No More Learning

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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. The man whose eye 55
Is ever on himself doth look on one,
The least of Nature's works, one who might move
The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds
Unlawful, ever. O be wiser, Thou!
Instructed that true knowledge leads to love; 60
True dignity abides with him alone
Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
Can still suspect, and still revere himself,
In lowliness of heart.


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The place where this Yew-tree stood may be found without difficulty. It
was about three-quarters of a mile from Hawkshead, on the eastern shore
of the lake, a little to the left above the present highway, as one goes
towards Sawrey. Mr. Bowman, the son of Wordsworth's last teacher at the
grammar-school of Hawkshead, told me that it stood about forty yards
nearer the village than the yew which is now on the roadside, and is
sometimes called "Wordsworth's Yew. " In the poet's school-days the road
passed right through the unenclosed common, and the tree was a
conspicuous object. It was removed, he says, owing to the popular belief
that its leaves were poisonous, and might injure the cattle grazing in
the common. The present tree is erroneously called "Wordsworth's Yew. "
Its proximity to the place where the tree of the poem stood has given
rise to the local tradition. --Ed.


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VARIANTS ON THE TEXT


[Variant 1:

1832.

What if these barren boughs the bee not loves; 1798. ]


[Variant 2:

1836.