No More Learning

Never--never does the trouble
Of the Wanderer leave my soul. 1815.

The text of 1827 returns to that of 1800. ]



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FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: In the editions of 1800 to 1832 stanzas 4 and 5 were
transposed. Their present order was adjusted in the edition of
1836. --Ed. ]





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THE BROTHERS [A]


Composed 1800. [B]--Published 1800


[This poem was composed in a grove at the north-eastern end of Grasmere
lake, which grove was in a great measure destroyed by turning the high
road along the side of the water. The few trees that are left were
spared at my intercession. The poem arose out of the fact, mentioned to
me at Ennerdale, that a shepherd had fallen asleep upon the top of the
rock called the Pillar, and perished as here described, his staff being
left midway on the rock. --I. F. ]

One of the "Poems founded on the Affections. "--Ed.




These Tourists, heaven preserve us!
needs must live
A profitable life: some glance along,
Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air,
And they were butterflies to wheel about
Long as the [1] summer lasted: some, as wise, 5
Perched on the forehead of a jutting crag,
Pencil in hand and book upon the knee,
Will look and scribble, scribble on and look, [2]
Until a man might travel twelve stout miles,
Or reap an acre of his neighbour's corn. 10
But, for that moping Son of Idleness,
Why can he tarry _yonder_? --In our church-yard
Is neither epitaph nor monument,
Tombstone nor name--only the turf we tread
And a few natural graves. " 15

To Jane, his wife,
Thus spake the homely Priest of Ennerdale.
It was a July evening; and he sate
Upon the long stone-seat beneath the eaves
Of his old cottage,--as it chanced, that day, 20
Employed in winter's work. Upon the stone
His wife sate near him, teasing matted wool,
While, from the twin cards toothed with glittering wire,
He fed the spindle of his youngest child,
Who, in the open air, with due accord 25
Of busy hands and back-and-forward steps,
Her large round wheel was turning. [3] Towards the field
In which the Parish Chapel stood alone,
Girt round with a bare ring of mossy wall,
While half an hour went by, the Priest had sent 30
Many a long look of wonder: and at last,
Risen from his seat, beside the snow white ridge
Of carded wool which the old man had piled
He laid his implements with gentle care,
Each in the other locked; and, down the path 35
That [4] from his cottage to the church-yard led,
He took his way, impatient to accost
The Stranger, whom he saw still lingering there.

'Twas one well known to him in former days,
A Shepherd-lad; who ere his sixteenth year 40
Had left that calling, tempted to entrust
His expectations to the fickle winds
And perilous waters; with the mariners [5]
A fellow-mariner;--and so had fared
Through twenty seasons; but he had been reared 45
Among the mountains, and he in his heart
Was half a shepherd on the stormy seas.
Oft in the piping shrouds had Leonard heard
The tones of waterfalls, and inland sounds
Of caves and trees:--and, when the regular wind 50
Between the tropics filled the steady sail,
And blew with the same breath through days and weeks,
Lengthening invisibly its weary line
Along the cloudless Main, he, in those hours
Of tiresome indolence, would often hang 55
Over the vessel's side, and gaze and gaze;
And, while the broad blue [6] wave and sparkling foam
Flashed round him images and hues that wrought
In union with the employment of his heart,
He, thus by feverish passion overcome, 60
Even with the organs of his bodily eye,
Below him, in the bosom of the deep,
Saw mountains; saw the forms of sheep that grazed
On verdant hills--with dwellings among trees,
And shepherds clad in the same country grey 65
Which he himself had worn. [C]

And now, at last, [7]
From perils manifold, with some small wealth
Acquired by traffic 'mid [8] the Indian Isles,
To his paternal home he is returned, 70
With a determined purpose to resume
The life he had lived there; [9] both for the sake
Of many darling pleasures, and the love
Which to an only brother he has borne
In all his hardships, since that happy time 75
When, whether it blew foul or fair, they two
Were brother-shepherds on their native hills.
--They were the last of all their race: and now,
When Leonard had approached his home, his heart
Failed in him; and, not venturing to enquire 80
Tidings of one so long and dearly loved, [10]
He to the solitary church-yard turned; [11]
That, as he knew in what particular spot
His family were laid, he thence might learn
If still his Brother lived, or to the file 85
Another grave was added. --He had found
Another grave,--near which a full half-hour
He had remained; but, as he gazed, there grew
Such a confusion in his memory,
That he began to doubt; and even to hope [12] 90
That he had seen this heap of turf before,--
That it was not another grave; but one
He had forgotten. He had lost his path,
As up the vale, that afternoon, he walked [13]
Through fields which once had been well known to him: 95
And oh what joy this [14] recollection now
Sent to his heart! he lifted up his eyes,
And, looking round, imagined that he saw [15]
Strange alteration wrought on every side
Among the woods and fields, and that the rocks, 100
And everlasting hills [16] themselves were changed.

By this the Priest, who down the field had come,
Unseen by Leonard, at the church-yard gate
Stopped short,--and thence, at leisure, limb by limb
Perused him [17] with a gay complacency. 105
Ay, thought the Vicar, smiling to himself,
'Tis one of those who needs must leave the path
Of the world's business to go wild alone:
His arms have a perpetual holiday;
The happy man will creep about the fields, 110
Following his fancies by the hour, to bring
Tears down his cheek, [18] or solitary smiles
Into his face, until the setting sun
Write fool upon his forehead.