silent years
Tell seemingly no doubtful tale;
And yet they leave it short, and fears 10
And hopes are strong and will prevail.
Tell seemingly no doubtful tale;
And yet they leave it short, and fears 10
And hopes are strong and will prevail.
William Wordsworth
]
* * * * *
THE FORSAKEN
Composed 1804. --Published 1842
[This was an overflow from 'The Affliction of Margaret', and was
excluded as superfluous there, but preserved in the faint hope that it
may turn to account by restoring a shy lover to some forsaken damsel. My
poetry has been complained of as deficient in interests of this sort,--a
charge which the piece beginning, "Lyre! though such power do in thy
magic live," will scarcely tend to obviate. The natural imagery of these
verses was supplied by frequent, I might say intense, observation of the
Rydal torrent. What an animating contrast is the ever-changing aspect of
that, and indeed of every one of our mountain brooks, to the monotonous
tone and unmitigated fury of such streams among the Alps as are fed all
the summer long by glaciers and melting snows. A traveller observing the
exquisite purity of the great rivers, such as the Rhone at Geneva, and
the Reuss at Lucerne, when they issue out of their respective lakes,
might fancy for a moment that some power in nature produced this
beautiful change, with a view to make amends for those Alpine sullyings
which the waters exhibit near their fountain heads; but, alas! how soon
does that purity depart before the influx of tributary waters that have
flowed through cultivated plains and the crowded abodes of men. --I. F. ]
Included by Wordsworth among his "Poems founded on the Affections. "--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.
* * * * *
THE FORSAKEN
Composed 1804. --Published 1842
[This was an overflow from 'The Affliction of Margaret', and was
excluded as superfluous there, but preserved in the faint hope that it
may turn to account by restoring a shy lover to some forsaken damsel. My
poetry has been complained of as deficient in interests of this sort,--a
charge which the piece beginning, "Lyre! though such power do in thy
magic live," will scarcely tend to obviate. The natural imagery of these
verses was supplied by frequent, I might say intense, observation of the
Rydal torrent. What an animating contrast is the ever-changing aspect of
that, and indeed of every one of our mountain brooks, to the monotonous
tone and unmitigated fury of such streams among the Alps as are fed all
the summer long by glaciers and melting snows. A traveller observing the
exquisite purity of the great rivers, such as the Rhone at Geneva, and
the Reuss at Lucerne, when they issue out of their respective lakes,
might fancy for a moment that some power in nature produced this
beautiful change, with a view to make amends for those Alpine sullyings
which the waters exhibit near their fountain heads; but, alas! how soon
does that purity depart before the influx of tributary waters that have
flowed through cultivated plains and the crowded abodes of men. --I. F. ]
Included by Wordsworth among his "Poems founded on the Affections. "--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.
