showers of snow. Upon a hill At a short distance from my cottage, stands A stately Firgrove, whither I was wont To hasten, for I found, beneath the roof 10 Of that perennial shade, a cloistral place Of refuge, with an unincumbered floor. Here, in safe covert, on the shallow snow, And, sometimes, on a speck of visible earth, The redbreast near me hopped; nor was I loth 15 To sympathise with vulgar coppice birds That, for protection from the nipping blast, Hither repaired.--A single beech-tree grew 133 Within this grove of firs! and, on the fork Of that one beech, appeared a thrush's nest; 20 A last year's nest, conspicuously built At such small elevation from the ground As gave sure sign that they, who in that house Of nature and of love had made their home Amid the fir-trees, all the summer long 25 Dwelt in a tranquil spot. And oftentimes, A few sheep, stragglers from some mountain-flock, Would watch my motions with suspicious stare, From the remotest outskirts of the grove,-- Some nook where they had made their final stand, 30 Huddling together from two fears--the fear Of me and of the storm. Full many an hour Here did I lose. But in this grove the trees Had been so thickly planted, and had thriven In such perplexed and intricate array; 35 That vainly did I seek, beneath [1] their stems A length of open space, where to and fro My feet might move without concern or care; And, baffled thus, though earth from day to day Was fettered, and the air by storm disturbed, 40 I ceased the shelter to frequent, [2]--and prized, Less than I wished to prize, that calm recess. The snows dissolved, and genial Spring returned To clothe the fields with verdure. Other haunts Meanwhile were mine; till, one bright April day, 45 By chance retiring from the glare of noon 134 To this forsaken covert, there I found A hoary pathway traced between the trees, And winding on with such an easy line Along a natural opening, that I stood 50 Much wondering how I could have sought in vain [3] For what was now so obvious. [4] To abide, For an allotted interval of ease, Under my cottage-roof, had gladly come From the wild sea a cherished Visitant; [5] 55 And with the sight of this same path--begun, Begun and ended, in the shady grove, [6] Pleasant conviction flashed upon my mind [7] That, to this opportune recess allured, He had surveyed it with a finer eye, 60 A heart more wakeful; and had worn the track [8] By pacing here, unwearied and alone, [A] In that habitual restlessness of foot That haunts the Sailor measuring [9] o'er and o'er His short domain upon the vessel's deck, 65 While she pursues her course [10] through the dreary sea. When thou hadst quitted Esthwaite's pleasant shore, And taken thy first leave of those green hills And rocks that were the play-ground of thy youth, Year followed year, my Brother! and we two, 70 Conversing not, knew little in what mould Each other's mind was fashioned; [11] and at length When once again we met in Grasmere Vale, Between us there was little other bond 135 Than common feelings of fraternal love. 75 But thou, a Schoolboy, to the sea hadst carried Undying recollections; Nature there Was with thee; she, who loved us both, she still Was with thee; and even so didst thou become A
silent Poet; from the solitude 80 Of the vast sea didst bring a watchful heart Still couchant, an inevitable ear, And an eye practised like a blind man's touch. --Back to the joyless Ocean thou art gone; Nor from this vestige of thy musing hours 85 Could I withhold thy honoured name,--and now I love the fir-grove [12] with a perfect love. Thither do I withdraw when cloudless suns Shine hot, or wind blows troublesome and strong; And there I sit at evening, when the steep 90 Of Silver-how, and Grasmere's peaceful [13] lake, And one green island, gleam between the stems Of the dark firs, a visionary scene! And, while I gaze upon the spectacle Of clouded splendour, on this dream-like sight 95 Of solemn loveliness, I think on thee, My Brother, and on all which thou hast lost. Nor seldom, if I rightly guess, while Thou, Muttering the verses which I muttered first Among the mountains, through the midnight watch 100 Art pacing thoughtfully [14] the vessel's deck In some far region, here, while o'er my head, At every impulse of the moving breeze, 136 The fir-grove murmurs with a sea-like sound, [B] Alone I tread this path;--for aught I know, 105 Timing my steps to thine; and, with a store Of undistinguishable sympathies, Mingling most earnest wishes for the day When we, and others whom we love, shall meet A second time, in Grasmere's happy Vale. 110 * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: 1836. ... between ... 1815.] [Variant 2: 1836. And, baffled thus, before the storm relaxed, I ceased that Shelter to frequent,--1815. ... the shelter ... 1827.] 137 [Variant 3: 1827. Much wondering at my own simplicity How I could e'er have made a fruitless search 1815.] [Variant 4: ... At the sight Conviction also flashed upon my mind That this same path (within the shady grove Begun and ended) by my Brother's steps Had been impressed.--... These additional lines appeared only in 1815 and 1820.] [Variant 5: 1845. ... To sojourn a short while Beneath my roof He from the barren seas Had newly come--a cherished Visitant! 1815. ... To abide, 138 For an allotted interval of ease, Beneath my cottage roof, had newly come From the wild sea a cherished Visitant; 1827. Beneath my cottage roof, had gladly come 1840. ... had meanwhile come C. [a]] [Variant 6: This and the previous line were added in 1827.] [Variant 7: 1827. And much did it delight me to perceive 1815.] [Variant 8: 1827. A heart more wakeful; that, more both to part From place so lovely, he had worn the track 1815.] [Variant 9: 139 1845. With which the Sailor measures ... 1815.] [Variant 10: 1845. While she is travelling ... 1815.] [Variant 11: 1836. ... minds were fashioned;... 1815.] [Variant 12: 1827. ... art gone; And now I call the pathway by thy name, And love the fir-grove 1815.] [Variant 13: 140 1827. ... placid ... 1815.] [Variant 14: 1827. Art pacing to and fro ... 1815.] * FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: Compare Daniel's 'Hymens Triumph', ii. 4: 'And where no sun could see him, where no eye Might overlook his lonely privacy; There in a path of his own making, trod Rare as a common way, yet led no way Beyond the turns he made.' Ed.] [Footnote B: Compare the line in Coleridge's 'Hymn before Sunrise, in 141 the Vale of Chamouni': 'Ye pine groves with your soft and soul-like sound,' Ed.] * SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT [Sub-Footnote a: In the late Lord Coleridge's copy of the edition of 1836, there is a footnote in Wordsworth's handwriting to the word "meanwhile" which is substituted for "newly." "If 'newly' come, could he have traced a visible path?"--Ed.] This wish was not granted; the lamented Person, not long after, perished by shipwreck, in discharge of his duty as Commander of the Honourable East India Company's Vessel, the 'Earl of Abergavenny'.--W. W. 1815. For the date of this poem in the Chronological Tables given in the editions of 1815 and 1820, Wordsworth assigned the year 1802. But, in the edition of 1836, he assigned it to the year 1805, the date retained by Mr. Carter in the edition of 1857. Captain Wordsworth perished on the 5th of February 1805; and if the poem was written in 1805, it must have been in the month of January of that year. The note to the poem is explicit--"Not long after" he "perished by shipwreck,"
etc. Thus the 142 poem
may have been written in the beginning of 1805; but it is not at all certain that part of it at least does not belong to an earlier year. John Wordsworth lived with his brother and sister at the Town-end Cottage, Grasmere, during part of the winter, and during the whole of the spring, summer, and autumn of 1800, William and John going together on foot into Yorkshire from the 14th of May to the 7th of June. John left Grasmere on Michaelmas day (September 29th) 1800, and never returned to it again. The following is Miss Wordsworth's record of that day in her Journal of 1800: "On Monday, 29th, John left us. William and I parted with him in sight of Ullswater. It was a fine day, showery, but with sunshine and fine clouds. Poor fellow, my heart was right sad, I could not help thinking we should see him again, because he was only going to Penrith." In the spring of 1801, John Wordsworth sailed for China in the 'Abergavenny'. He returned from this voyage in safety, and the brothers met once again in London. He went to sea again in 1803, and returned to London in 1804, but could not visit Grasmere; and in the month of February 1805--shortly after he was appointed to the command of the 'Abergavenny'--the ship was lost at the Bill of Portland, and every one on board perished. It is clear that the latter part of the poem, "When, to the attractions of the busy world," was written between John Wordsworth's departure from Grasmere and the loss of the 'Abergavenny', i. e. between September 1800 and February 1805, as there are references in it both to what his brother did at Grasmere and to his return to sea: 'Back to the joyless Ocean thou art gone.' 143 There are some things in the earlier part of the poem that appear to negative the idea of its having been written in 1800. The opening lines seem to hint at an experience somewhat distant. He speaks of being "wont" to do certain things. But, on the other hand, I find an entry in Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, which leads me to believe that the poem may have been begun in 1800, and that the first part, ending (as it did then) with the line: 'While she is travelling through the dreary sea,' may have been finished before John Wordsworth left Grasmere; the second part being written afterwards, while he was at sea; and
