* * * * *
THE POEM
Nay, Traveller!
THE POEM
Nay, Traveller!
Wordsworth - 1
The individual
whose habits and character are here given, was a gentleman of the
neighbourhood, a man of talent and learning, who had been educated at
one of our Universities, and returned to pass his time in seclusion on
his own estate. He died a bachelor in middle age. Induced by the
beauty of the prospect, he built a small summer-house, on the rocks
above the peninsula on which the Ferry House [B] stands. This property
afterwards passed into the hands of the late Mr. Curwen. The site was
long ago pointed out by Mr. West, in his 'Guide', as the pride of the
Lakes, and now goes by the name of "The Station. " So much used I to be
delighted with the view from it, while a little boy, that some years
before the first pleasure house was built, I led thither from
Hawkshead a youngster about my own age, an Irish boy, who was a
servant to an itinerant conjurer. My notion was to witness the
pleasure I expected the boy would receive from the prospect of the
islands below and the intermingling water. I was not disappointed; and
I hope the fact, insignificant as it may appear to some, may be
thought worthy of note by others who may cast their eye over these
notes. --I. F. ]
* * * * *
From 1815 to 1843 these 'Lines' were placed by Wordsworth among his
"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection. " In 1845, they were classed among
"Poems written in Youth. "--Ed.
* * * * *
THE POEM
Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely Yew-tree stands
Far from all human dwelling: what if here
No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb?
What if the bee love not these barren boughs? [1]
Yet, if the wind breathe soft, the curling waves, 5
That break against the shore, shall lull thy mind
By one soft impulse saved from vacancy.
Who he was
That piled these stones and with the mossy sod
First covered, and here taught this aged Tree [2] 10
With its dark arms to form a circling bower, [3]
I well remember. --He was one who owned
No common soul. In youth by science nursed,
And led by nature into a wild scene
Of lofty hopes, he to the world went forth 15
A favoured Being, knowing no desire
Which genius did not hallow; 'gainst the taint
Of dissolute tongues, and jealousy, and hate,
And scorn,--against all enemies prepared,
All but neglect. The world, for so it thought, 20
Owed him no service; wherefore he at once
With indignation turned himself away, [4]
And with the food of pride sustained his soul
In solitude. --Stranger! these gloomy boughs
Had charms for him; and here he loved to sit, 25
His only visitants a straggling sheep,
The stone-chat, or the glancing sand-piper: [5]
And on these barren rocks, with fern and heath,
And juniper and thistle, sprinkled o'er, [6]
Fixing his downcast [7] eye, he many an hour 30
A morbid pleasure nourished, tracing here
An emblem of his own unfruitful life:
And, lifting up his head, he then would gaze
On the more distant scene,--how lovely 'tis
Thou seest,--and he would gaze till it became 35
Far lovelier, and his heart could not sustain
The beauty, still more beauteous! Nor, that time,
When nature had subdued him to herself, [8]
Would he forget those Beings to whose minds
Warm from the labours of benevolence 40
The world, and human life, [9] appeared a scene
Of kindred loveliness: then he would sigh,
Inly disturbed, to think [10] that others felt
What he must never feel: and so, lost Man!
On visionary views would fancy feed, 45
Till his eye streamed with tears. In this deep vale
He died,--this seat his only monument.
If Thou be one whose heart the holy forms
Of young imagination have kept pure,
Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that pride, 50
Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,
Is littleness; that he who feels contempt
For any living thing, hath faculties
Which he has never used; that thought with him
Is in its infancy.
whose habits and character are here given, was a gentleman of the
neighbourhood, a man of talent and learning, who had been educated at
one of our Universities, and returned to pass his time in seclusion on
his own estate. He died a bachelor in middle age. Induced by the
beauty of the prospect, he built a small summer-house, on the rocks
above the peninsula on which the Ferry House [B] stands. This property
afterwards passed into the hands of the late Mr. Curwen. The site was
long ago pointed out by Mr. West, in his 'Guide', as the pride of the
Lakes, and now goes by the name of "The Station. " So much used I to be
delighted with the view from it, while a little boy, that some years
before the first pleasure house was built, I led thither from
Hawkshead a youngster about my own age, an Irish boy, who was a
servant to an itinerant conjurer. My notion was to witness the
pleasure I expected the boy would receive from the prospect of the
islands below and the intermingling water. I was not disappointed; and
I hope the fact, insignificant as it may appear to some, may be
thought worthy of note by others who may cast their eye over these
notes. --I. F. ]
* * * * *
From 1815 to 1843 these 'Lines' were placed by Wordsworth among his
"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection. " In 1845, they were classed among
"Poems written in Youth. "--Ed.
* * * * *
THE POEM
Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely Yew-tree stands
Far from all human dwelling: what if here
No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb?
What if the bee love not these barren boughs? [1]
Yet, if the wind breathe soft, the curling waves, 5
That break against the shore, shall lull thy mind
By one soft impulse saved from vacancy.
Who he was
That piled these stones and with the mossy sod
First covered, and here taught this aged Tree [2] 10
With its dark arms to form a circling bower, [3]
I well remember. --He was one who owned
No common soul. In youth by science nursed,
And led by nature into a wild scene
Of lofty hopes, he to the world went forth 15
A favoured Being, knowing no desire
Which genius did not hallow; 'gainst the taint
Of dissolute tongues, and jealousy, and hate,
And scorn,--against all enemies prepared,
All but neglect. The world, for so it thought, 20
Owed him no service; wherefore he at once
With indignation turned himself away, [4]
And with the food of pride sustained his soul
In solitude. --Stranger! these gloomy boughs
Had charms for him; and here he loved to sit, 25
His only visitants a straggling sheep,
The stone-chat, or the glancing sand-piper: [5]
And on these barren rocks, with fern and heath,
And juniper and thistle, sprinkled o'er, [6]
Fixing his downcast [7] eye, he many an hour 30
A morbid pleasure nourished, tracing here
An emblem of his own unfruitful life:
And, lifting up his head, he then would gaze
On the more distant scene,--how lovely 'tis
Thou seest,--and he would gaze till it became 35
Far lovelier, and his heart could not sustain
The beauty, still more beauteous! Nor, that time,
When nature had subdued him to herself, [8]
Would he forget those Beings to whose minds
Warm from the labours of benevolence 40
The world, and human life, [9] appeared a scene
Of kindred loveliness: then he would sigh,
Inly disturbed, to think [10] that others felt
What he must never feel: and so, lost Man!
On visionary views would fancy feed, 45
Till his eye streamed with tears. In this deep vale
He died,--this seat his only monument.
If Thou be one whose heart the holy forms
Of young imagination have kept pure,
Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that pride, 50
Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,
Is littleness; that he who feels contempt
For any living thing, hath faculties
Which he has never used; that thought with him
Is in its infancy.
