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Though to the vale no parting beam
Be given, not one memorial gleam,1
A lingering light he fondly throws
On the dear hills where first he rose.2

1

WRITTEN IN VERY EARLY YOUTH.

Comp. 1786. (?)

Pub. 1807.

CALM is all nature as a resting wheel.

The kine are couched upon the dewy grass;
The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass,
Is cropping audibly his later meal :3
Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal
O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky.
Now, in this blank of things, a harmony,
Home-felt, and home-created, comes to heal
That grief for which the senses still supply
Fresh food; for only then, when memory

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2

1815.

On the dear mountain-tops where first he rose.
On the dear hills where first he rose.

1820.

1845

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Is hushed, am I at rest. My Friends! restrain
Those busy cares that would allay my pain;
Oh! leave me to myself, nor let me feel
The officious touch that makes me droop again.

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"An Evening

The title of this poem, as first published in 1793, was Walk, An epistle in verse, addressed to a young lady from the lakes of the North of England, by W. Wordsworth, B.A., of St John's, Cambridge." Extracts from it were published in all the collective editions of the poems from 1815 onwards, under the general title of "Juvenile Pieces,” or "Poems written in Youth." The following prefatory note occurs in the editions 1820 to 1832. "The poems in this class are reprinted with unimportant alterations that were made very soon after their publication. It would have been easy to amend them in many passages, both as to sentiment and expression, and I have not been altogether able to resist the temptation; but attempts of this kind are made at the risk of injuring their characteristic features, which, after all, will be regarded as the principal recommendations of juvenile poems." To this,

some

Wordsworth added, in 1836, "The above, which was written sometime ago, scarcely applies to the poem, 'Descriptive Sketches,' as it now stands. The corrections, though numerous, are not however such as to prevent its retaining with propriety a place in the class of Juvenile The following is the note on this poem, dictated to Miss Fenwick.-ED.

Pieces."

[The young Lady to whom this was addressed was my Sister. It was composed at school, and during my first two College vacations. There image in it which I have not observed; and, now in my seventy-third year, I recollect the time and place, when most of them were noticed. I will confine myself to one instance:

is not an

"Waving his hat, the shepherd from the vale
Directs his winding dog the cliffs to scale,—

I was an

The dog loud barking, 'mid the glittering rocks,

Hunts, where his master points, the intercepted flocks."

eye-witness of this for the first time while crossing the Pass

of Dunmail Raise. Upon second thought, I will mention another

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'And, fronting the bright west, yon oak entwines

Its darkening boughs and leaves, in stronger lines."

This is feebly and imperfectly expressed, but I recollect distinctly the very spot where this first struck me. It was on the way between Hawkshead and Ambleside, and gave me extreme pleasure. The moment was important in my poetical history; for I date from it my consciousness of the infinite variety of natural appearances which had been unnoticed by the poets of any age or country, so far as I was acquainted with them; and I made a resolution to supply in some degree the deficiency. I could not have been at that time above fourteen years of age. The description of the swans that follows was taken from the daily opportunities I had of observing their habits, not as confined to the gentleman's park, but in a state of nature. There were two pairs of them that divided the lake of Esthwaite, and its in-and-out flowing streams, between them, never trespassing a single yard upon each other's separate domain. They were of the old magnificent species, bearing in beauty and majesty about the same relation to the Thames swan which that does to the goose. It was from the remembrance of those noble creatures, I took, thirty years after, the picture of the swan which I have discarded from the poem of Dion. While I was a schoolboy, the late Mr Curwen introduced a little fleet of these birds, but of the inferior species, to the lake of Windermere. Their principal home was about his own island; but they sailed about into remote parts of the lake, and either from real or imagined injury done to the adjoining fields, they were got rid of at the request of the farmers and proprietors, but to the great regret of all who had become attached to them from noticing their beauty and quiet habits. I will conclude my notice of this poem by observing that the plan of it has not been confined to a particular walk, or an individual place,—a proof (of which I was unconscious at the time) of my unwillingness to submit the poetic spirit to the claims of fact and real circumstance. The country is idealised rather than described in any one of its local aspects.]

General Sketch of the Lakes-Author's regret of his Youth which was passed amongst them-Short description of Noon-Cascade-Noontide Retreat— Precipice and sloping Lights-Face of Nature as the Sun declines— Mountain Farm and the Cock-Slate quarry-Sunset-Superstition of the Country connected with that moment — Swans-Female Beggar— Twilight sounds-Western Lights-Spirits-Night-Moonlight-Hope Night sounds-Conclusion.

FAR from my dearest Friend, 'tis mine to rove

Through bare grey dell, high wood, and pastoral cove;
Where Derwent rests, and listens to the roar

That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lodore;1

1 1836.

His wizard's course where hoary Derwent takes,
Through crags, and forest glooms, and opening lakes,

Where peace to Grasmere's lonely island leads,
To willowy hedge-rows, and to emerald meads;
Leads to her bridge, rude church, and cottage grounds,
Her rocky sheepwalks, and her woodland bounds;
Where, undisturbed by winds, Winander* sleeps
'Mid clustering isles, and holly-sprinkled steeps;
Where twilight glens endear my Esthwaite's shore,
And memory of departed pleasures, more.

Fair scenes,2 erewhile, I taught, a happy child,
The echoes of your rocks my carols wild:
The spirit sought not then, in cherished sadness,
A cloudy substitute for failing gladness.

In youth's keen eye the livelong day was bright,
The sun at morning, and the stars at night,

Alike, when first the bittern's hollow bill

Was heard, or woodcocks† roamed the moonlight hill.

Staying his silent waves to hear the roar
That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lodore;
Where silver rocks the savage prospect chear
Of giant yews that frown on Rydale's mere;
Where Derwent stops his course to hear the roar

1793.

1827.

1 1836.

Where bosomed deep, the shy Winander peeps
Where deep embosomed shy Winander peeps

1793.

1827.

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Fair scenes, with other eyes than once, I gaze,
The ever-varying charm your sound displays,
Than when, erewhile, I taught, "a happy child,"
The echoes of your rocks my carols wild;
Then did no ebb of cheerfulness demand

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*These lines are only applicable to the middle part of that lake.

1793.

In the beginning of winter, these mountains are frequented by woodcocks,

which in dark nights retire into the woods. 1793.

In thoughtless gaiety I coursed the plain,1
And hope itself was all I knew of pain;
For then, the inexperienced heart would beat2
At times, while young Content forsook her seat,
And wild Impatience, pointing upward, showed,
Through passes yet unreached, a brighter road.
Alas! the idle tale of man is found
Depicted in the dial's moral round;
Hope with reflection blends her social rays
To gild the total tablet of his days;

Yet still, the sport of some malignant power,
He knows but from its shade the present hour.

But why, ungrateful, dwell on idle pain? To show what pleasures yet to me remain,1 Say, will my Friend, with unreluctant ear,5 The history of a poet's evening hear?

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While, Memory at my side, I wander here,
Starts, at the simplest sight, th' unbidden tear,
A form discovered at the well known seat,
A spot, that angles at the riv'let's feet,
The ray the cot of morning trav❜ling night,
And sail that glides the well known alders by.

1793.

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For then, even then, the little heart would beat

1820.

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And wild Impatience, panting upward, showed
When, tipped with gold, the mountain-summits glowed.
Alas! the idle tale of man is found

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Say, will my friend, with soft affection's car,

1793.

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