Volume 8 — 1806
Reading edition
TO THE EVENING STAR OVER GRASMERE WATER, JULY 1806
The Lake is thine, The mountains too are thine, some clouds there are, Some little feeble stars, but all is thine, Thou, thou art king, and sole proprietor. A moon among her stars, a mighty vale, 5 Fresh as the freshest field, scoop’d out, and green As is the greenest billow of the sea. The multitude of little rocky hills, Rocky or green, that do like islands rise From the flat meadow lonely there. 10 … Embowering mountains, and the dome of Heaven And waters in the midst, a Second Heaven.
MICHAEL ANGELO IN REPLY TO THE PASSAGE UPON HIS STATUE OF NIGHT SLEEPING
In the first volume of a copy of the edition of 1836,—long kept by Wordsworth at Rydal Mount, and afterwards the property of the late Lord Coleridge—which has been referred to in the Preface to Vol. 1., and very often in the footnotes to all the volumes, signed C.—Wordsworth wrote in MS. two translations of a fragment of Michael Angelo’s on Sleep, and a translation of some Latin verses by Thomas Warton on the same subject. These fragments were never included in any edition of his published works, and it is impossible to say to what year they belong. From their close relation to other translations from Michael Angelo, made by Wordsworth in 1806, I assign them, conjecturally, to the same year. The title is from Wordsworth’s own MS.—Ed.
I Grateful is Sleep, my life, in stone bound fast, More grateful still: while wrong and shame shall last, On me can Time no happier state bestow Than to be left unconscious of the woe. Ah then, lest you awaken me, speak low. 5 II Grateful is Sleep, more grateful still to be Of marble; for while shameless wrong and woe Prevail, ’tis best to neither hear nor see. Then wake me not, I pray you. Hush, speak low.
“COME, GENTLE SLEEP, DEATH’S IMAGE THO’ THOU ART”
Come, gentle Sleep, Death’s image tho’ thou art, Come share my couch, nor speedily depart; How sweet thus living without life to lie, Thus without death how sweet it is to die.
The Latin verse by Thomas Warton, of which these lines are a translation, is as follows:—
Somne veni! quamvis placidissima Mortis imago es, Consortem cupio te tamen esse tori; Hue ades, haud abiture citò! nam sic sine vita Vivere quam suave est, sic sine morte mori!
Thomas Warton, Fellow of Trinity College, Oxford, and Professor of Poetry in that University, is chiefly known by his History of English Poetry (1774-1781).—Ed.
“BROOK, THAT HAST BEEN MY SOLACE DAYS AND WEEKS”
The following version of the sonnet beginning “Brook! whose society the Poet seeks,” probably written in 1806 and first published in 1815 (see vol. iv. p. 52), has come to light since that volume was issued. The variants throughout are sufficient to warrant its publication here. Had I received it earlier they would have appeared in vol. iv.—Ed.
Brook, that hast been my solace days and weeks, And months, and let me add the long year through, I come to thee, thou dost my heart renew; O happy Thing! among thy flowery creeks, And happy, dancing down thy water-breaks: 5 If I some type of thee did wish to view, Thee, and not thee thyself, I would not do Like Grecian Poets, give thee human cheeks, Channels for tears! No Naiad should’st thou be; Have neither wings, feet, feathers, joints, nor hairs. 10 It seems the Eternal Soul is clothed in thee With purer robes than those of flesh and blood, And hath bestowed on thee a better good; The joy of fleshly life without its cares.
TRANSLATION FROM MICHAEL ANGELO
The date of this is unknown, and the original MS. is difficult to decipher. It is here and there illegible. It may belong to the year of the “Ecclesiastical Sonnets,” but I place it beside the other translation from Michael Angelo.—Ed.
Rid of a vexing and a heavy load, Eternal Lord! and from the world set free, Like a frail Bark, weary I turn to Thee,— From frightful storms into a quiet road. On much repentance Grace will be bestow’d. 5 The nails, the thorns, and thy two hands, thy face Benign, meek, …, offers grace To sinners whom their sins oppress and goad. Let not thy justice view, O Light Divine, My fault, and keep it from thy sacred ear. 10 … Cleanse with thy blood my sins, to this incline More readily, the more my years require Prompt aid, forgiveness speedy and entire.