The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth
Chapter 298 : What tears of rapture, what vow-making, Profound entreaties, and hand-shaking!What sol

What tears of rapture, what vow-making, Profound entreaties, and hand-shaking!

What solemn, vacant, interlacing, As if they'd fall asleep embracing! 490 Then, in the turbulence of glee, And in the excess of amity, Says Benjamin, "That a.s.s of thine, He spoils thy sport, and hinders mine: If he were tethered to the waggon, 495 He'd drag as well what he is dragging; And we, as brother should with brother, Might trudge it alongside each other!"

Forthwith, obedient to command, The horses made a quiet stand; 500 And to the waggon's skirts was tied The Creature, by the Mastiff's side, The Mastiff wondering, and perplext With dread of what will happen next; And thinking it but sorry cheer, 505 To have such company so near! [47]

This new arrangement made, the Wain Through the still night proceeds again; No Moon hath risen her light to lend; But indistinctly may be kenned 510 The VANGUARD, following close behind, Sails spread, as if to catch the wind!

"Thy wife and child are snug and warm, Thy s.h.i.+p will travel without harm; I like," said Benjamin, "her shape and stature: 515 And this of mine--this bulky creature Of which I have the steering--this, Seen fairly, is not much amiss!

We want your streamers, friend, you know; But, altogether [48] as we go, 520 We make a kind of handsome show!

Among these hills, from first to last, We've weathered many a furious blast; Hard pa.s.sage forcing on, with head Against the storm, and canva.s.s spread. 525 I hate a boaster; but to thee Will say't, who know'st both land and sea, The unluckiest hulk that stems [49] the brine Is hardly worse beset than mine, When cross-winds on her quarter beat; 530 And, fairly lifted from my feet, I stagger onward--heaven knows how; But not so pleasantly as now: Poor pilot I, by snows confounded, And many a foundrous pit surrounded! 535 Yet here we are, by night and day Grinding through rough and smooth our way; Through foul and fair our task fulfilling; And long shall be so yet--G.o.d willing!"

"Ay," said the Tar, "through fair and foul--540 But save us from yon screeching owl!"

That instant was begun a fray Which called their thoughts another way: The mastiff, ill-conditioned carl!

What must he do but growl and snarl, 545 Still more and more dissatisfied With the meek comrade at his side!

Till, not incensed though put to proof, The a.s.s, uplifting a hind hoof, Salutes the Mastiff on the head; 550 And so were better manners bred, And all was calmed and quieted.

"Yon screech-owl," says the Sailor, turning Back to his former cause of mourning, "Yon owl!--pray G.o.d that all be well! 555 'Tis worse than any funeral bell; As sure as I've the gift of sight, We shall be meeting ghosts to-night!"

--Said Benjamin, "This whip shall lay A thousand, if they cross our way. 560 I know that Wanton's noisy station, I know him and his occupation; The jolly bird hath learned his cheer Upon [50] the banks of Windermere; Where a tribe of them make merry, 565 Mocking the Man that keeps the ferry; Hallooing from an open throat, Like travellers shouting for a boat.

--The tricks he learned at Windermere This vagrant owl is playing here--570 That is the worst of his employment: He's at the top [51] of his enjoyment!"

This explanation stilled the alarm, Cured the foreboder like a charm; This, and the manner, and the voice, 575 Summoned the Sailor to rejoice; His heart is up--he fears no evil From life or death, from man or devil; He wheels [52]--and, making many stops, Brandished his crutch against the mountain tops; 580 And, while he talked of blows and scars, Benjamin, among the stars, Beheld a dancing--and a glancing; Such retreating and advancing As, I ween, was never seen 585 In bloodiest battle since the days of Mars!

CANTO FOURTH

Thus they, with freaks of proud delight, Beguile the remnant of the night; And many a s.n.a.t.c.h of jovial song Regales them as they wind along; 590 While to the music, from on high, The echoes make a glad reply.-- But the sage Muse the revel heeds No farther than her story needs; Nor will she servilely attend 595 The loitering journey to its end.

--Blithe spirits of her own impel The Muse, who scents the morning air, To take of this transported pair A brief and unreproved farewell; 600 To quit the slow-paced waggon's side, And wander down yon hawthorn dell, With murmuring Greta for her guide.

--There doth she ken the awful form Of Raven-crag--black as a storm--605 Glimmering through the twilight pale; And Ghimmer-crag, [K] his tall twin brother, Each peering forth to meet the other:-- And, while she roves [53] through St. John's Vale, Along the smooth unpathwayed plain, 610 By sheep-track or through cottage lane, Where no disturbance comes to intrude Upon the pensive solitude, Her unsuspecting eye, perchance, With the rude shepherd's favoured glance, 615 Beholds the faeries in array, Whose party-coloured garments gay The silent company betray: Red, green, and blue; a moment's sight!

For Skiddaw-top with rosy light 620 Is touched--and all the band take flight.

--Fly also, Muse! and from the dell Mount to the ridge of Nathdale Fell; Thence, look thou forth o'er wood and lawn h.o.a.r with the frost-like dews of dawn; 625 Across yon meadowy bottom look, Where close fogs hide their parent brook; And see, beyond that hamlet small, The ruined towers of Threlkeld-hall, Lurking in a double shade, 630 By trees and lingering twilight made!

There, at Blencathara's rugged feet, Sir Lancelot gave a safe retreat To n.o.ble Clifford; from annoy Concealed the persecuted boy, 635 Well pleased in rustic garb to feed His flock, and pipe on shepherd's reed Among this mult.i.tude of hills, Crags, woodlands, waterfalls, and rills; Which soon the morning shall enfold, 640 From east to west, in ample vest Of ma.s.sy gloom and radiance bold.

The mists, that o'er the streamlet's bed Hung low, begin to rise and spread; Even while I speak, their skirts of grey 645 Are smitten by a silver ray; And lo!--up Castrigg's naked steep (Where, smoothly urged, the vapours sweep Along--and scatter and divide, Like fleecy clouds self-multiplied) 650 The stately waggon is ascending, With faithful Benjamin attending, Apparent now beside his team-- Now lost amid a glittering steam: [54]

And with him goes his Sailor-friend, 655 By this time near their journey's end; And, after their high-minded riot, Sickening into thoughtful quiet; As if the morning's pleasant hour, Had for their joys a killing power. 660 And, sooth, for Benjamin a vein Is opened of still deeper pain, As if his heart by notes were stung From out the lowly hedge-rows flung; As if the warbler lost in light [L] 665 Reproved his soarings of the night, In strains of rapture pure and holy Upbraided his distempered folly. [55]

Drooping is he, his step is dull; [56]

But the horses stretch and pull; 670 With increasing vigour climb, Eager to repair lost time; Whether, by their own desert, Knowing what cause there is [57] for shame, They are labouring to avert 675 As much as may be of the blame, [58]

Which, they foresee, must soon alight Upon _his_ head, whom, in despite Of all his failings, they love best; [59]

Whether for him they are distrest, 680 Or, by length of fasting roused, Are impatient to be housed: Up against the hill they strain Tugging at the iron chain, Tugging all with might and main, 685 Last and foremost, every horse To the utmost of his force!

And the smoke and respiration, Rising like an exhalation, Blend [60] with the mist--a moving shroud 690 To form, an undissolving cloud; Which, with slant ray, the merry sun Takes delight to play upon.

Never golden-haired Apollo, Pleased some favourite chief to follow 695 Through accidents of peace or war, In a perilous moment threw Around the object of his care Veil of such celestial hue; [61]

Interposed so bright a screen--700 Him and his enemies between!

Alas! what boots it?--who can hide, When the malicious Fates are bent On working out an ill intent?

Can destiny be turned aside? 705 No--sad progress of my story!

Benjamin, this outward glory Cannot s.h.i.+eld [62] thee from thy Master, Who from Keswick has p.r.i.c.ked forth, Sour and surly as the north; 710 And, in fear of some disaster, Comes to give what help he may, And [63] to hear what thou canst say; If, as needs he must forebode, [64]

Thou hast been loitering [65] on the road! 715 His fears, his doubts, [66] may now take flight-- The wished-for object is in sight; Yet, trust the Muse, it rather hath Stirred him up to livelier wrath; Which he stifles, moody man! 720 With all the patience that he can; To the end that, at your meeting, He may give thee decent greeting.

There he is--resolved to stop, Till the waggon gains the top; 725 But stop he cannot--must advance: Him Benjamin, with lucky glance, Espies--and instantly is ready, Self-collected, poised, and steady: And, to be the better seen, 730 Issues from his radiant shroud, From his close-attending cloud, With careless air and open mien.

Erect his port, and firm his going; So struts yon c.o.c.k that now is crowing; 735 And the morning light in grace Strikes upon his lifted face, Hurrying the pallid hue away That might his trespa.s.ses betray.

But what can all avail to clear him, 740 Or what need of explanation, Parley or interrogation?

For the Master sees, alas!

That unhappy Figure near him, Limping o'er the dewy gra.s.s, 745 Where the road it fringes, sweet, Soft and cool to way-worn feet; And, O indignity! an a.s.s, By his n.o.ble Mastiffs side, Tethered to the waggon's tail: 750 And the s.h.i.+p, in all her pride, Following after in full sail!

Not to speak of babe and mother; Who, contented with each other, And snug as birds in leafy arbour, 755 Find, within, a blessed harbour!

With eager eyes the Master pries; Looks in and out, and through and through; Says nothing--till at last he spies A wound upon the Mastiff's head, 760 A wound, where plainly might be read What feats an a.s.s's hoof can do!

But drop the rest:--this aggravation, This complicated provocation, A h.o.a.rd of grievances unsealed; 765 All past forgiveness it repealed; And thus, and through distempered blood On both sides, Benjamin the good, The patient, and the tender-hearted, Was from his team and waggon parted; 770 When duty of that day was o'er, Laid down his whip--and served no more.-- Nor could the waggon long survive, Which Benjamin had ceased to drive: It lingered on;--guide after guide 775 Ambitiously the office tried; But each unmanageable hill Called for _his_ patience and _his_ skill;-- And sure it is, that through this night, And what the morning brought to light, 780 Two losses had we to sustain, We lost both WAGGONER and WAIN!

Accept, O Friend, for praise or blame, The gift of this adventurous song; A record which I dared to frame, 785 Though timid scruples checked me long; They checked me--and I left the theme Untouched;--in spite of many a gleam Of fancy which thereon was shed, Like pleasant sunbeams s.h.i.+fting still 790 Upon the side of a distant hill: But Nature might not be gainsaid; For what I have and what I miss I sing of these;--it makes my bliss!

Nor is it I who play the part, 795 But a shy spirit in my heart, That comes and goes--will sometimes leap From hiding-places ten years deep; Or haunts me with familiar face, [67]

Returning, like a ghost unlaid, 800 Until the debt I owe be paid.

Forgive me, then; for I had been On friendly terms with this Machine: [M]

In him, while he was wont to trace Our roads, through many a long year's s.p.a.ce, 805 A living almanack had we; We had a speaking diary, That in this uneventful place, Gave to the days a mark and name By which we knew them when they came. 810 --Yes, I, and all about me here, Through all the changes of the year, Had seen him through the mountains go, In pomp of mist or pomp of snow, Majestically huge and slow: 815 Or, with a milder grace [68] adorning The landscape of a summer's morning; While Grasmere smoothed her liquid plain The moving image to detain; And mighty Fairfield, with a chime 820 Of echoes, to his march kept time; When little other business stirred, And little other sound was heard; In that delicious hour of balm, Stillness, solitude, and calm, 825 While yet the valley is arrayed, On this side with a sober shade; On that is prodigally bright-- Crag, lawn, and wood--with rosy light.

--But most of all, thou lordly Wain! 830 I wish to have thee here again, When windows flap and chimney roars, And all is dismal out of doors; And, sitting by my fire, I see Eight sorry carts, no less a train! 835 Unworthy successors of thee, Come straggling through the wind and rain: And oft, as they pa.s.s slowly on, Beneath my windows, [69] one by one, See, perched upon the naked height 840 The summit of a c.u.mbrous freight, A single traveller--and there Another; then perhaps a pair-- The lame, the sickly, and the old; Men, women, heartless with the cold; 845 And babes in wet and starveling plight; Which once, [70] be weather as it might, Had still a nest within a nest, Thy shelter--and their mother's breast!

Then most of all, then far the most, 850 Do I regret what we have lost; Am grieved for that unhappy sin Which robbed us of good Benjamin;-- And of his stately Charge, which none Could keep alive when He was gone! 855

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1819.

The Night-hawk is singing his frog-like tune, Twirling his watchman's rattle about--1805. MS. [a]

The dor-hawk, solitary bird, Round the dim crags on heavy pinions wheeling, Buzzes incessantly, a tiresome tune; That constant voice is all that can be heard 1820.

... on heavy pinions wheeling, With untired voice sings an unvaried tune; Those burring notes are all that can be heard 1836.

The text of 1845 returns to the first version of 1819.]

[Variant 2:

1819.

Now that the children are abed The little glow-worms nothing dread, Such prize as their bright lamps would be.

Sooth they come in company, And s.h.i.+ne in quietness secure, On the mossy bank by the cottage door, As safe as on the loneliest moor.

In the play, or on the hill, Everything is hushed and still; The clouds show here and there a spot Of a star that twinkles not, The air as in ...

From a MS. copy of the poem in Henry Crabb Robinson's 'Diary, etc'.

1812.

Now that the children's busiest schemes Do all lie buried in blank sleep, Or only live in stirring dreams, The glow-worms fearless watch may keep; Rich prize as their bright lamps would be, They s.h.i.+ne, a quiet company, On mossy bank by cottage-door, As safe as on the loneliest moor.