Cast on the white cliffs of our native shore
From the receding vessel's deck, we chanced
To land at Calais on the very eve 345
Of that great federal day; [h] and there we saw,
In a mean city, and among a few,
How bright a face is worn when joy of one
Is joy for tens of millions. [h] Southward thence
We held our way, direct through hamlets, towns, [i] 350
Gaudy with reliques of that festival,
Flowers left to wither on triumphal arcs,
And window-garlands. On the public roads,
And, once, three days successively, through paths
By which our toilsome journey was abridged, [k] 355
Among sequestered villages we walked
And found benevolence and blessedness
Spread like a fragrance everywhere, when spring
Hath left no corner of the land untouched:
Where elms for many and many a league in files 360
With their thin umbrage, on the stately roads
Of that great kingdom, rustled o'er our heads, [m]
For ever near us as we paced along:
How sweet at such a time, with such delight
On every side, in prime of youthful strength, 365
To feed a Poet's tender melancholy
And fond conceit of sadness, with the sound
Of undulations varying as might please
The wind that swayed them; once, and more than once,
Unhoused beneath the evening star we saw 370
Dances of liberty, and, in late hours
Of darkness, dances in the open air
Deftly prolonged, though grey-haired lookers on
Might waste their breath in chiding.
Under hills--
The vine-clad hills and slopes of Burgundy, 375
Upon the bosom of the gentle Saône
We glided forward with the flowing stream, [n]
Swift Rhone! thou wert the _wings_ on which we cut
A winding passage with majestic ease
Between thy lofty rocks. [o] Enchanting show 380
Those woods and farms and orchards did present
And single cottages and lurking towns,
Reach after reach, succession without end
Of deep and stately vales! A lonely pair
Of strangers, till day closed, we sailed along, 385
Clustered together with a merry crowd
Of those emancipated, a blithe host
Of travellers, chiefly delegates returning
From the great spousals newly solemnised
At their chief city, in the sight of Heaven. 390
Like bees they swarmed, gaudy and gay as bees;
Some vapoured in the unruliness of joy,
And with their swords flourished as if to fight
The saucy air. In this proud company
We landed--took with them our evening meal, 395
Guests welcome almost as the angels were
To Abraham of old. The supper done,
With flowing cups elate and happy thoughts
We rose at signal given, and formed a ring
And, hand in hand, danced round and round the board; 400
All hearts were open, every tongue was loud
With amity and glee; we bore a name
Honoured in France, the name of Englishmen,
And hospitably did they give us hail,
As their forerunners in a glorious course; 405
And round and round the board we danced again.
With these blithe friends our voyage we renewed
At early dawn. The monastery bells
Made a sweet jingling in our youthful ears;
The rapid river flowing without noise, 410
And each uprising or receding spire
Spake with a sense of peace, at intervals
Touching the heart amid the boisterous crew
By whom we were encompassed. Taking leave
Of this glad throng, foot-travellers side by side, 415
Measuring our steps in quiet, we pursued
Our journey, and ere twice the sun had set
Beheld the Convent of Chartreuse, and there
Rested within an awful _solitude_: [p]
Yes, for even then no other than a place 420
Of soul-affecting _solitude_ appeared
That far-famed region, though our eyes had seen,
As toward the sacred mansion we advanced,
Arms flashing, and a military glare
Of riotous men commissioned to expel 425
The blameless inmates, and belike subvert
That frame of social being, which so long
Had bodied forth the ghostliness of things
In silence visible and perpetual calm.
--"Stay, stay your sacrilegious hands!"--The voice 430
Was Nature's, uttered from her Alpine throne;
I heard it then and seem to hear it now--
"Your impious work forbear, perish what may,
Let this one temple last, be this one spot
Of earth devoted to eternity!" 435
She ceased to speak, but while St. Bruno's pines [q]
Waved their dark tops, not silent as they waved,
And while below, along their several beds,
Murmured the sister streams of Life and Death, [r]
Thus by conflicting passions pressed, my heart 440
Responded; "Honour to the patriot's zeal!
Glory and hope to new-born Liberty!
Hail to the mighty projects of the time!
Discerning sword that Justice wields, do thou
Go forth and prosper; and, ye purging fires, 445
Up to the loftiest towers of Pride ascend,
Fanned by the breath of angry Providence.
But oh! if Past and Future be the wings,
On whose support harmoniously conjoined
Moves the great spirit of human knowledge, spare 450
These courts of mystery, where a step advanced
Between the portals of the shadowy rocks
Leaves far behind life's treacherous vanities,
For penitential tears and trembling hopes
Exchanged--to equalise in God's pure sight 455
Monarch and peasant: be the house redeemed
With its unworldly votaries, for the sake
Of conquest over sense, hourly achieved
Through faith and meditative reason, resting
Upon the word of heaven-imparted truth, 460
Calmly triumphant; and for humbler claim
Of that imaginative impulse sent
From these majestic floods, yon shining cliffs,
The untransmuted shapes of many worlds,
Cerulean ether's pure inhabitants, 465
These forests unapproachable by death,
That shall endure as long as man endures,
To think, to hope, to worship, and to feel,
To struggle, to be lost within himself
In trepidation, from the blank abyss 470
To look with bodily eyes, and be consoled."
Not seldom since that moment have I wished
That thou, O Friend! the trouble or the calm
Hadst shared, when, from profane regards apart,
In sympathetic reverence we trod 475
The floors of those dim cloisters, till that hour,
From their foundation, strangers to the presence
Of unrestricted and unthinking man.
Abroad, how cheeringly the sunshine lay
Upon the open lawns! Vallombre's groves 480
Entering, [s] we fed the soul with darkness; thence
Issued, and with uplifted eyes beheld,
In different quarters of the bending sky,
The cross of Jesus stand erect, as if
Hands of angelic powers had fixed it there, [t] 485
Memorial reverenced by a thousand storms;
Yet then, from the undiscriminating sweep
And rage of one State-whirlwind, insecure.
'Tis not my present purpose to retrace
That variegated journey step by step. 490
A march it was of military speed, [u]
And Earth did change her images and forms
Before us, fast as clouds are changed in heaven.
Day after day, up early and down late,
From hill to vale we dropped, from vale to hill 495
Mounted--from province on to province swept,
Keen hunters in a chase of fourteen weeks, [u]
Eager as birds of prey, or as a ship
Upon the stretch, when winds are blowing fair:
Sweet coverts did we cross of pastoral life, 500
Enticing valleys, greeted them and left
Too soon, while yet the very flash and gleam [v]
Of salutation were not passed away.
Oh! sorrow for the youth who could have seen
Unchastened, unsubdued, unawed, unraised 505
To patriarchal dignity of mind,
And pure simplicity of wish and will,
Those sanctified abodes of peaceful man,
Pleased (though to hardship born, and compassed round
With danger, varying as the seasons change), 510
Pleased with his daily task, or, if not pleased,
Contented, from the moment that the dawn
(Ah! surely not without attendant gleams
Of soul-illumination) calls him forth
To industry, by glistenings flung on rocks, 515
Whose evening shadows lead him to repose, [w]
Well might a stranger look with bounding heart
Down on a green recess, [x] the first I saw
Of those deep haunts, an aboriginal vale,
Quiet and lorded over and possessed 520
By naked huts, wood-built, and sown like tents
Or Indian cabins over the fresh lawns
And by the river side.
That very day,
From a bare ridge [y] we also first beheld
Unveiled the summit of Mont Blanc, and grieved 525
To have a soulless image on the eye
That had usurped upon a living thought
That never more could be. The wondrous Vale
Of Chamouny stretched far below, and soon
With its dumb cataracts and streams of ice, 530
A motionless array of mighty waves,
Five rivers broad and vast, [z] made rich amends,
And reconciled us to realities;
There small birds warble from the leafy trees,
The eagle soars high in the element, 535
There doth the reaper bind the yellow sheaf,
The maiden spread the haycock in the sun,
While Winter like a well-tamed lion walks,
Descending from the mountain to make sport
Among the cottages by beds of flowers. 540
Whate'er in this wide circuit we beheld,
Or heard, was fitted to our unripe state
Of intellect and heart. With such a book
Before our eyes, we could not choose but read
Lessons of genuine brotherhood, the plain 545
And universal reason of mankind,
The truths of young and old. Nor, side by side
Pacing, two social pilgrims, or alone
Each with his humour, could we fail to abound
In dreams and fictions, pensively composed: 550
Dejection taken up for pleasure's sake,
And gilded sympathies, the willow wreath,
And sober posies of funereal flowers,
Gathered among those solitudes sublime
From formal gardens of the lady Sorrow, 555
Did sweeten many a meditative hour.
Yet still in me with those soft luxuries
Mixed something of stem mood, an under-thirst
Of vigour seldom utterly allayed.
And from that source how different a sadness 560
Would issue, let one incident make known.
When from the Vallais we had turned, and clomb
Along the Simplon's steep and rugged road, [Aa]
Following a band of muleteers, we reached
A halting-place, where all together took 565
Their noon-tide meal. Hastily rose our guide,
Leaving us at the board; awhile we lingered,
Then paced the beaten downward way that led
Right to a rough stream's edge, and there broke off;
The only track now visible was one 570
That from the torrent's further brink held forth
Conspicuous invitation to ascend
A lofty mountain. After brief delay
Crossing the unbridged stream, that road we took,
And clomb with eagerness, till anxious fears 575
Intruded, for we failed to overtake
Our comrades gone before. By fortunate chance,
While every moment added doubt to doubt,
A peasant met us, from whose mouth we learned
That to the spot which had perplexed us first 580
We must descend, and there should find the road,
Which in the stony channel of the stream
Lay a few steps, and then along its banks;
And, that our future course, all plain to sight,
Was downwards, with the current of that stream. 585
Loth to believe what we so grieved to hear,
For still we had hopes that pointed to the clouds,
We questioned him again, and yet again;
But every word that from the peasant's lips
Came in reply, translated by our feelings, 590
Ended in this,--'that we had crossed the Alps'.
Imagination--here the Power so called
Through sad incompetence of human speech,
That awful Power rose from the mind's abyss
Like an unfathered vapour that enwraps, 595
At once, some lonely traveller. I was lost;
Halted without an effort to break through;
But to my conscious soul I now can say--
"I recognise thy glory:" in such strength
Of usurpation, when the light of sense 600
Goes out, but with a flash that has revealed
The invisible world, doth greatness make abode,
There harbours; whether we be young or old,
Our destiny, our being's heart and home,
Is with infinitude, and only there; 605
With hope it is, hope that can never die,
Effort, and expectation, and desire,
And something evermore about to be.
Under such banners militant, the soul
Seeks for no trophies, struggles for no spoils 610
That may attest her prowess, blest in thoughts
That are their own perfection and reward,
Strong in herself and in beatitude
That hides her, like the mighty flood of Nile
Poured from his fount of Abyssinian clouds 615
To fertilise the whole Egyptian plain.
The melancholy slackening that ensued
Upon those tidings by the peasant given
Was soon dislodged. Downwards we hurried fast,
And, with the half-shaped road which we had missed, 620
Entered a narrow chasm. The brook and road [1]
Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy strait, [Bb]
And with them did we journey several hours
At a slow pace. [2] The immeasurable height
Of woods decaying, never to be decayed, 625
The stationary blasts of waterfalls,
And in the narrow rent at every turn
Winds thwarting winds, bewildered and forlorn,
The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky,
The rocks that muttered close upon our ears, 630
Black drizzling crags that spake by the way-side
As if a voice were in them, the sick sight
And giddy prospect of the raving stream,
The unfettered clouds and region of the Heavens,
Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light--635
Were all like workings of one mind, the features
Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree;
Characters of the great Apocalypse,
The types and symbols of Eternity,
Of first, and last, and midst, and without end. 640
That night our lodging was a house that stood
Alone within the valley, at a point
Where, tumbling from aloft, a torrent swelled
The rapid stream whose margin we had trod;
A dreary mansion, large beyond all need, [Cc] 645
With high and spacious rooms, deafened and stunned
By noise of waters, making innocent sleep
Lie melancholy among weary bones.
Uprisen betimes, our journey we renewed,
Led by the stream, ere noon-day magnified 650
Into a lordly river, broad and deep,
Dimpling along in silent majesty,
With mountains for its neighbours, and in view
Of distant mountains and their snowy tops,
And thus proceeding to Locarno's Lake, [Dd] 655
Fit resting-place for such a visitant.
Locarno! spreading out in width like Heaven,
How dost thou cleave to the poetic heart,
Bask in the sunshine of the memory;
And Como! thou, a treasure whom the earth 660
Keeps to herself, confined as in a depth
Of Abyssinian privacy. I spake
Of thee, thy chestnut woods, [Ee] and garden plots
Of Indian corn tended by dark-eyed maids;
Thy lofty steeps, and pathways roofed with vines, 665
Winding from house to house, from town to town,
Sole link that binds them to each other; [Ff] walks,
League after league, and cloistral avenues,
Where silence dwells if music be not there:
While yet a youth undisciplined in verse, 670
Through fond ambition of that hour I strove
To chant your praise; [Gg] nor can approach you now
Ungreeted by a more melodious Song,
Where tones of Nature smoothed by learned Art
May flow in lasting current. Like a breeze 675
Or sunbeam over your domain I passed
In motion without pause; but ye have left
Your beauty with me, a serene accord
Of forms and colours, passive, yet endowed
In their submissiveness with power as sweet 680
And gracious, almost might I dare to say,
As virtue is, or goodness; sweet as love,
Or the remembrance of a generous deed,
Or mildest visitations of pure thought,
When God, the giver of all joy, is thanked 685
Religiously, in silent blessedness;
Sweet as this last herself, for such it is.
With those delightful pathways we advanced,
For two days' space, in presence of the Lake,
That, stretching far among the Alps, assumed 690
A character more stern. The second night,
From sleep awakened, and misled by sound
Of the church clock telling the hours with strokes
Whose import then we had not learned, we rose
By moonlight, doubting not that day was nigh, 695
And that meanwhile, by no uncertain path,
Along the winding margin of the lake,
Led, as before, we should behold the scene
Hushed in profound repose. We left the town
Of Gravedona [Hh] with this hope; but soon 700
Were lost, bewildered among woods immense,
And on a rock sate down, to wait for day.
An open place it was, and overlooked,
From high, the sullen water far beneath,
On which a dull red image of the moon 705
Lay bedded, changing oftentimes its form
Like an uneasy snake. From hour to hour
We sate and sate, wondering, as if the night
Had been ensnared by witchcraft. On the rock
At last we stretched our weary limbs for sleep, 710
But _could not_ sleep, tormented by the stings
Of insects, which, with noise like that of noon,
Filled all the woods; the cry of unknown birds;
The mountains more by blackness visible
And their own size, than any outward light; 715
The breathless wilderness of clouds; the clock
That told, with unintelligible voice,
The widely parted hours; the noise of streams,
And sometimes rustling motions nigh at hand,
That did not leave us free from personal fear; 720
And, lastly, the withdrawing moon, that set
Before us, while she still was high in heaven;--
These were our food; and such a summer's night [Ii]
Followed that pair of golden days that shed
On Como's Lake, and all that round it lay, 725
Their fairest, softest, happiest influence.
But here I must break off, and bid farewell
To days, each offering some new sight, or fraught
With some untried adventure, in a course
Prolonged till sprinklings of autumnal snow 730
Checked our unwearied steps. Let this alone
Be mentioned as a parting word, that not
In hollow exultation, dealing out
Hyperboles of praise comparative;
Not rich one moment to be poor for ever; 735
Not prostrate, overborne, as if the mind
Herself were nothing, a mere pensioner
On outward forms--did we in presence stand
Of that magnificent region. On the front
Of this whole Song is written that my heart 740
Must, in such Temple, needs have offered up
A different worship. Finally, whate'er
I saw, or heard, or felt, was but a stream
That flowed into a kindred stream; a gale,
Confederate with the current of the soul, 745
To speed my voyage; every sound or sight,
In its degree of power, administered
To grandeur or to tenderness,--to the one
Directly, but to tender thoughts by means
Less often instantaneous in effect; 750
Led me to these by paths that, in the main,
Were more circuitous, but not less sure
Duly to reach the point marked out by Heaven.
Oh, most belovèd Friend! a glorious time,
A happy time that was; triumphant looks 755
Were then the common language of all eyes;
As if awaked from sleep, the Nations hailed
Their great expectancy: the fife of war
Was then a spirit-stirring sound indeed,
A black-bird's whistle in a budding grove. 760
We left the Swiss exulting in the fate
Of their near neighbours; and, when shortening fast
Our pilgrimage, nor distant far from home,
We crossed the Brabant armies on the fret [Kk]
For battle in the cause of Liberty. 765
A stripling, scarcely of the household then
Of social life, I looked upon these things
As from a distance; heard, and saw, and felt,
Was touched, but with no intimate concern;
I seemed to move along them, as a bird 770
Moves through the air, or as a fish pursues
Its sport, or feeds in its proper element;
I wanted not that joy, I did not need
Such help; the ever-living universe,
Turn where I might, was opening out its glories, 775
And the independent spirit of pure youth
Called forth, at every season, new delights
Spread round my steps like sunshine o'er green fields.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
... gloomy Pass, 1845.]
[Variant 2:
At a slow step 1845.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: To Cambridge. The Anglo-Saxons called it 'Grantabridge', of
which Cambridge may be a corruption, Granta and Cam being different
names for the same stream. Grantchester is still the name of a village
near Cambridge. It is uncertain whether the village or the city itself
is the spot of which Bede writes, "venerunt ad civitatulam quandam
desolatam, quæ lingua Anglorum 'Grantachester' vocatur." If it was
Cambridge itself it had already an alternative name, _viz._
'Camboricum'. Compare 'Cache-cache', a Tale in Verse, by William D.
Watson. London: Smith, Elder, and Co. 1862:
"Leaving our woods and mountains for the plains
Of treeless level Granta." (p. 103.)
...
"'Twas then the time
When in two camps, like Pope and Emperor,
Byron and Wordsworth parted Granta's sons."
(p. 121.) Ed.]
[Footnote B: Note the meaning, as well as the 'curiosa felicitas', of
this phrase.--Ed.]
[Footnote C: His Cambridge studies were very miscellaneous, partly owing
to his strong natural disinclination to work by rule, partly to
unmethodic training at Hawkshead, and to the fact that he had already
mastered so much of Euclid and Algebra as to have a twelvemonth's start
of the freshmen of his year.
"Accordingly," he tells us, "I got into rather an idle way, reading
nothing but Classic authors, according to my fancy, and Italian
poetry. As I took to these studies with much interest my Italian
master was proud of the progress I made. Under his correction I
translated the Vision of Mirza, and two or three other papers of the
'Spectator' into Italian."
Speaking of her brother Christopher, then at Cambridge, Dorothy
Wordsworth wrote thus in 1793:
"He is not so ardent in any of his pursuits as William is, but he is
yet particularly attached to the same pursuits which have so
irresistible an influence over William, _and deprive him of the power
of chaining his attention to others discordant to his feelings._"
Ed.]
[Footnote D: April 1804.--Ed.]
[Footnote E: There is no ash tree now in the grove of St. John's
College, Cambridge, and no tradition as to where it stood. Covered as it
was--trunk and branch--with "clustering ivy" in 1787, it survived till
1808 at any rate. See Note IV. in the Appendix to this volume, p.
390.--Ed.]
[Footnote F: See notes on pp. 210 [Footnote F to Book V] and 223
Footnote C to this Book, above].--Ed.]
[Footnote G: Before leaving Hawkshead he had mastered five books of
Euclid, and in Algebra, simple and quadratic equations. See note, p. 223
[Footnote C to this Book, above].--Ed.]
[Footnote H: Compare the second stanza of the 'Ode to Lycoris':
'Then, Twilight is preferred to Dawn,
And Autumn to the Spring.'
Ed.]
[Footnote I: Thomson. See the 'Castle of Indolence', canto I. stanza
xv.--Ed.]
[Footnote K: Dovedale, a rocky chasm, rather more than two miles long,
not far from Ashburn, in Derbyshire. Thomas Potts writes of it
thus:
"The rugged, dissimilar, and frequently grotesque and fanciful
appearance of the rocks distinguish the scenery of this valley from
perhaps every other in the kingdom. In some places they shoot up in
detached masses, in the form of spires or conical pyramids, to the
height of 30 or 40 yards.... One rock, distinguished by the name of
the Pike, from its spiry form and situation in the midst of the
stream, was noticed in the second part of 'The Complete Angler', by
Charles Cotton," etc. etc.
('The Beauties of England and Wales,' Derbyshire, vol. iii, pp. 425,
426, and 431. London, 1810.) Potts speaks of the "pellucid waters" of
the Dove. "It is transparent to the bottom." (See Whately, 'Observations
on Modern Gardening', p. 114.)--Ed.]
[Footnote L: Doubtless Wharfedale, Wensleydale, and Swaledale.--Ed.]
[Footnote M: Compare 'Paradise Lost', v. 310, and in Chapman's 'Blind
Beggar of Alexandria':
'Now see a morning in an evening rise.'
Ed.]
[Footnote N: For glimpses of the friendship of Dorothy Wordsworth and
Coleridge, see the 'Life' of the poet in the last volume of this
edition.--Ed.]
[Footnote O: The absence referred to--"separation desolate"--may refer
both to the Hawkshead years, and to those spent at Cambridge; but
doubtless the brother and sister met at Penrith, in vacation time from
Hawkshead School; and, after William Wordsworth had gone to the
university, Dorothy visited Cambridge, while the brother spent the
Christmas holidays of 1790 at Forncett Rectory in Norfolk, where his
sister was then staying, and where she spent several years with their
uncle Cookson, the Canon of Windsor. It is more probable that the
"separation desolate" refers to the interval between this Christmas of
1790 and their reunion at Halifax in 1794. In a letter dated Forncett,
August 30, 1793, Dorothy says, referring to her brother, "It is nearly
three years since we parted."--Ed.]
[Footnote P: Thomas Wilkinson's poem on the River Emont had been written
in 1787, but was not published till 1824.--Ed.]
[Footnote Q: Brougham Castle, at the junction of the Lowther and the
Emont, about a mile out of Penrith, south-east, on the Appleby road.
This castle is associated with other poems. See the 'Song at the Feast
of Brougham Castle'.--Ed.]
[Footnote R: Sir Philip Sidney, author of 'Arcadia'.--Ed.]
[Footnote S: Mary Hutchinson.--Ed.]
[Footnote T: The Border Beacon is the hill to the north-east of Penrith.
It is now covered with wood, but was in Wordsworth's time a "bare
fell."--Ed.]
[Footnote U: He had gone to Malta, "in search of health."--Ed.]
[Footnote V: The Etesian gales are the mild north winds of the
Mediterranean, which are periodical, lasting about six weeks in spring
and autumn.--Ed.]
[Footnote W: A blue-coat boy in London.--Ed.]
[Footnote X: Christ's Hospital. Compare Charles Lamb's 'Christ's
Hospital Five and Thirty Years Ago'.
"Come back into memory, like as thou wert in the dayspring of thy
fancies, with hope like a fiery column before thee--the dark pillar
not yet turned--Samuel Taylor Coleridge--Logician, Metaphysician,
Bard!--How have I seen the casual passer through the cloisters stand
still, entranced with admiration (while he weighed the disproportion
between the _speech_ and the _garb_ of the young Mirandula), to hear
thee unfold, in thy deep and sweet intonations, the mysteries of
Jamblichus, or Plotinus (for even in those years thou waxedst not pale
at such philosophic draughts), or reciting Homer in his Greek, or
Pindar--while the walls of the old Grey Friars re-echoed to the
accents of the _inspired charity boy_!"
('Essays of Elia.')--Ed.]