No More Learning

The circumstances of her story
were told me by my dear old dame, Ann Tyson, who was her confidante. The
lady died broken-hearted. In the woods of Alfoxden I used to take great
delight in noticing the habits, tricks, and physiognomy of asses; and I
have no doubt that I was thus put upon writing the poem out of liking
for the creature that is often so dreadfully abused. The crescent moon,
which makes such a figure in the prologue, assumed this character one
evening while I was watching its beauty in front of Alfoxden House. I
intended this poem for the volume before spoken of, but it was not
published for more than twenty years afterwards. The worship of the
Methodists, or Ranters, is often heard during the stillness of the
summer evening, in the country, with affecting accompaniments of rural
beauty. In both the psalmody and voice of the preacher there is, not
unfrequently, much solemnity likely to impress the feelings of the
rudest characters under favourable circumstances. --I. F. ]


Classed by Wordsworth among his "Poems of the Imagination. "--ED.



PROLOGUE

There's something in a flying horse,
There's something [1] in a huge balloon;
But through the clouds I'll never float
Until I have a little Boat,
Shaped like [2] the crescent-moon. 5

And now I _have_ a little Boat,
In shape a very crescent-moon:
Fast through the clouds my boat can sail;
But if perchance your faith should fail,
Look up--and you shall see me soon! 10

The woods, my Friends, are round you roaring,
Rocking and roaring like a sea;
The noise of danger's in [3] your ears,
And ye have all a thousand fears
Both for my little Boat and me! 15

Meanwhile untroubled I admire [4]
The pointed horns of my canoe;
And, did not pity touch my breast,
To see how ye are all distrest,
Till my ribs ached, I'd laugh at you!
20

Away we go, my Boat and I--
Frail man ne'er sate in such another;
Whether among the winds we strive,
Or deep into the clouds [5] we dive,
Each is contented with the other. 25

Away we go--and what care we
For treasons, tumults, and for wars?
We are as calm in our delight
As is the crescent-moon so bright
Among the scattered stars. 30

Up goes my Boat among [6] the stars
Through many a breathless field of light,
Through many a long blue field of ether,
Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her:
Up goes my little Boat so bright! 35

The Crab, the Scorpion, and the Bull--
We pry among them all; have shot
High o'er the red-haired race of Mars,
Covered from top to toe with scars;
Such company I like it not! 40

The towns in Saturn are decayed,
And melancholy Spectres throng them;--[7]
The Pleiads, that appear to kiss
Each other in the vast abyss,
With joy I sail among [8] them, 45

Swift Mercury resounds with mirth,
Great Jove is full of stately bowers;
But these, and all that they contain,
What are they to that tiny grain,
That little Earth [9] of ours? 50

Then back to Earth, the dear green Earth:--
Whole ages if I here should roam,
The world for my remarks and me
Would not a whit the better be;
I've left my heart at home. 55

See! there she is, [10] the matchless Earth!
There spreads the famed Pacific Ocean!
Old Andes thrusts yon craggy spear
Through the grey clouds; the Alps are here,
Like waters in commotion! 60

Yon tawny slip is Libya's sands
That silver thread the river Dnieper;
And look, where clothed in brightest green
Is a sweet Isle, of isles the Queen;
Ye fairies, from all evil keep her! 65

And see the town where I was born!
Around those happy fields we span
In boyish gambols;--I was lost
Where I have been, but on this coast
I feel I am a man. 70

Never did fifty things at once
Appear so lovely, never, never;--
How tunefully the forests ring!
To hear the earth's soft murmuring
Thus could I hang for ever!