No More Learning

William began to try to alter 'The Butterfly', and tired himself. "

Compare the later poem 'To a Butterfly' (#2) (April 20), p. 297. --Ed.





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THE EMIGRANT MOTHER


Composed March 16th and 17th, 1802. --Published 1807


[Suggested by what I have noticed in more than one French fugitive
during the time of the French Revolution. If I am not mistaken the lines
were composed at Sockburn when I was on a visit to Mary and her
brothers. --I. F. ]

In the editions of 1807 and 1815, this poem had no distinctive title;
but in the Wordsworth circle, it was known from the year 1802 as 'The
Emigrant Mother', and at least one copy was transcribed with this title
in 1802. It was first published under that name in 1820. It was revised
and altered in 1820, 1827, 1832, 1836, and more especially in 1845.

In Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal the following entries occur:

"Tuesday (March 16). --William went up into the orchard, and wrote a
part of 'The Emigrant Mother'. "

"Wednesday.
--William went up into the orchard, and finished the
poem. . . . I went and sate with W. , and walked backwards and forwards in
the orchard till dinner-time. He read me his poem. "

This poem was included among those "founded on the Affections. "--Ed.




Once in a lonely hamlet I sojourned
In which a Lady driven from France did dwell;
The big and lesser griefs with which she mourned,
In friendship she to me would often tell.

This Lady, [1] dwelling upon British [2] ground, 5
Where she was childless, daily would [3] repair
To a poor neighbouring cottage; as I found,
For sake of a young Child whose home was there.

Once having seen her clasp with fond embrace
This Child, I chanted to myself a lay, 10
Endeavouring, in our English tongue, to trace
Such things as she unto the Babe might say: [4]
And thus, from what I heard and knew, or guessed, [5]
My song the workings of her heart expressed.

I "Dear Babe, thou daughter of another, 15
One moment let me be thy mother!
An infant's face and looks are thine
And sure a mother's heart is mine:
Thy own dear mother's far away,
At labour in the harvest field: 20
Thy little sister is at play;--
What warmth, what comfort would it yield
To my poor heart, if thou wouldst be
One little hour a child to me!

II "Across the waters I am come, 25
And I have left a babe at home:
A long, long way of land and sea!
Come to me--I'm no enemy:
I am the same who at thy side
Sate yesterday, and made a nest 30
For thee, sweet Baby!