Volume 8 — 1819
Reading edition
“THROUGH CUMBRIAN WILDS, IN MANY A MOUNTAIN COVE”
In 1819 Wordsworth wrote the sonnet beginning, “Grief, thou hast lost an ever ready friend.” In the note to that sonnet (vol. vi. p. 196) I have given a different version of its last six lines, from a MS. sonnet. But as these six lines also form the conclusion of another unpublished sonnet, it may be given in full by itself, in this Appendix.—Ed.
Through Cumbrian wilds, in many a mountain cove, The pastoral Muse laments the Wheel—no more Engaged, near blazing hearth on clean-swept floor, In tasks which guardian Angels might approve, Friendly the weight of leisure to remove, 5 And to beguile the lassitude of ease; Gracious to all the dear dependencies Of house and field,—to plenty, peace, and love. There too did Fancy prize the murmuring wheel; For sympathies, inexplicably fine, 10 Instilled a confidence—how sweet to feel! That ever in the night-calm, when the Sheep Upon their grassy beds lay couch’d in sleep, The quickening spindle drew a trustier line.
“MY SON! BEHOLD THE TIDE ALREADY SPENT”
The following sonnet occurs after the above in the same MS. whence both are extracted.—Ed.
My Son! behold the tide already spent That rose, and steadily advanced to fill The shores and channels, working Nature’s will Among the mazy streams that backward went, And in the sluggish Ports where ships were pent. 5 And now, its task performed, the flood stands still At the green base of many an inland hill, In placid beauty and entire content. Such the repose that Sage and Hero find, Such measured rest the diligent and good 10 Of humbler name, whose souls do like the flood Of ocean press right on, or gently wind, Neither to be diverted nor withstood Until they reach the bounds by Heaven assigned.