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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 1 his later meal : *
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 2 to heal
That grief for which the senses still supply
Fresh food; for only then, when memory
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.

AN EVENING WALK

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY

Composed 1787-9.†-Published 1793

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[The young Lady to whom this was addressed was my Sister. It was composed at School, and during my first two College vacations. There is not an 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 con

fine myself to one instance :

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

The dog, loud barking, 'mid the glittering rocks,

Hunts, where his master points, the intercepted flocks.

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* Canon Ainger calls attention to the fact that there is here a parallel, possibly "a reminiscence, from the Nocturnal Reverie of the Countess of Winchelsea.

Whose stealing pace and lengthened shade we fear,
Till torn-up forage in his teeth we hear.-ED.

+ See note to the "Juvenile Pieces" in the edition of 1836 (p. 1).—ED.

I was an eye-witness of this for the first time while crossing the Pass of Dunmail Raise. Upon second thought, I will mention another image:

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 chains of fact and real circumstance. The country is idealised rather than described in any one of its local aspects.-I. F.]

* It may not be irrelevant to mention that our late poet, Robert Browning, besought me both in conversation, and by letter-to restore this discarded" picture, in editing Dion.-ED.

The title of this poem, as first published in 1793, was An Evening 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 collected editions of the poems under the general title of "Juvenile Pieces," from 1815 to 1843; and, in 1845 and 1849, of "Poems written in Youth." The following prefatory note to the " 'Juvenile Pieces " occurs in the editions 1820 to 1832. 66 They are reprinted with some unimportant alterations that were chiefly 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 those characteristic features, which, after all, will be regarded as the principal recommendation of juvenile poems." To this, Wordsworth added, in 1836, “The above, which was written some time 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 Pieces.'" In May 1794 Wordsworth wrote to his friend Mathews, "It was with great reluctance that I sent these two little works into the world in so imperfect a But as I had done nothing at the University, I thought these little things might show that I could do something."

state.

Wordsworth's notes to this poem are printed from the edition of 1793. Slight variations in the text of these notes in subsequent editions, in the spelling of proper names, and in punctuation, are not noted.-ED.

General Sketch of the Lakes-Author's regret of his Youth which was passed amongst them—Short description of Noon-Cascade-Noon-tide 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

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5

That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lodore;
Where peace to Grasmere's lonely island leads,
To willowy hedge-rows, and to emerald meads;
Leads to her bridge, rude church, and cottaged 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, 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.3
In youth's keen eye the livelong day was bright,
The sun at morning, and the stars at night,

1 1836.

His wizard course where hoary Derwent takes

2

Thro' craggs, and forest glooms, and opening lakes,
Staying his silent waves, to hear the roar

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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
That stuns the tremulous cliffs

1793.

1827.

(Omitting two lines of the 1793 text quoted above.)

2 1836.

Where, bosom'd deep, the shy Winander peeps 1793.
Where, deep embosom'd, shy Winander peeps

3 1836.

Fair scenes! with other eyes, than once, I gaze,
The ever-varying charm your round displays,
Than when, ere-while, I taught, "a happy child,"
The echoes of your rocks my carols wild :
Then did no ebb of chearfulness demand

1827.

Sad tides of joy from Melancholy's hand;

1793.

Upon the varying charm your round displays, 4 1820.

1820.

wild

1793.

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

W. W. 1793.

Alike, when first the bittern's hollow bill

Was heard, or woodcocks * roamed the moonlight hill.1 20

In thoughtless gaiety I coursed the plain,2

And hope itself was all I knew of pain;

For then, the inexperienced heart would beat 3
At times, while young Content forsook her seat,
And wild Impatience, pointing upward, showed,
Through passes yet unreached, a brighter road.4
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.

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Alike, when first the vales the bittern fills,

Or the first woodcocks roam'd the moonlight hills. 1793.
Alike, when heard the bittern's hollow bill,

Or the first woodcocks roam'd the moonlight hill.

1820.

2 1820.

Return Delights! with whom my road begun,
When Life rear'd laughing up her morning sun;

When Transport kiss'd away my april tear,
Rocking as in a dream the tedious year";

For then, ev'n then, the little heart would beat 4 1836.

When link'd with thoughtless Mirth I cours'd the plain,

3 1836.

1793.

1793.

And wild Impatience, panting upward, show'd
Where tipp'd with gold the mountain-summits glow'd.

1793.

5

1836.

With Hope Reflexion blends her social rays 6 1820.

1793.

While, Memory at my side, I wander here,
Starts at the simplest sight th' unbidden tear,
A form discover'd at the well-known seat,
A spot, that angles at the riv'let's feet,

*In the beginning of winter, these mountains, in the moonlight nights, are covered with immense quantities of woodcocks; which, in the dark nights, retire into the woods.-W. W. 1793.

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