The excursion: a poem

Book I.— The Wanderer 15 II— The Solitary 49

III. — Despondency 81

IV. — Despondency Corrected 115

V.— The Pastor 159

VI.— The Church-Yard among the Mountains . . 195

VII.— The above, continued 237

VIII.— The Parsonage . 275

IX. — Discourse of the Wanderer, and an Evening Visit

to the Lake .297

TO THK

Sight Honorable WILLIAM, EARL OF LONSDALE, K. G.

ETC. ETC.

Oft, through thy fair domains, illustrious Peer ! In youth I roamed, on youthful pleasures bent And mused in rocky cell or sylvan tent, Beside swift-flowing Lowther's current clear. — Now, by thy care befriended, I appear Before thee Lonsdale, and this Work present, A token (may it prove a monument !) Of high respect and gratitude sincere, Gladly would I have waited till my task Had reached its close ; but Life is insecure, And Hope full oft fallacious as a dream : Therefore, for what is here produced, I ask Thy favor ; trusting that thou wilt not deem The offering, though imperfect, premature.

William Wordsworth.

Preface

TO THE EDITION OF 1814.

The Title-page announces that this is only a portion of a poem ; and the reader must be here apprised that it belongs to the second part of a long and laborious Work, which is to consist of three parts. The Author will candidly acknowledge that, if the first of these had been completed, and in such a manner as to satisfy his own mind, he should have preferred the natural order of publication, and have given that to the world first ; but, as the second division of the Work was designed to refer more to passing events, and to an existing state of things, than the others were meant to do, more continuous exertion was naturally bestowed upon it, and greater progress made here than in the rest of the poem; and as this part does not depend upon the preceding, to a degree which will materially injure its own peculiar interest, the Author, complying with the earnest entreaties of some valued Friends, presents the following pages to the Public.

It may be proper to state whence the poem, of which the Excursion is a part, derives its Title of The Recluse. — Several years ago, when the author retired to his native mountains, with the hope of being enabled to x PREFACE.

construct a literary work that might live, it was a reasonable thing that he should take a review of his own mind, and examine how far Nature and Education had qualified him for such employment. As subsidiary to this preparation, he undertook to record, in verse, the origin and progress of his own powers, as far as he was acquainted with them. That Work, addressed to a dear Friend, most distinguished for his knowledge and genius, and to whom the Author's Intellect is deeply indebted, has been long finished ; and the result of the investigation which gave rise to it was a determination to compose a philosophical poem, containing views of Man, Nature, and Society ; and to be entitled the Recluse ; as having for its principal subject the sensations and opinions of a poet living in retirement. The preparatory poem is biographical, and conducts the history of the Author's mind to the point when he was emboldened to hope that his faculties were sufficiently matured for entering upon the arduous labor which he had proposed to himself; and the two Works have the same kind of relation to each other, if he may so express himself, as the ante-chapel has to the body of a gothic church. Continuing this allusion, he may be permitted to add, that his minor Pieces, which have been long before the Public, when they shall be properly arranged, will be found by the attentive Reader to have such connection with the main Work as may give them claim to be likened to the little cells, oratories, and sepulchral recesses, ordinarily included in those edifices.

The Author would not have deemed himself justified in saying, upon this occasion, so much of performances either unfinished, or unpublished, if he had not thought

PREFACE. xi

that the labor bestowed by him upon what he has heretofore and now laid before the Public, entitled him to candid attention for such a statement as he thinks necessary to throw light upon his endeavors to please, and, he would hope, to benefit his countrymen. Nothing further need be added, thau that the first and third parts of The Recluse will consist chiefly of meditations in the Author's own person; and that in the intermediate part (The Excursion) the intervention of characters speaking is employed, and something of a dramatic form adopted. It is not the Author's intention formally to announce a system : it was more animating to him to proceed in a different course ; and if he shall succeed in conveying to the mind clear thoughts, lively images, and strong feelings, the Reader will have no difficulty in extracting the system for himself. And in the meantime the following passage, taken from the conclusion of the first book of The Recluse, may be acceptable as a kind of Prospectus of the design and scope of the whole Poem.

' On man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing in solitude, I oft perceive Fair trains of imagery before me rise, Accompanied by feelings of delight Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed ; And I am conscious of affecting thoughts And dear remembrances, whose presence soothos Or elevates the Mind, intent to weigh The good and evil of our mortal state. — To these emotions, whencesoe'er they come, Whether from breath of outward circumstance, Or from the Soul — an impulse to herself— I would give utterance in numerous verse. Of Truth, of Grandeur, Beauty, Love, and Hope,

PREFACE.

And melancholy Fear subdued by Faith ;

Of blessed consolations in distress ;

Of moral strength, and intellectual Power ;

Of joy in widest commonalty spread ;

Of the individual Mind that keeps her own

Inviolate retirement, subject there

To Conscience only, and the law supreme

Of that Intelligence which governs all—

I sing : — ' fit audience let me find though few !'

So prayed, more gaming than he asked, the Bard In holiest mood. Urania, I shall need Thy guidance, or a greater Muse, if such Descend to earth or dwell in highest heaven 1 For I must tread on shadowy ground, must sink Deep— and, aloft ascending, breathe in worlds To which the heaven of heavens is but a veil. All strength — all terror, single or in bands, That ever was put forth in personal form- Jehovah— with his thunder, and the choir Of shouting Angels, and the empyreal thrones— I pass them unalarmed. Not Chaos, not The darkest pit of lowest Erebus, Nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out By help of dreams— can breed such fear and awe . As fall upon us often when we look Into our Minds, into the Mind of Man— My haunt, and the main region of my song. — Beauty — a living Presence of the earth, Surpassing the most fair ideal Forms Which craft of delicate Spirits hath compose From earth's materials — waits upon my steps ; Pitches her tents before me as I move, An hourly neighbor. Paradise, and groves Elysian, Fortunate Fields— like those of old Sought in the Atlantic Main— why should they be A history only of departed things,

PREFACE. xiii

Or a mere fiction of what never was

For the discerning intellect of Man,

When wedded to this goodly universe

In love and holy passion, shall find these

A simple produce of the common day.

— I, long before the blissful hour arrives,

Would chant, in lonely peace, the spousal verse

Of this great consummation :— and, by words

Which speak of nothing more than what we are,

Would I arouse the sensual from their sleep

Of Death, and win the vacant and the vain

To noble raptures ; while my voice proclaims

How exquisitely the individual Mind

(And the progressive powers perhaps no less

Of the whole species) to the external World

Is fitted : — and how exquisitely, too —

Theme this but little heard of among men —

The external World is fitted to the Mind :

And the creation (by no lower name

Can it be called) which they with blended might

Accomplish : — this is our high argument.

Such grateful haunts foregoing, if I oft

Must turn elsewhere— to travel near the tribes

And fellowships of men, and see ill sights

Of madding passions mutually inflamed ;

Must hear Humanity in fields and groves

Pipe solitary anguish ; or must hang

Brooding above the fierc e confederate storm

Of sorrow, barricadoed evermore

Within the walls of cities— may these sounds

Have their authentic comment ; that even these

Hearing, I be not downcast or forlorn !—

Descend, prophetic Spirit ! that inspir'st

The human Soul of universal earth, l

' Sen Notes at end of the volume.

PREFACE.

Dreaming on things to come ; and dost possess

A metropolitan temple in the hearts

Of mighty Poets : upon me bestow

A gift of genuine insight ; that my Song

With star-like virtue in its place may shine,

Shedding benignant influence, and secure,

Itself, from all malevolent effect

Of those mutations that extend their sway

Throughout the nether sphere !«— And if with this

I mix more lowly matter ; with the thing

Contemplated, describe the Mind and Man

Contemplating; and who, and what he was —

The transitory Being that beheld

This Vision ; when and where, and how he lived ;

Be not this labor useless. If such theme

May sort with highest objects, then— dread Power!

Whose gracious favor is the primal source

Of all illumination — may my Life

Express the image of a better time,

More wise desires, and simpler manners; — nurse

My heart in genuine freedom : — all pure thoughts

Be with me ;— so shah thy unfailing love

Guide, and sup|>ort, and cheer me to the endl'

Book First. The Wanderer

ARGUMENT.

A Summer Forenoon— The Author reaches a ruined Cottage upon a Common, and there meets with a revered friend, the Wanderer, of whose education and course of life he gives an account.— The Wanderer, while resting under the shade of the trees that surround the Cottage, relates the History of its last Inhabitant.

'HP ^^ summer, and the sun had mounted high :

Southward the landscape indistinctly glared Through a pale steam ; but all the northern downs, In clearest air ascending, showed far off A surface dappled o'er with shadows flung From brooding clouds ; shadows that lay in spots Determined and unmoved, with steady beams Of bright and pleasant sunshine interposed ; To him most pleasant who on soft cool moss Extends his careless limbs along the front Of some huge cave, whose rocky ceiling casts A twilight of its own, an ample shade Where the wren warbles, while the dreaming man, Half conscious of the soothing melody, With side-long eye looks out upon the scene, By power of that impending covert, thrown, To finer distance. Mine was at that hour 2* 17

Far other lot, yet with good hope that soon Under a shade as grateful I should find Rest, and be welcomed there to livelier joy. Across a bare wide Common I was toiling With languid steps that by the slippery turf Were baffled ; nor could my weak arm disperse The host of insects gathering round my face, And ever with me as I paced along.

Upon that open moorland stood a grove, The wished-for port to which my course was bound. Thither I came, and there, amid the gloom Spread by a brotherhood of lofty elms, Appeared a roofless Hut ; four naked walls That stared upon each other ! — I looked round, And to my wish and to my hope espied The Friend I sought ; a man of reverend age, But stout and hale, for travel unimpaired. There was he seen upon the cottage-bench, Recumbent in the shade, as if asleep ; An iron-pointed staff lay at his side.

Him had I marked the day before — alone And stationed in the public way, with face Turned toward the sun then setting, while that staff Afforded, to the figure of the man Detained for contemplation or repose, Graceful support ; his countenance as he stood Was hidden from my view, and he remained Unrecognized ; but, stricken by the sight, With slackened footsteps I advanced, and soon A glad congratulation we exchanged At such unthought-of meeting. — For the night We parted, nothing willingly ; and now

He by appointment waited for me here, Under the covert of these clustering elms.

We were tried Friends : amid a pleasant vale, In the antique market-village where was passed My school-time, an apartment he had owned, To which at intervals the Wanderer drew, And found a kind of home or harbor there. He loved me ; from a swarm of rosy boys Singled out me, as he in sport would say, For my grave looks, too thoughtful for my years. As I grew up, it was my best delight To be his chosen comrade. Many a time, On holidays, we rambled through the woods : We sate— we walked ; he pleased me with report Of things which he had seen ; and often touched Abstrusest matter, reasonings of the mind Turned inward ; or at my request would sing Old songs, the product of his native hills ; A skilful distribution of sweet sounds, Feeding the soul, and eagerly imbibed As cool refreshing water, by the care Of the industrious husbandman, diffused Through a parched meadow-ground, in time of

drought.

Still deeper welcome found his pure discourse : How precious when in riper days I learned To weigh with care his words, and to rejoice In the plain presence of his dignity !

Oh ! many are the Poets that are sown By Nature ; men endowed with highest gifts, The vision and the faculty divine ;

Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse,

(Which, in the docile season of their youth,

It was denied them to acquire, through lack

Of culture and the inspiring aid of books,

Or haply by a temper too severe,

Or a nice backwardness afraid of shame)

Nor having e'er, as life advanced, been led

By circumstance to take unto the height

The measure of themselves, these favored beings,

All but a scattered few, live out their time,

Husbanding that which they possess within,

And go to the grave unthought of. Strongest minds

Are often those of whom the noisy world

Hears least ; else surely this Man had not left

His graces unrevealed and unproclaimed.

But, as the mind was filled with inward light,

So not without distinction had he lived,

Beloved and honored — far as he was known.

And some small portion of his eloquent speech,

And something that may serve to set in view

The feeling pleasures of his loneliness,

His observations, and the thoughts his mind

Had dealt with — I will here record in verse ;

Which, if with truth it correspond, and sink

Or rise as venerable Nature leads,

The high and tender Muses shall accept

With gracious smile, deliberately pleased,

And hstening Time reward with sacred praise.

Among the hills of Athol he was born ; Where, on a small hereditary farm, An unproductive slip of rugged ground, His Parents, with their numerous offspring, dwelt ;

A virtuous household, though exceeding poor ! Pure livers were they all, austere and grave, And fearing God ; the very children taught Stern self-respect, a reverence for God's word, And an habitual piety, maintained With strictness scarcely known on English ground.

From his sixth year, the Boy of whom I speak, In summer, tended cattle on the hills ; But, through the inclement and the perilous da Of long-continuing winter, he repaired, Equipped with satchel, to a school, that stood Sole building on a mountain's dreary edge, Remote from view of city spire, or sound Of minster clock ! From that bleak tenement He, many an evening, to his distant home In solitude returning, saw the hills Grow larger in the darkness ; all alone Beheld the stars come out above his head, And travelled through the wood, with no one near To whom he might confers the things he saw.

So the foundations of his mind were laid.. In such communion, not from terror free, While yet a child, and long before his time, Had he perceived the presence and the .power Of greatness ; and deep feelings had impressed So vividly great objects, that they lay Upon his mind like substances, whose presence Perplexed the bodily sense. He had received A precious gift ; for, as he grew in years, With these impressions would he still compare All his remembrances, thoughts, shapes, and forms ;

And, being still unsatisfied with aught

Of dimmer character, he thence attained

An active power to fasten images

Upon his brain ; and on their pictured lines

Intensely brooded, even till they acquired

The liveliness of dreams. Nor did he fail,

While yet a child, with a child's eagerness

Incessantly to turn his ear and eye

On all things which the moving seasons brought

To feed such appetite — nor this alone

Appeased his yearning : — in the after-day

Of boyhood, many an hour in caves forlorn,

And 'mid the hollow depths of naked crags

He sate, and even in their fixed lineaments,

Or from the power of a peculiar eye,

Or by creative feeling overborne,

Or by predominance of thought oppressed,

Even in their fixed and steady lineaments

He traced an ebbing and a flowing mind,

Expression ever varying !

Thus informed, He had small need of books ; for many a tale Traditionary, round the mountains hung, And many a legend, peopling the dark woods, Nourished Imagination in her growth, And gave the Mind that apprehensive power By which she is made quick to recognize The moral properties and scope of things. But eagerly he read, and read again, Whate'er the minister's old shelf supplied ; The life and death of martyrs, who sustained, With will inflexible, those fearful pangs Triumphantly displayed in records left

Of persecution, and the Covenant — times

Whose echo rings through Scotland to this hour !

And there, by lucky hap, had been preserved

A straggling volume, torn and incomplete,

That left half -told the preternatural tale,

Romance of giants, chronicle of fiends,

Profuse in garniture of wooden cuts

Strange and uncouth ; dire faces, figures dire,

Sharp-kneed, sharp- elbowed, and lean-ankled too,

With long and ghostly shanks — forms which once seen

Could never be forgotten !

In his heart, Where Fear sate thus, a cherished visitant, Was wanting yet the pure delight of love By sound diffused, or by the breathing air, Or by the silent looks of happy things, Or flowing from the universal face Of earth and sky. But he had felt the power Of Nature, and already was prepared, By his intense conceptions, to receive Deeply the lesson deep of love which he, Whom Nature, by whatever means, has taught To feel intensely, cannot but receive.

Such was the Boy — but for the growing Youth What soul was his, when, from the naked top Of some bold headland, he beheld the sun Rise up, and bathe the world in light ! He looked- - Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth And ocean's liquid mass, in gladness lay Beneath him: — Far and wide the clouds were

touched, And in their silent faces could he read

Unutterable love. Sound needed none, Nor any voice of joy ; his spirit drank The spectacle : sensation, soul, and form, All melted into him ; they swallowed up His animal being ; in them did he live, And by them did he live ; they were his life. In such access of mind, in such high hour Of visitation from the living God, Thought was not ; in enjoyment it expired. No thanks he breathed, he proffered no request ; Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him ; it was blessedness and love !

A Herdsman on the lonely mountain tops, Such intercourse was his, and in this sort Was his existence oftentimes possessed. then how beautiful, how bright, appeared The written promise ! Early had he learned To reverence the volume that displays The mystery, the life which cannot die ; But in the mountains did he feel his faith. All things, responsive to the writing, there Breathed immortality, revolving life, And greatness still revolving ; infinite : There littleness was not ; the least of things Seemed infinite ; and there his spirit shaped Her prospects, nor did he believe, — he saw. What wonder if his being thus became Sublime and comprehensive ! Low desires, Low thoughts had there no place : yet was his heart Lowly ; for he was meek in gratitude,

Oft as he called those ecstasies to mind, And whence they flowed ; and from them he acquired Wisdom, which works through patience ; thence he

learned In oft-recurring hours of sober thought To look on Nature with a, humble heart, Self-questioned where it did not understand, And with a superstitious eye of love.

So passed the time ; yet to the nearest town He duly went with what small overplus His earnings might supply, and brought away The book that most had tempted his desires While at the stall he read. Among the hills He gazed upon that mighty orb of song, The divine Milton. Lore of different kind, The annual savings of a toilsome life, His School-master supplied ; books that explain The purer elements of truth involved In lines and numbers, and, by charm severe, (Especially perceived where nature droops And feeling is suppressed) preserve the mind Busy in solitude and poverty.

These occupations oftentimes deceived v The listless hours, while in the hollow vale, Hollow and green, he lay on the green turf In pensive idleness. What could he do, Thus daily thirsting, in that lonesome life, With blind endeavors ? Yet, still uppermost, Nature was at his heart as if he felt, Though yet he knew not how, a wasting power In all things that from her sweet influence 3

Might tend to wean him. Therefore with her hues, Her forms, and with the spirit of her forms, He clothed the nakedness of austere truth. While yet he lingered in the rudiments Of science, and among her simplest laws, His triangles — they were the stars of heaven, The silent stars ! Oft did he take delight To measure the altitude of some tall crag That is the eagle's birth-place, or some peak Familiar with forgotten years, that shows Inscribed upon its visionary sides, The history of many a winter storm, Or obscure records of the path of fire.

And thus before his eighteenth year was told, Accumulated feelings pressed his heart With still increasing weight ; he was o'erpowered By Nature ; by the turbulence subdued Of his own mind ; by mystery and hope, And the first virgin passion of a soul Communing with the glorious universe. Full often wished he that the winds might rage When they were silent : far more fondly now Than in his earlier season did he love Tempestuous nights — the conflict and the sounds That live in darkness. From his intellect And from the stillness of abstracted thought He asked repose ; and, failing oft to win The peace required, he scanned the laws of light Amid the roar of torrents, where they send From hollow clefts up to the clearer air A cloud of mist, that smitten by the sun Varies its rainbow hues. But vainly thus,

And vainly by all other means, he strove To mitigate the fever of his heart.

In dreams, in study, and in ardent thought, Thus was he reared ; much wanting to assist The growth of intellect, yet gaining more, And every moral feeling of his soul Strengthened and braced, by breathing in content The keen, 'the wholesome air of poverty, And drinking from the well of homely life. — But, from past liberty, and tried restraints, He now was summoned to select the course Of humble industry that promised best To yield him no unworthy maintenance. Urged by his Mother, he essayed to teach A village-school — but wandering thoughts were then A misery to him ; and the Youth resigned A task he was unable to perform.

That stern yet kindly Spirit, who constrains The Savoyard to quit his naked rocks, The free-born Swiss to leave his narrow vales, (Spirit attached to regions mountainous Like their own stedfast clouds) did now impel His restless mind to look abroad with hope. — An irksome drudgery seems it to plod on, Through hot and dusty ways, or pelting storm, A vagrant Merchant under a heavy load Bent as he moves, and needing frequent rest ; Yet do such travellers find their own delight ; And their hard service, deemed debasing now, Gained merited respect in simpler times ;

When squire, and priest, and they who round them

dwelt In rustic sequestration — all dependent Upon the Pedlar's toil — supplied their wants, Or pleased their fancies with the wares he brought. Not ignorant was the Youth that still no few Of his adventurous countiymen were led By perseverance in this track of life To competence and ease : — to him it offered Attractions manifold ; — and this he chose. — His Parents on the enterprise bestowed Their farewell benediction, but with hearts Foreboding evil. From his native hills He wandered far ; much did he see of men, Their manners, their enjoyments, and pursuits, Their passions and their feelings ; chiefly those Essential and eternal in the heart, That, 'mid the simpler forms of rural life, Exist more simple in their elements, And speak a plainer language. 2 In the woods, A lone enthusiast, and among the fields, Itinerant in this labour, he had passed The better portion of his time ; and there Spontaneously had his affections thriven Amid the bounties of the year, the peace And liberty of nature ; there he kept In solitude and solitary thought His mind in a just equipoise of love. Serene it was, unclouded by the cares Of ordinary life ; unvexed, unwarped By partial bondage. In his steady course, No piteous revolutions had he felt, No wild varieties of joy and grief.

Unpccupied by sorrow of its own,

His heart lay open ; and, by nature tuned

And constant disposition of his thoughts

To sympathy with man, he was alive

To all that was enjoyed where'er he went,

And all that was endured ; for, in himself

Happy, and quiet in his cheerfulness,

He had no painful pressure from without

That made him turn aside from wretchedness

With coward fears. He could afford to suffer

With those whom he saw suffer. Hence it came

That in our best experience he was rich,

And in the wisdom of our daily life.

For hence, minutely, in his various rounds,

He had observed the progress and decay

Of many minds, of minds and bodies too ;

The history of many families ;

How they had prospered ; how they were o'erthrown

By passion or mischance, or such misrule

Among the unthinking masters of the earth

As makes the nations groan.

This active course He followed till provision for his wants Had been obtained ; the Wanderer then resolved To pass the remnant of his days, untasked With needless services, from hardship free. His calling laid aside, he lived at ease ; But still he loved to pace the public roads And the wild paths ; and, by the summer's warmth Invited, often would he leave his home And journey far, revisiting the scenes That to his memory were most endeared. — Vigorous in health, of hopeful spirits, undamped tO THE EXCURSION.

By worldly-mindedness or anxious care ; Observant, studious, thoughtful and refreshed By knowledge gathered up from day to day ; Thus had he lived a long and innocent life.

The Scottish Church, both on himself and those With whom from childhood he grew up, had held The strong hand of her purity ; and still Had watched him with an unrelenting eye. This he remembered in his riper age With gratitude, and reverential thoughts. But by the native vigor of his mind, By his habitual wanderings out of doors, By loneliness, and goodness, and kind works, Whate'er, in docile childhood or in youth, He had imbibed of fear or darker thought Was melted all away ; so true was this, That sometimes his religion seemed to me Self-taught, as of a dreamer in the woods ; Who to the model of his own pure heart Shaped his belief, as grace divine inspired, And human reason dictated with awe. — And surely never did there live on earth A man of kindlier nature. The rough sports And teasing ways of children vexed not him ; Indulgent listener was he to the tongue Of garrulous age ; nor did the sick man's tale, To his fraternal sympathy addressed, Obtain reluctant hearing.

Plain his garb; Such as might suit a rustic Sire, prepared For sabbath duties ; yet he was a man Whom no one could have passed without remark.

Active and nervous was his gait ; his limbs

And his whole figure breathed intelligence.

Time had compressed the freshness of his cheek

Into a narrower circle of deep red,

But had not tamed his eye ; that, under brows