Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

As much as any king,

When youth was on the wing,

And (must it then be told?) when youth had quite gone by.

Alas! and I have not
The pleasant hour forgot,
When one pert lady said
"O, Landor! I am quite
Bewildered with affright:

I see (sit quiet now!) a white hair on your head!"

Another, more benign,

Drew out that hair of mine,

And in her own dark hair
Pretended she had found

That one, and twirled it round:

Fair as she was, she never was so fair.

BUT I have sinuous shells of pearly hue
Within, and they that luster have imbibed
In the sun's palace-porch, where when unyoked
His chariot-wheel stands midway in the wave:
Shake one, and it awakens; then apply

Its polisht lips to your attentive ear,
And it remembers its august abodes,

And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there.

- The Water-nymph to the Shepherd, in "Gebir."

WORDSWORTH

1770-1850

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, a prominent member of the Lake school of poets, was born in Cumberland, England, in 1770, and died in 1850. He was the son of an attorney, and studied at St. John's College, Cambridge. He spent some time in France and Germany, and in 1799 fixed his home which was presided over by his sister Dorothy (his faithful "guide, philoso

[graphic]

Un Wordsworth

pher, and friend," throughout his long life)- at Grasmere. Here he lived till 1808. In 1813 he removed to Rydal Mount, which is closely associated with the most notable products of his genius. He was a favorite of fortune, having inherited a comfortable estate, and for some years holding a lucrative office under government. In 1843 he was appointed Poet Laureate, succeeding Southey. He was married in 1803 to Mary Hutchinson, who survived him, dying in 1859, at the great age of eighty-eight. In his early manho d Wordsworth was visionary and radical, professing republicanism, and avo

ing himself an admirer of the principles which were iliustrated in the French Revolution; but, as often happens, age tempered his fervor, and during the latter half of his life he was unfaltering in his political and religious conservatism.

His first book, "An Evening Walk,” an epistle in verse, was published in 1793; his second, "Descriptive Sketches," published in the same year, was cordially praised by Coleridge. Between 1798 and 1814 several editions of his poems were issued, receiving praise and censure in nearly equal proportions. When "The Excursion" appeared, in 1814, Jeffrey said of it: "This will never do; it is longer, weaker, and tamer than any of Mr. Wordsworth's other productions." On the other hand, William Hazlitt pronounced it almost unsurpassed "in power of intellect, lofty conception, and depth of feeling." On the whole, it must be said that during Wordsworth's life, or at least until within a few years of his death, the judgment of the critics on his poetry was unfavorable; but with the great public his writings steadily gained popularity. One of the principal reasons for the hostility of the critics was, no doubt, his energetic protest, by precept and example, against the romantic school of poetry, which, conspicuously represented by Byron, was then in high favor. He endeavored to demonstrate the superiority of simplicity in thought and expression, and in the effort incurred the reproach of silliness. During recent years, however, a juster and more candid estimate of his work has assigned him a very high rank among English poets of the nineteenth century. One of the most prominent characteristics of his poetical genius is imaginative power, in which quality so high an authority as Coleridge has affirmed that he was surpassed only by Shakespeare. His mind was strongly philosophical, and his writings exhibit a rare union of philosophical and poetical elements.

Lowell says: "Of no other poet, except Shakespeare, have so many phrases become household words as of Wordsworth. If Pope has made curret more epigrams of worldly wisdom, to Wordsworth belongs the nobler praise of having defined for us, and given us for a daily possession, those faint and vague suggestions of other-world lines, of whose gentle ministry with our baser nature the hurry and bustle of life scarcely ever allowed us to be conscious. He has won for himself a secure immortality by the depth of intuition which makes only the best minds at their best hours worthy, or indeed capable, of his companionship, and by a homely sincerity of human sympathy which reaches the humblest heart. Our language owes him gratitude for the habitual purity and abstinence of his style, and we who speak it, for having emboldened us to take delight in simple things, and to trust ourselves to our own instincts.”

THE BOY AND THE OWLS

THERE was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander! many a time,
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone,
Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;
And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
Pressed closely palm to palm, and to his mouth
Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,

Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls,

That they might answer him; and they would shout
Across the watery vale, and shout again,

Responsive to his call, with quivering peals,
And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud

Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild

Of mirth and jocund din! And, when a lengthened pause

Of silence came and baffled his best skill,

Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung

Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise

Has carried far into his heart the voice

Of mountain torrents; or the visible scene
Would enter unawares into his mind

With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,

Its woods, and that uncertain heaven,1 received
Into the bosom of the steady lake.

This Boy was taken from his mates, and died
In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.

Fair is the spot, most beautiful the vale

Where he was born: the grassy churchyard hangs
Upon a slope above the village school;

1 uncertain heaven; What is the meaning?

And through that churchyard when my way has led
On summer evenings, I believe that there

A long half-hour together I have stood

Mute, — looking at the grave in which he lies!

RUTH

WHEN Ruth was left half desolate,
Her father took another mate;
And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will
Went wandering over dale and hill,
In thoughtless freedom bold.

And she had made a pipe 1 of straw,
And from that oaten pipe could draw
All sounds of winds and floods;
Had built a bower upon the green,
As if she from her birth had been
An infant of the woods.

Beneath her father's roof, alone

She seemed to live; her thoughts her own;

Herself her own delight;

Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay,

And passing thus the livelong day,

She grew to wc man's height.

There came a youth from Georgia's shore,

A military casque 2 he wore,

With splendid feathers dressed;

He brought them from the Cherokees;
The feathers nodded in the breeze,

And made a gallant crest.

1 See WEBSTER for the etymology of pipe and fife.

2 helmet

« AnteriorContinuar »