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(H. M.), Essays on Literary Art: Some Remarks on Wordsworth. Dawson (W. J.), Makers of Modern English. ** BAGEHOT (Walter), Literary Studies, Vol. II : Wordsworth, Tennyson and Browning.

Alger (W. R.), Solitudes. BELL (C. D.), Some of our English Poets. BRIMLEY (G.), Essays. BROOKE (Stopford A:), Theology in the English Poets. Brooks (S. W.), English Poetry and Poets. Burroughs (John),

( Fresh Fields: Country of Wordsworth. CAINE (T. H.), Cobwebs of Criticism. CHENEY (J. V.), That Dome in Air. CHORLEY (H. F.), Authors of England. COURTHOPE (V. J.), Liberal Movement in English Literature : Wordsworth's Theory of Poetry. DEVEY (J.), Comparative Estimate of Modern English Poets. Dixon (W.M.), English Poetry, Blake to Browning. Fields (J. T.), Yesterdays with Authors. FROTHINGHAM (0. B.), Transcendentalism in New England. GILES (H.), Illustrations of Genius. GRAVES (R. P.), Afternoon Lectures: Wordsworth and the Lake Country. HAMILTON (Walter), Poets Laureate. JIAWEIS (H. R.), Poets in the Pulpit. Howitt (W.), Homes of the British Poets, Vol. II. HUDSON (H. N.), Studies in Wordsworth. INGLEBY (C. M.), Essays. Jounson (C. F.), Three Americans and Three Englishmen. REED (II.), Lectures on British Poets, Vol. II. McCORMICK (W. S.), Three Lectures on English Literature. MacDONALD (G.), England's Antiphon. Minto (W.), Literature of the Georgian Era. MITCHELL (D). G.), English Lands, Letters and Kings, Vol. III. Moir (D. M.), Lectures on Poetical Literature.

RAWNSLEY (H. D.), Literary Associations of the English Lakes, Vol. V. ROBERTSON (F. W.), Lectures and Addresses. Rushton (W.), Afternoon Lectures, Vol. I. SAUNDERS (F.), Famous Books. SCUDDER (V. D.), Life of the Spirit in Modern English Poetry: Wordsworth and the new Democracy. SWANWICK (A.), Poets the Interpreters of their Age. TuckERMAN (II. T.), Thoughts on the Poets. WINTER (William), Gray Days and Gold: Lakes and Fells of Wordsworth. WHIPPLE (E. P.), Essays and Reviews. WHIPPLE (E. P.), Literature and Life.

MEMORIAL VERSES, ETC.

** Watson (William), Wordsworth's Grave. * ARNOLD (M.), Memorial Verses, April 1850. SHELLEY, Poems: Sonnet to Wordsworth (arraignment of Wordsworth for apostasy to the cause of liberty). PALGRAVE (F.T.), William Wordsworth (in Stedman's Victorian Anthology, p. 240). * WHITTIER, Poems: Wordsworth. LOWELL, Poetical Words, Vol. Í. SAINTE-BEUVE, Poésies : Trois sonnets imités de Wordsworth.

* An asterisk marks the most important books and essays.

WORDSWORTH

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All but neglect. The world, for so it

thought, Left upon a Seat in a Yew-tree, which stands Owed him no service ; wherefore he at near the lake of Esthwaite, on a desolate part

once of the shore, commanding a beautiful prospect. With indignation turned himself away,

And with the food of pride sustained his Composed in part at school at Hawkshead. The tree has disappeared, and the slip of Com

soul mon on which it stood, that ran parallel to the In solitude.—Stranger! these gloomy lake and lay open to it, has long been enclosed ;

boughs so that the road has lost much of its attraction. This spot was my favorite walk in the evenings

Had charms for him; and here he loved during the latter part of my school-time.

to sit,
(Wordsworth's note.) His only visitants a straggling sheep,

The stone-chat, or the glancing sandNAY, Traveller ! rest. This lonely Yew

piper : tree stands

And on these barren rocks, with fern Far from all human dwelling: what if

and heath, here

And juniper and thistle, sprinkled o'er, No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant Fixing his downcast eye, be many an herb ?

hour What if the bee love not these barren A morbid pleasure nourished, tracing boughs ?

here Yet, if the w id breathe soft, the curling An emblem of his own unfruitful life : waves,

And, lifting up his head, he then would That break against the shore, shall lull

gaze thy mind

On the more distant scene,-how lovely By one soft impulse saved from vacancy.

'tis Who he was

Thou seest,--and he would gaze till it That piled these stones and with the

became mossy sod

Far lovelier, and his heart could not susFirst covered, and here taught this aged

tain Tree

The beauty, still more beauteous! Nor, With its dark arms to form a circling

that time, bower,

When nature had subdued him to herI well remember.-He was

one who

self, owned

Would he forget those Beings to whose No common soul. In youth by science

minds, nursed,

Warm from the labors of benevolence, And led by nature into a wild scene The world, and human life, appeared a Of lofty hopes, he to the world went forth

Of kindred loveliness: then he would A favored Being, knowing no desire

sigh, Which genius did not hallow ; 'gainst Inly disturbed, to think that others felt the taint

What he must never feel : and so, lost Of dissolute tongues, and jealousy, and

Man ! bate,

On visionary views would fancy feed, And scorn,-against all enemies pre- Till his eye streamed with tears. In this pared,

deep vale

a

scene

Down which she so often has tripped

with her pail ; And a single small cottage, a nest like a

dove's, The one only dwelling on earth that she

loves.

He died,--this seat his only monument. If Thou be one whose heart the holy

forms Of young imagination have kept pure, Stranger! henceforth be warned; and

know that pride. Howe'er disguised in its own majesty, Is littleness; that he, who feels con

tempt For any living thing, hath faculties Which he has never used ; that thought

with him Is in its infancy. The man whose eye Is ever on himself doth look on one, The least of Nature's works, one who

might move The wise man to that scorn which wis.

dom holds Unlawful, ever.

O be wiser, Thou ! Instructed that true knowledge leads to

lore; True dignity abides with him alone Who, in the silent hour of inward

thought, Can still suspect, and still revere him

self, In lowliness of heart. 1795. 1798.1

She looks, and her heart is in heaven:

but they fade, The mist and the river, the hill and the

shade : The stream will not flow, and the hill

will not rise, And the colors have all passed away

from her eyes! 1797. 1800.

A NIGHT-PIECE Composed on the road between Nether Stowey anı Alfoxilen, extempore. I distinctly recollect the very moment when I was struck, as described

-“ He looks up-the clouds are split," etc. (Wordsworth)

“Wordsworth particularly recommended to me among his Poems of Imagination, Yew Trees, and a description of Night. These, he says, are amongst the best for the imaginative power displayed in them.' (Diury of Henry Crabb Robinson, May 9, 1815.)

THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN

This arose out of my observation of the affecting music of these birds hanging in this way in the London streets during the freshness and tillness of the Spring morning.-(Wordsworth.)

At the corner of Wood Street, when day

light appears, Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has

sung for three years; Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and

has heard In the silence of morning the song of

the Bird.

-The sky is overcast With a continuous cloud of texture close, Heavy and wan, all whitened by the

Moon, Which through that veil is indistinctly

seen, A dull, contracted circle, yielding light So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls, Chequering the ground-from rock,

plant, tree, or tower. At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam Startles the pensive traveller while he

treads His lonesome path, with unobserving

eye Bent earthward ; he looks up-the

clouds are split Asunder,--and above his head he sees The clear Moon, and the glory of the

heavens. There, in a black-blue vault she sails

long, Follov ed by multitudes of stars, that,

small And sharp, and bright, along the dark

abyss Triin as she drives : how fast they

wheel away, 1 vanish not!--the wind is in the tree, bu they are silent ;-still they roll along ?, uneasurably distant; and the vault,

'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails

her? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; Bright volumes of vapor through Loth

bury glide, And a river flows on through the vale

of Cheapside. Green pastures she views in the midst

of the dale,

1 Italic figures indicate the yes

of writin. ; upright figures the year of pul cation, dates for Wordsworth are taken from the bibl graphical tables in Vol. VIII of K.'s editiju of the Poems.

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** So in the church-yard she was laid ;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.
“And when the ground was white with

Snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."

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Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be ? " · How many ? Seven in all,” she said And wondering looked at me, “ And where are they? I pray you tell.” She answered, “Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea. “ Two of us in the church-yard lie, My sister and my brother ; And in the church-yard cottage. I Dwell near them with my mother." “You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea, Yet ye are seven !-I pray you tell, Sweet Maid, how this may be." Then did the little Maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the church-vard lie, Beneath the church-yard tree.” * You run about, my little Maid, Your limbs they are alive : If two are in the church-yard laid, Then ye are only five." “ Their graves are green, they may be

seen.' The little Maid replied,

X SIMON LEE

THE OLD HUNTSMAN;

WITH AN INCIDENT IN WHICH HE WAS

CONCERNED.

This old man had been huntsman to the squires of Alfoxden.

The fact was as mentioned in the poem; and I have, after an interval of forty: five years, the image of the old man as fresh before my eyes as if I had seen him yesterday. The expression when the hounds were out, I dearly love their voice," was word for word from his own lips,

(Wordsworth.)

In the sweet shire of Cardigan, Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,

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“You're overtasked, good Simon Lee,
Give me your tool,” to him I said;
And at the word right gladly he
Received my proffered aid.
I struck, and with a single blow
The tangled root I severed,
At which the poor old Man so long
And vainly had endeavored.

And he is lean and he is sick ;
His body, dwindled and awry,
Rests upon ankles swoln and thick ;
His legs are thin and dry.
One prop he has. and only one,
His wife, an aged woman,
Lives with him, near the waterfall,
Upon the village Common.
Beside their moss-grown hut of clay,
Not twenty paces from the door.
A scrap of land they have, but they
Are poorest of the poor.
This scrap of land he from the heath
Enclosed when he was stronger ;
But what to them avails the land
Which he can till no longer?
Oft, working by her Husband's side,
Ruth does what Simon cannot do ;
For she, with scanty cause for pride,
Is stouter of the two.
And, though you with your utmost skill
From labor could not wean them,

The tears into his eyes were brought,
And thanks and praises seemed to run
So fast out of his heart, I thought
They never would have done.
-I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning ;
Alas! the gratitude of men
Hath oftener left me mourning.

1793. 1798.

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY

SPRING

I HEARD a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined.
In that sweet mood when pleasant

thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

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