Chapter IV: Part 4

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_, book ii. stanza vi.--

It was his chance to wander far abroad,
And o'er a lonely eminence to climb,
Which, heretofore, his foot had never trode;
A vale appeared below, a deep retired abode. ED.
]

[Footnote BV: The "small opening, where a heath-clad ridge supplied a boundary," is that which leads down into Little Langdale by Fell Foot and Busk.--ED.]

[Footnote BW: The "nook" is not now "treeless," but the fir-wood on the western side of the Vale adds to its "quiet," and deepens the sense of seclusion.--ED.]

[Footnote BX: Blea Tarn. "The scene in which this small piece of water lies, suggested to the Author the following description (given in his poem of _The Excursion_), supposing the spectator to look down upon it, not from the road, but from one of its elevated sides." (See Wordsworth's _Description of the Scenery of the District of the Lakes_ in his _Prose Works_.)--ED.]

[Footnote BY: The solitary cottage, called Blea Tarn house, which is passed on the left of the road under Side Pike.--ED.]

[Footnote BZ: The following is from Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal: Wednesday, 3rd September 1800.--"I went to a funeral at John Dawson's. About 10 men and 4 women.... The dead person 56 years of age, buried by the parish.... They set the corpse down at the door; and, while we stood within the threshold, the men, with their hats off, sang, with decent and solemn countenances, a verse of a funeral psalm. The corpse was then borne down the hill, and they sang till they had passed the Town-end. I was affected to tears while we stood in the house.... There were no near kindred, no children. When we got out of the dark house the sun was shining, and the prospect looked as divinely beautiful as I ever saw it. It seemed more sacred than I had ever seen it, and yet more allied to human life.... When we came to the bridge, they began to sing again, and stopped during four lines before they entered the churchyard." Compare this with such phrases in _The Excursion_ as--

They shaped their course along the sloping side
Of that small valley, singing as they moved;
A sober company and few, the men
Bare-headed, --(p. 84.)

We heard the hymn they sang--a solemn sound
Heard any where; but in a place like this
'Tis more than human! --(p. 90.)--ED.
]

[Footnote CA: See the note on the preceding page.--ED.]

[Footnote CB: Descending from the top of Lingmoor to Blea Tarn.--ED.]

[Footnote CC: The upper part of Little Langdale, descending to Fell Foot.--ED.]

[Footnote CD: A spot exactly similar to this can easily be found, about two hundred yards above the house, in the narrow gorge of Blea Tarn Ghyll, below a waterfall, where a "moss-grown wall" still approaches the rock on the other side of the stream, and where a "penthouse" might easily be made by children.--ED.]

[Footnote CE: It may not be too trivial to note that, to this day, in the Cumberland and Westmoreland vales, one of the favourite games of children on the fell-sides near their cottages, is playing at mimic gardens and parterres, made out of fragments of broken pottery.--ED.]

[Footnote CF: Compare Lamb's remark in a letter to Wordsworth, 14th August 1814. See _Letters of Charles Lamb_, edited by Canon Ainger, vol. i. p. 271.--ED.]

[Footnote CG: The flat ground on the more level part of the valley near Blea Tarn cottage.--ED.]

[Footnote CH: Compare _Resolution and Independence_, stanza xiii. (see vol. ii. p. 319).--ED.]

[Footnote CI: Compare the note p. 83; also the Fenwick note, in which Wordsworth laments the change in the "manner in which, till lately, every one was borne to the place of sepulture."--ED.]

[Footnote CJ: The custom of mourners kneeling round the coffin was, till quite lately, in common use. It is still observed in some churches in Cumberland and Westmoreland, but is gradually passing away.--ED.]

[Footnote CK: Blea Tarn house is a humble cottage, resembling Anne Tyson's house at Hawkshead where Wordsworth lived when at school. On the ground-floor are a parlour, kitchen, and dairy. You ascend by nine stone steps to the upper flat, where there are four small rooms, and the window of one of them faces the north in the direction of the Langdale Pikes. The foundations of an older house may be seen a little lower down, about twenty yards nearer the tarn; but the present house was probably standing at the beginning of this century. As there are two poplars to the north of the cottage, and a sycamore near them, it is not likely that the place was _entirely_ "treeless" in Wordsworth's time. In the Fenwick memoranda he says "the cottage was called Hackett, and stands, as described, on the southern extremity of the ridge which separates the two Langdales." In this he evidently confounds Hackett cottage, near Colwith--which separates the two Langdales as you ascend them from the lower country--with the Blea Tarn cottage, which stands on "the southern extremity of the ridge which separates the Langdale" valleys as you descend them.--ED.]

[Footnote CL: It is generally supposed that the

two huge Peaks,
That from some other vale peered into this,

are the Langdale Pikes; and it is the most likely supposition. But, if the three were seated, as described, in the upper room of the cottage (which has one small window looking toward the Pikes), they could not possibly see them. Side Pike and Pike o' Blisco alone could be seen. Either then, these are the Peaks referred to; or, what is much more likely, the realism of the narrative here gives way; and the far finer pikes of Langdale are introduced--although they are not visible from the house--because they belong to the district, and can be seen from so many points around. The phrases "from some other vale" and "lusty twins" point unmistakably to those two characteristic pikes which "peer" over the crest of the ridge dividing the Langdale valleys. "Let a man," says Dr. Cradock, "as he approaches Blea Tarn from Little Langdale, see these slowly rising, and peering alone over the depression (or Haws) which divides the Langdales, and he cannot doubt that they are the 'lusty twins.' Let the Haws be in shadow, and the Pikes in sunlight, or the reverse, and the effect is one of the most striking in all the district." Compare the sonnet, _November 1, 1815_, beginning--

How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright. ED.
]

[Footnote CM: This is strictly accurate. On and about the 21st June, the sun, as seen from Blea Tarn, sets just between the Langdale Pikes.--ED.]

[Footnote CN: "Mark how the wind rejoices in these peaks, and they give back its wild pleasure; how all the things which touch and haunt them get their reply; how they are loved and love; how busy are the mute agents there; how proud the stars to shine on them." (Stopford A. Brooke's _Theology in the English Poets_, p. 108.)--ED.]

[Footnote CO: "The account given by the Solitary, towards the close of the second book, in all that belongs to the character of the old man, was taken from a Grasmere pauper, who was boarded in the last house quitting the vale on the road to Ambleside."--I.F.]

[Footnote CP: "The character of his hostess, and all that befell the poor man upon the mountain, belongs to Paterdale. The woman I knew well; her name was Ruth Jackson, and she was exactly such a person as I describe. The ruins of the old chapel, among which the old man was found lying, may yet be traced, and stood upon the ridge that divides Paterdale from Boardale and Martindale, having been placed there for the convenience of both districts."--I.F.

The following is Dorothy Wordsworth's account of the same occurrence, given in a record of what she called "a Mountainous Ramble," written in 1805. Her brother afterwards incorporated this passage, with a few alterations, in his _Description of the Scenery of the Lakes_.

"Looked into Boar Dale above Sanwick--deep and bare, a stream winding down it. After having walked a considerable way on the tops of the hills, came in view of Glenridding and the mountains above Grisdale. Luff then took us aside, before we had begun to descend, to a small ruin, which was formerly a chapel or place of worship where the inhabitants of Martindale and Paterdale were accustomed to meet on Sundays. There are now no traces by which you could discover that the building had been different from a common sheepfold; the loose stones and the few which yet remain piled up are the same as those which lie about on the mountain; but the shape of the building being oblong is not that of a common sheepfold, and it stands east and west. Whether it was ever consecrated ground or not I know not; but the place may be kept holy in the memory of some now living in Paterdale; for it was the means of preserving the life of a poor old man last summer, who, having gone up the mountain to gather peats, had been overtaken by a storm, and could not find his way down again. He happened to be near the remains of the old chapel, and, in a corner of it, he contrived, by laying turf and ling and stones from one wall to the other, to make a shelter from the wind, and there he lay all night. The woman who had sent him on his errand began to grow uneasy towards night, and the neighbours went out to seek him. At that time the old man had housed himself in his nest, and he heard the voices of the men, but could not make _them_ hear, the wind being so loud, and he was afraid to leave the spot lest he should not be able to find it again, so he remained there all night; and they returned to their homes, giving him up for lost; but the next morning the same persons discovered him huddled up in the sheltered nook. He was at first stupefied and unable to move; but after he had eaten and drunk, and recollected himself a little, he walked down the mountain, and did not afterwards seem to have suffered."--ED.]

[Footnote CQ: Compare Ezekiel, chap. i.--ED.]

[Footnote CR: "The glorious appearance disclosed above and among the mountains, was described partly from what my friend Mr. Luff, who then lived in Paterdale, witnessed upon that melancholy occasion, and partly from what Mary and I had seen, in company with Sir George and Lady Beaumont, above Hartshope Hall, on our way from Paterdale to Ambleside."--I. F.

Compare the lines 827-881 with the account of the view from the top of Snowdon, in _The Prelude_, book xiv. II. 11-62 (vol. iii. pp. 367-68), and see Charles Lamb's remarks in his letter to Wordsworth (Aug. 14, 1814) on receiving a copy of _The Excursion_. (_Letters of Charles Lamb_, edited by Alfred Ainger, vol. i. p. 271.) In his _Table Talk_ Coleridge expresses a wish "that the first two books of _The Excursion_ had been published separately under the name of 'The Deserted Cottages.' They would have formed, what indeed they are, one of the most beautiful poems in the language." This advice has been followed more than once--ED.]

=Book Third=

DESPONDENCY

ARGUMENT

_Images in the Valley--Another Recess in it entered and
described--Wanderer's sensations--Solitary's excited by
the same objects--Contrast between these--Despondency of
the Solitary gently reproved--Conversation exhibiting
the Solitary's past and present opinions and feelings,
till he enters upon his own History at length--His
domestic felicity--Afflictions--Dejection--Roused by the
French Revolution--Disappointment and disgust--Voyage to
America--Disappointment and disgust pursue him--His return--His
languor and depression of mind, from want of faith in the great
truths of Religion, and want of confidence in the virtue of
Mankind._

A HUMMING BEE--a little tinkling rill--
A pair of falcons wheeling on the wing,
In clamorous agitation, round the crest
Of a tall rock, their airy citadel--
By each and all of these the pensive ear 5
Was greeted, in the silence that ensued,
When through the cottage threshold we had passed,
And, deep within that lonesome valley, stood
Once more beneath the concave of a[211] blue
And cloudless sky.--Anon exclaimed our Host, 10
Triumphantly dispersing with the taunt
The shade of discontent which on his brow
Had gathered,--"Ye have left my cell,--but see
How Nature hems you in with friendly arms!
And by her help ye are my prisoners still. 15
But which way shall I lead you?--how contrive,
In spot so parsimoniously endowed,
That the brief hours, which yet remain, may reap
Some recompense of knowledge or delight?"
So saying, round he looked, as if perplexed; 20
And, to remove those doubts, my grey-haired Friend
Said--"Shall we take this pathway for our guide?--
Upward it winds, as if, in summer heats,
Its line had first been fashioned by the flock
Seeking a place of refuge[212] at the root 25
Of yon black Yew-tree, whose protruded boughs
Darken the silver bosom of the crag,[CS]
From which she draws her[213] meagre sustenance.
There in commodious shelter may we rest.
Or let us trace this streamlet to its[214] source; 30
Feebly it tinkles with an earthy sound,
And a few steps may bring us to the spot
Where, haply, crowned with flowerets and green herbs,
The mountain infant to the sun comes forth,
Like human life from darkness."--A quick turn[215] 35
Through a strait passage of encumbered ground,
Proved that such hope was vain:--for now we stood
Shut out from prospect of the open vale,
And saw the water, that composed this rill,
Descending, disembodied, and diffused 40
O'er the smooth surface of an ample crag,
Lofty, and steep, and naked as a tower.
All further progress here was barred;--And who,
Thought I, if master of a vacant hour,
Here would not linger, willingly detained? 45
Whether to such wild objects he were led
When copious rains have magnified the stream
Into a loud and white-robed waterfall,
Or introduced at this more quiet time.

Upon a semicirque of turf-clad ground, 50
The hidden nook discovered to our view
A mass of rock, resembling, as it lay
Right at the foot of that moist precipice,
A stranded ship, with keel upturned, that rests
Fearless of winds and waves. Three several stones 55
Stood near, of smaller size, and not unlike
To monumental pillars: and, from these
Some little space disjoined, a pair were seen,
That with united shoulders bore aloft
A fragment, like an altar, flat and smooth: 60
Barren the tablet, yet thereon appeared[216]
A tall and shining holly, that[217] had found
A hospitable chink, and stood upright,
As if inserted by some human hand
In mockery, to wither in the sun, 65
Or lay its beauty flat before a breeze,
The first that entered. But no breeze did now
Find entrance;--high or low appeared no trace
Of motion, save the water that descended,
Diffused adown that barrier of steep rock, 70
And softly creeping, like a breath of air,
Such as is sometimes seen, and hardly seen,
To brush the still breast of a crystal lake.[CT]

"Behold a cabinet for sages built,
Which kings might envy!"--Praise to this effect 75
Broke from the happy old Man's reverend lip;
Who to the Solitary turned, and said,
"In sooth, with love's familiar privilege,
You have decried the wealth which is your own.[218]
Among these rocks and stones, methinks, I see 80
More than the heedless impress that belongs
To lonely nature's casual work: they bear
A semblance strange of power intelligent,
And of design not wholly worn away.
Boldest of plants that ever faced the wind, 85
How gracefully that slender shrub looks forth
From its fantastic birth-place! And I own,
Some shadowy intimations haunt me here,
That in these shows[219] a chronicle survives
Of purposes akin to those of Man,[CU] 90
But wrought with mightier arm than now prevails.
--Voiceless the stream descends into the gulf
With timid lapse;--and lo! while in this strait
I stand--the chasm of sky above my head
Is heaven's profoundest azure; no domain 95
For fickle, short-lived clouds to occupy,
Or to pass through; but rather an abyss
In which the everlasting stars abide;
And whose soft gloom, and boundless depth, might tempt
The curious eye to look for them by day.[CV] 100
--Hail Contemplation! from the stately towers,
Reared by the industrious hand of human art
To lift thee high above the misty air
And turbulence of murmuring cities vast;
From academic groves, that have for thee 105
Been planted, hither come and find a lodge
To which thou mayst resort for holier peace,--
From whose calm centre thou, through height or depth,
Mayst penetrate, wherever truth shall lead;
Measuring through all degrees, until the scale 110
Of time and conscious nature disappear,
Lost in unsearchable eternity!"[CW]

A pause ensued; and with minuter care
We scanned the various features of the scene:
And soon the Tenant of that lonely vale 115
With courteous voice thus spake--
"I should have grieved
Hereafter, not escaping self-reproach,[220]
If from my poor retirement ye had gone
Leaving this nook unvisited: but, in sooth,
Your unexpected presence had so roused 120
My spirits, that they were bent on enterprise;
And, like an ardent hunter, I forgot,
Or, shall I say?--disdained, the game that lurks[221]
At my own door. The shapes before our eyes,
And their arrangement, doubtless must be deemed 125
The sport of Nature, aided by blind Chance
Rudely to mock the works of toiling Man.
And hence, this upright shaft of unhewn stone,
From Fancy, willing to set off her stores
By sounding titles, hath acquired the name 130
Of Pompey's pillar; that I gravely style
My Theban obelisk; and, there, behold
A Druid cromlech!--thus I entertain
The antiquarian humour, and am pleased
To skim along the surfaces of things, 135
Beguiling harmlessly the listless hours.
But if the spirit be oppressed by sense
Of instability, revolt, decay,
And change, and emptiness, these freaks of Nature
And her blind helper Chance, do _then_ suffice 140
To quicken, and to aggravate--to feed
Pity and scorn, and melancholy pride,
Not less than that huge Pile (from some abyss
Of mortal power unquestionably sprung)[CX]
Whose hoary diadem of pendent rocks 145
Confines the shrill-voiced whirlwind, round and round
Eddying within its vast circumference,
On Sarum's naked plain--than pyramid
Of Egypt, unsubverted, undissolved--
Or Syria's marble ruins towering high[CY] 150
Above the sandy desert, in the light
Of sun or moon.--Forgive me, if I say
That an appearance which hath raised your minds
To an exalted pitch (the self-same cause
Different effect producing) is for me 155
Fraught rather with depression than delight,
Though shame it were, could I not look around,[222]
By the reflection of your pleasure, pleased.
Yet happier, in my judgment, even than you
With your bright transports, fairly may be deemed 160
The wandering Herbalist,[223]--who, clear alike
From vain, and, that worse evil, vexing thoughts,
Casts, if he ever chance to enter here,
Upon these uncouth Forms[224] a slight regard
Of transitory interest, and peeps round 165
For some rare floweret of the hills, or plant
Of craggy fountain; what he hopes for wins,
Or learns, at least, that 'tis not to be won:
Then, keen and eager, as a fine-nosed hound
By soul-engrossing instinct driven along 170
Through wood or open field, the harmless Man
Departs, intent upon his onward quest!--
Nor is that Fellow-wanderer, so deem I,
Less to be envied, (you may trace him oft
By scars which his activity has left 175
Beside our roads and pathways, though, thank Heaven!
This covert nook reports not of his hand)
He who with pocket-hammer smites the edge
Of luckless rock or prominent stone, disguised
In weather-stains or crusted o'er by Nature 180
With her first growths,[225] detaching by the stroke
A chip or splinter--to resolve his doubts;
And, with that ready answer satisfied,
The substance classes by some barbarous name,
And[226] hurries on; or from the fragments picks 185
His specimen, if but haply interveined[227]
With sparkling mineral, or should crystal cube
Lurk in its cells--and thinks himself enriched,
Wealthier, and doubtless wiser, than before!
Intrusted safely each to his pursuit, 190
Earnest alike, let both from hill to hill
Range;[228] if it please them, speed from clime to clime;
The mind is full--and free from pain their pastime."[229]

"Then," said I, interposing, "One is near,
Who cannot but possess in your esteem 195
Place worthier still of envy. May I name,
Without offence, that fair-faced cottage-boy?
Dame Nature's pupil of the lowest form,
Youngest apprentice in the school of art!
Him, as we entered from the open glen, 200
You might have noticed, busily engaged,
Heart, soul, and hands,--in mending the defects
Left in the fabric of a leaky dam
Raised[230] for enabling this penurious stream
To turn a slender mill (that new-made plaything) 205
For his delight--the happiest he of all!"

"Far happiest," answered the desponding Man,
"If, such as now he is, he might remain!
Ah! what avails imagination high
Or question deep? what profits all that earth, 210
Or heaven's blue vault, is suffered to put forth
Of impulse or allurement, for the Soul
To quit the beaten track of life, and soar
Far as she finds a yielding element
In past or future; far as she can go 215
Through time or space--if neither in the one,
Nor in the other region, nor in aught
That Fancy, dreaming o'er the map of things,
Hath placed beyond these penetrable bounds,
Words of assurance can be heard; if nowhere 220
A habitation, for consummate good,
Or for[231] progressive virtue, by the search
Can be attained,--a better sanctuary
From doubt and sorrow, than the senseless grave?"

"Is this," the grey-haired Wanderer mildly said,
"The voice, which we so lately overheard, 226
To that same child, addressing tenderly
The consolations of a hopeful mind?
'_His body is at rest, his soul in heaven._'
These were your words; and, verily, methinks 230
Wisdom is oft-times nearer when we stoop
Than when we soar."--
The Other, not displeased,
Promptly replied--"My notion is the same.
And I, without reluctance, could decline
All act of inquisition whence we rise, 235
And what, when breath hath ceased, we may become.
Here are we, in a bright and breathing world.
Our origin, what matters it? In lack
Of worthier explanation, say at once
With the American (a thought which suits 240
The place where now we stand) that certain men
Leapt out together from a rocky cave;[CZ]
And these were the first parents of mankind:
Or, if a different image be recalled
By the warm sunshine, and the jocund voice 245
Of insects chirping out their careless lives
On these soft beds of thyme-besprinkled turf,
Choose, with the gay Athenian, a conceit
As sound--blithe race! whose mantles were bedecked
With golden grasshoppers,[DA] in sign that they 250
Had sprung, like those bright creatures, from the soil
Whereon their endless generations dwelt.[232]
But stop!--these theoretic fancies jar
On serious minds: then, as the Hindoos draw[233]
Their holy Ganges from a skiey fount,[DB] 255
Even so deduce the stream of human life
From seats of power divine; and hope, or trust,
That our existence winds her[234] stately course
Beneath the sun, like Ganges, to make part
Of a living ocean; or, to sink engulfed,[235] 260
Like Niger, in impenetrable sands
And utter darkness:[DC] thought which may be faced,
Though comfortless!--
"Not of myself I speak;
Such acquiescence neither doth imply,
In me, a meekly-bending spirit soothed 265
By natural piety; nor a lofty mind,
By philosophic discipline prepared
For calm subjection to acknowledged law;
Pleased to have been, contented not to be.
Such palms I boast not;--no! to me, who find, 270
Reviewing my past way, much to condemn,
Little to praise, and nothing to regret,
(Save some remembrances of dream-like joys
That scarcely seem to have belonged to me)
If I must take my choice between the pair 275
That rule alternately the weary hours,
Night is than day more acceptable; sleep
Doth, in my estimate of good, appear
A better state than waking; death than sleep:
Feelingly sweet is stillness after storm, 280
Though under covert of the wormy ground!

"Yet be it said, in justice to myself,
That in more genial times, when I was free
To explore the destiny of human kind
(Not as an intellectual game pursued 285
With curious subtilty, from wish[236] to cheat
Irksome sensations; but by love of truth
Urged on, or haply by intense delight
In feeding thought, wherever thought could feed)
I did not rank with those (too dull or nice, 290
For to my judgment such they then appeared,
Or too aspiring, thankless at the best)
Who, in this frame of human life, perceive
An object whereunto their souls are tied
In discontented wedlock; nor did e'er, 295
From me, those dark impervious shades, that hang
Upon the region whither we are bound,
Exclude a power to enjoy the vital beams
Of present sunshine.--Deities that float
On wings, angelic Spirits! I could muse 300
O'er what from eldest time we have been told
Of your bright forms and glorious faculties,
And with the imagination rest[237] content,
Not wishing more; repining not to tread
The little sinuous path of earthly care, 305
By flowers embellished, and by springs refreshed.[238]
--'Blow winds of autumn!--let your chilling breath
Take the live herbage from the mead, and strip
The shady forest of its green attire,--
And let the bursting clouds to fury rouse 310
The gentle brooks!--Your desolating sway,
Sheds,' I exclaimed, 'no sadness upon me,[239]
And no disorder in your rage I find.
What dignity, what beauty, in this change
From mild to angry, and from sad to gay, 315
Alternate and revolving! How benign,
How rich in animation and delight,
How bountiful these elements--compared
With aught, as more desirable and fair,
Devised by fancy for the golden age; 320
Or the perpetual warbling that prevails
In Arcady,[DE] beneath unaltered skies,
Through the long year in constant quiet bound,
Night hushed as night, and day serene as day!'
--But why this tedious record?--Age, we know, 325
Is garrulous; and solitude is apt
To anticipate the privilege of Age.
From far ye come; and surely with a hope
Of better entertainment:--let us hence!"