book iv

. l. 338 (vol. iii. p. 389).--ED.]

[Footnote AJ: Compare _Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey_ (vol. ii. p. 54), in which Wordsworth speaks of the rock, the mountain, and the wood, their colours and their forms, as an appetite, a feeling, and a love--

That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye. ED. ]

[Footnote AK: Compare the line in the sonnet on Milton (vol. ii. p. 346)--

Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart. ED. ]

[Footnote AL: In this description of the eagle's birth-place, and the peak "familiar with forgotten years," Wordsworth probably wandered in imagination from the Athole district to Westmoreland, as this part of the poem was in all likelihood written in 1801-2. He visited the Athole country, with his sister, in 1803; going up as far as Blair, and returning: but there is no peak in that district (at least none that he would see) that shows

Inscribed upon its visionary sides, The history of many a winter storm, Or obscure records of the path of fire,

as does, for example, the Stob Dearg in the Buchaile Etive Mor group in Argyll, a peak which he saw in the course of his Scottish tour in that year. --ED.]

[Footnote AM: Compare _Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey_ (vol. ii. p.54)--

The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood. Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite. ED. ]

[Footnote AN: With this description of the boy and youth, compare Coleridge's words in _The Friend_, vol. iii. p. 46 (edition of 1818)--

"We have been discoursing of infancy, childhood, boyhood, and youth, of pleasures lying upon the unfolding intellect plenteously as morning dew-drops--of knowledge inhaled insensibly like the fragrance--of dispositions stealing into the spirit like music from unknown quarters--of images uncalled for and rising up like exhalations, of hopes plucked like beautiful wild flowers from the ruined tombs that border the highways of antiquity, to make a garland for a living forehead: in a word, we have been treating of nature as a teacher of truth through joy and through gladness, and as a creatress of the faculties by a process of smoothness and delight. We have made no mention of fear, shame, sorrow, nor of ungovernable and vexing thoughts; because, although these have been and have done mighty service, they are overlooked in that stage of life when youth is passing into manhood, overlooked or forgotten."--ED.]

[Footnote AO: Enterprise. Compare the poem _To Enterprise_, which, Wordsworth says, "arose out of _The Italian Itinerant, and The Swiss Goatherd_." Compare also the latter poem, No. xxv. of the "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent" (1820).--ED.]

[Footnote AP: See Wordsworth's note, p. 383.]

[Footnote AQ: Compare the Preface to "Lyrical Ballads" (1800), in the _Prose Works_.--ED.]

[Footnote AR: Compare _Simon Lee_, ll. 5-8 (vol. i. p. 263)--

Full five-and-thirty years he lived A running huntsman merry; And still the centre of his cheek Is red as a ripe cherry.

Also the description of Margaret, p. 60 of this volume.--ED.]

[Footnote AS: Compare _Resolution and Independence_, stanza xiii. (vol. ii. p. 318).]

[Footnote AT: Compare _Julius Cæsar_, act III. scene ii. l. 81--

The good is oft interred with their bones. ED. ]

[Footnote AU: See Moschus's epitaph on Bion, 1-7--

Αἴλινά μοι στοναχεῖτε νάπαι καὶ Δώρεον ὕδωρ, καὶ ποταμοὶ κλαίοιτε τὸν ἰμερόεντα Βίωνα. νῦν φυτά μοι μύρεσθε, καὶ ἄλσεα νῦν γοάοισθε. ἄνθεα νῦν στυγνοῖσιν ἀποπνείοιτε κορύμβοις. νῦν ῥόδα φοινίσσεσθε τὰ πένθιμα, νῦν ἀνεμῶναι, νῦν ὑάκινθε λάλει τὰ σα γράμματα, καὶ πλέον αἲ αἲ λάμβανε τοῖς πετάλοισι καλὸς τεθνακε μελικτάς.

And compare Virgil, Ecl. v. 27, 28; Georg. I. 466-488; Georg. IV. 461-463; Catullus, Carmen XXXI., _Ad Sirmionem Peninsulam_, the three last lines. See also Theocritus, Idyll 3, and compare the philosophic myths in the stories of Orpheus, Amphion, etc.--ED.]

[Footnote AV: Compare δν οἱ θεοὶ ϕιλοῦσιν, ἀποθνήσκει νέος.]

Whom the gods love, die young.

Menander, quoted (amongst others) by Plutarch, _Consol. ad Apollonium_, cap. 34. For other authorities, see Meineke's _Comicorum Græcorum Fragmenta_.--ED.]

[Footnote AW: The hand-loom was common in many of the cottages of the country, as well as in the manufacturing towns of England and Scotland, until quite recently.--ED.]

[Footnote AX: Psalm ciii. 16.--ED.]

[Footnote AY: Compare λύοντες οὐκ ἤκουον.--(Æsch. _Prom_. v. 447.)

Also S. Matt. xiii. 13-15--

They seeing, see not; and hearing, they hear not.

And Shakespeare, _Richard III_. act IV. scene iv. 1. 26--

Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal-living ghost. ED. ]

[Footnote AZ: Compare _The Waggoner_, vol. iii. p. 77--

In silence deeper far than that of deepest noon! ED. ]

[Footnote BA: Compare _Resolution and Independence_, stanza xiii. (vol. ii. p. 319)--

Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes. ED. ]

[Footnote BB: Compare Burns's _Epistle to William Simpson, Ochiltree_--

Adoun some trotting burn's meander. ED. ]

[Footnote BC: Compare _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act 1. scene i. l. 211--

Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass. ED. ]

[Footnote BD: _Sedum acre_.--ED.]

[Footnote BE: _Statice armerium_.--ED.]

[Footnote BF: _Convolvulus arvensis_.--ED.]

[Footnote BG: Mr. H. H. Turner suggests that this line would be more naturally written,

Bespake a hand of sleepy negligence.

The change would have been an improvement.--ED.]

[Footnote BH: "The scene of the first book of the poem is, I must own, laid in a tract of country not sufficiently near to that which soon comes into view in the second book, to agree with the fact. All that relates to Margaret, and the ruined cottage, etc., was taken from observations made in the south-west of England; and certainly it would require more than seven-league boots to stretch in one morning, from a common in Somersetshire, or Dorsetshire, to the heights of Furness Fells, and the deep valleys they embosom."--I. F.

Compare with the first book of _The Excursion_ the first three books of _The Prelude_.--ED.]

[Footnote BI: Compare stanza xi. in the _Ode, Intimations of Immortality_ (vol. viii.)--

To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. ED. ]

=Book Second=

THE SOLITARY

ARGUMENT

_The Author describes his travels with the Wanderer, whose character is further illustrated--Morning scene, and view of a Village Wake--Wanderer's account of a Friend whom he purposes to visit--View, from an eminence, of the Valley which his Friend had chosen for his retreat[100]--Sound of singing from below--A funeral procession--Descent into the Valley--Observations drawn from the Wanderer at sight of a book accidentally discovered in a recess in the Valley--Meeting with the Wanderer's friend, the Solitary--Wanderer's description of the mode of burial in this mountainous district--Solitary contrasts with this, that of the individual carried a few minutes before from the cottage[101]--The cottage entered--Description of the Solitary's apartment--Repast there--View, from the window, of two mountain summits; and the Solitary's description of the companionship they afford him--Account of the departed inmate of the cottage--Description of a grand spectacle upon the mountains, with its effect upon the Solitary's mind--Leave[102] the house._

In days of yore how fortunately fared The Minstrel! wandering on from hall to hall, Baronial court or royal; cheered with gifts Munificent, and love, and ladies' praise; Now meeting on his road an armed knight, 5 Now resting with a pilgrim by the side Of a clear brook;--beneath an abbey's roof One evening sumptuously lodged; the next, Humbly in a religious hospital; Or with some merry outlaws of the wood; 10 Or haply shrouded in a hermit's cell. Him, sleeping or awake, the robber spared; He walked--protected from the sword of war By virtue of that sacred instrument His harp, suspended at the traveller's side; 15 His dear companion wheresoe'er he went Opening from land to land an easy way By melody, and by the charm of verse. Yet not the noblest of that honoured Race Drew happier, loftier, more empassioned, thoughts 20 From his long journeyings and eventful life, Than this obscure Itinerant had skill To gather, ranging through the tamer ground[103] Of these our unimaginative days; Both while he trod the earth in humblest guise 25 Accoutred with his burthen and his staff; And now, when free to move with lighter pace.

What wonder, then, if I, whose favourite school Hath been the fields, the roads, and rural lanes, [104]Looked on this guide with reverential love? 30 Each with the other pleased, we now pursued Our journey, under[105] favourable skies. Turn wheresoe'er we would, he was a light Unfailing: not a hamlet could we pass, Rarely a house, that[106] did not yield to him 35 Remembrances; or from his tongue call forth Some way-beguiling tale. Nor less regard Accompanied those strains of apt discourse, Which nature's various objects might inspire;[107] And in the silence of his face I read 40 His overflowing spirit. Birds and beasts, And the mute fish that glances in the stream, And harmless reptile coiling in the sun, And gorgeous insect hovering in the air, The fowl domestic, and the household dog-- 45 In his capacious mind, he loved them all: Their rights acknowledging he felt for all. Oft was occasion given me to perceive How the calm pleasures of the pasturing herd To happy contemplation soothed his walk; 50 [108]How the poor brute's condition, forced to run Its course of suffering in the public road, Sad contrast! all too often smote his heart With unavailing pity. Rich in love And sweet humanity, he was, himself, 55 To the degree that he desired, beloved. Smiles of good-will from faces that he knew Greeted us all day long;[109] we took our seats By many a cottage-hearth, where he received The welcome of an Inmate from afar,[110] 60 And I at once forgot, I was a Stranger.[111] --Nor was he loth to enter ragged huts, Huts where his charity[112] was blest; his voice Heard as the voice of an experienced friend. 64 And, sometimes--where the poor man held dispute With his own mind, unable to subdue Impatience through inaptness to perceive General distress in his particular lot; Or cherishing resentment, or in vain Struggling against it; with a soul perplexed, 70 And finding in herself[113] no steady power To draw the line of comfort that divides Calamity, the chastisement of Heaven, From the injustice of our brother men-- To him appeal was made as to a judge; 75 Who, with an understanding heart, allayed The perturbation; listened to the plea; Resolved the dubious point; and sentence gave So grounded, so applied, that it was heard With softened spirit, even when it condemned. 80

Such intercourse I witnessed, while we roved, Now as his choice directed, now as mine; Or both, with equal readiness of will, Our course submitting to the changeful breeze Of accident. But when the rising sun 85 Had three times called us to renew our walk, My Fellow-traveller, with earnest voice, As if the thought were but a moment old, Claimed absolute dominion for the day.[114] We started--and he led me toward the hills,[115] 90 Up through an ample vale, with higher hills Before us, mountains stern and desolate;[BJ] But, in the majesty of distance, now Set off, and to our ken appearing fair Of aspect, with aërial softness clad, 95 And beautified with morning's purple beams.

The wealthy, the luxurious, by the stress Of business roused, or pleasure, ere their time, May roll in chariots, or provoke the hoofs Of the fleet coursers they bestride, to raise 100 From earth the dust of morning, slow to rise; And they, if blest with health and hearts at ease, Shall lack not their enjoyment:--but how faint Compared with ours! who, pacing side by side, Could, with an eye of leisure, look on all 105 That we beheld; and lend the listening sense To every grateful sound of earth and air; Pausing at will--our spirits braced, our thoughts Pleasant as roses in the thickets blown, And pure as dew bathing their crimson leaves. 110

Mount slowly, sun! that we may journey long, By this dark hill protected from thy beams![116] Such is the summer pilgrim's frequent wish; But quickly from among our morning thoughts[117] 'Twas chased away: for, toward[118] the western side Of the broad vale, casting a casual glance, 116 We saw a throng of people;--wherefore met? Blithe notes of music, suddenly let loose On the thrilled ear, and flags uprising, yield[119] Prompt answer; they proclaim the annual Wake,[BK] 120 Which the bright season favours.--Tabor and pipe In purpose join to hasten or[120] reprove The laggard Rustic; and repay with boons Of merriment a party-coloured knot, Already formed upon the village-green. 125 --Beyond the limits of the shadow cast By the broad hill,[BL] glistened upon our sight That gay assemblage. Round them and above, Glitter, with dark recesses interposed, Casement, and cottage-roof, and stems of trees 130 Half-veiled in vapoury cloud, the silver steam Of dews fast melting on their leafy boughs By the strong sunbeams smitten. Like a mast Of gold, the Maypole shines; as if the rays Of morning, aided by exhaling dew, 135 With gladsome influence could re-animate The faded garlands dangling from its sides.

Said I, "The music and the sprightly scene Invite us; shall we quit our road, and join These festive matins?"--He replied, "Not loth 140 To linger I would here[121] with you partake, Not one hour merely, but till evening's close, The simple pastimes of the day and place. By the fleet Racers, ere the sun be set, The turf of yon large pasture will be skimmed; 145 There, too, the lusty Wrestlers shall[122] contend: But know we not that he, who intermits The appointed task and duties of the day, Untunes full oft the pleasures of the day; Checking the finer spirits that refuse 150 To flow, when purposes are lightly changed? A length of journey yet remains untraced: Let us proceed."[123] Then, pointing with his staff Raised toward those craggy summits,[124] his intent He thus imparted:-- "In a spot that lies 155 Among yon mountain fastnesses concealed,[BM] You will receive, before the hour of noon, Good recompense, I hope, for this day's toil, From sight of One who lives secluded there, Lonesome and lost: of whom, and whose past life, 160 (Not to forestall such knowledge as may be More faithfully collected from himself) This brief communication shall suffice.

"Though now sojourning there, he, like myself, Sprang from a stock of lowly parentage 165 Among the wilds of Scotland, in a tract Where many a sheltered and well-tended plant, Bears, on the humblest ground of social life, Blossoms of piety and innocence.[125] Such grateful promises his youth displayed: 170 And, having shown in study forward zeal, He to the Ministry was duly called; And straight, incited by a curious mind Filled with vague hopes, he undertook the charge[126] Of Chaplain to a military troop[BN] 175 Cheered by the Highland bagpipe, as they marched In plaided vest,--his fellow-countrymen. This office filling, yet[127] by native power And force of native inclination made An intellectual ruler in the haunts 180 Of social vanity, he walked the world, Gay, and affecting graceful gaiety; Lax, buoyant--less a pastor with his flock Than a soldier among soldiers--lived and roamed 184 Where Fortune led:--and Fortune, who oft proves The careless wanderer's friend, to him made known A blooming Lady--a conspicuous flower, Admired for beauty, for her sweetness praised; Whom he had sensibility to love, Ambition to attempt, and skill to win. 190

"For this fair Bride, most rich in gifts of mind, Nor sparingly endowed with worldly wealth, His office he relinquished; and retired From the world's notice to a rural home. Youth's season yet with him was scarcely past, 195 And she was in youth's prime. How free their love, How full their joy! 'Till, pitiable doom![128] In the short course of one undreaded year, Death blasted all. Death suddenly o'erthrew Two lovely Children--all that they possessed! 200 The Mother followed:--miserably bare The one Survivor stood; he wept, he prayed For his dismissal, day and night, compelled To hold communion with the grave, and face With pain the regions of eternity.[129] 205 An uncomplaining apathy displaced This anguish; and, indifferent to delight, To aim and purpose, he consumed his days, To private interest dead, and public care. So lived he; so he might have died. "But now, 210 To the wide world's astonishment, appeared A[130] glorious opening, the unlooked-for dawn, That promised everlasting joy to France![BO] Her voice of social transport[131] reached even him! He broke from his contracted bounds, repaired 215 To the great City, an emporium then Of golden expectations, and receiving Freights every day from a new world of hope. Thither his popular talents he transferred; And, from the pulpit, zealously maintained 220 The cause of Christ and civil liberty, As one, and moving to one glorious end. Intoxicating service! I might say A happy service; for he was sincere As vanity and fondness for applause, 225 And new and shapeless wishes, would allow.

"That righteous cause (such power hath freedom) bound, For one hostility, in friendly league,[132] Ethereal natures and the worst of slaves; Was served by rival advocates that came 230 From regions opposite as heaven and hell. One courage seemed to animate them all: And, from the dazzling conquests daily gained By their united efforts, there arose A proud and most presumptuous confidence 235 In the transcendent wisdom of the age, And her[133] discernment; not alone in rights, And in the origin and bounds of power Social and temporal; but in laws divine, Deduced by reason, or to faith revealed. 240 An overweening trust was raised; and fear Cast out, alike of person and of thing. Plague from this union spread, whose subtle bane The strongest did not easily escape; And He, what wonder! took a mortal taint. 245 How shall I trace the change, how bear to tell That he broke faith with them[134] whom he had laid In earth's dark chambers, with a Christian's hope! An infidel contempt of holy writ Stole by degrees upon his mind; and hence 250 Life, like that Roman Janus, double-faced; Vilest hypocrisy--the laughing, gay Hypocrisy, not leagued with fear, but pride. Smooth words he had to wheedle simple souls; But, for disciples of the inner school, 255 Old freedom was old servitude, and they The wisest whose opinions stooped the least To known restraints; and who most boldly drew Hopeful prognostications from a creed, That,[135] in the light of false philosophy, 260 Spread like a halo round a misty moon, Widening its circle as the storms advance.

"His sacred function was at length renounced; And every day and every place enjoyed The unshackled layman's natural liberty; 265 Speech, manners, morals, all without disguise. I do not wish to wrong him; though the course Of private life licentiously displayed Unhallowed actions--planted like a crown Upon the insolent aspiring brow 270 Of spurious notions--worn as open signs Of prejudice subdued--still he[136] retained, 'Mid much[137] abasement, what he had received From nature, an intense and glowing mind. Wherefore, when humbled Liberty grew weak, 275 And mortal sickness on her face appeared, He coloured objects to his own desire As with a lover's passion. Yet his moods Of pain were keen as those of better men, Nay keener, as his fortitude was less: 280 And he continued, when worse days were come, To deal about his sparkling eloquence, Struggling against the strange reverse with zeal That showed like happiness. But, in despite Of all this outside bravery, within, 285 He neither felt encouragement nor hope: For moral dignity, and strength of mind, Were wanting; and simplicity of life; And reverence for himself; and, last and best, Confiding thoughts, through[138] love and fear of Him Before whose sight the troubles of this world 291 Are vain, as billows in a tossing sea.

"The glory of the times fading away-- The splendour, which had given a festal air To self-importance, hallowed it, and veiled 295 From his own sight--this gone, he forfeited[139] All joy in human nature; was consumed, And vexed, and chafed, by levity and scorn, And fruitless indignation; galled by pride; Made desperate by contempt of men who throve 300 Before his sight in power or fame, and won, Without desert, what he desired; weak men, Too weak even for his envy or his hate! Tormented thus, after a wandering course Of discontent, and inwardly opprest[140] 305 With malady--in part, I fear, provoked By weariness of life--he fixed his home, Or, rather say, sate down by very chance, Among these rugged hills; where now he dwells, And wastes the sad remainder of his hours, 310 Steeped in a self-indulging spleen, that wants not[141] Its own voluptuousness;--on this resolved, With this content, that he will live and die Forgotten,--at safe distance from 'a world Not moving to his mind.'"[BP] These serious words 315 Closed the preparatory notices That served my Fellow-traveller to beguile[142] The way, while we advanced up that wide vale.[BQ] Diverging now (as if his quest had been[143] Some secret of the mountains, cavern, fall 320 Of water, or some lofty eminence,[144] Renowned for splendid prospect far and wide) We scaled, without a track to ease our steps, A steep ascent;[BR] and reached a dreary plain,[145][BS] With a tumultuous waste of huge hill tops 325 Before us;[BT] savage region! which I paced Dispirited:[146] when, all at once, behold! Beneath our feet, a little lowly vale,[BU] A lowly vale, and yet uplifted high Among the mountains; even as if the spot 330 Had been from eldest time by wish of theirs So placed, to be shut out from all the world! Urn-like it was in shape, deep as an urn;[BU] With rocks encompassed, save that to the south 334 Was one small opening,[BV] where a heath-clad ridge Supplied a boundary less abrupt and close; A quiet treeless nook, with two green fields,[BW] A liquid pool that glittered in the sun,[BX] And one bare dwelling; one abode, no more![BY] It seemed the home of poverty and toil, 340 Though not of want: the little fields, made green By husbandry of many thrifty years, Paid cheerful tribute to the moorland house. --There crows the cock, single in his domain: The small birds find in spring no thicket there 345 To shroud them; only from the neighbouring vales The cuckoo, straggling up to the hill tops, Shouteth faint tidings of some gladder place.

Ah! what a sweet Recess, thought I, is here! Instantly throwing down my limbs at ease 350 Upon a bed of heath;--full many a spot Of hidden beauty have I chanced to espy Among the mountains; never one like this; So lonesome, and so perfectly secure; Not melancholy--no, for it is green, 355 And bright, and fertile, furnished in itself With the few needful things that[147] life requires. --In rugged arms how softly does it lie,[148] How tenderly protected! Far and near We have an image of the pristine earth, 360 The planet in its nakedness: were this Man's only dwelling, sole appointed seat, First, last, and single, in the breathing world, It could not be more quiet: peace is here Or nowhere; days unruffled by the gale 365 Of public news or private; years that pass Forgetfully; uncalled upon to pay The common penalties of mortal life, Sickness, or accident, or grief, or pain.

On these and kindred thoughts intent I lay 370 In silence musing by my Comrade's side,[149] He also silent; when from out the heart Of that profound abyss a solemn voice, Or several voices in one solemn sound, Was heard ascending; mournful, deep, and slow 375 The cadence, as of psalms--a funeral dirge![BZ] We listened, looking down upon the hut,[150] But seeing no one: meanwhile from below The strain continued, spiritual as before; And now distinctly could I recognise 380 These words:--'_Shall in the grave thy love be known,_ _In death thy faithfulness?_'--"God rest his soul!"[151] Said the old man,[152] abruptly breaking silence,-- "He is departed, and finds peace at last!" This scarcely spoken, and those holy strains 385 Not ceasing, forth appeared in view a band Of rustic persons, from behind the hut Bearing a coffin in the midst, with which They shaped their course along the sloping side Of that small valley, singing as they moved;[CA] 390 A sober company and few, the men Bare-headed, and all decently attired! Some steps when they had thus advanced, the dirge Ended; and, from the stillness that ensued Recovering, to my Friend I said, "You spake, 395 Methought, with apprehension that these rites Are paid to Him upon whose shy retreat This day we purposed to intrude."--"I did so, But let us hence, that we may learn the truth: Perhaps it is not he[153] but some one else 400 For whom this pious service is performed; Some other tenant of the solitude."

So, to a steep and difficult descent Trusting ourselves, we wound from crag to crag, Where passage could be won;[CB] and, as the last 405 Of the mute train, behind[154] the heathy top Of that off-sloping outlet,[CC] disappeared, I, more impatient in my downward course,[155] Had landed upon easy ground; and there Stood waiting for my Comrade. When behold 410 An object that enticed my steps aside! A narrow, winding, entry opened out[156] Into a platform--that lay, sheepfold-wise, Enclosed between an upright[157] mass of rock And one old moss-grown wall;--a cool recess, 415 And fanciful! For where the rock and wall Met in an angle, hung a penthouse, framed By thrusting two rude staves into the wall[158] And overlaying them with mountain sods; To weather-fend a little turf-built seat 420 Whereon a full-grown man might rest, nor dread The burning sunshine, or a transient shower; But the whole plainly wrought by children's hands![CD] Whose skill had thronged the floor with a proud show[159] Of baby-houses, curiously arranged; 425 Nor wanting ornament of walks between, With mimic trees inserted in the turf, And gardens interposed. Pleased with the sight, I could not choose but beckon to my Guide, 429 Who, entering, round him threw a careless glance, Impatient to pass on, when I exclaimed,[160] "Lo! what is here?" and, stooping down, drew forth A book, that, in the midst of stones and moss And wreck of party-coloured earthen-ware,[CE] Aptly disposed, had lent its help to raise 435 One of those petty structures. "His it must be!" Exclaimed the Wanderer, "cannot but be his,[161] And he is gone!"[162] The book, which in my hand Had opened of itself (for it was swoln With searching damp, and seemingly had lain 440 To the injurious elements exposed From week to week,) I found to be a work In the French tongue, a Novel of Voltaire, His famous Optimist. "Unhappy Man!" 444 Exclaimed my Friend: "here then has been to him Retreat within retreat, a sheltering-place Within how deep a shelter! He had fits, Even to the last, of genuine tenderness, And loved the haunts of children: here, no doubt, Pleasing and pleased, he shared their simple sports, Or sate companionless; and here the book, 451 Left and forgotten in his careless way, Must by the cottage-children have been found:[163] Heaven bless them, and their inconsiderate work! To what odd purpose have the darlings turned 455 This sad memorial of their hapless friend!"

"Me," said I, "most doth it surprise, to find Such book in such a place!"--" A book it is," He answered,"to the Person suited well, Though little suited to surrounding things: 460 'Tis strange, I grant; and stranger still had been To see the Man who owned it, dwelling here,[164] With one poor shepherd, far from all the world!-- Now, if our errand hath been thrown away, As from these intimations I forebode, 465 Grieved shall I be--less for my sake than yours, And least of all for him who is no more."

By this, the book was in the old Man's hand; And he continued, glancing on the leaves 469 An eye of scorn:--"The lover," said he, "doomed To love when hope hath failed him--whom no depth Of privacy is deep enough to hide, Hath yet his bracelet or his lock of hair, And that is joy to him. When change of times Hath summoned kings to scaffolds, do but give 475 The faithful servant, who must hide his head Henceforth in whatsoever nook he may, A kerchief sprinkled with his master's blood, And he too hath his comforter. How poor, Beyond all poverty how destitute, 480 Must that Man have been left, who, hither driven, Flying or seeking, could yet bring with him No dearer relique, and no better stay, Than this dull product of a scoffer's pen,[CF] Impure conceits discharging from a heart 485 Hardened by impious pride!--I did not fear To tax you with this journey;"--mildly said My venerable Friend, as forth we stepped Into the presence of the cheerful light-- "For I have knowledge that you do not shrink 490 From moving spectacles;--but let us on."

So speaking, on he went, and at the word I followed, till he made a sudden stand: For full in view, approaching through a[165] gate That opened from the enclosure of green fields 495 Into the rough uncultivated ground,[CG] Behold the Man whom he had fancied dead! I knew from his deportment, mien, and dress,[166] That it could be no other; a pale face, A meagre person, tall, and in a garb[167] 500 Not rustic--dull and faded like himself! He saw us not, though distant but few steps; For he was busy, dealing, from a store Upon a broad leaf carried, choicest strings Of red ripe currants;[168] gift by which he strove, 505 With intermixture of endearing words, To soothe a Child, who walked beside him, weeping As if disconsolate.--"They to the grave Are bearing him, my Little-one," he said, "To the dark pit; but he will feel no pain; 510 His body is at rest, his soul in heaven."

More might have followed--but my honoured Friend Broke in upon the Speaker with a frank And cordial greeting.--Vivid was the light 514 That flashed and sparkled from the other's eyes;[169][CH] He was all fire: no shadow on his brow Remained, nor sign of sickness on his face.[170] Hands joined he with his Visitant,--a grasp, An eager grasp; and many moments' space-- When the first glow of pleasure was no more, 520 And, of the sad appearance which at once Had vanished, much was come and coming back--[171] An amicable smile retained the life Which it had unexpectedly received, Upon his hollow cheek. "How kind," he said, 525 "Nor could your coming have been better timed; For this, you see, is in our narrow[172] world A day of sorrow. I have here a charge"-- And, speaking thus, he patted tenderly The sun-burnt forehead of the weeping child-- 530 "A little mourner, whom it is my task To comfort;--but how came ye?--if yon track (Which doth at once befriend us and betray) Conducted hither your most welcome feet, Ye could not miss the funeral train--they yet 535 Have scarcely disappeared." "This blooming Child," Said the old Man, "is of an age to weep At any grave or solemn spectacle, Inly distressed or overpowered with awe, He knows not wherefore;--but the boy to-day, 540 Perhaps is shedding orphan's tears; you also[173] Must have sustained a loss."--"The hand of Death," He answered, "has been here; but could not well Have fallen more lightly, if it had not fallen Upon myself."--The other left these words 545 Unnoticed, thus continuing-- "From yon crag, Down whose steep sides we dropped into the vale, We heard the hymn they sang--a solemn sound Heard any where; but in a place like this 'Tis more than human! Many precious rites 550 And customs of our rural ancestry Are gone, or stealing from us; this, I hope, Will last for ever.[CI] Oft on my way have I Stood still, though but a casual passenger, So much I felt the awfulness of life,[174] 555 In that one moment when the corse is lifted In silence, with a hush of decency; Then from the threshold moves with song of peace, And confidential yearnings, tow'rds its home, Its final home on earth.[175] What traveller--who-- 560 (How far soe'er a stranger) does not own The bond of brotherhood, when he sees them go, A mute procession on the houseless road; Or passing by some single tenement Or clustered dwellings, where again they raise 565 The monitory voice? But most of all It touches, it confirms, and elevates, Then, when the body, soon to be consigned Ashes to ashes, dust bequeathed to dust, Is raised from the church-aisle, and forward borne 570 Upon the shoulders of the next in love, The nearest in affection or in blood; Yea, by the very mourners who had knelt Beside the coffin, resting on its lid In silent grief their unuplifted heads,[CJ] 575 And heard meanwhile the Psalmist's mournful plaint, And that most awful scripture which declares We shall not sleep, but we shall all be changed! --Have I not seen--ye likewise may have seen-- Son, husband, brothers--brothers side by side, 580 And son and father also side by side, Rise from that posture:--and in concert move, On the green turf following the vested Priest, Four dear supporters of one senseless weight, From which they do not shrink, and under which 585 They faint not, but advance towards the open grave[176] Step after step--together, with their firm Unhidden faces: he that suffers most, He outwardly, and inwardly perhaps, The most serene, with most undaunted eye!-- 590 Oh! blest are they who live and die like these, Loved with such love, and with such sorrow mourned!"

"That poor Man taken hence to-day," replied The Solitary, with a faint sarcastic smile Which did not please me, "must be deemed, I fear, Of the unblest; for he will surely sink 596 Into his mother earth without such pomp Of grief, depart without occasion given By him for such array of fortitude. Full seventy winters hath he lived, and mark! 600 This simple Child will mourn his one short hour, And I shall miss him; scanty tribute! yet, This wanting, he would leave the sight of men, If love were his sole claim upon their care, Like a ripe date which in the desert falls 605 Without a hand to gather it." At this I interposed, though loth to speak, and said, "Can it be thus among so small a band As ye must needs be here? in such a place I would not willingly, methinks, lose sight 610 Of a departing cloud."--"'Twas not for love" Answered the sick Man with a careless voice-- "That I came hither; neither have I found Among associates who have power of speech, Nor in such other converse as is here, 615 Temptation so prevailing as to change That mood, or undermine my first resolve." Then, speaking in like careless sort, he said To my benign Companion,--"Pity 'tis That fortune did not guide you to this house 620 A few days earlier; then would you have seen What stuff the Dwellers in a solitude, That seems by Nature hollowed out to be The seat and bosom of pure innocence,[177] Are made of, an ungracious matter this! 625 Which, for truth's sake, yet in remembrance too Of past discussions with this zealous friend And advocate of humble life, I now Will force upon his notice; undeterred By the example of his own pure course, 630 And that respect and deference which a soul May fairly claim, by niggard age enriched In what she most doth value, love of God[178] And his frail creature Man;--but ye shall hear. I talk--and ye are standing in the sun 635 Without refreshment!" Quickly had he spoken, And, with light steps still quicker than his words, Led toward the Cottage. Homely was the spot;[179] And, to my feeling, ere we reached the door, Had almost a forbidding nakedness; 640 Less fair, I grant, even painfully less fair, Than it appeared when from the beetling rock[180] We had looked down upon it. All within, As left by the[181] departed company, Was silent; save the solitary clock 645 That on mine ear ticked with a mournful sound.--[182] Following our Guide, we clomb the cottage-stairs And reached a small apartment dark and low, Which was no sooner entered than our Host Said gaily, "This is my domain, my cell, 650 My hermitage, my cabin, what you will-- I love it better than a snail his house. But now ye shall be feasted with our best."[CK]

So, with more ardour than an unripe girl Left one day mistress of her mother's stores, 655 He went about his hospitable task. My eyes were busy, and my thoughts no less, And pleased I looked upon my grey-haired Friend, As if to thank him; he returned that look, Cheered, plainly, and yet serious. What a wreck 660 Had we about us![183] scattered was the floor, And, in like sort, chair, window-seat, and shelf, With books, maps, fossils, withered plants and flowers, And tufts of mountain moss. Mechanic tools Lay intermixed with scraps of paper, some[184] 665 Scribbled with verse: a broken angling-rod And shattered telescope, together linked By cobwebs, stood within a dusty nook; And instruments of music, some half-made, Some in disgrace, hung dangling from the walls. 670 But speedily the promise was fulfilled; A feast before us, and a[185] courteous Host Inviting us in glee to sit and eat. A napkin, white as foam of that rough brook By which it had been bleached, o'erspread the board; And was itself half-covered with a store[186] 676 Of dainties,--oaten bread, curd,[187] cheese, and cream; And cakes of butter curiously embossed, Butter that had imbibed from meadow-flowers A golden hue, delicate as their own 680 Faintly reflected in a lingering stream."[188] Nor lacked, for more delight on that warm day, Our table small parade of garden fruits, And whortle-berries from the mountain side. The Child, who long ere this had stilled his sobs, 685 Was now[189] a help to his late comforter, And moved, a willing Page, as he was bid, Ministering to our need. In genial mood, While at our pastoral banquet thus we sate Fronting the window of that little cell, 690 I could not, ever and anon, forbear To glance an upward look on two huge Peaks, That from some other vale peered into this.[CL] "Those lusty twins," exclaimed our host, "if here It were your lot to dwell, would soon become[190] 695 Your prized companions.--Many are the notes Which, in his tuneful course, the wind draws forth From rocks, woods, caverns, heaths, and dashing shores; And well those lofty brethren bear their part In the wild concert--chiefly when the storm 700 Rides high; then all the upper air they fill With roaring sound, that ceases not to flow, Like smoke, along the level of the blast, In mighty current; theirs, too, is the song Of stream and headlong flood that seldom fails; 705 And, in the grim and breathless hour of noon, Methinks that I have heard them echo back The thunder's greeting. Nor have nature's laws Left them ungifted with a power to yield Music of finer tone;[191] a harmony, 710 So do I call it, though it be the hand Of silence, though there be no voice;--the clouds, The mist, the shadows, light of golden suns, Motions of moonlight, all come thither--touch, And have an answer--thither come, and shape 715 A language not unwelcome to sick hearts And idle spirits:--there the sun himself, At the calm close of summer's longest day,[CM] Rests his substantial orb;--between those heights And on the top of either pinnacle, 720 More keenly than elsewhere in night's blue vault, Sparkle the stars, as of their station proud. Thoughts are not busier in the mind of man Than the mute agents stirring there:--alone Here do I sit and watch."--[CN] A fall of voice, 725 Regretted like the nightingale's last note, Had scarcely closed this high-wrought strain of rapture Ere with inviting smile the Wanderer said:[192] "Now for the tale with which you threatened us!" "In truth the threat escaped me unawares: 730 Should the tale tire you, let this challenge stand For my excuse. Dissevered from mankind, As to your eyes and thoughts we must have seemed[193] When ye looked down upon us from the crag, Islanders mid[194] a stormy mountain sea, 735 We are not so;--perpetually we touch Upon the vulgar ordinances[195] of the world; And he, whom this our cottage hath to-day Relinquished, lived[196] dependent for his bread Upon the laws of public charity. 740 The Housewife, tempted by such slender gains As might from that occasion be distilled, Opened, as she before had done for me, Her doors to admit this homeless Pensioner; The portion gave of coarse but wholesome fare 745 Which appetite required--a blind dull nook, Such as she had, the _kennel_ of his rest! This, in itself not ill, would yet have been Ill borne in earlier life; but his was now The still contentedness of seventy years. 750 Calm did he sit under[197] the wide-spread tree Of his old age: and yet less calm and meek, Winningly meek or venerably calm, Than slow and torpid; paying in this wise A penalty, if penalty it were, 755 For spendthrift feats, excesses of his prime. I loved the old Man, for I pitied him! A task it was, I own, to hold discourse With one so slow in gathering up his thoughts, But he was a cheap pleasure to my eyes; 760 Mild, inoffensive, ready in _his_ way, And helpful[198] to his utmost power: and there Our housewife knew full well what she possessed He was her vassal of all labour, tilled Her garden, from the pasture fetched her kine; 765 And, one among the orderly array Of hay-makers, beneath the burning sun Maintained his place; or heedfully pursued His course, on errands bound, to other vales, Leading sometimes an inexperienced child 770 Too young for any profitable task. So moved he like a shadow that performed Substantial service.[CO] Mark me now, and learn For what reward!--The moon her monthly round Hath not completed since our dame, the queen 775 Of this one cottage and this lonely dale, Into my little sanctuary rushed-- Voice to a rueful treble humanised, And features in deplorable dismay. I treat the matter lightly, but, alas! 780 It is most serious: persevering rain[199] Had fallen in torrents; all the mountain tops Were hidden, and black vapours coursed their sides; This had I seen, and saw; but, till she spake, Was wholly ignorant that my ancient Friend-- 785 Who at her bidding, early and alone, Had clomb aloft to delve the moorland[200] turf For winter fuel--to his noontide meal Returned not, and now, haply, on the heights[201] Lay at the mercy of this raging storm. 790 'Inhuman!'--said I, 'was an old Man's life Not worth the trouble of a thought?--alas! This notice comes too late.' With joy I saw Her husband enter--from a distant vale. We sallied forth together; found the tools 795 Which the neglected veteran had dropped, But through all quarters looked for him in vain. We shouted--but no answer! Darkness fell Without remission of the blast or shower, And fears for our own safety drove us home. 800

"I, who weep little, did, I will confess, The moment I was seated here alone, Honour my little cell with some few tears Which anger and[202] resentment could not dry. All night the storm endured; and, soon as help 805 Had been collected from the neighbouring vale, With morning we renewed our quest: the wind Was fallen, the rain abated, but the hills Lay shrouded in impenetrable mist; And long and hopelessly we sought in vain: 810 'Till, chancing on that[203] lofty ridge to pass A heap of ruin--almost without walls And wholly without roof (the bleached remains Of a small chapel, where, in ancient time, The peasants of these lonely valleys used 815 To meet for worship on that central height)-- We there espied the object of our search,[204] Lying full three parts buried among tufts Of heath-plant, under and above him strewn, To baffle, as he might, the watery storm: 820 And there we found him breathing peaceably, Snug as a child that hides itself in sport 'Mid a green hay-cock in a sunny field. We spake--he made reply, but would not stir At our entreaty; less from want of power 825 Than apprehension and bewildering thoughts.[CP] "So was he lifted gently from the ground, And with their freight homeward the shepherds[205] moved Through the dull mist, I following--when a step, A single step, that freed me from the skirts 830 Of the blind vapour, opened to my view Glory beyond all glory ever seen By waking sense or by the dreaming soul! The appearance,[206] instantaneously disclosed, Was of a mighty city--boldly say 835 A wilderness of building, sinking far And self-withdrawn into a boundless[207] depth, Far sinking into splendour--without end! Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold, With alabaster domes, and silver spires, 840 And blazing terrace upon terrace, high Uplifted; here, serene pavilions bright, In avenues disposed; there, towers begirt With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars--illumination of all gems! 845 By earthly nature had the effect been wrought Upon the dark materials of the storm Now pacified; on them, and on the coves And mountain-steeps and summits, whereunto The vapours had receded, taking there 850 Their station under a cerulean sky. Oh, 'twas an unimaginable sight! Clouds, mists, streams, watery rocks and emerald turf, Clouds of all tincture, rocks and sapphire sky, Confused, commingled, mutually inflamed, 855 Molten together, and composing thus, Each lost in each, that marvellous array Of temple, palace, citadel, and huge Fantastic pomp of structure without name, In fleecy folds voluminous, enwrapped. 860 Right in the midst, where interspace appeared Of open court, an object like a throne Under[208] a shining canopy of state Stood fixed; and fixed resemblances were seen To implements of ordinary use, 865 But vast in size, in substance glorified; Such as by Hebrew Prophets were beheld In vision[CQ]--forms uncouth of mightiest power For admiration and mysterious awe. This little Vale, a dwelling-place of Man,[209] 870 Lay low beneath my feet; 'twas visible-- I saw not, but I felt that it was there. That which I _saw_ was the revealed abode Of Spirits in beatitude: my heart 874 Swelled in my breast.--'I have been dead,' I cried, 'And now I live! Oh! wherefore _do_ I live?' And with that pang I prayed to be no more!-- --But I forget our Charge, as utterly I then forgot him:--there I stood and gazed: The apparition faded not away, 880 And I descended.[CR] "Having reached the house, I found its rescued inmate safely lodged, And in serene possession of himself, Beside a fire whose genial warmth seemed met By a faint shining from the heart, a gleam 885 Of comfort, spread over his pallid face.[210] Great show of joy the housewife made, and truly Was glad to find her conscience set at ease; And not less glad, for sake of her good name, That the poor Sufferer had escaped with life. 890 But, though he seemed at first to have received No harm, and uncomplaining as before Went through his usual tasks, a silent change Soon showed itself: he lingered three short weeks; And from the cottage hath been borne to-day. 895

"So ends my dolorous tale, and glad I am That it is ended." At these words he turned-- And, with blithe air of open fellowship, Brought from the cupboard wine and stouter cheer, Like one who would be merry. Seeing this, 900 My grey-haired Friend said courteously--"Nay, nay, You have regaled us as a hermit ought; Now let us forth into the sun!"--Our Host Rose, though reluctantly, and forth we went.

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 100:

_--feelings of the Author at the sight of it--_ Inserted from 1814 to 1832. ]

[Footnote 101:

_--Brief conversation--_ Inserted from 1814 to 1832. ]

[Footnote 102: 1836

_Quit_ 1814. ]

[Footnote 103: 1827.

Than this obscure Itinerant (an obscure, But a high-souled and tender-hearted Man) Had skill to draw from many a ramble, far And wide protracted, through the tamer ground 1814. ]

[Footnote 104:

And pathways winding on from farm to farm, This line appeared only in 1814 and 1820. ]

[Footnote 105: 1836.

... beneath ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 106: 1827.

... which ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 107: 1827.

... supply: 1814. ]

[Footnote 108:

Along the field, and in the shady grove; This line appeared only in 1814 and 1820. ]

[Footnote 109: C. and 1845.

--Greetings and smiles we met with all day long From faces that he knew; ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 110: 1845.

... come from far. 1814. ]

[Footnote 111: This line was added in 1845.]

[Footnote 112: 1827.

Wherein his charity ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 113: 1827.

... itself ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 114: 1832.

My Fellow Traveller said with earnest voice, As if the thought were but a moment old, That I must yield myself without reserve To his disposal. Glad was I of this: 1814.

My Fellow traveller claim'd with earnest voice, As if the thought were but a moment old, An absolute dominion for the day. 1827. ]

[Footnote 115: 1836.

... and he led towards the hills, 1814. ]

[Footnote 116: 1827.

Mount slowly, Sun! and may our journey lie Awhile within the shadow of this hill, This friendly hill, a shelter from thy beams! 1814. ]

[Footnote 117: 1827.

... wish; And as that wish, with prevalence of thanks For present good o'er fear of future ill, Stole in among the morning's blither thoughts, 1814. ]

[Footnote 118: 1827.

... tow'rds ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 119: 1827.

... ear, did to the question yield 1814. ]

[Footnote 120: 1836.

... and ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 121: C. and 1845.

Here would I linger, and ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 122: 1827.

... will ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 123: 1845.

We must proceed--a length of journey yet Remains untraced." ... 1814. A length of journey yet remains untrod, Let us proceed." ... C. ]

[Footnote 124: 1832.

Towards those craggy summits, ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 125: 1827.

Upon the humblest ground of social life, Doth at this day, I trust, the blossoms bear Of piety and simple innocence. 1814. ]

[Footnote 126: 1827.

And, as he shewed in study forward zeal, All helps were sought, all measures strained, that He, By due scholastic discipline prepared, Might to the Ministry be called: which done,

## Partly through lack of better hopes--and part

Perhaps incited by a curious mind, In early life he undertook the charge 1814. ]

[Footnote 127: 1827.

... and, ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 128: 1845.

... How full their joy, How free their love! nor did their love decay; Nor joy abate, till, pitiable doom! 1814.

... nor did that love decay, 1827.

How free their love, till all by death was blasted In one undreaded year, Death swept away Two lovely ... C. ]

[Footnote 129: 1845.

... compelled By pain to turn his thoughts towards the grave, And face the regions of Eternity. 1814.

... compelled To commune with the grave soul-sick, and face With pain ... C. ]

[Footnote 130: 1827.

The ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 131: 1827.

... France! That sudden light had power to pierce the gloom In which his Spirit, friendless upon earth, In separation dwelt, and solitude. The voice of social transport ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 132: 1827.

That righteous Cause of freedom did, we know, Combine, for one hostility, as friends, 1814. ]

[Footnote 133: 1827.

... its ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 134: 1827.

... those ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 135: 1827.

Which, ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 136: 1836.

... he still ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 137: 1836.

... such ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 138: 1827.

... and ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 139: 1827.

... this gone, therewith he lost 1814. ]

[Footnote 140: 1827.

... hate! --And thus beset, and finding in himself Nor pleasure nor tranquillity, at last, After a wandering course of discontent In foreign Lands, and inwardly oppressed 1814. ]

[Footnote 141: 1845.

In self-indulging spleen, that doth not want 1814. ]

[Footnote 142: 1827.

With which my Fellow-traveller had beguiled 1814. ]

[Footnote 143: 1827.

Now, suddenly diverging, he began To climb upon its western side a Ridge Pathless and smooth, a long and steep ascent; As if the object of his quest had been 1814. ]

[Footnote 144: 1845.

Of water--or some boastful Eminence, 1814. ]

[Footnote 145: 1827.

We clomb without a track to guide our steps; And, on the summit, reached a heathy plain, 1814.

A steep ascent, and reached at length a dreary plain, MS. ]

[Footnote 146:

... region! and I walked In weariness: ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 147: 1827.

... which ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 148: 1836.

... soft it seems to lie, 1814. ]

[Footnote 149: 1827.

On these and other kindred thoughts intent, In silence by my Comrade's side I lay, 1814. ]

[Footnote 150: 1827.

... towards the Hut, 1814. ]

[Footnote 151: 1814.

... These words, Said my companion, sighing as he spoke, Were chosen by himself, God rest his soul. C. ]

[Footnote 152: 1845.

The Wanderer cried, ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 153: 1814.

He is it not perhaps ... C. ]

[Footnote 154: 1836.

... upon ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 155: 1827.

... in the course I took, 1814. ]

[Footnote 156: 1827.

... aside! It was an Entry, narrow as a door; A passage whose brief windings opened out 1814. ]

[Footnote 157: 1827.

... a single ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 158: 1827.

Met in an angle, hung a tiny roof, Or penthouse, which most quaintly had been framed By thrusting two rude sticks into the wall 1814. ]

[Footnote 159: 1827.

Whose simple skill had thronged the grassy floor With work of frame less solid, a proud show 1814. ]

[Footnote 160: 1827.

Who, having entered, carelessly looked round, And now would have passed on; when I exclaimed, 1814. ]

[Footnote 161:

1845.

... "Gracious Heaven!" The Wanderer cried, "it cannot but be his, 1814. ]

[Footnote 162:

1814.

"It cannot," said the Wanderer, "but be his, And he is gone!" ... C. ]

[Footnote 163:

1827.

... here no doubt He sometimes played with them; and here hath sate Far oftener by himself. This Book, I guess, Hath been forgotten in his careless way; Left here when he was occupied in mind; And by the Cottage Children has been found. 1814. ]

[Footnote 164:

1827.

... things; Nor, with the knowledge which my mind possessed, Could I behold it undisturbed: 'tis strange, I grant, and stranger still had been to see The Man, who was its Owner, dwelling here, 1814. ]

[Footnote 165:

1827.

... the 1814. ]

[Footnote 166:

1827.

I knew, from the appearance and the dress, 1814. ]

[Footnote 167:

1845.

A tall and meagre person, in a garb 1814. ]

[Footnote 168:

1827.

Which on a leaf he carried in his hand, Strings of ripe currants; ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 169:

1827.

Glad was my Comrade now, though he at first, I doubt not, had been more surprized than glad. But now, recovered from the shock and calm, He soberly advanced; and to the Man Gave chearful greeting.--Vivid was the light Which flashed at this from out the Other's eyes; 1814. ]

[Footnote 170:

1845.

He was all fire: the sickness from his face Passed like a fancy that is swept away; 1814. ]

[Footnote 171:

1840.

... more, And much of what had vanished was returned, 1814. ]

[Footnote 172:

1827.

... little 1814. ]

[Footnote 173:

1845.

He knows not why;--but he, perchance, this day, Is shedding Orphan's tears; and you yourself 1814. ]

[Footnote 174: 1836.

... Often have I stopped When on my way, I could not chuse but stop, So much I felt the awfulness of Life, 1814.

....Often have I stopped, So much I felt the awfulness of life, 1827.

The text of 1832 returns to that of 1814. ]

[Footnote 175: 1845.

... to its home, Its final home in earth.... 1814.

... to its home, Its final home on earth.... 1836. ]

[Footnote 176: 1836.

... towards the grave 1814. ]

[Footnote 177: 1827.

... in this Solitude, (That seems by Nature framed to be the seat And very bosom of pure innocence) 1814. ]

[Footnote 178: 1845.

In what it values most--the love of God 1814.

In what she values most--the love of God 1827.

And more as years are multiplied With what she most delights in, love of God C. ]

[Footnote 179: 1836.

... Saying this he led Towards the Cottage;--homely was the spot; 1814. ]

[Footnote 180: 1827.

... Valley's brink 1814. ]

[Footnote 181: 1827.

... that ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 182: 1845.

Was silent; and the solitary clock Ticked, as I thought, with melancholy sound.-- 1814. ]

[Footnote 183: 1845.

We had around us! ... 1814.

Had we around us! ... 1827. ]

[Footnote 184: 1827.

... moss; and here and there Lay, intermixed with these, mechanic tools, And scraps of paper,--some I could perceive 1814. ]

[Footnote 185:

... the ... MS. ]

[Footnote 186: 1845.

... load 1814. ]

[Footnote 187: 1827.

... curds, ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 188: 1832.

Butter that had imbibed a golden tinge, A hue like that of yellow meadow flowers Reflected faintly in a silent pool. 1814.

From meadow flowers, hue delicate as theirs Faintly reflected in a lingering stream; 1827. ]

[Footnote 189:

Became ... MS. ]

[Footnote 190: 1827.

"Those lusty Twins on which your eyes are cast," Exclaimed our Host, "if here you dwelt, would be 1814. ]

[Footnote 191: 1827.

... frame; ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 192: 1845.

With brightening face The Wanderer heard him speaking thus, and said, 1814.

A fall of voice, Regretted like the Nightingale's last note, Had scarcely closed this high-wrought Rhapsody, 1827.

Had scarcely closed this strain of thankful rapture, C.

Ere with inviting voice ... MS. ]

[Footnote 193: 1827.

... unawares And was forgotten. Let this challenge stand For my excuse, if what I shall relate Tire your attention.--Outcast and cut off As we seem here, and must have seemed to you 1814. ]

[Footnote 194: 1845.

... of ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 195: 1836.

... ordinance ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 196: 1827.

... was ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 197: 1836.

... beneath ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 198: 1827.

useful ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 199: 1827.

... from mid-noon the rain 1814. ]

[Footnote 200: 1827.

... mountain 1814. ]

[Footnote 201: 1827.

Came not, and now perchance upon the Heights 1814. ]

[Footnote 202: 1827.

... or ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 203: 1827.

Till, chancing by yon ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 204: 1827.

And wholly without roof (in ancient time It was a Chapel, a small Edifice In which the Peasants of these lonely Dells For worship met upon that central height)-- Chancing to pass this wreck of stones, we there Espied at last the Object of our search, Couched in a nook, and seemingly alive. It would have moved you, had you seen the guise In which he occupied his chosen bed, 1814. ]

[Footnote 205: 1836.

... the Shepherds homeward ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 206: 1827.

... dreaming soul! --Though I am conscious that no power of words Can body forth, no hues of speech can paint That gorgeous spectacle--too bright and fair Even for remembrance; yet the attempt may give Collateral interest to this homely Tale. The Appearance, ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 207: 1845.

... wondrous ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 208: 1836.

Beneath ... 1814. ]

[Footnote 209: 1845.

Below me was the earth; this little Vale 1814. ]

[Footnote 210: 1836.

Beside a genial fire; that seemed to spread A gleam of comfort o'er his pallid face. 1814. ]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote BJ: In the Fenwick note Wordsworth says, "In the poem, I suppose that the Pedlar and I ascended from a plain country up the vale of Langdale, and struck off a good way above the chapel to the western side of the vale." They start from Grasmere, cross over to Langdale by Red Bank and High Close, and walk up the lower part of the valley of Great Langdale, past Elter Water and Chapel Stile.--ED.]

[Footnote BK: At Chapel Stile the villagers of Langdale are seen at their annual Fair. Dorothy Wordsworth thus alludes to one of these rural Fairs in her Grasmere Journal: "Tuesday, September 2nd, 1800.--We walked to the Fair. There seemed very few people and very few stalls, yet I believe there were many cakes and much beer sold.... It was a lovely moonlight night.... The moonlight shone only upon the village. It did not eclipse the village lights, and the sound of dancing and merriment came along the still air. I walked with Coleridge and Wm. up the lane and by the church, and then lingered with Coleridge in the garden...." See also the account of the "village merry-night," in _The Waggoner_, canto ii. ll. 307-443 (vol. iii. p. 89.)--ED.]

[Footnote BL: Lingmoor.--ED.]

[Footnote BM: At Blea Tarn, where the Solitary lived.--ED.]

[Footnote BN: "Not long after we took up our abode at Grasmere, came to reside there, from what motive I either never knew or have forgotten, a Scotchman, a little past the middle of life, who had for many years been chaplain to a Highland regiment. He was in no respect, as far as I know, an interesting character, though in his appearance there was a good deal that attracted attention, as if he had been shattered in fortune, and not happy in mind. Of his quondam position I availed myself to connect with the Wanderer, also a Scotchman, a character suitable to my purpose, the elements of which I drew from several persons with whom I had been connected, and who fell under my observation during frequent residences in London at the beginning of the French Revolution."--I. F.]

[Footnote BO: Compare _The Prelude_, books ix., x., and xi., _passim_.--ED.]

[Footnote BP: I have not been able to trace this quotation.

Moving about in worlds not realised

occurs in the _Ode, Intimations of Immortality_.--ED.]

[Footnote BQ: Langdale.--ED.]

[Footnote BR: The flank of Lingmoor.--ED.]

[Footnote BS: The flat heathery summit of Lingmoor. Note the text of 1814.--ED.]

[Footnote BT: Bowfell, Great End, Shelter Crags, and Pike o' Blisco to the west straight before them, the Langdale Pikes to the north on the right, with Wrynose, Wetherlam, and the Coniston Mountains to the south-west.--ED.]

[Footnote BU: The head of Little Langdale, with Blea Tarn in the centre, as seen from the top of Lingmoor, the only point, except the summit of Blake Rigg, from which it appears "urn-like."

With the six previous lines compare Beattie's _Minstrel_,