I cannot bring to utter woe Your proved fidelity."— The bold good Man his labour sped At nature's pure command; "Dear Child, sweet Mistress, say not so! Heart-soothed, and busy as a wren, For you we both would die." "Nay, nay, I come with semblance feign'd And cheek embrown'd by art; Yet, being inwardly unstain'd, With courage will depart." While, in a hollow nook, She moulds her sight-eluding den Above a murmuring brook. His task accomplish'd to his mind, The twain ere break of day "But whither would you, could you, flee ?4 Creep forth, and through the forest wind A poor Man's counsel take; The Holy Virgin gives to me A thought for your dear sake: Rest, shielded by our Lady's grace, And soon shall you be led Forth to a safe abiding-place, Where never foot doth tread." PART II. THE dwelling of this faithful pair And there, sequester'd from the sight, And midway in th' unsafe morass Of firm dry ground, with healthful grass The Woodman knew -for such the craft That never fowler's gun, nor shaft From all intrusion free; And there he plann'd an artful Cot For perfect secrecy. With earnest pains uncheck'd by dread Of Power's far-stretching hand, 4 The meaning probably is, "Whither would you flee, if you could?" Their solitary way; Few words they speak, nor dare to slack Their pace from mile to mile, Till they have cross'd the quaking marsh, And reach'd the lonely Isle. The Sun above the pine-trees show'd The promised hiding-place: She sought in vain, the Woodman smiled; No threshold could be seen, Nor roof, nor window; - all seem'd wild As it had ever been. Advancing, you might guess an hour, As shaggy as were wall and roof And hearth was there, and maple dish, And Heaven doth to her virtue grant In solitude, with every want No queen, before a shouting crowd, E'er struggled with a heart so proud, E'er took possession of her cell 5 Some obscurity here, perhaps; but the word if is construed with guess, and is equivalent to whether; the sense thus being, "you might guess an hour whether it be a house," &c. "Father of all, upon Thy care And mercy am I thrown; Upon her Island desolate; And words, not breathed in vain, Be Thou my safeguard!" such her prayer Might tell what intercourse she found, When she was left alone, Kneeling amid the wilderness When joy had pass'd away, And smiles, fond efforts of distress The prayer is heard, the Saints have seen, That monumental grace Of Faith, which doth all passions tame PART III. "TIS sung in ancient minstrelsy Till Daphne, desperate with pursuit At her own prayer transform'd, took root, Then did the Penitent adorn His brow with laurel green; And 'mid his bright locks never shorn No meaner leaf was seen; And poets sage, through every age, About their temples wound The bay; and conquerors thank'd the With laurel chaplets crown'd. Into the mists of fabling Time So far runs back the praise [Gods, Dark is the past to them, and dark That scorns temptation; power defies To this fair Votaress, a fate More mild doth Heaven ordain The future still must be, Till pitying Saints conduct her bark Or gentle Nature close her eyes, Yet, when above the forest glooms The white swans southward pass'd, High as the pitch of their swift plumes Her fancy rode the blast; And bore her toward the fields of France, To mingle in the rustic dance, 6 It may be well to note that bay and laurel mean the same thing. Wordsworth probably had in mind a passage of The Faerie Queene, i. 1, 9: "The laurell, meed Of those beloved fields she oft of mightie conquerours and poets sage." Had heard her Father tell, In phrase that now with echoes soft PART IV. THE ever-changing Moon had traced Twelve times her monthly round, When through the unfrequented Waste Was heard a startling sound; A shout thrice sent from one who chased At speed a wounded deer, Bounding through branches interlaced, And where the wood was clear. The fainting creature took the marsh, This, Ina saw; and, pale with fear, Shrunk to her citadel; The desperate deer rush'd on, and near The tangled covert fell. Across the marsh, the game in view, Nor paused, till o'er the stag he blew From your deportment, Sir, I deem Tears might be shed, and I might pray, The knee that bends to adore I speak not of the Winter's cold, For Summer's heat exchanged, While I have lodged in this rough hold, High Heaven is my defence; From Moscow to the Wilderness To end life here like this poor deer, "Are you the Maid," the Stranger cried, But wonder, pity, soon were quell'd; The soul's pure brightness he beheld -a holy flame "Sach bounty is no gift of chance," To me the charge hath given. The Czar full oft in words and deeds Is stormy and self-will'd; But, when the Lady Catherine 7 pleads, His violence is still'd. "Leave open to my wish the course, And I to her will go; From that humane and heavenly source, Faint sanction given, the Cavalier Though question follow'd question, dear Light was his step,-his hopes, more light, Kept pace with his desires; 7 This was the famous lady then bearing that name as the acknowledged wife of Peter the Great. And the fifth morning gave him sight The Emperor sent a pledge as strong O more than mighty change! If e'er Of something void and vain; But, seeing no relief, at last "Ah!" said the Briar, "blame me not; You stirr'd me on my rocky bed, — "Twas when the Parents, who had mourn'd Nor was it common gratitude So long the lost as dead, Beheld their only Child return'd, The household floor to tread. Soon gratitude gave way to love In bridal garments drest; Meek Catherine had her own reward; The Czar bestow'd a dower; And universal Moscow shared The triumph of that hour. That did your cares repay. When Spring came on with bud and bell, Before you hang my wreaths, to tell And in the sultry summer hours I shelter'd you with leaves and flowers; Flowers strew'd the ground; the nuptial But now proud thoughts are in your "BEGONE, thou fond presumptuous Elf," Came thundering loud and fast; Exclaim'd an angry Voice, "Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self A small Cascade fresh swoln with snows HIS simple truths did Andrew glean "Dost thou presume my course to block? A careful student he had been Off, off! or, puny Thing, I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock Among the woods and hills. One Winter's night, when thro' the trees |