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 |
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 | The Prelude |  |
Smooth life had Flock and Shepherd in old time,
Long Springs and tepid Winters on the Banks
Of delicate Galesus; and no less
Those scatter'd along Adria's myrtle Shores:
Smooth life the herdsman and his snow-white Herd
To Triumphs and to sacrificial Rites
Devoted, on the inviolable Stream
Of rich Clitumnus; and the Goat-herd liv'd
As sweetly, underneath the pleasant brows
Of cool Lucretilis, where the Pipe was heard
Of Pan, the invisible God, thrilling the rocks
With tutelary music, from all harm
The Fold protecting. I myself, mature
In manhood then, have seen a pastoral Tract
Like one of these, where Fancy might run wild,
Though under skies less generous and serene;
Yet there, as for herself, had Nature fram'd
A Pleasure-ground, diffused a fair expanse
Of level Pasture, islanded with Groves
And bank'd with woody Risings; but the Plain
Endless; here opening widely out, and there
Shut up in lesser lakes or beds of lawn
And intricate recesses, creek or bay
Shelter'd within a shelter, where at large
The Shepherd strays, a rolling hut his home:
Thither he comes with spring-time, there abides
All summer, and at sunrise yet may hear
His flute or flagelet resounding far;
There's not a Nook or Hold of that vast space,
Nor Strait where passage is, but it shall have
In turn its Visitant, telling there his hours
In unlaborious pleasure, with no task
More toilsome than to carve a beechen bowl
For Spring or Fountain, which the Traveller finds
When through the region he pursues at will
His devious course. A glimpse of such sweet life
I saw when, from the melancholy Walls
Of Goslar, once Imperial! I renew'd
My daily walk along that chearful Plain,
Which, reaching to her Gates, spreads East and West
And Northwards, from beneath the mountainous verge
Of the Hercynian forest. Yet hail to You,
Your rocks and precipices, Ye that seize
The heart with firmer grasp! your snows and streams
Ungovernable, and your terrifying winds,
That howl'd so dismally when I have been
Companionless, among your solitudes.
There 'tis the Shepherd's task the winter long
To wait upon the storms: of their approach
Sagacious, from the height he drives his Flock
Down into sheltering coves, and feeds them there
Through the hard time, long as the storm is lock'd,
(So do they phrase it) bearing from the stalls
A toilsome burden up the craggy ways,
To strew it on the snow. And when the Spring
Looks out, and all the mountains dance with lambs,
He through the enclosures won from the steep Waste,
And through the lower Heights hath gone his rounds;
And when the Flock with warmer weather climbs
Higher and higher, him his office leads
To range among them, through the hills dispers'd,
And watch their goings, whatsoever track
Each Wanderer chuses for itself; a work
That lasts the summer through. He quits his home
At day-spring, and no sooner doth the sun
Begin to strike him with a fire-like heat
Than he lies down upon some shining place
And breakfasts with his Dog; when he hath stay'd,
As for the most he doth, beyond his time,
He springs up with a bound, and then away!
Ascending fast with his long Pole in hand,
Or winding in and out among the crags.
What need to follow him through what he does
Or sees in his day's march? He feels himself
In those vast regions where his service is
A Freeman; wedded to his life of hope
And hazard, and hard labour interchang'd
With that majestic indolence so dear
To native Man. A rambling Schoolboy, thus
Have I beheld him, without knowing why
Have felt his presence in his own domain,
As of a Lord and Master; or a Power
Or Genius, under Nature, under God,
Presiding; and severest solitude
Seem'd more commanding oft when he was there.
Seeking the raven's nest, and suddenly
Surpriz'd with vapours, or on rainy days
When I have angled up the lonely brooks
Mine eyes have glanced upon him, few steps off,
In size a giant, stalking through the fog,
His Sheep like Greenland Bears; at other times
When round some shady promontory turning,
His Form hath flash'd upon me, glorified
By the deep radiance of the setting sun:
Or him have I descried in distant sky,
A solitary object and sublime,
Above all height! like an aerial Cross,
As it is stationed on some spiry Rock
Of the Chartreuse, for worship. Thus was Man
Ennobled outwardly before mine eyes,
And thus my heart at first was introduc'd
To an unconscious love and reverence
Of human Nature; hence the human form
To me was like an index of delight,
Of grace and honour, power and worthiness.
Meanwhile, this Creature, spiritual almost
As those of Books; but more exalted far,
Far more of an imaginative form,
Was not a Corin of the groves, who lives
For his own fancies, or to dance by the hour
In coronal, with Phillis in the midst,
But, for the purposes of kind, a Man
With the most common; Husband, Father; learn'd,
Could teach, admonish, suffer'd with the rest
From vice and folly, wretchedness and fear;
Of this I little saw, car'd less for it,
But something must have felt.
Long Springs and tepid Winters on the Banks
Of delicate Galesus; and no less
Those scatter'd along Adria's myrtle Shores:
Smooth life the herdsman and his snow-white Herd
To Triumphs and to sacrificial Rites
Devoted, on the inviolable Stream
Of rich Clitumnus; and the Goat-herd liv'd
As sweetly, underneath the pleasant brows
Of cool Lucretilis, where the Pipe was heard
Of Pan, the invisible God, thrilling the rocks
With tutelary music, from all harm
The Fold protecting. I myself, mature
In manhood then, have seen a pastoral Tract
Like one of these, where Fancy might run wild,
Though under skies less generous and serene;
Yet there, as for herself, had Nature fram'd
A Pleasure-ground, diffused a fair expanse
Of level Pasture, islanded with Groves
And bank'd with woody Risings; but the Plain
Endless; here opening widely out, and there
Shut up in lesser lakes or beds of lawn
And intricate recesses, creek or bay
Shelter'd within a shelter, where at large
The Shepherd strays, a rolling hut his home:
278
All summer, and at sunrise yet may hear
His flute or flagelet resounding far;
There's not a Nook or Hold of that vast space,
Nor Strait where passage is, but it shall have
In turn its Visitant, telling there his hours
In unlaborious pleasure, with no task
More toilsome than to carve a beechen bowl
For Spring or Fountain, which the Traveller finds
When through the region he pursues at will
His devious course. A glimpse of such sweet life
I saw when, from the melancholy Walls
Of Goslar, once Imperial! I renew'd
My daily walk along that chearful Plain,
Which, reaching to her Gates, spreads East and West
And Northwards, from beneath the mountainous verge
Of the Hercynian forest. Yet hail to You,
Your rocks and precipices, Ye that seize
The heart with firmer grasp! your snows and streams
Ungovernable, and your terrifying winds,
That howl'd so dismally when I have been
Companionless, among your solitudes.
There 'tis the Shepherd's task the winter long
To wait upon the storms: of their approach
Sagacious, from the height he drives his Flock
Down into sheltering coves, and feeds them there
Through the hard time, long as the storm is lock'd,
(So do they phrase it) bearing from the stalls
A toilsome burden up the craggy ways,
To strew it on the snow. And when the Spring
Looks out, and all the mountains dance with lambs,
He through the enclosures won from the steep Waste,
And through the lower Heights hath gone his rounds;
And when the Flock with warmer weather climbs
Higher and higher, him his office leads
To range among them, through the hills dispers'd,
And watch their goings, whatsoever track
Each Wanderer chuses for itself; a work
That lasts the summer through. He quits his home
280
Begin to strike him with a fire-like heat
Than he lies down upon some shining place
And breakfasts with his Dog; when he hath stay'd,
As for the most he doth, beyond his time,
He springs up with a bound, and then away!
Ascending fast with his long Pole in hand,
Or winding in and out among the crags.
What need to follow him through what he does
Or sees in his day's march? He feels himself
In those vast regions where his service is
A Freeman; wedded to his life of hope
And hazard, and hard labour interchang'd
With that majestic indolence so dear
To native Man. A rambling Schoolboy, thus
Have I beheld him, without knowing why
Have felt his presence in his own domain,
As of a Lord and Master; or a Power
Or Genius, under Nature, under God,
Presiding; and severest solitude
Seem'd more commanding oft when he was there.
Seeking the raven's nest, and suddenly
Surpriz'd with vapours, or on rainy days
When I have angled up the lonely brooks
Mine eyes have glanced upon him, few steps off,
In size a giant, stalking through the fog,
His Sheep like Greenland Bears; at other times
When round some shady promontory turning,
His Form hath flash'd upon me, glorified
By the deep radiance of the setting sun:
Or him have I descried in distant sky,
A solitary object and sublime,
282
As it is stationed on some spiry Rock
Of the Chartreuse, for worship. Thus was Man
Ennobled outwardly before mine eyes,
And thus my heart at first was introduc'd
To an unconscious love and reverence
Of human Nature; hence the human form
To me was like an index of delight,
Of grace and honour, power and worthiness.
Meanwhile, this Creature, spiritual almost
As those of Books; but more exalted far,
Far more of an imaginative form,
Was not a Corin of the groves, who lives
For his own fancies, or to dance by the hour
In coronal, with Phillis in the midst,
But, for the purposes of kind, a Man
With the most common; Husband, Father; learn'd,
Could teach, admonish, suffer'd with the rest
From vice and folly, wretchedness and fear;
Of this I little saw, car'd less for it,
But something must have felt.
Call ye these appearances
Which I beheld of Shepherds in my youth,
This sanctity of Nature given to Man
A shadow, a delusion, ye who are fed
By the dead letter, miss the spirit of things,
Whose truth is not a motion or a shape
Instinct with vital functions, but a Block
Or waxen Image which yourselves have made,
And ye adore. But blessed be the God
Of Nature and of Man that this was so,
That Men did at the first present themselves
Before my untaught eyes thus purified,
Remov'd, and at a distance that was fit.
And so we all of us in some degree
Are led to knowledge, whencesoever led,
And howsoever; were it otherwise,
And we found evil fast as we find good
In our first years, or think that it is found,
How could the innocent heart bear up and live!
But doubly fortunate my lot; not here
Alone, that something of a better life
Perhaps was round me than it is the privilege
Of most to move in, but that first I look'd
At Man through objects that were great or fair,
First commun'd with him by their help. And thus
Was founded a sure safeguard and defence
Against the weight of meanness, selfish cares,
Coarse manners, vulgar passions, that beat in
On all sides from the ordinary world
In which we traffic. Starting from this point,
I had my face towards the truth, began
With an advantage; furnish'd with that kind
Of prepossession without which the soul
Receives no knowledge that can bring forth good,
No genuine insight ever comes to her:
Happy in this, that I with nature walk'd,
Not having a too early intercourse
With the deformities of crowded life,
And those ensuing laughters and contempts
Self-pleasing, which if we would wish to think
With admiration and respect of man
Will not permit us; but pursue the mind
That to devotion willingly would be rais'd
Into the Temple and the Temple's heart.
Which I beheld of Shepherds in my youth,
This sanctity of Nature given to Man
A shadow, a delusion, ye who are fed
By the dead letter, miss the spirit of things,
Whose truth is not a motion or a shape
Instinct with vital functions, but a Block
Or waxen Image which yourselves have made,
And ye adore. But blessed be the God
Of Nature and of Man that this was so,
That Men did at the first present themselves
Before my untaught eyes thus purified,
Remov'd, and at a distance that was fit.
And so we all of us in some degree
Are led to knowledge, whencesoever led,
And howsoever; were it otherwise,
And we found evil fast as we find good
In our first years, or think that it is found,
How could the innocent heart bear up and live!
But doubly fortunate my lot; not here
284
Perhaps was round me than it is the privilege
Of most to move in, but that first I look'd
At Man through objects that were great or fair,
First commun'd with him by their help. And thus
Was founded a sure safeguard and defence
Against the weight of meanness, selfish cares,
Coarse manners, vulgar passions, that beat in
On all sides from the ordinary world
In which we traffic. Starting from this point,
I had my face towards the truth, began
With an advantage; furnish'd with that kind
Of prepossession without which the soul
Receives no knowledge that can bring forth good,
No genuine insight ever comes to her:
Happy in this, that I with nature walk'd,
Not having a too early intercourse
With the deformities of crowded life,
And those ensuing laughters and contempts
Self-pleasing, which if we would wish to think
With admiration and respect of man
Will not permit us; but pursue the mind
That to devotion willingly would be rais'd
Into the Temple and the Temple's heart.
Yet do not deem, my Friend, though thus I speak
Of Man as having taken in my mind
A place thus early which might almost seem
Pre-eminent, that it was really so.
Nature herself was at this unripe time,
But secondary to my own pursuits
And animal activities, and all
Their trivial pleasures; and long afterwards
When these had died away, and Nature did
For her own sake become my joy, even then
And upwards through late youth, until not less
Than three and twenty summers had been told
Was man in my affections and regards
Subordinate to her; her awful forms
And viewless agencies: a passion, she!
A rapture often, and immediate joy,
Ever at hand; he distant, but a grace
Occasional, an accidental thought,
His hour being not yet come. Far less had then
The inferior Creatures, beast or bird, attun'd
My spirit to that gentleness of love,
Won from me those minute obeisances
Of tenderness, which I may number now
With my first blessings. Nevertheless, on these
The light of beauty did not fall in vain,
Or grandeur circumfuse them to no end.
Of Man as having taken in my mind
A place thus early which might almost seem
Pre-eminent, that it was really so.
Nature herself was at this unripe time,
But secondary to my own pursuits
And animal activities, and all
Their trivial pleasures; and long afterwards
When these had died away, and Nature did
For her own sake become my joy, even then
And upwards through late youth, until not less
Than three and twenty summers had been told
Was man in my affections and regards
Subordinate to her; her awful forms
286
A rapture often, and immediate joy,
Ever at hand; he distant, but a grace
Occasional, an accidental thought,
His hour being not yet come. Far less had then
The inferior Creatures, beast or bird, attun'd
My spirit to that gentleness of love,
Won from me those minute obeisances
Of tenderness, which I may number now
With my first blessings. Nevertheless, on these
The light of beauty did not fall in vain,
Or grandeur circumfuse them to no end.
Why should I speak of Tillers of the soil?
The Ploughman and his Team; or Men and Boys
In festive summer busy with the rake,
Old Men and ruddy Maids, and Little Ones
All out together, and in sun and shade
Dispers'd among the hay-grounds alder-fringed,
The Quarry-man, far heard! that blasts the rock,
The Fishermen in pairs, the one to row,
And one to drop the Net, plying their trade
‘'Mid tossing lakes and tumbling boats’ and winds
Whistling; the Miner, melancholy Man!
That works by taper light, while all the hills
Are shining with the glory of the day.
The Ploughman and his Team; or Men and Boys
In festive summer busy with the rake,
Old Men and ruddy Maids, and Little Ones
All out together, and in sun and shade
Dispers'd among the hay-grounds alder-fringed,
The Quarry-man, far heard! that blasts the rock,
The Fishermen in pairs, the one to row,
And one to drop the Net, plying their trade
‘'Mid tossing lakes and tumbling boats’ and winds
Whistling; the Miner, melancholy Man!
That works by taper light, while all the hills
Are shining with the glory of the day.
But when that first poetic Faculty
Of plain imagination and severe,
No longer a mute Influence of the soul,
An Element of Nature's inner self,
Began to have some promptings to put on
A visible shape, and to the works of art,
The notions and the images of books
Did knowingly conform itself, by these
Enflamed, and proud of that her new delight,
There came among those shapes of human life
A wilfulness of fancy and conceit
Which gave them new importance to the mind;
And Nature and her objects beautified
These fictions, as in some sort in their turn
They burnish'd her. From touch of this new power
Nothing was safe: the Elder-tree that grew
Beside the well-known Charnel-house had then
A dismal look; the Yew-tree had its Ghost,
That took its station there for ornament:
Then common death was none, common mishap,
But matter for this humour everywhere,
The tragic super-tragic, else left short.
Then, if a Widow, staggering with the blow
Of her distress, was known to have made her way
To the cold grave in which her Husband slept,
One night, or haply more than one, through pain
Or half-insensate impotence of mind
The fact was caught at greedily, and there
She was a visitant the whole year through,
Wetting the turf with never-ending tears,
And all the storms of Heaven must beat on her.
Of plain imagination and severe,
No longer a mute Influence of the soul,
An Element of Nature's inner self,
Began to have some promptings to put on
A visible shape, and to the works of art,
The notions and the images of books
Did knowingly conform itself, by these
Enflamed, and proud of that her new delight,
There came among those shapes of human life
A wilfulness of fancy and conceit
Which gave them new importance to the mind;
And Nature and her objects beautified
These fictions, as in some sort in their turn
They burnish'd her. From touch of this new power
Nothing was safe: the Elder-tree that grew
288
A dismal look; the Yew-tree had its Ghost,
That took its station there for ornament:
Then common death was none, common mishap,
But matter for this humour everywhere,
The tragic super-tragic, else left short.
Then, if a Widow, staggering with the blow
Of her distress, was known to have made her way
To the cold grave in which her Husband slept,
One night, or haply more than one, through pain
Or half-insensate impotence of mind
The fact was caught at greedily, and there
She was a visitant the whole year through,
Wetting the turf with never-ending tears,
And all the storms of Heaven must beat on her.
| The Prelude | |