Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, unwithstood,
Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,1
That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.-In every thing we are sprung
Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.

WHEN I HAVE BORNE IN MEMORY WHAT HAS TAMED. Pub. 1807.

Comp. Sept. 1802.

WHEN I have borne in memory what has tamed
Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart
When men change swords for ledgers, and desert
The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed
I had, my Country!-am I to be blamed?
Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art,2
Verily, in the bottom of my heart,

Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.

For dearly must we prize thee; we who find

In thee a bulwark for the cause of men;
And I by my affection was beguiled:
What wonder if a Poet now and then,
Among the many movements of his mind,
Felt for thee as a lover or a child!

Road by which all might come and go that would,
And bear out freights of worth to foreign lands.

But, when I think of thee,

1807.

1807.

COMPOSED AFTER A JOURNEY ACROSS THE HAMBLETON HILLS, YORKSHIRE.

[Composed October 4th, 1802, after a journey over the Hambleton Hills, on a day memorable to me-the day of my marriage. The horizon commanded by those hills is most magnificent. The next day, while we were travelling in a post-chaise up Wensleydale, we were stopped by one of the horses proving restive, and were obliged to wait two hours in a severe storm before the post-boy could fetch from the inn another to supply its place. The spot was in front of Bolton Hall, where Mary Queen of Scots was kept prisoner, soon after her unfortunate landing at Workington. The place then belonged to the Scroops, and memorials of her are yet preserved there. To beguile the time I composed a Sonnet. The subject was our own confinement contrasted with hers; but it was not thought worthy of being preserved.]

DARK and more dark the shades of evening fell;
The wished-for point was reached-but at an hour
When little could be gained from that rich dower
Of prospect, whereof many thousands tell.1
Yet did the glowing west with marvellous power
Salute us; there stood Indian citadel,
Temple of Greece, and minster with its tower
Substantially expressed-a place for bell
Or clock to toll from !2 Many a tempting isle

1 1836.

Ere we had reached the wished-for place night fell
We were too late at least by one dark hour,
And nothing could we see of all that power
Of prospect, whereof many thousands tell.

1807.

Dark, and more dark, the shades of Evening fell;
The wished-for point was reached—but late the hour;
And little could we see of all that power
Of prospect,

1815.

And little could be gained from all that dower
Of prospect,

1827.

The western sky did recompense us well
With Grecian Temple, Minaret, and Bower;
And, in one part a Minster with its Tower
Substantially distinct.

1807.

With groves that never were imagined, lay
'Mid seas how steadfast! objects all for the eye
Of silent rapture1; but we felt the while
We should forget them; they are of the sky,
And from our earthly memory fade away.

Evidence, which it is unnecessary to state, led me (in preparing the Chronological Table in Vol. I.) to fix the 13th of July 1802 as the date of the composition of this Sonnet. The subjoined extract from Miss Wordsworth's journal shows that Wordsworth and she crossed over the Hambleton (or Hamilton) Hills that evening, on their way from Westmoreland to Gallow Hill, Yorkshire, to visit the Hutchinsons, before they went south to London and Calais, where they spent the month of August. But after his marriage to Mary Hutchinson, on the 4th of October, Wordsworth recrossed these Hambleton Hills on his way to Grasmere, which he reached on the evening of the 6th October; and the preceding Sonnet was composed on the evening of the 4th, as the Fenwick note indicates. The record in his sister's journal of their walk on the 13th July is as follows:-"Walked by Emont Bridge, thence by Greta Bridge. The sun shone cheerfully, and a glorious ride we had over the moors; every building bathed in golden light: we saw round us miles beyond miles, Darlington spire, &c. Thence to Thirsk; on foot to the Hamilton hills-Rivaux. I went down to look at the ruins thrushes singing, cattle feeding amongst the ruins of the Abbey; green hillocks about the ruins; these hillocks scattered over with grovelets of wild roses, and covered with wild flowers. I could have stayed in this solemn quiet spot till evening without a thought of moving, but W. was waiting for me."—ED.

Substantially expressed

Yet did the glowing west in all its power
Salute us;- there stood Indian citadel

Temple of Greece and minster with its tower
Substantially expressed,

Many a glorious pile

Did we behold, sights that might well repay
All disappointment! and, as such, the eye
Delighted in them;

1815.

1827.

1807.

STANZAS,

WRITTEN IN MY POCKET COPY OF THOMSON'S CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.

[Composed in the orchard, Town-end, Grasmere, Coleridge living with us much at this time: his son Hartley has said, that his father's character and habits are here preserved in a livelier way than in anything that has been written about him.]

WITHIN our happy Castle there dwelt One
Whom without blame I may not overlook;
For never sun on living creature shone
Who more devout enjoyment with us took:
Here on his hours he hung as on a book,
On his own time here would he float away,

As doth a fly upon a summer brook;

But go to-morrow, or belike to-day,

Seek for him, he is fled; and whither none can say.

Thus often would he leave our peaceful home,

And find elsewhere his business or delight;

Out of our Valley's limits did he roam:

Full many a time, upon a stormy night,

His voice came to us from the neighbouring height:

1

Oft could we see him 1 driving full in view

At mid-day when the sun was shining bright;
What ill was on him, what he had to do,

A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew.

Ah! piteous sight it was to see this Man

When he came back to us, a withered flower,-
Or like a sinful creature, pale and wan.

1 1836.

Oft did we see him,

1815.

Down would he sit; and without strength or power
Look at the common grass from hour to hour;
And oftentimes, how long I fear to say,
Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower,
Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay;
And, like a naked Indian, slept himself away.

Great wonder to our gentle tribe it was
Whenever from our Valley he withdrew;
For happier soul no living creature has
Than he had, being here the long day through.
Some thought he was a lover, and did woo:

Some thought far worse of him, and judged him wrong;
But verse was what he had been wedded to;

And his own mind did like a tempest strong

Come to him thus, and drove the weary Wight along.

With him there often walked in friendly guise,

Or lay upon the moss by brook or tree,
A noticeable Man with large grey eyes,
And a pale face that seemed undoubtedly
As if a blooming face it ought to be;
Heavy his low-hung lip did oft appear,

Deprest by weight of musing Phantasy;
Profound his forehead was, though not severe;

Yet some did think that he had little business here;

Sweet heaven forefend! his was a lawful right;

Noisy he was, and gamesome as a boy;

His limbs would toss about him with delight

Like branches when strong winds the trees annoy.
Nor lacked his calmer hours device or toy
To banish listlessness and irksome care;

He would have taught you how you might employ