Resolution and Independence: by William Wordsworth

Resolution and Independence
By William Wordsworth
There was a roaring in the wind all night; In our dejection do we sink as low;
The rain came heavily and fell in floods; To me that morning did it happen so;
But now the sun is rising calm and bright; And fears and fancies thick upon me came;
The birds are singing in the distant woods; Dim sadness—and blind thoughts, I knew
Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove not, nor could name.
broods;
The Jay makes answer as the Magpie I heard the sky-lark warbling in the sky;
chatters; And I bethought me of the playful hare:
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of Even such a happy Child of earth am I;
waters. Even as these blissful creatures do I fare;
Far from the world I walk, and from all care;
All things that love the sun are out of doors; But there may come another day to me—
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth; Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and
The grass is bright with rain-drops;—on the poverty.
moors
The hare is running races in her mirth; My whole life I have lived in pleasant
And with her feet she from the plashy earth thought,
Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun, As if life's business were a summer mood;
Runs with her all the way, wherever she As if all needful things would come
doth run. unsought
To genial faith, still rich in genial good;
I was a Traveller then upon the moor; But how can He expect that others should
I saw the hare that raced about with joy; Build for him, sow for him, and at his call
I heard the woods and distant waters roar; Love him, who for himself will take no heed
Or heard them not, as happy as a boy: at all?
The pleasant season did my heart employ:
My old remembrances went from me I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy,
wholly; The sleepless Soul that perished in his
And all the ways of men, so vain and pride;
melancholy. Of Him who walked in glory and in joy
Following his plough, along the mountain-
But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the side:
might By our own spirits are we deified:
Of joys in minds that can no further go, We Poets in our youth begin in gladness;
As high as we have mounted in delight
But thereof come in the end despondency That heareth not the loud winds when they
and madness. call,
And moveth all together, if it move at all.
Now, whether it were by peculiar grace,
A leading from above, a something given, At length, himself unsettling, he the pond
Yet it befell that, in this lonely place, Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look
When I with these untoward thoughts had Upon the muddy water, which he conned,
striven, As if he had been reading in a book:
Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven And now a stranger's privilege I took;
I saw a Man before me unawares: And, drawing to his side, to him did say,
The oldest man he seemed that ever wore "This morning gives us promise of a glorious
grey hairs. day."
As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie A gentle answer did the old Man make,
Couched on the bald top of an eminence; In courteous speech which forth he slowly
Wonder to all who do the same espy, drew:
By what means it could thither come, and And him with further words I thus bespake,
whence; "What occupation do you there pursue?
So that it seems a thing endued with sense: This is a lonesome place for one like you."
Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise
shelf Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid
Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself; eyes.
Such seemed this Man, not all alive nor His words came feebly, from a feeble chest,
dead, But each in solemn order followed each,
Nor all asleep—in his extreme old age: With something of a lofty utterance drest—
His body was bent double, feet and head Choice word and measured phrase, above
Coming together in life's pilgrimage; the reach
As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage Of ordinary men; a stately speech;
Of sickness felt by him in times long past, Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use,
A more than human weight upon his frame Religious men, who give to God and man
had cast. their dues.
Himself he propped, limbs, body, and pale He told, that to these waters he had come
face, To gather leeches, being old and poor:
Upon a long grey staff of shaven wood: Employment hazardous and wearisome!
And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, And he had many hardships to endure:
Upon the margin of that moorish flood From pond to pond he roamed, from moor
Motionless as a cloud the old Man stood, to moor;
Housing, with God's good help, by choice or In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace
chance; About the weary moors continually,
And in this way he gained an honest Wandering about alone and silently.
maintenance. While I these thoughts within myself
pursued,
The old Man still stood talking by my side; He, having made a pause, the same
But now his voice to me was like a stream discourse renewed.
Scarce heard; nor word from word could I
divide; And soon with this he other matter
And the whole body of the Man did seem blended,
Like one whom I had met with in a dream; Cheerfully uttered, with demeanour kind,
Or like a man from some far region sent, But stately in the main; and, when he
To give me human strength, by apt ended,
admonishment. I could have laughed myself to scorn to find
In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.
My former thoughts returned: the fear that "God," said I, "be my help and stay secure;
kills; I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely
And hope that is unwilling to be fed; moor!"
Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills;
And mighty Poets in their misery dead.
—Perplexed, and longing to be comforted,
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 pools where they abide.
"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:

Resolution and Independence: by William Wordsworth

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Resolution and Independence

He with a smile did then his words repeat;

While he was talking thus, the lonely place,

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