"If the sun be1 shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen

chain,

This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain; 30 For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou need'st not fear,

The rain and storm are things that 2 scarcely can come here.

Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day When my father found thee first in places far away; Many flocks were 3 on the hills, but thou wert owned by

none,

And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.

35

"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home:

A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam? A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been.

40

"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in

this can

Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;
And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new.

"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are

45

now, Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough; My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.

“It will not, will not rest!—Poor creature, can it be

That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in

thee ?1

Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,

50

And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.

"Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair! I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there ;

The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play,
When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.

55

"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky; Night and day thou art safe,—our cottage is hard by. Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee again!" 2

-As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;

59

And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line, That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was mine.3

65

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song; "Nay," said I, more than half to the damsel 4 must belong,

For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone,

That I almost received her heart into my own."

1 1800.

Poor creature, it must be

That thou hast lost thy mother, and 'tis that which troubles thee.

MS.

He will not come to thee, our Cottage is hard by,

Night and day thou art safe as living thing can be,

Be happy then and rest, what is't that aileth thee?" 1800.

3 Italics first used in 1815.

4 This word was italicised from 1815 to 1832.

THE FARMER OF TILSBURY VALE

Composed 1800.-Published 1815*

[The character of this man was described to me, and the incident upon which the verses turn was told me, by Mr. Poole of Nether Stowey, with whom I became acquainted through our common friend, S. T. Coleridge. During my residence at Alfoxden, I used to see much of him, and had frequent occasions to admire the course of his daily life, especially his conduct to his labourers and poor neighbours; their virtues he carefully encouraged, and weighed their faults in the scales of charity. If I seem in these verses to have treated the weaknesses of the farmer and his transgressions too tenderly, it may in part be ascribed to my having received the story from one so averse to all harsh judgment. After his death was found in his escritoir, a lock of grey hair carefully preserved, with a notice that it had been cut from the head of his faithful shepherd, who had served him for a length of years. I need scarcely add that he felt for all men as his brothers. He was much beloved by distinguished persons-Mr. Coleridge, Mr. Southey, Sir H. Davy, and many others; and in his own neighbourhood was highly valued as a magistrate, a man of business, and in every other social relation. The latter part of the poem perhaps requires some apology, as being too much of an echo to The Reverie of Poor Susan.-I. F.]

Included in the "Poems referring to the Period of Old Age."-ED.

'Tis not for the unfeeling, the falsely refined,
The squeamish in taste, and the narrow of mind,
And the small critic wielding his delicate pen,
That I sing of old Adam, the pride of old men.

He dwells in the centre of London's wide Town;
His staff is a sceptre-his grey hairs a crown;

5

* I.e. first published in the 1815 edition of the Poems: but, although dated by Wordsworth 1803, it had appeared in The Morning Post of July 21, 1800, under the title, The Farmer of Tilsbury Vale. A Character. It was then unsigned.-ED.

And his bright eyes look brighter, set off by the streak Of the unfaded rose that still blooms on his cheek.1

ΙΟ

'Mid the dews, in the sunshine of morn,—'mid the joy
Of the fields, he collected that bloom, when a boy;
That countenance there fashioned, which, spite of a ștain2
That his life hath received, to the last will remain.3

A Farmer he was; and his house 4 far and near
Was the boast of the country 5 for excellent cheer:
How oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale

15

Of the silver-rimmed horn whence he dealt his mild ale !6

Yet Adam was far as the farthest from ruin,

7

His fields seemed to know what their Master was doing;
And turnips, and corn-land, and meadow, and lea,
All caught the infection—as generous as he.

1 1837.

Erect as a sunflower he stands, and the streak
Of the unfaded rose is expressed on his cheek.

2 1840.

3

1815.

1827.

20

There fashion'd that countenance, which, in spite of a

stain

1815.

There's an old man in London, the prime of old men, You may hunt for his match through ten thousand and ten, Of prop or of staff, does he walk, does he run,

No more need has he than a flow'r of the sun.

1800.

This stanza appeared only in 1800, occupying the place of the three first stanzas in the final text.

Not less than the skill of an Exchequer Teller
Could count the shoes worn on the steps of his cellar.

1800.

How oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale
Of the silver-rimmed horn whence he dealt his good ale.

7 1815.

plough'd land,

1815.

1800.

1

Yet Adam prized little the feast and the bowl,1—
The fields better suited the ease of his soul:
He strayed through the fields like an indolent wight,
The quiet of nature was Adam's delight.

For Adam was simple in thought; and the poor,
Familiar with him, made an inn of his door :
He gave them the best that he had; or, to say
What less may mislead you, they took it away.

2

25

30

Thus thirty smooth years did he thrive on his farm :
The Genius of plenty preserved him from harm :
At length, what to most is a season of sorrow,
His means are 3 run out, he must beg, or must borrow.

To the neighbours he went,-all were free with their money;

For his hive had so long been replenished with honey, That they dreamt not of dearth;-He continued his

rounds, 4

35.

Knocked here and knocked there, pounds still adding to pounds.

He paid what he could with his 5 ill-gotten pelf,
And something, it might be, reserved for himself: 6

1

1815.

the noise of the bowl,

1800.

2

On the works of the world, on the bustle and sound,
Seated still in his boat, he look'd leisurely round;
And if now and then he his hands did employ,
'Twas with vanity, wonder, and infantine joy.

3 1815.

were

Only in the text of 1800.

1800.

4 1815.

For they all still imagin'd his hive full of honey;
Like a Church-warden, Adam continu'd his rounds, 1800.