No More Learning

Fair Star of evening, Splendour of the west,
Star of my Country! --on the horizon's brink
Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink
On England's bosom; yet well pleased to rest,
Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest 5
Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think,
Should'st be my Country's emblem; and should'st wink,
Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest
In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot
Beneath thee, that is England; there she lies. [1] 10
Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot,
One life, one glory! --I, with many a fear
For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs,
Among men who do not love her, linger here.


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VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1837.

. . . it is England; there it lies. 1807.
]


This sonnet, and the seven that follow it, were written during
Wordsworth's residence at Calais, in the month of August, 1802. The
following extract from his sister's Journal illustrates it:

"We arrived at _Calais_ at four o'clock on Sunday morning the 31st of
July. We had delightful walks after the heat of the day was
passed--seeing far off in the west the coast of England, like a cloud,
crested with Dover Castle, the evening Star, and the glory of the sky;
the reflections in the water were more beautiful than the sky itself;
purple waves brighter than precious stones, for ever melting away upon
the sands. "

Ed.





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CALAIS, AUGUST, 1802


Composed August 7, 1802--Published 1807 [A]


One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty"; re-named in 1845, "Poems
dedicated to National Independence and Liberty. "--Ed.




Is it a reed that's shaken by the wind,
Or what is it that ye go forth to see?
Lords, lawyers, statesmen, squires of low degree,
Men known, and men unknown, sick, lame, and blind,
Post forward all, like creatures of one kind, 5
With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee
In France, before the new-born Majesty.
'Tis ever thus. Ye men of prostrate mind, [1]
A seemly reverence may be paid to power;
But that's a loyal virtue, never sown 10
In haste, nor springing with a transient shower:
When truth, when sense, when liberty were flown,
What hardship had it been to wait an hour?
Shame on you, feeble Heads, to slavery prone!


* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1807.

Thus fares it ever. Men of prostrate mind! 1803. ]


* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: This sonnet was first published in 'The Morning Post', Jan.