Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 94

Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change!

No single volume paramount, no code, No master spirit, no determined road; But equally a want of books and men!

William Wordsworth. 1770-1850

526. England, 1802 iv

IT is not to be thought of that the flood Of British freedom, which, to the open sea Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity Hath flow'd, 'with pomp of waters, unwithstood,'

Roused though it be full often to a mood Which spurns the check of salutary bands,-- That this most famous stream in bogs and sands Should perish; and to evil and to good Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung Armoury of the invincible Knights of old: We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.--In everything we are sprung Of Earth's first blood, have t.i.tles manifold.

William Wordsworth. 1770-1850

527. England, 1802 v

WHEN I have borne in memory what has tamed Great Nations, how enn.o.bling thoughts depart When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country!--am I to be blamed?

Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart, Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.

For dearly must we prize thee; we who find In thee a bulwark for the cause of men; And I by my affection was beguiled: What wonder if a Poet now and then, Among the many movements of his mind, Felt for thee as a lover or a child!

William Wordsworth. 1770-1850

528. The Solitary Reaper

BEHOLD her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland La.s.s!

Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pa.s.s!

Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?-- Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day?

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending;-- I listen'd, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.

William Wordsworth. 1770-1850

529. Perfect Woman

SHE was a phantom of delight When first she gleam'd upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view, A Spirit, yet a Woman too!

Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, n.o.bly plann'd, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light.

William Wordsworth. 1770-1850

530. Daffodils

I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that s.h.i.+ne And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed--and gazed--but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth. 1770-1850

531. Ode to Duty

STERN Daughter of the Voice of G.o.d!

O Duty! if that name thou love, Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring and reprove; Thou, who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe; From vain temptations dost set free; And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth: Glad hearts! without reproach or blot; Who do thy work, and know it not: O, if through confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.

Serene will be our days and bright, And happy will our nature be, When love is an unerring light, And joy its own security.

And they a blissful course may hold Even now, who, not unwisely bold, Live in the spirit of this creed; Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried; No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust: And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferr'd The task, in smoother walks to stray; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control; But in the quietness of thought.

Me this uncharter'd freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance-desires; My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Yet not the less would I throughout Still act according to the voice Of my own wish; and feel past doubt That my submissiveness was choice: Not seeking in the school of pride For 'precepts over dignified,'

Denial and restraint I prize No farther than they breed a second Will more wise.

Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear The G.o.dhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face: Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.

To humbler functions, awful Power!

I call thee: I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; O, let my weakness have an end!

Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give; And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!

William Wordsworth. 1770-1850

532. The Rainbow

MY heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die!

The Child is father of the Man; I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

William Wordsworth. 1770-1850

533. The Sonnet i