No More Learning

JOHNSON, ST. PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD.
1793.


TO THE REV. ROBERT JONES, FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.


Dear sir, However desirous I might have been of giving you proofs of the
high place you hold in my esteem, I should have been cautious of
wounding your delicacy by thus publicly addressing you, had not the
circumstance of my having accompanied you amongst the Alps, seemed to
give this dedication a propriety sufficient to do away any scruples
which your modesty might otherwise have suggested.

In inscribing this little work to you I consult my heart. You know well
how great is the difference between two companions lolling in a post
chaise, and two travellers plodding slowly along the road, side by side,
each with his little knap-sack of necessaries upon his shoulders. How
much more of heart between the two latter!

I am happy in being conscious I shall have one reader who will approach
the conclusion of these few pages with regret. You they must certainly
interest, in reminding you of moments to which you can hardly look back
without a pleasure not the less dear from a shade of melancholy. You
will meet with few images without recollecting the spot where we
observed them together, consequently, whatever is feeble in my design,
or spiritless in my colouring, will be amply supplied by your own
memory.

With still greater propriety I might have inscribed to you a description
of some of the features of your native mountains, through which we have
wandered together, in the same manner, with so much pleasure. But the
sea-sunsets which give such splendour to the vale of Clwyd, Snowdon, the
chair of Idris, the quiet village of Bethkelert, Menai and her druids,
the Alpine steeps of the Conway, and the still more interesting windings
of the wizard stream of the Dee remain yet untouched.
Apprehensive that
my pencil may never be exercised on these subjects, I cannot let slip
this opportunity of thus publicly assuring you with how much affection
and esteem,

I am Dear Sir,

Your most obedient very humble Servant

W. WORDSWORTH.



ARGUMENT

'Happiness (if she had been to be found on Earth) amongst the Charms of
Nature--Pleasures of the pedestrian Traveller--Author crosses France to
the Alps--Present state of the Grande Chartreuse--Lake of Como--Time,
Sunset--Same Scene, Twilight--Same Scene, Morning, it's Voluptuous
Character; Old Man and Forest Cottage Music--River Tusa--Via Mala and
Grison Gypsey. Valley of Sckellenen-thal--Lake of Uri, Stormy
Sunset--Chapel of William Tell--force of Local Emotion--Chamois
Chaser--View of the higher Alps--Manner of Life of a Swiss Mountaineer
interspersed with views of the higher Alps--Golden Age of the Alps--Life
and Views continued--Ranz des Vaches famous Swiss Air--Abbey of
Einsiedlen and it's Pilgrims--Valley of Chamouny--Mont Blanc--Slavery of
Savoy--Influence of Liberty on Cottage Happiness--France--Wish for the
extirpation of Slavery--Conclusion. '


DESCRIPTIVE SKETCHES [A]


Were there, below, a spot of holy ground,
By Pain and her sad family unfound,
Sure, Nature's GOD that spot to man had giv'n,
Where murmuring rivers join the song of ev'n;
Where falls the purple morning far and wide 5
In flakes of light upon the mountain-side;
Where summer Suns in ocean sink to rest,
Or moonlight Upland lifts her hoary breast;
Where Silence, on her night of wing, o'er-broods
Unfathom'd dells and undiscover'd woods; 10
Where rocks and groves the power of waters shakes
In cataracts, or sleeps in quiet lakes.

But doubly pitying Nature loves to show'r
Soft on his wounded heart her healing pow'r,
Who plods o'er hills and vales his road forlorn, 15
Wooing her varying charms from eve to morn.
No sad vacuities his heart annoy,
Blows not a Zephyr but it whispers joy;
For him lost flowers their idle sweets exhale;
He tastes the meanest note that swells the gale; 20
For him sod-seats the cottage-door adorn,
And peeps the far-off spire, his evening bourn!
Dear is the forest frowning o'er his head,
And dear the green-sward to his velvet tread;
Moves there a cloud o'er mid-day's flaming eye? 25
Upward he looks--and calls it luxury;
Kind Nature's charities his steps attend,
In every babbling brook he finds a friend,
While chast'ning thoughts of sweetest use, bestow'd
By Wisdom, moralize his pensive road. 30
Host of his welcome inn, the noon-tide bow'r,
To his spare meal he calls the passing poor;
He views the Sun uprear his golden fire,
Or sink, with heart alive like [B] Memnon's lyre;
Blesses the Moon that comes with kindest ray 35
To light him shaken by his viewless way.
With bashful fear no cottage children steal
From him, a brother at the cottage meal,
His humble looks no shy restraint impart,
Around him plays at will the virgin heart. 40
While unsuspended wheels the village dance,
The maidens eye him with inquiring glance,
Much wondering what sad stroke of crazing Care
Or desperate Love could lead a wanderer there.

Me, lur'd by hope her sorrows to remove, 45
A heart, that could not much itself approve,
O'er Gallia's wastes of corn dejected led,
[C] Her road elms rustling thin above my head,
Or through her truant pathway's native charms,
By secret villages and lonely farms, 50
To where the Alps, ascending white in air,
Toy with the Sun, and glitter from afar.

Ev'n now I sigh at hoary Chartreuse' doom
Weeping beneath his chill of mountain gloom.
Where now is fled that Power whose frown severe 55
Tam'd "sober Reason" till she crouch'd in fear?
That breath'd a death-like peace these woods around
Broke only by th' unvaried torrent's sound,
Or prayer-bell by the dull cicada drown'd.