Chapter X: Part 10

"Friday, 16th April (Good Friday).--... When we came to the foot of
Brothers Water, I left William sitting on the bridge, and went along
the path on the right side of the lake through the wood. I was
delighted with what I saw: the water under the boughs of the bare old
trees, the simplicity of the mountains, and the exquisite beauty of
the path. There was one grey cottage. I repeated 'The Glowworm' as I
walked along. I hung over the gate, and thought I could have stayed
for ever. When I returned, I found William writing a poem descriptive
of the sights and sounds we saw and heard. There was the gentle
flowing of the stream, the glittering lively lake, green fields,
without a living creature to be seen on them; behind us, a flat
pasture with forty-two cattle feeding; to our left, the road leading
to the hamlet. No smoke there, the sun shone on the bare roofs. The
people were at work, ploughing, harrowing, and sowing; lasses working;
a dog barking now and then; cocks crowing, birds twittering; the snow
in patches at the top of the highest hills; yellow palms, purple and
green twigs on the birches, ashes with their glittering stems quite
bare. The hawthorn a bright green, with black stems under the oak. The
moss of the oaks glossy.... As we went up the vale of Brothers Water,
more and more cattle feeding, a hundred of them. William finished his
poem before we got to the foot of Kirkstone. There were hundreds of
cattle in the vale.... The walk up Kirkstone was very interesting. The
becks among the rocks were all alive. William shewed me the little
mossy streamlet which he had before loved, when he saw its bright
green track in the snow. The view above Ambleside very beautiful.
There we sate, and looked down on the green vale. We watched the crows
at a little distance from us become white as silver, as they flew in
the sunshine; and, when they went still farther, they looked like
shapes of water passing over the green fields."

Ed.

* * * * *

THE REDBREAST CHASING THE BUTTERFLY [A]

Composed April 18, 1802.--Published 1807

[Observed, as described, in the then beautiful orchard, Town-end, Grasmere.--I.F.]

Included among the "Poems of the Fancy."

In some editions this poem is assigned to the year 1806; but, in Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal the following occurs, under date "Sunday, 18th" (April 1802):

"A mild grey morning with rising vapours. We sate in the orchard.
William wrote the poem on the Robin and the Butterfly.... W. met me at
Rydal with the conclusion of the poem to the Robin. I read it to him
in bed. We left out some lines."

Ed.

Art thou the bird whom Man loves best,
The pious bird [B] with the scarlet breast,
Our little English Robin;
The bird that comes about our doors
When Autumn-winds are sobbing? 5
Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors?
Their Thomas in Finland,
And Russia far inland?
The bird, that [1] by some name or other
All men who know thee call their brother, 10
The darling of children and men?
Could Father Adam [C] open his eyes
And see this sight beneath the skies,
He'd wish to close them again.
--If the Butterfly knew but his friend, 15
Hither his flight he would bend;
And find his way to me,
Under the branches of the tree:
In and out, he darts about;
Can this be the bird, to man so good, 20
That, after their bewildering, [2]
Covered [3] with leaves the little children,
So painfully in the wood?

What ailed thee, Robin, that thou could'st pursue
A beautiful creature, 25
That is gentle by nature?
Beneath the summer sky
From flower to flower let him fly;
'Tis all that he wishes to do.
The cheerer Thou of our in-door sadness, 30
He is the friend of our summer gladness:
What hinders, then, that ye should be
Playmates in the sunny weather,
And fly about in the air together!
His beautiful wings in crimson are drest, 35
A crimson as bright as thine own: [4]
Would'st thou be [5] happy in thy nest,
O pious Bird! whom man loves best,
Love him, or leave him alone!

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1849.

... whom ... 1807.

... who ... 1827.]

[Variant 2:

1815.

In and out, he darts about;
His little heart is throbbing:
Can this be the Bird, to man so good,
Our consecrated Robin!
That, after ... 1807.

... Robin! Robin!
His little heart is throbbing;
Can this ... MS.]

[Variant 3:

1832.

Did cover ... 1807.]

[Variant 4:

1815.

... Like thine own breast
His beautiful wings in crimson are drest,
As if he were bone of thy bone. MS.

Like the hues of thy breast
His beautiful wings in crimson are drest,
A brother he seems of thine own: 1807.

... in the air together!
His beautiful bosom is drest,
In crimson as bright as thine own: 1832.

The edition of 1836 resumes the text of 1815.]

[Variant 5:

1836.

If thou would'st be ... 1807.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: The title, in the editions 1807 to 1820, was 'The Redbreast and the Butterfly'. In the editions 1827 to 1843 it was 'The Redbreast and Butterfly'. The final title was given in 1845.--Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare Cowley:

'And Robin Redbreasts whom men praise,
For pious birds.'

Ed.]

[Footnote C: See 'Paradise Lost', book XI., where Adam points out to Eve the ominous sign of the Eagle chasing "two Birds of gayest plume," and the gentle Hart and Hind pursued by their enemy.--W. W. 1815.

The passage in book XI. of 'Paradise Lost' includes lines 185-90.--Ed.]

* * * * *

TO A BUTTERFLY (#2)

Composed April 20, 1802.--Published 1807

[Written at the same time and place. The Orchard, Grasmere Town-end, 1801.--I.F.]

Included among the "Poems founded on the Affections."--Ed.

I've watch'd you now a full [1] half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!--not frozen seas 5
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard-ground is ours; 10
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary! [2]
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough! 15
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1807.

... short ... 1836.

The text of 1845 reverts to the reading of 1807.]

[Variant 2:

1815.

Stop here whenever you are weary,
And rest as in a sanctuary! 1807.

And feed ... MS.]

Wordsworth's date, as given to Miss Fenwick, is incorrect. In her Journal, April 20, 1802, Dorothy Wordsworth writes:

"William wrote a conclusion to the poem of 'The Butterfly', 'I've
watch'd you now a full half-hour.'"

This, and the structure of the two poems, makes it probable that the latter was originally meant to be a sort of conclusion to the former (p. 283); but they were always printed as separate poems.

Many of the "flowers" in the orchard at Dove Cottage were planted by Dorothy Wordsworth, and some of the "trees" by William. The "summer days" of childhood are referred to in the previous poem, 'To a Butterfly', written on the 14th of March 1802.--Ed.

* * * * *

FORESIGHT

Composed April 28, 1802.--Published 1807

[Also composed in the Orchard, Town-end, Grasmere.--I.F.]

Included among the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood."--Ed.

That is work of waste and ruin--[1]
Do as Charles and I are doing!
Strawberry-blossoms, one and all,
We must spare them--here are many:
Look at it--the flower is small, 5
Small and low, though fair as any:
Do not touch it! summers two
I am older, Anne, than you.
Pull the primrose, sister Anne!
Pull as many as you can. 10
--Here are daisies, take your fill;
Pansies, and the cuckoo-flower:
Of the lofty daffodil
Make your bed, or [2] make your bower;
Fill your lap, and fill your bosom; 15
Only spare the strawberry-blossom!

Primroses, the Spring may love them--
Summer knows but little of them:
Violets, a barren kind,
Withered on the ground must lie; 20
Daisies leave no fruit behind
When the pretty flowerets die;
Pluck them, and another year
As many will be blowing here. [3]

God has given a kindlier power [4] 25
To the favoured strawberry-flower.
Hither soon as spring is fled
You and Charles and I will walk; [5]
Lurking berries, ripe and red,
Then will hang on every stalk, 30
Each within its leafy bower;
And for that promise spare the flower!

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1815.

That is work which I am rueing--1807.]

[Variant 2:

1836.

... and ... 1807.]

[Variant 3:

1815.

Violets, do what they will,
Wither'd on the ground must lie;
Daisies will be daisies still;
Daisies they must live and die:
Fill your lap, and fill your bosom,
Only spare the Strawberry-blossom! 1807.]

[Variant 4: This last stanza was added in the edition of 1815.]

[Variant 5:

1836.

When the months of spring are fled
Hither let us bend our walk; 1815.]

The full title of this poem, in the editions of 1807 to 1832, was 'Foresight, or the Charge of a Child to his younger Companion', but it was originally known in the household as "Children gathering Flowers." The shortened title was adopted in 1836. The following is from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal:

"Wednesday, 28th April (1802).--Copied the 'Prioress's Tale'. William
was in the orchard. I went to him; he worked away at his poem, though
he was ill, and tired. I happened to say that when I was a child I
would not have pulled a strawberry blossom; I left him, and wrote out
the 'Manciple's Tale'. At dinner time he came in with the poem of
'Children gathering Flowers,' but it was not quite finished, and it
kept him long from his dinner. It is now done. He is working at 'The
Tinker.'"

At an earlier date in the same year,--Jan. 31st, 1802,--the following occurs:

"I found a strawberry blossom in a rock. The little slender flower had
more courage than the green leaves, for _they_ were but half expanded
and half grown, but the blossom was spread full out. I uprooted it
rashly, and I felt as if I had been committing an outrage; so I
planted it again. It will have but a stormy life of it, but let it
live if it can."

With this poem compare a parallel passage in Marvel's 'The Picture of T. C. in a Prospect of Flowers':

'But oh, young beauty of the woods,
Whom nature courts with fruits and flowers,
Gather the flowers, but spare the buds;
Lest Flora, angry at thy crime
To kill her infants in their prime,
Should quickly make the example yours;
And, ere we see,
Nip in the blossom all our hopes in thee.'

Ed.

* * * * *

TO THE SMALL CELANDINE [A]

Composed April 30, 1802.--Published 1807

[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. It is remarkable that this flower, coming out so early in the spring as it does, and so bright and beautiful, and in such profusion, should not have been noticed earlier in English verse. What adds much to the interest that attends it is its habit of shutting itself up and opening out according to the degree of light and temperature of the air.--I.F.]

One of the "Poems of the Fancy." In the original MS. this poem is called 'To the lesser Celandine', but in the proof "small" was substituted for "lesser."

In Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal the following occurs, under date April 30, 1802:

"We came into the orchard directly after breakfast, and sat there. The
lake was calm, the sky cloudy. William began to write the poem of 'The
Celandine'.... I walked backwards and forwards with William. He
repeated his poem to me, then he got to work again, and would not give
over."

Ed.

Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies,
Let them live upon their praises;
Long as there's a sun that sets,
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are violets, 5
They will have a place in story:
There's a flower that shall be mine,
'Tis the little Celandine.

Eyes of some men travel far
For the finding of a star; 10
Up and down the heavens they go,
Men that keep a mighty rout!
I'm as great as they, I trow,
Since the day I found thee out,
Little Flower!--I'll make a stir, 15
Like a sage [1] astronomer.

Modest, yet withal an Elf
Bold, and lavish of thyself;
Since we needs must first have met
I have seen thee, high and low, 20
Thirty years or more, and yet
'Twas a face I did not know;
Thou hast now, go where I may,
Fifty greetings in a day.

Ere a leaf is on a bush, 25
In the time before the thrush
Has a thought about her [2] nest,
Thou wilt come with half a call,
Spreading out thy glossy breast
Like a careless Prodigal; 30
Telling tales about the sun,
When we've little warmth, or none.

Poets, vain men in their mood!
Travel with the multitude:
Never heed them; I aver 35
That they all are wanton wooers;
But the thrifty cottager,
Who stirs little out of doors,
Joys to spy thee near her home;
Spring is coming, Thou art come! 40

[B]

Comfort have thou of thy merit,
Kindly, unassuming Spirit!
Careless of thy neighbourhood,
Thou dost show thy pleasant face
On the moor, and in the wood, 45
In the lane;--there's not a place,
Howsoever mean it be,
But 'tis good enough for thee.

Ill befal the yellow flowers,
Children of the flaring hours! 50
Buttercups, that will be seen,
Whether we will see or no;
Others, too, of lofty mien;
They have done as worldlings do,
Taken praise that should be thine, 55
Little, humble Celandine!

Prophet of delight and mirth,
Ill-requited [3] upon earth;
Herald of a mighty band,
Of a joyous train ensuing, 60
Serving at my heart's command,
Tasks that are no tasks renewing, [4]
I will sing, as doth behove,
Hymns in praise of what I love!

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1836.

... great ... 1807.]

[Variant 2:

1832.

... it's ... 1807.]

[Variant 3:

1836.

Scorn'd and slighted ... 1807.]

[Variant 4:

1836.

Singing at my heart's command,
In the lanes my thoughts pursuing, 1807.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Common Pilewort.--W. W. 1807.]

[Footnote B: The following stanza was inserted in the editions of 1836-1843:

'Drawn by what peculiar spell,
By what charm for sight or smell,
Do those wingèd dim-eyed creatures,
Labourers sent from waxen cells,
Settle on thy brilliant features,
In neglect of buds and bells
Opening daily at thy side,
By the season multiplied?'

In 1845 it was transferred to the following poem, where it will be found, with a change of text.--Ed.]

* * * * *

TO THE SAME FLOWER

Composed May 1, 1802.--Published 1807

One of the "Poems of the Fancy."--Ed.

Pleasures newly found are sweet
When they lie about our feet:
February last, my heart
First at sight of thee was glad;
All unheard of as thou art, 5
Thou must needs, I think, have had,
Celandine! and long ago,
Praise of which I nothing know.

I have not a doubt but he,
Whosoe'er the man might be, 10
Who the first with pointed rays
(Workman worthy to be sainted)
Set the sign-board in a blaze,
When the rising [1] sun he painted,
Took the fancy from a glance 15
At thy glittering countenance.

Soon as gentle breezes bring
News of winter's vanishing,
And the children build their bowers,
Sticking 'kerchief-plots of mould 20
All about with full-blown flowers,
Thick as sheep in shepherd's fold!
With the proudest thou art there,
Mantling in the tiny square.

Often have I sighed to measure 25
By myself a lonely pleasure,
Sighed to think, I read a book
Only read, perhaps, by me;
Yet I long could overlook
Thy bright coronet and Thee, 30
And thy arch and wily ways,
And thy store of other praise.

Blithe of heart, from week to week
Thou dost play at hide-and-seek;
While the patient primrose sits 35
Like a beggar in the cold,
Thou, a flower of wiser wits,
Slip'st into thy sheltering [2] hold;
Liveliest of the vernal train [3]
When ye all are out again. 40

Drawn by what peculiar spell,
By what charm of sight or smell,
Does the dim-eyed curious Bee,
Labouring for her waxen cells,
Fondly settle upon Thee 45
Prized above all buds and bells
Opening daily at thy side,
By the season multiplied? [4]

Thou art not beyond the moon,
But a thing "beneath our shoon:" [A] 50
Let the bold Discoverer thrid
In his bark the polar sea;
Rear who will a pyramid; [5]
Praise it is enough for me,
If there be but three or four 55
Who will love my little Flower.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1836.

... risen ... 1807.]

[Variant 2:

1832.

... shelter'd ... 1807.]

[Variant 3:

1845.

Bright as any of the train 1807.]

[Variant 4: This stanza was added in 1845. (See note [Footnote B, To the Small Celandine], p. 302.)]

[Variant 5:

1845.

Let, as old Magellen did,
Others roam about the sea;
Build who will a pyramid; [a] 1807.

Let, with bold advent'rous skill,
Others thrid the polar sea;
Rear a pyramid who will; 1820.

Let the bold Adventurer thrid
In his bark the polar sea;
Rear who will a pyramid; 1827.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: This may be an imperfect reminiscence of 'Comus', ll. 634-5.--Ed.]

* * * * *

SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Sub-Footnote a: Barron Field asked Wordsworth to restore these lines of 1807, and Wordsworth promised to do so, but never did it.--Ed.]

The following is an extract from Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal. Saturday, May 1.

"A heavenly morning. We went into the garden, and sowed the scarlet
beans about the house. It was a clear sky. I sowed the flowers,
William helped me. We then went and sat in the orchard till dinner
time. It was very hot. William wrote 'The Celandine' (second part). We
planned a shed, for the sun was too much for us."

Ed.

* * * * *

STANZAS WRITTEN IN MY POCKET COPY OF THOMSON'S "CASTLE OF INDOLENCE"

Begun 9th May, finished 11th May, 1802.--Published 1815

[Composed in the orchard, Town-end, Grasmere, Coleridge living with us much at this time: his son Hartley has said, that his father's character and habits are here preserved in a livelier way than in anything that has been written about him. I.F.]

One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."--Ed.

Within our happy Castle there dwelt One
Whom without blame I may not overlook;
For never sun on living creature shone
Who more devout enjoyment with us took:
Here on his hours he hung as on a book, 5
On his own time here would he float away,
As doth a fly upon a summer brook;
But go to-morrow, or belike to-day,
Seek for him,--he is fled; and whither none can say.

Thus often would he leave our peaceful home, 10
And find elsewhere his business or delight;
Out of our Valley's limits did he roam:
Full many a time, upon a stormy night, [A]
His voice came to us from the neighbouring height:
Oft could [1] we see him driving full in view 15
At midday when the sun was shining bright;
What ill was on him, what he had to do,
A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew.

Ah! piteous sight it was to see this Man
When he came back to us, a withered flower,--20
Or like a sinful creature, pale and wan.
Down would he sit; and without strength or power
Look at the common grass from hour to hour:
And oftentimes, how long I fear to say,
Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower, 25
Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay; [B]
And, like a naked Indian, slept himself away.

Great wonder to our gentle tribe it was
Whenever from our Valley he withdrew;
For happier soul no living creature has 30
Than he had, being here the long day through.
Some thought he was a lover, and did woo:
Some thought far worse of him, and judged him wrong;
But verse was what he had been wedded to;
And his own mind did like a tempest strong 35
Come to him thus, and drove the weary Wight along.[C]

With him there often walked in friendly guise,
Or lay upon the moss by brook or tree,
A noticeable Man with large grey eyes,
And a pale face that seemed undoubtedly 40
As if a blooming face it ought to be;
Heavy his low-hung lip did oft appear,
Deprest by weight of musing Phantasy;
Profound his forehead was, though not severe;
Yet some did think that he had little business here: 45

Sweet heaven forefend! his was a lawful right;
Noisy he was, and gamesome as a boy;
His limbs would toss about him with delight
Like branches when strong winds the trees annoy.
Nor lacked his calmer hours device or toy 50
To banish listlessness and irksome care;
He would have taught you how you might employ
Yourself; and many did to him repair,--
And certes not in vain; he had inventions rare.

Expedients, too, of simplest sort he tried: 55
Long blades of grass, plucked round him as he lay,
Made, to his ear attentively applied,
A pipe on which the wind would deftly play;
Glasses he had, that little things display,
The beetle panoplied in gems and gold, [2] 60
A mailed angel on a battle-day;
The mysteries that cups of flowers enfold, [3]
And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.

He would entice that other Man to hear
His music, and to view his imagery: 65
And, sooth, these two were each to the other dear:
No livelier love in such a place could be: [4]
There did they dwell-from earthly labour free,
As happy spirits as were ever seen;
If but a bird, to keep them company, 70
Or butterfly sate down, they were, I ween,
As pleased as if the same had been a Maiden-queen.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1836.

... did ... 1815.]

[Variant 2:

1827.

The beetle with his radiance manifold, 1815.]

[Variant 3:

1827.

And cups of flowers, and herbage green and gold; 1815.]

[Variant 4:

1836.

And, sooth, these two did love each other dear,
As far as love in such a place could be; 1815.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Compare

'And oft he traced the uplands to survey,
When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn,
The crimson cloud.'

Beattie's 'Minstrel', book I, st. 20.

'And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb
When all in mist the world below was lost.'

Book I. st. 21.

'And of each gentle, and each dreadful scene
In darkness, and in storm, he found delight.'

Book I. st. 22. Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare the stanza in 'A Poet's Epitaph' (p. 77), beginning

'He is retired as noontide dew.'

Ed.]

[Footnote C: Many years ago Canon Ainger pointed out to me a parallel between Beattie's description of 'The Minstrel' and Wordsworth's account of himself in this poem. It is somewhat curious that Dorothy Wordsworth, writing to Miss Pollard from Forncett in 1793, quotes the line from 'The Minstrel', book I. stanza 22,

"In truth he was a strange and wayward wight,"

and adds

"That verse of Beattie's 'Minstrel' always reminds me of him, and
indeed the whole character of Edwin resembles much what William was
when I first knew him after leaving Halifax."

Mr. T. Hutchinson called the attention of Professor Dowden to the same resemblance between the two pictures. With lines 35, 36, compare in Shelley's 'Adonais', stanza xxxi.:

'And his own thoughts, along that rugged way,
Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.'

Ed.]

There can now be no doubt that, in the first four of these 'Stanzas', Wordsworth refers to himself; and that, in the last four, he refers to Coleridge. For a time it was uncertain whether in the earlier stanzas he had Coleridge, or himself, in view; and whether, in the later ones, some one else was, or was not, described. De Quincey, quoting (as he often did) in random fashion, mixes up extracts from each set of the stanzas, and applies them both to Coleridge; and Dorothy Wordsworth, in her Journal, gives apparent (though only apparent) sanction to a reverse order of allusion, by writing of "the stanzas about C. and himself" (her brother). The following are her references to the poem in that Journal:

"9th May (1802).-After tea he (W.) wrote two stanzas in the manner of
Thomson's 'Castle of Indolence', and was tired out.

"10th May.--William still at work, though it is past ten o'clock ...
William did not sleep till three o'clock."

"11th May.--William finished the stanzas about C. and himself. He did
not go out to-day. ... He completely finished his poem. He went to bed
at twelve o'clock."

From these extracts two things are evident,

(1) who the persons are described in the stanzas, and

(2) the immense labour bestowed upon the poem.

In the 'Memoirs of Wordsworth', by the late Bishop of Lincoln, there is a passage (vol. ii. chap. li. p. 309) amongst the "Personal Reminiscences, 1836," in which the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge virtually decides the question of the identity of the two persons referred to, in his record of a conversation with the poet. It is as follows:

"October 10th.--I have passed a great many hours to-day with
Wordsworth in his home. I stumbled on him with proof sheets before
him. He read me nearly all the sweet stanzas written in his copy of
the 'Castle of Indolence', describing himself and my uncle; and he and
Mrs. W. both assured me the description of the latter at that time was
perfectly accurate; and he was almost as a great boy in feelings, and
had all the tricks and fancies there described. Mrs. W. seemed to look
back on him, and those times, with the fondest affection."

I think "the neighbouring height" referred to is the height of White Moss Common, behind the Fir-Grove, where Wordsworth was often heard murmuring out his verses," booing" as the country folks said: and the

'driving full in view
At midday when the sun was shining bright,'

aptly describes his habits as recorded in his sister's Journal, and elsewhere. The "withered flower," the "creature pale and wan," are significant of those terrible reactions of spirit, which followed his joyous hours of insight and inspiration. Stanzas IV. to VII. of 'Resolution and Independence' (p. 314), in which Wordsworth undoubtedly described himself, may be compared with stanza III. of this poem. The lines

'Down would he sit; and without strength or power
Look at the common grass from hour to hour,'

are aptly illustrated by such passages in his sister's Journal, as the following, of 29th April 1802:

"We went to John's Grove, sate a while at first; afterwards William
lay, and I lay in the trench, under the fence--he with his eyes
closed, and listening to the waterfalls and the birds. There was no
one waterfall above another--it was a kind of water in the air--the
voice of the air. We were unseen by one another."

Again, April 23rd,

"Coleridge and I pushed on before. We left William sitting on the
stones, feasting with silence."

And this recalls the first verse of 'Expostulation and Reply', written at Alfoxden in 1798;

'Why, William, on that old grey stone,
Thus for the length of half a day,
Why, William, sit you thus alone,
And dream your time away?'

The retreat where "apple-trees in blossom made a bower," and where he so often "slept himself away," was evidently the same as that described in the poem 'The Green Linnet':

'Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed
Their snow white blossoms on my head.'

On the other hand, the "low-hung lip" and "profound" forehead of the other, the "noticeable Man with large grey eyes," mark him out as S. T. C.; "the rapt One, of the god-like forehead," described in the 'Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg'. The description "Noisy he was, and gamesome as a boy," is verified by what the poet and his wife said to Mr. Justice Coleridge in 1836. In addition, Mr. Hutchinson of Kimbolton tells me he "often heard his father say that Coleridge was uproarious in his mirth."

Matthew Arnold wrote me an interesting letter some years ago about these stanzas, from which I make the following extract:

"When one looks uneasily at a poem it is easy to fidget oneself
further, and neither the Wordsworth nor the Coleridge of our common
notions seem to be exactly hit off in the 'Stanzas'; still, I believe
that the first described is Wordsworth and that the second described
is Coleridge. I have myself heard Wordsworth speak of his prolonged
exhausting wanderings among the hills. Then Miss Fenwick's notes show
that Coleridge is certainly one of the two personages of the poem, and
there are points in the description of the second man which suit him
very well. The 'profound forehead' is a touch akin to the 'god-like
forehead' in the mention of Coleridge in a later poem.

"I have a sort of recollection of having heard something about the
'inventions rare,' and Coleridge is certain to have dabbled, at one
time or other, in natural philosophy."

In 1796 Coleridge wrote to his friend Cottle from Nether Stowey:

" ... I should not think of devoting less than 20 years to an Epic
Poem: ten to collect materials and warm my mind with universal
science. I would be a tolerable Mathematician, I would thoroughly know
Mechanics, Hydrostatics, Optics, and Astronomy, Botany, Metallurgy,
Fossilism, Chemistry, Geology, Anatomy, Medicine--then the 'mind of
man'--then the 'minds of men'--in all Travels, Voyages, and Histories.
So I would spend ten years--the next five to the composition of the
poem--and the last five to the correction of it. So would I write,
haply not unhearing of the divine and rightly whispering Voice," etc.

Mr. T. Hutchinson (Dublin) writes in 'The Athenaeum', Dec. 15, 1894:

"I take it for granted these lines were written, not only on the
fly-leaf of Wordsworth's copy of the 'Castle of Indolence', but also
by way of Supplement to that poem; i. e. as an 'addendum' to the
descriptive list of the denizens of the Castle given in stanzas
LVII-LXIX of Canto I.; that, in short, they are meant to be read as
though they were an after-thought of James Thomson's. Their author,
therefore, has rightly imparted to them the curiously blended flavour
of 'romantic melancholy and slippered mirth,' of dreamlike vagueness
and smiling hyperbole, which forms the distinctive mark of Thomson's
poem; and thus the Poet and the Philosopher-Friend of Wordsworth's
stanzas, like Thomson's companion sketches of the splenetic Solitary,
the 'bard more fat than bard beseems,' and the 'little, round, fat,
oily Man of God,' are neither more nor less than gentle caricatures."

It has been suggested by Coleridge's grandson that Wordsworth was describing S. T. C. in all the stanzas of this poem; that he drew two separate pictures of him; in the first four stanzas a realistic "character portrait," and in the last four a "companion picture, figuring the outward semblance of Coleridge, but embodying characteristics drawn from a third person"; so that we have a "fancy sketch" mixed up with a real one. I cannot agree with this. The evidence against it is

(1) Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal;
(2) the poet's and his wife's remarks to Mr. Justice Coleridge;
(3) the fact that Wordsworth was not in the habit of "passing from
realism into artistic composition," except where he distinctly
indicated it, as in the case of the Hawkshead Schoolmaster, in the
"Matthew" poems. Such composite or conglomerate work was quite
foreign to Wordsworth's genius.

Ed.

* * * * *

RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE

Begun May 3, finished July 4, 1802.--Published 1807

[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. This old man I met a few hundred yards from my cottage; and the account of him is taken from his own mouth. I was in the state of feeling described in the beginning of the poem, while crossing over Barton Fell from Mr. Clarkson's, at the foot of Ullswater, towards Askham. The image of the hare I then observed on the ridge of the Fell.--I.F.]

This poem was known in the Wordsworth household as "The Leech-Gatherer," although it never received that name in print. An entry in Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal of Friday, 3rd October 1800, may preface what she wrote in 1802 about the composition of the poem.

"When William and I returned from accompanying Jones, we met an old
man almost double. He had on a coat thrown over his shoulders above
his waistcoat and coat. Under this he carried a bundle, and had an
apron on, and a night-cap. His face was interesting. He had dark eyes,
and a long nose. John, who afterwards met him at Wytheburn, took him
for a Jew. He was of Scotch parents, but had been born in the army. He
had had a wife, 'and a good woman, and it pleased God to bless him
with ten children.' All these were dead but one, of whom he had not
heard for many years, a sailor. His trade was to gather leeches; but
now leeches were scarce, and he had not strength for it. He lived by
begging, and was making his way to Carlisle where he would buy a few
books to sell. He said leeches were very scarce, partly owing to this
dry season; but many years they had been scarce. He supposed it was
owing to their being much sought after; that they did not breed fast;
and were of slow growth. Leeches were formerly 2s. 6d. the 100; now
they were 30s. He had been hurt in driving a cart, his leg broken, his
body driven over, his skull fractured. He felt no pain till he
recovered from his first insensibility. It was late in the evening,
when the light was just going away."

It is most likely that this walk of William and Dorothy Wordsworth "accompanying Jones," was on the day of Jones's departure from Dove Cottage, viz. 26th September.

The Journal continues:

"Tuesday, 4th May, 1802.--Though William went to bed nervous and jaded
in the extreme, he rose refreshed. I wrote out 'The Leech-Gatherer'
for him, which he had begun the night before, and of which he wrote
several stanzas in bed this morning...."

(They started to walk up the Raise to Wytheburn.)

"It was very hot; we rested several times by the way, read, and
repeated 'The Leech-Gatherer.'"

"Friday, 7th May.--William had slept uncommonly well, so, feeling
himself strong, he fell to work at 'The Leech-Gatherer'; he wrote hard
at it till dinner time, then he gave over, tired to death--he had
finished the poem."

"Sunday morning, 9th May.--William worked at 'The Leech-Gatherer'
almost incessantly from morning till tea-time. I copied 'The
Leech-Gatherer' and other poems for Coleridge. I was oppressed and
sick at heart, for he wearied himself to death."

"Sunday, 4th July.--... William finished 'The Leech-Gatherer' to-day."

"Monday, 5th July.--I copied out 'The Leech-Gatherer' for Coleridge,
and for us."

From these extracts it is clear that Dorothy Wordsworth considered the poem as "finished" on the 7th of May, and on the 9th she sent a copy to Coleridge; but that it was not till the 4th of July that it was really finished, and then a second copy was forwarded to Coleridge. It is impossible to say from which of the two MSS. sent to him Coleridge transcribed the copy which he forwarded to Sir George Beaumont. From that copy of a copy (which is now amongst the Beaumont MSS. at Coleorton) the various readings given, on Coleridge's authority, in the notes to the poem, were obtained some years ago.

The Fenwick note to the poem illustrates Wordsworth's habit of blending in one description details which were originally separate, both as to time and place. The scenery and the incidents of the poem are alike composite. As he tells us that he met the leech-gatherer a few hundred yards from Dove Cottage, the "lonely place" with its "pool, bare to the eye of heaven," at once suggests White Moss Common and its small tarn; but he adds that, in the opening stanzas of the poem, he is describing a state of feeling he was in, when crossing the fells at the foot of Ullswater to Askam, and that the image of the hare "running races in her mirth," with the glittering mist accompanying her, was observed by him, not on White Moss Common, but in one of the ridges of Moor Divock. To H. C. Robinson he said of the "Leech-Gatherer" (Sept. 10, 1816), that "he gave to his poetic character powers of mind which his original did not possess." (Robinson's 'Diary', etc., vol. ii. p. 24.)

One of the "Poems of the Imagination."--Ed.

I There was a roaring in the wind all night;
The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
The birds are singing in the distant woods;
Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods; 5
The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters;
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.

II All things that love the sun are out of doors;
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;
The grass is bright with rain-drops;--on the moors 10
The hare is running races in her mirth;
And with her feet she from the plashy earth
Raises a mist; that, [1] glittering in the sun,
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.

III I was a Traveller then upon the moor; 15
I saw the hare that raced about with joy;
I heard the woods and distant waters roar;
Or heard them not, as happy as a boy:
The pleasant season did my heart employ:
My old remembrances went from me wholly; 20
And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy.

IV But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might
Of joy in minds that can no further go,
As high as we have mounted in delight
In our dejection do we sink as low; 25
To me that morning did it happen so;
And fears and fancies thick upon me came;
Dim sadness--and blind thoughts, I knew not, nor could name.

V I heard the sky-lark warbling [2] in the sky;
And I bethought me of the playful hare: 30
Even such a happy Child of earth am I;
Even as these blissful [3] creatures do I fare;
Far from the world I walk, and from all care;
But there may come another day to me--
Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty. 35

VI My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought,
As if life's business were a summer mood;
As if all needful things would come unsought
To genial faith, still rich in genial good; [4]
But how can He expect that others should 40
Build for him, sow for him, and at his call
Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all? [A]

VII I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy,
The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride; [5]
Of Him who walked in glory and in joy 45
Following his plough, along the mountain-side: [6]
By our own spirits are we deified:
We Poets in our youth begin in gladness;
But thereof come [7] in the end despondency and madness.

VIII Now, whether it were [8] by peculiar grace, 50
A leading from above, a something given,
Yet it befel, that, in this [9] lonely place,
When I with these untoward thoughts had striven,
Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven [10]
I saw [11] a Man before me unawares: 55
The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
[12]

IX As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie
Couched on the bald top of an eminence;
Wonder to all who [13] do the same espy,
By what means it could thither come, and whence; 60
So that it seems a thing endued with sense:
Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that [14] on a shelf
Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself;

X Such seemed this Man, not all alive nor dead,
Nor all asleep--in his extreme old age: 65
His body was bent double, feet and head
Coming together in life's pilgrimage; [15]
As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage
Of sickness felt by him in times long past,
A more than human weight upon his frame [16] had cast. 70

XI Himself he propped, limbs, body, and pale face, [17]
Upon a long grey staff of shaven wood:
And, still as I drew near with gentle pace,
Upon the margin of that moorish flood [18]
Motionless as a cloud the old Man stood, 75
That heareth not the loud winds when they call;
And moveth all together, if it move [19] at all.
[20]

XII At length, himself unsettling, he the pond
Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look
Upon the muddy water, which he conned, 80
As if he had been reading in a book:
And now a stranger's privilege I took; [21]
And, drawing to his side, to him did say,
"This morning gives us promise of a glorious day."

XIII A gentle answer did the old Man make, 85
In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew:
And him with further words I thus bespake,
"What occupation do you there pursue? [22
This is a lonesome place for one like [23] you."
Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise 90
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes. [24] [B]

XIV His words came feebly, from a feeble chest,
But [25] each in solemn order followed each,
With something of a lofty [26] utterance drest--
Choice word [27] and measured phrase, above [27] the reach 95
Of ordinary men; a stately speech;
Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use,
Religious men, who give to God and man their dues.

XV He told, that to these waters he had come [28]
To gather leeches, being old and poor: 100
Employment hazardous and wearisome!
And he had many hardships to endure: [29]
From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor;
Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance;
And in this way he gained an honest maintenance. 105

XVI The old Man still stood talking by my side;
But now [30] his voice to me was like a stream
Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide;
And the whole body of the Man did seem
Like one whom I had met with in a dream; 110
Or like a man from some far region sent,
To give me human strength, by apt admonishment. [31]

XVII My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills;
And [32] hope that is unwilling to be fed;
Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills; 115
And mighty Poets in their misery dead.
--Perplexed, and longing to be comforted, [33]
My question eagerly did I renew,
"How is it that you live, and what is it you do?" [34]

XVIII He with a smile did then his words repeat; 120
And said, that, gathering leeches, far and wide
He travelled; stirring thus about his feet
The waters of the pools where they abide. [35]
"Once I could meet with them on every side;
But they have dwindled long by slow decay; 125
Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may." [36]

XIX While he was talking thus, the lonely place,
The old Man's shape, and speech--all troubled me:
In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace
About the weary moors continually, 130
Wandering about alone and silently.
While I these thoughts within myself pursued,
He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed.

XX And soon [37] with this he other matter blended,
Cheerfully uttered, with demeanour kind, 135
But stately in the main; and when he ended, [38]
I could have laughed myself to scorn to find
In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.
"God," said I, "be my help and stay secure;
I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor!" 140

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1827.

... which, ... 1807.

And in MS. letter from Coleridge to Sir George Beaumont, 1802.[i]]

[Variant 2:

1820.

... singing ... 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 3:

1807.

... happy ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 4:

1807.

And they who lived in genial faith found nought
that grew more willingly than genial good; MS. 1802.]

[Variant 5:

1815.

... who perished in his pride; MS. 1802.

... that perished in its pride; 1807.]

[Variant 6:

1820.

Behind his plough, upon the mountain-side: 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 7:

1836.

... comes ... 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 8:

1807.

... was ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 9:

1807.

... that ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 10:

1820.

When up and down my fancy thus was driven,
And I with these untoward thoughts had striven, 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 11:

1807.

I spied ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 12:

My course I stopped as soon as I espied
The Old Man in that naked wilderness:
Close by a Pond, upon the further side, [i]
He stood alone: a minute's space I guess
I watch'd him, he continuing motionless:
To the Pool's further margin then I drew;
He being all the while before me full in view. [ii] 1807.

This stanza, which appeared in the editions of 1807 and 1815, was, on Coleridge's advice, omitted from subsequent ones.]

[Variant 13:

1807.

... that ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 14:

1820.

... which ... 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 15:

1820.

... in their pilgrimage 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 16:

1807.

... his age ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 17:

1836.

Himself he propp'd, both body, limbs, and face, MS. 1802.

... his body, ... 1807.]

[Variant 18:

1820.

Beside the little pond or moorish flood 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 19.

1807.

... moves . . MS. 1802.]

[Variant 20.

He wore a Cloak the same as women wear
As one whose blood did needful comfort lack;
His face look'd pale as if it had grown fair;
And, furthermore he had upon his back,
Beneath his cloak, a round and bulky Pack;
A load of wool or raiment as might seem.
That on his shoulders lay as if it clave to him.

This stanza appeared only in MS. 1802.]

[Variant 21.

1820.

And now such freedom as I could I took; 1807.

And Ms. 1802.]

[Variant 22.

1820.

"What kind of work is that which you pursue? 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 23.

1807.

... for such as ... MS.]

[Variant 24.

1836.

He answer'd me with pleasure and surprize;
And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes. 1807.

And MS. 1802.

He answered, while a flash of mild surprise
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes. 1820.]

[Variant 25.

1820.

Yet ... 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 26.

1807.

... pompous ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 27.

1807.

...words ... MS.

...beyond ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 28.

1827.

He told me that he to the pond had come ... MS. 1802.

....this pond ... 1807.]

[Variant 29.

1807.

This was his calling, better far than some,
Though he had ...... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 30:

1807.

But soon ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 31:

1827.

... and strong admonishment. 1807.

... by strong admonishment. 1820.]

[Variant 32:

1815.

The ... 1807.

And MS. 1802.]

[Variant 33:

1820.

And now, not knowing what the Old Man had said, 1807.

And MS. 1802.

But now, perplex'd by what the Old Man had said, 1815.]

[Variant 34.

1807.

... live? what is it that you do?" MS. 1802.]

[Variant 35:

1827.

And said, that wheresoe'er they might be spied
He gather'd Leeches, stirring at his feet
The waters in the Ponds ... MS. 1802.

And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide
He travelled; stirring thus about his feet
The waters of the Ponds ... 1807.]

[Variant 36:

1807.

Once he could meet with them on every side;
But fewer they became from day to day,
And so his means of life before him died away. MS. 1802.]

[Variant 37:

1807.

And now ... MS. 1802.]

[Variant 38:

1807.

Which he delivered with demeanour kind,
Yet stately ... MS. 1802.]

* * * * *

SUB-VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Sub-Variant i:

... hither side, MS. 1802.]

[Sub-Variant ii:

He all the while before me being full in view. MS. 1802.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Some have thought that Wordsworth had S.T.C. in his mind, in writing this stanza. I cannot agree with this. The value and interest of the poem would be lessened by our imagining that Wordsworth's heart never failed him; and that, when he appears to moralise at his own expense, he was doing so at Coleridge's. Besides, the date of this poem, taken in connection with entries in the Grasmere Journal of Dorothy Wordsworth, makes it all but certain that Coleridge was not referred to.--Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare in 'The Matron of Jedborough and her Husband', p. 417, ll. 66-69:

'Some inward trouble suddenly
Broke from the Matron's strong black eye--
A remnant of uneasy light,
A flash of something over-bright!'

Ed.]

* * * * *

SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Sub-Footnote i: Additional variants obtained from this source are inserted as "MS. 1802."--Ed.]

The late Bishop of Lincoln, in the 'Memoirs' of his uncle (vol. i. pp. 172, 173), quotes from a letter, written by Wordsworth "to some friends, which has much interest as bearing on this poem. [C] The following are extracts from it:

"It is not a matter of indifference whether you are pleased with his
figure and employment, it may be comparatively whether you are pleased
with _this Poem_; but it is of the utmost importance that you should
have had pleasure in contemplating the fortitude, independence,
persevering spirit, and the general moral dignity of this old man's
character." Again, "I will explain to you, in prose, my feelings in
writing _that_ poem.... I describe myself as having been exalted to
the highest pitch of delight by the joyousness and beauty of nature;
and then as depressed, even in the midst of those beautiful objects,
to the lowest dejection and despair. A young poet in the midst of the
happiness of nature is described as overwhelmed by the thoughts of the
miserable reverses which have befallen the happiest of all men, viz.
poets. I think of this till I am so deeply impressed with it, that I
consider the manner in which I was rescued from my dejection and
despair almost as an interposition of Providence. A person reading the
poem with feelings like mine will have been awed and controlled,
expecting something spiritual or supernatural. What is brought
forward? A lonely place, 'a pond, by which an old man _was_, far from
all house or home:' not _stood_, nor _sat_, but _was_--the figure
presented in the most naked simplicity possible. This feeling of
spirituality or supernaturalness is again referred to as being strong
in my mind in this passage. How came he here? thought I, or what can
he be doing? I then describe him, whether ill or well is not for me to
judge with perfect confidence; but this I _can_ confidently affirm,
that though I believe God has given me a strong imagination, I cannot
conceive a figure more impressive than that of an old man like this,
the survivor of a wife and ten children, travelling alone among the
mountains and all lonely places, carrying with him his own fortitude
and the necessities which an unjust state of society has laid upon
him. You speak of his speech as tedious. Every thing is tedious when
one does not read with the feelings of the author. 'The Thorn' is
tedious to hundreds; and so is 'The Idiot Boy' to hundreds. It is in
the character of the old man to tell his story, which an impatient
reader must feel tedious. But, good heavens! such a figure, in such a
place; a pious, self-respecting, miserably infirm and pleased old man
telling such a tale!"

Ed.