Yet ... MS. and 1820. ] [Footnote 308: 1827. But it behoves that thou shouldst know MS. and 1820. ] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote DB: Compare _The Primrose of the Rock_ composed in 1831. The rock which the Wordsworth family were in the habit of calling "Glow-worm Rock" is on the right hand side of the road, as you ascend from Rydal, by the middle path, over White Moss Common to Grasmere.--ED.] INSCRIPTIONS SUPPOSED TO BE FOUND IN AND NEAR A HERMIT'S CELL 1818 Composed 1818.--Published 1820 The five poems which follow were placed among the "Inscriptions," from 1820 onwards.--ED. I "HOPES, WHAT ARE THEY?--BEADS OF MORNING" Hopes, what are they?--Beads of morning Strung on slender[311] blades of grass; Or a spider's web adorning In a strait and treacherous pass.[312] What are fears but voices airy? 5 Whispering harm[313] where harm is not; And deluding the unwary[314] Till the fatal bolt is shot! What is glory?--in the socket See how dying tapers fare! 10 What is pride?--a whizzing rocket That would emulate a star. What is friendship?--do not trust her, Nor the vows which she has made; Diamonds dart their brightest lustre 15 From a palsy-shaken head. What is truth?--a staff rejected;[315] Duty?--an unwelcome clog; Joy?--a moon by fits reflected[316] In a swamp or watery bog;[317] 20 Bright, as if through ether steering,[318] To the Traveller's eye it shone: He hath hailed it re-appearing-- And as quickly it is gone; Such is Joy--as quickly hidden,[319] 25 Or mis-shapen to the sight, And by sullen weeds forbidden To resume its native light.[320] What is youth?--a dancing billow, (Winds behind, and rocks before!)[321] 30 Age?--a drooping, tottering willow On a flat and lazy shore.[322] What is peace?--when pain is over, And love ceases to rebel, Let the last faint sigh discover 35 That precedes the passing knell! Compare Carlyle's _Cui Bono_-- What is Hope? A smiling rainbow Children follow through the wet; 'Tis not here, still yonder, yonder: Never urchin found it yet. What is Life? A thawing iceboard On a sea with sunny shore;-- Gay we sail; it melts beneath us; We are sunk, and seen no more. What is Man? A foolish baby, Vainly strives, and fights, and frets; Demanding all, deserving nothing;-- One small grave is what he gets. See his _Miscellaneous Essays_, vol. i. p. 352 (edition 1857).--ED. II INSCRIBED UPON A ROCK