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Heaven lies about us in our infancy !

VIII Shades of the prison-house begin to close Thou, whose exterior semblance doth beUpon the growing Boy,

lie But He beholds the light, and whence it Thy Soul's immensity; flows,

Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep He sees it in his joy;

Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, The Youth, who daily farther from the That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal

east Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, And by the vision splendid

Mighty Prophet! Seer blest ! Is on his way attended;

On whom those truths do rest, At length the Man perceives it die away, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, And fade into the light of common day. In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;

Thou, over whom thy Immortality

Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her A Presence which is not to be put by; 121 own;

Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's And, even with something of a Mother's

height, mind,

Why with such earnest pains dost thou And no unworthy aim,

provoke The homely Nurse doth all she can The years to bring the inevitable yoke, To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife ?

Forget the glories he hath known, Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly And that imperial palace whence be came.


And custom lie upon thee with a weight, VII

Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,

IX A six years' Darling of a pigmy size !

O joy! that in our embers

130 See, where 'mid work of his own hand he Is something that doth live, lies,

That nature yet remembers Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,

What was so fugitive ! With light upon him from his father's | The thought of our past years in me doth eyes!

breed See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Perpetual benediction: not indeed Some fragment from his dream of human For that which is inost worthy to be blest life,

Delight and liberty, the simple creed Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, A wedding or a festival,

| With new-fledged hope still fluttering in A mourning or a funeral;

his breast:And this hath now his heart,

Not for these I raise

140 And unto this he frames his song:

The song of thanks and praise ;
Then will he fit his tongue

But for those obstinate questionings
To dialogues of business, love, or strife; Of sense and outward things,
But it will not be long

Fallings from us, vanishings; Ere this be thrown aside,

Blank misgivings of a Creature And with new joy and pride

Moving about in worlds not realised, The little Actor cons another part;

High instincts before which our mortal Filling from time to time his “humorous

Nature stage”

Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised: With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, But for those first affections, That Life brings with her in her equipage; Those shadowy recollections, 150 As if his whole vocation

· Which, be they what they may, Were endless imitation.

Are yet the fountain light of all our day,

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Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Even more than when I tripped lightly as Uphold us, cherish, and have power to

they; make

The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Our noisy years seem moments in the being

Is lovely yet; Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, The Clouds that gather round the setting

To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor med en Do take a sober colouring from an eye deavour,

That hath kept watch o'er man's mortalNor Man nor Boy,

ity; Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 160 Another race hath been, and other palnis Can utterly abolish or destroy!

are won. Hence in a season of calm weather | Thanks to the human heart by which we Though inland far we be,

live, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea | Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, Which brought us hither,

To me the meanest flower that blows can Can in a moment travel thither,

give And see the Children sport upon the shore, Thoughts that do often lie too deep for And hear the mighty waters rolling ever





Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous

And let the young Lambs bound 170

As to the tabor's sound !
We in thought will join your throng,

Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day

Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once

so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the

Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the

We will grieve not, rather find 180
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;

In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.

And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and

Forebode not any severing of our loves !
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your

I only have relinquished one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the Brooks which down their chau-

nels fret,

[Publ. 1807) YEt are they here the same unbroken knot Of human Beings, in the self-same spot!

Men, women, children, yea the frame

Of the whole spectacle the same!
Only their fire seems bolder, yielding light,
Now deep and red, the colouring of night;

That on their Gipsy-faces falls,

Their bed of straw and blanket-walls. – Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours

are gone, while I Have been a traveller under open sky, 10

Much witnessing of change and cheer,

Yet as I left I find them here!
The weary Sun betook himself to rest;-
Then issued Vesper from the fulgent west,

Outshiping like a visible God

The glorious path in which he trod. And now, ascending, after one dark bour And one night's diminution of her power,

Behold the mighty Moon ! this way

She looks as if at them -- but they 20 Regard not her: - oh better wrong and

strife (By nature transient) than this torpid life;

Life which the very stars reprove

As on their silent tasks they move!
Yet, witness all that stirs in heaven or earth!
In scorn I speak not; — they are what their

And breeding suffer them to be;
Wild outcasts of society!

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Rejoiced is Brough, right glad I deen FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE Beside her little humble stream;

And she that keepeth watch and ward UPON THE RESTORATION OF LORD CLIF

Her statelier Eden's course to guard; FORD, THE SHEPHERD, TO THE ESTATES

They both are happy at this hour, AND HONOURS OF HIS ANCESTORS

Though each is but a lonely Tower:(Publ. 1807]

But here is perfect joy and pride

For one fair House by Emont's side, High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel | This day, distinguished without peer sate,

To see her Master and to cheer -
And Emont's murmur mingled with the Him, and his Lady-mother dear!
Song, -

Oh! it was a time forlorn
The words of ancient time I thus translate, When the fatherless was born -
A festal strain that hath been silent Give her wings that she may fly,

Or she sees her infant die !
“ From town to town, from tower to tower, Swords that are with slaughter wild
The red rose is a gladsome flower.

Hunt the Mother and the Child. Her thirty years of winter past,

Who will take them from the light? The red rose is revived at last;

- Yonder is a man in sight She lifts her head for endless spring,

Yonder is a house — but where? For everlasting blossoming:

No, they inust not enter there. Both roses flourish, red and white:

To the caves, and to the brooks,
In love and sisterly delight

To the clouds of heaven she looks;
The two that were at strife are blended, She is speechless, but her eyes
And all old troubles now are ended. —' Pray in ghostly agonies.
Joy! joy to both ! but most to her

Blissful Mary, Mother mild,
Who is the flower of Lancaster!

Maid and Mother undefiled, Behold her how She smiles to-day

Save a Mother and her Child ! On this great throng, this bright array ! Now Who is he that bounds with joy Fair greeting doth she send to all

On Carrock's side, a Shepherd-boy ? From every corner of the hall;

No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass But chiefly from above the board

Light as the wind along the grass.
Where sits in state our rightful Lord, Can this be He who hither came
A Clifford to his own restored !

In secret, like a smothered flame ?
They came with banner, spear, and shield, O'er whom such thankful tears were shed
And it was proved in Bosworth-field.

For shelter, and a poor man's bread ! Not long the Avenger was withstood - God loves the Child; and God hath willed 80 Earth helped him with the cry of blood: That those dear words should be fulfilled, St. George was for us, and the might The Lady's words, when forced away, Of blessed Angels crowned the right. The last she to her Babe did say: Loud voice the Land has uttered forth, 30 My own, my own, thy Fellow-guest We loudest in the faithful north:

I may not be; but rest thee, rest, Our fields rejoice, our mountains ring, For lowly shepherd's life is best!' Our streams proclaim a welcoming;

Alas ! when evil men are strong Our strong-abodes and castles see

No life is good, no pleasure long. The glory of their loyalty.

The Boy must part from Mosedale's groves, How glad is Skipton at this hour — And leave Blencathara's rugged coves, 90 Though lonely, a deserted Tower;

And quit the flowers that summer brings Knight, squire, and yeoman, page and To Glenderamakin's lofty springs; groom:

Must vanish, and his careless cheer We have them at the feast of Brough'm. Be turned to heaviness and fear. How glad Pendragon - though the sleep 40 - Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise ! Of years be on her! – She shall reap Hear it, good man, old in days ! A taste of this great pleasure, viewing Thou tree of covert and of rest As in a dream her own renewing.

For this young Bird that is distrest;

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Among thy branches safe he lay,

Like a re-appearing Star,
And he was free to sport and play, 100 Like a glory from afar,
When falcons were abroad for prey.

First shall head the Hock of war !”
A recreant harp, that sings of fear
And heaviness in Clifford's ear!

Alas! the impassioned minstrel did not I said, when evil men are strong,

know No life is good, no pleasure long,

How, by Heaven's grace, this Clifford's A weak and cowardly untruth !

heart was framed, Our Clifford was a happy Youth,

How he, long forced in humble walks to go, And thankful through a weary time, Was softened into feeling, soothed, and That brought him up to manhood's prime.


160 - Again he wanders forth at will, And tends a flock from hill to hill:

Love had he found in huts where poor men His garb is humble; ne'er was seen

lie; Such garb with such a noble mien;

His daily teachers had been woods and rills, Among the shepherd grooms no mate The silence that is in the starry sky, Hath he, a Child of strength and state ! The sleep that is among the lonely bills. Yet lacks not friends for simple glee, In him the savage virtue of the Race, Nor yet for higher sympathy,

Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts were To his side the fallow-deer

dead: Came, and rested without fear;

Nor did he change; but kept in lofty place The eagle, lord of land and sea,

The wisdom which adversity had bred. Stooped down to pay him fealty;

Glad were the vales, and every cottage And both the undying fish that swim

hearth; Through Bowscale-tarn did wait on him; The Shepherd-lord was honoured more aud The pair were servants of his eye

more; In their immortality;

And, ages after he was laid in earth,
And glancing, gleaming, dark or bright, “The good Lord Clifford” was the name
Moved to and fro, for his delight.

he bore.
He knew the rocks which Angels haunt
Upon the mountains visitant;
He hath kenned them taking wing:

And into caves where Faeries sing

(Written 1795–1814. Publ. 1814] He hath entered; and been told By Voices how men lived of old.

TO THE Right Hon. Among the heavens his eye can see

WILLIAM, EARL OF LONSDALE, K. G. The face of thing that is to be;

ETC. ETC. And, if that men report him right,

Opr, through thy fair domains, illustrious Peer! His tongue could whisper words of might. In youth I roamed, on youthful pleasures bent; - Now another day is come,

And muced in rocky cell or sylvan tent,

Beside swift-flowing Lowther's current clear. Fitter hope, and nobler doom;

-Now, by thy care befriended, I appear He hath thrown aside his crook,

Before thee, LONSDALE, and this Work present,

A token (may it prove a monument !) And hath buried deep his book;

Of high respect and gratitude sincere. Armonr rusting in his halls

Gladly would I have waited till my task

Had reached its close ; but Life is insecure, On the blood of Clifford calls;

And Hope full oft fallacious as a dream: •Quell the Scot,' exclaims the Lance

Therefore, for what is here produced, I ask Bear me to the heart of France,

Thy favour; trusting that thou wilt not deem

The offering, though imperfect, premature. Is the longing of the Shield

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. Tell thy name, thou trembling Field;

RYDAL MOUNT, WESTMORELAND. Field of death, where'er thou be,

July 29, 1814. Groan thou with our victory!

PREFACE TO THE EDITION OF 1814 Happy day, and mighty hour,

150 When our Shepherd, in his power,

THE Title-page announces that this is only a
The Title-pag

portion of a poem; and the Reader must be Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword,

here apprised that it belongs to the second To his ancestors restored

I part of a long and laborious Work, which is to



of high may it prble, and en: I appearclear.

consist of three parts. – The Author will can added, than that the first and third parts of didly acknowledge that, if the first of these had “The Recluse" will consist chiefly of meditabeen completed, and in such a manner as to tions in the Author's own person; and that in satisfy his own mind, he should have preferred the intermediate part (“The Excursion") the the natural order of publication, and have intervention of characters speaking is emgiven that to the world first; but, as the sec ployed, and something of a dramatic form ond division of the Work was designed to refer adopted. more to passing events, and to an existing state of things, than the others were meant to

BOOK I do, more continuous exertion was naturally bestowed upon it, and greater progress made

[Lines 463-916] here than in the rest of the poem; and as this part does not depend upon the preceding to a My thirst I slaked, and, from the cheerless degree which will materially injure its own

spot peculiar interest, the Author, complying with

Withdrawing, straightway to the shade rethe earnest entreaties of some valued Friends, presents the following pages to the Public.

turned It may be proper to state whence the poem, Where sate the old Man on the cottageof which "The Excursion" is a part, derives

bench; its title of " The Recluse."-Several years ago, And, while, beside him, with uncovered when the Author retired to his native mountains, with the hope of being enabled to con

head, struct a literary Work that might live, it was

I yet was standing, freely to respire, a reasonable thing that he should take a re And cool my temples in the fanning air, view of his own mind, and examine how far Thus did he speak. “I see around me Nature and Education' had qualified him for

here such employment. As subsidiary to this preparation, he undertook to record, in verse, the

Things which you cannot see: we die, my origin and progress of his own powers, as far as


470 he was acquainted with them. That Work, Nor we alone, but that which each man addressed to a dear Friend, most distinguished

loved for his knowledge and genius, and to whom the Author's Intellect is deeply indebted, has been

And prized in his peculiar nook of earth long finished ; and the result of the investiga

Dies with him, or is changed; and very tion which gave rise to it was a determination

soon to compose a philosophical poem, containing

Even of the good is no memorial left. views of Man. Nature, and Society: and to be entitled, “The Recluse"; as having for its

- The Poets, in their elegies and songs principal subject the sensations and opinions of

Lamenting the departed, call the groves, a poet living in retirement. — The preparatory They call upon the hills and streams, to poem is biographical, and conducts the hig

mourn, tory of the Author's mind to the point when he

And senseless rocks; nor idly; for they was emboldened to hope that his faculties were sufficiently matured for entering upon the

speak, arduous labour which he had proposed to him In these their invocations, with a voice self; and the two Works have the same kind of Obedient to the strong creative power 480 relation to each other, if he may so express

Of human passion. Sympathies there are himself, as the ante-chapel has to the body of a Gothic church. Continuing this allusion, he

More tranquil, yet perhaps of kindred may be permitted to add, that his minor Pieces,

birth, which have been long before the Public, when That steal upon the meditative mind, they shall be properly arranged, will be found And grow with thought. Beside yon spring by the attentive Reader to have such connection

I stood, with the main Work as may give them claim to be likened to the little cells, oratories, and

And eyed its waters till we seemed to feel sepulchral recesses, ordinarily included in those One sadness, they and I. For them a edifices.

bond The Author would not have deemed himself

Of brotherhood is broken: time has been justified in saying, upon this occasion, so much

When, every day, the touch of human hand of performances either unfinished or unpublished, if he had not thought that the labour

Dislodged the natural sleep that binds thein bestowed by him upon what he has heretofore and now laid before the Public entitled him to In mortal stillness; and they ministered 490 candid attention for such a statement as he

| To human comfort. Stooping down to thinks necessary to throw light upon his endeavours to please and, he would hope, to bene

drink, fit his countrymen. - Nothing further need be | Upon the slimy foot-stone I espied


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