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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 (O. B.), Transcendentalism in New England. GileS (H.), Illustrations of Genius. GRAVES (R. P.), Afternoon Lectures: Wordsworth and the Lake Country. HAMILTON (Walter), Poets Laureate. HAWEIS (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. Johnson (C. F.), Three Americans and Three Englishmen. REED (H.), 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.
Left upon a Seat in a Yew-tree, which stands near the lake of Esthwaite, on a desolate part of the shore, commanding a beautiful prospect.
Composed in part at school at Hawkshead. The tree has disappeared, and the slip of Common on which it stood, that ran parallel to the lake and lay open to it, has long been enclosed ; so that the road has lost much of its attraction. This spot was my favorite walk in the evenings during the latter part of my school-time.
NAY, Traveller ! rest. This lonely Yew
tree stands Far from all human dwelling: what if
here No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant
herb ? What if the bee love not these barren
boughs ? Yet, if the w d breathe soft, the curling
waves, That break against the shore, shall lull
thy mind By one soft impulse saved from vacancy.
-Who he was That piled these stones and with the
All but neglect. The world, for so it
thought, Owed him no service; wherefore he at
once With indignation turned himself away, And with the food of pride sustained his
soul In solitude.-Stranger! these gloomy
boughs Had charms for him; and here he loved
to sit, His only visitants a straggling sheep, The stone-chat, or the glancing sand
piper : And on these barren rocks, with fern
and heath, And juniper and thistle, sprinkled o'er, Fixing his downcast eye, he many an
hour A morbid pleasure nourished, tracing
here An emblem of his own unfruitful life: And, lifting up his head, he then would
gaze On the more distant scene,-how lovely
'tis Thou seest, -and he would gaze till it
became Far lovelier, and his heart could not sus
tain The beauty, still more beauteous! Nor,
that time, When nature had subdued him to her
self, Would he forget those Beings to whose
minds, Warm from the labors of benevolence, The world, and human life, appeared a
First covered, and here taught this aged
Tree With its dark arms to form a circling
bower, I well remember.-He was one who
owned No common soul. In youth by science
nursed, And led by nature into a wild scene Of lofty hopes, he to the world went
forth A favored Being, knowing no desire Which genius did not hallow ; 'gainst
the taint Of dissolute tongues, and jealousy, and
hate, And scorn,-against all enemies pre.
Of kindred loveliness : then he would
sigh, Inly disturbed, to think that others felt What he must never feel : and so, lost
Man ! On visionary views would fancy feed, Till his eye streamed with tears. In this
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
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
love; 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 and Alfoxden, 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." (Diary 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
bas heard In the silence of morning the song of
-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 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
along, Follow ed by multitudes of stars, that,
small And sharp, and bright, along the dark
abyss Dri: as she drives : how fast they
wheel away, Yot vanish not!-the wind is in the tree, But 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 yeg of writing ; upright figures the year of pul, cation. To dates for Wordsworth are taken froin the bible graphical tables in Vol. VIII - KU','ht's edition of the Poems.
“And when the ground was white with
• How many are you, then," said I, · If they two are in heaven ? Quick was the little Maid's reply, ** Master! we are seven.'
* But they are dead ; those two are
dead ! Their spirits are in heaven !” 'Twas throwing words away; for still The little Maid would have her will, And said, “ Nay, we are seven !"
“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-yard 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 fortyfive 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, dearly love their voice," was word for word from his own lips,
In the sweet shire of Cardigan, Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,
'Tis little, very little--all That they can do between them.
Few months of life has he in store
O Reader! had you in your mind
An old Man dwells, a little man,-
One summer-day I chanced to see
“ You're overtasked, good Simon Lee,
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.
LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY
SPRING I HEARD thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined. In that sweet mood when pleasant
thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind.