To impregnate and to elevate the mind. -And if the vulgar joy by its own weight Wearied itself out of the memory,
The scenes which were a witness of that joy Remained in their substantial lineaments Depicted on the brain, and to the eye Were visible, a daily sight; and thus By the impressive discipline of fear, By pleasure and repeated happiness, So frequently repeated, and by force Of obscure feelings representative
Of things forgotten, these same scenes so bright, So beautiful, so majestic in themselves, Though yet the day was distant, did become Habitually dear, and all their forms
And changeful colours by invisible links Were fastened to the affections.
I began My story early-not misled, I trust, By an infirmity of love for days
Disowned by memory-ere the breath of spring Planting my snowdrops among winter snows: Nor will it seem to thee, O Friend! so prompt In sympathy, that I have lengthened out With fond and feeble tongue a tedious tale. Meanwhile, my hope has been, that I might fetch Invigorating thoughts from former years; Might fix the wavering balance of my mind, And haply meet reproaches too, whose power May spur me on, in manhood now mature To honourable toil. Yet should these hopes Prove vain, and thus should neither I be taught To understand myself, nor thou to know
With better knowledge how the heart was framed Of him thou lovest; need I dread from thee Harsh judgments, if the song be loth to quit Those recollected hours that have the charm Of visionary things, those lovely forms And sweet sensations that throw back our life, And almost make remotest infancy
A visible scene, on which the sun is shining?
One end at least hath been attained; my mind Hath been revived, and if this genial mood Desert me not, forthwith shall be brought down Through later years the story of my life. The road lies plain before me ;-'tis a theme Single and of determined bounds; and hence I choose it rather at this time, than work Of ampler or more varied argument, Where I might be discomfited and lost: And certain hopes are with me, that to thee This labour will be welcome, honoured Friend!
THUS far, O Friend! have we, though leaving much Unvisited, endeavoured to retrace
The simple ways in which my childhood walked ; Those chiefly that first led me to the love Of rivers, woods, and fields. The passion yet Was in its birth, sustained as might befal By nourishment that came unsought; for still From week to week, from month to month, we lived A round of tumult. Duly were our games Prolonged in summer till the day-light failed: No chair remained before the doors; the bench And threshold steps were empty; fast asleep The labourer, and the old man who had sate A later lingerer; yet the revelry
Continued and the loud uproar: at last,
When all the ground was dark, and twinkling stars Edged the black clouds, home and to bed we went, Feverish with weary joints and beating minds. Ah! is there one who ever has been young, Nor needs a warning voice to tame the pride Of intellect and virtue's self-esteem ?
One is there, though the wisest and the best Of all mankind, who covets not at times Union that cannot be ;-who would not give
If so he might, to duty and to truth The eagerness of infantine desire? A tranquillising spirit presses now On my corporeal frame, so wide appears The vacancy between me and those days Which yet have such self-presence in my mind, That, musing on them, often do I seem Two consciousnesses, conscious of myself And of some other Being. A rude mass Of native rock, left midway in the square Of our small market village, was the goal Or centre of these sports; and when, returned After long absence, thither I repaired, Gone was the old grey stone, and in its place. A smart Assembly-room usurped the ground That had been ours. There let the fiddle scream, And be ye happy! Yet, my Friends! I know That more than one of you will think with me Of those soft starry nights, and that old Dame From whom the stone was named, who there had sate, And watched her table with its huckster's wares Assiduous, through the length of sixty years.
We ran a boisterous course; the
With giddy motion. But the time approached That brought with it a regular desire
For calmer pleasures, when the winning forms Of Nature were collaterally attached
To every scheme of holiday delight
And every boyish sport, less grateful else And languidly pursued.
Our pastime was, on bright half-holidays,
To sweep along the plain of Windermere With rival oars; and the selected bourne Was now an Island musical with birds That sang and ceased not; now a Sister Isle Beneath the oaks' umbrageous covert, sown With lilies of the valley like a field;
And now a third small Island, where survived In solitude the ruins of a shrine
Once to Our Lady dedicate, and served Daily with chaunted rites. In such a race So ended, disappointment could be none, Uneasiness, or pain, or jealousy:
We rested in the shade, all pleased alike, Conquered and conqueror. Thus the pride of strength, And the vain-glory of superior skill,
Were tempered; thus was gradually produced
A quiet independence of the heart ;
And to my Friend who knows me I may Fearless of blame, that hence for future days Ensued a diffidence and modesty,
And I was taught to feel, perhaps too much, The self-sufficing power of Solitude.
Our daily meals were frugal, Sabine fare! More than we wished we knew the blessing then Of vigorous hunger-hence corporeal strength Unsapped by delicate viands; for, exclude A little weekly stipend, and we lived Through three divisions of the quartered year In penniless poverty. But now to school From the half-yearly holidays returned, We came with weightier purses, that sufficed To furnish treats more costly than the Dame
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