The ancient spirit is not dead;
Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
Proud was I that my country bred
Such strength, a dignity so fair: 10
She begged an alms, like one in poor estate;
I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.
Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
Proud was I that my country bred
Such strength, a dignity so fair: 10
She begged an alms, like one in poor estate;
I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.
William Wordsworth
.
.
gentleness, .
.
.
1841.
]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: The following extracts from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal
show the date of the composition of this poem.
"Sunday, 6th December 1801. A very fine beautiful sun-shiny morning.
William worked a while at Chaucer; then he set forward to walk into
Easdale. . . . In the afternoon I read Chaucer aloud. "
"Monday, 7th. . . . William at work with Chaucer, 'The God of Love'. . . . "
"8th November . . . William worked at 'The Cuckoo and the Nightingale'
till he was tired. "
"Wednesday, December 9th. I read 'Palemon and Arcite', William writing
out his alterations of Chaucer's 'Cuckoo and Nightingale'. "
The question as to whether 'The Cuckoo and the Nightingale' was written
by Chaucer or not, may be solved either way without affecting the
literary value of Wordsworth's "modernisation" of it. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: In 'The Poems of Geoffrey Chaucer Modernised'. --Ed. ]
[Footnote C:
"In 'The Cuckoo and Nightingale', a poem of the third of May--a date
corresponding to the mid-May, the very heart of May according to our
modern reckoning--the poet after a wakeful night rises, and goes forth
at dawn, and comes to a 'laund' or plain 'of white and green. '
'So feire oon had I nevere in bene,
The grounde was grene, y poudred with dayse,
The floures and the gras ilike al hie,
Al grene and white, was nothing elles sene. '
Nothing seen but the short green grass and the white daisies,--grass
and daisies being of equal height. Unfortunately in Tyrwhitt's text
the description is nonsensical,
'The flowres and the greves like hie. '
The daisy flowers are as high as the _groves_! Wordsworth retained the
groves, but refused to make daisies of equal height with them.
'Tall were the flowers, the grove a lofty cover,
All green and white; and nothing else was seen. '"
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society'. No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote D:
"In Chaucer's poem, after 'the cuckoo, bird unholy,' has said his evil
say, the Nightingale breaks forth 'so lustily,'
'That with her clere voys she made rynge
Thro out alle the grene wode wide,'
Wordsworth has taken a poet's licence with these lines:
'I heard the lusty Nightingale so sing,
That her clear voice made 'a loud rioting',
Echoing through all the green wood wide. '
This 'loud rioting' is Wordsworth's, not Chaucer's; and it belongs, as
it were, to that other passage of his:
'O Nightingale, thou surely art
A creature of a fiery heart,
These notes of thine--they pierce and pierce;
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!
Thou sing'st as if the God of wine
Had helped thee to a Valentine. '"
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote E: From a manuscript in the Bodleian, as are also stanzas 44
and 45--W. W.
(1841), which are necessary to complete the sense--W. W. (added in
1842). ]
* * * * *
TROILUS AND CRESIDA
Translated 1801. --Published 1841 [A]
Next morning Troilus began to clear
His eyes from sleep, at the first break of day,
And unto Pandarus, his own Brother dear,
For love of God, full piteously did say,
We must the Palace see of Cresida; 5
For since we yet may have no other feast,
Let us behold her Palace at the least!
And therewithal to cover his intent
A cause he found into the Town to go, [B]
And they right forth to Cresid's Palace went; 10
But, Lord, this simple Troilus was woe,
Him thought his sorrowful heart would break [1] in two;
For when he saw her doors fast bolted all,
Well nigh for sorrow down he 'gan to fall.
Therewith when this true Lover 'gan behold, 15
How shut was every window of the place,
Like frost he thought his heart was icy cold;
For which, with changed, pale, and deadly face,
Without word uttered, forth he 'gan to pace;
And on his purpose bent so fast to ride, 20
That no wight his continuance espied. [C]
Then said he thus,--O Palace desolate!
O house of houses, once so richly dight!
O Palace empty and disconsolate!
Thou lamp of which extinguished is the light; 25
O Palace whilom day that now art night,
Thou ought'st to fall and I to die; since she
Is gone who held us both in sovereignty.
O, of all houses once the crowned boast!
Palace illumined with the sun of bliss; 30
O ring of which the ruby now is lost,
O cause of woe, that cause has [2] been of bliss:
Yet, since I may no better, would I kiss
Thy cold doors; but I dare not for this rout;
Farewell, thou shrine of which the Saint is out! 35
Therewith he cast on Pandarus an eye, [3]
With changed face, and piteous to behold;
And when he might his time aright espy,
Aye as he rode, to Pandarus he told
Both his new sorrow and his joys of old, 40
So piteously, and with so dead a hue,
That every wight might on his sorrow rue.
Forth from the spot he rideth up and down,
And everything to his rememberance
Came as he rode by places of the town 45
Where he had felt such perfect pleasure once.
Lo, yonder saw I mine own Lady dance,
And in that Temple she with her bright eyes,
My Lady dear, first bound me captive-wise.
And yonder with joy-smitten heart have I 50
Heard my own Cresid's laugh; and once at play
I yonder saw her eke full blissfully;
And yonder once she unto me 'gan say--
Now, my sweet Troilus, love me well, I pray!
And there so graciously did me behold, 55
That hers unto the death my heart I hold.
And at the corner of that self-same house
Heard I my most beloved Lady dear,
So womanly, with voice melodious
Singing so well, so goodly, and so clear, 60
That in my soul methinks I yet do hear
The blissful sound; and in that very place
My Lady first me took unto her grace.
O blissful God of Love! then thus he cried,
When I the process have in memory, 65
How thou hast wearied [D] me on every side,
Men thence a book might make, a history;
What need to seek a conquest over me,
Since I am wholly at thy will? what joy
Hast thou thy own liege subjects to destroy? 70
Dread Lord! so fearful when provoked, thine ire
Well hast thou wreaked on me by pain and grief;
Now mercy, Lord! thou know'st well I desire
Thy grace above all pleasures first and chief;
And live and die I will in thy belief; 75
For which I ask for guerdon but one boon,
That Cresida again thou send me soon.
Constrain her heart as quickly to return,
As thou dost mine with longing her to see,
Then know I well that she would not sojourn. 80
Now, blissful Lord, so cruel do not be
Unto the blood of Troy, I pray of thee,
As Juno was unto the Theban blood,
From whence to Thebes came griefs in multitude.
And after this he to the gate did go 85
Whence Cresid rode, as if in haste she was;
And up and down there went, and to and fro,
And to himself full oft he said, alas!
From hence my hope, and solace forth did pass.
O would the blissful God now for his joy, 90
I might her see again coming to Troy!
And up to yonder hill was I her guide;
Alas, and there I took of her my leave;
Yonder I saw her to her Father ride,
For very grief of which my heart shall cleave;--95
And hither home I came when it was eve;
And here I dwell an outcast from all joy,
And shall, unless I see her soon in Troy.
And of himself did he imagine oft,
That he was blighted, pale, and waxen less 100
Than he was wont; and that in whispers soft
Men said, what may it be, can no one guess
Why Troilus hath all this heaviness?
All which he of himself conceited wholly
Out of his weakness and his melancholy. 105
Another time he took into his head,
That every wight, who in the way passed by,
Had of him ruth, and fancied that they said,
I am right sorry Troilus will die:
And thus a day or two drove wearily; 110
As ye have heard; such life 'gan he to lead
As one that standeth betwixt hope and dread.
For which it pleased him in his songs to show
The occasion of his woe, as best he might;
And made a fitting song, of words [4] but few, 115
Somewhat his woeful heart to make more light;
And when he was removed from all men's sight,
With a soft night voice, [5] he of his Lady dear,
That absent was, 'gan sing as ye may hear.
O star, of which I lost have all the light, 120
With a sore heart well ought I to bewail,
That ever dark in torment, night by night,
Toward my death with wind I steer and sail; [E]
For which upon the tenth night if thou fail
With thy bright beams to guide me but one hour, 125
My ship and me Charybdis will devour.
As soon as he this song had thus sung through,
He fell again into his sorrows old;
And every night, as was his wont to do,
Troilus stood the bright moon to behold; 130
And all his trouble to the moon he told,
And said; I wis, when thou art horn'd anew,
I shall be glad if all the world be true.
Thy horns were old as now upon that morrow,
When hence did journey my bright Lady dear, 135
That cause is of my torment and my sorrow;
For which, oh, gentle Luna, bright and clear,
For love of God, run fast above [F] thy sphere;
For when thy horns begin once more to spring,
Then shall she come, that with her bliss may bring. 140
The day is more, and longer every night
Than they were wont to be--for he thought so;
And that the sun did take his course not right,
By longer way than he was wont to go;
And said, I am in constant dread I trow, 145
That Phaeton his son is yet alive,
His too fond father's car amiss to drive.
Upon the walls fast also would he walk,
To the end that he the Grecian host might see;
And ever thus he to himself would talk:--150
Lo! yonder is my [6] own bright Lady free;
Or yonder is it that the tents must be;
And thence does come this air which is so sweet,
That in my soul I feel the joy of it.
And certainly this wind, that more and more 155
By moments thus increaseth in my face,
Is of my Lady's sighs heavy and sore;
I prove it thus; for in no other space
Of all this town, save only in this place,
Feel I a wind, that soundeth so like pain; 160
It saith, Alas, why severed are we twain?
A weary while in pain he tosseth thus,
Till fully past and gone was the ninth night;
And ever [7] at his side stood Pandarus,
Who busily made use of all his might 165
To comfort him, and make his heart more light; [8]
Giving him always hope, that she the morrow
Of the tenth day will come, and end his sorrow.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1842.
. . . burst 1841. ]
[Variant 2:
1842.
. . . hast . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 3:
1842.
. . . his eye, 1841. ]
[Variant 4:
1842.
. . . whose words . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 5:
1842.
With a soft voice, . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 6:
1842.
. . . mine . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 7: The "even" of 1841 is evidently a misprint. ]
[Variant 8:
1842.
. . . too light; 1841. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: In 'The Poems of Geoffrey Chaucer Modernised'. It is an
extract from 'Troilus and Cressida', book v. ll. 518-686. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B:
"Chaucer's text is:
'And therwithalle his meynye for to blende
A cause he fonde in toune for to go. '
'His meynye for to blende,' i. e. to keep his household or his
domestics in the dark. But Wordsworth writes:
'And therewithal to cover his _intent_,'
possibly mistaking 'meynye' for 'meaning'. "
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote C:
"When Troilus sees the shut windows and desolate aspect of his lady's
house, his face grows blanched, and he rides past in haste, so fast,
says Wordsworth,
'That no wight his continuance espied. '
But in Chaucer he rides fast that his white face may not be noticed:
'And as God wolde he gan so faste ride
That no wight of his countenance espied. '"
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote D: In Chaucer "werreyed" = warred on = fought against. --Ed. ]
[Footnote E:
"'Toward my death with wind I steer and sail. '
This is Urry's version, but Chaucer's text is,
'Toward my death, with wind _in stern_ I sail,'
Troilus' bark careering towards death, with all sails set, before a
fierce stern-wind. "
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote F: In Chaucer "aboute" = around. --Ed. ]
* * * * *
1802
The Lyrical Ballads and Sonnets which follow were written
in 1802; but during that year Wordsworth continued mainly to
work at 'The Excursion', as the following extracts from his sister's
Journal indicate:
"Feb. 1, 1802. --William worked hard at 'The Pedlar,' and tired
himself.
2nd Feb. --Wm. worked at 'The Pedlar. ' I read aloud the 11th book of
'Paradise Lost'.
Thursday, 4th. --William thought a little about 'The Pedlar. '
5th. --Wm. sate up late at 'The Pedlar. '
7th. --W. was working at his poem. Wm. read 'The Pedlar,' thinking it
was done. But lo! . . . it was uninteresting, and must be altered. "
Similar records occur each day in the Journal from the 10th to the 14th
Feb. 1802. --Ed.
* * * * *
THE SAILOR'S MOTHER
Composed March 11th and 12th, 1802. --Published 1807
[Written in Town-end, Grasmere. I met this woman near the Wishing-gate,
on the high road that then led from Grasmere to Ambleside. Her
appearance was exactly as here described, and such was her account,
nearly to the letter. --I. F. ]
One of the "Poems founded on the Affections. "--Ed.
One morning (raw it was and wet--
A foggy day in winter time)
A Woman on [1] the road I met,
Not old, though something past her prime:
Majestic in her person, tall and straight; 5
And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.
The ancient spirit is not dead;
Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
Proud was I that my country bred
Such strength, a dignity so fair: 10
She begged an alms, like one in poor estate;
I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.
When from these lofty thoughts I woke,
"What is it," said I, "that you bear,
Beneath the covert of your Cloak, 15
Protected from this cold damp air? " [2]
She answered, soon as she the question heard,
"A simple burthen, Sir, a little Singing-bird. "
And, thus continuing, she said,
"I had a Son, who many a day 20
Sailed on the seas, but he is dead; [3]
In Denmark he was cast away:
And I have travelled weary miles to see
If aught which he had owned might still remain for me. [4]
"The bird and cage they both were his: 25
'Twas my Son's bird; and neat and trim
He kept it: many voyages
The singing-bird had gone [5] with him;
When last he sailed, he left the bird behind;
From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind. [6] 30
"He to a fellow-lodger's care
Had left it, to be watched and fed,
And pipe its song in safety;--there [7]
I found it when my Son was dead;
And now, God help me for my little wit! 35
I bear [8] it with me, Sir;--he took so much delight in it. "
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1815.
. . . in . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 2:
1836.
. . . I woke,
With the first word I had to spare
I said to her, "Beneath your Cloak
What's that which on your arm you bear? " 1807.
"What treasure," said I,"do you bear,
Beneath the covert of your Cloak
Protected from the cold damp air? " 1820. ]
[Variant 3:
1807.
"I had a Son,--the waves might roar,
He feared them not, a Sailor gay!
But he will cross the waves no more: 1820.
. . . cross the deep . . . 1827.
The text of 1832 returns to that of 1807. [a]]
[Variant 4:
1827.
And I have been as far as Hull, to see
What clothes he might have left, or other property. 1807.
And I have travelled far as Hull, to see 1815.
And I have travelled many miles to see
If aught which he had owned might still remain for me. 1820. ]
[Variant 5:
1845.
This Singing-bird hath gone . . . 1807.
. . . had gone . . . 1820. ]
[Variant 6:
1827.
As it might be, perhaps, from bodings of his mind. 1807. ]
[Variant 7:
1827.
Till he came back again; and there 1807. ]
[Variant 8:
1827.
I trail . . . 1807. ]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Footnote a: This return, in 1832, to the original text of the poem
was due to Barren Field's criticism, the justice of which Wordsworth
admitted. --Ed. ]
In the Wordsworth household this poem went by the name
of "The Singing Bird" as well as 'The Sailor's Mother'.
"Thursday (March 11th). --A fine morning. William worked at the poem of
'The Singing Bird. ' . . . "
"Friday (March 12th). --William finished his poem of 'The Singing
Bird. '"
(Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal. )--Ed.
* * * * *
ALICE FELL; OR, POVERTY [A]
Composed March 12th and 13th, 1802. --Published 1807
[Written to gratify Mr. Graham of Glasgow, brother of the author of 'The
Sabbath'. He was a zealous coadjutor of Mr. Clarkson, and a man of
ardent humanity. The incident had happened to himself, and he urged me
to put it into verse, for humanity's sake. The humbleness, meanness if
you like, of the subject, together with the homely mode of treating it,
brought upon me a world of ridicule by the small critics, so that in
policy I excluded it from many editions of my poems, till it was
restored at the request of some of my friends, in particular my
son-in-law, Edward Quillinan. --I. F. ]
It was only excluded from the editions of 1820, 1827, and 1832. In the
edition of 1807 it was placed amongst a group of "Poems composed during
a Tour, chiefly on foot. " In 1815, in 1836, and afterwards, it was
included in the group "referring to the Period of Childhood. "
In Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal, the following reference to
this poem occurs:
"Feb. 16, 1802. --Mr. Graham said he wished William had been with him
the other day. He was riding in a post-chaise, and he heard a strange
cry that he could not understand. The sound continued, and he called
to the chaise-driver to stop. It was a little girl that was crying as
if her heart would burst. She had got up behind the chaise, and her
cloak had been caught by the wheel, and was jammed in, and it hung
there. She was crying after it, poor thing. Mr. Graham took her into
the chaise, and her cloak was released from the wheel, but the child's
misery did not cease, for her cloak was torn to rags. It had been a
miserable cloak before; but she had no other, and it was the greatest
sorrow that could befall her. Her name was Alice Fell. She had no
parents, and belonged to the next town. At the next town Mr. G. left
money to buy her a new cloak. "
"Friday (March 12). --In the evening after tea William wrote 'Alice
Fell'. "
"Saturday Morning (13th March). --William finished 'Alice Fell'. . . . "
Ed.
The post-boy drove with fierce career,
For threatening clouds the moon had drowned;
When, as we hurried on, my ear
Was smitten with a startling sound. [1]
As if the wind blew many ways, 5
I heard the sound,--and more and more;
It seemed to follow with the chaise,
And still I heard it as before.
At length I to the boy called out;
He stopped his horses at the word, 10
But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout,
Nor aught else like it, could be heard.
The boy then smacked his whip, and fast
The horses scampered through the rain;
But, hearing soon upon the blast 15
The cry, I bade him halt again. [2]
Forthwith alighting on the ground,
"Whence comes," said I, "this piteous moan? " [3]
And there a little Girl I found,
Sitting behind the chaise, alone. 20
"My cloak! " no other word she spake,
But loud and bitterly she wept,
As if her innocent heart would break; [4]
And down from off her seat [5] she leapt.
"What ails you, child? "--she sobbed "Look here! " 25
I saw it in the wheel entangled,
A weather-beaten rag as e'er
From any garden scare-crow dangled.
There, twisted between nave and spoke,
It hung, nor could at once be freed; 30
But our joint pains unloosed the cloak, [6]
A miserable rag indeed! [7]
"And whither are you going, child,
To-night along these lonesome ways? "
"To Durham," answered she, half wild--35
"Then come with me into the chaise. "
Insensible to all relief
Sat the poor girl, and forth did send
Sob after sob, as if her grief [8]
Could never, never have an end. 40
"My child, in Durham do you dwell? "
She checked herself in her distress,
And said, "My name is Alice Fell;
I'm fatherless and motherless.
"And I to Durham, Sir, belong. " 45
Again, [9] as if the thought would choke
Her very heart, her grief grew strong;
And all was for her tattered cloak!
The chaise drove on; our journey's end
Was nigh; and, sitting by my side, 50
As if she had lost [10] her only friend
She wept, nor would be pacified.
Up to the tavern-door we post;
Of Alice and her grief I told;
And I gave money to the host, 55
To buy a new cloak for the old.
"And let it be of duffil grey,
As warm a cloak as man can sell! "
Proud creature was she the next day,
The little orphan, Alice Fell! 60
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1845.
When suddenly I seem'd to hear
A moan, a lamentable sound. 1807. ]
[Variant 2:
1845.
And soon I heard upon the blast
The voice, and bade . . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 3:
1845.
Said I, alighting on the ground,
"What can it be, this piteous moan? " 1807.
Forthwith alighted on the ground
To learn what voice the piteous moan
Had made, a little girl I found, C. ]
[Variant 4:
1836.
"My Cloak! " the word was last and first,
And loud and bitterly she wept,
As if her very heart would burst; 1807.
"My cloak, my cloak" she cried, and spake
No other word, but loudly wept, C. ]
[Variant 5:
1815.
. . . off the Chaise . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 6:
1845.
'Twas twisted betwixt nave and spoke;
Her help she lent, and with good heed
Together we released the Cloak; 1807.
. . . between . . . 1840. ]
[Variant 7:
1836.
A wretched, wretched rag indeed! 1807. ]
[Variant 8:
1845.
She sate like one past all relief;
Sob after sob she forth did send
In wretchedness, as if her grief 1807. ]
[Variant 9:
1836.
And then, . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 10:
1836.
. . . she'd lost . . . 1807. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: There was no sub-title in the edition of 1807. --Ed. ]
Charles Lamb wrote to Wordsworth in 1815, referring to
the revisions of this and other poems:
"I am glad that you have not sacrificed a verse to those scoundrels. I
would not have had you offer up the poorest rag that lingered upon the
stript shoulders of little Alice Fell, to have atoned all their
malice; I would not have given 'em a red cloak to save their souls. "
See 'Letters of Charles Lamb' (Ainger), vol. i. p. 283. --Ed.
* * * * *
BEGGARS
Composed March 13th and 14th, 1802. --Published 1807
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. Met, and described to me by my sister,
near the quarry at the head of Rydal Lake, [A] a place still a chosen
resort of vagrants travelling with their families. --I. F.
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: The following extracts from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal
show the date of the composition of this poem.
"Sunday, 6th December 1801. A very fine beautiful sun-shiny morning.
William worked a while at Chaucer; then he set forward to walk into
Easdale. . . . In the afternoon I read Chaucer aloud. "
"Monday, 7th. . . . William at work with Chaucer, 'The God of Love'. . . . "
"8th November . . . William worked at 'The Cuckoo and the Nightingale'
till he was tired. "
"Wednesday, December 9th. I read 'Palemon and Arcite', William writing
out his alterations of Chaucer's 'Cuckoo and Nightingale'. "
The question as to whether 'The Cuckoo and the Nightingale' was written
by Chaucer or not, may be solved either way without affecting the
literary value of Wordsworth's "modernisation" of it. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: In 'The Poems of Geoffrey Chaucer Modernised'. --Ed. ]
[Footnote C:
"In 'The Cuckoo and Nightingale', a poem of the third of May--a date
corresponding to the mid-May, the very heart of May according to our
modern reckoning--the poet after a wakeful night rises, and goes forth
at dawn, and comes to a 'laund' or plain 'of white and green. '
'So feire oon had I nevere in bene,
The grounde was grene, y poudred with dayse,
The floures and the gras ilike al hie,
Al grene and white, was nothing elles sene. '
Nothing seen but the short green grass and the white daisies,--grass
and daisies being of equal height. Unfortunately in Tyrwhitt's text
the description is nonsensical,
'The flowres and the greves like hie. '
The daisy flowers are as high as the _groves_! Wordsworth retained the
groves, but refused to make daisies of equal height with them.
'Tall were the flowers, the grove a lofty cover,
All green and white; and nothing else was seen. '"
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society'. No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote D:
"In Chaucer's poem, after 'the cuckoo, bird unholy,' has said his evil
say, the Nightingale breaks forth 'so lustily,'
'That with her clere voys she made rynge
Thro out alle the grene wode wide,'
Wordsworth has taken a poet's licence with these lines:
'I heard the lusty Nightingale so sing,
That her clear voice made 'a loud rioting',
Echoing through all the green wood wide. '
This 'loud rioting' is Wordsworth's, not Chaucer's; and it belongs, as
it were, to that other passage of his:
'O Nightingale, thou surely art
A creature of a fiery heart,
These notes of thine--they pierce and pierce;
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!
Thou sing'st as if the God of wine
Had helped thee to a Valentine. '"
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote E: From a manuscript in the Bodleian, as are also stanzas 44
and 45--W. W.
(1841), which are necessary to complete the sense--W. W. (added in
1842). ]
* * * * *
TROILUS AND CRESIDA
Translated 1801. --Published 1841 [A]
Next morning Troilus began to clear
His eyes from sleep, at the first break of day,
And unto Pandarus, his own Brother dear,
For love of God, full piteously did say,
We must the Palace see of Cresida; 5
For since we yet may have no other feast,
Let us behold her Palace at the least!
And therewithal to cover his intent
A cause he found into the Town to go, [B]
And they right forth to Cresid's Palace went; 10
But, Lord, this simple Troilus was woe,
Him thought his sorrowful heart would break [1] in two;
For when he saw her doors fast bolted all,
Well nigh for sorrow down he 'gan to fall.
Therewith when this true Lover 'gan behold, 15
How shut was every window of the place,
Like frost he thought his heart was icy cold;
For which, with changed, pale, and deadly face,
Without word uttered, forth he 'gan to pace;
And on his purpose bent so fast to ride, 20
That no wight his continuance espied. [C]
Then said he thus,--O Palace desolate!
O house of houses, once so richly dight!
O Palace empty and disconsolate!
Thou lamp of which extinguished is the light; 25
O Palace whilom day that now art night,
Thou ought'st to fall and I to die; since she
Is gone who held us both in sovereignty.
O, of all houses once the crowned boast!
Palace illumined with the sun of bliss; 30
O ring of which the ruby now is lost,
O cause of woe, that cause has [2] been of bliss:
Yet, since I may no better, would I kiss
Thy cold doors; but I dare not for this rout;
Farewell, thou shrine of which the Saint is out! 35
Therewith he cast on Pandarus an eye, [3]
With changed face, and piteous to behold;
And when he might his time aright espy,
Aye as he rode, to Pandarus he told
Both his new sorrow and his joys of old, 40
So piteously, and with so dead a hue,
That every wight might on his sorrow rue.
Forth from the spot he rideth up and down,
And everything to his rememberance
Came as he rode by places of the town 45
Where he had felt such perfect pleasure once.
Lo, yonder saw I mine own Lady dance,
And in that Temple she with her bright eyes,
My Lady dear, first bound me captive-wise.
And yonder with joy-smitten heart have I 50
Heard my own Cresid's laugh; and once at play
I yonder saw her eke full blissfully;
And yonder once she unto me 'gan say--
Now, my sweet Troilus, love me well, I pray!
And there so graciously did me behold, 55
That hers unto the death my heart I hold.
And at the corner of that self-same house
Heard I my most beloved Lady dear,
So womanly, with voice melodious
Singing so well, so goodly, and so clear, 60
That in my soul methinks I yet do hear
The blissful sound; and in that very place
My Lady first me took unto her grace.
O blissful God of Love! then thus he cried,
When I the process have in memory, 65
How thou hast wearied [D] me on every side,
Men thence a book might make, a history;
What need to seek a conquest over me,
Since I am wholly at thy will? what joy
Hast thou thy own liege subjects to destroy? 70
Dread Lord! so fearful when provoked, thine ire
Well hast thou wreaked on me by pain and grief;
Now mercy, Lord! thou know'st well I desire
Thy grace above all pleasures first and chief;
And live and die I will in thy belief; 75
For which I ask for guerdon but one boon,
That Cresida again thou send me soon.
Constrain her heart as quickly to return,
As thou dost mine with longing her to see,
Then know I well that she would not sojourn. 80
Now, blissful Lord, so cruel do not be
Unto the blood of Troy, I pray of thee,
As Juno was unto the Theban blood,
From whence to Thebes came griefs in multitude.
And after this he to the gate did go 85
Whence Cresid rode, as if in haste she was;
And up and down there went, and to and fro,
And to himself full oft he said, alas!
From hence my hope, and solace forth did pass.
O would the blissful God now for his joy, 90
I might her see again coming to Troy!
And up to yonder hill was I her guide;
Alas, and there I took of her my leave;
Yonder I saw her to her Father ride,
For very grief of which my heart shall cleave;--95
And hither home I came when it was eve;
And here I dwell an outcast from all joy,
And shall, unless I see her soon in Troy.
And of himself did he imagine oft,
That he was blighted, pale, and waxen less 100
Than he was wont; and that in whispers soft
Men said, what may it be, can no one guess
Why Troilus hath all this heaviness?
All which he of himself conceited wholly
Out of his weakness and his melancholy. 105
Another time he took into his head,
That every wight, who in the way passed by,
Had of him ruth, and fancied that they said,
I am right sorry Troilus will die:
And thus a day or two drove wearily; 110
As ye have heard; such life 'gan he to lead
As one that standeth betwixt hope and dread.
For which it pleased him in his songs to show
The occasion of his woe, as best he might;
And made a fitting song, of words [4] but few, 115
Somewhat his woeful heart to make more light;
And when he was removed from all men's sight,
With a soft night voice, [5] he of his Lady dear,
That absent was, 'gan sing as ye may hear.
O star, of which I lost have all the light, 120
With a sore heart well ought I to bewail,
That ever dark in torment, night by night,
Toward my death with wind I steer and sail; [E]
For which upon the tenth night if thou fail
With thy bright beams to guide me but one hour, 125
My ship and me Charybdis will devour.
As soon as he this song had thus sung through,
He fell again into his sorrows old;
And every night, as was his wont to do,
Troilus stood the bright moon to behold; 130
And all his trouble to the moon he told,
And said; I wis, when thou art horn'd anew,
I shall be glad if all the world be true.
Thy horns were old as now upon that morrow,
When hence did journey my bright Lady dear, 135
That cause is of my torment and my sorrow;
For which, oh, gentle Luna, bright and clear,
For love of God, run fast above [F] thy sphere;
For when thy horns begin once more to spring,
Then shall she come, that with her bliss may bring. 140
The day is more, and longer every night
Than they were wont to be--for he thought so;
And that the sun did take his course not right,
By longer way than he was wont to go;
And said, I am in constant dread I trow, 145
That Phaeton his son is yet alive,
His too fond father's car amiss to drive.
Upon the walls fast also would he walk,
To the end that he the Grecian host might see;
And ever thus he to himself would talk:--150
Lo! yonder is my [6] own bright Lady free;
Or yonder is it that the tents must be;
And thence does come this air which is so sweet,
That in my soul I feel the joy of it.
And certainly this wind, that more and more 155
By moments thus increaseth in my face,
Is of my Lady's sighs heavy and sore;
I prove it thus; for in no other space
Of all this town, save only in this place,
Feel I a wind, that soundeth so like pain; 160
It saith, Alas, why severed are we twain?
A weary while in pain he tosseth thus,
Till fully past and gone was the ninth night;
And ever [7] at his side stood Pandarus,
Who busily made use of all his might 165
To comfort him, and make his heart more light; [8]
Giving him always hope, that she the morrow
Of the tenth day will come, and end his sorrow.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1842.
. . . burst 1841. ]
[Variant 2:
1842.
. . . hast . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 3:
1842.
. . . his eye, 1841. ]
[Variant 4:
1842.
. . . whose words . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 5:
1842.
With a soft voice, . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 6:
1842.
. . . mine . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 7: The "even" of 1841 is evidently a misprint. ]
[Variant 8:
1842.
. . . too light; 1841. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: In 'The Poems of Geoffrey Chaucer Modernised'. It is an
extract from 'Troilus and Cressida', book v. ll. 518-686. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B:
"Chaucer's text is:
'And therwithalle his meynye for to blende
A cause he fonde in toune for to go. '
'His meynye for to blende,' i. e. to keep his household or his
domestics in the dark. But Wordsworth writes:
'And therewithal to cover his _intent_,'
possibly mistaking 'meynye' for 'meaning'. "
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote C:
"When Troilus sees the shut windows and desolate aspect of his lady's
house, his face grows blanched, and he rides past in haste, so fast,
says Wordsworth,
'That no wight his continuance espied. '
But in Chaucer he rides fast that his white face may not be noticed:
'And as God wolde he gan so faste ride
That no wight of his countenance espied. '"
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote D: In Chaucer "werreyed" = warred on = fought against. --Ed. ]
[Footnote E:
"'Toward my death with wind I steer and sail. '
This is Urry's version, but Chaucer's text is,
'Toward my death, with wind _in stern_ I sail,'
Troilus' bark careering towards death, with all sails set, before a
fierce stern-wind. "
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote F: In Chaucer "aboute" = around. --Ed. ]
* * * * *
1802
The Lyrical Ballads and Sonnets which follow were written
in 1802; but during that year Wordsworth continued mainly to
work at 'The Excursion', as the following extracts from his sister's
Journal indicate:
"Feb. 1, 1802. --William worked hard at 'The Pedlar,' and tired
himself.
2nd Feb. --Wm. worked at 'The Pedlar. ' I read aloud the 11th book of
'Paradise Lost'.
Thursday, 4th. --William thought a little about 'The Pedlar. '
5th. --Wm. sate up late at 'The Pedlar. '
7th. --W. was working at his poem. Wm. read 'The Pedlar,' thinking it
was done. But lo! . . . it was uninteresting, and must be altered. "
Similar records occur each day in the Journal from the 10th to the 14th
Feb. 1802. --Ed.
* * * * *
THE SAILOR'S MOTHER
Composed March 11th and 12th, 1802. --Published 1807
[Written in Town-end, Grasmere. I met this woman near the Wishing-gate,
on the high road that then led from Grasmere to Ambleside. Her
appearance was exactly as here described, and such was her account,
nearly to the letter. --I. F. ]
One of the "Poems founded on the Affections. "--Ed.
One morning (raw it was and wet--
A foggy day in winter time)
A Woman on [1] the road I met,
Not old, though something past her prime:
Majestic in her person, tall and straight; 5
And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.
The ancient spirit is not dead;
Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
Proud was I that my country bred
Such strength, a dignity so fair: 10
She begged an alms, like one in poor estate;
I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.
When from these lofty thoughts I woke,
"What is it," said I, "that you bear,
Beneath the covert of your Cloak, 15
Protected from this cold damp air? " [2]
She answered, soon as she the question heard,
"A simple burthen, Sir, a little Singing-bird. "
And, thus continuing, she said,
"I had a Son, who many a day 20
Sailed on the seas, but he is dead; [3]
In Denmark he was cast away:
And I have travelled weary miles to see
If aught which he had owned might still remain for me. [4]
"The bird and cage they both were his: 25
'Twas my Son's bird; and neat and trim
He kept it: many voyages
The singing-bird had gone [5] with him;
When last he sailed, he left the bird behind;
From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind. [6] 30
"He to a fellow-lodger's care
Had left it, to be watched and fed,
And pipe its song in safety;--there [7]
I found it when my Son was dead;
And now, God help me for my little wit! 35
I bear [8] it with me, Sir;--he took so much delight in it. "
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1815.
. . . in . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 2:
1836.
. . . I woke,
With the first word I had to spare
I said to her, "Beneath your Cloak
What's that which on your arm you bear? " 1807.
"What treasure," said I,"do you bear,
Beneath the covert of your Cloak
Protected from the cold damp air? " 1820. ]
[Variant 3:
1807.
"I had a Son,--the waves might roar,
He feared them not, a Sailor gay!
But he will cross the waves no more: 1820.
. . . cross the deep . . . 1827.
The text of 1832 returns to that of 1807. [a]]
[Variant 4:
1827.
And I have been as far as Hull, to see
What clothes he might have left, or other property. 1807.
And I have travelled far as Hull, to see 1815.
And I have travelled many miles to see
If aught which he had owned might still remain for me. 1820. ]
[Variant 5:
1845.
This Singing-bird hath gone . . . 1807.
. . . had gone . . . 1820. ]
[Variant 6:
1827.
As it might be, perhaps, from bodings of his mind. 1807. ]
[Variant 7:
1827.
Till he came back again; and there 1807. ]
[Variant 8:
1827.
I trail . . . 1807. ]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Footnote a: This return, in 1832, to the original text of the poem
was due to Barren Field's criticism, the justice of which Wordsworth
admitted. --Ed. ]
In the Wordsworth household this poem went by the name
of "The Singing Bird" as well as 'The Sailor's Mother'.
"Thursday (March 11th). --A fine morning. William worked at the poem of
'The Singing Bird. ' . . . "
"Friday (March 12th). --William finished his poem of 'The Singing
Bird. '"
(Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal. )--Ed.
* * * * *
ALICE FELL; OR, POVERTY [A]
Composed March 12th and 13th, 1802. --Published 1807
[Written to gratify Mr. Graham of Glasgow, brother of the author of 'The
Sabbath'. He was a zealous coadjutor of Mr. Clarkson, and a man of
ardent humanity. The incident had happened to himself, and he urged me
to put it into verse, for humanity's sake. The humbleness, meanness if
you like, of the subject, together with the homely mode of treating it,
brought upon me a world of ridicule by the small critics, so that in
policy I excluded it from many editions of my poems, till it was
restored at the request of some of my friends, in particular my
son-in-law, Edward Quillinan. --I. F. ]
It was only excluded from the editions of 1820, 1827, and 1832. In the
edition of 1807 it was placed amongst a group of "Poems composed during
a Tour, chiefly on foot. " In 1815, in 1836, and afterwards, it was
included in the group "referring to the Period of Childhood. "
In Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal, the following reference to
this poem occurs:
"Feb. 16, 1802. --Mr. Graham said he wished William had been with him
the other day. He was riding in a post-chaise, and he heard a strange
cry that he could not understand. The sound continued, and he called
to the chaise-driver to stop. It was a little girl that was crying as
if her heart would burst. She had got up behind the chaise, and her
cloak had been caught by the wheel, and was jammed in, and it hung
there. She was crying after it, poor thing. Mr. Graham took her into
the chaise, and her cloak was released from the wheel, but the child's
misery did not cease, for her cloak was torn to rags. It had been a
miserable cloak before; but she had no other, and it was the greatest
sorrow that could befall her. Her name was Alice Fell. She had no
parents, and belonged to the next town. At the next town Mr. G. left
money to buy her a new cloak. "
"Friday (March 12). --In the evening after tea William wrote 'Alice
Fell'. "
"Saturday Morning (13th March). --William finished 'Alice Fell'. . . . "
Ed.
The post-boy drove with fierce career,
For threatening clouds the moon had drowned;
When, as we hurried on, my ear
Was smitten with a startling sound. [1]
As if the wind blew many ways, 5
I heard the sound,--and more and more;
It seemed to follow with the chaise,
And still I heard it as before.
At length I to the boy called out;
He stopped his horses at the word, 10
But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout,
Nor aught else like it, could be heard.
The boy then smacked his whip, and fast
The horses scampered through the rain;
But, hearing soon upon the blast 15
The cry, I bade him halt again. [2]
Forthwith alighting on the ground,
"Whence comes," said I, "this piteous moan? " [3]
And there a little Girl I found,
Sitting behind the chaise, alone. 20
"My cloak! " no other word she spake,
But loud and bitterly she wept,
As if her innocent heart would break; [4]
And down from off her seat [5] she leapt.
"What ails you, child? "--she sobbed "Look here! " 25
I saw it in the wheel entangled,
A weather-beaten rag as e'er
From any garden scare-crow dangled.
There, twisted between nave and spoke,
It hung, nor could at once be freed; 30
But our joint pains unloosed the cloak, [6]
A miserable rag indeed! [7]
"And whither are you going, child,
To-night along these lonesome ways? "
"To Durham," answered she, half wild--35
"Then come with me into the chaise. "
Insensible to all relief
Sat the poor girl, and forth did send
Sob after sob, as if her grief [8]
Could never, never have an end. 40
"My child, in Durham do you dwell? "
She checked herself in her distress,
And said, "My name is Alice Fell;
I'm fatherless and motherless.
"And I to Durham, Sir, belong. " 45
Again, [9] as if the thought would choke
Her very heart, her grief grew strong;
And all was for her tattered cloak!
The chaise drove on; our journey's end
Was nigh; and, sitting by my side, 50
As if she had lost [10] her only friend
She wept, nor would be pacified.
Up to the tavern-door we post;
Of Alice and her grief I told;
And I gave money to the host, 55
To buy a new cloak for the old.
"And let it be of duffil grey,
As warm a cloak as man can sell! "
Proud creature was she the next day,
The little orphan, Alice Fell! 60
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1845.
When suddenly I seem'd to hear
A moan, a lamentable sound. 1807. ]
[Variant 2:
1845.
And soon I heard upon the blast
The voice, and bade . . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 3:
1845.
Said I, alighting on the ground,
"What can it be, this piteous moan? " 1807.
Forthwith alighted on the ground
To learn what voice the piteous moan
Had made, a little girl I found, C. ]
[Variant 4:
1836.
"My Cloak! " the word was last and first,
And loud and bitterly she wept,
As if her very heart would burst; 1807.
"My cloak, my cloak" she cried, and spake
No other word, but loudly wept, C. ]
[Variant 5:
1815.
. . . off the Chaise . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 6:
1845.
'Twas twisted betwixt nave and spoke;
Her help she lent, and with good heed
Together we released the Cloak; 1807.
. . . between . . . 1840. ]
[Variant 7:
1836.
A wretched, wretched rag indeed! 1807. ]
[Variant 8:
1845.
She sate like one past all relief;
Sob after sob she forth did send
In wretchedness, as if her grief 1807. ]
[Variant 9:
1836.
And then, . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 10:
1836.
. . . she'd lost . . . 1807. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: There was no sub-title in the edition of 1807. --Ed. ]
Charles Lamb wrote to Wordsworth in 1815, referring to
the revisions of this and other poems:
"I am glad that you have not sacrificed a verse to those scoundrels. I
would not have had you offer up the poorest rag that lingered upon the
stript shoulders of little Alice Fell, to have atoned all their
malice; I would not have given 'em a red cloak to save their souls. "
See 'Letters of Charles Lamb' (Ainger), vol. i. p. 283. --Ed.
* * * * *
BEGGARS
Composed March 13th and 14th, 1802. --Published 1807
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. Met, and described to me by my sister,
near the quarry at the head of Rydal Lake, [A] a place still a chosen
resort of vagrants travelling with their families. --I. F.
