Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west

The orange sky of evening died away.
Not seldom from the uproar I retired
Into a silent bay, or sportively
Glanced sideway, leaving the tumult-
uous throng,

To cut across the reflex of a star;
Image, that, flying still before me,

gleamed

Upon the glassy plain: and oftentimes, When we had given our bodies to the wind,

And all the shadowy banks on either side

Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still

The rapid line of motion, then at once Have I, reclining back upon my heels, Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs Wheeled by me-even as if the earth had rolled

With visible motion her diurnal round! Behind me did they stretch in solemn train,

Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched

Till all was tranquil as a summer sea. 1799. 1809.

Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause

Of silence such as baffled his best skill, Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung

Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise Has carried far into his heart the voice Of mountain-torrents; or the visible

scene

Would enter unawares into his mind With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received

Into the bosom of the steady lake.

This boy was taken from his mates,

and died

In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.

Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale Where he was born and bred: the churchyard hangs

Upon a slope above the village-school; And through that church-yard when my way has led

On summer-evenings, I believe, that

there

A long half-hour together I have stood Mute-looking at the grave in which he lies ! 1798. 1800.

THERE WAS A BOY

Written in Germany. This is an extract from the poem on my own poetical education. (Wordsworth. The poem referred to is The Prelude.)

THERE WAS A Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs

And islands of Winander!-many a time, At evening, when the earliest stars began To move along the edges of the hills, Rising or setting, would he stand alone, Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;

And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands

Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth

Uplifted, he, as through an instrument, Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, That they might answer him.-And they would shout

Across the watery vale, and shout again, Responsive to his call,-with quivering peals,

And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud

Redoubled and redoubled;

wild

concourse

NUTTING

Written in Germany; intended as part of a poem on my own life, but struck out as not being wanted there. (Wordsworth).

IT seems a day

(I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days that cannot

die;

When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth

With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung,

A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my steps

Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a Figure quaint,

Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds

Which for that service had been hus

banded,

By exhortation of my frugal DameMotley accoutrement, of power to smile At thorns, and brakes, and brambles-and, in truth,

More ragged than need was! O'er pathless rocks,

The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.-

Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades

In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand Touch-for there is a spirit in the woods. 1799. 1800.

STRANGE FITS OF PASSION HAVE I KNOWN

The next three poems were written in
Germany. (Wordsworth.)

STRANGE fits of passion have I known:
And I will dare to tell,

But in the Lover's ear alone,
What once to me befell.

When she I loved looked every day
Fresh as a rose in June,

I to her cottage bent my way,
Beneath an evening-moon.

Upon the moon I fixed my eye,
All over the wide lea;

With quickening pace my horse drew nigh

Those paths so dear to me.

And now we reached the orchard-plot;
And, as we climbed the hill,
The sinking moon to Lucy's cot
Came near, and nearer still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature's gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept
On the descending moon.

My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised, and never stopped:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At once, the bright moon dropped.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide

Into a Lover's head!

THREE YEARS SHE GREW IN SUN
AND SHOWER

THREE years she grew in sun and shower,
Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown;
This Child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A Lady of my own.

"Myself will to my darling be

Both law and impulse: and with me
The Girl, in rock and plain,

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,

Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle or restrain.

"She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn,
Or up the mountain springs;

And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.

"The floating clouds their state shall

lend

To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see

Even in the motions of the Storm

Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form

By silent sympathy.

"The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place

Where rivulets dance their wayward round,

And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.

"And vital feelings of delight

Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;

Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live

Here in this happy dell."

Thus Nature spake.-The work was

done

How soon my Lucy's race was run!
She died, and left to me

This heath, this calm and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,

And never more will be. 1799. 1800.

A SLUMBER DID MY SPIRIT SEAL

A SLUMBER did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolled round in earth's diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.
1799. 1800.

A POET'S EPITAPH

ART thou a Statist in the van
Of public conflicts trained and bred?
-First learn to love one living man ;
Then may'st thou think upon the dead.

A Lawyer art thou?-draw not nigh!
Go, carry to some fitter place
The keenness of that practised eye,
The hardness of that sallow face.

But he is weak; both Man and Boy,
Hath been an idler in the land;
Contented if he might enjoy
The things which others understand.

-Come hither in thy hour of strength;
Come, weak as is a breaking wave!
Here stretch thy body at full length;
Or build thy house upon this grave.
1799. 1800.

MATTHEW

In the School of is a tablet, on which are inscribed in gilt letters, the Names of the several persons who have been Schoolmasters there since the foundation of the School, with the time at which they entered upon and quitted their office. Opposite to one of those names the Author wrote the following lines.

Such a Tablet as is here spoken of continued to be preserved in Hawkshead School, though the inscriptions were not brought down to our time. This and other poems connected with Matthew would not gain by a literal detail of facts. Like the Wanderer in "The Excursion," this Schoolmaster was made up of several both of his class and men of other occupations. I do not ask pardon for what there is of untruth in such verses, considered strictly as matters of fact. It is enough if, being true and consistent in spirit, they move and teach in a manner not unworthy of a Poet's calling. (Wordsworth.)

IF Nature, for a favorite child,
In thee hath tempered so her clay,
That every hour thy heart runs wild,
Yet never once doth go astray,

Read o'er these lines; and then review
This tablet, that thus humbly rears
In such diversity of hue

Its history of two hundred years.

-When through this little wreck of fame,

Cipher and syllable! thine eye

Has travelled down to Matthew's name. Pause with no common sympathy.

And, if a sleeping tear should wake,
Then be it neither checked nor stayed:
For Matthew a request I make
Which for himself he hath not made.

Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er,
Is silent as a standing pool;
Far from the chimney's merry roar,
And murmur of the village school.

The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs

Of one tired out with fun and madness;

The tears which came to Matthew's

eyes

Were tears of light, the dew of gladness.

Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup
Of still and serious thought went round,
It seemed as if he drank it up-
He felt with spirit so profound.

-Thou soul of God's best earthly mould!
Thou happy Soul! and can it be
That these two words of glittering gold
Are all that must remain of thee?

1799. 1800.

THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS

WE walked along, while bright and red Uprose the morning sun;

And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said,

"The will of God be done!"

A village schoolmaster was he,
With hair of glittering gray;

As blithe a man as you could see
On a spring holiday.

And on that morning, through the grass,
And by the steaming rills,

We travelled merrily, to pass
A day among the hills.

"Our work," said I, "was well begun,
Then, from thy breast what thought,
Beneath so beautiful a sun,
So sad a sigh has brought?"

A second time did Matthew stop;
And fixing still his eye

Upon the eastern mountain-top,
To me he made reply :

"Yon cloud with that long purple cleft Brings fresh into my mind

A day like this which I have left
Full thirty years behind.

"And just above yon slope of corn
Such colors, and no other,
Were in the sky, that April morn,
Of this the very brother.

"With rod and line I sued the sport
Which that sweet season gave,

And, to the church-yard come, stopped

short

Beside my daughter's grave.