In the valedictory sonnet to the edition of 1838 we have the method and the aim of Wordsworth's work :

"If in this book Fancy and Truth agree;

If simple Nature trained by careful Art
Through it have won a passage to thy heart;
Grant me thy love, I crave no other fee."

Dr. Moir, the Scottish author and critic, says: "Never, perhaps, in the whole range of literary history, from Homer downwards, did any individual, throughout the course of a long life, dedicate himself to poetry with a devotion so pure, so perfect, and so uninterrupted as he did."

Consult Wordsworth as an Artist, in Hudson's Studies in Wordsworth, Corson's Introduction to the Study of Browning, Dowden's Interpretation of Literature, in Transcripts and Studies, and Preface to my edition of the Prelude.

Age! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers
All praise the Likeness by thy skill portrayed
Amid the smoke of cities did you pass

Among the mountains were we nursed, loved Stream

An age hath been when Earth was proud

And is this-Yarrow? This the stream

An Orpheus! an Orpheus! Yes, Faith may grow bold
Another year! Another deadly blow!

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A pen
A Poet!

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to register; a key

- He hath put his heart to school
A point of life between my Parents' dust
A Rock there is whose homely front
Art thou a Statist in the van

Art thou the bird that Man loves best.
A simple child .

A slumber did my spirit seal

A trouble not of clouds or weeping rain

Begone, thou fond presumptuous elf
Behold her, single in the field

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36

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Bright Flower! whose home is everywhere.
By their floating mill. .

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Calvert! it must not be unheard by them

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Child of loud-throated War! the mountain Stream
Clarkson! it was an obstinate hill to climb .

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Clouds, lingering yet, extend in solid bars

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I

Dear Child of Nature, let them rail

Dear native regions, I foretell

Dear to the Loves and to the Graces vowed
Degenerate Douglass! Oh, the unworthy lord
Departing summer hath assumed

Earth hath not anything to show more fair
England! the time is come when thou shouldst wean
Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky.

Fair star of Evening, splendor of the west

Farewell, thou little Nook of mountain-ground
Festivals have I seen that were not names

Five years have passed; five summers with the length.
Fly, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmere-dale
Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep
From low to high doth dissolution climb.
From Stirling Castle we had seen

Go, faithful Portrait! and where long hath knelt .
Great men have been among us; hands that penned

Had this effulgence disappeared.
Hast thou then survived

Here pause the poet claims at least this praise

High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate

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High is our calling, friend! - Creative Art

Is it a reed that's shaken by the wind

I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free

It is not to be thought of that the Flood.
It is the first mild day of March.

I travelled among unknown men
It seems a day

It was an April morning: fresh and clear

I've watched you now a full half-hour
I wandered lonely as a cloud.

I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged Pile

I, who accompanied with faithful pace

Jones! as from Calais southward you and I

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Lance, shield, and sword relinquished, at his side
Lie here, without a record of thy worth
Life with yon Lambs, like day, is just begun
Lord of the vale! astounding Flood