Fainted with fear. Thrice did he turn his face
To either bank, nor could he summon up
The courage that was needful to leap back
'Cross the tempestuous torrent; so he stood
A prisoner on the island, not without

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130

More than one thought of death, and his last hour.
Meantime the father had returned alone
To his own home, and now at the approach
Of evening he went forth to meet his son,
Nor could he guess the cause for which the boy
Had stayed so long. The shepherd took his way
Up his own mountain grounds, where, as he walked
Along the steep that overhung the brook,
He seemed to hear a voice, which was again
Repeated, like the whistling of a kite.

135

At this, not knowing why-as often-times
The old man afterwards was heard to say-

140

Down to the brook he went, and tracked its course
Upwards among the o'erhanging rocks; nor
Had he gone far ere he espied the boy
Right in the middle of the roaring stream.
Without distress or fear the shepherd heard
The outcry of his son: he stretched his staff
Towards him, bade him leap, which word scarce

said

145

No doubt if you in terms direct had asked
Whether he loved the mountains, true it is
That with blunt repetition of your words
He might have stared at you, and said that they
Were frightful to behold, but had you then
Discoursed with him

151

Of his own business, and the goings on
Of earth and sky, then truly had you seen
That in his thoughts there were obscurities,
Wonder, and admiration, things that wrought
Not less than a religion of his heart.
And if it was his fortune to converse
With any who could talk of common things
In an unusual way, and give to them

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160

Unusual aspects, or by questions apt
Wake sudden recognitions, that were like
Creations in the mind (and were indeed
Creations often) then when he discoursed

166

Of mountain sights, this untaught shepherd stood
Before the man with whom he so conversed
And looked at him as with a poet's eye.
But speaking of the vale in which he dwelt,
And these bare rocks, if you had asked if he
For other pasture would exchange the same
And dwell elsewhere

you then had seen

At once what spirit of love was in his heart.

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FRAGMENTS.

Being transcripts by Dorothy Wordsworth in her MS. book (1802 or 1800 ?); first published by Professor Knight in his "Life of Wordsworth," vol. i. p. 389.-ED.

1.

ALONG the mazes of this song I go

As inward motions of the wandering thought
Lead me, or outward circumstance impels.
Thus do I urge a never-ending way

Year after year, with many a sleep between,
Through joy and sorrow; if my lot be joy
More joyful if it be with sorrow sooth'd.

2.

The rains at length have ceas'd, the winds are still'd,
The stars shine brightly between clouds at rest,
And as a cavern is with darkness fill'd,
The vale is by a mighty sound possess'd.

3.

Witness thou

The dear companion of my lonely walk,
My hope, my joy, my sister, and my friend,
Or something dearer still, if reason knows
A dearer thought, or in the heart of love
There be a dearer name.

AMONG ALL LOVELY THINGS MY
LOVE HAD BEEN.

on

Written April 12, 1802; published in "Poems in two volumes," 1807; not reprinted by Wordsworth. In a letter to Coleridge of April, 1802, Wordsworth writes: "I parted from MMonday afternoon about six o'clock, a little on this side Rushyford. Soon after I missed my road in the midst of the storm. Between the beginning of Lord Darlington's park at Raby and two or three miles beyond Staindrop I composed the poem. . . The incident of the poem took place about seven years ago between my sister and me. Dorothy Wordsworth, who names the poem "The Glow-worm," gives a similar account of its composition in her Journal. See Professor Knight's "Life of Wordsworth," vol. i. p. 307.-ED.

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.

While riding near her home one stormy night
A single Glow-worm did I chance to espy;
I gave a fervent welcome to the sight,
And from my Horse I leapt; great joy had I.

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, 15
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!

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INSCRIPTION FOR A SUMMER HOUSE IN THE ORCHARD, TOWN END, GRASMERE.

Wordsworth writes to Sir G. Beaumont, Grasmere, December 25, 1804: "We have lately built in our little rocky orchard a circular hut, lined with moss, like a wren's nest, and coated on the outside with heath, that stands most charmingly, with several views froin the different sides of it, of the Lake, the Valley, and the Church. ... I will copy a dwarf inscription which I wrote for it the other day, before the building was entirely finished, which indeed it is not yet."-ED.

No whimsy of the purse is here,
No pleasure-house forlorn ;
Use, comfort, do this roof endear;
A tributary shed to cheer

The little cottage that is near,
To help it and adorn.

TO THE EVENING STAR OVER GRASMERE WATER, JULY, 1806.

From a transcript in Dorothy Wordsworth's MS. book; first published by Professor Knight in his "Life of Wordsworth," vol. i. pp. 389-390.-ED.

THE Lake is thine,

The mountains too are thine, some clouds there are,
Some little feeble stars, but all is thine,
Thou, thou art king, and sole proprietor.

A moon among her stars, a mighty vale,

Fresh as the freshest field, scoop'd out, and green As is the greenest billow of the sea.

5

The multitude of little rocky hills,

Rocky and green, that do like islands rise
From the flat meadow lonely there.

10

GEORGE AND SARAH GREEN.

Written in 1808; first published in De Quincey's "Recollections of Grasmere," "Tait's Magazine," Sept., 1839. Professor Knight gives variations from a MS. copy made by Dorothy Wordsworth for Lady Beaumont, April 20, 1808; and of four additional stanzas in the MS. (following stanza 4) he gives the following:

"Our peace is of the immortal soul,
Our anguish is of clay;

Such bounty is in Heaven: so pass
The bitterest pangs away."

For the story of the Greens, see De Quincey's "Early Memorials of Grasmere."-ED.

WHо weeps for strangers? Many wept
For George and Sarah Green;
Wept for that pair's unhappy fate,
Whose grave may here be seen.

By night, upon these stormy fells,
Did wife and husband roam;
Six little ones at home had left,
And could not find that home.

5

A body without life

14

A few short steps were the chain that bound
The husband to the wife.

Now do those sternly-featured hills
Look gently on this grave;

And quiet now are the depths of air,

As a sea without a wave.

But deeper lies the heart of peace
In quiet more profound;

The heart of quietness is here

Within this churchyard bound.

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