Read Ebook: Poems in Two Volumes Volume 1 by Wordsworth William

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Prophet of delight and mirth, Scorn'd and slighted upon earth! Herald of a mighty band, Of a joyous train ensuing, 60 Singing at my heart's command, In the lanes my thoughts pursuing, I will sing, as doth behove, Hymns in praise of what I love!

TO THE SAME FLOWER.

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, 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, Set the Sign-board in a blaze, When the risen sun he painted, Took the fancy from a glance At thy glittering countenance.

Soon as gentle breezes bring News of winter's vanishing, And the children build their bowers, Sticking 'kerchief-plots of mold 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.

Blithe of heart, from week to week Thou dost play at hide-and-seek; While the patient Primrose sits Like a Beggar in the cold, Thou, a Flower of wiser wits, Slipp'st into thy shelter'd hold: Bright as any of the train When ye all are out again. 40

Thou art not beyond the moon, But a thing "beneath our shoon;" Let, as old Magellen did, Others roam about the sea; Build who will a pyramid; Praise it is enough for me, If there be but three or four Who will love my little Flower.

CHARACTER of the HAPPY WARRIOR.

THE HORN OF EGREMONT CASTLE.

When the Brothers reach'd the gateway, Eustace pointed with his lance To the Horn which there was hanging; Horn of the inheritance. Horn it was which none could sound, No one upon living ground, Save He who came as rightful Heir To Egremont's Domains and Castle fair.

With his lance Sir Eustace pointed, And to Hubert thus said he, "What I speak this Horn shall witness For thy better memory. 20 Hear, then, and neglect me not! At this time, and on this spot, The words are utter'd from my heart, As my last earnest prayer ere we depart."

"On good service we are going Life to risk by sea and land; In which course if Christ our Saviour Do my sinful soul demand, Hither come thou back straightway, Hubert, if alive that day; 30 Return, and sound the Horn, that we May have a living House still left in thee!"

"Fear not," quickly answer'd Hubert; "As I am thy Father's son, What thou askest, noble Brother, With God's favour shall be done." So were both right well content: From the Castle forth they went. And at the head of their Array To Palestine the Brothers took their way. 40

"Sir!" the Ruffians said to Hubert, "Deep he lies in Jordan flood."-- 50 Stricken by this ill assurance, Pale and trembling Hubert stood. "Take your earnings."--Oh! that I Could have seen my Brother die! It was a pang that vex'd him then; And oft returned, again, and yet again.

Months pass'd on, and no Sir Eustace! Nor of him were tidings heard. Wherefore, bold as day, the Murderer Back again to England steer'd. 60 To his Castle Hubert sped; He has nothing now to dread. But silent and by stealth he came, And at an hour which nobody could name.

None could tell if it were night-time, Night or day, at even or morn; For the sound was heard by no one Of the proclamation-horn. But bold Hubert lives in glee: Months and years went smilingly; 70 With plenty was his table spread; And bright the Lady is who shares his bed.

Likewise he had Sons and Daughters; And, as good men do, he sate At his board by these surrounded, Flourishing in fair estate. And, while thus in open day Once he sate, as old books say, A blast was utter'd from the Horn, Where by the Castle-gate it hung forlorn. 80

'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace! He is come to claim his right: Ancient Castle, Woods, and Mountains Hear the challenge with delight. Hubert! though the blast be blown He is helpless and alone: Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word! And there he may be lodg'd, and thou be Lord.

Speak! astounded Hubert cannot; And if power to speak he had, 90 All are daunted, all the household Smitten to the heart, and sad. 'Tis Sir Eustace; if it be Living Man, it must be he! Thus Hubert thought in his dismay, And by a Postern-gate he slunk away.

Long, and long was he unheard of: To his Brother then he came, Made confession, ask'd forgiveness, Ask'd it by a Brother's name, 100 And by all the saints in heaven; And of Eustace was forgiv'n: Then in a Convent went to hide His melancholy head, and there he died.

But Sir Eustace, whom good Angels Had preserv'd from Murderers' hands, And from Pagan chains had rescued, Liv'd with honour on his lands. Sons he had, saw Sons of theirs: And through ages, Heirs of Heirs, 110 A long posterity renown'd, Sounded the Horn which they alone could sound.

Where art thou, my beloved Son, Where art thou, worse to me than dead? Oh find me prosperous or undone! Or, if the grave be now thy bed, Why am I ignorant of the same That I may rest; and neither blame, Nor sorrow may attend thy name?

Seven years, alas, to have received No tidings of an only child; To have despair'd, and have believ'd, 10 And be for evermore beguil'd; Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss! I catch at them, and then I miss; Was ever darkness like to this?

He was among the prime in worth, An object beauteous to behold; Well born, well bred; I sent him forth Ingenuous, innocent, and bold: If things ensued that wanted grace, As hath been said, they were not base; 20 And never blush was on my face.

Ah! little doth the Young One dream, When full of play and childish cares, What power hath even his wildest scream, Heard by his Mother unawares! He knows it not, he cannot guess: Years to a Mother bring distress; But do not make her love the less.

Neglect me! no I suffer'd long From that ill thought; and being blind, 30 Said, "Pride shall help me in my wrong; Kind mother have I been, as kind As ever breathed:" and that is true; I've wet my path with tears like dew, Weeping for him when no one knew.

My Son, if thou be humbled, poor, Hopeless of honour and of gain, Oh! do not dread thy mother's door; Think not of me with grief and pain: I now can see with better eyes; 40 And worldly grandeur I despise, And fortune with her gifts and lies

Alas! the fowls of Heaven have wings, And blasts of Heaven will aid their flight; They mount, how short a voyage brings The Wanderers back to their delight! Chains tie us down by land and sea; And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee.

Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan, 50 Maim'd, mangled by inhuman men; Or thou upon a Desart thrown Inheritest the Lion's Den; Or hast been summoned to the Deep, Thou, Thou and all thy mates, to keep An incommunicable sleep.

I look for Ghosts; but none will force Their way to me; 'tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Betwixt the living and the dead; 60 For, surely, then I should have sight Of Him I wait for day and night, With love and longings infinite.

My apprehensions come in crowds; I dread the rustling of the grass; The very shadows of the clouds Have power to shake me as they pass: I question things, and do not find One that will answer to my mind; And all the world appears unkind. 70

Beyond participation lie My troubles, and beyond relief: If any chance to heave a sigh They pity me, and not my grief. Then come to me, my Son, or send Some tidings that my woes may end; I have no other earthly friend.

THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES.

That way look, my Infant, lo! What a pretty baby show! See the Kitten on the Wall, Sporting with the leaves that fall, Wither'd leaves, one, two, and three, From the lofty Elder-tree! Through the calm and frosty air Of this morning bright and fair, Eddying round and round they sink Softly, slowly: one might think, 10 From the motions that are made, Every little leaf convey'd Sylph or Faery hither tending, To this lower world descending, Each invisible and mute, In his wavering parachute. --But the Kitten, how she starts, Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts; First at one and then its fellow Just as light and just as yellow; 20 There are many now--now one-- Now they stop; and there are none-- What intenseness of desire In her upward eye of fire! With a tiger-leap half way Now she meets the coming prey, Lets it go as fast, and then Has it in her power again: Now she works with three or four, Like an Indian Conjuror; 30 Quick as he in feats of art, Far beyond in joy of heart. Were her antics play'd in the eye Of a thousand Standers-by, Clapping hands with shout and stare, What would little Tabby care For the plaudits of the Crowd? Over happy to be proud, Over wealthy in the treasure Of her own exceeding pleasure! 40

'Tis a pretty Baby-treat; Nor, I deem, for me unmeet: Here, for neither Babe or me, Other Play-mate can I see. Of the countless living things, That with stir of feet and wings, And with busy revellings, Chirp and song, and murmurings, 50 Made this Orchard's narrow space, And this Vale so blithe a place; Multitudes are swept away Never more to breathe the day: Some are sleeping; some in Bands Travell'd into distant Lands; Others slunk to moor and wood, Far from human neighbourhood, And, among the Kinds that keep With us closer fellowship, 60 With us openly abide, All have laid their mirth aside, --Where is he that giddy Sprite, Blue-cap, with his colours bright, Who was blest as bird could be, Feeding in the apple-tree, Made such wanton spoil and rout, Turning blossoms inside out, Hung with head towards the ground, Flutter'd, perch'd; into a round 70 Bound himself, and then unbound; Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin, Prettiest Tumbler ever seen, Light of heart, and light of limb, What is now become of Him? Lambs, that through the mountains went Frisking, bleating merriment, When the year was in its prime, They are sober'd by this time. If you look to vale or hill, 80 If you listen, all is still, Save a little neighbouring Rill; That from out the rocky ground Strikes a solitary sound. Vainly glitters hill and plain, And the air is calm in vain; Vainly Morning spreads the lure Of a sky serene and pure; Creature none can she decoy Into open sign of joy: 90 Is it that they have a fear Of the dreary season near? Or that other pleasures be Sweeter even than gaiety?

THE SEVEN SISTERS, OR THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE.

Seven Daughters had Lord Archibald, All Children of one Mother: I could not say in one short day What love they bore each other, A Garland of seven Lilies wrought! Seven Sisters that together dwell; But he, bold Knight as ever fought, Their Father, took of them no thought, He loved the Wars so well. Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, 10 The Solitude of Binnorie!

Fresh blows the wind, a western wind, And from the shores of Erin, Across the wave, a Rover brave To Binnorie is steering: Right onward to the Scottish strand The gallant ship is borne; The Warriors leap upon the land, And hark! the Leader of the Band Hath blown his bugle horn. 20 Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.

Beside a Grotto of their own, With boughs above them closing, The Seven are laid, and in the shade They lie like Fawns reposing. But now, upstarting with affright At noise of Man and Steed, Away they fly to left to right-- Of your fair household, Father Knight, 30 Methinks you take small heed! Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.

Away the seven fair Campbells fly, And, over Hill and Hollow, With menace proud, and insult loud, The youthful Rovers follow. Cried they, "Your Father loves to roam: Enough for him to find The empty House when he comes home; 40 For us your yellow ringlets comb, For us be fair and kind!" Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.

Some close behind, some side by side, Like clouds in stormy weather, They run, and cry, "Nay let us die, And let us die together." A Lake was near; the shore was steep; There never Foot had been; 50 They ran, and with a desperate leap Together plung'd into the deep, Nor ever more were seen. Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.

To H. C.,

O Thou! whose fancies from afar are brought; Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel, And fittest to unutterable thought The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol; Thou Faery Voyager! that dost float In such clear water, that thy Boat May rather seem To brood on air than on an earthly stream; Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, Where earth and heaven do make one imagery; 10 O blessed Vision! happy Child! That art so exquisitely wild, I think of thee with, many fears For what may be thy lot in future years.

I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest, Lord of thy house and hospitality; And grief, uneasy Lover! never rest But when she sate within the touch of thee.

Oh! too industrious folly! Oh! vain and causeless melancholy! 20 Nature will either end thee quite; Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, Preserve for thee, by individual right, A young Lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks. What hast Thou to do with sorrow, Or the injuries of tomorrow?

Thou art a Dew-drop, which, the morn brings forth, Not doom'd to jostle with unkindly shocks; Or to be trail'd along the soiling earth; A Gem that glitters while it lives, 30 And no forewarning gives; But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife Slips in a moment out of life.

Among all lovely things my Love had been; Had noted well the stars, all flowers that grew About her home; but she had never seen A Glow-worm, never one, and this I knew.

Upon a leaf the Glow-worm did I lay, To bear it with me through the stormy night: 10 And, as before, it shone without dismay; Albeit putting forth a fainter light.

When to the Dwelling of my Love I came, I went into the Orchard quietly; And left the Glow-worm, blessing it by name, Laid safely by itself, beneath a Tree.

The whole next day, I hoped, and hoped with fear; At night the Glow-worm shone beneath the Tree: I led my Lucy to the spot, "Look here!" Oh! joy it was for her, and joy for me! 20

I travell'd among unknown Men, In Lands beyond the Sea; Nor England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.

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