The panther in the wilderness
Was not so fair as he;
And, when he chose to sport and play, 40
No dolphin ever was so gay
Upon the tropic sea.
Among the Indians he had fought,
And with him many tales he brought
Of pleasure and of fear; 45
Such tales as told to any maid
By such a Youth, in the green shade,
Were perilous to hear.
He told of girls--a happy rout!
Who quit their fold with dance and shout, 50
Their pleasant Indian town,
To gather strawberries all day long;
Returning with a choral song
When daylight is gone down.
He spake of plants that hourly change 55
Their blossoms, through a boundless range
Of intermingling hues; [7] [B]
With budding, fading, faded flowers
They stand the wonder of the bowers
From morn to evening dews, [C] 60
[8]
He told of the magnolia, [D] spread
High as a cloud, high over head!
The cypress and her spire; [E]
--Of flowers [F] that with one scarlet gleam
Cover a hundred leagues, and seem 65
To set the hills on fire. [G]
The Youth of green savannahs spake,
And many an endless, endless lake,
With all its fairy crowds
Of islands, that together lie 70
As quietly as spots of sky
Among the evening clouds. [H]
"How pleasant," then he said, "it were [9]
A fisher or a hunter there,
In sunshine or in shade 75
To wander with an easy mind;
And build a household fire, and find [10]
A home in every glade!
"What days and what bright [11] years! Ah me!
Our life were life indeed, with thee 80
So passed in quiet bliss,
And all the while," said he, "to know
That we were in a world of woe,
On such an earth as this!"
And then he sometimes interwove 85
Fond [12] thoughts about a father's love:
"For there," said he, "are spun
Around the heart such tender ties,
That our own children to our eyes
Are dearer than the sun. 90
"Sweet Ruth! and could you go with me
My helpmate in the woods to be,
Our shed at night to rear;
Or run, my own adopted bride,
A sylvan huntress at my side, 95
And drive the flying deer!
"Belovèd Ruth!"--No more he said.
The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed [13]
A solitary tear:
She thought again--and did agree 100
With him to sail across the sea,
And drive the flying deer.
"And now, as fitting is and right,
We in the church our faith will plight,
A husband and a wife." 105
Even so they did; and I may say
That to sweet Ruth that happy day
Was more than human life.
Through dream and vision did she sink,
Delighted all the while to think 110
That on those lonesome floods,
And green savannahs, she should share
His board with lawful joy, and bear
His name in the wild woods.
But, as you have before been told, 115
This Stripling, sportive, gay, and bold,
And, with his dancing crest,
So beautiful, through savage lands
Had roamed about, with vagrant bands
Of Indians in the West. 120
The wind, the tempest roaring high,
The tumult of a tropic sky,
Might well be dangerous food
For him, a Youth to whom was given
So much of earth--so much of heaven, 125
And such impetuous blood.
Whatever in those climes he found
Irregular in sight or sound
Did to his mind impart
A kindred impulse, seemed allied 130
To his own powers, and justified
The workings of his heart.
Nor less, to feed voluptuous [14] thought,
The beauteous forms of nature wrought,
Fair trees and gorgeous [15] flowers; 135
The breezes their own languor lent;
The stars had feelings, which they sent
Into those favored [16] bowers.
Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween
That sometimes [17] there did intervene 140
Pure hopes of high intent:
For passions linked to forms so fair
And stately, needs must have their share [18]
Of noble sentiment.
But ill he lived, [19] much evil saw, 145
With men to whom no better law
Nor better life was known;
Deliberately, and undeceived,
Those wild men's vices he received,
And gave them back his own. 150
His genius and his moral frame
Were thus impaired, and he became
The slave of low desires:
A Man who without self-control
Would seek what the degraded soul 155
Unworthily admires.
And yet he with no feigned delight
Had wooed the Maiden, day and night
Had loved her, night and morn:
What could he less than love a Maid 160
Whose heart with so much nature played
So kind and so forlorn!
Sometimes, most earnestly, he said,
"O Ruth! I have been worse than dead;
False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain, 165
Encompassed me on every side
When I, in confidence and pride,
Had crossed the Atlantic main. [20]
"Before me shone a glorious world--
Fresh as a banner bright, unfurled 170
To music suddenly: [21]
I looked upon those hills and plains,
And seemed as if let loose from chains,
To live at liberty.
[22]
"No more of this; for now, by thee, 175
Dear Ruth! more happily set free
With nobler zeal I burn; [23]
My soul from darkness is released,
Like the whole sky when to the east [24]
The morning doth return." 180
[25]
Full soon that better mind was gone; [26]
No hope, no wish remained, not one,--
They stirred him now no more;
New objects did new pleasure give,
And once again he wished to live 185
As lawless as before.
Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared,
They for the voyage were prepared,
And went to the sea-shore,
But, when they thither came, the Youth 190
Deserted his poor Bride, and Ruth
Could never find him more.
God help thee, Ruth!-Such pains she had,
That she in half a year was mad,
And in a prison housed; 195
And there, with many a doleful song
Made of wild words, her cup of wrong
She fearfully caroused. [27]
Yet sometimes milder hours she knew,
Nor wanted sun, nor rain, nor dew, 200
Nor pastimes of the May;
--They all were with her in her cell;
And a clear brook [28] with cheerful knell
Did o'er the pebbles play.
When Ruth three seasons thus had lain, 205
There came a respite to her pain;
She from her prison fled;
But of the Vagrant none took thought;
And where it liked her best she sought
Her shelter and her bread. 210
Among the fields she breathed again:
The master-current of her brain
Ran permanent and free;
And, coming to the Banks of Tone, [I]
There did she rest; and dwell alone [29] 215
Under the greenwood tree.
The engines of her pain, [30] the tools
That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools,
And airs that gently stir
The vernal leaves--she loved them still; 220
Nor ever taxed them with the ill
Which had been done to her.
A Barn her _winter_ bed supplies;
But, till the warmth of summer skies
And summer days is gone, 225
(And all do in this tale agree) [31]
She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree,
And other home hath none.
An innocent life, yet far astray!
And Ruth will, long before her day, [32] 230
Be broken down and old:
Sore aches she needs must have! but less
Of mind, than body's wretchedness,
From damp, and rain, and cold. [33]
If she is prest by want of food, 235
She from her dwelling in the wood
Repairs to a road-side;
And there she begs at one steep place
Where up and down with easy pace
The horsemen-travellers ride. 240
That oaten pipe of hers is mute,
Or thrown away; but with a flute
Her loneliness she cheers:
This flute, made of a hemlock stalk,
At evening in his homeward walk 245
The Quantock woodman hears.
I, too, have passed her on the hills
Setting her little water-mills
By spouts and fountains wild--
Such small machinery as she turned 250
Ere she had wept, ere she had mourned,
A young and happy Child!
Farewell! and when thy days are told,
Ill-fated Ruth, in hallowed mould
Thy corpse shall buried be, 255
For thee a funeral bell shall ring,
And all the congregation sing
A Christian psalm for thee.
The following extract from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal gives the date
of the stanzas added to 'Ruth' in subsequent editions:
"Sunday, March 8th, 1802.--I stitched up 'The Pedlar,' wrote out
'Ruth', read it with the alterations.... William brought two new
stanzas of 'Ruth'."
The transpositions of stanzas, and their omission from certain editions
and their subsequent re-introduction, in altered form, in later ones,
make it extremely difficult to give the textual history of 'Ruth' in
footnotes. They are even more bewildering than the changes introduced
into 'Simon Lee'.--Ed.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1802.
And so, not seven years old,
The slighted Child ... 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1836.
And from that oaten pipe could draw
All sounds ... 1800.]
[Variant 3: This stanza was added in the edition of 1802.]
[Variant 4:
1827.
She pass'd her time; and in this way
Grew up to Woman's height. 1802.]
[Variant 5:
1836.
Ah no! ... 1800.]
[Variant 6:
1805.
... bare ... 1800.]
[Variant 7:
1836.
He spake of plants divine and strange
That ev'ry day their blossoms change,
Ten thousand lovely hues! 1800.
... every hour ... 1802.]
[Variant 8:
Of march and ambush, siege and fight,
Then did he tell; and with delight
The heart of Ruth would ache;
Wild histories they were, and dear:
But 'twas a thing of heaven to hear
When of himself he spake!
Only in the editions of 1802 and 1805.
The following is the order of the stanzas in the edition of 1802.
The first, fifth, and last had not appeared before.
Sometimes most earnestly he said;
"O Ruth! I have been worse than dead:
False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain
Encompass'd me on every side
When I, in thoughtlessness and pride,
Had cross'd the Atlantic Main.
Whatever in those Climes I found
Irregular in sight or sound
Did to my mind impart
A kindred impulse, seem'd allied
To my own powers, and justified
The workings of my heart.
Nor less to feed unhallow'd thought
The beauteous forms of nature wrought,
Fair trees and lovely flowers;
The breezes their own languor lent;
The stars had feelings which they sent
Into those magic bowers.
Yet, in my worst pursuits, I ween,
That often there did intervene
Pure hopes of high intent;
My passions, amid forms so fair
And stately, wanted not their share
Of noble sentiment.
So was it then, and so is now:
For, Ruth! with thee I know not how
I feel my spirit burn
Even as the east when day comes forth;
And to the west, and south, and north,
The morning doth return.
It is a purer better mind:
O Maiden innocent and kind
What sights I might have seen!
Even now upon my eyes they break!"
--And he again began to speak
Of Lands where he had been.
The last stanza is only in the editions of 1802-1805. [a]]
[Variant 9:
1836.
And then he said "How sweet it were 1800.]
[Variant 10:
1845.
A gardener in the shade,
Still wandering with an easy mind
To build ... 1800.
In sunshine or through shade
To wander with an easy mind;
And build ... 1836.]
[Variant 11:
1836.
... sweet ... 1800.]
[Variant 12:
1832.
Dear ... 1800.]
[Variant 13:
1820.
Sweet Ruth alone at midnight shed 1800.]
[Variant 14:
1800.
... unhallow'd ... 1802 and MS.
The edition of 1805 returns to the reading of 1800.]
[Variant 15:
1845.
... lovely ... 1800.]
[Variant 16:
1845.
... magic ... 1800.
... gorgeous ... 1815.]
[Variant 17:
1800.
That often ... 1802.
The text of 1805 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 18:
1800.
For passions, amid forms so fair
And stately, wanted not their share 1802.
The text of 1805 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 19:
1800.
Ill did he live ... 1802.
The text of 1805 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 20:
1805.
When I, in thoughtlessness and pride,
Had crossed ... 1802.
When first, in confidence and pride,
I crossed ... 1820.
C., and the edition of 1840, revert to the reading of 1805.]
[Variant 21:
1840 and C.
"It was a fresh and glorious world,
A banner bright that was unfurled
Before me suddenly: 1805.
A banner bright that shone unfurled 1836.]
[Variant 22: Lines 163-168, and 175-180, were added in 1802. Lines
169-174 were added in 1805. All these were omitted in 1815, but were
restored in 1820.]
[Variant 23:
1845
So was it then, and so is now:
For, Ruth! with thee I know not how
I feel my spirit burn 1802.
"But wherefore speak of this? for now,
Sweet Ruth! with thee, ... 1805.
Dear Ruth! with thee ... 1836.]
[Variant 24:
1836.
Even as the east when day comes forth;
And to the west, and south, and north, 1802.]
[Variant 25:
It is my purer better mind
O maiden innocently kind
What sights I might have seen!
Even now upon my eyes they break!
And then the youth began to speak
Of lands where he had been. MS.]
[Variant 26:
1845.
But now the pleasant dream was gone, 1800.
Full soon that purer mind ... 1820.]
[Variant 27:
1836.
And there, exulting in her wrongs,
Among the music of her songs
She fearfully carouz'd. [b] 1800.
And there she sang tumultuous songs,
By recollection of her wrongs,
To fearful passion rouzed. 1820.]
[Variant 28:
1836.
wild brook ... 1800.]
[Variant 29:
1802.
And to the pleasant Banks of Tone
She took her way, to dwell alone 1800.]
[Variant 30:
1802.
... grief, ... 1800.]
[Variant 31:
1805.
(And in this tale we all agree) 1800.]
[Variant 32:
1805.
The neighbours grieve for her, and say
That she will ... 1802.]
[Variant 33: This stanza first appeared in the edition of 1802.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Taken from the portrait of the chief in Bartram's
frontispiece.--Ed.]
[Footnote B:
"The tall aspiring Gordonia lacianthus ... gradually changing colour,
from green to golden yellow, from that to a scarlet, from scarlet to
crimson, and lastly to a brownish purple, ... so that it may be said
to change and renew its garments every morning throughout the year."
See 'Travels through North and South Carolina, Georgia, East Florida,
the Cherokee Country', etc., by William Bartram (1791), pp. 159,
160.--Ed.]
[Footnote C:
"Its thick foliage of a dark green colour is flowered over with large
milk-white, fragrant blossoms, ... renewed every morning, and that in
such incredible profusion that the tree appears silvered over with
them, and the ground beneath covered with the fallen flowers. It, at
the same time, continually pushes forth new twigs, with young buds on
them."
(Bartram's 'Travels', etc., p. 159.)--Ed.]
[Footnote D: Magnolia grandiflora.--W. W. 1800; and Bartram's 'Travels',
p. 8.--Ed.]
[Footnote E:
"The Cypressus distichia stands in the first order of North American
trees. Its majestic stature, lifting its cumbrous top towards the
skies, and casting a wide shade upon the ground, as a dark intervening
cloud," etc.
(Bartram's 'Travels', p. 88).--Ed.]
[Footnote F: The splendid appearance of these scarlet flowers, which are
scattered with such profusion over the Hills in the Southern parts of
North America is frequently mentioned by Bartram in his 'Travels'.--W.
W. 1800.]
[Footnote G: Mr. Ernest Coleridge tells me he
"has traced, to a note-book of Coleridge's in the British Museum, the
source from which Wordsworth derived his description of Georgian
scenery in 'Ruth'. He does, I know, refer to Bartram, but the whole
passage is a poetical rendering, and a pretty close one, of Bartram's
poetical narrative. I have a portrait--the frontispiece of Bartram's
'Travels'--of Mico Chlucco, king of the Seminoles, whose feathers nod
in the breeze just as did the military casque of the 'youth from
Georgia's shore.'"
Ed.]
[Footnote H:
"North and south almost endless green plains and meadows, embellished
with islets and projecting promontories of high dark forests, where
the pyramidal Magnolia grandiflora ... conspicuously towers."
(Bartram's 'Travels', p. 145).--Ed.]
[Footnote I: The Tone is a River of Somersetshire, at no great distance
from the Quantock Hills. These Hills, which are alluded to a few stanzas
below, are extremely beautiful, and in most places richly covered with
Coppice woods. W. W. 1800.]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Footnote a: The edition of 1805 substitutes the stanzas beginning,
'It was a fresh and glorious world'
for stanzas 2, 3, and 4 of the above six in this note, but it inserts
these omitted stanzas later on as Nos. 27, 28, 29.--Ed.]
[Sub-Footnote b: Wordsworth wrote to Barren Field in 1828 that this stanza
"was altered, Lamb having observed that it was not English. I like it
better myself;'
(i.e. the version of 1800)
"but certainly to carouse cups--that is to empty them--is the genuine
English."
Ed.]
* * * * *
1800
Towards the close of December 1799, Wordsworth came to live at Dove
Cottage, Town-end, Grasmere. The poems written during the following year
(1800), are more particularly associated with that district of the
Lakes. Two of them were fragments of a canto of 'The Recluse', entitled
"Home at Grasmere," referring to his settlement at Dove Cottage. Others,
such as 'Michael', and 'The Brothers'--classed by him afterwards among
the "Poems founded on the Affections,"--deal with incidents in the rural
life of the dalesmen of Westmoreland and Cumberland. Most of the "Poems
on the Naming of Places" were written during this year; and the "Places"
are all in the neighbourhood of Grasmere. To these were added several
"Pastoral Poems"--such as 'The Idle Shepherd Boys; or, Dungeon-Ghyll
Force'--sundry "Poems of the Fancy," and one or two "Inscriptions." In
all, twenty-five poems were written in the year 1800; and, with the
exception of the two fragments of 'The Recluse', they were published
during the same year in the second volume of the second edition of
"Lyrical Ballads." It is impossible to fix the precise date of the
composition of the fragments of 'The Recluse'; but, as they refer to the
settlement at Dove Cottage--where Wordsworth went to reside with his
sister, on the 21st of December 1799--they may fitly introduce the poems
belonging to the year 1800. They were first published in 1851 in the
'Memoirs of Wordsworth' (vol. i. pp. 157 and 155 respectively), by the
poet's nephew, the late Bishop of Lincoln. The entire canto of 'The
Recluse', entitled "Home at Grasmere," will be included in this edition.
The first two poems which follow, as belonging to the year 1800, are
parts of 'The Recluse', viz. "On Nature's invitation do I come," (which
is ll. 71-97, and 110-125), and "Bleak season was it, turbulent and
bleak," (which is ll. 152-167). They are not reprinted from the
'Memoirs' of 1851, because the text there given was, in several
instances, inaccurately reproduced from the original MS., which has been
re-examined. They were printed here, in 'The Recluse '(1888), and in my
'Life of Wordsworth' (vol. i. 1889).--Ed.
* * * * *
"ON NATURE'S INVITATION DO I COME"
Composed (probably) in 1800.--Published 1851
On Nature's invitation do I come,
By Reason sanctioned. Can the choice mislead,
That made the calmest, fairest spot of earth,
With all its unappropriated good,
My own, and not mine only, for with me 5
Entrenched--say rather peacefully embowered--
Under yon orchard, in yon humble cot,
A younger orphan of a home extinct,
The only daughter of my parents dwells:
Aye, think on that, my heart, and cease to stir; 10
Pause upon that, and let the breathing frame
No longer breathe, but all be satisfied.
Oh, if such silence be not thanks to God
For what hath been bestowed, then where, where then
Shall gratitude find rest? Mine eyes did ne'er 15
Fix on a lovely object, nor my mind
Take pleasure in the midst of happy thoughts,
But either she, whom now I have, who now
Divides with me this loved abode, was there,
Or not far off. Where'er my footsteps turned, 20
Her voice was like a hidden bird that sang;
The thought of her was like a flash of light
Or an unseen companionship, a breath
Or fragrance independent of the wind.
In all my goings, in the new and old 25
Of all my meditations, and in this
Favourite of all, in this the most of all....
Embrace me then, ye hills, and close me in.
Now in the clear and open day I feel
Your guardianship: I take it to my heart; 30
'Tis like the solemn shelter of the night.
But I would call thee beautiful; for mild,
And soft, and gay, and beautiful thou art,
Dear valley, having in thy face a smile,
Though peaceful, full of gladness. Thou art pleased, 35
Pleased with thy crags, and woody steeps, thy lake,
Its one green island, and its winding shores,
The multitude of little rocky hills,
Thy church, and cottages of mountain-stone
Clustered like stars some few, but single most, 40
And lurking dimly in their shy retreats,
Or glancing at each other cheerful looks,
Like separated stars with clouds between.
This Grasmere cottage is identified, much more than Rydal Mount, with
Wordsworth's "poetic prime." It had once been a public-house, bearing
the sign of the Dove and Olive Bough--and as such is referred to in 'The
Waggoner'--from which circumstance it was for a long time, and is now
usually, called "Dove Cottage." A small two storied house, it is
described somewhat minutely--as it was in Wordsworth's time--by De
Quincey, in his 'Recollections of the Lakes', and by the late Bishop of
Lincoln, in the 'Memoirs' of his uncle.
"The front of it faces the lake; behind is a small plot of orchard and
garden ground, in which there is a spring and rocks; the enclosure
shelves upwards towards the woody sides of the mountains above it."
[A]
The following is De Quincey's description of it, as he saw it in the
summer of 1807.
"A white cottage, with two yew trees breaking the glare of its white
walls" (these yews still stand on the eastern side of the cottage). "A
little semi-vestibule between two doors prefaced the entrance into
what might be considered the principal room of the cottage. It was an
oblong square, not above eight and a half feet high, sixteen feet
long, and twelve broad; wainscoted from floor to ceiling with dark
polished oak, slightly embellished with carving. One window there
was--a perfect and unpretending cottage window, with little diamond
panes, embowered at almost every season of the year with roses; and,
in the summer and autumn, with a profusion of jasmine, and other
fragrant shrubs.... I was ushered up a little flight of stairs,
fourteen in all, to a little drawing-room, or whatever the reader
chooses to call it. Wordsworth himself has described the fireplace of
this room as his
'Half-kitchen and half-parlour fire.'
It was not fully seven feet six inches high, and in other respects
pretty nearly of the same dimensions as the rustic hall below. There
was, however, in a small recess, a library of perhaps three hundred
volumes, which seemed to consecrate the room as the poet's study and
composing room, and such occasionally it was. But far oftener he both
studied, as I found, and composed on the high road." [B]
Other poems of later years refer, much more fully than the above, to
this cottage, and its orchard ground, where so many of Wordsworth's
lyrics were composed.
The "orchard ground," which was for the most part in grass, sloped
upwards; but a considerable portion of the natural rock was exposed; and
on its face, some rough stone steps were cut by Wordsworth, helped by a
near neighbour of his--John Fisher--so as more conveniently to reach the
upper terrace, where the poet built for himself a small arbour. All this
garden and orchard ground is not much altered since 1800. The short
terrace walk is curved, with a sloping bank of grass above, shaded by
apple trees, hazel, holly, laburnum, laurel, and mountain ash. Below the
terrace is the well, which supplied the cottage in Wordsworth's time;
and there large leaved primroses still grow, doubtless the successors of
those planted by his own and his sister's hands. Above, and amongst the
rocks, are the daffodils, which they also brought to their
"garden-ground;" the Christmas roses, which they planted near the well,
were removed to the eastern side of the garden, where they flourished
luxuriantly in 1882; but have now, alas! disappeared. The box-wood
planted by the poet grows close to the cottage. The arbour is now gone;
but, in the place where it stood, a seat is erected. The hidden brook
still sings its under-song, as it used to do, "its quiet soul on all
bestowing," and the green linnet may doubtless be seen now, as it used
to be in 1803. The allusions to the garden ground at Dove Cottage, in
the poems which follow, will be noted as they occur.--Ed.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: See the 'Memoirs of Wordsworth', vol. i. p. 156.--Ed.]
[Footnote B: See 'Recollections of the Lakes', etc., pp. 130-137, Works,
vol. ii., edition of 1862.--Ed.]
* * * * *
"BLEAK SEASON WAS IT, TURBULENT AND BLEAK" [A]
Composed (probably) in 1800.--Published 1851