The black disguise, the warning whistle shrill, 420
And ear still busy on its nightly watch,
Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill:
Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding still.
And ear still busy on its nightly watch,
Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill:
Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding still.
Wordsworth - 1
360
XLI
"And oft I thought (my fancy was so strong)
That I, at last, a resting-place had found;
'Here will I dwell,' said I, 'my whole life long, [41]
Roaming the illimitable waters round;
Here will I live, of all but heaven disowned, 365
And end my days upon the peaceful flood. '--[42]
To break my dream the vessel reached its bound;
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood,
And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
XLII
"No help I sought; in sorrow turned adrift, 370
Was hopeless, as if cast on some bare rock; [43]
Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift,
Nor raised [44] my hand at any door to knock.
I lay where, with his drowsy mates, the cock
From the cross-timber of an out-house hung: 375
Dismally [45] tolled, that night, the city clock!
At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung,
Nor to the beggar's language could I fit [46] my tongue.
XLIII
"So passed a second day; and, when the third
Was come, I tried in vain the crowd's resort. [47] 380
--In deep despair, by frightful wishes stirred,
Near the sea-side I reached a ruined fort;
There, pains which nature could no more support,
With blindness linked, did on my vitals fall;
And, after many interruptions short [48] 385
Of hideous sense, I sank, [49] nor step could crawl:
Unsought for was the help that did my life recal. [50]
XLIV
"Borne to a hospital, I lay with brain
Drowsy and weak, and shattered memory; [51]
I heard my neighbours in their beds complain 390
Of many things which never troubled me--
Of feet still bustling round with busy glee,
Of looks where common kindness had no part,
Of service done with cold formality, [52]
Fretting the fever round the languid heart, 395
And groans which, as they said, might [53] make a dead man
start.
XLV
"These things just served to stir the slumbering [54] sense,
Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised.
With strength did memory return; [55] and, thence
Dismissed, again on open day I gazed, 400
At houses, men, and common light, amazed.
The lanes I sought, and, as the sun retired,
Came where beneath the trees a faggot blazed;
The travellers [56] saw me weep, my fate inquired,
And gave me food--and rest, more welcome, more desired. 405
[57]
XLVI
"Rough potters seemed they, trading soberly
With panniered asses driven from door to door;
But life of happier sort set forth to me, [58]
And other joys my fancy to allure--
The bag-pipe dinning on the midnight moor 410
In barn uplighted; and companions boon,
Well met from far with revelry secure
Among the forest glades, while jocund June [59]
Rolled fast along the sky his warm and genial moon.
XLVII
"But ill they suited me--those journeys dark [60] 415
O'er moor and mountain, midnight theft to hatch!
To charm the surly house-dog's faithful bark,
Or hang on tip-toe at the lifted latch.
The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match.
The black disguise, the warning whistle shrill, 420
And ear still busy on its nightly watch,
Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill:
Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding still.
XLVIII
"What could I do, unaided and unblest?
My [61] father! gone was every friend of thine: 425
And kindred of dead husband are at best
Small help; and, after marriage such as mine,
With little kindness would to me incline.
Nor was I [62] then for toil or service fit;
My deep-drawn sighs no effort could confine; 430
In open air forgetful would I sit [63]
Whole hours, with [64] idle arms in moping sorrow knit.
XLIX
"The roads I paced, I loitered through the fields;
Contentedly, yet sometimes self-accused,
Trusted my life to what chance bounty yields, [65] 435
Now coldly given, now utterly refused.
The ground [66] I for my bed have often used:
But what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth,
Is that I have my inner self abused,
Forgone the home delight of constant truth, 440
And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth.
L
"Through tears the rising sun I oft have viewed,
Through tears have seen him towards that world descend [67]
Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude:
Three years a wanderer now my course I bend--[68] 445
Oh! tell me whither--for no earthly friend
Have I. "--She ceased, and weeping turned away;
As if because her tale was at an end,
She wept; because she had no more to say
Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay. 450
LI
True sympathy the Sailor's looks expressed,
His looks--for pondering he was mute the while.
Of social Order's care for wretchedness,
Of Time's sure help to calm and reconcile,
Joy's second spring and Hope's long-treasured smile, 455
'Twas not for _him_ to speak--a man so tried.
Yet, to relieve her heart, in friendly style
Proverbial words of comfort he applied,
And not in vain, while they went pacing side by side.
LII
Ere long, from heaps of turf, before their sight, 460
Together smoking in the sun's slant beam,
Rise various wreaths that into one unite
Which high and higher mounts with silver gleam:
Fair spectacle,--but instantly a scream
Thence bursting shrill did all remark prevent; 465
They paused, and heard a hoarser voice blaspheme,
And female cries. Their course they thither bent,
And met a man who foamed with anger vehement.
LIII
A woman stood with quivering lips and pale,
And, pointing to a little child that lay 470
Stretched on the ground, began a piteous tale;
How in a simple freak of thoughtless play
He had provoked his father, who straightway,
As if each blow were deadlier than the last,
Struck the poor innocent.
XLI
"And oft I thought (my fancy was so strong)
That I, at last, a resting-place had found;
'Here will I dwell,' said I, 'my whole life long, [41]
Roaming the illimitable waters round;
Here will I live, of all but heaven disowned, 365
And end my days upon the peaceful flood. '--[42]
To break my dream the vessel reached its bound;
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood,
And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
XLII
"No help I sought; in sorrow turned adrift, 370
Was hopeless, as if cast on some bare rock; [43]
Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift,
Nor raised [44] my hand at any door to knock.
I lay where, with his drowsy mates, the cock
From the cross-timber of an out-house hung: 375
Dismally [45] tolled, that night, the city clock!
At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung,
Nor to the beggar's language could I fit [46] my tongue.
XLIII
"So passed a second day; and, when the third
Was come, I tried in vain the crowd's resort. [47] 380
--In deep despair, by frightful wishes stirred,
Near the sea-side I reached a ruined fort;
There, pains which nature could no more support,
With blindness linked, did on my vitals fall;
And, after many interruptions short [48] 385
Of hideous sense, I sank, [49] nor step could crawl:
Unsought for was the help that did my life recal. [50]
XLIV
"Borne to a hospital, I lay with brain
Drowsy and weak, and shattered memory; [51]
I heard my neighbours in their beds complain 390
Of many things which never troubled me--
Of feet still bustling round with busy glee,
Of looks where common kindness had no part,
Of service done with cold formality, [52]
Fretting the fever round the languid heart, 395
And groans which, as they said, might [53] make a dead man
start.
XLV
"These things just served to stir the slumbering [54] sense,
Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised.
With strength did memory return; [55] and, thence
Dismissed, again on open day I gazed, 400
At houses, men, and common light, amazed.
The lanes I sought, and, as the sun retired,
Came where beneath the trees a faggot blazed;
The travellers [56] saw me weep, my fate inquired,
And gave me food--and rest, more welcome, more desired. 405
[57]
XLVI
"Rough potters seemed they, trading soberly
With panniered asses driven from door to door;
But life of happier sort set forth to me, [58]
And other joys my fancy to allure--
The bag-pipe dinning on the midnight moor 410
In barn uplighted; and companions boon,
Well met from far with revelry secure
Among the forest glades, while jocund June [59]
Rolled fast along the sky his warm and genial moon.
XLVII
"But ill they suited me--those journeys dark [60] 415
O'er moor and mountain, midnight theft to hatch!
To charm the surly house-dog's faithful bark,
Or hang on tip-toe at the lifted latch.
The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match.
The black disguise, the warning whistle shrill, 420
And ear still busy on its nightly watch,
Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill:
Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding still.
XLVIII
"What could I do, unaided and unblest?
My [61] father! gone was every friend of thine: 425
And kindred of dead husband are at best
Small help; and, after marriage such as mine,
With little kindness would to me incline.
Nor was I [62] then for toil or service fit;
My deep-drawn sighs no effort could confine; 430
In open air forgetful would I sit [63]
Whole hours, with [64] idle arms in moping sorrow knit.
XLIX
"The roads I paced, I loitered through the fields;
Contentedly, yet sometimes self-accused,
Trusted my life to what chance bounty yields, [65] 435
Now coldly given, now utterly refused.
The ground [66] I for my bed have often used:
But what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth,
Is that I have my inner self abused,
Forgone the home delight of constant truth, 440
And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth.
L
"Through tears the rising sun I oft have viewed,
Through tears have seen him towards that world descend [67]
Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude:
Three years a wanderer now my course I bend--[68] 445
Oh! tell me whither--for no earthly friend
Have I. "--She ceased, and weeping turned away;
As if because her tale was at an end,
She wept; because she had no more to say
Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay. 450
LI
True sympathy the Sailor's looks expressed,
His looks--for pondering he was mute the while.
Of social Order's care for wretchedness,
Of Time's sure help to calm and reconcile,
Joy's second spring and Hope's long-treasured smile, 455
'Twas not for _him_ to speak--a man so tried.
Yet, to relieve her heart, in friendly style
Proverbial words of comfort he applied,
And not in vain, while they went pacing side by side.
LII
Ere long, from heaps of turf, before their sight, 460
Together smoking in the sun's slant beam,
Rise various wreaths that into one unite
Which high and higher mounts with silver gleam:
Fair spectacle,--but instantly a scream
Thence bursting shrill did all remark prevent; 465
They paused, and heard a hoarser voice blaspheme,
And female cries. Their course they thither bent,
And met a man who foamed with anger vehement.
LIII
A woman stood with quivering lips and pale,
And, pointing to a little child that lay 470
Stretched on the ground, began a piteous tale;
How in a simple freak of thoughtless play
He had provoked his father, who straightway,
As if each blow were deadlier than the last,
Struck the poor innocent.
