Kitabı oku: «Poems in Two Volumes, Volume 1», sayfa 4

POEMS COMPOSED DURING A TOUR, CHIEFLY ON FOOT

1. BEGGARS

 
    She had a tall Man's height, or more;
    No bonnet screen'd her from the heat;
    A long drab-colour'd Cloak she wore,
    A Mantle reaching to her feet:
    What other dress she had I could not know;
  Only she wore a Cap that was as white as snow.
 
 
    In all my walks, through field or town,
    Such Figure had I never seen:
    Her face was of Egyptian brown:
    Fit person was she for a Queen, 10
    To head those ancient Amazonian files:
  Or ruling Bandit's Wife, among the Grecian Isles.
 
 
    Before me begging did she stand,
    Pouring out sorrows like a sea;
    Grief after grief: – on English Land
    Such woes I knew could never be;
    And yet a boon I gave her; for the Creature
  Was beautiful to see; a Weed of glorious feature!
 
 
    I left her, and pursued my way;
    And soon before me did espy 20
    A pair of little Boys at play,
    Chasing a crimson butterfly;
    The Taller follow'd with his hat in hand,
  Wreath'd round with yellow flow'rs, the gayest of the land.
 
 
    The Other wore a rimless crown,
    With leaves of laurel stuck about:
    And they both follow'd up and down,
    Each whooping with a merry shout;
    Two Brothers seem'd they, eight and ten years old;
  And like that Woman's face as gold is like to gold. 30
 
 
    They bolted on me thus, and lo!
    Each ready with a plaintive whine;
    Said I, "Not half an hour ago
    Your Mother has had alms of mine."
    "That cannot be," one answer'd, "She is dead."
  "Nay but I gave her pence, and she will buy you bread."
 
 
    "She has been dead, Sir, many a day."
    "Sweet Boys, you're telling me a lie";
    "It was your Mother, as I say – "
    And in the twinkling of an eye, 40
    "Come, come!" cried one; and, without more ado,
  Off to some other play they both together flew.
 

2. TO A SKY-LARK

 
  Up with me! up with me into the clouds!
    For thy song, Lark, is strong;
  Up with me, up with me into the clouds!
    Singing, singing,
  With all the heav'ns about thee ringing,
    Lift me, guide me, till I find
  That spot which seems so to thy mind!
 
 
  I have walk'd through wildernesses dreary,
    And today my heart is weary;
    Had I now the soul of a Faery, 10
      Up to thee would I fly.
  There is madness about thee, and joy divine
      In that song of thine;
  Up with me, up with me, high and high,
  To thy banqueting-place in the sky! 15
      Joyous as Morning,
    Thou art laughing and scorning;
  Thou hast a nest, for thy love and thy rest:
  And, though little troubled with sloth,
  Drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth 20
  To be such a Traveller as I.
      Happy, happy Liver!
  With a soul as strong as a mountain River,
  Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver,
    Joy and jollity be with us both!
    Hearing thee, or else some other,
      As merry a Brother,
  I on the earth will go plodding on,
  By myself, chearfully, till the day is done.
 

3. With how sad Steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the Sky

 
  "With how sad steps, O Moon thou climb'st the sky.
  How silently, and with how wan a face!" [2]
  Where art thou? Thou whom I have seen on high
  Running among the clouds a Wood-nymph's race?
  Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath's a sigh
  Which they would stifle, move at such a pace!
  The Northern Wind, to call thee to the chace,
  Must blow tonight his bugle horn. Had I
  The power of Merlin, Goddess! this should be
  And all the Stars, now shrouded up in heaven,
  Should sally forth to keep thee company.
  What strife would then be yours, fair Creatures, driv'n
  Now up, now down, and sparkling in your glee!
  But, Cynthia, should to Thee the palm be giv'n,
  Queen both for beauty and for majesty.
 

[Footnote 2: From a sonnet of Sir Philip Sydney.]

4. ALICE FELL

 
  The Post-boy drove with fierce career,
  For threat'ning clouds the moon had drown'd;
  When suddenly I seem'd to hear
  A moan, a lamentable sound.
 
 
  As if the wind blew many ways
  I heard the sound, and more and more:
  It seem'd to follow with the Chaise,
  And still I heard it as before.
 
 
  At length I to the Boy call'd out,
  He stopp'd his horses at the word; 10
  But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout,
  Nor aught else like it could be heard.
 
 
  The Boy then smack'd his whip, and fast
  The horses scamper'd through the rain;
  And soon I heard upon the blast
  The voice, and bade him halt again.
 
 
  Said I, alighting on the ground,
  "What can it be, this piteous moan?"
  And there a little Girl I found,
  Sitting behind the Chaise, alone. 20
 
 
  "My Cloak!" the word was last and first,
  And loud and bitterly she wept,
  As if her very heart would burst;
  And down from off the Chaise she leapt.
 
 
  "What ails you, Child?" she sobb'd, "Look here!"
  I saw it in the wheel entangled,
  A weather beaten Rag as e'er
  From any garden scare-crow dangled.
 
 
  'Twas twisted betwixt nave and spoke;
  Her help she lent, and with good heed 30
  Together we released the Cloak;
  A wretched, wretched rag indeed!
 
 
  "And whither are you going, Child,
  To night along these lonesome ways?"
  "To Durham" answer'd she half wild —
  "Then come with me into the chaise."
 
 
  She sate like one past all relief;
  Sob after sob she forth did send
  In wretchedness, as if her grief
  Could never, never, have an end. 40
 
 
  "My Child, in Durham do you dwell?"
  She check'd herself in her distress,
  And said, "My name is Alice Fell;
  I'm fatherless and motherless."
 
 
  "And I to Durham, Sir, belong."
  And then, as if the thought would choke
  Her very heart, her grief grew strong;
  And all was for her tatter'd Cloak.
 
 
  The chaise drove on; our journey's end
  Was nigh; and, sitting by my side, 50
  As if she'd lost her only friend
  She wept, nor would be pacified.
 
 
  Up to the Tavern-door we post;
  Of Alice and her grief I told;
  And I gave money to the Host,
  To buy a new Cloak for the old.
 
 
  "And let it be of duffil grey,
  As warm a cloak as man can sell!"
  Proud Creature was she the next day,
  The little Orphan, Alice Fell! 60
 

5. RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE

 
  There was a roaring in the wind all night;
  The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
  But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
  The birds are singing in the distant woods;
  Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods;
  The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters;
  And all the air is fill'd with pleasant noise of waters.
 
 
  All things that love the sun are out of doors;
  The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;
  The grass is bright with rain-drops; on the moors 10
  The Hare is running races in her mirth;
  And with her feet she from the plashy earth
  Raises a mist; which, glittering in the sun,
  Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.
 
 
  I was a Traveller then upon the moor;
  I saw the Hare that rac'd about with joy;
  I heard the woods, and distant waters, roar;
  Or heard them not, as happy as a Boy:
  The pleasant season did my heart employ:
  My old remembrances went from me wholly; 20
  And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy.
 
 
  But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might
  Of joy in minds that can no farther go,
  As high as we have mounted in delight
  In our dejection do we sink as low,
  To me that morning did it happen so;
  And fears, and fancies, thick upon me came;
  Dim sadness, & blind thoughts I knew not nor could name.
 
 
  I heard the Sky-lark singing in the sky;
  And I bethought me of the playful Hare: 30
  Even such a happy Child of earth am I;
  Even as these blissful Creatures do I fare;
  Far from the world I walk, and from all care;
  But there may come another day to me,
  Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty.
 
 
  My whole life I have liv'd in pleasant thought,
  As if life's business were a summer mood;
  As if all needful things would come unsought
  To genial faith, still rich in genial good;
  But how can He expect that others should 40
  Build for him, sow for him, and at his call
  Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
 
 
  I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy,
  The sleepless Soul that perish'd in its pride;
  Of Him who walk'd in glory and in joy
  Behind his plough, upon the mountain-side:
  By our own spirits are we deified;
  We Poets in our youth begin in gladness;
  But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness.
 
 
  Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, 50
  A leading from above, a something given,
  Yet it befel, that, in this lonely place,
  When up and down my fancy thus was driven,
  And I with these untoward thoughts had striven,
  I saw a Man before me unawares:
  The oldest Man he seem'd that ever wore grey hairs.
 
 
  My course I stopped as soon as I espied
  The Old Man in that naked wilderness:
  Close by a Pond, upon the further side,
  He stood alone: a minute's space I guess 60
  I watch'd him, he continuing motionless:
  To the Pool's further margin then I drew;
  He being all the while before me full in view.
 
 
  As a huge Stone is sometimes seen to lie
  Couch'd on the bald top of an eminence;
  Wonder to all who do the same espy
  By what means it could thither come, and whence;
  So that it seems a thing endued with sense:
  Like a Sea-beast crawl'd forth, which on a shelf
  Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself. 70
 
 
  Such seem'd this Man, not all alive nor dead,
  Nor all asleep; in his extreme old age:
  His body was bent double, feet and head
  Coming together in their pilgrimage;
  As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage
  Of sickness felt by him in times long past,
  A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.
 
 
  Himself he propp'd, his body, limbs, and face,
  Upon a long grey Staff of shaven wood:
  And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, 80
  Beside the little pond or moorish flood
  Motionless as a Cloud the Old Man stood;
  That heareth not the loud winds when they call;
  And moveth altogether, if it move at all.
 
 
  At length, himself unsettling, he the Pond
  Stirred with his Staff, and fixedly did look
  Upon the muddy water, which he conn'd,
  As if he had been reading in a book:
  And now such freedom as I could I took;
  And, drawing to his side, to him did say, 90
  "This morning gives us promise of a glorious day."
 
 
  A gentle answer did the Old Man make,
  In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew:
  And him with further words I thus bespake,
  "What kind of work is that which you pursue?
  This is a lonesome place for one like you."
  He answer'd me with pleasure and surprize;
  And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes.
 
 
  His words came feebly, from a feeble chest,
  Yet each in solemn order follow'd each, 100
  With something of a lofty utterance drest;
  Choice word, and measured phrase; above the reach
  Of ordinary men; a stately speech!
  Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use,
  Religious men, who give to God and Man their dues.
 
 
  He told me that he to this pond had come
  To gather Leeches, being old and poor:
  Employment hazardous and wearisome!
  And he had many hardships to endure:
  From Pond to Pond he roam'd, from moor to moor, 110
  Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance:
  And in this way he gain'd an honest maintenance.
 
 
  The Old Man still stood talking by my side;
  But now his voice to me was like a stream
  Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide;
  And the whole Body of the man did seem
  Like one whom I had met with in a dream;
  Or like a Man from some far region sent;
  To give me human strength, and strong admonishment.
 
 
  My former thoughts return'd: the fear that kills; 120
  The hope that is unwilling to be fed;
  Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills;
  And mighty Poets in their misery dead.
  And now, not knowing what the Old Man had said,
  My question eagerly did I renew,
  "How is it that you live, and what is it you do?"
 
 
  He with a smile did then his words repeat;
  And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide
  He travelled; stirring thus about his feet
  The waters of the Ponds where they abide. 130
  "Once I could meet with them on every side;
  But they have dwindled long by slow decay;
  Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may."
 
 
  While he was talking thus, the lonely place,
  The Old Man's shape, and speech, all troubled me:
  In my mind's eye I seem'd to see him pace
  About the weary moors continually,
  Wandering about alone and silently.
  While I these thoughts within myself pursued,
  He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed. 140
 
 
  And soon with this he other matter blended,
  Chearfully uttered, with demeanour kind,
  But stately in the main; and, when he ended,
  I could have laugh'd myself to scorn, to find
  In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.
  "God," said I, "be my help and stay secure;
  I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor."