The Enfolded Prelude: Book Fifth

Book Fifth

Books

Even in When Contemplation, like the steadiest mood of reason, whennight-calm felt

All sorrow for thy transitory painsThrough earth and sky, spreads widely, and sends deep

Goes out, it grieves me Into the soul its tranquillising power,

Even then I sometimes grieve for thy state, thee, O man,Man,

Thou Earth's paramount creature, and thy race, while ye

Shall sojourn on this planet, Creature! not so much for woes

Which That thou endur'st endurest; heavy though that weight, albeit huge,weight be,

I charm away Cloud-like it mounts, or touched with light divine

Doth melt away; but for those palms atchievedachieved

Through length of time, by patient exercise

Of study and hard thought,

The honours of thy high endowments; therethought; there, there, it is

My That sadness finds its fuel. HithertoHitherto,

In progress through this verse Verse, my mind hath looked

Upon the speaking face of earth and heaven

As her prime teacher, intercourse with man

Established by the Sovereign sovereign Intellect,

Who through that bodily image hath diffuseddiffused,

A soul divine which we participate,As might appear to the eye of fleeting time,

A deathless spirit. Thou also, man, man! hast wrought,

For commerce of thy nature with itself,herself,

Things worthy of that aspire to unconquerable life;

And yet we feel we cannot chuse choose but feel—

That these must perish. —

That they must perish. Tremblings of the heart

It gives, to think that the our immortal being

No more shall need such garments; and yet man,

As long as he shall be the child of earth,

Might almost 'weep "weep to have' have" what he may loselose,

Nor be himself extinguished, but survivesurvive,

Abject, depressed, forlorn, disconsolate.

A thought is with me sometimes, and I say,

'Should earth by inward throes be wrenched throughout,

Or fire be sent from far to wither all

Her pleasant habitations, and dry up

Old Ocean in his bed, left singed and bare,

Yet would the living presence still subsist

Victorious; and composure would ensue,

And kindlings like the morning—presage sure,

Though slow perhaps, of a returning day.'—

Should the whole frame of earth by inward throes

Be wrenched, or fire come down from far to scorch

Her pleasant habitations, and dry up

Old Ocean, in his bed left singed and bare,

Yet would the living Presence still subsist

Victorious, and composure would ensue,

And kindlings like the morning—presage sure

Of day returning and of life revived.

But all the meditations of mankind,

Yea, all the adamantine holds of truth

By reason built, or passion (which passion, which itself

Is highest reason in a soul sublime),sublime;

The consecrated works of bard Bard and sage,Sage,

Sensuous or intellectual, wrought by men,

Twin labourers and heirs of the same hopes—

Where would they be? Oh, why hath not the mind

Some element to stamp her image on

In nature somewhat nearer to her own?

Why, gifted with such powers to send abroad

Her spirit, must it lodge in shrines so frail?

One day, when in the hearing of a friend

I had given utterance to thoughts like these,

He answered with a smile that in plain truth

'Twas going far to seek disquietude—

But on the front of his reproof confessed

That he at sundry seasons had himself

Yielded to kindred hauntings, and, forthwith,

Added that once upon a summer's noon

While he was sitting in a rocky cave

By the seaside, perusing as it chanced,

The famous history of the errant knight

Recorded by Cervantes, these same thoughts

Came to him, and to height unusual rose

While listlessly he sate, and, having closed

The book, had turned his eyes towards the sea.hopes;

On poetry and geometric truthWhere would they be? Oh! why hath not the Mind

(The knowledge Some element to stamp her image on

In nature somewhat nearer to her own?

Why, gifted with such powers to send abroad

Her spirit, must it lodge in shrines so frail?

One day, when from my lips a like complaint

Had fallen in presence of a studious friend,

He with a smile made answer, that endures) upon in truth

'Twas going far to seek disquietude;

But on the front of his reproof confessed

That he himself had oftentimes given way

To kindred hauntings. Whereupon I told,

That once in the stillness of a summer's noon,

While I was seated in a rocky cave

By the sea-side, perusing, so it chanced,

The famous history of the errant knight

Recorded by Cervantes, these two,same thoughts

Beset me, and to height unusual rose,

While listlessly I sate, and, having closed

The book, had turned my eyes toward the wide sea.

On poetry and geometric truth,

And their high privilege of lasting lifelife,

Exempt from From all internal injury,injury exempt,

He mused I mused; upon these chiefly chiefly: and at length,

His My senses yielding to the sultry air,

Sleep seized him me, and he I passed into a dream.

He I saw before him an Arabian waste,me stretched a boundless plain

A desert, Of sandy wilderness, all black and he fancied that himself

Was sitting there in the wide wildernessvoid,

Alone upon the sands. Distress of mindAnd as I looked around, distress and fear

Was growing in him when, behold, Came creeping over me, when at oncemy side,

To his great joy a man was Close at his side,my side, an uncouth shape appeared

Upon a dromedary dromedary, mounted high.

He seemed an arab Arab of the Bedouin tribes;tribes:

A lance he bore, and underneath one arm

A stone, and in the opposite hand a shell

Of a surpassing brightness. Much rejoicedAt the sight

The dreaming man that he should have Much I rejoiced, not doubting but a guide

To lead him Was present, one who with unerring skill

Would through the desert; desert lead me; and he thought,while yet

While questioning himself I looked and looked, self-questioned what this strange freight

Which the newcomer new-comer carried through the waste

Could mean, the arab Arab told him me that the stone

To (To give it in the language of the dream—

Was Euclid's Elements. 'And this', said he,dream)

'This other', pointing to the shell, 'this bookWas "Euclid's Elements," and "This," said he,

Is "Is something of more worth.' 'And, worth;" and at the word,

The stranger', said my friend continuing,word

'Stretched Stretched forth the shell towards me, shell, so beautiful in shape,

In colour so resplendent, with command

That I should hold it to my ear. I did soso,

And heard that instant in an unknown tongue,

Which yet I understood, articulate sounds,

A loud prophetic blast of harmony,harmony;

And ode An Ode, in passion uttered, which foretold

Destruction to the children of the earth

By deluge deluge, now at hand. No sooner ceased

The song, but than the Arab with calm look the arab saiddeclared

That all was true, that it was even sowould come to pass of which the voice

As had been spoken, Had given forewarning, and that he himself

Was going then to bury those two books—

The one that held acquaintance with the stars,

And wedded man to man by purest bond

Of nature, undisturbed by space or time;

Th' other that was a god, yea many gods,

Had voices more than all the winds, and was

A joy, a consolation, and a hope.'books:

My friend continued, 'Strange The one that held acquaintance with the stars,

And wedded soul to soul in purest bond

Of reason, undisturbed by space or time;

The other that was a god, yea many gods,

Had voices more than all the winds, with power

To exhilarate the spirit, and to soothe,

Through every clime, the heart of human kind.

While this was uttering, strange as it may seemseem,

I wondered not, although I plainly saw

The one to be a stone, th' the other a shell,shell;

Nor doubted once but that they both were books,

Having a perfect faith in all that passed.

A wish was now engendered in my fearFar stronger, now, grew the desire I felt

To cleave unto this man, and man; but when I begged leaveprayed

To share his errand with him. On enterprise, he passedhurried on

Not heeding me; Reckless of me: I followed, and took notenot unseen,

That For oftentimes he looked often cast a backward with wild look,

Grasping his twofold treasure to his side.

Upon a dromedary, lance treasure. Lance in rest,

He rode, I keeping pace with him; and now

I fancied that he was He, to my fancy, had become the very knight

Whose tale Cervantes tells, tells; yet not the knight,

But was an arab Arab of the desert too,too;

Of these was neither, and was both at once.

His countenance meanwhile countenance, meanwhile, grew more disturbed,disturbed;

And And, looking backwards when he looked I sawlooked, mine eyes

Saw, over half the wilderness diffused,

A bed of glittering light, and light: I asked him whence it came.the cause:

"It is", is," said he, "The "the waters of the deep

Gathering upon us." Quickening us;" quickening then his the pace

Of the unwieldy creature he bestrode,

He left me; me: I called after him aloud;

He heeded not, but not; but, with his twofold charge

Beneath Still in his arm grasp, before me me, full in view—

I saw him riding o'er the desart sands

With the fleet waters of the drowning world

In chace of him; whereat I waked in terror,

And saw the sea before me, and the book

In which I had been reading at my side.'view,

Went hurrying o'er the illimitable waste,

With the fleet waters of a drowning world

In chase of him; whereat I waked in terror,

And saw the sea before me, and the book,

In which I had been reading, at my side.

Full often, taking from the world of sleep 140sleep

This arab phantom Arab phantom, which my friend I thus beheld,

This semi-Quixote, I to him have given

A substance, fancied him a living man—

A gentle dweller in the desart, crazed

By love, and feeling, and internal thought

Protracted among endless solitudes—

Have shaped him, in the oppression of his brain,

Wandering upon this quest and thus equipped.man,

And I A gentle dweller in the desert, crazed

By love and feeling, and internal thought

Protracted among endless solitudes;

Have shaped him wandering upon this quest!

Nor have scarcely I pitied him, have him; but rather felt

A reverence for Reverence was due to a being thus employed,employed;

And thought that that, in the blind and awful lair

Of such a madness madness, reason did lie couched.

Enow there are on earth to take in charge

Their wives, their children, and their virgin loves,

Or whatsoever else the heart holds dear—

Enow to think of these yea, will I say,

In sober contemplation of the approach

Of such great overthrow, made manifest

By certain evidence, that I methinks

Could share that maniac's anxiousness, could go

Upon like errand. dear;

Enow to stir for these; yea, will I say,

Contemplating in soberness the approach

Of an event so dire, by signs in earth

Or heaven made manifest, that I could share

That maniac's fond anxiety, and go

Upon like errand. Oftentimes at least

Me hath such deep strong entrancement half-possessedovercome,

When I have held a volume in my handhand,

Poor earthly casket of immortal verseverse,

Shakespeare Shakespeare, or Milton, labourers divine.divine!

Mighty, indeed supreme, Great and benign, indeed, must be the power

Of living Nature nature, which could thus so long

Detain me from the best of other thoughts.guides

And dearest helpers, left unthanked, unpraised,

Even in the lisping time of infancylisping infancy;

And, And later down, in prattling childhood eveneven,

While I was travelling back among those days—

How could I ever play an ingrate's part?

Once more should I have made those bowers resound,

And intermingled strains of thankfulness

With their own thoughtless melodies. At days,

How could I ever play an ingrate's part?

Once more should I have made those bowers resound,

By intermingling strains of thankfulness

With their own thoughtless melodies; at least

It might have well beseemed me to repeat

Some simply fashioned tale, to tell againagain,

In slender accents of sweet verse verse, some tale

That did bewitch me then, and soothes me now.

O friend, Friend! O poet, Poet! brother of my soul,

Think not that I could ever pass alongalong untouched

Untouched by By these remembrances; no, no,

But I was hurried forward by a stream

And could not stop. remembrances. Yet wherefore should I speak,speak?

Why call upon a few weak words to say

What is already written in the hearts

Of all that breathe breathe? what in the path of all

Drops daily from the tongue of every childchild,

Wherever man is found? The trickling tear

Upon the cheek of listening infancyInfancy

Tells Proclaims it, and the insuperable look

That drinks as if it never could be full.

That portion of my story I shall leave

There registered. Whatever registered: whatever else there beof power

Of power or pleasure, sown Or pleasure sown, or fostered thus—

Peculiar to myself let that remain

Where it lies hidden in its endless home

Among the depths of time. And yet thus, may be

Peculiar to myself, let that remain

Where still it seemsworks, though hidden from all search

Among the depths of time. Yet is it just

That here, in memory of all books which lay

Their sure foundations in the heart of man,

Whether by native prose, or numerous verse,

That in the name of all inspired souls.

From Homer the great thunderer, from the voice

Which roars along the bed of Jewish song,

And that, more varied and elaborate,

Those trumpet-tones of harmony that shake

Our shores in England, from those loftiest notes

Down to the low and wren-like warblings, made

For cottagers and spinners at the wheel

And weary travellers when they rest themselves

By the highways and hedges: ballad-tunes,

Food for the hungry ears of little ones,

And of old men who have survived their joy.—

It seemeth in behalf of these, the works,

And of the men who framed them, whether known,

Or sleeping nameless in their scattered graves,

That I should here assert their rights, attest

Their honours, and should once for all pronounce

Their benediction, speak of them as powers

For ever to be hallowed only less

For what we may become, and what we need,

Than Nature's self which is the breath of God.souls—

From Homer the great Thunderer, from the voice

That roars along the bed of Jewish song,

And that more varied and elaborate,

Those trumpet-tones of harmony that shake

Our shores in England, from those loftiest notes

Down to the low and wren-like warblings, made

For cottagers and spinners at the wheel,

And sun-burnt travellers resting their tired limbs,

Stretched under wayside hedge-rows, ballad tunes,

Food for the hungry ears of little ones,

And of old men who have survived their joys—

'Tis just that in behalf of these, the works,

And of the men that framed them, whether known

Or sleeping nameless in their scattered graves,

That I should here assert their rights, attest

Their honours, and should, once for all, pronounce

Their benediction; speak of them as Powers

For ever to be hallowed; only less,

For what we are and what we may become,

Than Nature's self, which is the breath of God,

Or His pure Word by miracle revealed.

Rarely and with reluctance would I stoop

To transitory themes, themes; yet I rejoice,

And, by these thoughts admonished, must speak will pour out

Thanksgivings from my heart Thanks with uplifted heart, that I was reared

Safe from an evil which these days have laid

Upon the children of the land land, a pest

That might have dried me up up, body and soul.

This verse is dedicate to Nature's selfself,

And things that teach as Nature teaches: then,

Oh, Oh! where had been the man, Man, the poet where—

Where had we been we two, beloved friend,

If we, in lieu of wandering as we did

Through heights and hollows and bye-spots of tales

Rich with indigenous produce, open ground

Of fancy, happy pastures ranged at will,

Had been attended, followed, watched, and noosed,

Each in his several melancholy walk,

Stringed like a poor man's heifer at its feed,

Led through the lanes in forlorn servitude;

Or rather like a stalled ox shut out

From touch of growing grass, that may not taste

A flower till it have yielded up its sweets

A prelibation to the mower's scythe.Poet where,

Where had we been, we two, beloved Friend!

If in the season of unperilous choice,

In lieu of wandering, as we did, through vales

Rich with indigenous produce, open ground

Of Fancy, happy pastures ranged at will,

We had been followed, hourly watched, and noosed,

Each in his several melancholy walk

Stringed like a poor man's heifer at its feed,

Led through the lanes in forlorn servitude;

Or rather like a stalled ox debarred

From touch of growing grass, that may not taste

A flower till it have yielded up its sweets

A prelibation to the mower's scythe.

Behold the parent hen amid her brood,

Though fledged and feathered, and well pleased to part

And straggle from her presence, still a brood,

And she herself from the maternal bond

Still undischarged. Yet undischarged; yet doth she little more

Than move with them in tenderness and love,

A centre of to the circle which they make;

And now and then then, alike from need of theirs

And call of her own natural appetites—

She scratches, ransacks up the earth for food

Which they partake at pleasure. appetites,

She scratches, ransacks up the earth for food,

Which they partake at pleasure. Early died

My honoured mother, Mother, she who was the heart

And hinge of all our learnings and our loves;loves:

She left us destitute, and and, as we mightmight,

Trooping together. Little suits it me

To break upon the sabbath of her rest

With any thought that looks at others' blame,blame;

Nor would I praise her but in perfect love;love.

Hence am I checked, checked: but I will let me boldly saysay,

In gratitude, and for the sake of truth,

Unheard by her, that she, not falsely taught,

Fetching her goodness rather from times pastpast,

Than shaping novelties from those for times to come,

Had no presumption, no such jealousy—

Nor did by habit of her thoughts mistrust

Our nature, but had virtual faith that He

Who fills the mother's breasts with innocent milk

Doth also for our nobler part provide,

Under His great correction and controul,

As innocent instincts, and as innocent food.jealousy,

Nor did by habit of her thoughts mistrust

Our nature, but had virtual faith that He

Who fills the mother's breast with innocent milk,

Doth also for our nobler part provide,

Under His great correction and control,

As innocent instincts, and as innocent food;

Or draws, for minds that are left free to trust

In the simplicities of opening life,

Sweet honey out of spurned or dreaded weeds.

This was her creed, and therefore she was pure

From feverish dread anxious fear of error and mishapor mishap,

And evil, overweeningly so called,called;

Was not puffed up by false unnatural hopes,

Nor selfish with unnecessary cares,

Nor with impatience from the season asked

More than its timely produce produce; rather loved

The hours for what they are, than from regardsregard

Glanced on their promises in restless pride.

Such was she: she not from faculties more strong

Than others have, but from the times, perhaps,

And spot in which she lived, and through a grace

Of modest meekness, simple-mindedness,

A heart that found benignity and hope,

Being itself benign.

My drift hath scarcely

I fear been obvious, for I have recoiledfear

From showing as it is the monster birthIs scarcely obvious; but, that common sense

Engendered May try this modern system by these too industrious times.

Let few words paint it: 'tis a child, no child,its fruits,

But a dwarf man; in knowledge, virtue, skill,Leave let me take to place before her sight

In what he is not, and in what he is,A specimen pourtrayed with faithful hand.

The noontide shadow of a man complete;Full early trained to worship seemliness,

A worshipper This model of worldly seemliness—

Not quarrelsome, for that were far beneath

His dignity; with gifts he bubbles o'er

As generous as a fountain; selfishness

May not come near him, gluttony or pride;

The wandering beggers propagate his name,

Dumb creatures find him tender as a nun.

Yet deem him not for this a naked dish

Of goodness merely he child is garnished out.

Arch are his notices, and nice his sensenever known

Of the ridiculous; deceit and guile,To mix in quarrels; that were far beneath

Meanness and falsehood, Its dignity; with gifts he detects, can treatbubbles o'er

With apt and graceful laughter; nor is blindAs generous as a fountain; selfishness

To the broad follies of May not come near him, nor the licensed world;

Though shrewd, yet innocent himself withal,little throng

And can read lectures upon innocence.Of flitting pleasures tempt him from his path;

He is fenced round, nay armed, for ought we know,The wandering beggars propagate his name,

In panoply complete; and fear itself,Dumb creatures find him tender as a nun,

Natural And natural or supernatural alike,fear,

Unless it leap upon him in a dream,

Touches him not. Briefly, To enhance the moral partwonder, see

Is perfect, and in learning and in booksHow arch his notices, how nice his sense

He Of the ridiculous; not blind is a prodigy. His discourse moves slow,

Massy and ponderous as a prison door,

Tremendously embossed with terms of art.

Rank growth of propositions overrunshe

The stripling's brain; To the path in which he treads

Is choked with grammars. Cushion broad follies of divinethe licensed world,

Was never such a type of thought profoundYet innocent himself withal, though shrewd,

As is the pillow where he rests his head.And can read lectures upon innocence;

The ensigns A miracle of the empire which he holds.—

The globe and sceptre of his royalties.

Are telescopes, and crucibles, and maps.scientific lore,

Ships he can guide across the pathless sea,

And tell you all their cunning; he can read

The inside of the earth, and spell the stars;

He knows the policies of foreign lands,lands;

Can string you names of districts, cities, towns,

The whole world over, tight as beads of dew

Upon a gossamer thread. He thread; he sifts, he weighs,

Takes nothing upon trust. His teachers stare,

The country people pray for God's good grace,

And tremble at his deep experiments.weighs;

All things are put to question: question; he must live

Knowing that he grows wiser every day,day

Or else not live at all, and seeing too

Each little drop of wisdom as it falls

Into the dimpling cistern of his heart.

Meanwhile old Grandame Earth is grieved to find

The playthings which her love designed for him

Unthought of in their woodland beds the flowers

Weep, and the river-sides are all forlorn.heart:

Now For this is hollow, 'tis a life of lies

From the beginning, and in lies must end.

Forth bring him to unnatural growth the air of common sensetrainer blame,

And, fresh and shewy as it is, Pity the corpstree. Poor human vanity,

Slips from us into powder. Vanity,Wert thou extinguished, little would be left

That is his soul: there lives he, and there moves—

It is the soul of every thing he seeks—

That gone, nothing is left which he can love.Which he could truly love; but how escape?

Nay, if For, ever as a thought of purer birth should risebirth

To carry Rises to lead him towards toward a better clime,

Some busy helper intermeddler still is on the watch

To drive him back, and pound him him, like a straystray,

With Within the pinfold of his own conceit,conceit.

Which Meanwhile old grandame earth is his home, his natural dwelling-place.grieved to find

Oh, The playthings, which her love designed for him,

Unthought of: in their woodland beds the flowers

Weep, and the river sides are all forlorn.

Oh! give us once again the wishing-cap

Of Fortunatus, and the invisible coat

Of Jack the Giant-killer, Robin Hood,

And Sabra in the forest with St. George!

The child child, whose love is here, at least least, doth reap

One precious gain gain, that he forgets himself.

These mighty workmen of our later ageage,

Who Who, with a broad highway highway, have overbridged

The froward chaos of futurity,

Tamed to their bidding—they who have the art

To manage books, and things, and make them work

Gently on infant minds as does the sun

Upon a flower the tutors of our youth,

The guides, the wardens of our faculties

And stewards of our labour, watchful men

And skilful in the usury of time,

Sages, who in their prescience would controul

All accidents, and to the very road

Which they have fashioned would confine us down

Like engines when will they be taught

That in the unreasoning progress of the world

A wiser spirit is at work for us,

A better eye than theirs, most prodigal

Of blessings, and most studious of our good,

Even in what seem our most unfruitful hours?

There was a boy—ye knew him well, ye cliffs

And islands of Winander many a time

At evening, when the stars had just begun

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. bidding; they who have the skill

To manage books, and things, and make them act

On infant minds as surely as the sun

Deals with a flower; the keepers of our time,

The guides and wardens of our faculties,

Sages who in their prescience would control

All accidents, and to the very road

Which they have fashioned would confine us down,

Like engines; when will their presumption learn,

That in the unreasoning progress of the world

A wiser spirit is at work for us,

A better eye than theirs, most prodigal

Of blessings, and most studious of our good,

Even in what seem our most unfruitful hours?

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 wat'ry watery vale, and shout again,

Responsive to his call, with quivering pealspeals,

And long halloos, halloos and screams, and echoes loud,

Redoubled and redoubled redoubled, concourse wild

Of mirth and jocund din. And din; and, when it chanceda lengthened pause

That pauses of deep Of silence mocked came and baffled his best skill,

Then sometimes sometimes, in that silence, silence while he hung

Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprizesurprise

Has carried far into his heart the voice

Of mountain torrents; or the visible scene

Would enter unawares into his mindmind,

With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,

Its woods, and that uncertain heaven, received

Into the bosom of the steady lake.

This boy Boy was taken from his mates, and died

In childhood childhood, ere he was full ten twelve years old.

Fair are the woods, and beauteous is the spot,spot, most beautiful the vale

The vale where Where he was born; the grassy churchyard hangs

Upon a slope above the village school,

And there, along through that bank, churchyard when I have passedmy way has led

At evening, On summer evenings, I believe that oftentimesthere

A full half-hour long half hour together I have stood

Mute, looking at the grave in which he lies.lies!

Even now methinks I have appears before my sightthe mind's clear eye

That self-same village church: church; I see her sit.—

The throned lady spoken of erewhile—

On her green hill, forgetful of this boy

Who slumbers at her feet, forgetful too

Of all her silent neighbourhood of graves,

And listening only to the gladsome sounds

That, from the rural school ascending, play

Beneath her and about her. sit

(The throned Lady whom erewhile we hailed)

On her green hill, forgetful of this Boy

Who slumbers at her feet,—forgetful, too,

Of all her silent neighbourhood of graves,

And listening only to the gladsome sounds

That, from the rural school ascending, play

Beneath her and about her. May she long

Behold a race of young ones like to those

With whom I herded easily, herded! (easily, indeed,

We might have fed upon a fatter soil

Of Arts arts and Letters, letters but be that forgiven—

A race of real children, not too wise,

Too learned, or too good, but wanton, fresh,

And bandied up and down by love and hate;

Fierce, moody, patient, venturous, modest, shy,

Mad at their sports like withered leaves in winds;

Though doing wrong and suffering, and full oft

Bending beneath our life's mysterious weight

Of pain and fear, yet still in happiness

Not yielding to the happiest upon earth.forgiven)—

A race of real children; not too wise,

Too learned, or too good; but wanton, fresh,

And bandied up and down by love and hate;

Not unresentful where self-justified;

Fierce, moody, patient, venturous, modest, shy;

Mad at their sports like withered leaves in winds;

Though doing wrong and suffering, and full oft

Bending beneath our life's mysterious weight

Of pain, and doubt, and fear, yet yielding not

In happiness to the happiest upon earth.

Simplicity in habit, truth in speech,

Be these the daily strengtheners of their minds!minds;

May books and Nature be their early joy,joy!

And knowledge, rightly honored honoured with that name

Knowledge not purchased with by the loss of power!

Well do I call to mind the very week

When I was first entrusted intrusted to the care

Of that sweet valley Valley; when its paths, its shoresshores,

And brooks, brooks were like a dream of novelty

To my half-infant thoughts thoughts; that very week,

While I was roving up and down alonealone,

Seeking I knew not what, I chanced to cross

One of those open fields, which, shaped like ears,

Make green peninsulas on Esthwaite's Lake.Lake:

Twilight was coming on, yet through the gloom

I saw Appeared distinctly on the opposite shore

A heap of garments, left as I supposedif left by one

By one who Who might have there was been bathing. Long I watched,

But no one owned them; meanwhile the calm lake

Grew dark, dark with all the shadows on its breast,

And And, now and then then, a fish up-leaping snapped

The breathless stillness. The succeeding day.—

Those unclaimed garments telling a plain tale—

Went there a company, and in their boat

Sounded with grappling-irons and long poles:

At length, the dead man, 'mid that beauteous scene

Of trees and hills and water, bolt upright

Rose with his ghastly face, a spectre shape

Of terror even. And day,

Those unclaimed garments telling a plain tale

Drew to the spot an anxious crowd; some looked

In passive expectation from the shore,

While from a boat others hung o'er the deep,

Sounding with grappling irons and long poles.

At last, the dead man, 'mid that beauteous scene

Of trees and hills and water, bolt upright

Rose, with his ghastly face, a spectre shape

Of terror; yet no vulgar soul-debasing fear,

Young as I was, a child not nine years old,

Possessed me, for my inner eye had seen

Such sights before before, among the shining streams

Of fairyland, faery land, the forests forest of romance—

Thence came a spirit hallowing what I saw

With decoration and ideal grace,

A dignity, a smoothness, like the words

Of Grecian art and purest Poesy.romance.

I had Their spirit hallowed the sad spectacle

With decoration of ideal grace;

A dignity, a smoothness, like the works

Of Grecian art, and purest poesy.

A precious treasure at that time,had I long possessed,

A little yellow canvass-covered yellow, canvas-covered book,

A slender abstract of the Arabian Tales;

And when I learned, as now I first did learntales;

From my And, from companions in this a new abode,

That When first I learnt, that this dear prize of mine was but a blockmine

Hewn Was but a block hewn from a mighty quarry in a word,

That there were four large volumes, laden allquarry—

That there were four large volumes, laden all

With kindred matter, 'twas to me, in truth,

A promise scarcely earthly. Instantly,

With kindred matter 'twas in truth to meone not richer than myself, I made

A promise scarcely earthly. Instantly

I made a league, a covenant with a friend

Of my own age, that we each should lay aside

The monies we moneys he possessed, and hoard up more,

Till our joint savings had amassed enough

To make this book our own. Through several months

Religiously did we preserve that vow,months,

And In spite of all temptation hoarded up,temptation, we preserved

And hoarded up; Religiously that vow; but firmness failed at length,failed,

Nor were we ever masters of our wish.

And afterwards, when, when thereafter to my father's house

Returning at the holidays, I foundThe holidays returned me, there to find

That golden store of books which I had left

Open to my enjoyment once again,left,

What heart joy was mine! Full How often through in the course

Of those glad respites in the sununertimerespites, though a soft west wind

When armed with rod and line we went abroadRuffled the waters to the angler's wish,

For a whole day together, I have I lain

Down by thy side, O Derwent, Derwent! murmuring stream,

On the hot stones stones, and in the glaring sun,

And there have read, devouring as I read,

Defrauding the day's glory desperate—

Till with a sudden bound of smart reproach

Such as an idler deals with in his shame,

I to my sport betook myself again.glory, desperate!

Till with a sudden bound of smart reproach,

Such as an idler deals with in his shame,

I to the sport betook myself again.

A gracious spirit o'er o' er this earth presides,

And o'er the heart of man: man; invisibly

It comes, directing those to works of loveunreproved delight,

And tendency benign, directing those

Who care not, know not, think not, what they do.

The tales that charm away the wakeful night

In Araby romances, Araby, romances; legends penned

For solace by the dim light of monkish lamps;

Fictions, for ladies of their love, devised

By youthful squires; adventures endless, spun

By the dismantled warrior in old ageage,

Out of the bowels of those very thoughtsschemes

In which his youth did first extravagateextravagate;

These spread like day, and something in the shape

Of these will live till man shall be no more.

Dumb yearnings, hidden appetites, are ours,

And they must 'they must' have their foot. food. Our childhood sits,

Our simple childhood, sits upon a throne

That hath more power than all the elements.

I guess not what this tells of being Being past,

Nor what it augurs of the life to come,come;

But so it is, and is; and, in that dubious hour,hour

That twilight when we first begin to see

This dawning earth, to recognise, expect—

And in the long probation that ensues,

The time of trial ere we learn to live

In reconcilement with our stinted powers,

To endure this state of meagre vassalage,

Unwilling to forego, confess, submit,

Uneasy and unsettled, yoke-fellows

To custom, mettlesome and not yet tamed

And humbled down oh, then we feel, we feel,

We know, when we have friends. expect,

And, in the long probation that ensues,

The time of trial, ere we learn to live

In reconcilement with our stinted powers;

To endure this state of meagre vassalage,

Unwilling to forego, confess, submit,

Uneasy and unsettled, yoke-fellows

To custom, mettlesome, and not yet tamed

And humbled down oh! then we feel, we feel,

We know where we have friends. Ye dreamers, then,

Forgers of lawless tales, daring tales! we bless you then—

Impostors, drivellers, dotards, as the ape

Philosophy will call you then we feel

With what, and how great might ye are in league,

Who make our wish our power, our thought a deed,

An empire, a possession. Ye then,

Impostors, drivellers, dotards, as the ape

Philosophy will call you: 'then' we feel

With what, and how great might ye are in league,

Who make our wish, our power, our thought a deed,

An empire, a possession,—.ye whom time

And seasons serve serve; all faculties Faculties to whom

Earth crouches, th' the elements are potter's clay,

Space like a heaven filled up with northern lights,

Here, nowhere, there, and everywhere at once.

It might demand a more impassioned strainRelinquishing this lofty eminence

To tell of later pleasures linked to these,For ground, though humbler, not the less a tract

A tract of Of the same isthmus isthmus, which we our spirits cross

In progress from our their native continent

To earth and human life I mean to speaklife, the Song might dwell

Of On that delightful time of growing youthyouth,

When cravings craving for the marvellous relent,gives way

And we begin to To strengthening love what for things that we have seen;

And When sober truth, experience, sympathy,truth and steady sympathies,

Offered to notice by less daring pens,

Take stronger firmer hold of us; us, and words themselves

Move us with conscious pleasure.

I am sad

At thought of raptures rapture now for ever flown,flown;

Even unto Almost to tears I sometimes could be sad

To think of, to read over, many a page—

Poems withal of name which at that time

Did never fail to entrance me, and are now

Dead in my eyes as is a theatre

Fresh emptied of spectators. Thirteen years,page,

Poems withal of name, which at that time

Did never fail to entrance me, and are now

Dead in my eyes, dead as a theatre

Fresh emptied of spectators. Twice five years

Or haply less, less I might have seen seen, when firstfirst my mind

My ears began to open With conscious pleasure opened to the charm

Of words in tuneful order, found them sweet

For their own sakes 'sakes', a passion passion, and a power—

And phrases pleased me, chosen for delight,

For pomp, or love. Oft power;

And phrases pleased me chosen for delight,

For pomp, or love. Oft, in the public roads,roads

Yet unfrequented, while the morning light

Was yellowing the hilltops, with that dear friend

(The same whom hill tops, I have mentioned heretofore)went abroad

I went abroad, With a dear friend, and for the better part

Of two delightful hours we strolled along

By the still borders of the misty lakelake,

Repeating favorite favourite verses with one voice,

Or conning more, as happy as the birds

That round us chaunted. Well might we be glad,

Lifted above the ground by airy fanciesfancies,

More bright than madness or the dreams of wine.wine;

And And, though full oft the objects of our love

Were false false, and in their splendour overwrought,

Yet was there surely at such time then no vulgar power

Was working in Working within us, nothing less less, in truthtruth,

Than that most noble attribute of man—

Though yet untutored, and inordinate—

That wish for something loftier, more adorned,

Than is the common aspect, daily garb,

Of human life. man,

Though yet untutored and inordinate,

That wish for something loftier, more adorned,

Than is the common aspect, daily garb,

Of human life. What wonder then wonder, then, if sounds

Of exultation echoed through the groves.—

For images, and sentiments, and words,

And every thing with which we had to do

In that delicious world of poesy,

Kept holiday, a never-ending show,

With music, incense, festival, and flowers!

Here must I pause: This only will I add

From heart-experience, and in humblest sense

Of modesty, that he who in his youth

A wanderer among the woods and fields

With living Nature hath been intimate,

Not only in that raw unpractised time

Is stirred to ecstasy, as others are,

By glittering verse, but he doth furthermore,

In measure only dealt out to himself,

Receive enduring touches of deep joy

From the great Nature that exists in works

Of mighty poets. groves!

For, images, and sentiments, and words,

And everything encountered or pursued

In that delicious world of poesy,

Kept holiday, a never-ending show,

With music, incense, festival, and flowers!

Here must we pause: this only let me add,

From heart-experience, and in humblest sense

Of modesty, that he, who in his youth

A daily wanderer among woods and fields

With living Nature hath been intimate,

Not only in that raw unpractised time

Is stirred to ecstasy, as others are,

By glittering verse; but further, doth receive,

In measure only dealt out to himself,

Knowledge and increase of enduring joy

From the great Nature that exists in works

Of mighty Poets. Visionary power

Attends upon the motions of the windsviewless winds,

Embodied in the mystery of words;words:

There There, darkness makes abode, and all the host

Of shadowy things do work their changes thereendless changes, there,

As in a mansion like their proper home.home,

Even forms and substances are circumfused

By that transparent veil with light divine,

And And, through the turnings intricate of verseverse,

Present themselves as objects recognisedrecognised,

In flashes, and with a glory scare not their own.

Thus far a scanty record is deduced

Of what I owed to books in early life;

Their later influence yet remains untold,

But as this work was taking in my thoughts

Proportions that seemed larger than had first

Been meditated, I was indisposed

To any further progress at a time
When these acknowledgements were left unpaid.