Volume 2 — Alice Fell; or, PovertyA

Alice Fell; or, Poverty^A

Composed March 12th and 13th, 1802.—Published 1807

The Poem

[Written to gratify Mr. Graham of Glasgow, brother of the author of The Sabbath. He was a zealous coadjutor of Mr. Clarkson, and a man of ardent humanity. The incident had happened to himself, and he urged me to put it into verse, for humanity's sake. The humbleness, meanness if you like, of the subject, together with the homely mode of treating it, brought upon me a world of ridicule by the small critics, so that in policy I excluded it from many editions of my poems, till it was restored at the request of some of my friends, in particular my son-in-law, Edward Quillinan.—I. F.]

It was only excluded from the editions of 1820, 1827, and 1832. In the edition of 1807 it was placed amongst a group of "Poems composed during a Tour, chiefly on foot." In 1815, in 1836, and afterwards, it was included in the group "referring to the Period of Childhood." In Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal, the following reference to this poem occurs:

"Feb. 16, 1802.—Mr. Graham said he wished William had been with him the other day. He was riding in a post-chaise, and he heard a strange cry that he could not understand. The sound continued, and he called to the chaise-driver to stop. It was a little girl that was crying as if her heart would burst. She had got up behind the chaise, and her cloak had been caught by the wheel, and was jammed in, and it hung there. She was crying after it, poor thing. Mr. Graham took her into the chaise, and her cloak was released from the wheel, but the child's misery did not cease, for her cloak was torn to rags. It had been a miserable cloak before; but she had no other, and it was the greatest sorrow that could befall her. Her name was Alice Fell. She had no parents, and belonged to the next town. At the next town Mr. G. left money to buy her a new cloak." "Friday (March 12).—In the evening after tea William wrote Alice Fell." "Saturday Morning (13th March).—William finished Alice Fell...."

Ed.

The Poem

text variant footnote line number

The post-boy drove with fierce career, For threatening clouds the moon had drowned; When, as we hurried on, my ear Was smitten with a startling sound. As if the wind blew many ways, I heard the sound,—and more and more; It seemed to follow with the chaise, And still I heard it as before. At length I to the boy called out; He stopped his horses at the word, But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout, Nor aught else like it, could be heard. The boy then smacked his whip, and fast The horses scampered through the rain; But, hearing soon upon the blast The cry, I bade him halt again. Forthwith alighting on the ground, "Whence comes," said I, "this piteous moan?" And there a little Girl I found, Sitting behind the chaise, alone. "My cloak!" no other word she spake, But loud and bitterly she wept, As if her innocent heart would break; And down from off her seat she leapt. "What ails you, child?"—she sobbed "Look here!" I saw it in the wheel entangled, A weather-beaten rag as e'er From any garden scare-crow dangled. There, twisted between nave and spoke, It hung, nor could at once be freed; But our joint pains unloosed the cloak, A miserable rag indeed! "And whither are you going, child, To-night along these lonesome ways?" "To Durham," answered she, half wild— "Then come with me into the chaise." Insensible to all relief Sat the poor girl, and forth did send Sob after sob, as if her grief Could never, never have an end. "My child, in Durham do you dwell?" She checked herself in her distress, And said, "My name is Alice Fell; I'm fatherless and motherless. "And I to Durham, Sir, belong." Again, as if the thought would choke Her very heart, her grief grew strong; And all was for her tattered cloak! The chaise drove on; our journey's end Was nigh; and, sitting by my side, As if she had lost her only friend She wept, nor would be pacified. Up to the tavern-door we post; Of Alice and her grief I told; And I gave money to the host, To buy a new cloak for the old. "And let it be of duffil grey, As warm a cloak as man can sell!" Proud creature was she the next day, The little orphan, Alice Fell! Note Contents 1802 Main Contents 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60

Variant 1:

1845

When suddenly I seem'd to hear A moan, a lamentable sound. 1807

return

Variant 2:

1845

And soon I heard upon the blast The voice, and bade .... 1807

return

Variant 3:

1845

Said I, alighting on the ground, "What can it be, this piteous moan?" 1807

Forthwith alighted on the ground To learn what voice the piteous moan Had made, a little girl I found, C.

return

Variant 4:

1836

"My Cloak!" the word was last and first, And loud and bitterly she wept, As if her very heart would burst; 1807

"My cloak, my cloak" she cried, and spake No other word, but loudly wept, C.

return

Variant 5:

1815

... off the Chaise ... 1807

return

Variant 6:

1845

'Twas twisted betwixt nave and spoke; Her help she lent, and with good heed Together we released the Cloak; 1807

... between ... 1840

return

Variant 7:

1836

A wretched, wretched rag indeed! 1807

return

Variant 8:

1845

She sate like one past all relief; Sob after sob she forth did send In wretchedness, as if her grief 1807

return

Variant 9:

1836

And then, ... 1807

return

Variant 10:

1836

... she'd lost ... 1807

return

Footnote A:

There was no sub-title in the edition of 1807.—Ed.

return to footnote mark

Note:

Charles Lamb wrote to Wordsworth in 1815, referring to the revisions of this and other poems:

"I am glad that you have not sacrificed a verse to those scoundrels. I would not have had you offer up the poorest rag that lingered upon the stript shoulders of little Alice Fell, to have atoned all their malice; I would not have given 'em a red cloak to save their souls."

See Letters of Charles Lamb (Ainger), vol. i. p. 283.—Ed.

Contents 1802 Main Contents