Poems in Two Volumes, Volume 1. William Wordsworth

round, in Hollow or on Height;

        Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear;

        What is the Creature doing here?

        It was a Cove, a huge Recess,

        That keeps till June December's snow;

        A lofty Precipice in front,

        A silent Tarn [1] below! 20

        Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,

        Remote from public Road or Dwelling,

        Pathway, or cultivated land;

        From trace of human foot or hand.

      [Footnote 1: A Tarn is a small Mere or Lake mostly high up in the mountains.]

        There, sometimes does a leaping Fish

        Send through the Tarn a lonely chear;

        The Crags repeat the Raven's croak,

        In symphony austere;

        Thither the Rainbow comes, the Cloud;

        And Mists that spread the flying shroud; 30

        And Sun-beams; and the sounding blast,

        That, if it could, would hurry past,

        But that enormous Barrier binds it fast.

        Not knowing what to think, a while

        The Shepherd stood: then makes his way

        Towards the Dog, o'er rocks and stones,

        As quickly as he may;

        Nor far had gone before he found

        A human skeleton on the ground,

        Sad sight! the Shepherd with a sigh 40

        Looks round, to learn the history.

        From those abrupt and perilous rocks,

        The Man had fallen, that place of fear!

        At length upon the Shepherd's mind

        It breaks, and all is clear:

        He instantly recall'd the Name,

        And who he was, and whence he came;

        Remember'd, too, the very day

        On which the Traveller pass'd this way.

        But hear a wonder now, for sake 50

        Of which this mournful Tale I tell!

        A lasting monument of words

        This wonder merits well.

        The Dog, which still was hovering nigh,

        Repeating the same timid cry,

        This Dog had been through three months' space

        A Dweller in that savage place.

        Yes, proof was plain that since the day

        On which the Traveller thus had died

        The Dog had watch'd about the spot, 60

        Or by his Master's side:

        How nourish'd here through such long time

        He knows, who gave that love sublime,

        And gave that strength of feeling, great

        Above all human estimate.

      SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT

* * * * *

        She was a Phantom of delight

        When first she gleam'd upon my sight;

        A lovely Apparition, sent

        To be a moment's ornament;

        Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;

        Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;

        But all things else about her drawn

        From May-time and the chearful Dawn;

        A dancing Shape, an Image gay,

        To haunt, to startle, and way-lay. 10

        I saw her upon nearer view,

        A Spirit, yet a Woman too!

        Her household motions light and free,

        And steps of virgin liberty;

        A countenance in which did meet

        Sweet records, promises as sweet;

        A Creature not too bright or good

        For human nature's daily food;

        For transient sorrows, simple wiles,

        Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 20

        And now I see with eye serene

        The very pulse of the machine;

        A Being breathing thoughtful breath;

        A Traveller betwixt life and death;

        The reason firm, the temperate will,

        Endurance, foresight, strength and skill;

        A perfect Woman; nobly plann'd,

        To warn, to comfort, and command;

        And yet a Spirit still, and bright

        With something of an angel light. 30

The REDBREAST and the BUTTERFLY

        Art thou the Bird whom Man loves best,

        The pious Bird with the scarlet breast,

            Our little English Robin;

        The Bird that comes about our doors

        When Autumn winds are sobbing?

        Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors?

            Their Thomas in Finland,

            And Russia far inland?

        The Bird, whom by some name or other

        All men who know thee call their Brother, 10

        The Darling of Children and men?

        Could Father Adam open his eyes,

        And see this sight beneath the skies,

        He'd wish to close them again.

        If the Butterfly knew but his friend

        Hither his flight he would bend,

        And find his way to me

        Under the branches of the tree:

        In and out, he darts about;

        His little heart is throbbing: 20

        Can this be the Bird, to man so good,

            Our consecrated Robin!

        That, after their bewildering,

        Did cover with leaves the little children,

            So painfully in the wood?

        What ail'd thee Robin that thou could'st pursue

            A beautiful Creature,

        That is gentle by nature?

        Beneath the summer sky

        From flower to flower let him fly; 30

        'Tis all that he wishes to do.

        The Chearer Thou of our in-door sadness,

        He