Among the forest glades, while jocund June But ill they suited me-those journeys dark The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match, Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill : Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding still. What could I do, unaided and unblest? My father! gone was every friend of thine : My deep-drawn sighs no effort could confine; In open Whole hours, with idle arms in moping sorrow knit. The roads I paced, I loitered through the fields; + * By the road side.-Edit. 1815. ↑ I led a wandering life among the fields.-Edit. 1815. I lived upon what casual bounty yields.-Edit. 1815. F But what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth, Foregone the home delight of constant truth, Through tears the rising sun I oft have viewed, Three years a wanderer now my course I bend- She wept; because she had no more to say THE BROTHERS.* “THESE Tourists, heaven preserve us! needs must live A profitable life: some glance along, Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air, * In the Edition of 1815 it was stated that this Poem was intended to conclude a series of pastorals, the scene of which was laid among the mountains of Cumberland and Westmoreland. This was mentioned by way of apology for the abruptness with which the Poem begins. This Poem was one of two to which the Poet invited the attention of Mr. Fox, when he sent to that gentleman his two volumes of Poems in 1801. "The Brothers" was written at Grasmere in 1800, and arose out of the fact mentioned to the Poet at Ennerdale, that a shepherd had fallen asleep on the top of the rock called "The Pillar," and perished as described in the Poem. It is perhaps the most touchingly pathetic of all Mr. Wordsworth's earlier compositions. Will look and scribble, scribble on and look, Why can he tarry yonder?-In our church-yard Tombstone nor name-only the turf we tread To Jane, his wife, Thus spake the homely Priest of Ennerdale. It was a July evening; and he sate Upon the long stone-seat beneath the eaves Of his old cottage, as it chanced, that day, Employed in winter's work. Upon the stone His wife sate near him, teasing matted wool, While, from the twin cards toothed with glittering wire, He fed the spindle of his youngest child, Who, in the open air, with due accord Of busy hands and back-and-forward steps, Her large round wheel was turning. Towards the field In which the Parish Chapel stood alone, Girt round with a bare ring of mossy wall, While half an hour went by, the Priest had sent The Stranger, whom he saw still lingering there. 'Twas one well known to him in former days, A Shepherd-lad; who ere his sixteenth year Of caves and trees :--and, when the regular wind And blew with the same breath through days and weeks, Along the cloudless Main, he, in those hours Of tiresome indolence, would often hang Over the vessel's side, and gaze and gaze; And, while the broad blue wave* and sparkling foam Below him, in the bosom of the deep, Saw mountains; saw the forms of sheep that grazed And shepherds clad in the same country grey And now, at last, From perils manifold, with some small wealth * Broad green wave.-Edit. 1815. This description of the Calenture is sketched from an imperfect recollection of an admirable one in prose, by Mr. Gilbert, author of the "Hurricane." Acquired by traffic 'mid the Indian Isles, The life he had lived there; both for the sake That he began to doubt; and even to hope That it was not another grave; but one He had forgotten. He had lost his path, As up the vale, that afternoon, he walked Through fields which once had been well known to him: And oh what joy this recollection now Sent to his heart! he lifted up his eyes, And, looking round, imagined that he saw * The lines descriptive of the poetical temperament of the sailor appear, says Dr. Wordsworth, to have been suggested by the character of the Poet's brother, Captain John Wordsworth. |