Volume 6 — 1815
Reading edition
In 1815 few poems were written, with the exception of the Dedication to The White Doe of Rylstone, one or two sonnets, and Artegal and Elidure. If we were to trust entirely to the Fenwick note to Laodamia, Artegal and Elidure would require to be transferred, along with it and Dion, to 1814. When Wordsworth, in 1845, separated the Ode, beginning
Imagination—ne'er before content
from the Ode, the morning of the Day appointed for a General Thanksgiving, January 18, 1816, he gave to the former the date 1815; and it is possible that it was composed towards the close of that year. But it was originally published in 1816 as part of the Thanksgiving Ode; and, although (in conformity with the plan of adopting the Author's latest view of his own text) it is printed by itself,—as finally approved by him,—it is not placed in the year 1815, but in 1816. The chief reason for this is, that it is kindred in theme, structure, and tendency with the other Odes belonging to that year; and it seems better—when there is a doubt as to the date—to bring together those poems that are kindred in character. It does not follow, however, that part of the Thanksgiving Ode itself may not have been written in 1815. Wordsworth, writing to Southey in 1816, said:—"It is a poem composed, or supposed to be composed, on the morning of the thanksgiving." Those belonging to the year 1815 are, therefore, few in number.—Ed.
DEDICATION TO THE WHITE DOE OF RYLSTONE
In trellised shed, with clustering roses gay, etc.
Although this Dedication was only written in April 1815, it has, for obvious reasons, been already published—along with the poem itself—in its chronological place (1807) (see vol. iv. p. 100); but as I have seen a MS. copy of this Dedication, which differs considerably from the final text, and was probably the first draft of the poem, it may be printed here. In the MS. I refer to, it is called Epistle Dedicatory.—Ed.
EPISTLE DEDICATORY
When years of wedded life were as a day Whose current answers to the heart's desire, Oft in some bowers, with clustering roses gay, Or haply by the blazing winter fire, 5 Did we together read in Spenser's Lay How Una, sad of soul, in sad attire, The gentle Una, born of heavenly birth, To seek her knight went wandering o'er the earth. Ah, then, Belovèd, pleasing was the smart, 10 And the tear precious in compassion shed For Her, who, pierced by sorrow's thrilling dart, Did meekly bear the pang unmerited; Meek as that Emblem of her lowly heart The milk-white Lamb, which in a line she led, 15 And faithful, loyal in her innocence, Like the brave Lion slain in her defence. Notes could we hear as of a faery shell Attuned to words with sacred wisdom fraught; Free fancy prized each specious miracle, 20 And all its finer inspiration caught Mid the green bower, and in our rustic Cell; Till we by lamentable change were taught That bliss with mortal man may not abide, How nearly joy and sorrow are allied![S] 25 For us the stream of fiction ceased to flow, For us the voice of melody was mute: But as soft gales dissolve the dreary snow, And give the timid herbage leave to shoot, Heaven's breathing spirit failed not to bestow 30 Its timely influence—promising fair fruit Of pensive pleasure and serene content, From blossoms wild of fancies innocent. It soothed us—it beguiled us—then, to hear Once more of troubles wrought by magic spell, 35 And griefs whose aery motion comes not near The pangs that tempt the spirit to rebel; Then, with mild Una in her sober cheer, High over hill and low adown the dell Again we wandered, willing to partake 40 All that she suffered for her dear Lord's sake. * * * * * * * Then, too, this Song of mine once more could please, Where anguish, strange as dreams of restless sleep, Is tempered and allayed by sympathies Aloft ascending, and descending deep, 45 Even to the inferior Kinds; whom forest-trees Protect from beating sunbeams, and the sweep Of the sharp winds;—fair Creatures!—to whom Heaven A calm and sinless life, with love, hath given. * * * * * * * This tragic story cheered us, for it speaks 50 Of female patience winning firm repose, And of the high reward which conscience seeks A bright encouraging example shows; Needful when o'er wide realms the tempest breaks, Needful amid life's ordinary woes;— 55 A tale which now, dear helpmate, I present To thee and to the world with pure intent.[T] He serves the Muses erringly and ill, Whose aim is pleasure light and fugitive: O, that my mind were equal to fulfil 60 The comprehensive mandate which they give— Vain aspiration of an earnest will! Yet in this moral Strain a power may live, Belovèd Wife! such solace to impart, As it hath yielded to thy tender heart.
FOOTNOTES:
ARTEGAL AND ELIDURE
(SEE THE CHRONICLE OF GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH AND MILTON'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND)
Composed 1815.—Published 1820
[This was written at Rydal Mount, as a token of affectionate respect for the memory of Milton. "I have determined," says he, in his preface to his History of England, "to bestow the telling over even of these reputed tales, be it for nothing else but in favour of our English Poets and Rhetoricians, who by their wit will know how to use them judiciously."—I.F.]
One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."
The extract given in the Fenwick note is not from the "preface," but from the first book of Milton's History of England.—Ed.
Where be the temples which,[41] in Britain's Isle, For his paternal Gods, the Trojan raised?[U] Gone like a morning dream, or like a pile Of clouds that in cerulean ether blazed! 5 Ere Julius landed on her white-cliffed shore,[V] They sank, delivered o'er To fatal dissolution; and, I ween, No vestige then was left that such had ever been. Nathless, a British record (long concealed 10 In old Armorica, whose secret springs No Gothic conqueror ever drank) revealed The marvellous[42] current of forgotten things;[W] How Brutus came, by oracles impelled, And Albion's giants quelled,[X] 15 A brood whom no civility could melt, "Who never tasted grace, and goodness ne'er had felt." By brave Corineus aided, he subdued,[Y] And rooted out the intolerable kind; And this too-long-polluted land[43] imbued 20 With goodly[44] arts and usages refined; Whence golden harvests, cities, warlike towers, And pleasure's sumptuous[45] bowers; Whence all the fixed[46] delights of house and home, Friendships[47] that will not break, and love that cannot roam.[Z] 25 O, happy Britain! region all too fair For self-delighting fancy[48] to endure That silence only should inhabit there, Wild beasts, or uncouth savages impure! But, intermingled with the generous seed, 30 Grew[49] many a poisonous weed; Thus fares it still with all that takes its birth From human care, or grows upon the breast of earth. Hence, and how soon! that war of vengeance waged By Guendolen against her faithless lord;[AA] 35 Till she, in jealous fury unassuaged Had slain his paramour with ruthless sword: Then, into Severn hideously defiled, She flung her[50] blameless child, 39 Sabrina,—vowing that the stream should bear That name through every age, her hatred to declare.[AB] So speaks the Chronicle, and tells of Lear By his ungrateful daughters turned adrift. Ye lightnings, hear his voice!—they cannot hear, Nor can the winds restore his simple gift. 45 But One there is, a Child of nature meek, Who comes her Sire to seek; And he, recovering sense, upon her breast Leans smilingly, and sinks into a perfect rest.[AC] There too we read of Spenser's fairy themes, 50 And those that Milton loved in youthful years; The sage enchanter Merlin's subtle schemes; The feats of Arthur and his knightly peers;[AD] Of Arthur,—who, to upper light restored, With that terrific sword[AE] 55 Which yet he brandishes for future war,[51] Shall lift his country's fame above the polar star! What wonder, then, if in such[52] ample field Of old tradition, one particular flower Doth seemingly in vain its fragrance yield, 60 And bloom unnoticed even to this late hour? Now, gentle Muses, your assistance grant, While I this flower transplant Into a garden stored with Poesy;[53] Where flowers and herbs unite, and haply some weeds be,[54] That, wanting not wild grace, are from all mischief free![55] 66 A King more worthy of respect and love Than wise Gorbonian ruled not in his day;[AF] And grateful Britain prospered far above All neighbouring countries through his righteous sway; 70 He poured rewards and honours on the good; The oppressor he withstood; And while he served the Gods with reverence due, Fields smiled, and temples rose, and towns and cities grew. He died, whom Artegal succeeds—his son; 75 But how unworthy of that sire[56] was he! A hopeful reign, auspiciously begun, Was darkened soon by foul iniquity. From crime to crime he mounted, till at length The nobles leagued their strength 80 With a vexed people, and the tyrant chased; And, on the vacant throne, his worthier Brother placed. From realm to realm the humbled Exile went, Suppliant for aid his kingdom to regain; In many a court, and many a warrior's tent, 85 He urged his persevering suit in vain. Him, in whose wretched heart ambition failed, Dire poverty assailed; And, tired with slights his pride no more could brook, He towards his native country cast a longing look.[57] 90 Fair blew the wished-for wind—the voyage sped; He landed; and, by many dangers scared, "Poorly provided, poorly followèd," To Calaterium's forest he repaired. How changed from him who, born to highest place, 95 Had swayed the royal mace, Flattered and feared, despised yet deified, In Troynovant, his seat by silver Thames's side![AG] From that wild region where the crownless King Lay in concealment with his scanty train, 100 Supporting life by water from the spring, And such chance food as outlaws can obtain, Unto the few whom he esteems his friends A messenger he sends; And from their secret loyalty requires 105 Shelter and daily bread,—the sum[58] of his desires. While he the issue waits, at early morn Wandering by stealth abroad, he chanced to hear A startling outcry made by hound and horn, From which the tusky wild boar flies in fear;[59] 110 And, scouring toward[60] him o'er the grassy plain, Behold the hunter train! He bids his little company advance With seeming unconcern and steady countenance. The royal Elidure, who leads the chase, 115 Hath checked his foaming courser:—can it be! Methinks that I should recognise that face, Though much disguised by long adversity! He gazed rejoicing, and again he gazed, Confounded and amazed— 120 "It is the king, my brother!" and, by sound Of his own voice confirmed, he leaps upon the ground. Long, strict, and tender was the embrace he gave, Feebly returned by daunted Artegal; Whose natural affection doubts enslave, 125 And apprehensions dark and criminal. Loth to restrain the moving interview, The attendant lords withdrew; And, while they stood upon the plain apart, Thus Elidure, by words, relieved his struggling heart. 125 "By heavenly Powers conducted, we have met; —O Brother! to my knowledge lost so long, But neither lost to love, nor to regret, Nor to my wishes lost;—forgive the wrong, (Such it may seem) if I thy crown have borne, 135 Thy royal mantle worn: I was their natural guardian; and 'tis just That now I should restore what hath been held in trust." A while the astonished Artegal stood mute, Then thus exclaimed: "To me, of titles shorn, 140 And stripped of power! me, feeble, destitute, To me a kingdom! spare the bitter scorn: If justice ruled the breast[61] of foreign kings, Then, on the wide-spread wings Of war, had I returned to claim my right; 145 This will I here avow, not dreading thy despite." "I do not blame thee," Elidure replied; "But, if my looks did with my words agree, I should at once be trusted, not defied, And thou from all disquietude be free. 150 May the unsullied Goddess of the chase,[62][AH] Who to this blessed place At this blest moment led me, if I speak With insincere intent, on me her vengeance wreak! "Were this same spear, which in my hand I grasp, 155 The British sceptre, here would I to thee The symbol yield; and would undo this clasp, If it confined the robe of sovereignty. Odious to me the pomp of regal court, And joyless sylvan sport, 160 While thou art roving, wretched and forlorn, Thy couch the dewy earth, thy roof the forest thorn!" Then Artegal thus spake: "I only sought, Within this realm a place of safe retreat; Beware of rousing an ambitious thought; 165 Beware of kindling hopes, for me unmeet! Thou art reputed wise, but in my mind Art pitiably blind: Full soon this generous purpose thou may'st rue, When that which has been done[63] no wishes can undo. 170 "Who, when a crown is fixed upon his head, Would balance claim with claim, and right with right? But thou—I know not how inspired, how led— Wouldst change the course of things in all men's sight! And this for one who cannot imitate 175 Thy virtue, who may hate: For, if, by such strange sacrifice restored, He reign, thou still must be his king, and sovereign lord; "Lifted in magnanimity above Aught that my feeble nature could perform, 180 Or even conceive; surpassing me in love Far as in power the eagle doth the worm: I, Brother! only should be king in name, And govern to my shame; A shadow in a hated land, while all 185 Of glad or willing service to thy share would fall." "Believe it not," said Elidure; "respect Awaits on virtuous life, and ever most Attends on goodness with dominion decked, Which stands the universal empire's boast; 190 This can thy own experience testify: Nor shall thy foes deny That, in the gracious opening of thy reign, Our father's spirit seemed in thee to breathe again. "And what if o'er that bright unbosoming 195 Clouds of disgrace and envious fortune past! Have we not seen the glories of the spring By veil of noontide darkness overcast? The frith[64] that glittered like a warrior's shield, The sky, the gay green field, 200 Are vanished; gladness ceases in the groves, And trepidation strikes the blackened mountain-coves. "But is that gloom dissolved? how passing clear Seems the wide world, far brighter than before! Even so thy latent worth will re-appear, 205 Gladdening the people's heart[65] from shore to shore; For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone; Re-seated on thy throne, Proof shalt thou furnish that misfortune, pain, And sorrow, have confirmed thy native[66] right to reign. 210 "But, not to overlook what thou may'st know, Thy enemies are neither weak nor few; And circumspect must be our course, and slow, Or from my purpose ruin may ensue. Dismiss thy followers;—let them calmly wait 215 Such change in thy estate As I already have in thought devised; And which, with caution due, may soon be realised." The Story tells what courses were pursued, Until king Elidure, with full consent 220 Of all his peers, before the multitude, Rose,—and, to consummate this just intent, Did place upon his brother's head the crown, Relinquished by his own; Then to his[67] people cried, "Receive your lord, Gorbonian's first-born son, your rightful king restored!" 226 The people answered with a loud acclaim: Yet more;—heart-smitten by the heroic deed, The reinstated Artegal became Earth's noblest penitent;[68] from bondage freed 230 Of vice—thenceforth unable[69] to subvert Or shake his high desert. Long did he reign; and, when he died, the tear Of universal grief bedewed his honoured bier. Thus was a Brother by a Brother saved;[AI] 235 With whom a crown (temptation that hath set Discord in hearts of men till they have braved Their nearest kin with deadly purpose met) 'Gainst duty weighed, and faithful love, did seem A thing of no esteem; 240 And, from this triumph of affection pure, He bore the lasting name of "pious Elidure!"[AJ]
VARIANTS:
FOOTNOTES:
TO B. R. HAYDON
Composed December 1815.—Published March 31, 1816.
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets." The title "Esq." was appended to the name in the editions of 1820 to 1832.—Ed.
High is our calling, Friend!—Creative Art (Whether the instrument of words she use, Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues) Demands the service of a mind and heart, 5 Though sensitive, yet, in their weakest part, Heroically fashioned—to infuse Faith in the whispers of the lonely Muse, While the whole world seems adverse to desert. And, oh! when Nature sinks, as oft she may 10 Through long-lived pressure of obscure distress, Still to be strenuous for the bright reward, And in the soul admit of no decay, Brook no continuance of weak-mindedness— Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
This sonnet was first published in The Examiner (March 31, 1816). It was composed in December 1815. On November 27, Haydon wrote to Wordsworth: "I have benefited, and have been supported in the troubles of life by your poetry. I will bear want, pain, misery, and blindness, but I will never yield one step I have gained on the road I am determined to travel over." (See his Correspondence and Table Talk, vol. ii. pp. 19, 20.) To this Wordsworth replied in the following letter which is explanatory of the above sonnet, and of the two sonnets that follow it.
"Rydal Mount, near Ambleside, December 21st, 1815.
* * * * * *
"Now for the poems, which are sonnets: one composed the evening I received your letter; the other the next day; and the third the day following. I shall not transcribe them in the order in which they were written, but inversely.
"The last you will find was occasioned, I might say inspired, by your last letter, if there be any inspiration in it; the second records a feeling excited in me by the object it describes in the month of October last; and the first by a still earlier sensation, which the revolution of the year impressed me with last autumn."
(Then follow the three sonnets transcribed in the following order—
"While not a leaf seems faded; while the fields." "How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright." "High is our calling, Friend!—Creative Art.")
* * * * * *
"With high respect, I am, my dear sir, most faithfully yours. "William Wordsworth."
(See the Autobiography of B. R. Haydon, vol. i. chap. xvi. p. 325.)
Haydon replied to Wordsworth, December 29 (see his Correspondence, vol. ii. pp. 20-23): "I must say that I have felt melancholy ever since receiving your sonnets, as if I was elevated so exceedingly, with such a drunken humming in my brain, that my nature took refuge in quiet humbleness and gratitude to God."
It will be observed that in his letter of December 21, Wordsworth mentions the order in which these three sonnets were composed in three consecutive days. In his subsequent arrangement of the sonnets he altered this order, assigning "While not a leaf seems faded" to "September," and "How clear, how keen," to "November 1" (another instance of the inaccuracy of his dates). The detailed statement in this letter to Haydon must be trusted, however, in preference to the "afterthought" of the editions of 1820 and 1827. It may not be superfluous to note the dates of the first publication of this trilogy of sonnets, all of which Wordsworth sent to The Examiner.
"How clear, how keen," etc.Jan. 28th. } "While not a leaf," etc. Feb. 11th. } 1816. "High is our calling," etc. March 31st. } Ed.
NOVEMBER 1
Composed October 1815.—Published January 28, 1816
[Suggested on the banks of the Brathay by the sight of Langdale Pikes. It is delightful to remember these moments of far-distant days, which probably would have been forgotten if the impression had not been transferred to verse. The same observation applies to the next.[AK]—I. F.]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets." In the editions of 1816 and 1820 the title was November 1, 1815.—Ed.
How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright The effluence from yon distant mountain's head, Which, strewn with snow smooth as the sky can shed,[70] Shines like another sun—on mortal sight 5 Uprisen, as if to check approaching Night, And all her twinkling stars. Who now would tread, If so he might, yon mountain's glittering head— Terrestrial, but a surface, by the flight Of sad mortality's earth-sullying wing, 10 Unswept, unstained? Nor shall the aërial Powers Dissolve that beauty, destined to endure, White, radiant, spotless, exquisitely pure, Through all vicissitudes, till genial Spring Has[71] filled the laughing vales with welcome flowers.
This sonnet originally appeared in The Examiner, January 28, 1816. It is rare indeed, if ever, that the Langdale Pikes retain the first snows of November till spring; although, as described in another poem, the cove on Helvellyn, in which Red Tarn lies—sheltered from the sun, and high up on the mountain—may
Keep till June December's snow.
See Fidelity (vol. iii. p. 44), and the note to the sonnet addressed to Haydon, p. 62 of this vol.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
FOOTNOTES:
SEPTEMBER, 1815
Composed October 1815.—Published February 11, 1816
["For me, who under kindlier laws." This conclusion has more than once, to my great regret, excited painfully sad feelings in the hearts of young persons fond of poetry and poetic composition, by contrast of their feeble and declining health with that state of robust constitution which prompted me to rejoice in a season of frost and snow as more favourable to the Muses than summer itself.—I. F.]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
While not a leaf seems faded; while the fields, With ripening harvest[72] prodigally fair, In brightest sunshine bask; this nipping air, Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields 5 His icy scimitar, a foretaste yields Of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware; And whispers to the silent birds, "Prepare Against the threatening foe your trustiest shields." For me, who under kindlier laws belong 10 To Nature's tuneful quire, this rustling dry Through leaves yet green,[73] and yon crystalline sky, Announce a season potent to renew, 'Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song, And nobler cares than listless summer knew.
This sonnet was first published in The Examiner, February 11, 1816. See the note to the sonnet addressed to Haydon, p. 62.—Ed.
"THE FAIREST, BRIGHTEST, HUES OF ETHER FADE"
Published 1815
[Suggested at Hackett, which is on the craggy ridge that rises between the two Langdales, and looks towards Windermere. The Cottage of Hackett was often visited by us, and at the time when this Sonnet was written, and long after, was occupied by the husband and wife described in The Excursion, where it is mentioned that she was in the habit of walking in the front of the dwelling with a light to guide her husband home at night. The same cottage is alluded to in the Epistle to Sir George Beaumont, as that from which the female peasant hailed us on our morning journey. The musician mentioned in the sonnet was the Rev. Samuel Tillbrook of Peter-house, Cambridge, who remodelled the Ivy Cottage at Rydal after he had purchased it.—I. F.]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
The fairest, brightest, hues of ether fade; The sweetest notes must terminate and die; O Friend! thy flute has breathed a harmony Softly resounded through this rocky glade; 5 Such strains of rapture as[AL] the Genius played In his still haunt on Bagdad's summit high; He who stood visible to Mirza's eye, Never before to human sight betrayed. Lo, in the vale, the mists of evening spread! 10 The visionary Arches are not there, Nor the green Islands, nor the shining Seas; Yet sacred is to me this Mountain's head, Whence I have risen, uplifted[74] on the breeze Of harmony, above all earthly care.
The following reference to Mr. Tillbrook, referred to in the Fenwick note, is from the Diary, Correspondence, etc., of Henry Crabb Robinson, September 5, 1816:—"An evening was spent at Wordsworth's. Mr. Tillbrook, of Cambridge, formerly Thomas Clarkson's tutor, was there.... Mr. Walter sang some airs to Mr. Tillbrook's flute."—Ed.
VARIANTS:
FOOTNOTE:
"WEAK IS THE WILL OF MAN, HIS JUDGMENT BLIND"
Published 1815
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
"Weak is the will of Man, his judgment blind; Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays; Heavy is woe;—and joy, for human-kind, A mournful thing, so transient is the blaze!" 5 Thus might he paint our lot of mortal days Who wants the glorious faculty assigned To elevate the more-than-reasoning Mind, And colour life's dark cloud with orient rays. Imagination is that sacred power,[AM] 10 Imagination lofty and refined: 'Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of Faith, and round the Sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
FOOTNOTES:
"HAIL, TWILIGHT, SOVEREIGN OF ONE PEACEFUL HOUR"
Published 1815
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Hail, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour! Not dull art Thou as undiscerning Night; But studious only to remove from sight Day's mutable distinctions.—Ancient Power! 5 Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains lower, To the rude Briton, when, in wolf-skin vest Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower Looked ere his eyes were closed. By him was seen 10 The self-same Vision which we now behold, At thy meek bidding, shadowy Power! brought forth; These mighty barriers, and the gulf between; The flood,[75] the stars,—a spectacle as old As the beginning of the heavens and earth!
VARIANTS:
"THE SHEPHERD, LOOKING EASTWARD, SOFTLY SAID"
Published 1815
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
The Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said, "Bright is thy veil, O Moon, as thou art bright!" Forthwith, that little cloud, in ether spread And penetrated all with tender light, 5 She cast away, and showed her fulgent head Uncovered; dazzling the Beholder's sight As if to vindicate her beauty's right, Her beauty thoughtlessly disparagèd. Meanwhile that veil, removed or thrown aside, 10 Went floating from her, darkening as it went; And a huge mass, to bury or to hide, Approached this glory of the firmament; Who meekly yields, and is obscured—content With one calm triumph of a modest pride.
"EVEN AS A DRAGON'S EYE THAT FEELS THE STRESS"
Published 1815
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Even as a dragon's eye that feels the stress Of a bedimming sleep, or as a lamp Suddenly[76] glaring through sepulchral damp, So burns yon Taper 'mid a[77] black recess 5 Of mountains, silent, dreary, motionless: The lake below reflects it not; the sky Muffled in clouds, affords no company To mitigate and cheer its loneliness. Yet, round the body of that joyless Thing 10 Which sends so far its melancholy light, Perhaps are seated in domestic ring A gay society with faces bright, Conversing, reading, laughing;—or they sing, While hearts and voices in the song unite.
The light of the "Taper" referred to shone from Allan Bank; the "black recess of mountains" described the heights of Silver Howe, and Easdale, round to Helm Crag; the "lake below," which "reflected it not" (because of the distance of Allan Bank from the side of the mere), was, of course, Grasmere. Wordsworth is looking at this "lamp suddenly glaring through sepulchral damp," however, from the eastern side of the lake, perhaps from the neighbourhood of "The Wishing Gate." I am indebted to the Rev. W. A. Harrison, Vicar of St. Anne's, Lambeth, for the following note to this sonnet:—
'In the Sonnet No. xxiv., 'Poems of the Imagination,' [i.e. 'Miscellaneous Sonnets'] these lines occur:—
Even as a dragon's eye that feels the stress Of a bedimming sleep, or as a lamp Suddenly glaring through sepulchral damp, So burns yon Taper 'mid a black recess Of mountains, silent, dreary, motionless: etc. etc. etc.
"In line 3, all the later editions read 'Suddenly glaring.' But why 'suddenly'? There is nothing in the imagery of the poem which is at all suggestive of suddenness or unexpectedness in the appearance of the burning taper. The idea is alien from the spirit of the context. The dragon is drowsy and overborne with sleep. The taper is 'dreary' and 'motionless.' Everything is suggestive of 'sluggish stillness,' not of rapid, flashing movement.
"Yet I find the reading 'suddenly' in the one vol. ed. of 1828, which is said to be a reprint of the edition of 1827 in 5 vols.; in that of 1836-7; in that of 1840; and in all the later editions.
"In the edition of 1815, however, the reading given is one that is in strict keeping with the rest of the imagery, namely—
'Sullenly glaring.'
"Is it likely that 'sullenly' was deliberately altered by Wordsworth to 'suddenly,' or is 'suddenly' a misprint that has been perpetuated through successive editions?
"The sonnet in question is not dated, but it was probably written after 1807 and before 1815.
"Now, in a well-known and often-quoted passage in Wordsworth's letter in answer to Mathetes (Friend, vol. iii. 35, etc.), he speaks of the 'sullen light' which survives the extinguished flame of the candle that the schoolboy has blown out. 'It continues,' he says, 'to shine with an endurance which in its apparent weakness is a mystery; it protracts its existence so long ... that the observer who had lain down in his bed so easy-minded, becomes sad and melancholy,' etc. etc. etc.
"In the sonnet the same ideas occur, only the 'melancholy' is here predicated figuratively of the 'light' itself:—
the sky, Muffled in clouds, affords no company To mitigate and cheer its loneliness. Yet, round the body of that joyless Thing Which sends so far its melancholy light, Perhaps are seated, etc. etc.
"This paper in The Friend was written in 1810; and it is possible that the sonnet was written at about the same time.—W. A. Harrison."—Ed.
VARIANTS:
"MARK THE CONCENTRED HAZELS THAT ENCLOSE"
Published 1815
[Suggested in the wild hazel wood at the foot of Helm-crag, where the stone still lies, with others of like form and character, though much of the wood that veiled it from the glare of day has been felled. This beautiful ground was lately purchased by our friend Mrs. Fletcher; the ancient owners, most respected persons, being obliged to part with it in consequence of the imprudence of a son. It is gratifying to mention that, instead of murmuring and repining at this change of fortune, they offered their services to Mrs. Fletcher, the husband as an outdoor labourer, and the wife as a domestic servant. I have witnessed the pride and pleasure with which the man worked at improvements of the ground round the house. Indeed he expressed those feelings to me himself, and the countenance and manner of his wife always denoted feelings of the same character. I believe a similar disposition to contentment under change of fortune is common among the class to which these good people belong. Yet, in proof that to part with their patrimony is most painful to them, I may refer to those stanzas entitled Repentance, no inconsiderable part of which was taken verbatim from the language of the speaker herself.—I. F.]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Mark the concentred hazels that enclose Yon old grey Stone, protected from the ray Of noontide suns:—and even the beams that play And glance, while wantonly the rough wind blows, 5 Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows Upon that roof, amid embowering gloom, The very image framing of a Tomb, In which some ancient Chieftain finds repose Among the lonely mountains.—Live, ye trees! 10 And thou, grey Stone, the pensive likeness keep Of a dark chamber where the Mighty sleep: For more than Fancy to the influence bends When solitary Nature condescends To mimic Time's forlorn humanities.
This "old grey Stone" is a prominent feature in the Lancrigg Terrace-Walk. It is still moss-grown, and embowered by the hazel underwood. Not far from it, the path opens to the spot where the most of The Prelude was composed; first hummed aloud—as the poet walked to and fro along the terrace—and then dictated to his wife or sister. See Lady Richardson's account of this, in her article in Sharpe's London Magazine, in 1851, and in the Autobiography of Mrs. Fletcher (her mother), p. 244; also her contributions to the Memoirs of Wordsworth, vol. ii. p. 438, etc.—Ed.
"SURPRISED BY JOY—IMPATIENT AS THE WIND"
Published 1815
[This was in fact suggested by my daughter Catherine long after her death.[AN]—I. F.]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind I turned[78] to share the transport—Oh! with whom But Thee, deep buried [79] in the silent tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find? 5 Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind— But how could I forget thee? Through what power, Even for the least division of an hour, Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss?—That thought's return 10 Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; That neither present time, nor years unborn Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
Compare the poem entitled Characteristics of a Child three years old (vol. iv. p. 252), written in 1811, and which referred, like this one, to the poet's daughter Catherine, who died the year after. Compare also The Excursion, book iii. ll. 636-649, and the sonnet beginning, "Desponding Father! mark this altered bough," 1835.—Ed.
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