Till the waggon gains the top; 725
But stop he cannot--must advance:
Him Benjamin, with lucky glance,
Espies--and instantly is ready,
Self-collected, poised, and steady:
And, to be the better seen, 730
Issues from his radiant shroud,
From his close-attending cloud,
With careless air and open mien.
Erect his port, and firm his going;
So struts yon cock that now is crowing; 735
And the morning light in grace
Strikes upon his lifted face,
Hurrying the pallid hue away
That might his trespasses betray.
But what can all avail to clear him, 740
Or what need of explanation,
Parley or interrogation?
For the Master sees, alas!
That unhappy Figure near him,
Limping o'er the dewy grass, 745
Where the road it fringes, sweet,
Soft and cool to way-worn feet;
And, O indignity! an Ass,
By his noble Mastiffs side,
Tethered to the waggon's tail: 750
And the ship, in all her pride,
Following after in full sail!
Not to speak of babe and mother;
Who, contented with each other,
And snug as birds in leafy arbour, 755
Find, within, a blessed harbour!
With eager eyes the Master pries;
Looks in and out, and through and through;
Says nothing--till at last he spies
A wound upon the Mastiff's head, 760
A wound, where plainly might be read
What feats an Ass's hoof can do!
But drop the rest:--this aggravation,
This complicated provocation,
A hoard of grievances unsealed; 765
All past forgiveness it repealed;
And thus, and through distempered blood
On both sides, Benjamin the good,
The patient, and the tender-hearted,
Was from his team and waggon parted; 770
When duty of that day was o'er,
Laid down his whip--and served no more.--
Nor could the waggon long survive,
Which Benjamin had ceased to drive:
It lingered on;--guide after guide 775
Ambitiously the office tried;
But each unmanageable hill
Called for _his_ patience and _his_ skill;--
And sure it is, that through this night,
And what the morning brought to light, 780
Two losses had we to sustain,
We lost both WAGGONER and WAIN!
* * * * *
Accept, O Friend, for praise or blame,
The gift of this adventurous song;
A record which I dared to frame, 785
Though timid scruples checked me long;
They checked me--and I left the theme
Untouched;--in spite of many a gleam
Of fancy which thereon was shed,
Like pleasant sunbeams shifting still 790
Upon the side of a distant hill:
But Nature might not be gainsaid;
For what I have and what I miss
I sing of these;--it makes my bliss!
Nor is it I who play the part, 795
But a shy spirit in my heart,
That comes and goes--will sometimes leap
From hiding-places ten years deep;
Or haunts me with familiar face, [67]
Returning, like a ghost unlaid, 800
Until the debt I owe be paid.
Forgive me, then; for I had been
On friendly terms with this Machine: [M]
In him, while he was wont to trace
Our roads, through many a long year's space, 805
A living almanack had we;
We had a speaking diary,
That in this uneventful place,
Gave to the days a mark and name
By which we knew them when they came. 810
--Yes, I, and all about me here,
Through all the changes of the year,
Had seen him through the mountains go,
In pomp of mist or pomp of snow,
Majestically huge and slow: 815
Or, with a milder grace [68] adorning
The landscape of a summer's morning;
While Grasmere smoothed her liquid plain
The moving image to detain;
And mighty Fairfield, with a chime 820
Of echoes, to his march kept time;
When little other business stirred,
And little other sound was heard;
In that delicious hour of balm,
Stillness, solitude, and calm, 825
While yet the valley is arrayed,
On this side with a sober shade;
On that is prodigally bright--
Crag, lawn, and wood--with rosy light.
--But most of all, thou lordly Wain! 830
I wish to have thee here again,
When windows flap and chimney roars,
And all is dismal out of doors;
And, sitting by my fire, I see
Eight sorry carts, no less a train! 835
Unworthy successors of thee,
Come straggling through the wind and rain:
And oft, as they pass slowly on,
Beneath my windows, [69] one by one,
See, perched upon the naked height 840
The summit of a cumbrous freight,
A single traveller--and there
Another; then perhaps a pair--
The lame, the sickly, and the old;
Men, women, heartless with the cold; 845
And babes in wet and starveling plight;
Which once, [70] be weather as it might,
Had still a nest within a nest,
Thy shelter--and their mother's breast!
Then most of all, then far the most, 850
Do I regret what we have lost;
Am grieved for that unhappy sin
Which robbed us of good Benjamin;--
And of his stately Charge, which none
Could keep alive when He was gone! 855
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1819.
The Night-hawk is singing his frog-like tune,
Twirling his watchman's rattle about--1805. MS. [a]
The dor-hawk, solitary bird,
Round the dim crags on heavy pinions wheeling,
Buzzes incessantly, a tiresome tune;
That constant voice is all that can be heard 1820.
... on heavy pinions wheeling,
With untired voice sings an unvaried tune;
Those burring notes are all that can be heard 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to the first version of 1819.]
[Variant 2:
1819.
Now that the children are abed
The little glow-worms nothing dread,
Such prize as their bright lamps would be.
Sooth they come in company,
And shine in quietness secure,
On the mossy bank by the cottage door,
As safe as on the loneliest moor.
In the play, or on the hill,
Everything is hushed and still;
The clouds show here and there a spot
Of a star that twinkles not,
The air as in ...
From a MS. copy of the poem in Henry Crabb Robinson's 'Diary, etc'.
1812.
Now that the children's busiest schemes
Do all lie buried in blank sleep,
Or only live in stirring dreams,
The glow-worms fearless watch may keep;
Rich prize as their bright lamps would be,
They shine, a quiet company,
On mossy bank by cottage-door,
As safe as on the loneliest moor.
In hazy straits the clouds between,
And in their stations twinkling not,
Some thinly-sprinkled stars are seen,
Each changed into a pallid spot. 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 3:
1836.
The mountains rise to wond'rous height,
And in the heavens there is a weight; 1819.
And in the heavens there hangs a weight; 1827.
In the editions of 1819 to 1832, these two lines follow the line "Like
the stifling of disease."]
[Variant 4:
1819.
... faint ... 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 5:
1819.
But welcome dews ... 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 6:
1819.
... or ... 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 7:
1819.
Listen! you can hardly hear!
Now he has left the lower ground,
And up the hill his course is bending,
With many a stop and stay ascending;--1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 8:
1836.
And now ... 1819.]
[Variant 9:
1836.
Gathering ... 1819.]
[Variant 10:
1819.
No;--him infirmities beset,
But danger is not near him yet; 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 11:
1836.
is he secure; 1819.]
[Variant 12:
1836.
full well 1819.]
[Variant 13:
1836.
Uncouth although the object be,
An image of perplexity;
Yet not the less it is our boast, 1819.]
[Variant 14:
1827.
... I frame ... 1819.]
[Variant 15:
1836
And never was my heart more light. 1819.]
[Variant 16:
1836.
... will bless ... 1819.]
[Variant 17:
1836.
... delight, ... 1819.]
[Variant 18:
1836.
Good proof of this the Country gain'd,
One day, when ye were vex'd and strain'd--
Entrusted to another's care,
And forc'd unworthy stripes to bear. 1819.]
[Variant 19:
1836. (Expanding four lines into six.)
Here was it--on this rugged spot
Which now contented with our lot
We climb--that piteously abused
Ye plung'd in anger and confused: 1819.]
[Variant 20:
1836.
... in your ... 1819.]
[Variant 21:
1836.
The ranks were taken with one mind; 1819.]
[Variant 22:
1819.
Our road be, narrow, steep, and rough; 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 23:
1836.
large drops upon his head 1819.]
[Variant 24:
1836.
He starts-and, at the admonition,
Takes a survey of his condition. 1819.]
[Variant 25:
1836.
A huge and melancholy room, 1819.]
[Variant 26:
1836.
... on high ... 1819.]
[Variant 27: 1836. The previous four lines were added in the edition of
1820, where they read as follows:
And suddenly a ruffling breeze
(That would have sounded through the trees
Had aught of sylvan growth been there)
Was felt throughout the region bare: 1820.]
[Variant 28:
1836.
By peals of thunder, clap on clap!
And many a terror-striking flash;--
And somewhere, as it seems, a crash, 1819.]
[Variant 29:
1820.
And rattling ... 1819,]
[Variant 30:
1836. (Compressing six lines into four.)
The voice, to move commiseration,
Prolong'd its earnest supplication--
"This storm that beats so furiously--
This dreadful place! oh pity me!"
While this was said, with sobs between,
And many tears, by one unseen; 1819.]
[Variant 31:
1845.
And Benjamin, without further question,
Taking her for some way-worn rover, 1819.
And, kind to every way-worn rover,
Benjamin, without a question, 1836.]
[Variant 32:
1820.
... trouble ... 1819.]
[Variant 33:
1845.
And to a little tent hard by
Turns the Sailor instantly; 1819.
And to his tent-like domicile,
Built in a nook with cautious skill,
The Sailor turns, well pleased to spy
His shaggy friend who stood hard by
Drenched--and, more fast than with a tether,
Bound to the nook by that fierce weather,
Which caught the vagrants unaware:
For, when, ere closing-in ... 1836.]
[Variant 34:
1836.
Had tempted ... 1819.]
[Variant 35:
1836.
Proceeding with an easy mind;
While he, who had been left behind, 1819.]
[Variant 36:
1820.
Who neither heard nor saw--no more
Than if he had been deaf and blind,
Till, startled by the Sailor's roar, 1819.]
[Variant 37:
1819.
That blew us hither! dance, boys, dance!
Rare luck for us! my honest soul,
I'll treat thee to a friendly bowl!" 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 38:
1836.
To _seek_ for thoughts of painful cast,
If such be the amends at last. 1819.]
[Variant 39:
1836.
... think ... 1819.]
[Variant 40:
1819.
For soon among ... 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 41:
1819.
And happiest far is he, the One
No longer with himself at strife,
A Cæsar past the Rubicon!
The Sailor, Man by nature gay,
Found not a scruple in _his_ way; 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 42:
1836.
Deems that she is happier, laid
Within that warm and peaceful bed; 1819.]
[Variant 43:
1845.
With bowl in hand,
(It may not stand)
Gladdest of the gladsome band,
Amid their own delight and fun, 1819.
With bowl that sped from hand to hand,
Refreshed, brimful of hearty fun,
The gladdest of the gladsome band, 1836.]
[Variant 44:
1836.
They hear--when every fit is o'er--1819.]
[Variant 45:
1836.
... wondrous ... 1819.]
[Variant 46:
1836.
... these ... 1819.]
[Variant 47:
1836.
... the Mastiff's side,
(The Mastiff not well pleased to be
So very near such company.) 1819.]
[Variant 48:
1832.
... all together, ... 1819.]
[Variant 49:
1836
... sails ... 1819.]
[Variant 50:
1836.
On ... 1819.]
[Variant 51:
1836.
He's in the height ... 1819.]
[Variant 52:
1836.
He wheel'd--... 1819.]
[Variant 53:
1827.
And, rambling on ... 1819.]
[Variant 54:
1819.
Now hidden by the glittering steam: 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 55:
1845. The previous eight lines were added in 1836, when they read thus:
Say more: for by that power a vein
Seems opened of brow-saddening pain:
As if their hearts by notes were stung
From out the lowly hedge-rows flung;
As if the warbler lost in light
Reproved their soarings of the night;
In strains of rapture pure and holy
Upbraided their distempered folly. 1836.]
[Variant 56:
1845.
They are drooping, weak, and dull; 1819.
Drooping are they, and weak and dull;--1836.]
[Variant 57:
1836.
Knowing that there's cause ... 1819.
Knowing there is cause ... 1827.]
[Variant 58:
1845.
They are labouring to avert
At least a portion of the blame 1819.
They now are labouring to avert
(Kind creatures!) something of the blame, 1836.]
[Variant 59:
1836.
Which full surely will alight
Upon his head, whom, in despite
Of all his faults, they love the best; 1819.
Upon _his_ head, ... 1820.]
[Variant 60:
1836.
Blends ... 1819.]
[Variant 61:
1845.
Never, surely, old Apollo,
He, or other God as old,
Of whom in story we are told,
Who had a favourite to follow
Through a battle or elsewhere,
Round the object of his care,
In a time of peril, threw
Veil of such celestial hue; 1819.
Never Venus or Apollo,
Pleased a favourite chief to follow
Through accidents of peace or war,
In a time of peril threw,
Round the object of his care,
Veil of such celestial hue; 1832.
Never golden-haired Apollo,
Nor blue-eyed Pallas, nor the Idalian Queen,
When each was pleased some favourite chief to follow
Through accidents of peace or war,
In a perilous moment threw
Around the object of celestial care
A veil so rich to mortal view. 1836.
Never Venus or Apollo,
Intent some favourite chief to follow
Through accidents of peace or war,
Round the object of their care
In a perilous moment threw
A veil of such celestial hue. C.
Round each object of their care C.]
[Variant 62:
1819.
Fails to shield ... 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 63:
1836.
Or ... 1819.]
[Variant 64:
1819.
If, as he cannot but forebode, 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 65:
1836.
Thou hast loitered ... 1819.]
[Variant 66:
1836.
His doubts--his fears ... 1819.]
[Variant 67:
1827. (Compressing two lines into one.)
Sometimes, as in the present case,
Will show a more familiar face; 1819.
Or, proud all rivalship to chase,
Will haunt me with familiar face; 1820.]
[Variant 68:
1819.
Or, with milder grace ... 1832.
The edition of 1845 reverts to the text of 1819.]
[Variant 69:
1836.
... window ... 1819.]
[Variant 70: "Once" 'italicised' in 1820 only.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: The title page of the edition of 1819 runs as follows: The
Waggoner, A Poem. To which are added, Sonnets. By William Wordsworth.
"What's in a NAME?"
...
"Brutus will start a Spirit as soon as Cæsar!"
London, etc. etc., 1819,--Ed.]
[Footnote B: See 'The Seasons' (Summer), ll. 977-79.--Ed.]
[Footnote C: Such is the progress of refinement, this rude piece of
self-taught art has been supplanted by a professional production.--W. W.
1819.
Mr. William Davies writes to me,
"I spent a week there (the Swan Inn) early in the fifties, and well
remember the sign over the door distinguishable from afar: the inn,
little more than a cottage (the only one), with clean well-sanded
floor, and rush-bottomed chairs: the landlady, good old soul, one day
afraid of burdening me with some old coppers, insisted on retaining
them till I should return from an uphill walk, when they were duly
tendered to me. Here I learnt many particulars of Hartley Coleridge,
dead shortly before, who had been a great favourite with the host and
hostess. The grave of Wordsworth was at that time barely grassed
over."--Ed.]
[Footnote D: See Wordsworth's note [Note I to this poem, below], p.
109.--Ed.]
[Footnote E: A mountain of Grasmere, the broken summit of which presents
two figures, full as distinctly shaped as that of the famous cobler,
near Arracher, in Scotland.--W. W. 1819.]
[Footnote F: A term well known in the North of England, as applied to
rural Festivals, where young persons meet in the evening for the purpose
of dancing.--W. W. 1819.]
[Footnote G: At the close of each strathspey, or jig, a particular note
from the fiddle summons the Rustic to the agreeable duty of saluting his
Partner.--W. W. 1819.]
[Footnote H: Compare in 'Tristram Shandy':
"And this, said he, is the town of Namur, and this is the citadel: and
there lay the French, and here lay his honour and myself."--Ed.]
[Footnote J: See Wordsworth's note [Note III to this poem, below], p.
109.--Ed.]
[Footnote K: The crag of the ewe lamb.--W. W. 1820.]
[Footnote L: Compare Tennyson's "Farewell, we lose ourselves in
light."--Ed.]
[Footnote M: Compare Wordsworth's lines, beginning, "She was a Phantom
of delight," p. i, and Hamlet, act II. sc. ii. l. 124.--Ed.]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Footnote a: See Wordsworth's note [Note II to the poem, below], p.
109.--Ed.]
* * * * *
NOTES ON THE TEXT
(Added in the edition of 1836)
I
Several years after the event that forms the subject of the foregoing
poem, in company with my friend, the late Mr. Coleridge, I happened to
fall in with the person to whom the name of Benjamin is given. Upon our
expressing regret that we had not, for a long time, seen upon the road
either him or his waggon, he said:--"They could not do without me; and
as to the man who was put in my place, no good could come out of him; he
was a man of no _ideas_."
The fact of my discarded hero's getting the horses out of a great
difficulty with a word, as related in the poem, was told me by an
eye-witness.
II
'The Dor-hawk, solitary bird.'
When the Poem was first written the note of the bird was thus described:
'The Night-hawk is singing his frog-like tune,
Twirling his watchman's rattle about--'
but from unwillingness to startle the reader at the outset by so bold a
mode of expression, the passage was altered as it now stands.
III
After the line, 'Can any mortal clog come to her', followed in the MS.
an incident which has been kept back. Part of the suppressed verses
shall here be given as a gratification of private feeling, which the
well-disposed reader will find no difficulty in excusing. They are now
printed for the first time.
Can any mortal clog come to her?
It can: ...
...
But Benjamin, in his vexation,
Possesses inward consolation;
He knows his ground, and hopes to find
A spot with all things to his mind,
An upright mural block of stone,
Moist with pure water trickling down.
A slender spring; but kind to man
It is, a true Samaritan;
Close to the highway, pouring out
Its offering from a chink or spout;
Whence all, howe'er athirst, or drooping
With toil, may drink, and without stooping.
Cries Benjamin, "Where is it, where?
Voice it hath none, but must be near."
--A star, declining towards the west,
Upon the watery surface threw
Its image tremulously imprest,
That just marked out the object and withdrew:
Right welcome service! ...
...
ROCK OF NAMES!
Light is the strain, but not unjust
To Thee and thy memorial-trust,
That once seemed only to express
Love that was love in idleness;
Tokens, as year hath followed year,
How changed, alas, in character!
For they were graven on thy smooth breast
By hands of those my soul loved best;
Meek women, men as true and brave
As ever went to a hopeful grave:
Their hands and mine, when side by side
With kindred zeal and mutual pride,
We worked until the Initials took
Shapes that defied a scornful look.--
Long as for us a genial feeling
Survives, or one in need of healing,
The power, dear Rock, around thee cast,
Thy monumental power, shall last
For me and mine! O thought of pain,
That would impair it or profane!
Take all in kindness then, as said
With a staid heart but playful head;
And fail not Thou, loved Rock! to keep
Thy charge when we are laid asleep.
W. W.
There is no poem more closely identified with the Grasmere district of
the English Lakes--and with the road from Grasmere to Keswick--than 'The
Waggoner' is, and in none are the topographical allusions more minute
and faithful.
Wordsworth seemed at a loss to know in what "class" of his poems to
place 'The Waggoner;' and his frequent changes--removing it from one
group to another--shew the artificial character of these classes. Thus,
in the edition of 1820, it stood first among the "Poems of the Fancy."
In 1827 it was the last of the "Poems founded on the Affections." In
1832 it was reinstated among the "Poems of the Fancy." In 1836 it had a
place of its own, and was inserted between the "Poems of the Fancy" and
those "Founded on the Affections;" while in 1845 it was sent back to its
original place among the "Poems of the Fancy;" although in the table of
contents it was printed as an independent poem, closing the series.
The original text of 'The Waggoner' underwent little change, till the
year 1836, when it was carefully revised, and altered throughout. The
final edition of 1845, however, reverted, in many instances--especially
in the first canto--to the original text of 1819.
As this poem was dedicated to Charles Lamb, it may be of interest to
note that, some six months afterwards, Lamb presented Wordsworth with a
copy of the first edition of 'Paradise Regained' (the edition of 1671),
writing on it the following sentence,
"Charles Lamb, to the best knower of Milton, and therefore the
worthiest occupant of this pleasant edition.--Jan. 2nd, 1820."
The opening stanzas are unrivalled in their description of a sultry June
evening, with a thunder-storm imminent.
' 'Tis spent--this burning day of June!
Soft darkness o'er its latest gleams is stealing;
The buzzing dor-hawk, round and round, is wheeling,--
That solitary bird
Is all that can be heard
In silence deeper far than that of deepest noon!
...
...
The mountains against heaven's grave weight
Rise up, and grow to wondrous height.
The air, as in a lion's den,
Is close and hot;--and now and then
Comes a tired and sultry breeze
With a haunting and a panting,
Like the stifling of disease;
But the dews allay the heat,
And the silence makes it sweet.'
The Waggoner takes what is now the middle road, of the three leading
from Rydal to Grasmere (see the note to 'The Primrose of the Rock'). The
"craggy hill" referred to in the lines
'Now he leaves the lower ground,
And up the craggy hill ascending
...
Steep the way and wearisome,'
is the road from Rydal Quarry up to White Moss Common, with the Glowworm
rock on the right, and the "two heath-clad rocks," referred to in the
last of the "Poems on the Naming of Places," on the left. He next passes
"The Wishing Gate" on the left, John's Grove on the right, and descends
by Dove Cottage--where Wordsworth lived--to Grasmere.
'... at the bottom of the brow,
Where once the DOVE and OLIVE-BOUGH
Offered a greeting of good ale
To all who entered Grasmere Vale;
And called on him who must depart
To leave it with a jovial heart;
There, where the DOVE and OLIVE-BOUGH
Once hung, a Poet harbours now,
A simple water-drinking Bard.'
He goes through Grasmere, passes the Swan Inn,
'He knows it to his cost, good Man!
Who does not know the famous SWAN?
Object uncouth! and yet our boast,
For it was painted by the Host;
His own conceit the figure planned,
'Twas coloured all by his own hand.'
As early as 1819, when the poem was first published, "this rude piece of
self-taught art had been supplanted" by a more pretentious figure. The
Waggoner passes the Swan,
'And now the conqueror essays
The long ascent of Dunmail-raise.'
As he proceeds, the storm gathers, and "struggles to get free." Road,
hill, and sky are dark; and he barely sees the well-known rocks at the
summit of Helm-crag, where two figures seem to sit, like those on the
Cobbler, near Arrochar, in Argyle.
'Black is the sky--and every hill,
Up to the sky, is blacker still--
Sky, hill, and dale, one dismal room,
Hung round and overhung with gloom;
Save that above a single height
Is to be seen a lurid light,
Above Helm-crag--a streak half dead,
A burning of portentous red;
And near that lurid light, full well
The ASTROLOGER, sage Sidrophel,
Where at his desk and book he sits,
Puzzling aloft his curious wits;
He whose domain is held in common
With no one but the ANCIENT WOMAN,
Cowering beside her rifted cell,
As if intent on magic spell;--
Dread pair, that, spite of wind and weather,
Still sit upon Helm-crag together!'
At the top of the "raise"--the water-shed between the vales of Grasmere
and Wytheburn--he reaches the familiar pile of stones, at the boundary
between the shires of Westmoreland and Cumberland.
'... that pile of stones,
Heaped over brave King Dunmail's bones;
...
Green is the grass for beast to graze,
Around the stones of Dunmail-raise!'
The allusion to Seat-Sandal laid bare by the flash of lightning, and the
description, in the last canto, of the ascent of the Raise by the
Waggoner on a summer morning, are as true to the spirit of the place as
anything that Wordsworth has written. He tells his friend Lamb, fourteen
years after he wrote the poem of 'The Waggoner,'