The Prelude or Growth of a Poet's Mind: By William Wordsworth: Edited from the manuscripts with introduction, textual and critical notes by Ernest de Selincourt |
 |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
 | The Prelude |  |
Yet one word more of personal circumstance,
Not needless, as it seems, be added here.
Since I withdrew unwillingly from France,
The Story hath demanded less regard
To time and place; and where I lived, and how
Hath been no longer scrupulously mark'd.
Three years, until a permanent abode
Receiv'd me with that Sister of my heart
Who ought by rights the dearest to have been
Conspicuous through this biographic Verse,
Star seldom utterly conceal'd from view,
I led an undomestic Wanderer's life,
In London chiefly was my home, and thence
Excursively, as personal friendships, chance
Or inclination led, or slender means
Gave leave, I roam'd about from place to place
Tarrying in pleasant nooks, wherever found
Through England or through Wales. A Youth (he bore
The name of Calvert; it shall live, if words
Of mine can give it life,) without respect
To prejudice or custom, having hope
That I had some endowments by which good
Might be promoted, in his last decay
From his own Family withdrawing part
Of no redundant Patrimony, did
By a Bequest sufficient for my needs
Enable me to pause for choice, and walk
At large and unrestrain'd, nor damp'd too soon
By mortal cares. Himself no Poet, yet
Far less a common Spirit of the world,
He deem'd that my pursuits and labours lay
Apart from all that leads to wealth, or even
Perhaps to necessary maintenance,
Without some hazard to the finer sense;
He clear'd a passage for me, and the stream
Flowed in the bent of Nature.
Not needless, as it seems, be added here.
Since I withdrew unwillingly from France,
The Story hath demanded less regard
To time and place; and where I lived, and how
Hath been no longer scrupulously mark'd.
Three years, until a permanent abode
Receiv'd me with that Sister of my heart
Who ought by rights the dearest to have been
Conspicuous through this biographic Verse,
492
I led an undomestic Wanderer's life,
In London chiefly was my home, and thence
Excursively, as personal friendships, chance
Or inclination led, or slender means
Gave leave, I roam'd about from place to place
Tarrying in pleasant nooks, wherever found
Through England or through Wales. A Youth (he bore
The name of Calvert; it shall live, if words
Of mine can give it life,) without respect
To prejudice or custom, having hope
That I had some endowments by which good
Might be promoted, in his last decay
From his own Family withdrawing part
Of no redundant Patrimony, did
By a Bequest sufficient for my needs
Enable me to pause for choice, and walk
At large and unrestrain'd, nor damp'd too soon
By mortal cares. Himself no Poet, yet
Far less a common Spirit of the world,
He deem'd that my pursuits and labours lay
Apart from all that leads to wealth, or even
Perhaps to necessary maintenance,
Without some hazard to the finer sense;
He clear'd a passage for me, and the stream
Flowed in the bent of Nature.
Having now
Told what best merits mention, further pains
Our present purpose seems not to require,
And I have other tasks. Call back to mind
The mood in which this Poem was begun,
O Friend! the termination of my course
Is nearer now, much nearer; yet even then
In that distraction and intense desire
I said unto the life which I had lived,
Where art thou? Hear I not a voice from thee
Which 'tis reproach to hear? Anon I rose
As if on wings, and saw beneath me stretch'd
Vast prospect of the world which I had been
And was; and hence this Song, which like a lark
I have protracted, in the unwearied Heavens
Singing, and often with more plaintive voice
Attempered to the sorrows of the earth;
Yet centring all in love, and in the end
All gratulant if rightly understood.
Told what best merits mention, further pains
Our present purpose seems not to require,
And I have other tasks. Call back to mind
The mood in which this Poem was begun,
O Friend! the termination of my course
Is nearer now, much nearer; yet even then
In that distraction and intense desire
I said unto the life which I had lived,
Where art thou? Hear I not a voice from thee
Which 'tis reproach to hear? Anon I rose
As if on wings, and saw beneath me stretch'd
Vast prospect of the world which I had been
494
I have protracted, in the unwearied Heavens
Singing, and often with more plaintive voice
Attempered to the sorrows of the earth;
Yet centring all in love, and in the end
All gratulant if rightly understood.
| The Prelude | |