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 |  |
Thus occupied in mind, I linger'd here
Contented, nor rose up until the sun
Had almost touch'd the horizon, bidding then
A farewell to the City left behind,
Even with the chance equipment of that hour
I journey'd towards the Vale that I had chosen.
It was a splendid evening; and my soul
Did once again make trial of the strength
Restored to her afresh; nor did she want
Eolian visitations; but the harp
Was soon defrauded, and the banded host
Of harmony dispers'd in straggling sounds
And, lastly, utter silence. ‘Be it so,
It is an injury,’ said I, ‘to this day
To think of any thing but present joy.’
So like a Peasant I pursued my road
Beneath the evening sun, nor had one wish
Again to bend the sabbath of that time
To a servile yoke. What need of many words?
A pleasant loitering journey, through two days
Continued, brought me to my hermitage.
Contented, nor rose up until the sun
Had almost touch'd the horizon, bidding then
A farewell to the City left behind,
Even with the chance equipment of that hour
I journey'd towards the Vale that I had chosen.
It was a splendid evening; and my soul
Did once again make trial of the strength
Restored to her afresh; nor did she want
Eolian visitations; but the harp
8
Of harmony dispers'd in straggling sounds
And, lastly, utter silence. ‘Be it so,
It is an injury,’ said I, ‘to this day
To think of any thing but present joy.’
So like a Peasant I pursued my road
Beneath the evening sun, nor had one wish
Again to bend the sabbath of that time
To a servile yoke. What need of many words?
A pleasant loitering journey, through two days
Continued, brought me to my hermitage.
I spare to speak, my Friend, of what ensued,
The admiration and the love, the life
In common things; the endless store of things
Rare, or at least so seeming, every day
Found all about me in one neighbourhood,
The self-congratulation, the complete
Composure, and the happiness entire.
But speedily a longing in me rose
To brace myself to some determin'd aim,
Reading or thinking, either to lay up
New stores, or rescue from decay the old
By timely interference, I had hopes
Still higher, that with a frame of outward life,
I might endue, might fix in a visible home
Some portion of those phantoms of conceit
That had been floating loose about so long,
And to such Beings temperately deal forth
The many feelings that oppressed my heart.
But I have been discouraged; gleams of light
Flash often from the East, then disappear
And mock me with a sky that ripens not
Into a steady morning: if my mind,
Remembering the sweet promise of the past,
Would gladly grapple with some noble theme,
Vain is her wish; where'er she turns she finds
Impediments from day to day renew'd.
The admiration and the love, the life
In common things; the endless store of things
Rare, or at least so seeming, every day
Found all about me in one neighbourhood,
The self-congratulation, the complete
Composure, and the happiness entire.
But speedily a longing in me rose
To brace myself to some determin'd aim,
Reading or thinking, either to lay up
New stores, or rescue from decay the old
By timely interference, I had hopes
Still higher, that with a frame of outward life,
I might endue, might fix in a visible home
Some portion of those phantoms of conceit
That had been floating loose about so long,
And to such Beings temperately deal forth
The many feelings that oppressed my heart.
But I have been discouraged; gleams of light
Flash often from the East, then disappear
And mock me with a sky that ripens not
Into a steady morning: if my mind,
Remembering the sweet promise of the past,
Would gladly grapple with some noble theme,
Vain is her wish; where'er she turns she finds
Impediments from day to day renew'd.
| The Prelude | |