SELECTIONS FROM WORDSWORTH,
LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING.
I HEARD a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
To her fair works did Nature link
If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature's holy plan, Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?
THERE was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs And islands of Winander !—many a time, At evening, when the earliest stars began To move along the edges of the hills, Rising or setting, would he stand alone, Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake; And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls,
That they might answer him. And they would shout Across the watery vale, and shout again, Responsive to his call,-with quivering peals,
And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause Of silence such as baffled his best skill: Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise Has carried far into his heart the voice
Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene Would enter unawares into his mind
With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,
Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received Into the bosom of the steady lake.
This boy was taken from his mates, and died In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.
Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale
Where he was born and bred: the church-yard hangs Upon a slope above the village-school;
And, through that church-yard when my way has led On summer-evenings, I believe that there
A long half-hour together I have stood Mute-looking at the grave in which he lies!
(I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days that cannot die ; When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, I left our cottage threshold, sallying forth With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung, A nutting crook in hand; and turned my steps Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a figure quaint, Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds Which for that service had been husbanded, By exhortation of my frugal dame— Motley accoutrement, of power to smile
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth, More ragged than need was! O'er pathless rocks, Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets, Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign Of devastation; but the hazels rose
Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung, A virgin scene!--A little while I stood, Breathing with such suppression of the heart As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
The banquet ;-or beneath the trees I sate
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played; A temper known to those who, after long And weary expectation, have been blest With sudden happiness beyond all hope. Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves The violets of five seasons re-appear And fade, unseen by any human eye; Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam, And--with my cheek on one of those green stones That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees, Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep- I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound, In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
And merciless ravage: and the shady nook
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up Their quiet being: and, unless I now Confound my present feelings with the past; Ere from the mutilated bower I turned Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings, I felt a sense of pain when I beheld The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.— Then, dearest maiden, move along these shades
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand Touch -for there is a spirit in the woods.
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