The poetical works of William Wordsworth ... In six volumes ... A new edition |
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 | The poetical works of William Wordsworth |  |
A kindlier passion opened on her soul
When that poor Child was born. Upon its face
She gazed as on a pure and spotless gift
Of unexpected promise, where a grief
Or dread was all that had been thought of,—joy
Far livelier than bewildered traveller feels,
Amid a perilous waste that all night long
Hath harassed him toiling through fearful storm,
When he beholds the first pale speck serene
Of day-spring, in the gloomy east, revealed,
And greets it with thanksgiving. ‘Till this hour,’
Thus, in her Mother's hearing Ellen spake,
‘There was a stony region in my heart;
‘But He, at whose command the parchèd rock
‘Was smitten, and poured forth a quenching stream,
‘Hath softened that obduracy, and made
‘Unlooked-for gladness in the desert place,
‘To save the perishing; and, henceforth, I breathe
‘The air with cheerful spirit, for thy sake
‘My Infant! and for that good Mother dear,
‘Who bore me; and hath prayed for me in vain;—
‘Yet not in vain; it shall not be in vain.’
She spake, nor was the assurance unfulfilled;
And if heart-rending thoughts would oft return,
They stayed not long.—The blameless Infant grew;
The Child whom Ellen and her Mother loved
They soon were proud of; tended it and nursed;
A soothing comforter, although forlorn;
Like a poor singing-bird from distant lands;
Or a choice shrub, which he, who passes by
With vacant mind, not seldom may observe
Fair-flowering in a thinly-peopled house,
Whose window, somewhat sadly, it adorns.
When that poor Child was born. Upon its face
She gazed as on a pure and spotless gift
Of unexpected promise, where a grief
Or dread was all that had been thought of,—joy
Far livelier than bewildered traveller feels,
Amid a perilous waste that all night long
Hath harassed him toiling through fearful storm,
When he beholds the first pale speck serene
Of day-spring, in the gloomy east, revealed,
And greets it with thanksgiving. ‘Till this hour,’
Thus, in her Mother's hearing Ellen spake,
‘There was a stony region in my heart;
‘But He, at whose command the parchèd rock
‘Was smitten, and poured forth a quenching stream,
‘Hath softened that obduracy, and made
‘Unlooked-for gladness in the desert place,
‘To save the perishing; and, henceforth, I breathe
‘The air with cheerful spirit, for thy sake
‘My Infant! and for that good Mother dear,
‘Who bore me; and hath prayed for me in vain;—
‘Yet not in vain; it shall not be in vain.’
197
And if heart-rending thoughts would oft return,
They stayed not long.—The blameless Infant grew;
The Child whom Ellen and her Mother loved
They soon were proud of; tended it and nursed;
A soothing comforter, although forlorn;
Like a poor singing-bird from distant lands;
Or a choice shrub, which he, who passes by
With vacant mind, not seldom may observe
Fair-flowering in a thinly-peopled house,
Whose window, somewhat sadly, it adorns.
| The poetical works of William Wordsworth | |