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Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in

the west The orange sky of evening died away.

Not seldom from the uproar I retired Into a silent bay, or sportively Glanced sideway, leaving the tumult

uous throng, To cut across the reflex of a star ; Image, that, flying still before me,

gleamed Upon the glassy plain : and oftentimes, When we had given our bodies to the

wind, And all the shadowy banks on either

side Came sweeping through the darkness,

spinning still The rapid line of motion, then at once Have I, reclining back upon my heels, Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs Wheeled by me even as if the earth

had rolled With visible motion her diurnal round ! Behind me did they stretch in solemn

train, Feebler and feebler, and I stood and

watched Till all was tranquil as a summer sea.

1799. 1809.

Of jocund din! And, when there came

a pause Of silence such as baffled his best skill, Then, sometimes, in that silence, while

he hung Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise Has carried far into his heart the voice Of mountain-torrents ; or the visible

scene Would enter unawares into his mind With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, Its woods, and that uncertain heaven

received Into the bosom of the steady lake. This boy was taken from his mates,

and died In childhood, ere he was full twelve years

old. Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale Where he was born and bred : the church

yard hangs Upon a slope above the village-school ; And through that church-yard when my

way las led On summer-evenings, I believe, that

there A long half-hour together I have stood Mute--looking at the grave in which he lies !

1799. 1800.



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Written in Germany.

This is an extract from the men on my own poetical education. (Wordsworld. The poem referred to is The Prelude.) THERE was a Boy ; ye knew him well, ye

cliffs And islands of Winander !-many a time, Atevening, when the earliest stars began To move along the edges of the hills, Rising or setting, would he stand alone, Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering

lake; And there, with fingers interwoven, both

hands Pressed closely palm to palm and to his

mouth Uplifted, he, as through an instrument, Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, That they might answer him.-And they

would shout Across the watery vale, and shout again, Responsive to his call,—with quivering

peals, And long halloos, and

A nutting-crook in hand ; and turned

my steps Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a Figure

quaint, Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off

weeds Which for that service had been hus

banded, By exhortation of my frugal DameMotley accoutrement, of power to smile At thorns, and brakes, and brambles-

and, in truth, More ragged than need was !

O'er pathless rocks,

screams, and echoes loud Redoubled and redoubled ;



Through beds of matted fern, and tan- The silent trees, and saw the intruding gled thickets,

sky.Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook Then, dearest Maiden, move along these Unvisited, where not a broken bough

shades Drooped with its withered leaves, un- In gentleness of heart; with gentle ham, gracious sign

Touch-for there is a spirit in the woods Of devastation ; but the hazels rose

1799, 1800. Tall and erect, with tempting clusters

hung, A virgin scene!--A little while I stood,

STRANGE FITS OF PASSION HAVE Breathing with such suppression of the

I KNOWN heart As joy delights in ; and, with wise re- The next three poems were written in straint

Germany. (Wordsworth.) Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

STRANGE fits of passion have I known: The banquet ;-or beneath the trees I

And I will dare to tell, sate

But in the Lover's ear alone,
Among the flowers, and with the flowers

What once to me befell.
I played ;
A temper known to those, who, after When she I loved looked every day

Fresh as a rose in June,
And weary expectation, have been blest I to her cottage bent my way,
With sudden happiness beyond all hope. Beneath an evening-moon.
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose

Upon the moon I fixed my eye,
The violets of five seasons re-appear

All over the wide lea ; And fade, unseen by any human eye;

With quickening pace my horse drew Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on

nigh For ever ; and I saw the sparkling foam, Those paths so dear to me. And--with my cheek on one of those

And now we reached the orchard-plot: green stones That, fleeced with moss, under the shady

And, as we climbed the hill,

The sinking moon to Lucy's cot trees, Lay round me, scattered like a flock of

Came near, and nearer still. sheep-

In one of those sweet dreams I slept, I heard the murmur and the murmuring

Kind Nature's gentlest boon! sound,

And all the while my eyes I kept In that sweet mood when pleasure loves

On the descending moon. Tribute to ease ; and, of its joy secure, My horse moved on ; hoof after hoof The heart luxuriates with indifferent He raised, and never stopped : things,

When down behind the cottage roor, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and

At once, the bright moon dropped. stones And on the vacant air. Then up I rose, What fond and wayward thoughts will And dragged to earth both branch and

slide bough, with crash

Into a Lover's head! And merciless ravage : and the shady O mercy!” to myself I cried, nook

“ If Lucy should be dead!” Of hazels, and the green and mossy

1799. 1800. bower, Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up

X Their quiet being: and, unless I now

SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODConfound my present feelings with the

DEN WAYS past; Ere from the mutilated bower I turned SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of Beside the springs of Dove, kings,

A Maid whom there were none to praise I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

And very few to love:

to pay

A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye! -Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be ;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,

The difference to me! 1799, 1800.

The floating clouds their state shall

lend To her ; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see Even in the motions of the Storm Grace that shall mould the Maiden's

form By silent sympathy.

“ The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her ; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward

round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass

into her face.


I TRAVELLED among unknown men,

In lands beyond the sea ;
Nor. England ! did I know till then

What love I bore to thee.
*Tis past, that melancholy dream!

Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time ; for still I seem

To love thee more and more.
Among the mountains did I feel

The joy of my desire ; And she I cherished turned her wheel

Beside an English fire.
Thy mornings showed, thy nights con-

The bowers where Lucy played ;
And thine too is the last green field
That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

1799. 1807.

" And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her forin to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell ;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live
Here in this happy dell.”

Thus Nature spake.- The work was

doneHow soon my Lucy's race was run! She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene ; The memory of what has been, And never more will be. 1999. 1800.


A SLUMBER did my spirit seal ;

I had no human fears : She seemed a thing that could not feel

The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force ;

She neither hears nor sees ; Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, With rocks, and stones, and trees.

1799. 1800.


THREE years she grew in sun and shower,
Then Nature said, A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown ;
This Child I to myself will take ;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A Lady of my own.

Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse : and with me
The Girl, in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven, in glade and

Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle or restrain.
"She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn,
Or up the mountain springs ;
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.


Art thou a Statist in the van
Of public conflicts trained and bred ?

First learn to love one living man ; Then may'st thou think upon the dead.

A Lawyer art thou ?-draw not nigh !
Go, carry to some fitter place
The keenness of that practised eye,
The hardness of that sallow face.

Art thou a Man of purple cheer ?
A rosy Man, right plump to see?
Approach ; yet, Doctor. not too near,
This grave no cushion is for thee.

But he is weak; both Man and Boy,
Hath been an idler in the land ;
Contented if he might enjoy
The things which others understand.
-Come hither in thy hour of strength ;
Come, weak as is a breaking wave!
Here stretch thy body at full length;
Or build thy house upon this grave.

1799. 1800.

Or art thou one of gallant pride,
A Soldier and no man of chaff ?
Welcome !-but lay thy sword aside,
And lean upon a peasant's staff,

Physician art thou ? one all eyes, Philosopher ! a fingering slave, One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave?


Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece, () turn aside,-and take, I pray, That he below may rest in peace, Thy ever-dwindling soul away!

A Moralist perchance appears ;
Led, Heaven knows how! to this poor

sod :
And he has neither eyes nor ears ;
Himself his world, and his own God;

In the School of -- is a tablet, on which are inscribed in gilt letters, the Names of the sev. eral persons who have been Schoolmasters there since the foundation of the School, with the time at which they entered upon and quitted their office. Opposite to one of those names the Author wrote the following lines.

Such a Tablet as is here spoken of continued to be preserved in Hawkshead School, though the inscriptions were not brought down to our time. This and other poems connected with Matthew would not gain by a literal detail of facts. Like the Wanderer in "The Excursion," this Schoolmaster was made up of several both of his class and men of other occupations. I do not ask pardon for what there is of untruth in such verses, considered strictly as matters of fact. It is enough if, being true and consistent in spirit, they move and teach in a manner not unworthy of a Poet's calling. (Wordsuorth.)

One to whose smooth-rubbed soul can

cling Nor form, nor feeling, great or small ! A reasoning, self-sufficing thing, An intellectual All-in-all !

IF Nature, for a favorite child,
In thee hath tempered so her clay,
That every hour thy heart runs wild,
Yet never once doth go astray,

Shut close the door ; press down the

latch ;
Sleep in thy intellectual crust;
Nor lose ten tickings of thy watch
Near this unprofitable dust.

Read o'er these lines ; and then review
This tablet, that thus humbly rears
In such diversity of lue
Its history of two hundred years.

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The tears which came to Matthew's

eyes Were tears of light, the dew of gladness.

Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup
Of still and serious thought went round,
It seemed as if he drank it up--
He felt with spirit so profound.

- Thou soul of God's best earthly mould!
Thou happy Soul! and can it be
That these two words of glittering gold
Are all that must remain of thee ?'

1799. 1800.

" Nine summers had she scarcely seen, The pride of all the vale ; And then she sang ;—she would have

been A very nightingale. “* Six feet in earth my Emma lay ; And yet I loved her more, For so it seemed, than till that day I e'er had loved before. · And, turning from her grave, I met, Beside the church-yard yew, A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet With points of morning dew,

A basket on her head she bare ;
Her brow was smooth and white :
To see a child so very fair,
It was a pure delight !
* No fountain from its rocky cave
E'er tripped with foot so free ;
She seemed as happy as a wave
That dances on the sea;

“There came from me a sigh of pain
Which I could ill confine ;
I looked at her, and looked again :
And did not wish her mine!”
Matthew is in his grave, yet now,
Methinks, I see him stand,
As at that moment, with a bough
Of wilding in his hand. 1799. 1800.

THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS We walked along, while bright and red Cprose the morning sun ; And Matthew stopped, he looked, and

" The will of God be done!”
A village schoolmaster was he,
With hair of glittering gray;
As blithe a man as you could see
On a spring holiday.
And on that morning, through the grass,
And by the steaming rills,
We travelled merrily, to pass
A day among the hills.
“Our work,” said I, “ was well begun,
Then, from thy breast what thought,
Beneath so beautiful a sun,
So sad a sigh has brought?”
A second time did Matthew stop;
And fixing still his eye
Upon the eastern mountain-top,
To me he made reply:
Yon cloud with that long purple cleft
Brings fresh into my mind
A day like this which I have left
Full thirty years behind.
And just above yon slope of corn
Such colors, and no other,
Were in the sky, that April morn,
Of this the very brother.
With rod and line I sued the sport
Which that sweet season gave,
And, to the church-yard come, stopped

Beside my daughter's grave.



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We talked with open heart, and tongue
Affectionate and true,
A pair of friends, though I was young,
And Matthew seventy-two,
We lay beneath a spreading oak,
Beside a mossy seat ;
And from the turf a fountain broke,
And gurgled at our feet.
“Now, Matthew!" said I,

match This water's pleasant tune With some old border-song, or catch That suits a summer's noon; “" Or of the church-clock and the chimes Sing here beneath the shade,

" let us

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