The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth — Volume 8 (of 8)Wordsworth, William
General
The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth — Volume 8 (of 8)
Wordsworth, William
English poetry -- 18th century; English poetry -- 19th century
Obtaining ampler boon, at every step,
Of visual sovereignty--hills multitudinous, 40
(Not Apennine can boast of fairer) hills
Pride of two nations, wood and lake and plains,
And prospect right below of deep coves shaped[69]
By skeleton arms, that, from the mountain’s trunk
Extended, clasp the winds, with mutual moan 45
Struggling for liberty, while undismayed
The shepherd struggles with them. Onward thence
And downward by the skirt of Greenside fell,[70]
And by Glenridding-screes,[71] and low Glencoign,[72]
Places forsaken now, though[73] loving still 50
The muses, as they loved them in the days
Of the old minstrels and the border bards.--
But here am I fast bound; and let it pass,
The simple rapture;--who that travels far
To feed his mind with watchful eyes could share 55
Or wish to share it?--One there surely was,
“The Wizard of the North,” with anxious hope
Brought to this genial climate, when disease
Preyed upon body and mind--yet not the less
Had his sunk eye kindled at those dear words 60
That spake of bards and minstrels; and his spirit
Had flown with mine to old Helvellyn’s brow,
Where once together, in his day of strength,
We stood rejoicing,[74] as if earth were free
From sorrow, like the sky above our heads. 65
Years followed years, and when, upon the eve
Of his last going from Tweed-side, thought turned,
Or by another’s sympathy was led,
To this bright land, Hope was for him no friend,
Knowledge no help; Imagination shaped 70
No promise. Still, in more than ear-deep seats,
Survives for me, and cannot but survive
The tone of voice which wedded borrowed words
To sadness not their own, when, with faint smile
Forced by intent to take from speech its edge, 75
He said, “When I am there, although ’tis fair,
’Twill be another Yarrow.”[75] Prophecy
More than fulfilled, as gay Campania’s shores
Soon witnessed, and the city of seven hills,
Her sparkling fountains, and her mouldering tombs; 80
And more than all, that Eminence[76] which showed
Her splendours, seen, not felt, the while he stood
A few short steps (painful they were) apart
From Tasso’s Convent-haven, and retired grave.[77]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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