When the
troublesome
Tempter beset us, said I, 5
"Let him come, with his purse proudly grasped in his hand;
But, Allan, be true to me, Allan,--we'll die [2]
Before he shall go with an inch of the land!
"Let him come, with his purse proudly grasped in his hand;
But, Allan, be true to me, Allan,--we'll die [2]
Before he shall go with an inch of the land!
William Wordsworth
"--Ed.
The peace which others seek they find;
The heaviest storms not longest last;
Heaven grants even to the guiltiest mind
An amnesty for what is past;
When will my sentence be reversed? 5
I only pray to know the worst;
And wish as if my heart would burst.
O weary struggle! silent years
Tell seemingly no doubtful tale;
And yet they leave it short, and fears 10
And hopes are strong and will prevail.
My calmest faith escapes not pain;
And, feeling that the hope is vain,
I think that he will come again.
* * * * *
REPENTANCE
A PASTORAL BALLAD
Composed 1804. --Published 1820
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. Suggested by the conversation of our
next neighbour, Margaret Ashburner. --I. F. ]
This "next neighbour" is constantly referred to in Dorothy Wordsworth's
Grasmere Journal.
Included in 1820 among the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection"; in 1827,
and afterwards, it was classed with those "founded on the
Affections. "--Ed.
The fields which with covetous spirit we sold,
Those beautiful fields, the delight of the day,
Would have brought us more good than a burthen of gold, [1]
Could we but have been as contented as they.
When the troublesome Tempter beset us, said I, 5
"Let him come, with his purse proudly grasped in his hand;
But, Allan, be true to me, Allan,--we'll die [2]
Before he shall go with an inch of the land! "
There dwelt we, as happy as birds in their bowers;
Unfettered as bees that in gardens abide; 10
We could do what we liked [3] with the land, it was ours;
And for us the brook murmured that ran by its side.
But now we are strangers, go early or late;
And often, like one overburthened with sin,
With my hand on the latch of the half-opened gate, [4] 15
I look at the fields, but [5] I cannot go in!
When I walk by the hedge on a bright summer's day,
Or sit in the shade of my grandfather's tree,
A stern face it puts on, as if ready to say,
"What ails you, that you must come creeping to me! " 20
With our pastures about us, we could not be sad;
Our comfort was near if we ever were crost;
But the comfort, the blessings, and wealth that we had,
We slighted them all,--and our birth-right was lost. [6]
Oh, ill-judging sire of an innocent son 25
Who must now be a wanderer! but peace to that strain!
Think of evening's repose when our labour was done,
The sabbath's return; and its leisure's soft chain!
And in sickness, if night had been sparing of sleep,
How cheerful, at sunrise, the hill where I stood, [7] 30
Looking down on the kine, and our treasure of sheep
That besprinkled the field; 'twas like youth in my blood!
Now I cleave to the house, and am dull as a snail;
And, oftentimes, hear the church-bell with a sigh,
That follows the thought--We've no land in the vale, 35
Save six feet of earth where our forefathers lie!
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1820.
the delight of our day, MS.
O fools that we were--we had land which we sold MS.
O fools that we were without virtue to hold MS.
The fields that together contentedly lay
Would have done us more good than another man's gold MS. ]
[Variant 2:
1820.
The peace which others seek they find;
The heaviest storms not longest last;
Heaven grants even to the guiltiest mind
An amnesty for what is past;
When will my sentence be reversed? 5
I only pray to know the worst;
And wish as if my heart would burst.
O weary struggle! silent years
Tell seemingly no doubtful tale;
And yet they leave it short, and fears 10
And hopes are strong and will prevail.
My calmest faith escapes not pain;
And, feeling that the hope is vain,
I think that he will come again.
* * * * *
REPENTANCE
A PASTORAL BALLAD
Composed 1804. --Published 1820
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. Suggested by the conversation of our
next neighbour, Margaret Ashburner. --I. F. ]
This "next neighbour" is constantly referred to in Dorothy Wordsworth's
Grasmere Journal.
Included in 1820 among the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection"; in 1827,
and afterwards, it was classed with those "founded on the
Affections. "--Ed.
The fields which with covetous spirit we sold,
Those beautiful fields, the delight of the day,
Would have brought us more good than a burthen of gold, [1]
Could we but have been as contented as they.
When the troublesome Tempter beset us, said I, 5
"Let him come, with his purse proudly grasped in his hand;
But, Allan, be true to me, Allan,--we'll die [2]
Before he shall go with an inch of the land! "
There dwelt we, as happy as birds in their bowers;
Unfettered as bees that in gardens abide; 10
We could do what we liked [3] with the land, it was ours;
And for us the brook murmured that ran by its side.
But now we are strangers, go early or late;
And often, like one overburthened with sin,
With my hand on the latch of the half-opened gate, [4] 15
I look at the fields, but [5] I cannot go in!
When I walk by the hedge on a bright summer's day,
Or sit in the shade of my grandfather's tree,
A stern face it puts on, as if ready to say,
"What ails you, that you must come creeping to me! " 20
With our pastures about us, we could not be sad;
Our comfort was near if we ever were crost;
But the comfort, the blessings, and wealth that we had,
We slighted them all,--and our birth-right was lost. [6]
Oh, ill-judging sire of an innocent son 25
Who must now be a wanderer! but peace to that strain!
Think of evening's repose when our labour was done,
The sabbath's return; and its leisure's soft chain!
And in sickness, if night had been sparing of sleep,
How cheerful, at sunrise, the hill where I stood, [7] 30
Looking down on the kine, and our treasure of sheep
That besprinkled the field; 'twas like youth in my blood!
Now I cleave to the house, and am dull as a snail;
And, oftentimes, hear the church-bell with a sigh,
That follows the thought--We've no land in the vale, 35
Save six feet of earth where our forefathers lie!
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1820.
the delight of our day, MS.
O fools that we were--we had land which we sold MS.
O fools that we were without virtue to hold MS.
The fields that together contentedly lay
Would have done us more good than another man's gold MS. ]
[Variant 2:
1820.
