Clouds that love through air to hasten, 5
Ere the storm its fury stills,
Helmet-like themselves will fasten
On the heads of towering hills.
Ere the storm its fury stills,
Helmet-like themselves will fasten
On the heads of towering hills.
William Wordsworth
The basin of box-wood, just six months before,
Had stood on the table at Timothy's door, 1800.
The basin had offered, just six months before,
Fresh sprigs of green box-wood at Timothy's door; 1820. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Also in 'The Morning Post', Jan. 30, 1801. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: In several parts of the North of England, when a funeral
takes place, a basin full of Sprigs of Box-wood is placed at the door of
the house from which the Coffin is taken up, and each person who attends
the funeral ordinarily takes a Sprig of this Box-wood, and throws it
into the grave of the deceased. --W. W. 1800. ]
[Footnote C: In the list of _errata_, in the edition of 1820 "one child"
is corrected, and made "a child"; but the text remained "one child" in
all subsequent editions. --Ed. ]
* * * * *
SONG FOR THE WANDERING JEW
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
Included among the "Poems of the Fancy. "--Ed.
Though the torrents from their fountains
Roar down many a craggy steep,
Yet they find among the mountains
Resting-places calm and deep.
Clouds that love through air to hasten, 5
Ere the storm its fury stills,
Helmet-like themselves will fasten
On the heads of towering hills. [1]
What, if through the frozen centre
Of the Alps the Chamois bound, 10
Yet he has a home to enter
In some nook of chosen ground: [2]
And the Sea-horse, though the ocean
Yield him no domestic cave,
Slumbers without sense of motion, 15
Couched upon the rocking wave. [3]
If on windy days the Raven
Gambol like a dancing skiff,
Not the less she loves her haven [4]
In [5] the bosom of the cliff. [A] 20
The fleet Ostrich, till day closes,
Vagrant over desert sands,
Brooding on her eggs reposes
When chill night that care demands. [6]
Day and night my toils redouble, 25
Never nearer to the goal;
Night and day, I feel the trouble
Of the Wanderer in my soul. [7]
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1: This stanza was added in the edition of 1827. ]
[Variant 2:
1827.
Though almost with eagle pinion
O'er the rocks the Chamois roam,
Yet he has some small dominion
Which no doubt he calls his home. 1800.
Though, as if with eagle pinion
O'er the rocks the Chamois roam,
Yet he has some small dominion
Where he feels himself at home. 1815. ]
[Variant 3:
1836.
Though the Sea-horse in the ocean
Own no dear domestic cave;
Yet he slumbers without motion
On the calm and silent wave. 1800.
Yet he slumbers--by the motion
Rocked of many a gentle wave. 1827.