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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 á slope above the village-school; And through that church-yard when my

way has 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!

1798. 1800.



Written in Germany ; intended as part of a poem on my own life. out struck out as not being wanted there. .. (Wordsworth).


die ;

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

cliffs And islands of Winander !--many a time, At evening, 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 fong halloos, and screams, and

echoes loud Redoubled and redoubled ;

It seems a day (I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days that cannot When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, I left our cottage-threshold, sallying

forth With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders

slung, 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,



The silent trees, and saw the intruding

sky.-Then, dearest Maiden, move along these

shades In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand Touch-for there is a spirit in the woods.

1799, 1800.



Through beds of matted fern, and tan

gled thickets, Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook Unvisited, where not a broken bough Drooped with its withered leaves, un

gracious sign Of devastation ; but the hazels rose Tall and erect, with tempting clusters

hung, A virgiu scene!--A little while I stood, Breathing with such suppression of the

heart As joy delights in ; and, with wise re

straint Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed The banquet ;-or beneath the trees I

sate Among the flowers, and with the flowers

I played ; A temper known to those, who, after

long And weary expectation, have been blest With sudden happiness beyond all hope. Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose

leaves The violets of five seasons re-appear And fade, unseen by any human eye; Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam, And—with my cheek on one of those

green stones That, fleeced with moss, under the shady

trees, Lay round me, scattered like a flock of

sheep-I heard the murmur and the murmuring

sound, In that sweet mood when pleasure loves

The next three poems were written in

Germany. (Wordsworth.) STRANGE fits of passion have I known: And I will dare to tell, But in the Lover's ear alone, What once to me befell. When she I loved looked every day Fresh as a rose in June, I to her cottage bent my way, Beneath an evening-moon. Upon the moon I fixed my eye, All over the wide lea ; With quickening pace my horse drew

nigh Those paths so dear to me. And now we reached the orchard-plot; And, as we climbed the hill, The sinking moon to Lucy's cot Came near, and nearer still, In one of those sweet dreams I slept, Kind Nature's gentlest boon ! And all the while my eyes I kept On the descending moon. My borse moved on ; hoof after hoof He raised, and never stopped : When down behind the cottage roos, At once, the bright moon dropped. What fond and wayward thoughts will

slide Into a Lover's head !

O mercy !” to myself I cried, If Lucy should be dead!”

1799, 1800.

to pay

Tribute to ease ; and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent

things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and

stones And on the vacant air. Then up I

rose, And dragged to earth both branch and

bough, with crash And merciless ravage : and the shady

nook Of hazels, and the green and mossy

bower, Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up Their quiet being: and, unless I now Confound my present feelings with the

past; Ere from the mutilated bower I turned Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of

kings, I felt a sense of pain when I beheld



She dwelt among the untrodden ways

Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise

And very few to love:

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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.


AND SHOWER. 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

bower, Shall feel an overs

erseeing 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.

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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 pot 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. (Wordsworth.)

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,

a 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

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

But who is he, with modest looks,
And clad in homely russet brown ?
He murmurs near the running brooks
A music sweeter than their own.

Read o'er these lines ; and then review
This tablet, that thus humbly rears
In such diversity of hue
Its history of two hundred years.
- When through this little wreck of

Cipher and syllable! thine eye
llas travelled down to Matthew's name.
Pause with no common sympathy.
And, if a sleeping tear should wake,
Then be it neither checked nor stayed :
For Matthew a request I make
Which for himself he hath not made.

He is retired as noontide dew,
Or fountain in a noon-day grove ;
And you must love him, ere to you
He will seem worthy of your love.
The outward shows of sky and earth,
Of hill and valley, he has viewed ;
And impulses of deeper birth
Have come to him in solitude.

Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er,
Is silent as a standing pool ;
Far from the chimney's merry roar,
And murmur of the village school.

In common things that round us lie
Some random truths he can impart,-
The harvest of a quiet eye
That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

The sighs which Matthew heaved were

siglis Of one tired out with fun and madness;

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- 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.




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 snied the sport Which that sweet season gave, And, to the church-yard come, stopped

short Besile my daughter's grave.

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, “ let us

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,

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