« PreviousContinue »
Wi' a cogi o’gude swats2 and an auld Scot- | Ye see yon birkie,1 ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, an' stares, an'a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, I whiles claw3 the elbow o' troublesome
He's but a coof2 for a' that. Thought;
For a' that, an'a' that, But man is a soger, and life is a faught;
His riband, star, an'a' that, My mirth and gude humour are coin in my | The man o' independent mind, pouch,
He looks and laughs at a' that.
24 And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch.
8 A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that; A towmondo o' trouble, should that be my fa'5
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith, he mauna fa'3 that!
Their dignities, an' a' that,
32 Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyter on
Are higher rank than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may, Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade
As come it will for a' that, gae:
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, Come ease or come travail, come pleasure or
May bear the gree,4 an'a' that. pain,
For a' that, an'a' that, My warst word is “Welcome, and welcome
It's coming yet for a' that, again!"
Shall brothers be for a' that.
O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST
0, wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,5
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.
Or did misfortune's bitter storms The rank is but the guinea's stamp;
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, The man's the gowdo for a' that. 8
Thy bielde should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'.
Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, A man's a man for a' that. For a' that, an'a' that,
The desert were a paradise, Their tinsel show, an' a' that;
If thou wert there, if thou wert there. The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Or were I monarch o' the globe, Is king o' men for a' that.
Wi’ thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my crown 1 cup 6 solders, mends
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 2 ale
i stumble and stagger 3 scratch 8 Supply “a man. i fellow
4 prize 4 twelve month 9 gold
5 to the windy quarter 5 lot
10 coarse cloth
8 may not accomplish 6 shelter
THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad: (1770-1850)
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
-Her beauty made me glad.
“Sisters and brothers, little Maid, Dear native regions, I foretell,
How many may you be?” From what I feel at this farewell,
“How many? Seven in all,” she said That, wheresoe 'er my steps may tend, And wondering looked at me.
16 And whensoe 'er my course shall end,
“And where are they? I pray you tell.” If in that hour a single tie Survive of local sympathy,
She answered, “Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell, My soul will cast the backward view,
And two are gone to sea. The longing look alone on you.
“Two of us in the church-yard lie, Thus, while the Sun sinks down to rest
My sister and my brother; Far in the regions of the west,
And in the church-yard cottage, I Though to the vale no parting beam Dwell near them with my mother."
24 Be given, not one memorial gleam, A lingering light he fondly throws
"You say that two at Conway dwell, On the dear hills where first he rose.
And two are gone to sea.
Sweet Maid, how this may be."
Then did the little Maid reply,
“Seven boys and girls are we; That lightly draws its breath,
Two of us in the church-yard lie, And feels its life in every limb,
Beneath the church-yard tree.”
32 What should it know of death
“You run about, my little Maid, I met a little cottage Girl:
Your limbs they are alive; She was eight years old, she said;
If two are in the church-yard laid, Her hair was thick with many a curl
Then ye are only five.” That clustered round her head.
“Their graves are green, they may be seen,'
The little Maid replied, •Wordsworth thought it worth while to printii this "extract from the conclusion of a poem"
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, which was written, at the age of sixteen. And they are side by side.
40 just before he left his school at Hawkshead. It both reveals his strong local attachment and anticipates his reliance upon what be- "My stockings there I often knit, came, for him a chief source of poetic in My kerchief there I hem; spiration, namely, "emotion recollected in tranquillity."
And there upon the ground I sit, *This, and the two poems that follow it, were And sing a song to them.
among those contributed by Wordsworth to
written to show "the obscurity and
utter inability to admit that notion." And eat my supper there.
"The first that died was gister Jane;
If this belief from heaven be sent,
“So in the church-yard she was laid;
LINES COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE And, when the grass was dry,
TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING Together round her grave we played,
THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING My brother John and I.
A TOUR. JULY 13, 1798.7 “And when the ground was white with snow, Five years have past; five summers, with the And I could run and slide,
length My brother John was forced to go,
Of five long winters! and again I hear And he lies by her side.”
These waters, rolling from their mountain
springs “How many are you, then,” said I,
With a soft inland murmur.I-Once again “If they two are in heaven!!!
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, Quick was the little Maid's reply,
That on a wild secluded scene impress "0 Master! we are seven.
64 Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky. “But they are dead; those two are dead! The day is come when I again repose Their spirits are in heaven!”
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view 10 'Twas throwing words away; for still
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchardThe little Maid would have her will,
tufts, And said, “Nay, we are seven!”
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING*
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral I heard a thousand blended notes,
farms, While in a grove I sate reclined,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Sent up, in silence, from among the trees! Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, 20 To her fair works did Nature link
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire The human soul that through me ran;
The Hermit sits alone. And much it grieved my heart to think
These beauteous forms, What man has made of man.
8 Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in onely rooms, and 'mid the din Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, And 'tis my faith that every flower
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; Enjoys the air it breathes.
And passing even into my purer mind, The birds around me hopped and played, † Note by Wordsworth: “I have not ventured Their thoughts I cannot measure:
to call this poem an Ode ; but it was writ
ten with a hope that in the transitions, and But the least motion which they made
the impassioned music of the versification, It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
would be found the principal requisites of that species of composition." Professor
Dowden remarks upon the four stages of The dding twigs spread out their fan,
the poet's growth to be found described in the
poem : First, animal enjoyment of To catch the breezy air;
nature in boyhood; second, passion for And I must think, do all I can,
beauty and sublimity: third, perception of
nature's tranquillizing and elevating in. That there was pleasure there.
fluence on the spirit ; and fourth, deep communion with a spiritual presence : stages
which he further describes as the periods of * This is one of the earliest and most definite the blood, of the senses, of the imagination,
expressions of Wordsworth's faith in the es- and of the soul. sential oneness of man and nature, and of For the effect of the tides on the Wye nearer his sorrow
man's apostasy from that its mouth, Tennyson's In Memoriam, faith.
With tranquil restoration :--feelings too 30 | Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, Abundant recompense. For I have learned To them I may have owed another gift,
To look on nature, not as in the hour Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes In which the burthen of the mystery,
The still, sad music of humanity, In which the heavy and the weary weight Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power Of all this unintelligible world,
40 To chasten and subdue. And I have felt Is lightened :—that serene and blessed mood, A presence that disturbs me with the joy In which the affections gently lead us on,- Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Until, the breath of this corporeal frame Of something far more deeply interfused, And even the motion of our human blood Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
And the round ocean and the living air, In body, and become a living soul:
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man; While with an eye made quiet by the power A motion and a spirit, that impels Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, All thinking things, all objects of all thought, We see into the life of things.
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I If this
still Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft- 56 | A lover of the meadows and the woods, In darkness and amid the many shapes
And mountains; and of all that we behold Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir From this green earth; of all the mighty world Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Of eye, and ear,—both what they half create, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart- And what perceive; well pleased to recognize How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, In nature and the language of the sense, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, How often has my spirit turned to thee! The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul And now, with gleams of half-extinguished Of all my moral being. thought,
Nor perchance, With many recognitions dim and faint, If I were not thus taught, should I the more And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
60 Suffer my genial spirits to decay: The picture of the mind revives again:
For thou art with me here upon the banks While here I stand, not only with the sense Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend, Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch That in this moment there is life and food The language of my former heart, and read For future years.
And so I dare to hope, My former pleasures in the shooting lights Though changed, no doubt, from what I was of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while when first
May I behold in thee what I was once, I came among these hills; when like a roe My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make, I bounded o’er the mountains, by the sides Knowing that Nature never did betray Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, Wherever nature led: more like a man 70 Through all the years of this our life, to lead Flying from something that he dreads, than From joy to joy: for she can so informi
The mind that is within us, so impress Who sought the thing he loved. For nature With quietness and beauty, and so feed then
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, And their glad animal movements all gone by) | Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all 130 To me was all in all.-I cannot paint
The dreary intercourse of daily life, What then I was. The sounding cataract Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon Their colours and their forms, were then to me Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; An appetite; a feeling and a love,
80 And let the misty mountain-winds be free That had no need of a remoter charm,
To blow against thee: and, in after years, By thought supplied, nor any interest
1 give form to, animate
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured And all the while my eyes I kept
On the descending moon.
140 Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
My horse moved on; hoof after hoof For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
He raised, and never stopped: If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
When down behind the cottage roof, Should be thy portion, with what healing
At once, the bright moon dropped. thoughts
What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
Into a Lover's head! And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance
“O mercy!” to myself I cried, If I should be where I no more can hear
“If Lucy should be dead!" Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these
gleams Of past existence—wilt thou then forget
SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN That on the banks of this delightful stream 150
WAYS We stood together; and that I, so long
She dwelt among the untrodden ways A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Beside the springs of Dove,1 Unwearied in that service: rather say
A Maid whom there were none to praise With warmer love-oh! with far deeper zeal
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
I TRAVELLED AMONG UNKNOWN MEN But in the Lover's ear alone,
I travelled among unknown men, What once to me befell.
In lands beyond the sea; When she I loved looked every day
Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.
'Tis past, that melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore Upon the moon I fixed my eye,
A second time; for still I seem All over the wide lea;
To love thee more and more.
S With quickening pace my horse drew nigh Those paths so dear to me.
Among thy mountains did I feel
The joy of my desire; And now we reached the orchard-plot;
And she I cherished turned her wheel
Beside an English fire.
Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed
The bowers where Lucy played;
And thine too is the last green field In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
That Lucy's eyes surveyed.
16 Kind Nature's gentlest boon! * This little group of five poems upon an unknown THREE YEARS SHE GREW IN SUN AND an perhaps imaginary Lucy were written in
SHOWER Germany in the year 1799. Without titles or potes, or any ornament beyond two or three of the simplest figures, they convey ahso
Three years she grew in sun and shower, lutely their contained emotion, illustrating Then Nature said, “A lovelier flower that poetry which, in moments of deepest On earth was never sown; feeling, is the natural language of man. The fifth poem appears to sum up the preceding This Child I to myself will take; four; in its two brief stanzas it presents the two opposing and inscrutable mysteries of
1 The name of several streams in England: one life and death, and leaves them to the im
has been made famous by Izaak Walton, the agination, without further comment.