By which true Sway doth mount; this is the stalk True Power doth grow on; and her rights are these. 1802, 1802. COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPTEMBER 3, 1802 "We left London on Saturday morning at half-past five or six, the 30th of July. We mounted the Dover coach at Charing Cross. It was a beautiful morning. The city, St. Paul's, with the river, and a multitude of little boats, made a most beautiful sight as we crossed Westminster Bridge. The houses were not overhung by their cloud of smoke, and they were spread out endlessly; yet the sun shone so brightly, with such a fierce light, that there was even something like the purity of one of nature's own grand spectacles." (Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, July, 1802.) EARTH has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and tem ples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep ; And all that mighty heart is lying still! 1802. 1807. COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE, NEAR CALAIS, AUGUST, 1802 "We had delightful walks after the heat of the day was passed-seeing far off in the west the coast of England like a cloud crested with Dover Castle, which was but like the summit of the cloud-the evening star and the glory of the sky, the reflections in the water were more beautiful than the sky itself, purple waves brighter than precious stones, for ever melting away upon the sands..... Nothing in romance was ever half so beautiful. Now came in view, as the evening star sunk down, and the colors of the west faded away, the two lights of England." (Doro thy Wordsworth's Journal, August, 1802.) FAIR Star of evening, Splendor of the west, Star of my Country --on the horizon's brink Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink On England's bosom; yet well pleased to rest, Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think, Should'st be my Country's emblem ; and should'st wink, Bright Star! with laughter on her ban ners, drest In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot Beneath thee, that is England; there she lies. Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot. One life, one glory!-I, with many a fear For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs, Among men who do not love her, linger here. 1802. 1807. A span of waters; yet what power is there! What mightiness for evil and for good! Even so doth God protect us if we be Virtuous and wise. Winds blow, and waters roll, Strength to the brave, and Power, and Deity; Yet in themselves are nothing! One decree Spake laws to them, and said that by the soul Only, the Nations shall be great and free. 1802. 1807. WRITTEN IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1802 This was written immediately after my return from France to London, when I could not but be struck, as here described, with the vanity and parade of our own country, especially in great towns and cities, as contrasted with the quiet, and I may say the desolation, that the revolution had produced in France. This must be borne in mind, or else the reader may think that in this and the succeeding Sonnets I have exaggerated the mischief engendered and fostered among us by undisturbed wealth. It would not be easy to conceive with what a depth of feeling I entered into the struggle carried on by the Spaniards for their deliverance from the usurped power of the French. Many times have I gone from Allan Bank in Grasmere vale, where we were then residing, to the top of the Raise-gap as it is called, so late as two o'clock in the morning, to meet the carrier bringing the newspaper from Keswick. Imperfect traces of the state of mind in which I then was may be found in my Tract on the Convention of Cintra, as well as in these Sonnets. (Wordsworth.) O FRIEND! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, Or groom!—We must run glittering like a brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: The wealthiest man among us is the Of the world's praise, from dark an tiquity Hath flowed," with pomp of waters, unwithstood," Roused though it be full often to a mood Which spurns the check of salutary bands, That this most famous stream in bogs and sands Should perish; and to evil and to good Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung Armory of the invincible Knights of old: We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakspeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.-In everything we are sprung Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold. 1802 or 1893. April 16, 1803. WHEN I HAVE BORNE IN WHEN I have borne in memory what has tamed Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country!-am I to be blamed? Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart, In thee a bulwark for the cause of men: Felt for thee as a lover or a child! 1802 or 1803. Sept. 17, 1803. TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE SIX YEARS OLD O THOU! whose fancies from afar are brought; Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel, And fittest to unutterable thought born carol: Thou faery voyager! that dost float To brood on air than on an earthly stream; Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, Where earth and heaven do make one imagery; O blessed vision! happy child! I think of thee with many fears Lord of thy house and hospitality ; thee. O too industrious folly! O vain and causeless melancholy! What hast thou to do with sorrow, Ill fitted to sustain unkindly shocks, But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife Slips in a moment out of life. 1802. 1807. TO THE DAISY IN youth from rock to rock I went, Most pleased when most uneasy; Thee Winter in the garland wears That she may sun thee; Whole Summer-fields are thine by right; In shoals and bands, a morrice train, Pleased at his greeting thee again; Yet nothing daunted. Nor grieved if thou be set at nought : We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, Be violets in their secret mews Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim, The Poet's darling. If to a rock from rains he fly, Near the green holly, And wearily at length should fare; A hundred times, by rock or bower, Some apprehension; Some steady love; some brief delight; Some memory that had taken flight; Some chime of fancy wrong or right; Or stray invention. Oft on the dappled turf at ease Loose types of things through all degrees, Thoughts of thy raising: And many a fond and idle name I give to thee, for praise or blame, A nun demure of lowly port; Of all temptations; A queen in crown of rubies drest; A little cyclops, with one eye The shape will vanish-and behold I see thee glittering from afar— In heaven above thee! Who shall reprove thee! See, in Chaucer and the elder Poets, the honors formerly paid to this flower. (Wordsworth.) |