The
latter part of the poem perhaps requires some apology, as being too much
of an echo to 'The Reverie of Poor Susan'.
latter part of the poem perhaps requires some apology, as being too much
of an echo to 'The Reverie of Poor Susan'.
William Wordsworth
]
[Variant 8: _Italics_ first used in 1815. ]
[Variant 9: This word was _italicised_ from 1813 to 1832. ]
* * * * *
THE FARMER OF TILSBURY VALE
Composed 1800. --Published 1815 [A]
[The character of this man was described to me, and the incident upon
which the verses turn was told me, by Mr. Poole of Nether Stowey, with
whom I became acquainted through our common friend, S. T. Coleridge.
During my residence at Alfoxden, I used to see much of him, and had
frequent occasions to admire the course of his daily life, especially
his conduct to his labourers and poor neighbours; their virtues he
carefully encouraged, and weighed their faults in the scales of charity.
If I seem in these verses to have treated the weaknesses of the farmer
and his transgressions too tenderly, it may in part be ascribed to my
having received the story from one so averse to all harsh judgment.
After his death was found in his escritoir, a lock of grey hair
carefully preserved, with a notice that it had been cut from the head of
his faithful shepherd, who had served him for a length of years. I need
scarcely add that he felt for all men as his brothers. He was much
beloved by distinguished persons--Mr. Coleridge, Mr. Southey, Sir H.
Davy, and many others; and in his own neighbourhood was highly valued as
a magistrate, a man of business, and in every other social relation.
The
latter part of the poem perhaps requires some apology, as being too much
of an echo to 'The Reverie of Poor Susan'. --I. F. ]
Included in the "Poems referring to the Period of Old Age. "--Ed.
'Tis not for the unfeeling, the falsely refined,
The squeamish in taste, and the narrow of mind,
And the small critic wielding his delicate pen,
That I sing of old Adam, the pride of old men.
He dwells in the centre of London's wide Town; 5
His staff is a sceptre--his grey hairs a crown;
And his bright eyes look brighter, set off by the streak
Of the unfaded rose that still blooms on his cheek. [1]
'Mid the dews, in the sunshine of morn,--'mid the joy
Of the fields, he collected that bloom, when a boy; 10
That countenance there fashioned, which, spite of a stain [2]
That his life hath received, to the last will remain. [3]
A Farmer he was; and his house [4] far and near
Was the boast of the country [5] for excellent cheer:
How oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale 15
Of the silver-rimmed horn whence he dealt his mild ale! [6]
Yet Adam was far as the farthest from ruin,
His fields seemed to know what their Master was doing;
And turnips, and corn-land, [7] and meadow, and lea,
All caught the infection--as generous as he. 20
Yet Adam prized little the feast and the bowl, [8]--
The fields better suited the ease of his soul:
He strayed through the fields like an indolent wight,
The quiet of nature was Adam's delight.
For Adam was simple in thought; and the poor, 25
Familiar with him, made an inn of his door:
He gave them the best that he had; or, to say
What less may mislead you, they took it away.
[9]
Thus thirty smooth years did he thrive on his farm:
The Genius of plenty preserved him from harm: 30
At length, what to most is a season of sorrow,
His means are [10] run out,--he must beg, or must borrow.
To the neighbours he went,--all were free with their money;
For his hive had so long been replenished with honey,
That they dreamt not of dearth;--He continued his rounds, [11] 35
Knocked here-and knocked there, pounds still adding to pounds.
He paid what he could with his [12] ill-gotten pelf,
And something, it might be, reserved for himself: [13]
Then (what is too true) without hinting a word,
Turned his back on the country--and off like a bird. 40
You lift up your eyes!
[Variant 8: _Italics_ first used in 1815. ]
[Variant 9: This word was _italicised_ from 1813 to 1832. ]
* * * * *
THE FARMER OF TILSBURY VALE
Composed 1800. --Published 1815 [A]
[The character of this man was described to me, and the incident upon
which the verses turn was told me, by Mr. Poole of Nether Stowey, with
whom I became acquainted through our common friend, S. T. Coleridge.
During my residence at Alfoxden, I used to see much of him, and had
frequent occasions to admire the course of his daily life, especially
his conduct to his labourers and poor neighbours; their virtues he
carefully encouraged, and weighed their faults in the scales of charity.
If I seem in these verses to have treated the weaknesses of the farmer
and his transgressions too tenderly, it may in part be ascribed to my
having received the story from one so averse to all harsh judgment.
After his death was found in his escritoir, a lock of grey hair
carefully preserved, with a notice that it had been cut from the head of
his faithful shepherd, who had served him for a length of years. I need
scarcely add that he felt for all men as his brothers. He was much
beloved by distinguished persons--Mr. Coleridge, Mr. Southey, Sir H.
Davy, and many others; and in his own neighbourhood was highly valued as
a magistrate, a man of business, and in every other social relation.
The
latter part of the poem perhaps requires some apology, as being too much
of an echo to 'The Reverie of Poor Susan'. --I. F. ]
Included in the "Poems referring to the Period of Old Age. "--Ed.
'Tis not for the unfeeling, the falsely refined,
The squeamish in taste, and the narrow of mind,
And the small critic wielding his delicate pen,
That I sing of old Adam, the pride of old men.
He dwells in the centre of London's wide Town; 5
His staff is a sceptre--his grey hairs a crown;
And his bright eyes look brighter, set off by the streak
Of the unfaded rose that still blooms on his cheek. [1]
'Mid the dews, in the sunshine of morn,--'mid the joy
Of the fields, he collected that bloom, when a boy; 10
That countenance there fashioned, which, spite of a stain [2]
That his life hath received, to the last will remain. [3]
A Farmer he was; and his house [4] far and near
Was the boast of the country [5] for excellent cheer:
How oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale 15
Of the silver-rimmed horn whence he dealt his mild ale! [6]
Yet Adam was far as the farthest from ruin,
His fields seemed to know what their Master was doing;
And turnips, and corn-land, [7] and meadow, and lea,
All caught the infection--as generous as he. 20
Yet Adam prized little the feast and the bowl, [8]--
The fields better suited the ease of his soul:
He strayed through the fields like an indolent wight,
The quiet of nature was Adam's delight.
For Adam was simple in thought; and the poor, 25
Familiar with him, made an inn of his door:
He gave them the best that he had; or, to say
What less may mislead you, they took it away.
[9]
Thus thirty smooth years did he thrive on his farm:
The Genius of plenty preserved him from harm: 30
At length, what to most is a season of sorrow,
His means are [10] run out,--he must beg, or must borrow.
To the neighbours he went,--all were free with their money;
For his hive had so long been replenished with honey,
That they dreamt not of dearth;--He continued his rounds, [11] 35
Knocked here-and knocked there, pounds still adding to pounds.
He paid what he could with his [12] ill-gotten pelf,
And something, it might be, reserved for himself: [13]
Then (what is too true) without hinting a word,
Turned his back on the country--and off like a bird. 40
You lift up your eyes!
