The Prelude. William Wordsworth

Am worthy of myself! Praise to the end!

       Thanks to the means which Nature deigned to employ;

       Whether her fearless visitings, or those

       That came with soft alarm, like hurtless light

       Opening the peaceful clouds; or she may use

       Severer interventions, ministry

       More palpable, as best might suit her aim.

       ​One summer evening (led by her) I found

       A little boat tied to a willow tree

       Within a rocky cave, its usual home.

       Straight I unloosed her chain, and stepping in

       Pushed from the shore. It was an act of stealth

       And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice

       Of mountain-echoes did my boat move on;

       Leaving behind her still, on either side,

       Small circles glittering idly in the moon,

       Until they melted all into one track

       Of sparkling light. But now, like one who rows,

       Proud of his skill, to reach a chosen point

       With an unswerving line, I fixed my view

       Upon the summit of a craggy ridge,

       The horizon's utmost boundary; far above

       Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky.

       She was an elfin pinnace; lustily

       I dipped my oars into the silent lake,

       And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat

       Went heaving through the water like a swan;

       When, from behind that craggy steep till then

       The horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and huge,

       As if with voluntary power instinct

       Upreared its head. I struck and struck again,

       And growing still in stature the grim shape

       ​Towered up between me and the stars, and still,

       For so it seemed, with purpose of its own

       And measured motion like a living thing,

       Strode after me. With trembling oars I turned,

       And through the silent water stole my way

       Back to the covert of the willow tree;

       There in her mooring-place I left my bark—

       And through the meadows homeward went, in grave

       And serious mood; but after I had seen

       That spectacle, for many days, my brain

       Worked with a dim and undetermined sense

       Of unknown modes of being; o'er my thoughts

       There hung a darkness, call it solitude

       Or blank desertion. No familiar shapes

       Remained, no pleasant images of trees,

       Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields;

       But huge and mighty forms, that do not live

       Like living men, moved slowly through the mind

       By day, and were a trouble to my dreams.

      (²) Wisdom and Spirit of the universe! Thou Soul that art the eternity of thought, That givest to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion, not in vain By day or star-light thus from my first dawn ​Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me The passions that build up our human soul; Not with the mean and vulgar works of man, But with high objects, with enduring things— With life and nature, purifying thus The elements of feeling and of thought, And sanctifying, by such discipline, Both pain and fear, until we recognise A grandeur in the beatings of the heart. Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me With stinted kindness. In November days, When vapours rolling down the valley made A lonely scene more lonesome, among woods, At noon and 'mid the calm of summer nights, When, by the margin of the trembling lake, Beneath the gloomy hills homeward I went In solitude, such intercourse was mine; Mine was it in the fields both day and night, And by the waters, all the summer long.

      And in the frosty season, when the sun

       Was set, and visible for many a mile

       The cottage windows blazed through twilight gloom,

       I heeded not their summons: happy time

       It was indeed for all of us—for me

       ​It was a time of rapture! Clear and loud

       The village clock tolled six—I wheeled about,

       Proud and exulting like an untired horse

       That cares not for his home. All shod with steel,

       We hissed along the polished ice in games

       Confederate, imitative of the chase

       And woodland pleasures—the resounding horn,

       The pack loud chiming, and the hunted hare.

       So through the darkness and the cold we flew.

       And not a voice was idle; with the din

       Smitten, the precipices rang aloud;

       The leafless trees and every icy crag

       Tinkled like iron; while far distant hills

       Into the tumult sent an alien sound

       Of melancholy not unnoticed, while the stars

       Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west

       The orange sky of evening died away.

       Not seldom from the uproar I retired

       Into a silent bay, or sportively

       Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng,

       To cut across the reflex of a star

       That fled, and, flying still before me, gleamed

       Upon the glassy plain; and oftentimes,

       When we had given our bodies to the wind,

       And all the shadowy banks on either side

       ​Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still

       The rapid line of motion, then at once

       Have I, reclining back upon my heels,

       Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs

       Wheeled by me—even as if the earth had rolled

       With visible motion her diurnal round!

       Behind me did they stretch in solemn train,

       Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched

       Till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep.

      Ye Presences of Nature in the sky

       And on the earth! Ye Visions of the hills!

       And Souls of lonely places! can I think

       A vulgar hope was yours when ye employed

       Such ministry, when ye through many a year

       Haunting me thus among my boyish sports,

       On caves and trees, upon the woods and hills,

       Impressed upon all forms the characters

       Of danger or desire; and thus did make

       The surface of the universal earth

       With triumph and delight, with hope and fear,

       Work like a sea?

      Not uselessly employed,

       Might I pursue this theme through every change

       Of exercise and play, to which