Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XIV. Fly, Some Kind Haringer, To Grasmere-Dale by William Wordsworth
FLY, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmere-dale! Say that we come, and come by this day’s light; Fly upon swiftest wing round field and height, But chiefly let one Cottage hear the tale; There let a mystery of joy prevail, The kitten frolic, like a gamesome sprite, And Rover whine, as at a second sight Of […]
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XII. Yarrow Unvisited by William Wordsworth
FROM Stirling castle we had seen The mazy Forth unravelled; Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay, And with the Tweed had travelled; And when we came to Clovenford, Then said my “winsome Marrow,” “Whate’er betide, we’ll turn aside, And see the Braes of Yarrow.” “Let Yarrow folk, ‘frae’ Selkirk town, Who have been […]
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XII. Sonnet Composed At —- Castle by William Wordsworth
DEGENERATE Douglas! oh, the unworthy Lord! Whom mere despite of heart could so far please, And love of havoc, (for with such disease Fame taxes him,) that he could send forth word To level with the dust a noble horde, A brotherhood of venerable Trees, Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these, Beggared and […]
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 X. Rob Roy’s Grave by William Wordsworth
A FAMOUS man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer’s joy! And Scotland has a thief as good, An outlaw of as daring mood; She has her brave ROB ROY! Then clear the weeds from off his Grave, And let us chant a passing stave, In honour of that Hero brave! Heaven gave Rob Roy a […]
Memorials of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 I. Departure From The Vale Of Grasmere, August 1803 by William Wordsworth
THE gentlest Shade that walked Elysian plains Might sometimes covet dissoluble chains; Even for the tenants of the zone that lies Beyond the stars, celestial Paradise, Methinks ‘twould heighten joy, to overleap At will the crystal battlements, and peep Into some other region, though less fair, To see how things are made and managed there. […]
Matthew by William Wordsworth
IF Nature, for a favourite child, In thee hath tempered so her clay, That every hour thy heart runs wild, Yet never once doth go astray, Read o’er these lines; and then review This tablet, that thus humbly rears In such diversity of hue Its history of two hundred years. –When through this little wreck […]
Maternal Grief by William Wordsworth
DEPARTED Child! I could forget thee once Though at my bosom nursed; this woeful gain Thy dissolution brings, that in my soul Is present and perpetually abides A shadow, never, never to be displaced By the returning substance, seen or touched, Seen by mine eyes, or clasped in my embrace. Absence and death how differ […]
Mark The Concentrated Hazels That Enclose by William Wordsworth
MARK the concentred hazels that enclose Yon old grey Stone, protected from the ray Of noontide suns:–and even the beams that play And glance, while wantonly the rough wind blows, Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows Upon that roof, amid embowering gloom, The very image framing of a Tomb, In which some […]
Lucy by William Wordsworth
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! –Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy […]
Lucy Gray [or Solitude] by William Wordsworth
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray, And when I cross’d the Wild, I chanc’d to see at break of day The solitary Child. No Mate, no comrade Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wild Moor, The sweetest Thing that ever grew Beside a human door! You yet may spy the Fawn at play, The […]
Louisa: After Accompanying Her On A Mountain Excursion by William Wordsworth
I MET Louisa in the shade, And, having seen that lovely Maid, Why should I fear to say That, nymph-like, she is fleet and strong, And down the rocks can leap along Like rivulets in May? She loves her fire, her cottage-home; Yet o’er the moorland will she roam In weather rough and bleak; And, […]
Look Now On That Adventurer Who Hath Paid by William Wordsworth
LOOK now on that Adventurer who hath paid His vows to Fortune; who, in cruel slight Of virtuous hope, of liberty, and right, Hath followed wheresoe’er a way was made By the blind Goddess,–ruthless, undismayed; And so hath gained at length a prosperous height, Round which the elements of worldly might Beneath his haughty feet, […]
London, 1802 by William Wordsworth
Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give […]
Lines Written On A Blank Leaf In A Copy Of The Author’s Poem “The Excursion,” by William Wordsworth
Upon Hearing Of The Death Of The Late Vicar Of Kendal TO public notice, with reluctance strong, Did I deliver this unfinished Song; Yet for one happy issue;–and I look With self-congratulation on the Book Which pious, learned, MURFITT saw and read;– Upon my thoughts his saintly Spirit fed; He conned the new-born Lay with […]
Lines Written In Early Spring by William Wordsworth
I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through […]
Lines Written As A School Exercise At Hawkshead, Anno Aetatis 14 by William Wordsworth
“AND has the Sun his flaming chariot driven Two hundred times around the ring of heaven, Since Science first, with all her sacred train, Beneath yon roof began her heavenly reign? While thus I mused, methought, before mine eyes, The Power of EDUCATION seemed to rise; Not she whose rigid precepts trained the boy Dead […]
Lines On The Expected Invasion, 1803 by William Wordsworth
COME ye–who, if (which Heaven avert!) the Land Were with herself at strife, would take your stand, Like gallant Falkland, by the Monarch’s side, And, like Montrose, make Loyalty your pride– Come ye–who, not less zealous, might display Banners at enmity with regal sway, And, like the Pyms and Miltons of that day, Think that […]
Lines Left Upon The Seat Of A Yew-Tree, by William Wordsworth
which stands near the lake of Esthwaite, on a desolate part of the shore, commanding a beautiful prospect. 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? Yet, if the wind breathe soft, […]
Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey by William Wordsworth
Five years have past; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a soft inland murmur.-Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, That on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the […]
Laodamia by William Wordsworth
. “With sacrifice before the rising morn Vows have I made by fruitless hope inspired; And from the infernal Gods, ‘mid shades forlorn Of night, my slaughtered Lord have I required: Celestial pity I again implore;- Restore him to my sight-great Jove, restore!” So speaking, and by fervent love endowed With faith, the Suppliant heavenward […]
Lament Of Mary Queen Of Scots by William Wordsworth
SMILE of the Moon!–for I so name That silent greeting from above; A gentle flash of light that came From her whom drooping captives love; Or art thou of still higher birth? Thou that didst part the clouds of earth, My torpor to reprove! Bright boon of pitying Heaven!–alas, I may not trust thy placid […]
It was an April morning: fresh and clear by William Wordsworth
It was an April morning: fresh and clear The Rivulet, delighting in its strength, Ran with a young man’s speed; and yet the voice Of waters which the winter had supplied Was softened down into a vernal tone. The spirit of enjoyment and desire, And hopes and wishes, from all living things Went circling, like […]
It Is No Spirit Who From Heaven Hath Flown by William Wordsworth
IT is no Spirit who from heaven hath flown, And is descending on his embassy; Nor Traveller gone from earth the heavens to espy! ‘Tis Hesperus–there he stands with glittering crown, First admonition that the sun is down! For yet it is broad day-light: clouds pass by; A few are near him still–and now the […]
It Is a Beauteous Evening by William Wordsworth
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquility; The gentleness of heaven broods o’er the sea: Listen! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder – everlastingly. […]
Is There A Power That Can Sustain And Cheer by William Wordsworth
Is there a power that can sustain and cheer The captive chieftain, by a tyrant’s doom, Forced to descend into his destined tomb– A dungeon dark! where he must waste the year, And lie cut off from all his heart holds dear; What time his injured country is a stage Whereon deliberate Valour and the […]
Invocation To The Earth, February 1816 by William Wordsworth
I “REST, rest, perturbed Earth! O rest, thou doleful Mother of Mankind!” A Spirit sang in tones more plaintive than the wind: “From regions where no evil thing has birth I come–thy stains to wash away, Thy cherished fetters to unbind, And open thy sad eyes upon a milder day. The Heavens are thronged with […]
Inside of King’s College Chapel, Cambridge by William Wordsworth
. Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned- Albeit labouring for a scanty band Of white-robed Scholars only-this immense And glorious Work of fine intelligence! Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore Of nicely-calculated less or more; So deemed the man who fashioned for the […]
Inscriptions Written with a Slate Pencil upon a Stone by William Wordsworth
Stranger! this hillock of mis-shapen stones Is not a Ruin spared or made by time, Nor, as perchance thou rashly deem’st, the Cairn Of some old British Chief: ’tis nothing more Than the rude embryo of a little Dome Or Pleasure-house, once destined to be built Among the birch-trees of this rocky isle. But, as […]
Inscriptions In The Ground Of Coleorton, The Seat Of Sir George Beaumont, Bart., Leicestershire by William Wordsworth
THE embowering rose, the acacia, and the pine, Will not unwillingly their place resign; If but the Cedar thrive that near them stands, Planted by Beaumont’s and by ‘s hands. One wooed the silent Art with studious pains: These groves have heard the Other’s pensive strains; Devoted thus, their spirits did unite By interchange of […]
Inscriptions For A Seat In The Groves Of Coleorton by William Wordsworth
BENEATH yon eastern ridge, the craggy bound, Rugged and high, of Charnwood’s forest ground Stand yet, but, Stranger! hidden from thy view, The ivied Ruins of forlorn GRACE DIEU; Erst a religious House, which day and night With hymns resounded, and the chanted rite: And when those rites had ceased, the Spot gave birth To […]
Influence of Natural Objects by William Wordsworth
In Calling Forth and Strengthening the Imagination in Boyhood and Early Youth Wisdom and Spirit of the Universe! Thou Soul, that art the Eternity of thought! And giv’st to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion! not in vain, By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn Of childhood didst thou intertwine for […]
Indignation Of A High-Minded Spaniard by William Wordsworth
WE can endure that He should waste our lands, Despoil our temples, and by sword and flame Return us to the dust from which we came; Such food a Tyrant’s appetite demands: And we can brook the thought that by his hands Spain may be overpowered, and he possess, For his delight, a solemn wilderness […]
Incident Characteristic Of A Favorite Dog by William Wordsworth
ON his morning rounds the Master Goes to learn how all things fare; Searches pasture after pasture, Sheep and cattle eyes with care; And, for silence or for talk, He hath comrades in his walk; Four dogs, each pair of different breed, Distinguished two for scent, and two for speed. See a hare before him […]
In The Pass Of Killicranky by William Wordsworth
SIX thousand veterans practised in war’s game, Tried men, at Killicranky were arrayed Against an equal host that wore the plaid, Shepherds and herdsmen.–Like a whirlwind came The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame; And Garry, thundering down his mountain-road, Was stopped, and could not breathe beneath the load Of the dead bodies.–‘Twas a day […]
In Due Observance Of An Ancient Rite by William Wordsworth
IN due observance of an ancient rite, The rude Biscayans, when their children lie Dead in the sinless time of infancy, Attire the peaceful corse in vestments white; And, in like sign of cloudless triumph bright, They bind the unoffending creature’s brows With happy garlands of the pure white rose: Then do a festal company […]
I Travelled among Unknown Men by William Wordsworth
I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor, England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee. ‘Tis past, that melancholy dream! Nor will I quit thy shore A second time; for still I seem To love thee more and more. Among thy mountains did I feel The joy […]
I Know an Aged Man Constrained to Dwell by William Wordsworth
I know an aged Man constrained to dwell In a large house of public charity, Where he abides, as in a Prisoner’s cell, With numbers near, alas! no company. When he could creep about, at will, though poor And forced to live on alms, this old Man fed A Redbreast, one that to his cottage […]
I Grieved For Buonaparte by William Wordsworth
I GRIEVED for Buonaparte, with a vain And an unthinking grief! The tenderest mood Of that Man’s mind–what can it be? what food Fed his first hopes? what knowledge could ‘he’ gain? ‘Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of […]
How Sweet It Is, When Mother Fancy Rocks by William Wordsworth
HOW sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood! An old place, full of many a lovely brood, Tall trees, green arbours, and ground-flowers in flocks; And wild rose tip-toe upon hawthorn stocks, Like a bold Girl, who plays her agile pranks At Wakes and Fairs with wandering […]
Hoffer by William Wordsworth
OF mortal parents is the Hero born By whom the undaunted Tyrolese are led? Or is it Tell’s great Spirit, from the dead Returned to animate an age forlorn? He comes like Phoebus through the gates of morn When dreary darkness is discomfited, Yet mark his modest state! upon his head, That simple crest, a […]