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of present pleasure, but with pleasing A motion and a spirit, that impels thoughts

All thinking things, all objects of all That in this moment there is life and food thought, For future years. And so I dare to hope, 65 And rolls through all things. Therefore Though changed, no doubt, from what

am I still I was when first

A lover of the meadows and the woods, I came among these hills; when like a roe And mountains; and of all that we beI bounded o’er the mountains, by the hold sides

From this green earth; of all the mighty Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, world

105 Wherever nature led: more like a man 70 Of eye, and ear,-both what they half Flying from something that he dreads, create, than one

And what perceive; well pleased to recogWho sought the thing he loved. For nize nature then

In nature and the language of the sense, (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, The anchor of my purest thoughts, the And their glad animal movements all gone nurse, by)

The guide, the guardian of my heart; and To me was all in all. I cannot paint 75

soul What then I was. The sounding cataract Of all my moral being. Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock,

Nor perchance, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy If I were not thus taught, should I the

wood, Their colors and their forms, were then to Suffer my genial spirits to decay:

For thou art with me here upon the banks An appetite; a feeling and a love, 80 Of this fair river; thou my dearest friend, That had no need of a remoter charm, My dear, dear friend; and in thy voice I By thought supplied, nor any interest

catch

116 Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is The language of my former heart, and past,

read And all its aching joys are now no more, My former pleasures in the shooting lights And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this 85 Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur; other May I behold in thee what I was once, 120 gifts

My dear, dear sister! and this prayer I Have followed; for such loss, I would make, believe,

Knowing that Nature never did betray Abundant recompense.

For I have the heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, learned

Through all the years of this our life, to To look on nature, not as in the hour

lead Of thoughtless youth; but hearing often- From joy to joy: for she can so inform 125 times

90

The mind that is within us, so impress The still, sad music of humanity,

With quietness and beauty, and so feed Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample With lofty thoughts, that neither evil power

tongues, To chasten and subdue. And I have Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish felt

men, A presence that disturbs me with the Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor joy

all

130 Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime, 95 The dreary intercourse of daily life, Of something far more deeply interfused, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Whose dwelling is the light of setting Our cheerful faith, that all which we besuns,

hold And the round ocean and the living air, Is full of blessings. Therefore let the And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;

moon

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Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; 135

"To-night will be a stormy nightAnd let the misty mountain-winds be You to the town must go; free

And take a lantern, Child, to light 15 To blow against thee: and, in after years, Your mother through the snow.” When these wild ecstasies shall be matured Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind

“That, Father! will I gladly do: Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, 140

'Tis scarcely afternoonThy memory be as a dwelling-place The minster-clock has just struck two, For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! And yonder is the moon!"

then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,

At this the father raised his hook, Should be thy portion, with what healing And snapped a faggot-band; thoughts

He plied his work, and Lucy took Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, 145

The lantern in her hand. And these my exhortations! Nor, per

Not blither is the mountain roe:

25 chance —

With many a wanton stroke If I should be where I no more can hear

Her feet disperse the powdery snow, Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes

That rises up like smoke. these gleams Of past existence—wilt thou then forget The storm came on before its time: That on the banks of this delightful She wandered up and down; stream

150 And many a hill did Lucy climb: We stood together; and that I, so long But never reached the town. A worshipper of Nature, hither came Unwearied in that service: rather say The wretched parents all that night With warmer love oh! with far deeper Went shouting far and wide; zeal

But there was neither sound nor sight 35 Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget, To serve them for a guide. That after many wanderings, many years Of absence, these steep woods and lofty At daybreak on a hill they stood

That overlooked the moor;

157 And this green pastoral landscape, were

And thence they saw the bridge of wood, to me A furlong from their door.

40 More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

They wept-and, turning homeward,

cried,
“In heaven we all shall meet;'

-When in the snow the mother spied LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE

The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:

edge

45 And, when I crossed the wild,

They tracked the footmarks small; I chanced to see at break of day

And through the broken hawthorn hedge, The solitary child.

And by the long stone-wall;
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; 5 And then an open field they crossed:
She dwelt on a wide moor,

The marks were still the same;

50 -The sweetest thing that ever grew They tracked them on, nor ever lost; Beside a human door!

And to the bridge they came.
You yet may spy the fawn at play, They followed from the snowy bank
The hare upon the green;

Those footmarks, one by one,
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Into the middle of the plank;

cliffs,

55 Will never more be seen.

And further there were none!

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THREE YEARS SHE GREW A slumber did my spirit seal;

I had no human fears: Three years she grew in sun and shower,

She seemed a thing that could not feel Then Nature said, “A lovelier flower

The touch of earthly years.
On earth was never sown;
This child I to myself will take;

No motion has she now, no force; 5 She shall be mine, and I will make

5

She neither hears nor sees; A lady of my own.

Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, Myself will to my darling be

With rocks, and stones, and trees.
Both law and impulse: and with me
The girl, in rock and plain,

THE PRELUDE
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 10
Shall feel an overseeing power

From Book I
To kindle or restrain.
“She shall be sportive as the fawn

CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOLTIME
That wild with glee across the lawn,
Or up the mountain springs;

And in the frosty season, when the sun

15 And hers shall be the breathing balm, Was set, and visible for many a mile And hers the silence and the calm

The cottage windows blazed through twiOf mute insensate things.

light gloom,

I heeded not their summons: happy time “The floating clouds their state shall lend It was indeed for all of us—for me To her; for her the willow bend;

It was a time of rapture! Clear and Nor shall she fail to see

loud

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me

The village clock tolled six,-1 wheeled But now, relinquishing the scrip and staff, about,

And all enjoyment which the summer sun Proud and exulting like an untired horse Sheds round the steps of those who meet That cares not for his home. All shod

the day with steel,

With motion constant as his own, I went We hissed along the polished ice in games Prepared to sojourn in a pleasant town, 40 Confederate, imitative of the chase

435 Washed by the current of the stately Loire. And woodland pleasures,—the resounding Through Paris lay my readiest course, horn,

and there The pack loud chiming, and the hunted Sojourning a few days, I visited hare.

In haste, each spot of old or recent fame. So through the darkness and the cold we

flew, And not a voice was idle; with the din

Where silent zephyrs sported with the

dust Smitten, the precipices rang aloud; 440 The leafless trees and every icy crag

Of the Bastille, I sate in the open sun, Tinkled like iron; while far distant hills

And from the rubbish gathered up a stone, Into the tumult sent an alien sound

And pocketed the relic, in the guise Of melancholy not unnoticed, while the Of an enthusiast: yet, in honest truth,

I looked for something that I could not stars Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the

find,

Affecting more emotion than I felt; west

445 The orange sky of evening died away.

For 'tis most certain, that these various Not seldom from the uproar I retired

sights, Into a silent bay, or sportively

However potent their first shock, with Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous

75 throng,

Appeared to recompense the traveller's To cut across the reflex of a star

pains

450 That fled, and, flying still before me,

Less than the painted Magdalene of Le gleamed

Brun, Upon the glassy plain; and oftentimes, A beauty exquisitely wrought, with hair When we had given our bodies to the wind, Dishevelled, gleaming eyes, and rueful

cheek And all the shadowy banks on either side Came sweeping through the darkness, Pale and bedropped with overflowing

tears,

80 spinning still

455 The rapid line of motion, then at once Have I, reclining back upon my heels, I stood 'mid those concussions, unconStopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs

cerned, Wheeled by me even as if the earth had Tranquil almost, and careless as a flower rolled

Glassed in a green-house, or a parlor With visible motion her diurnal round! 460

shrub Behind me did they stretch in solemn

That spreads its leaves in unmolested train,

peace, Feebler and feebler, and I stood and

While every bush and tree, the country watched Till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep. Is shaking to the roots.

through,
From BOOK IX

A band of military Officers,
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE

Then stationed in the city, were the chief France lured me forth; the realm that I Of my associates: some of these wore had crossed

swords So lately, journeying toward the snow- That had been seasoned in the wars, and

35

all

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clad Alps.

Were men well-born; the chivalry of Tied to her arm, and picking thus from France.

the lane In age and temper differing, they had Its sustenance, while the girl with pallid yet

130

hands One spirit ruling in each heart; alike Was busy knitting in a heartless mood 515 (Save only one, hereafter to be named) Of solitude, and at the sight my friend Were bent upon undoing what was done: In agitation said, “'Tis against that This was their rest and only hope; there- That we are fighting," I with him believed with

That a benignant spirit was abroad No fear had they of bad becoming worse, Which might not be withstood, that For bad to them was come; nor would poverty

520 have stirred,

136 Abject as this would in a little time Or deemed it worth a moment's thought to Be found no more, that we should see the stir,

earth In anything, save only as the act

Unthwarted in her wish to recompense Looked thitherward. One, reckoning by The meek, the lowly, patient child of toil, years, All institutes for ever blotted out

525 Was in the prime of manhood, and ere- That legalised exclusion, empty pomp while

140

Abolished, sensual state and cruel power He had sate lord in many tender hearts; Whether by edict of the one or few; Though heedless of such honors now, and And finally, as sum and crown of all, changed:

Should see the people having a strong His temper was quite mastered by the hand

530 times,

In framing their own laws; whence better And they had blighted him, had eaten days away

To all mankind.
The beauty of his person, doing wrong 145
Alike to body and to mind: his port,

From BOOK X
Which once had been erect and open,

RESIDENCE IN FRANCE (continued) Was stooping and contracted, and a face Cheered with this hope, to Paris I reEndowed by Nature with her fairest gifts turned, Of symmetry and light and bloom, ex- And ranged, with ardor heretofore unfelt, pressed,

150 The spacious city, and in progress passed As much as any that was ever seen, The prison where the unhappy Monarch A ravage out of season, made by thoughts lay,

51 Unhealthy and vexatious.

Associate with his children and his wife 'Twas in truth an hour In bondage, and the palace, lately stormed Of universal ferment; mildest men

With roar of cannon by a furious host. Were agitated; and commotions, strife I crossed the square (an empty area then!) Of passion and opinion, filled the walls Of the Carrousel, where so late had lain 56 Of peaceful houses with unquiet sounds. 165 The dead, upon the dying heaped, and The soil of life was, at that time,

gazed Too hot to tread upon.

On this and other spots, as doth a man
Upon a volume whose contents he knows

Are memorable, but from him locked up, Along that very Loire, with festal | Being written in a tongue he cannot read, mirth

431 So that he questions the mute leaves Resounding at all hours, and innocent yet

with pain,

62 Of civil slaughter, was our frequent walk. And half upbraids their silence. But that

: . And when we chanced night One day to meet a hunger bitten girl, 510 I felt most deeply in what world I was, Who crept along fitting her languid gait What ground I trod on, and what air Unto a heifer's motion, by a cord

I breathed.

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