The Prelude. William Wordsworth

My lofty speculations; and in thee,

       For this uneasy heart of ours, I find

       A never-failing principle of joy

       And purest passion.

      Thou, my Friend! wert reared

       In the great city, 'mid far other scenes;

       ​But we, by different roads, at length have gained

       The self-same bourne. And for this cause to thee

       I speak, unapprehensive of contempt,

       The insinuated scoff of coward tongues,

       And all that silent language which so oft

       In conversation between man and man

       Blots from the human countenance all trace

       Of beauty and of love. For thou hast sought

       The truth in solitude, and, since the days

       That gave thee liberty, full long desired

       To serve in Nature's temple, thou hast been

       The most assiduous of her ministers;

       In many things my brother, chiefly here

       In this our deep devotion.

      Fare thee well!

       Health and the quiet of a healthful mind

       Attend thee! seeking oft the haunts of men,

       And yet more often living with thyself,

       And for thyself, so haply shall thy days

       Be many, and a blessing to mankind.

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      RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE

       Table of Contents

      BOOK THIRD.

       Table of Contents

      RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE.

      It was a dreary morning when the wheels

       Rolled over a wide plain o'erhung with clouds,

       And nothing cheered our way till first we saw

       The long-roofed chapel of King's College lift

       Turrets and pinnacles in answering files,

       Extended high above a dusky grove.

      Advancing, we espied upon the road

       A student clothed in gown and tasselled cap,

       Striding along as if o'ertasked by Time,

       Or covetous of exercise and air;

       He passed—nor was I master of my eyes

       Till he was left an arrow's flight behind.

       As near and nearer to the spot we drew,

       It seemed to suck us in with an eddy's force.

       ​Onward we drove beneath the Castle; caught,

       While crossing Magdalene Bridge, a glimpse of Cam;

       And at the Hoop alighted, famous Inn.

      My spirit was up, my thoughts were full of hope;

       Some friends I had, acquaintances who there

       Seemed friends, poor simple school-boys, now hung round

       With honour and importance: in a world

       Of welcome faces up and down I roved;

       Questions, directions, warnings and advice,

       Flowed in upon me, from all sides; fresh day

       Of pride and pleasure! to myself I seemed

       A man of business and expense, and went

       From shop to shop about my own affairs,

       To Tutor or to Tailor, as befel,

       From street to street with loose and careless mind.

      I was the Dreamer, they the Dream; I roamed

       Delighted through the motley spectacle;

       Gowns grave, or gaudy, doctors, students, streets,

       Courts, cloisters, flocks of churches, gateways, towers:

       Migration strange for a stripling of the hills,

       A northern villager.

      As if the change

       ​Had waited on some Fairy's wand, at once

       Behold me rich in monies, and attired

       In splendid garb, with hose of silk, and hair

       Powdered like rimy trees, when frost is keen.

       My lordly dressing-gown, I pass it by,

       With other signs of manhood that supplied

       The lack of beard.—The weeks went roundly on,

       With invitations, suppers, wine and fruit,

       Smooth housekeeping within, and all without

       Liberal, and suiting gentleman's array.

      The Evangelist St. John my patron was:

       Three Gothic courts are his, and in the first

       Was my abiding-place, a nook obscure;

       Right underneath, the College kitchens made

       A humming sound, less tuneable than bees,

       But hardly less industrious; with shrill notes

       Of sharp command and scolding intermixed.

       Near me hung Trinity's loquacious clock,

       Who never let the quarters, night or day,

       Slip by him unproclaimed, and told the hours

       Twice over with a male and female voice.

       Her pealing organ was my neighbour too;

       And from my pillow, looking forth by light

       Of moon or favouring stars, I could behold

       ​The antechapel where the statue stood

       Of Newton with his prism and silent face,

       The marble index of a mind for ever

       Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.

      Of College labours, of the Lecturer's room

       All studded round, as thick as chairs could stand,

       With loyal students faithful to their books,

       Half-and-half idlers, hardy recusants,

       And honest dunces—of important days,

       Examinations, when the man was weighed

       As in a balance! of excessive hopes,

       Tremblings withal and commendable fears,

       Small jealousies, and triumphs good or bad,

       Let others that know more speak as they know.

       Such glory was but little sought by me,

       And little won. Yet from the first crude days

       Of settling time in this untried abode,

       I was disturbed at times by prudent thoughts,

       Wishing to hope without a hope, some fears

       About my future worldly maintenance,

       And, more than all, a strangeness in the mind,

       A feeling that