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tish sang.

her way;

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,
A night o' gude fellowship sowtherse it a';

Guid faith, he mauna fa'3 that!
When at the blythe end of our journey at last, For a' that, an'a' that,
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has

Their dignities, an' a' that,
past?
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,

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!"

16
That man to man, the warld o'er,

Shall brothers be for a' that.
A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT
Is there,8 for honest poverty,

O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST
That hings his head, an'a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,

0, wert thou in the cauld blast,

On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,

My plaidie to the angry airt,5
Our toils obscure, an'a' that;

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,
What though on hamely fare we dine,

To share it a', to share it a'.
Wear hodden-grey,10 an'a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,

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.

26

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

40

8

10

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

2 fool

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.
DEAR NATIVE REGIONS*

“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.
Yet ye are seven !-I pray you tell,

Sweet Maid, how this may be."
WE ARE SEVEN

Then did the little Maid reply,
-A simple Child,

“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
the joint volume of Lyrical Ballads which
he and Coleridge, published in 1798. (see p. "And often after sunset, Sir,
428 ; also Eng. Lit., pp. 232-235). This poem When it is light and fair,

written to show "the obscurity and
perplexity which in childhood attend our I take my little porringer,
notion of death, or

utter inability to admit that notion." And eat my supper there.

48

8

was

rather

our

"The first that died was gister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

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?

“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.

56

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,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves

'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.

16

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.

XIX.

over

see

91

100

With tranquil restoration :--feelings too 30 | Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past,
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, And all its aching joys are now no more,
As have no slight or trivial influence

And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
On that best portion of a good man's life, Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts
His little, nameless, unremembered acts

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

111

120

one

24

8

When these wild ecstasies shall be matured And all the while my eyes I kept
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind

On the descending moon.
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,

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:
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years

A violet by a mossy stone
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, Half hidden from the eye!
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me -Fair as a star, when only one
More dear, both for themselves and for thy Is shining in the sky.
sake!

She lived unknown, and few could know
STRANGE FITS OF PASSION HAVE

When Lucy ceased to be;
I KNOWN*

But she is in her grave, and, oh,

The difference to me!
Strange fits of passion have I known:
And I will dare to tell,

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
Fresh as a rose in June,

What love I bore to thee.
I to her cottage bent my way
Beneath an evening-moon.

'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
And, as we climbed the hill,

Beside an English fire.
The sinking moon to Lucy's cot
Came near, and nearer still.

16

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.

angler.

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