Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received
Into the bosom of the steady lake.

This boy was taken from his mates, and died In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.1 Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale

Where he was born and bred2: the church-yard hangs

Upon a slope above the village-school;

And, through that church-yard when my way has led
On summer-evenings,3 I believe, that there

A long half-hour together I have stood1
Mute-looking at the grave in which he lies !5

he died when he was ten years old. In childhood, ere he was ten years old.

1800.

1805.

Fair are the woods, and beauteous is the spot,
The vale where he was born:

1800.

Fair is the spot, most beautiful the vale

Where he was born.

1827.

Fair are the woods, and beauteous is the spot
The vale where he was born.

1843.

(Returning to 1800.)

In the Prelude the version of 1827 is adopted.

And there, along that bank, when I have passed
At evening

1800.

And through that church-yard when my way has led
At evening

1827.

Mute for he died when he was ten years old.

1800.

Wordsworth sent this poem in MS. to Coleridge, who was then living at Ratzeburg, and Coleridge wrote on the 10th Dec. 1798, in reply :"The blank lines gave me as much direct pleasure as was possible in

the general bustle of pleasure with which I received and read your letter. I observed, I remember, that the fingers woven,' &c., only puzzled me; and though I liked the twelve or fourteen first lines very well, yet I liked the remainder much better. Well, now I have read them again, they are very beautiful, and leave an affecting impression. That

Uncertain heaven received

Into the bosom of the steady lake,

I should have recognised anywhere; and had I met these lines running wild in the deserts of Arabia, I should have instantly screamed out 'Wordsworth'!"

The William Raincock referred to in the Fenwick note to this poem as his schoolfellow at Hawkshead, was with him also at Cambridge, where he was second Wrangler in 1790. John Fleming of Rayrigg, his brother,— the boy with whom Wordsworth used to walk round the lake of Esthwaite in the morning before school-time ("five miles of pleasant wandering")—was also at John's College, Cambridge, at this time, and was fifth Wrangler in the previous year, 1789. He is referred to both in the second and the fifth books of The Prelude (see notes to that poem). It is perhaps not unworthy of note that Wrangham, whose French stanzas on "The Birth of Love" Wordsworth translated into English, was in the same year-1789-third Wrangler, second Smith's prizeman, and first Chancellor's medallist; while Robert Greenwood, "the Minstrel of the Troop," who "blew his flute, alone upon the rock," in Windermere,— also one of the characters referred to in the second book of The Prelude, --was sixteenth Wrangler in Wordsworth's year, viz., 1791.—Ed.

[Written in Germany; intended as part of a poem on my own life, but struck out as not being wanted there. Like most of my schoolfellows I was an impassioned Nutter. For this pleasure, the Vale of Esthwaite, abounding in coppice wood, furnished a very wide range. These verses arose out of the remembrance of feelings I had often had when a boy, and particularly in the extensive woods that still stretch from the side of Esthwaite Lake towards Graythwaite, the seat of the ancient family of Sandys.]

It seems a day

(I speak of one from many singled out)

One of those heavenly days that cannot die;

When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,

I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth 1
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung,2
A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my step
Tow'rd some far-distant wood,3 a Figure quaint,
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds,*
Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal Dame—5
Motley accoutrement, of power to smile
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,
More ragged than need was! O'er pathless rocks,
Through beds of matted fern and tangled thickets,
Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough

and, in truth,

Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
Of devastation; but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung,7

When forth I sallied from our cottage-door,*

1800.

7 1845.

And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way
Until, at length, I came

with milk-white clusters hung,

1800.

1800.

The house at which I was boarded during the time I was at school.

1800.

A virgin scene!A little while I stood,
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet; or beneath the trees I sate
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played ;
A temper known to those, who, after long
And weary expectation, have been blest
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
The violets of five seasons re-appear
And fade, unseen by any human eye;
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam,
And with my cheek on one of those green stones
That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees,
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep—
I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,

The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash

And merciless ravage: and the shady nook

Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being: and, unless I now
Confound my present feelings with the past;
Ere from the mutilated bower I turned 1
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

1 1836.

Even then, when from the bower I turned away,

1800.

The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.-
Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
Touch-for there is a spirit in the woods.

The woods round Esthwaite Lake have doubtless undergone considerable change since Wordsworth's school days at Hawkshead; but hazel coppice is still abundant, and the place to which the Fenwick note refers can easily be identified.-Ed.

STRANGE FITS OF PASSION HAVE I KNOWN.

Comp. 1799.

Pub. 1800.

[Written in Germany, 1799.]

STRANGE fits of passion have I known :

And I will dare to tell,

But in the Lover's ear alone,

What once to me befel.

When she I loved looked every day

Fresh as a rose in June,1

I to her cottage bent my way,

Beneath an evening moon.

Upon the moon I fixed my eye,

All over the wide lea;

With quickening pace my horse drew nigh

Those paths so dear to me.