Volume 2 — The Emigrant Mother

Composed March 16th and 17th, 1802.—Published 1807

The Poem

[Suggested by what I have noticed in more than one French fugitive during the time of the French Revolution. If I am not mistaken the lines were composed at Sockburn when I was on a visit to Mary and her brothers.—I. F.]

In the editions of 1807 and 1815, this poem had no distinctive title; but in the Wordsworth circle, it was known from the year 1802 as The Emigrant Mother, and at least one copy was transcribed with this title in 1802. It was first published under that name in 1820. It was revised and altered in 1820, 1827, 1832, 1836, and more especially in 1845. In Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal the following entries occur:

"Tuesday (March 16).—William went up into the orchard, and wrote a part of The Emigrant Mother." "Wednesday.—William went up into the orchard, and finished the poem.... I went and sate with W., and walked backwards and forwards in the orchard till dinner-time. He read me his poem."

This poem was included among those "founded on the Affections."—Ed.

The Poem

stanza text variant footnote line number

Once in a lonely hamlet I sojourned In which a Lady driven from France did dwell; The big and lesser griefs with which she mourned, In friendship she to me would often tell.

This Lady, dwelling upon British ground, Where she was childless, daily would repair To a poor neighbouring cottage; as I found, For sake of a young Child whose home was there. 1 / 2 3 5

Once having seen her clasp with fond embrace This Child, I chanted to myself a lay, Endeavouring, in our English tongue, to trace Such things as she unto the Babe might say: And thus, from what I heard and knew, or guessed, My song the workings of her heart expressed. 4 5 10

I "Dear Babe, thou daughter of another, One moment let me be thy mother! An infant's face and looks are thine And sure a mother's heart is mine: Thy own dear mother's far away, At labour in the harvest field: Thy little sister is at play;— What warmth, what comfort would it yield To my poor heart, if thou wouldst be One little hour a child to me! 15 20

II "Across the waters I am come, And I have left a babe at home: A long, long way of land and sea! Come to me—I'm no enemy: I am the same who at thy side Sate yesterday, and made a nest For thee, sweet Baby!—thou hast tried, Thou know'st the pillow of my breast; Good, good art thou:—alas! to me Far more than I can be to thee. 25 30

III "Here, little Darling, dost thou lie; An infant thou, a mother I! Mine wilt thou be, thou hast no fears; Mine art thou—spite of these my tears. Alas! before I left the spot, My baby and its dwelling-place; The nurse said to me, 'Tears should not Be shed upon an infant's face, It was unlucky'—no, no, no; No truth is in them who say so! 35 40

IV "My own dear Little-one will sigh, Sweet Babe! and they will let him die. 'He pines,' they'll say, 'it is his doom, And you may see his hour is come.' Oh! had he but thy cheerful smiles, Limbs stout as thine, and lips as gay, Thy looks, thy cunning, and thy wiles, And countenance like a summer's day, They would have hopes of him;—and then I should behold his face again! 45 50

V "'Tis gone—like dreams that we forget; There was a smile or two—yet—yet I can remember them, I see The smiles, worth all the world to me. Dear Baby! I must lay thee down; Thou troublest me with strange alarms; Smiles hast thou, bright ones of thy own; I cannot keep thee in my arms; For they confound me;—where—where is That last, that sweetest smile of his? 6 7 8 55 60

VI "Oh! how I love thee!—we will stay Together here this one half day. My sister's child, who bears my name, From France to sheltering England came; She with her mother crossed the sea; The babe and mother near me dwell: Yet does my yearning heart to thee Turn rather, though I love her well: Rest, little Stranger, rest thee here! Never was any child more dear! 9 10 65 70

VII "—I cannot help it; ill intent I've none, my pretty Innocent! I weep—I know they do thee wrong, These tears—and my poor idle tongue. Oh, what a kiss was that! my cheek How cold it is! but thou art good; So Thine eyes are on me—they would speak, I think, to help me if they could. Blessings upon that soft, warm face, My heart again is in its place! 11 12 75 80

VIII "While thou art mine, my little Love, This cannot be a sorrowful grove; Contentment, hope, and mother's glee, I seem to find them all in thee: Here's grass to play with, here are flowers; I'll call thee by my darling's name; Thou hast, I think, a look of ours, Thy features seem to me the same; His little sister thou shalt be; And, when once more my home I see, I'll tell him many tales of Thee." Contents 1802 Main Contents 13 14 85 90 95

Variant 1:

1807

This Mother ... MS.

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Variant 2:

1845

... English ... 1807

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Variant 3:

1827

... did ... 1807

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Variant 4:

1845

Once did I see her clasp the Child about, And take it to herself; and I, next day, Wish'd in my native tongue to fashion out Such things as she unto this Child might say: 1807

Once did I see her take with fond embrace This Infant to herself; and I, next day, Endeavoured in my native tongue to trace Such things as she unto the Child might say: 1820

Once, having seen her take with fond embrace This Infant to herself, I framed a lay, Endeavouring, in my native tongue, to trace 1827

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Variant 5:

1845

And thus, from what I knew, had heard, and guess'd, 1807

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Variant 6:

1820

'Tis gone—forgotten—let me do My best—there was a smile or two, 1807

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Variant 7:

1827

... sweet ... 1807

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Variant 8:

1836

For they confound me: as it is, I have forgot those smiles of his. 1807

For they bewilder me—even now His smiles are lost,—I know not how! 1820

By those bewildering glances crost In which the light of his is lost^a. 1827

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Variant 9:

1827

From France across the Ocean came; 1807

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Variant 10:

1845

My Darling, she is not to me What thou art! though I love her well: 1807

But to my heart she cannot be 1836

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Variant 11:

1807

And I grow happy while I speak, Kiss, kiss me, Baby, thou art good. MS.

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Variant 12:

1820

... that quiet face, 1807

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Variant 13:

1807

A Joy, a Comforter thou art; Sunshine and pleasure to my heart; And love and hope and mother's glee, MS.

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Variant 14:

1807

My yearnings are allayed by thee, My heaviness is turned to glee. MS.

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Sub-Footnote a:

In a letter to Barron Field (24th Oct. 1828), Wordsworth says that his substitution of the text of 1827 for that of 1807, was due to the objections of Coleridge.—Ed.

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Contents 1802 Main Contents