which at the birth she had received, the Babe Whose heart had known no Mother but herself. 1250 --By mutual efforts; by united hopes; By daily-growing help of boy and girl, Trained early to participate that zeal Of industry, which runs before the day And lingers after it; by strong restraint 1255 Of an economy which did not check The heart's more generous motions tow'rds themselves Or to their neighbours; and by trust in God; This Pair insensibly subdued the fears And troubles that beset their life: and thus 1260 Did the good Father and his second Mate Redeem at length their plot of smiling fields. These, at this day, the eldest Son retains: The younger Offspring, through the busy world, Have all been scattered wide, by various fates; 1265 But each departed from the native Vale, In beauty flourishing, and moral worth."

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 510: 1827.

_Second Marriage of a Widower prudential and happy._ 1814. ]

[Footnote 511: 1832.

... as long as sea ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 512: 1827.

... of English Hearts, That can perceive, not less than heretofore Our Ancestors did feelingly perceive, 1814. ]

[Footnote 513: 1836.

... their minds 1814. ]

[Footnote 514: 1827.

... ambition's ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 515: 1827.

And ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 516: 1845.

Of reverence to the spirit of the place; 1814. ]

[Footnote 517: 1827.

A Visitor--intent upon the task Of prying, low and high, for herbs and flowers: 1814. ]

[Footnote 518: 1836.

... that he was crazed in brain By unrequited love; and scaled the rocks, 1814. ]

[Footnote 519: 1836.

"Believe it not--oh! never could that be!" 1814. ]

[Footnote 520: 1827.

... and pined When he had told his love, and sued in vain, 1814. ]

[Footnote 521: 1827.

... Beauty wears, _That_ he could brook, ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 522: 1827.

... but the Maid was gone! She, whose dear name with unregarded sighs He long had blessed, whose Image was preserved-- Shrined in his breast with fond idolatry, Had vanished ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 523: 1845.

... as misery is mine!' 1814. ]

[Footnote 524:

... seek for truth MS. ]

[Footnote 525: 1827.

... circumspect and slow. Of rustic Parents bred, He had been trained, (So prompted their aspiring wish) to skill In numbers and the sedentary art Of penmanship,--with pride professed, and taught By his endeavours in the mountain dales. Now, those sad tidings weighing on his heart, To books, and papers, and the studious desk, He stoutly re-addressed himself--resolved To quell his pain, and enter on the path Of old pursuits with keener appetite And closer industry. Of what ensued Within his soul, ... 1814.

Within his heart ... MS. ]

[Footnote 526: 1836.

Within their souls, a fount of grace divine; 1814. ]

[Footnote 527: 1827.

... which ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 528: 1832.

Will cover him; in height of strength--to earth 1814. ]

[Footnote 529: 1827.

Some farewell words; and, with those words, a prayer 1814. ]

[Footnote 530: 1827.

A Book, upon the surface of whose leaves Some chosen plants, disposed with nicest care, 1814. ]

[Footnote 531: 1827.

One whose Endeavours did at length achieve A victory less worthy of regard, Though marvellous in its kind. A Place exists 1814. ]

[Footnote 532: 1836.

In search of treasure there by Nature formed, And there concealed: but they who tried were foiled, 1814.

... to unite their pains In search of precious ore: who tried were foiled, 1827. ]

[Footnote 533: 1827.

... save he alone; Who ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 534: 1827.

... to the view Of the Old Man, and to his trembling grasp, His bright, his long-deferred, his dear reward. 1814.

... his long deferred reward. MS. ]

[Footnote 535: 1836.

Of schemes and wishes; in the day-light walked 1814. ]

[Footnote 536: 1827.

... which ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 537: 1840.

... more light than He; 1814. ]

[Footnote 538: 1827.

Amid these wilds; a composition framed Of qualities so adverse--to diffuse, Where'er he moved, diversified delight; A simple answer may suffice, even this, 'Twas Nature's will; ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 539: 1827.

And the Owl's Prey; none permanently house But many harbour; from these Haunts, to which 1814. ]

[Footnote 540: 1827.

... sunk ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 541: 1832.

Not ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 542: 1827.

--Truths I record to many known, for such The not unfrequent tenor of his boast 1814. ]

[Footnote 543: 1836.

... of different kind: 1814. ]

[Footnote 544: 1836.

... with those who sleep." 1814.

... with them who sleep." 1827. ]

[Footnote 545: 1827.

... who ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 546: 1827.

... He could not pine, Whencee'er rejected howsoe'er forlorn, Through lack of converse, ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 547: 1845.

Even by this ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 548: 1836.

Under ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 549: 1836.

... beneath a _borrowed_ name, 1814. ]

[Footnote 550: 1827.

Which ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 551: 1836.

... these ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 552: 1845.

Such change towards ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 553: 1827.

... which should stand For public use; and also might survive 1814. ]

[Footnote 554: 1827.

... as might seem, Than suits this Place; ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 555: Italics were first used in 1827.]

[Footnote 556: 1845.

... of Prometheus chained? The Vulture-- ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 557: 1836.

... beneath ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 558: 1827.

Beyond the limits of these humble graves, Of strange disasters; ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 559: 1827.

For, though from these materials might be framed Harsh portraiture, in which a vulgar face 1814. ]

[Footnote 560: 1820.

... may at once 1814. ]

[Footnote 561: 1836.

... records ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 562: 1836.

Depository ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 563: 1836.

Than fondest Epitaphs: for, if it fail, 1814.

Than fondest epitaphs: for, if that fail, 1827. ]

[Footnote 564: 1827.

... which ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 565: 1832.

That 'twas ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 566: 1836.

... will I single out ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 567: 1827.

Than the ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 568: 1827.

Or in ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 569: This line was first inserted in 1845.]

[Footnote 570: 1845.

While ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 571: 1827.

And saturnine; her port erect, her head Not absolutely raised, as if to hold 1814. ]

[Footnote 572: 1827.

... yet rather framed 1814. ]

[Footnote 573: 1832.

... as sovereign Queen Among her Play-mates; ... 1814.

... as sovereign queen 'Mid her companions; ... 1827. ]

[Footnote 574: 1827.

... else their simple sports Had wanted power to occupy a mind Held in subjection by a strong controul Of studious application, self-imposed. Books were her creditors; to them she paid, With pleasing, anxious eagerness, the hours Which they exacted; were it time allowed, Or seized upon by stealth, or fairly won, By stretch of industry, from other tasks. 1814. ]

[Footnote 575: 1827.

... them 1814. ]

[Footnote 576: 1827.

... or efface 1814. ]

[Footnote 577: 1832.

... or impaired. 1814. ]

[Footnote 578: 1836.

... unrelenting ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 579:

... the hand Grew slack in alms-giving, the heart itself MS. ]

[Footnote 580: 1827.

... Ah! there she felt, Indignantly, the weakness of her sex, The injustice of her low estate.--She mused; Resolved, adhered to her resolve; her heart Closed by degrees to charity; and, thence Expecting not Heaven's blessing, placed her trust 1814. ]

[Footnote 581: 1836.

In ceaseless pains and parsimonious care, Which got, and sternly hoarded each day's gain. 1814. ]

[Footnote 582:

Yet ... MS. ]

[Footnote 583: 1836.

... pang which it deplored. 1814. ]

[Footnote 584: 1836

Down rocky mountains--buried now and lost In silent pools, unfathomably deep;-- 1814.

... and now in eddies chained,-- 1827.

... now in strong eddies chained,-- 1832. ]

[Footnote 585: 1827.

Now in a moment starting forth again With violence, and proud of its escape;-- Until it sink once more, by slow degrees, Or instantly, into as dark repose. 1814. ]

[Footnote 586: 1845.

This was the dying ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 587: 1845

... when I am gone? "Sit by my fire--possess what I possessed-- "Tend what I tended-- 1814. ]

[Footnote 588: 1827.

... too much.--Of nobler feeling Take this example.--One autumnal evening 1814. ]

[Footnote 589: 1845.

Musing ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 590: 1845.

"And safe from all our sorrows."--She is safe, And her uncharitable acts, ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 591: 1827.

The Vicar paused; and tow'rds a seat advanced, A long stone-seat, framed in the Church-yard wall; Part under shady sycamore, and part Offering a place of rest in pleasant sunshine, Even as may suit the comers old or young 1814. ]

[Footnote 592: 1836.

To this commodious resting-place he led; Where, by his side, we all sate down; 1814.

Under the shade we all sate down; ... 1827. ]

[Footnote 593: 1827.

Then, on that mold, ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 594: 1832.

... or ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 595: 1845.

Yea, doubtless, on the turf ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 596: 1814.

At prayer, a weeping Magdalene. C. ]

[Footnote 597: 1827.

Upon the pathway, of her mournful tread; Nor of that pace with which she once had moved In virgin fearlessness, a step that seemed 1814. ]

[Footnote 598: 1827.

... wet ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 599: 1827.

When first the Hunter's startling horn is heard Upon the golden hills. A spreading Elm Stands in our Valley, called THE JOYFUL TREE: An Elm distinguished by that festive name, 1814. ]

[Footnote 600: 1836.

It was the season sweet, of budding leaves, Of days advancing tow'rds their utmost length, And small birds singing to their happy mates. Wild is the music of the autumnal wind Among the faded woods; but these blithe notes 1814.

Of days advancing toward ... 1832. ]

[Footnote 601: 1827.

... of summer days, And their long twilight!--friendly to that stealth With which she slipped into the Cottage-barn, And found a secret oratory there; Or, in the garden, pored upon her book 1814. ]

[Footnote 602: 1845.

... of open sky, Till the dark night ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 603: 1814.

... kindled ... C. ]

[Footnote 604: 1845.

She looked ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 605: 1827.

Far sweeter than bewildered Traveller feels Upon a perilous waste, where all night long Through darkness he hath toiled and fearful storm, 1814. ]

[Footnote 606: 1845.

... and, henceforth, I look Upon the light with cheerfulness, for thee 1814. ]

[Footnote 607: 1836.

The sweet affection.... 1814. ]

[Footnote 608: 1845.

And with contented spirit undertook 1814. ]

[Footnote 609: 1814.

... thoughts MS. ]

[Footnote 610: 1827.

... doomed to feel. In selfish blindness, for I will not say In naked and deliberate cruelty, 1814. ]

[Footnote 611: 1827.

... with her own. They argued that such meeting would disturb The Mother's mind, distract her thoughts, and thus Unfit her for her duty--in which dread, Week after week, the mandate was enforced. 1814. ]

[Footnote 612: 1836.

And whatsoe'er the errand, urged her steps: Hither she came; and here she stood, or knelt 1814.

... here stood, and sometimes knelt 1832. ]

[Footnote 613: 1827.

... raised, 1814. ]

[Footnote 614: 1845.

--The bodily frame was wasted day by day; 1814. ]

[Footnote 615: 1827.

... these ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 616: 1845.

Beneath ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 617: 1827.

... in which she dwelt. 1814. ]

[Footnote 618: 1836.

... although ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 619:

And its ... MS. ]

[Footnote 620: 1827.

There doth he lie.--In this his native Vale He owned and tilled a little plot of land; Here, with his Consort and his Children, saw Days--that were seldom crossed by petty strife, Years--safe from large misfortune; and maintained That course which minds, of insight not too keen, Might look on with entire complacency. Yet, in himself and near him, there were faults At work to undermine his happy state By sure, though tardy progress. Active, prompt, And lively was the Housewife; in the Vale None more industrious; but her industry Ill-judged, full oft, and specious, tended more To splendid neatness; to a shewy, trim, And overlaboured purity of house; Than to substantial thrift. He, on his part, Generous and easy-minded, was not free From carelessness; and thus, in lapse of time, These joint infirmities induced decay Of worldly substance; and distress of mind, That to a thoughtful Man was hard to shun, And which he could not cure. A blooming Girl Served in the house, a Favourite that had grown Beneath his eye, encouraged by his care. Poor now in tranquil pleasure he gave way To thoughts of troubled pleasure; he became A lawless Suitor to the Maid; and she Yielded unworthily.--Unhappy Man! 1814. ]

[Footnote 621: 1827.

Which, ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 622: 1827

... which ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 623: 1827.

... the scatterings ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 624: 1845.

... from the sight Of the Bees murmuring round their sheltered hives In that Enclosure; while the mountain rill, 1814. ]

[Footnote 625: 1827.

Flows on in solitude from year to year. --But at the closing-in of night, then most This Dwelling charms me. Covered by the gloom, Then, in my walks, I oftentimes stop short, 1814. ]

[Footnote 626: 1832.

The Wife, who rests beneath that turf, from which 1814. ]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote HA: Note Wordsworth's love for the Established Church of England, and compare the Ecclesiastical Sonnets.--ED.]

[Footnote HB: See Wordsworth's note, p. 389.--ED.]

[Footnote HC: Was he thinking of Cranmer?--ED.]

[Footnote HD: "His story is here truly related. He was a schoolfellow of mine for some years. He came to us when he was at least seventeen years of age, very tall, robust, and full grown. This prevented him from falling into the amusements and games of the school; consequently, he gave more time to books. He was not remarkably bright or quick, but, by industry, he made a progress more than respectable. His parents not being wealthy enough to send him to college when he left Hawkshead, he became a schoolmaster, with a view to prepare himself for holy orders. About this time he fell in love, as related in the poem, and everything followed as there described, except that I do not know exactly when and where he died."--I. F.]

[Footnote HE: Compare, in Keble's _Christian Year_, "Forms of Prayer to be used at Sea."

Far, far away, the home-sick seaman's hoard, Thy fragrant tokens live, Like flower-leaves in a precious volume stored, To solace and relieve, etc. ED. ]

[Footnote HF: "The Miner, described as having found his treasure after twice ten years of labour, lived in Paterdale, and the story is true to the letter. It seems to me, however, rather remarkable, that the strength of mind which had supported him through his long unrewarded labour, did not enable him to bear its successful issue."--I.F.]

[Footnote HG: See _Paradise Lost_,