A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man :
A motion and a spirit, that impels

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All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear,—both what they half create,*
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.

Nor perchance,

If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:

For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. † Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray

The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,

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* This line has a close resemblance to an admirable line of Young, the exact expression of which I cannot recollect.-W. W. 1798.

It is the line

And half-create the wondrous world they see.

Night Thoughts, (night vi. 1. 427).-ED. + Compare, in The Recluse, canto "Home at Grasmere," 1. 91Her voice was like a hidden Bird that sang, The thought of her was like a flash of light, Or an unseen companionship.

ED.

Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place

For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,

If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,

Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,

And these my exhortations!

Nor, perchance

If I should be where I no more can hear

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Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams

Of past existence *—wilt thou then forget

That on the banks of this delightful stream

We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love-oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

* See note on the previous page.-ED.

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155

THERE WAS A BOY

Composed 1798.-Published 1800

[Written in Germany, 1799. This is an extract from the Poem on my own poetical education. This practice of making an instrument of their own fingers is known to most boys, though some are more skilful at it than others. William Raincock of Rayrigg, a fine spirited lad, took the lead of all my schoolfellows in this art.-I. F.]

This "extract" will be found in the fifth book of The Prelude, 11. 364-397. It was included among the "Poems of the Imagination." In the editions of 1800 to 1832 it had no title, except in the table of contents. In 1836, the finally adopted title of the poem was given in the text, as well as in the table of contents.-Ed.

1

THERE was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander!-many a time,
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone,
Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;
And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth
Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls,

That they might answer him.—And they would shout
Across the watery vale, and shout again,
Responsive to his call,-with quivering peals,

And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud
Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild
Of jocund din ! 2 And, when there came a pause

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IO

15

Of silence such as baffled his best skill:

Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung
Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
Has carried far into his heart the voice

Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene
Would enter unawares into his mind
With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,

Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received
Into the bosom of the steady lake.

This boy was taken from his mates, and died 2 In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.3 Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale

Where he was born and bred: the church-yard hangs 4
Upon a slope above the village-school;

And, through that church-yard when my way has led
On summer-evenings, I believe, that there 5

That pauses of deep silence mock'd his skill,

and, when a lengthened pause Of silence came and baffled his best skill,

1800.

The Prelude, 1850.

2 This and the following line were added in 1805. 3 1815.

20

25

30

ere he was ten years old.

1805.

4 1845.

Fair are the woods, and beauteous is the spot,
The vale where he was born: the Church-yard hangs

1800.

Fair is the spot, most beautiful the Vale
Where he was born: the grassy Church-yard hangs

1827.

The text of 1840 returns to that of 1800.

5 1836.

And there along that bank when I have pass'd
At evening, I believe, that near his grave

1800.

. I believe, that oftentimes

1805.

And through that Church-yard when my way has led

A long half-hour together I have stood

Mute-looking at the grave in which he lies! *1

Wordsworth sent this fragment in MS. to Coleridge, who was then living at Ratzeburg, and Coleridge wrote in reply on the 10th Dec. 1798 :-"The blank lines gave me as much direct pleasure as was possible in the general bustle of pleasure with which I received and read your letter. I observed, I remember, that the fingers woven,' etc., only puzzled me; and though I liked the twelve or fourteen first lines very well, yet I liked the remainder much better. Well, now I have read them again, they are very beautiful, and leave an affecting impression. That

uncertain heaven received

Into the bosom of the steady lake,

I should have recognised anywhere; and had I met these lines, running wild in the deserts of Arabia, I should have instantly screamed out Wordsworth'!"

·

The MS. copy of this poem sent to Coleridge probably lacked the explanatory line,

Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth,

as another MS., in the possession of the poet's grandson, lacks it; and the line was possibly added-as the late Mr. Dykes Campbell suggested—"in deference to S. T. C.'s expression of puzzlement."

Fletcher Raincock-an elder brother of the William Raincock referred to in the Fenwick note to this poem, as Wordsworth's schoolfellow at Hawkshead-was with him also at Cambridge. He attended Pembroke College, and was second wrangler in 1790. John Fleming of Rayrigg, his half-brother-the boy with whom Wordsworth used to walk round the lake of Esthwaite, in the morning before school-time, ("five miles of pleasant wandering ")—was also at St. John's College, Cambridge, at this time, and had been fifth Wrangler in the

1 1815.

A full half-hour together I have stood,
Mute-for he died when he was ten years old.
Mute-looking at the grave in which he lies.

1800.

1805.

* In The Prelude the version of 1827 is adopted for the most part.-ED. + See Graduati Cantabrigienses (1850), by Joseph Romily, the Registrar to the University 1832-1862.-Ed.