The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth

Comes to me not; malignant truth, or

lie.

Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought:

And thus from day to day my little boat

Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably. Blessings be with them-and eternal praise,

XV.

TO THE SPADE OF A FRIEND.
(AN AGRICULTURIST.)

Composed while we were labouring together in his pleasure-ground.

[Composed (probably) 1806.-Published 1807.] SPADE! with which Wilkinson hath tilled his lands,

Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler And shaped these pleasant walks by

ILLUSTRATED BOOKS AND

NEWSPAPERS.

[Composed 1846.-Published 1850.]

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The labouring many and the resting few;
Health, meekness, ardour, quietness secure,
And industry of body and of mind;
And elegant enjoyments, that are pure
As nature is;-too pure to be refined.
Here often hast Thou heard the Poet sing

DISCOURSE was deemed Man's noblest In concord with his river murmuring by;

Or in some silent field, while timid spring Is yet uncheered by other minstrelsy. 16 Who shall inherit Thee when death has laid

Low in the darksome cell thine own dear lord?

That man will have a trophy, humble Spade!

A trophy nobler than a conqueror's sword. If he be one that feels, with skill to part False praise from true, or, greater from the less,

Thee will he welcome to his hand and heart,

Thou monument of peaceful happiness!

Back towards caverned life's first rude He will not dread with Thee a toilsome

This Oak points out thy grave; the silent He halts-and searches with his eyes

Among the scattered rocks:
And now at distance can discern

A stirring in a brake of fern ;
And instantly a dog is seen,
Glancing through that covert green.
The Dog is not of mountain breed;
Its motions, too, are wild and shy;
With something, as the Shepherd thinks,
Unusual in its cry :

ΙΟ

Nor is there any one in sight
All round, in hollow or on height;
Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear; 15
What is the creature doing here?
It was a cove, a huge recess,
That keeps, till June, December's snow;
A lofty precipice in front,
A silent tarn 1 below!
Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,
Remote from public road or dwelling,
Pathway, or cultivated land;

From trace of human foot or hand.
There sometimes doth a leaping fish
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer;
The crags repeat the raven's croak,
In symphony austere;

Thither the rainbow comes-the cloud

And mists that spread the flying shroud;
And sunbeams; and the sounding blast,
That, if it could, would hurry past;
But that enormous barrier holds it fast.
Not free from boding thoughts, a while
The Shepherd stood; then makes his way
O'er rocks and stones, following the Dog
As quickly as he may;

Nor far had gone before he found
A human skeleton on the ground;
The appalled Discoverer with a sigh
Looks round, to learn the history.
From those abrupt and perilous rocks
The Man had fallen, that place of fear!
At length upon the Shepherd's mind

It breaks, and all is clear:
He instantly recalled the name,
And who he was, and whence he came;
Remembered, too, the very day
On which the Traveller passed this way.

1 Tarn is a small Mere or Lake, mostly high up in the mountains.

But hear a wonder, for whose sake 50 And they a blissful course may hold
This lamentable tale I tell!

Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;

Yet seek thy firm support, according to
their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried ;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred

Yes, proof was plain that, since the day
When this ill-fated Traveller died,
The Dog had watched about the spot, 60 The task, in smoother walks to stray;
Or by his master's side:

How nourished here through such long
time

He knows, who gave that love sublime;
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate!

XX.

ODE TO DUTY,

[Composed 1805.-Published 1807.]
"Jam non consilio bonus, sed more eò perductus,
ut non tantum rectè facere possim, sed nisi
rectè facere non possim."

STERN Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm'st the weary strife of frail
humanity!

But thee I now would serve more strictly,

if I

may.

Through no disturbance of my soul,

Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;

But in the quietness of thought:

Me this unchartered freedom tires;

I feel the weight of chance-desires:
My hopes no more must change their

name,

I long for a repose, that ever is the

same.

[Yet not the less would I throughout
Still act according to the voice
Of my own wish; and feel past doubt
That my submissiveness was choice:
Not seeking in the school of pride
For "precepts over dignified,"

5 Denial and restraint I prize

[Composed December 1805 or January 1806.- To evil for a guard against worse ill, 30

Published 1807.]

WHO is the happy Warrior? Who is he That every man in arms should wish to be?

And what in quality or act is best
Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,
He labours good on good to fix, and owes
To virtue every triumph that he knows:

-It is the generous Spirit, who, when-Who, if he rise to station of command,

brought

Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought

Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought:

5 Whose high endeavours are an inward light

Rises by open means; and there will