The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth
Chapter 86 : THE THORN Composed March 19, 1798.--Published 1798.In the editions of 1800-1805, Wordsw

THE THORN

Composed March 19, 1798.--Published 1798.

In the editions of 1800-1805, Wordsworth added the following note to this poem:

"This Poem ought to have been preceded by an introductory Poem, which I have been prevented from writing by never having felt myself in a mood when it was probable that I should write it well.--The character which I have here introduced speaking is sufficiently common. The Reader will perhaps have a general notion of it, if he has ever known a man, a Captain of a small trading vessel for example, who being past the middle age of life, had retired upon an annuity or small independent income to some village or country town of which he was not a native, or in which he had not been accustomed to live. Such men having little to do become credulous and talkative from indolence; and from the same cause, and other predisposing causes by which it is probable that such men may have been affected, they are p.r.o.ne to superst.i.tion. On which account it appeared to me proper to select a character like this to exhibit some of the general laws by which superst.i.tion acts upon the mind. Superst.i.tious men are almost always men of slow faculties and deep feelings; their minds are not loose but adhesive; they have a reasonable share of imagination, by which word I mean the faculty which produces impressive effects out of simple elements; but they are utterly dest.i.tute of fancy, the power by which pleasure and surprise are excited by sudden varieties of situation and by acc.u.mulated imagery.

"It was my wish in this poem to shew the manner in which such men cleave to the same ideas; and to follow the turns of pa.s.sion, always different, yet not palpably different, by which their conversation is swayed. I had two objects to attain; first, to represent a picture which should not be unimpressive yet consistent with the character that should describe it, secondly, while I adhered to the style in which such persons describe, to take care that words, which in their minds are impregnated with pa.s.sion, should likewise convey pa.s.sion to Readers who are not accustomed to sympathize with men feeling in that manner or using such language. It seemed to me that this might be done by calling in the a.s.sistance of Lyrical and rapid Metre. It was necessary that the Poem, to be natural, should in reality move slowly; yet I hoped, that, by the aid of the metre, to those who should at all enter into the spirit of the Poem, it would appear to move quickly.

The Reader will have the kindness to excuse this note as I am sensible that an introductory Poem is necessary to give this Poem its full effect.

"Upon this occasion I will request permission to add a few words closely connected with 'The Thorn' and many other Poems in these Volumes. There is a numerous cla.s.s of readers who imagine that the same words cannot be repeated without tautology; this is a great error: virtual tautology is much oftener produced by using different words when the meaning is exactly the same. Words, a Poet's words more particularly, ought to be weighed in the balance of feeling and not measured by the s.p.a.ce which they occupy upon paper. For the Reader cannot be too often reminded that Poetry is pa.s.sion: it is the history or science of feelings: now every man must know that an attempt is rarely made to communicate impa.s.sioned feelings without something of an accompanying consciousness of the inadequateness of our own powers, or the deficiencies of language. During such efforts there will be a craving in the mind, and as long as it is unsatisfied the Speaker will cling to the same words, or words of the same character. There are also various other reasons why repet.i.tion and apparent tautology are frequently beauties of the highest kind. Among the chief of these reasons is the interest which the mind attaches to words, not only as symbols of the pa.s.sion, but as 'things', active and efficient, which are of themselves part of the pa.s.sion. And further, from a spirit of fondness, exultation, and grat.i.tude, the mind luxuriates in the repet.i.tion of words which appear successfully to communicate its feelings. The truth of these remarks might be shown by innumerable pa.s.sages from the Bible and from the impa.s.sioned poetry of every nation.

Awake, awake, Deborah! awake, awake, utter a song: Arise Barak, and lead captivity captive, thou Son of Abinoam.

At her feet he bowed, he fell, he lay down: at her feet he bowed, he fell: where he bowed there he fell down dead.

Why is his Chariot so long in coming? why tarry the Wheels of his Chariot?

(Judges, chap. v. verses 12th, 27th, and part of 28th.)

See also the whole of that tumultuous and wonderful Poem."

"The poem of 'The Thorn', as the reader will soon discover, is not supposed to be spoken in the author's own person: the character of the loquacious narrator will sufficiently shew itself in the course of the story."

W. W. Advertis.e.m.e.nt to "Lyrical Ballads," 1798.

[Alfoxden, 1798. Arose out of my observing, on the ridge of Quantock Hill, on a stormy day, a thorn, which I had often past in calm and bright weather, without noticing it. I said to myself, "Cannot I by some invention do as much to make this Thorn permanently as an impressive object as the storm has made it to my eyes at this moment?"

I began the poem accordingly, and composed it with great rapidity. Sir George Beaumont painted a picture from it, which Wilkie thought his best. He gave it me: though when he saw it several times at Rydal Mount afterwards, he said, 'I could make a better, and would like to paint the same subject over again.' The sky in this picture is n.o.bly done, but it reminds one too much of Wilson. The only fault, however, of any consequence is the female figure, which is too old and decrepit for one likely to frequent an eminence on such a call.--I. F.]

'The Thorn' was always placed among the "Poems of the Imagination."--Ed.

THE POEM

I "There is a Thorn--it looks so old, In truth, you'd find it hard to say How it could ever have been young, It looks so old and grey.

Not higher than a two years' child 5 It stands erect, this aged Thorn; No leaves it has, no p.r.i.c.kly [1] points; It is a ma.s.s of knotted joints, A wretched thing forlorn.

It stands erect, and like a stone 10 With lichens is it overgrown. [2]

II "Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown, With lichens to the very top, And hung with heavy tufts of moss, A melancholy crop: 15 Up from the earth these mosses creep, And this poor Thorn they clasp it round So close, you'd say that they are [3] bent With plain and manifest intent To drag it to the ground; 20 And all have [4] joined in one endeavour To bury this poor Thorn for ever.

III "High on a mountain's highest ridge, Where oft the stormy winter gale Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds 25 It sweeps from vale to vale; Not five yards from the mountain path, This Thorn you on your left espy; And to the left, three yards beyond, You see a little muddy pond 30 Of water--never dry Though but of compa.s.s small, and bare To thirsty suns and parching air. [5] [A]

IV "And, close beside this aged Thorn, There is a fresh and lovely sight, 35 A beauteous heap, a hill of moss, Just half a foot in height.

All lovely colours there you see, All colours that were ever seen; And mossy network too is there, 40 As if by hand of lady fair The work had woven been; And cups, the darlings of the eye, So deep is their vermilion dye.

V "Ah me! what lovely tints are there 45 Of olive green and scarlet bright, In spikes, in branches, and in stars, Green, red, and pearly white!

This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss, Which close beside the Thorn you see, 50 So fresh in all its beauteous dyes, Is like an infant's grave in size, As like as like can be: But never, never any where, An infant's grave was half so fair. 55

VI "Now would you see this aged Thorn, This pond, and beauteous hill of moss, You must take care and choose your time The mountain when to cross.

For oft there sits between the heap 60 So like [6] an infant's grave in size, And that same pond of which I spoke, A Woman in a scarlet cloak, And to herself she cries, 'Oh misery! oh misery! 65 Oh woe is me! oh misery!'

VII "At all times of the day and night This wretched Woman thither goes; And she is known to every star, And every wind that blows; 70 And there, beside the Thorn, she sits When the blue daylight's in the skies, And when the whirlwind's on the hill, Or frosty air is keen and still And to herself she cries, 75 'Oh misery! oh misery!

Oh woe is me! oh misery!'"

VIII "Now wherefore, thus, by day and night, In rain, in tempest, and in snow, Thus to the dreary mountain-top 80 Does this poor Woman go?

And why sits she beside the Thorn When the blue daylight's in the sky, Or when the whirlwind's on the hill, Or frosty air is keen and still, 85 And wherefore does she cry?-- O wherefore? wherefore? tell me why Does she repeat that doleful cry?"

IX "I cannot tell; I wish I could; For the true reason no one knows: 90 But would you [7] gladly view the spot, The spot to which she goes; The hillock like [8] an infant's grave, The pond--and Thorn, so old and grey; Pa.s.s by her door--'tis seldom shut-- 95 And, if you see her in her hut-- Then to the spot away!

I never heard of such as dare Approach the spot when she is there."

X "But wherefore to the mountain-top 100 Can this unhappy Woman go, Whatever star is in the skies, Whatever wind may blow?" [9]

"Full twenty years are past and gone [10]

Since she (her name is Martha Ray) 105 Gave with a maiden's true good-will Her company to Stephen Hill; And she was blithe and gay, While friends and kindred all approved Of him whom tenderly she loved. [11] 110

XI "And they had fixed the wedding day, The morning that must wed them both; But Stephen to another Maid Had sworn another oath; And, with this other Maid, to church 115 Unthinking Stephen went-- Poor Martha! on that woeful day A pang of pitiless dismay Into her soul was sent; A fire was kindled in her breast, 121 Which might not burn itself to rest. [12]

XII "They say, full six months after this, While yet the summer leaves were green, She to the mountain-top would go, 125 And there was often seen.

What could she seek?--or wish to hide?