Might in this pageant be supposed to hit
An artless rustic's notice, this way less,
More that way, was not wasted upon me.
And yet the spectacle may well demand
A more substantial name, no mimic show
Itself a living part of a live whole,
A creek in the vast sea; for all degrees
And shapes of spurious fame and short-lived
praise

Here sate in state, and fed with daily alms
Retainers won away from solid good,
And here was Labor, his own bond-slave;
Hope,

That never set the pains against the prize;
Idleness halting with his weary clog,
And poor misguided Shame, and witless
Fear,

And simple Pleasure foraging for Death;
Honor misplaced, and Dignity astray;
Feuds, factions, flatteries, enmity, and
guile
[ment,
Murmuring submission, and bald govern-
(The idol weak as the idolater),

And Decency and Custom starving Truth, And blind Authority beating with his staff The child that might have led him; Empti

Thus in submissive idleness, my Friend! The laboring time of autumn, winter, spring,

Eight months! rolled pleasingly away; the ninth

Came and returned me to my native hills.

BOOK

SUMMER VACATION.

BRIGHT was the summer's noon when quickening steps

Followed each other till a dreary moor
Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon
whose top

Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge,
I overlooked the bed of Windermere,
Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.
With exultation, at my feet I saw
Lake, islands, promontories, gleaming
bays,

A universe of Nature's fairest forms
Proudly revealed with instantaneous burst,
Magnificent, and beautiful, and gay.

1 bounded down the hill shouting ama n For the old Ferryman; to the shout the rocks

Replied, and when the Charon of the flood Had stayed his oars, and touched the jutting pier,

I did not step into the well-known boat Without a cordial greeting. Thence with speed

Up the familiar hill I took my way Towards that sweet Valley where I had been reared;

'Twas but a short hour's walk, ere veering

round

Heaven's blessing be upon thee where thou liest

After thy innocent and busy stir

In narrow cares, thy little daily growth
Of calm enjoyments, after eighty years,
And more than eighty, of untroubled life,
Childless, yet by the strangers to thy blood
Honored with little less than filial love.
What joy was mine to see thee once again,
Thee and thy dwelling, and a crowd of
things

About its narrow precincts all beloved,
And many of them seeming yet my own!
Why should I speak of what a thousand
hearts

Have felt, and every man alive can guess? The rooms, the court, the garden were not left

Long unsaluted, nor the sunny seat

Round the stone table under the dark pine,
Friendly to studious or to festive hours;
Nor that unruly child of mountain birth,
The famous brook, who, soon as he was
boxed

Within our garden, found himself at once,
As if by trick insidious and unkind,
Stripped of his voice and left to dimple
down

(Without an effort and without a will) A channel paved by man's officious care. I looked at him and smiled, and smiled again,

And in the press of twenty thousand thoughts,

"Ha," quoth I, "pretty prisoner, are you there!"

Well might sarcastic fancy then have whispered,

"An emblem here behold of thy own life; In its late course of even days with all Their smooth enthralment; "but the heart was full,

Too full for that reproach. My aged Dame Walked proudly at my side: she guided

Upon the road, some busy at their work,
Unceremonious greetings interchanged
With half the length of a long field between.
Among my schoolfellows, I scattered round
Like recognitions, but with some constraint
Attended, doubtless, with a little pride,
But with more shame, for my habiliments,
The transformation wrought by gay attire.
Not less delighted did I take my place
At our domestic table: and, dear Friend!
In this endeavor simply to relate

A Poet's history, may I leave untold
The thankfulness with which I laid me
down

In my accustomed bed, more welcome now
Perhaps than if it had been more desired
Or been more often thought of with regret;
That lowly bed whence I had heard the
wind

Roar, and the rain beat hard; where I so oft

Had lain awake on summer nights to watch The moon in splendor couched among the leaves

Of a tall ash, that near our cottage stood; Had watched her with fixed eyes while to and fro

In the dark summit of the wavering tree She rocked with every impulse of the breeze.

Among the favorites whom it pleased me
well

To see again, was one by ancient right
Our inmate, a rough terrier of the hills;
The birth and call of nature pre-ordained
To hunt the badger and unearth the fox
Among the impervious crags, but having
been

From youth our own adopted, he had passed
Into a gentler service. And when first
The boyish spirit flagged, and day by day
Along my veins I kindled with the stir,
The fermentation, and the vernal heat
Of poesy, affecting private shades
Lick a sick Lover, then this dog was used
To watch me, an attendant and a friend,
Obsequious to my steps early and late,
Though often of such dilatory walk
Tired, and uneasy at the halts I made.
A hundred times when, roving high and
low,

I have been harassed with the toil of verse,
Much pains and little progress, and at once
Some lovely Image in the song rose up
Full-formed, like Venus rising from the

sea;

Then have I darted forwards to let loose

My hand upon his back with stormy joy,
Caressing him again and yet again.
And when at evening on the public way
I sauntered, like a river murmuring
And talking to itself when all things else
Are still, the creature trotted on before;
Such was his custom; but whene'er he met
A passenger approaching, he would turn
To give me timely notice, and straightway,
Grateful for that admonishment, I hushed
My voice, composed my gait, and, with the
air

And mien of one whose thoughts are free, advanced

To give and take a greeting that might

A sober hour, not winning or serene,
For cold and raw the air was, and untuned
But as a face we love is sweetest then
When sorrow damps it, or, whatever look
It chance to wear, is sweetest if the heart
Have fullness in herself; even so with me
It fared that evening. Gently did my soul
Put off her veil, and, self-transmuted, stood
Naked, as in the presence of her God.
While on I walked, a comfort seemed to
touch

A heart that had not been disconsolate : Strength came where weakness was not known to be,

At least not felt; and restoration came
Like an intruder knocking at the door
Of unacknowledged weariness. I took

myself.

-Of that external scene which round me lay,

Little in this abstraction, did I see; Remembered less; but I had inward hopes And swellings of the spirit, was wrapt and soothed,

Conversed with promises, had glimmering views

How life pervades the undecaying mind; How the immortal soul with God-like power

Informs, creates, and thaws the deepest sleep

That time can lay upon her: how on earth,
Man, if he do but live within the light
O high endeavors, daily spreads abroad
His being armed with strength that cannot
fail.

Nor was there want of milder thoughts, of love,

Of innocence, and holiday repose:
And more than pastoral quiet, 'm'd the stir
Of boldest projects, and a peaceful erd
At last, or glorious, by endurance won.
Thus musing, in a wood I sate me down
Alone, continuing there to muse; the
slopes
[spread
And heights meanwhile were slowly over-
With darkness, and before a rippling breeze
The long lake lengthened out its hoary line,
And in the sheltered coppice where I sate,
Around me from among the hazel leaves,
Now here, now there, moved by the strag-
gling wind,

Came ever and anon a breath-like sound,
Quick as the pantings of the faithful dog,
The off and on companion of my walk;
And such, at times, believing them to be,
I turned my head to look if he were there;
Then into solemn thought I passed once

more.

A freshness also found I at this ti In human Life, the daily life of those Whose occupations really I loved; The peaceful scene oft filled me with surprise,

Changed like a garden in the heat of spring After an eight-days' absence. For (to omit

The things which were the same and yet appeared

Far otherwise) amid this rural solitude, A narrow Vale where each was known to all,

Her clear though shallow stream of piety That ran on Sabbath days a fresher course; With thoughts unfelt till now I saw her read

Her Bible on hot Sunday afternoons, And loved the book, when she had dropped asleep

And made of it a pillow for her head.

Nor less do I remember to have felt,
Distinctly manifested at this time,
A human-heartedness about my love
For objects hitherto the absolute wealth
Of my own private being and no more;
Which I had loved, even as a blessed
spirit

Or Angel, if he were to dwell on earth,
Might love in individual happiness.
But now there opened on me other
thoughts

Of change, congratulation or regret,

A pensive feeling! It spread far and wide; The trees, the mountains shared it, and the brooks,

The stars of Heaven, now seen in their old haunts

White Sirius glittering o'er the southern crags,

Orion with his belt, and those fair Seven,
Acquaintances of every little child,
And Jupiter, my own beloved star!
Whatever shadings of mortality,
Whatever imports from the world of death
Had come among these objects heretofore,
Were, in the main, of mood less tender :
strong,

Deep, gloomy were they, and severe; the scatterings

Of awe or tremulous dread, that had given

way

In later youth to yearnings of a love
Enthusiastic, to delight and hope.

As one who hangs down bending from

the side

Of a slow-moving boat, upon the breast
Of a still water, solacing himself
With such discoveries as his eye can make
Beneath him in the bottom of the deep,
Sees many beauteous sights-weeds, fishes,
flowers,

Grots, pebbles, roots of trees, and fancies more,

Yet often is perplexed, and cannot part The shadow from the substance, rocks and sky,

the

Mountains and clouds, reflected in depth Of the clear flood, from things which there abide [gleam In their true dwelling; now is crossed by Of his own image, by a sunbeam now, And wavering motions sent he knows not whence,

Impediments that make his task more sweet;

Such pleasant office have we long pursued Incumbent o'er the surface of past time With like success, nor often have appeared Shapes fairer or less doubtfully discerned Than these to which the Tale, indulgent Friend!

Would now direct thy notice. Yet in spite Of pleasure won, and knowledge not withheld,

There was an inner falling off-I loved, Loved deeply all that had been loved before,

More deeply even than ever: but a swarm Of heady schemes jostling each other gawds,

And feast and dance, and public revelry, And sports and games (too grateful in them. selves,

Yet in themselves less grateful, I believe, Than as they were a badge glossy and fresh

Of manliness and freedom) all conspired
To lure my mind from firm habitual quest
Of feeding pleasures, to depress the zeal
And damp those yearnings which had once
been mine-

A wild, unworldly-minded youth, given up To his own eager thoughts. It would de mand

Some skill, and longer time than may be spared,

To paint these vanities, and how they wrought

In haunts where they, till now, had been unknown.

It seemed the very garments that I wore
Preyed on my strength, and stopped the
quiet stream
Of self-forgetfulness.

Yes, that heartless chase Of trivial pleasures was a poor exchange For books and nature at that early age. 'Tis true, some casual knowledge might be gained

Of character or life; but at that time,
Of manners put to school I took small note,
And all my deeper passions lay elsewhere.
Far better had it been to exalt the mind
By solitary study, to uphold
Intense desire through meditative peace;
And yet, for chastisement of these regrets,
The memory of one particular hour
Doth here rise up against me.
throng

'Mid a

Of maids and youths, old men, and matrons staid,

A medley of all tempers, I had passed
The night in dancing, gayety, 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,

Whose transient pleasure mounted to the head,

And tingled through the veins. Ere we retired,