Prelude+Book+1

//**From the Prelude**// //**BOOK ONE**//  //**Introduction—Childhood and School**// //**- Time**//  Oh there is blessing in this gentle breeze That blows from the green fields and from the clouds And from the sky: it beats against my cheek, And seems half-conscious of the joy it  gives. O welcome Messenger! O welcome Friend! A captive greets thee, coming from a house Of bondage, from yon City’s walls set free, A prison where he hath been long immured. Now I am free, enfranchised and at large, May fix my habitation where I will. //**10**//  What dwelling shall receive me? In what Vale Shall be my harbour? Underneath what grove Shall I take up my home, and what sweet stream Shall with its murmurs lull me to my rest? The earth is all before me: with a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about, and should the guide I chuse Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way. I breathe again; Trances of thought and mountings of the mind  //**20**//   <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Come fast upon me: it is shaken <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">off <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//,// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">As by miraculous gift ‘tis shaken off, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">That burthen of my own unnatural self, The heavy weight of many a weary day Not mine, and such as were not made for me. Long months of peace (if such bold word accord With any promises of human life), Long months of ease and undisturbed delight <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Are mine in prospect, whither shall I turn By road or pathway or through open field, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**30**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Or shall a twig or any floating thing Upon the river, point me out my course? Enough that I am free; for months to come May dedicate myself to chosen tasks; <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">May quit the tiresome sea and dwell on shore, If not a Settler on the soil, at least To drink wild water, and to pluck green herbs, And gather fruits fresh from their native bough. Nay more, if I may trust myself, this hour Hath brought a gift that consecrates my joy; <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**40**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">For I, methought, while the sweet breath of Heaven Was blowing on my body, felt within A corresponding mild creative breeze, A vital breeze which travelled gently on O’er things which it had made, and is become A tempest, a redundant energy Vexing its own creation. ‘Tis a power That does not come unrecognized, a storm, Which, breaking up a long-continued frost Brings with it vernal promises, the hope <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**50**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Of active days, of dignity and thought, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Of prowess in an honorable field, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Pure passions, virtue, knowledge, and delight, The holy life of music and of verse. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">. . . . . . <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">

—Was it for this That one, the fairest of all Rivers, loved To blend his murmurs with my Nurse’s song, And from his alder shades and rocky falls, And from his fords and shallows, sent a voice That flowed along my dreams? For this, didst Thou, O Derwent, travelling over the green Plains Near my ‘sweet Birthplace’, didst thou, beauteous Stream, Make ceaseless music through the night and day Which with its steady cadence, tempering <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**280**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Our human waywardness, composed my thoughts To more than infant softness, giving me, Among the fretful dwellings of mankind, A knowledge, a dim earnest, of the calm Which Nature breathes among the hills and groves <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">When, having left his Mountains, to the Towers Of Cockermouth that beauteous River came, Behind my Father’s House he passed, close by, Along the margin of our Terrace Walk. He was a Playmate whom we dearly loved. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**290**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> Oh! many a time have I, a five years’ Child, A naked Boy, in one delightful Rill, A little Mill-race severed from his stream, Made one long bathing of a summer’s day, Basked in the sun, and plunged, and basked again Alternate all a summer’s day, or coursed Over the sandy fields, leaping through groves Of yellow grunsel, or when crag and hill, The woods, and distant Skiddaw’s lofty height, Were bronzed with a deep radiance, stood alone <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**300**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Beneath the sky, as if I had been born On Indian Plains, and from my Mother’s hut Had run abroad in wantonness, to sport, A naked Savage, in the thunder shower.

Fair seed-time had my soul, and I grew up Fostered alike by beauty and by fear; Much favored in my birthplace, and no less In that beloved Vale to which, erelong, I was transplanted. Well I call to mind (‘Twas at an early age, ere I had seen <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**310**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Nine summers) when upon the mountain slope <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">The frost and breath of frosty wind had snapped The last autumnal crocus, ‘twas my joy To wander half the night among the Cliffs And the smooth Hollows, where the woodcocks ran Along the open turf In thought and wish That time, my shoulder all with springes hung, I was a fell destroyer. On the heights Scudding away from snare to snare, I plied My anxious visitation, hurrying on, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**320**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Still hurrying, hurrying onward; moon and stars Were shining o’er my head; <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">I <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">was alone, And seemed to be a trouble to the peace That was among them. Sometimes it befel In these night-wanderings, that a strong desire <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">O’erpowered my better reason, and the bird Which was the captive of another’s toils Became my prey; and, when the deed was done <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">I heard among the solitary hills Low breathings coming after me, and sounds <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**330**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Of undistinguishable motion, steps <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Almost as silent as the turf they trod.

Nor less in springtime when on southern banks The shining sun had from his knot of leaves Decoyed the primrose flower, and when the Vales And woods were warm, was I a plunderer then In the high places, on the lonesome peaks Where’er, among the mountains and the winds, The Mother Bird had built her lodge. Though mean <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">My object, and inglorious, yet the end <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**340**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Was not ignoble. Oh! when I have hung Above the raven’s nest, by knots of grass And half-inch fissures in the slippery rock But ill sustained, and almost, as <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">it <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">seemed, Suspended by the blast which blew amain, Shouldering the naked crag; Oh! at that time, While on the perilous ridge I hung alone, With what strange utterance did the loud dry wind Blow through my ears! the sky seemed not a sky Of earth, and with what motion moved the clouds! <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**350**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">

<span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">The mind of Man is framed even like the breath And harmony of music. There is a dark Invisible workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, and makes them move In one society. Ah me! that all The terrors, all the early miseries, Regrets, vexations, lassitudes, that all The thoughts and feelings which have been infused Into my mind, should ever have made up The calm existence that is mine when I <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**360**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Am worthy of myself! Praise to the end! Thanks likewise for the means! But I believe That Nature, oftentimes, when she would frame A favoured Being, from his earliest dawn Of infancy doth open out the clouds, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">As at the touch of lightning, seeking him With gentlest visitation; not the less, Though haply aiming at the self-same end, Does it delight her sometimes to employ Severer interventions, ministry <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**370**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">More palpable, and so she dealt with me.

One evening (surely I was led by her) <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">I went alone into a Shepherd’s Boat, A Skiff that to a Willow tree was tied Within a rocky Cave, its usual home. ‘Twas by the shores of Patterdale, a Vale Wherein I was a Stranger, thither come A School-boy Traveller, at the Holidays. Forth rambled from the Village Inn alone, No sooner had I sight of this small Skiff, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**380**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Discovered thus by unexpected chance, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Than I unloosed her tether and embarked. The moon was up, the Lake was shining clear Among the hoary mountains; from the Shore I pushed, and struck the oars and struck again In cadence, and my little Boat moved on Even like a Man who walks with stately step Though bent on speed. It was an act of stealth And troubled pleasure; not without the voice Of mountain-echoes did my Boat move on, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**390**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Leaving behind her still on either side Small circles glittering idly in the moon, Until they melted all into one track Of sparkling light. A rocky Steep uprose <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Above the Cavern of the Willow tree And now, as suited one who proudly rowed With his best skill, I fixed a steady view Upon the top of that same craggy ridge, The bound of the horizon, for behind <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**400**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">She was an elfin Pinnace; lustily I dipped my oars into the silent Lake, And, as I rose upon the stroke, my Boat Went heaving through the water, like a Swan; When from behind that craggy Steep, till then The bound of the horizon, a huge Cliff, As if with voluntary power instinct, Upreared its head. I struck, and struck again, And, growing still in stature, the huge Cliff Rose up between me and the stars, and still, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**410**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">With measured motion, like a living thing, Strode after me. With trembling hands I turned, And through the silent water stole my way Back to the Cavern of the Willow tree. There, in her mooring-place, I left my Bark, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">And, through the meadows homeward went, with grave And serious thoughts; and after I had seen That spectacle, for many days, my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being; in my thoughts <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">**420** <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">There was a darkness, call it solitude, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Or blank desertion, no familiar shapes Of hourly objects, images of trees, Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields; But huge and mighty Forms that do not live Like living men moved slowly through my mind By day and were the trouble of my dreams. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Wisdom and Spirit of the universe! Thou Soul that art the Eternity of Thought! That giv’st to forms and images a breath <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**430**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">And everlasting motion! not in vain, By day or star-light thus from my first dawn <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Of Childhood didst Thou intertwine for me The passions that build up our human Soul, Not with the mean and vulgar works of Man, But with high objects, with enduring things, With life and nature, purifying thus The elements of feeling and of thought, And sanctifying, by such discipline, Both pain and fear, until we recognize <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**440**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">A grandeur in the beatings of the heart.

Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">With stinted kindness. In November days, When vapours rolling down the valleys made <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">A lonely scene more lonesome; among woods At noon, and ‘mid the calm of summer nights, When, by the margin of the trembling Lake, Beneath the gloomy hills I homeward went In solitude, such intercourse was mine; ‘Twas mine among the fields both day and night, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**450**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">And by the waters all the summer long.

And in the frosty season, when the sun Was set, and visible for many a mile The cottage windows through the twilight blazed, I heeded not the summons:—happy time It was, indeed, for all of us; to me — It was a time of rapture: clear and loud The village clock tolled six; I wheeled about, Proud and exulting, like an untired horse, That cares not for its home.—All shod with steel, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**460**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> We hissed along the polished ice in games Confederate, imitative of the chace And woodland pleasures, the resounding horn, The Pack loud bellowing, and the hunted hare. So through the darkness and the cold we flew, And not a voice was idle; with the din, Meanwhile, the precipices rang aloud; The leafless trees, and every icy crag Tinkled like iron; while the distant hills Into the tumult sent an alien sound <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**470**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Of melancholy, not unnoticed; while the stars, Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west The orange sky of evening died away. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">

Not seldom from the uproar I retired Into a silent bay, or sportively Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng, To cut across the image of a star That gleamed upon the ice. And oftentimes <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">When we had given our bodies to the wind, And all the shadowy banks, on either side, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**480**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still The rapid line of motion; then at once Have I, reclining back upon my heels, Stopped short, yet still the solitary Cliffs Wheeled by me, even as if the earth had rolled With visible motion her diurnal round. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Behind me did they stretch in solemn train Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched Till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep.

Ye Presences of Nature, in the sky <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**490**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Or on the earth! Ye Visions of the hills! And Souls of lonely places! can I think A vulgar hope was yours when Ye employed Such ministry, when Ye through many a year Haunting me thus among my boyish sports, On caves and trees, upon the woods and hills, Impressed upon all forms the characters Of danger or desire, and thus did make The surface of the universal earth With triumph, and delight, and hope, and fear, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**500**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Work like a sea?

Not uselessly employed, I might pursue this theme through every change <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Of exercise and play, to which the year Did summon us in its delightful round. We were a noisy crew, the sun in heaven Beheld not vales more beautiful than ours, Nor saw a race in happiness and joy More worthy of the fields where they were sown. I would record with no reluctant voice The woods of autumn and their hazel bowers <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**510**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">With milk-white clusters hung; the rod and line, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">True symbol of the foolishness of hope, Which with its strong enchantment led us on By rocks and pools, shut out from every star All the green summer, to forlorn cascades Among the windings of the mountain brooks. —Unfading recollections! at this hour <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">The heart is almost mine with which I felt From some hill-top, on sunny afternoons The Kite high up among the fleecy clouds <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**520**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Pull at its rein, like an impatient Courser, Or, from the meadows sent on gusty days, Beheld her breast the wind, then suddenly Dashed headlong; and rejected by the storm.

<span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Ye lowly Cottages in which we dwelt, A ministration of your own was yours, A sanctity, a safeguard, and a love! Can I forget you, being as ye were So beautiful among the pleasant fields In which ye stood? Or can I here forget <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**530**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">The plain and seemly countenance with which Ye dealt out your plain comforts? Yet had ye Delights and exultations of your own. Eager and never weary we pursued Our home amusements by the warm peat-fire At evening, when with pencil and with slate, In square divisions parcelled out, and all With crosses and with cyphers scribbled o’er, We schemed and puzzled, head opposed to head <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">In strife too humble to be named in Verse. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**540**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Or round the naked table, snow-white deal, Cherry or maple, sate in close array, And to the combat, Lu or Whist, led on A thick-ribbed Army; not as in the world Neglected and ungratefully thrown by Even for the very service they had wrought, But husbanded through many a long campaign. Uncouth assemblage was it, where no few Had changed their functions, some, plebeian cards, Which Fate beyond the promise of their birth <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**550**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Had glorified, and called to represent The persons of departed Potentates. Oh! with what echoes on the Board they fell! Ironic Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts, Diamonds, Spades, A congregation piteously akin. Cheap matter did they give to boyish wit, Those sooty knaves, precipitated down With scoffs and taunts, like Vulcan out of Heaven; <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">The paramount Ace, a moon in her eclipse; Queens, gleaming through their splendour’s last decay; <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**560**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> And Monarchs, surly at the wrongs sustained By royal visages. Meanwhile, abroad The heavy rain was falling, or the frost Raged bitterly, with keen and silent tooth, And, interrupting oft the impassioned game, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">From Esthwaite’s neighbouring Lake the splitting ice, While <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">**i** <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">t <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">sank down towards the water, sent, Among the meadows and the hills, its long And dismal yellings, like the noise of wolves When they are howling round the Bothnic Main. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**570**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">

<span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Nor, sedulous as I have been to trace How Nature by extrinsic passion first Peopled my mind with beauteous forms or grand And made me love them, may I well forget How other pleasures have been mine, and joys Of subtler origin; how I have felt, Not seldom, even in that tempestuous time, Those hallowed and pure motions of the sense Which seem, in their simplicity, to own An intellectual charm, that calm delight <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">**5** <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**80**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Which, if I err not, surely must belong To those first-born affinities that fit Our new existence to existing things, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">And, in our dawn of being, constitute The bond of union betwixt life and joy.

Yes, I remember, when the changeful earth, And twice five seasons on my mind had stamped The faces of the moving year, even then, A Child, I held unconscious intercourse With the eternal Beauty, drinking in <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**590**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> A pure organic pleasure from the lines Of curling mist, or from the level plain Of waters coloured by the steady clouds. The Sands of Westmoreland, the Creeks and Bays Of Cumbria’s rocky limits, they can tell <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">How when the Sea threw off his evening shade And to the Shepherd’s huts beneath the crags Did send sweet notice of the rising moon, How I have stood, to fancies such as these, Engrafted in the tenderness of thought, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**600**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> A stranger, linking with the spectacle No conscious memory of a kindred sight, And bringing with me no peculiar sense Of quietness or peace, yet I have stood, Even while mine eye has moved o’er three long leagues Of shining water, gathering, as it seemed, Through every hair-breadth of that field of light, New pleasure, like a bee among the flowers.

Thus, often in those fits of vulgar joy Which, through all seasons, on a child’s pursuits <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**610**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Are prompt attendants, ‘mid that giddy bliss Which, like a tempest, works along the blood And is forgotten; even then I felt Gleams like the flashing of a shield. The earth And common face of Nature spake to me Rememberable things; sometimes, ‘tis true, By chance collisions and quaint accidents Like those ill-sorted unions, work supposed Of evil-minded fairies, yet not vain, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Nor profitless, if haply they impressed <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**620**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Collateral objects and appearances, Albeit lifeless then, and doomed to sleep Until maturer seasons called them forth To impregnate and to elevate the mind. —And if the vulgar joy by its own weight Wearied itself out of the memory, The scenes which were a witness of that joy Remained, in their substantial lineaments Depicted on the brain, and to the eye Were visible, a daily sight. And thus <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**630**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">By the impressive discipline of fear, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">By pleasure and repeated happiness, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">So frequently repeated, and by force Of obscure feelings representative Of joys that were forgotten, these same scenes, So beauteous and majestic in themselves, Though <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">yet <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">the day was distant, did at length Become habitually dear, and all Their hues and forms were by invisible links Allied to the affections. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**640**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">

<span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">I began My story early, feeling, as I fear, The weakness of a human love, for days Disowned by memory, ere the birth of spring <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Planting my snowdrops among winter snows. Nor will it seem to thee, my Friend! so prompt In sympathy, that I have lengthened out, With fond and feeble tongue, a tedious tale. Meanwhile, my hope has been that I might fetch Invigorating thoughts from former years, Might fix the wavering balance of my mind, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**650**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> And haply meet reproaches, too, whose power May spur me on, in manhood now mature, To honorable toil. Yet should these hopes Be vain, and thus should neither I be taught To understand myself, nor thou to know With better knowledge how the heart was framed Of him thou lovest, need I dread from thee <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">Harsh judgments, if I am so loth to quit Those recollected hours that have the charm Of visionary things, and lovely forms <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">//**660**// <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> And sweet sensations, that throw back our life And almost make our Infancy itself A visible scene, on which the sun is shining? <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">. . . . . . . . ..

__Some Background__

<span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"> > =Themes=
 * <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">William Wordsworth started writing this in Germany in 1799. By 1804, he had writen five books. He expanded that to 13 books and fnished it in 1805. However, he kept coming back to revise the poem all his life.
 * <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">The Prelude was written to go with "The Recluse", which was never finished.
 * <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">The Prelue was published shortly after the poet's death.
 * <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">This poem was seem as original and unique at the time because nobody had looked back at past experience explaining their poetry before. Wordsworth was also one of the earliest poets to write about normal things without using all the complicated language usually seen in poems.
 * <span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial,sans-serif">The Prelude was written during William Wordsworth trip to Germany with his sister Dorothy, and good friend Coleridge. It was during 1798 to 1799, when Wordsworth and Dorothy journeyed to Goslar where he started writing The Prelude. It was also during this time where he wrote "the Lucy poems".


 * Solitude
 * Memory
 * Child hood
 * Freedom
 * and, Nature.
 * Harmony between dark and light

Solitude is a main part of this poem... we can see this due to the motif in the poem. Examples in his recalling of him time in the mountains.

Memory is a large part of the poem, due to this being a autobiography, memory is apparent all throughout the prelude.

Childhood, apparent in the title and throughout the text, is obviously a main theme.

Freedom : This theme also pops up throughout the prelude. First time we see it, is in the first part- talking about how he's free of bondage, "from yon City's walls set free"...

Nature is also frequently mentioned in the poem, though mostly throughout the imagery.

Harmony between dark and light is mentioned and at the end. Wordsworth talks about (from lines 630 - 640) how "by the impressive discipline of fear, by pleasure and repeated happiness...their hues and forms were by invisible links allied to the affections." This shows us how the only way to be fully aware of all around us, we have to experience both sides of light and dark.


 * __Lines 372~427__**


 * This is a famous stanza.
 * This bit tells a story of a time when Wordsworth stole a boat to row out on the Lake of Patterdale. He was guilty but also feels pleasure. He then becomes afraid because he thinks that the cliff beside the lake has come alive and “strode after me”. He returns the boat and for many days, he couldn’t forget the terror.
 * There are a few themes that are shown in this stanza.
 * beauty of Nature. In the first line, "one evening (surely I was led by her)". Here Wordsworth personifys the evening to "her" and so shows the beauty of nature.
 * strength of nature. In line 409, "the huge cliff... strode after me." He is shown the strength of nature when he thinks the cliffs are alive and growing bigger.
 * power of conscience. Line 425. "huge and mighty Forms... were the trouble of my dreams." He felt guilty of stealing the boat and he couldn't forget it for a long time. He was haunted in his nightmares. His guilt might also have led him to imagine the cliffs grew.
 * In lines 372~387, there is a lot of imagery. We can easily imagine the setting of the lake with the boat and willow tree.
 * In line 404, there is a simile, "like a swan", describing the speed of his boat.
 * This stanza is described very vividly.


 * Essay Practice questions**

1. Discuss the use of imagery and symbolism in Prelude book I- School time and childhood, and show to what extent it is effective.

2. Discuss what theme's are discussed in the prelude, with reference to the text. Also, discuss what links there are to Wordsworth's other poems.

3. "Transcendentalism is a newly founded belief and practice that involves man's interaction with nature, and the idea that man belongs to one universal and benign omnipresence know as the oversoul."

An essay question could be how Transcendenatlism is apparent in Wordsworth's Prelude Book 1, and to what extent it is?


 * Conflicts in the prelude**

1. Fear is a main conflict in the prelude, recalling the fear of the mountains from the past.

2. The mind is also a conflict in the prelude. Wordsworth has many conflicts within the "adult" frame of mind -"There is a dark Invisible workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, " (line 352)

3. Another conflict is that of Solitude. Although it is mentioned throughout the poem, it firstly appears as a conflict in lines 420-428, when he is recalling his memory of being lost in the Walsh mountains, out on a moor. "There was a darkness, call it solitude,/ Or blank desertion, no familiar shapes/ Of hourly objects..."

We can see from these lines, the impact of solitude upon Wordsworth mind at that point of time, making this a personal conflict.

Biography

http://www.bartleby.com/145/ww286.html http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Wordsworth http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Prelude**
 * http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/2358.html