In a throng,

A festal company of maids and youths,

Old men and matrons, staid, promiscuous rout,

A medley of all tempers, I had passed

The night in dancing, gaiety and mirth –

With din of instruments, and shuffling feet,

And glancing forms, and tapers glittering,

And unaimed prattle flying up and down,

Spirits upon the stretch, and here and there

Slight shocks of young love-liking interspersed

That mounted up like joy into the head,

And tingled through the veins. Ere we retired

The cock had crowed, the sky was bright with day;

Two miles I had to walk along the fields

Before I reached my home. Magnificent

The morning was, a memorable pomp,

More glorious than I ever had beheld.

The sea was laughing at a distance; all

The solid mountains were as bright as clouds,

Grain-tinctured, drenched in empyrean light;

And in the meadows and the lower grounds

Was all the sweetness of a common dawn –

Dews, vapours, and the melody of birds,

And labourers going forth into the fields.

Ah, need I say, dear friend, that to the brim

My heart was full? I made no vows, but vows

Were then made for me: bond unknown to me

Was given, that I should be – else sinning greatly –

A dedicated spirit. On I walked

In blessedness, which even yet remains.

 

Strange rendezvous my mind was at that time,

A party-coloured shew of grave and gay,

Solid and light, short-sighted and profound,

Of inconsiderate habits and sedate,

Consorting in one mansion unreproved.

I knew the worth of that which I possessed,

Though slighted and misused. Besides in truth

That summer, swarming as it did with thoughts

Transient and loose, yet wanted not a store

Of primitive hours, when – by these hindrances

Unthwarted – I experienced in myself

Conformity as just as that of old

To the end and written spirit of God's works,

Whether held forth in Nature or in man.

 

From many wanderings that have left behind

Remembrances not lifeless, I will here

Single out one, then pass to other themes.

A favorite pleasure hath it been with me

From time of earliest youth to walk alone

Along the public way, when, for the night

Deserted, in its silence it assumes

A character of deeper quietness

Than pathless solitudes. At such an hour

Once, ere these summer months were passed away,

I slowly mounted up a steep ascent

Where the road's wat'ry surface, to the ridge

Of that sharp rising, glittered in the moon

And seemed before my eyes another stream

Creeping with silent lapse to join the brook

That murmured in the valley. On I went

Tranquil, receiving in my own despite

Amusement, as I slowly passed along,

From such near objects as from time to time

Perforce intruded on the listless sense,

Quiescent and disposed to sympathy,

With an exhausted mind worn out by toil

And all unworthy of the deeper joy

Which waits on distant prospect – cliff or sea,

The dark blue vault and universe of stars.

Thus did I steal along that silent road,

My body from the stillness drinking in

A restoration like the calm of sleep,

But sweeter far. Above, before, behind,

Around me, all was peace and solitude;

I looked not round, nor did the solitude

Speak to my eye, but it was heard and felt,

O happy state! what beauteous pictures now

Rose in harmonious imagery; they rose

As from some distant region of my soul

And came along like dreams – yet such as left

Obscurely mingled with their passing forms

A consciousness of animal delight,

A self-possession felt in every pause

And every gentle movement of my frame.

 

While thus I wandered, step by step led on,

It chanced a sudden turning of the road

Presented to my view an uncouth shape,

So near that, slipping back into the shade

Of a thick hawthorn, I could mark him well,

Myself unseen. He was of stature tall,

A foot above man's common measure tall,

Stiff in his form, and upright, lank and lean –

A man more meagre, as it seemed to me,

Was never seen abroad by night or day.

His arms were long, and bare his hands; his mouth

Shewed ghastly in the moonlight; from behind,

A milestone propped him, and his figure seemed

Half sitting, and half standing. I could mark

That he was clad in military garb,

Though faded yet entire. He was alone,

Had no attendant, neither dog, nor staff,

Nor knapsack; in his very dress appeared

A desolation, a simplicity

That seemed akin to solitude. Long time

Did I peruse him with a mingled sense

Of fear and sorrow. From his lips meanwhile

There issued murmuring sounds, as if of pain

Or of uneasy thought; yet still his form

Kept the same steadiness, and at his feet

His shadow lay, and moved not. In a glen

Hard by, a village stood, whose roofs and doors

Were visible among the scattered trees,

Scarce distant from the spot an arrow's flight.

I wished to see him move, but he remained

Fixed to his place, and still from time to time

Sent forth a murmuring voice of dead complaint,

Groans scarcely audible. Without self-blame

I had not thus prolonged my watch; and now,

Subduing my heart's specious cowardise,

I left the shady nook where I had stood

And hailed him. Slowly from his resting-place

He rose, and with a lean and wasted arm

In measured gesture lifted to his head

Returned my salutation, then resumed

His station as before. And when erelong

I asked his history, he in reply

Was neither slow nor eager, but, unmoved,

And with a quiet uncomplaining voice,

A stately air of mild indifference,

He told in simple words a soldier's tale:

That in the tropic islands he had served,

Whence he had landed scarcely ten days past –

That on his landing he had been dismissed,

And now was travelling to his native home.

At this I turned and looked towards the village,

But all were gone to rest, the fires all out,

And every silent window to the moon

Shone with a yellow glitter. »No one there«,

Said I, »is waking; we must measure back

The way which we have come. Behind yon wood

A labourer dwells, and, take it on my word,

He will not murmur should we break his rest,

And with a ready heart will give you food

And lodging for the night.« At this he stooped,

And from the ground took up an oaken staff

By me yet unobserved, a traveller's staff

Which I suppose from his slack hand had dropped,

And lain till now neglected in the grass.

 

Towards the cottage without more delay

We shaped our course. As it appeared to me

He travelled without pain, and I beheld

With ill-suppressed astonishment his tall

And ghastly figure moving at my side;

Nor while we journeyed thus could I forbear

To question him of what he had endured

From hardship, battle, or the pestilence.

He all the while was in demeanor calm,

Concise in answer. Solemn and sublime

He might have seemed, but that in all he said

There was a strange half-absence, and a tone

Of weakness and indifference, as of one

Remembering the importance of his theme

But feeling it no longer. We advanced

Slowly, and ere we to the wood were come

Discourse had ceased. Together on we passed

In silence through the shades, gloomy and dark;

Then, turning up along an open field,

We gained the cottage. At the door I knocked,

Calling aloud, »My friend, here is a man

By sickness overcome. Beneath your roof

This night let him find rest, and give him food

If food he need, for he is faint and tired.«

Assured that now my comrade would repose

In comfort, I entreated that henceforth

He would not linger in the public ways,

But ask for timely furtherance, and help

Such as his state required. At this reproof,

With the same ghastly mildness in his look,

He said, »My trust is in the God of Heaven,

And in the eye of him that passes me.«

The cottage door was speedily unlocked,

And now the soldier touched his hat again

With his lean hand, and in a voice that seemed

To speak with a reviving interest,

Till then unfelt, he thanked me; I returned

The blessing of the poor unhappy man,

And so we parted. Back I cast a look,

And lingered near the door a little space,

Then sought with quiet heart my distant home.

 

 

Book Fifth

Books

Even in the steadiest mood of reason, when

All sorrow for thy transitory pains

Goes out, it grieves me for thy state, O man,

Thou paramount creature, and thy race, while ye

Shall sojourn on this planet, not for woes

Which thou endur'st – that weight, albeit huge,

I charm away – but for those palms atchieved

Through length of time, by study and hard thought,

The honours of thy high endowments; there

My sadness finds its fuel. Hitherto

In progress through this verse my mind hath looked

Upon the speaking face of earth and heaven

As her prime teacher, intercourse with man

Established by the Sovereign Intellect,

Who through that bodily image hath diffused

A soul divine which we participate,

A deathless spirit. Thou also, man, hast wrought,

For commerce of thy nature with itself,

Things worthy of unconquerable life;

And yet we feel – we cannot chuse but feel –

That these must perish. Tremblings of the heart

It gives, to think that the immortal being

No more shall need such garments; and yet man,

As long as he shall be the child of earth,

Might almost ›weep to have‹ what he may lose –

Nor be himself extinguished, but survive

Abject, depressed, forlorn, disconsolate.

A thought is with me sometimes, and I say,

»Should earth by inward throes be wrenched throughout,

Or fire be sent from far to wither all

Her pleasant habitations, and dry up

Old Ocean in his bed, left singed and bare,

Yet would the living presence still subsist

Victorious; and composure would ensue,

And kindlings like the morning – presage sure,

Though slow perhaps, of a returning day.«

But all the meditations of mankind,

Yea, all the adamantine holds of truth

By reason built, or passion (which itself

Is highest reason in a soul sublime),

The consecrated works of bard and sage,

Sensuous or intellectual, wrought by men,

Twin labourers and heirs of the same hopes –

Where would they be? Oh, why hath not the mind

Some element to stamp her image on

In nature somewhat nearer to her own?

Why, gifted with such powers to send abroad

Her spirit, must it lodge in shrines so frail?

 

One day, when in the hearing of a friend

I had given utterance to thoughts like these,

He answered with a smile that in plain truth

'Twas going far to seek disquietude –

But on the front of his reproof confessed

That he at sundry seasons had himself

Yielded to kindred hauntings, and, forthwith,

Added that once upon a summer's noon

While he was sitting in a rocky cave

By the seaside, perusing as it chanced,

The famous history of the errant knight

Recorded by Cervantes, these same thoughts

Came to him, and to height unusual rose

While listlessly he sate, and, having closed

The book, had turned his eyes towards the sea.

On poetry and geometric truth

(The knowledge that endures) upon these two,

And their high privilege of lasting life

Exempt from all internal injury,

He mused – upon these chiefly – and at length,

His senses yielding to the sultry air,

Sleep seized him and he passed into a dream.

He saw before him an Arabian waste,

A desart, and he fancied that himself

Was sitting there in the wide wilderness

Alone upon the sands.