But thou, how leisurely thou fill'st thy horn - That smile forbids the thought; for on thy face Smiles are beginning, like the beams of dawn, To shoot and circulate; smiles have there been seen; Tranquil assurances that Heaven supports XXXIII. THE WAGONER. "In Cairo's crowded streets The impatient Merchant, wondering, waits in vain, THOMSON. TO CHARLES LAMB, ESQ. MY DEAR FRIEND: WHEN I sent you, a few weeks ago, the Tale of Peter Bell, you asked why THE WAGONER was not added. · To say the truth,—from the higher tone of imagination, and the deeper touches of passion aimed at in the former, I apprehended this little Piece could not accompany it without disadvantage. In the year 1806, if I am not mistaken, THE WAGONER was read to you in manuscript, and, as you have remembered it for so long a time, I am the more encouraged to hope, that, since the localities on which the Poem partly depends did not prevent its being interesting to you, it may prove acceptable to others. Being therefore in some measure the cause of its present appearance, you must allow me the gratification of inscribing it to you; in acknowledgment of the pleasure I have derived from your Writings, and of the high esteem with which I am very truly yours, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. RYDAL MOUNT, May 20, 1819. "TIS spent, CANTO FIRST. this burning day of June! Soft darkness o'er its latest gleams is stealing; The buzzing dor-hawk, round and round, is wheeling, That sclitary bird Is all that can be heard In silence deeper far than that of deepest noon! Confiding Glowworms, 't is a night Propitious to your earth-born light! But, where the scattered stars are seen In hazy straits the clouds between, Each, in his station twinkling not, Seems changed into a pallid spot. The mountains against heaven's grave weight Rise up, and grow to wondrous height. The air, as in a lion's den, Is close and hot; and now and then Comes a tired and sultry breeze, With a haunting and a panting, And the silence makes it sweet. Hush, there is some one on the stir! The Wain announces, - by whose side Along the banks of Rydal Mere ·1 Listen! you can scarcely hear! - Yet all the while his whip is dumb! The Horses have worked with right good-will, And so have gained the top of the hill; He was patient, they were strong, Heaven shield him from mishap and snare! Is it for threatenings in the sky? Or for some other danger nigh? No; none is near him yet, though he Be one of much infirmity; For at the bottom of the brow, Where once the DOVE and OLIVE-BOUGH Offered a greeting of good ale To all who entered Grasmere Vale, To leave it with a jovial heart, — There, where the DOVE and OLIVE-BOUGH Once hung, a Poet harbors now, A simple water-drinking Bard; Why need our Hero then (though frail Here is no danger, none at all! Which with such friendly voice will call; And that bright gleam which thence will fall The place to Benjamin right well the OLIVE-BOUGH and DOVE; He knows it to his cost, good Man! Who does not know the famous SWAN? |