And essences of things, by which the mind Is moved with feelings of delight, to me Came, strengthened with a superadded soul, A virtue not its own. My morning walks Were early; oft before the hours of school I travelled round our little lake, five miles Of pleasant wandering. Happy time! more dear For this, that one was by my side, a Friend.* Then passionately loved; with heart how full Would he peruse these lines! For many years Have since flowed in between us, and our minds Both silent to each other, at this time We live as if those hours had never been. Nor seldom did I lift our cottage latch Far earlier, ere one smoke-wreath had risen From human dwelling, or the vernal thrush Was audible; and sat among the woods Alone upon some jutting eminence,
At the first gleam of dawn-light, when the Vale Yet slumbering, lay in utter solitude. How shall I seek the origin? where find
Faith in the marvellous things which then I felt? Oft in these moments such a holy calm Would overspread my soul, that bodily eyes Were utterly forgotten, and what I saw Appeared like something in myself, a dream, A prospect in the mind.
What spring and autumn, what the winter snows, And what the summer shade, what day and night, Evening and morning, sleep and waking, thought From sources inexhaustible, poured forth To feed the spirit of religious love
In which I walked with Nature. But let this Be not forgotten, that I still retained My first creative sensibility;
That by the regular action of the world My soul was unsubdued. A plastic power Abode with me; a forming hand, at times Rebellious, acting in a devious mood; A local spirit of his own, at war With general tendency, but for the most, Subservient strictly to external things With which it communed. An auxiliar light Came from my nind, which on the setting sun Bestowed new splendour; the melodious birds, The fluttering breezes, fountains that run on Murmuring so sweetly in themselves, obeyed A like dominion, and the midnight storm Grew darker in the presence of my eye: Hence my obeisance, my devotion hence, And hence my transport.
Pass unrecorded, that I still had loved
Is more poetic as resembling more Creative agency. The song would speak Of that interminable building reared By observation of affinities
In objects where no brotherhood exists
To passive minds. My seventeenth year was come; And, whether from this habit rooted now
So deeply in my mind, or from excess In the great social principle of life Coercing all things into sympathy, To unorganic natures were transferred My own enjoyments; or the power of truth Coming in revelation, did converse
With things that really are; I, at this time,
Saw blessings spread around me like a sea. Thus while the days flew by, and years passed on, From Nature and her overflowing soul,
I had received so much, that all my thoughts Were steeped in feeling; I was only then Contented, when with bliss ineffable
I felt the sentiment of Being spread O'er all that moves and all that seemeth still; O'er all that, lost beyond the reach of thought And human knowledge, to the human eye Invisible, yet liveth to the heart;
O'er all that leaps and runs, and shouts and sings, Or beats the gladsome air; o'er all that glides Beneath the wave, yea, in the wave itself, And mighty depth of waters. Wonder not If high the transport, great the joy I felt, Communing in this sort through earth and heaven With every form of creature, as it looked Towards the Uncreated with a countenance
Of adoration, with an eye of love. One song they sang, and it was audible, Most audible, then, when the fleshly car, O'ercome by humblest prelude of that strain, Forgot her functions, and slept undisturbed.
If this be error, and another faith Find easier access to the pious mind, Yet were I grossly destitute of all Those human sentiments that make this earth So dear, if I should fail with grateful voice To speak of you, ye mountains, and ye lakes And sounding cataracts, ye mists and winds That dwell among the hills where I was born. If in my youth I have been pure in heart, If, mingling with the world, I am content With my own modest pleasures, and have lived With God and Nature communing, removed From little enmities and low desires,
Nor should this, perchance, The gift is yours; if in these times of fear, This melancholy waste of hopes o'erthrown, If, 'mid indifference and apathy,
The exercise and produce of a toil,
Than analytic industry to me
More pleasing, and whose character I deem
And wicked exultation when good men
On every side fall off, we know not how, To selfishness, disguised in gentle names
The late Rev. John Fleming, of Rayrigg, Windermere. Of peace and quiet and domestic love,
Yet mingled not unwillingly with sneers On visionary minds; if, in this time Of dereliction and dismay, I yet Despair not of our nature, but retain
A more than Roman confidence, a faith That fails not, in all sorrow my support, The blessing of my life; the gift is yours, Ye winds and sounding cataracts! 'tis yours, Ye mountains! thine, O Nature! Thou hast fed My lofty speculations; and in thee, For this uneasy heart of ours, I find A never-failing principle of joy And purest passion.
Thou, my Friend, wert reared In the great city, 'mid far other scenes; But we, by different roads, at length have gained The self-same bourne. And for this cause to thee I speak, unapprehensive of contempt,
The insinuated scoff of coward tongues, And all that silent language which so oft In conversation between man and man Blots from the human countenance all trace Of beauty and of love. For thou hast sought The truth in solitude, and, since the days That gave thee liberty, full long desired To serve in Nature's temple, thou hast been The most assiduous of her ministers;
In many things my brother, chiefly here In this our deep devotion.
Fare thee well! Health and the quiet of a healthful mind Attend thee! seeking oft the haunts of men, And yet more often living with thyself, And for thyself, so haply shall thy days Be many, and a blessing to mankind.
It was a dreary morning when the wheels Rolled over a wide plain o'erhung with clouds, And nothing cheered our way till first we saw The long-roofed chapel of King's College lift Turrets and pinnacles in answering files, Extended high above a dusky grove.
Advancing, we espied upon the road A student clothed in gown and tasselled cap, Striding along as if o'ertasked by Time, Or covetous of exercise and air;
He passed-nor was I master of my eyes Till he was left an arrow's flight behind. As near and nearer to the spot we drew, It seemed to suck us in with an eddy's force. Onward we drove beneath the Castle; caught, While crossing Magdalene Bridge, a glimpse of Cam; And at the Hoop alighted, famous Inn.
My spirit was up, my thoughts were full of hope; Some friends I had, acquaintances who there Seemed friends, poor simple school-boys, now hung round With honour and importance: in a world Of welcome faces up and down I roved; Questions, directions, warnings and advice, Flowed in upon me, from all sides; fresh day Of pride and pleasure! to myself I seemed A man of business and expense, and went From shop to shop about my own affairs,
To Tutor or to Tailor, as befell,
From street to street with loose and careless mind.
I was the Dreamer, they the Dream; I roamed Delighted through the motley spectacle; Gowns grave, or gaudy, doctors, students, streets, Courts, cloisters, flocks of churches, gateways, towers Migration strange for a stripling of the hills, A northern villager.
As if the change Had waited on some Fairy's wand, at once Behold me rich in monies, and attired In splendid garb, with hose of silk, and hair Powdered like rimy trees, when frost is keen. My lordly dressing-gown, I pass it by, With other signs of manhood that supplied The lack of beard. — The weeks went roundly on, With invitations, suppers, wine and fruit, Smooth housekeeping within, and all without Liberal, and suiting gentleman's array.
The Evangelist St. John my patron was: Three Gothic courts are his, and in the first Was my abiding-place, a nook obscure; Right underneath, the College kitchens made A humming sound, less tuneable than bees, But hardly less industrious; with shrill notes Of sharp command and scolding intermixed.
Near me hung Trinity's loquacious clock, Who never let the quarters, night or day, Slip by him unproclaimed, and told the hours Twice over with a male and female voice. Her pealing organ was my neighbour too; And from my pillow, looking forth by light Of moon or favouring stars, I could behold The antechapel where the statue stood Of Newton with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind for ever
Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.
Of College labours, of the Lecturer's room All studded round, as thick as chairs could stand, With loyal students faithful to their books, Half-and-half idlers, hardy recusants, And honest dunces—of important days, Examinations when the man was weighed As in a balance! of excessive hopes, Tremblings withal and commendable fears, Small jealousies, and triumphs good or bad, Let others that know more speak as they know. Such glory was but little sought by me, And little won. Yet from the first crude days Of settling time in this untried abode, I was disturbed at times by prudent thoughts, Wishing to hope without a hope, some fears About my future worldly maintenance, And, more than all, a strangeness in the mind, A feeling that I was not for that hour, Nor for that place. But wherefore be cast down? For (not to speak of Reason and her pure Reflective acts to fix the moral law Deep in the conscience, nor of Christian Hope, Bowing her head before her sister Faith As one far mightier,) hither I had come, Bear witness Truth, endowed with holy powers And faculties, whether to work or feel.
Oft when the dazzling show no longer new Had ceased to dazzle, ofttimes did I quit
My comrades, leave the crowd, buildings and groves, And as I paced alone the level fields
Far from those lovely sights and sounds sublime With which I had been conversant, the mind Drooped not; but there into herself returning, With prompt rebound seemed fresh as heretofore. At least I more distinctly recognized Her native instincts: let me dare to speak A higher language, say that now I felt What independent solaces were mine, To mitigate the injurious sway of place Or circumstance, how far soever changed In youth, or to be changed in manhood's prime; Or for the few who shall be called to look On the long shadows in our evening years, Ordained precursors to the night of death. As if awakened, summoned, roused, constrained, I looked for universal things; perused The common countenance of earth and sky:
Earth, nowhere unembellished by some trace Of that first Paradise whence man was driven; And sky, whose beauty and bounty are expressed By the proud name she bears the name of Heaven. I called on both to teach me what they might; Or turning the mind in upon herself
Pored, watched, expected, listened, spread my thoughts And spread them with a wider creeping; felt Incumbencies more awful, visitings
Of the Upholder of the tranquil soul, That tolerates the indignities of Time, And, from the centre of Eternity All finite motions overruling, lives In glory immutable. But peace! enough Here to record that I was mounting now To such community with highest truth A track pursuing, not untrod before, From strict analogies by thought supplied Or consciousnesses not to be subdued.
To every natural form, rock, fruit or flower, Even the loose stones that cover the highway,
I gave a moral life: I saw them feel,
Or linked them to some feeling: the great mase Lay bedded in a quickening soul, and all That I beheld respired with inward meaning. Add that whate'er of Terror or of Love Or Beauty, Nature's daily face put on From transitory passion, unto this I was as sensitive as waters are To the sky's influence in a kindred mood Of passion; was obedient as a lute That waits upon the touches of the wind. Unknown, unthought of, yet I was most rich- I had a world about me - 'twas my own;
I made it, for it only lived to me,
And to the God who sees into the heart. Such sympathies, though rarely, were betrayed By outward gestures and by visible looks: Some called it madness so indeed it was, If childlike fruitfulness in passing joy If steady moods of thoughtfulness matured To inspiration, sort with such a name; If prophecy be madness; if things viewed By poets in old time, and higher up By the first men, earth's first inhabitants, May in these tutored days no more be seen With undisordered sight. But leaving this, It was no madness, for the bodily eye Amid my strongest workings evermore Was searching out the lines of difference As they lie hid in all external forms, Near or remote, minute or vast, an eye Which from a tree, a stone, a withered leaf, To the broad ocean and the azure heavens Spangled with kindred multitudes of stars, Could find no surface where its power might sleep; Which spake perpetual logic to my soul, And by an unrelenting agency
Did bind my feelings even as in a chain.
And here, O Friend! have I retraced my life Up to an eminence, and told a tale
Of matters which not falsely may be called The glory of my youth. Of genius, power, Creation and divinity itself
I have been speaking, for my theme has been What passed within me. Not of outward things Done visibly for other minds, words, signs, Symbols or actions, but of my own heart Have I been speaking, and my youthful mind. O Heavens! how awful is the might of souls, And what they do within themselves while yet The yoke of earth is new to them, the world Nothing but a wild field where they were sown. This is, in truth, heroic argument,
This genuine prowess, which I wished to touch With hand however weak, but in the main It lies far hidden from the reach of words. Points have we all of us within our souls Where all stand single; this I feel, and make Breathings for incommunicable powers; But is not each a memory to himself,
And, therefore, now that we must quit this theme, I am not heartless, for there's not a man That lives who hath not known his godlike hours, And feels not what an empire we inherit As natural beings in the strength of Nature.
No more for now into a populous plain We must descend. A Traveller I am, Whose tale is only of himself; even so, So be it, if the pure of heart be prompt To follow, and if thou, my honoured Friend! Who in these thoughts art ever at my side, Support, as heretofore, my fainting steps.
It hath been told, that when the first delight That flashed upon me from this novel show Had failed, the mind returned into herself; Yet true it is, that I had made a change In climate, and my nature's outward coat Changed also slowly and insensibly. Full oft the quiet and exalted thoughts Of loneliness gave way to empty noise And superficial pastimes; now and then Forced labour, and more frequently forced hopes; And, worst of all, a treasonable growth Of indecisive judgments, that impaired And shook the mind's simplicity. - And yet This was a gladsome time. Could I beholdWho, less insensible than sodden clay In a sea-river's bed at ebb of tide, Could have beheld, with undelighted heart, So many happy youths, so wide and fair A congregation in its budding-time
Decking the matron temples of a place
So famous through the world? To me, at .cas, It was a goodly prospect: for, in sooth, Though I had learnt betimes to stand unpropped, And independent musings pleased me so That spells seemed on me when I was alone, Yet could I only cleave to solitude
In lonely places; if a throng was near That way I leaned by nature; for my heart 1 Was social, and loved idleness and joy.
Not seeking those who might participate My deeper pleasures (nay, I had not once, Though not unused to mutter lonesome songs, Even with myself divided such delight, Or looked that way for aught that might be clothed In human language), easily I passed From the remembrances of better things, And slipped into the ordinary works Of careless youth, unburthened, unalarmed. Caverns there were within my mind which sun Could never penetrate, yet did there not Want store of leafy arbours where the light Might enter in at will. Companionships, Friendships, acquaintances, were welcome all. We sauntered, played, or rioted; we talked Unprofitable talk at morning hours; Drifted about along the streets and walks, Read lazily in trivial books, went forth To gallop through the country in blind zeal Of senseless horsemanship, or on the breast Of Cam sailed boisterously, and let the stars Come forth, perhaps without one quiet thought.
Such was the tenor of the second act In this new life. Imagination slept, And yet not utterly. I could not print Ground where the grass had yielded to the steps
Of generations of illustrious men,
Unmoved. I could not always lightly pass
Through the same gateways, sleep where they had
Wake where they waked, range that inclosure old, That garden of grent intellects, undisturbed. Place also by the side of this dark sense Of noble feeling, that those spiritual men, Even the great Newton's own ethereal self, Seemed humbled in these precincts thence to be The more endeared. Their several memories here (Even like their persons in their portraits clothed With the accustomed garb of daily life) Put on a lowly and a touching grace Of more distinct humanity, that left All genuine admiration unimpaired.
Beside the pleasant Mill of Trompington
I laughed with Chaucer in the hawthorn snade; Heard him, while birds were warbling, tell his Jes Of amorous passion. And that gentle Bard,
Chosen by the Muses for their Page of State- Sweet Spenser, moving through his clouded heaven With the moon's beauty and the moon's soft pace, I called him Brother, Englishman, and Friend! Yea, our blind Poet, who, in his later day, Stood almost single; uttering odious truth — Darkness before, and danger's voice behind, Soul awful if the earth has ever lodged An awful soul-I seemed to see him here Familiarly, and in his scholar's dress Bounding before me, yet a stripling youth- A boy, no better, with his rosy cheeks Angelical, keen eye, courageous look, And conscious step of purity and pride. Among the band of my compeers was one Whom chance had stationed in the very room Ilonoured by Milton's name. O temperate Bard! Be it confest that, for the first time, seated Within thy innocent lodge and oratory, One of a festive circle, I poured out Libations, to thy memory drank, till pride And gratitude grew dizzy in a brain Never excited by the fumes of wine Before that hour, or since. Then, forth I ran From the assembly; through a length of streets, Ran, ostrich-like, to reach our chapel door In not a desperate or opprobrious time, Albeit long after the importunate bell Had stopped, with wearisome Cassandra voice No longer haunting the dark winter night. Call back, O Friend! a moment to thy mind The place itself and fashion of the rites. With careless ostentation shouldering up My surplice, through the inferior throng I clove Of the plain Burghers, who in audience stood On the last skirts of their permitted ground, Under the pealing organ. Empty thoughts! I am ashamed of them: and that great Bard, And thou, O Friend! who'in thy ample mind Hast placed me high above my best deserts, Ye will forgive the weakness of that hour, In some of its unworthy vanities, Brother to many more.
The months passed on, remissly, not given up To wilful alienation from the right, Or walks of open scandal, but in vague And loose indifference, easy likings, aims Of a low pitch-duty and zeal dismissed, Yet nature, or a happy course of things Not doing in their stead the needful work. The memory languidly revolved, the heart Reposed in noontide rest, the inner pulse Of contemplation almost failed to beat. Such life might not inaptly be compared To a floating island, an amphibious spot Unsound, of spongy texture, yet withal Not wanting a fair face of water weeds
And pleasant flowers.* The thirst of living praise, Fit reverence for the glorious Dead, the sight Of those long vistas, sacred catacombs, Where mighty minds lie visibly entombed, Have often stirred the heart of youth, and bred A fervent love of rigorous discipline. + Alas! such high emotion touched not me.
Look was there none within these walls to shame My easy spirits, and discountenance Their light composure, far less to instil
A calm resolve of mind, firmly addressed To puissant efforts. Nor was this the blame
Of others but my own; I should, in truth, As far as doth concern my single self, Misdeem most widely, lodging it elsewhere: For 1, bred up 'mid Nature's luxuries,
Was a spoiled child, and rambling like the wind, As I had done in daily intercourse
With those crystalline rivers, solemn heights, And mountains, ranging like a fowl of the air, I was ill-tutored for captivity;
To quit my pleasure, and, from month to month, Take up a station calmly on the perch Of sedentary peace. Those lovely forms Had also left less space within my mind, Which, wrought upon instinctively, had found A freshness in those objects of her love, A winning power, beyond all other power. Not that I slighted books, that were to lack All sense, but other passions in me ruled, Passions more fervent, making me less prompt To in-door study than was wise or well, Or suited to those years. Yet I, though used In magisterial liberty to rove,
Culling such flowers of learning as might tempt A random choice, could shadow forth a place (If now I yield not to a flattering dream) Whose studious aspect should have bent me down To instantaneous service; should at once Have made me pay to science and to arts And written lore, acknowledged my liege lord,
A homage frankly offered up, like that
Which I had paid to Nature. Toil and pains
In this recess, by thoughtful Fancy built,
Should spread from heart to heart; and stately groves,
Majestic edifices, should not want
A corresponding dignity within.
The congregating temper that pervades
Our unripe years, not wasted, should be taught
To minister to works of high attempt
Works which the enthusiast would perform with love. Youth should be awed, religiously possessed With a conviction of the power that waits
On knowledge, when sincerely sought and prized For its own sake, on glory and on praise
If but by labour won, and fit to endure The passing day; should learn to put aside
[* See ante, p. 419.-H. R.J
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