The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth Volume I Part 43

"'Twas a hard change; an evil time was come; We had no hope, and no relief could gain: But soon, with proud parade, [28] the noisy drum Beat round to clear [29] the streets of want and pain.

My husband's arms now only served to strain 275 Me and his children hungering in his view; In such dismay my prayers and tears were vain: To join those miserable men he flew, And now to the sea-coast, with numbers more, we drew.

x.x.xII

"There were we long neglected, and we bore 280 Much sorrow ere the fleet its anchor weighed [30]

Green fields before us, and our native sh.o.r.e, We breathed a pestilential air, that made Ravage for which no knell was heard. We prayed For our departure; wished and wished--nor knew, 285 'Mid that long sickness and those hopes delayed, [31]

That happier days we never more must view.

The parting signal streamed--at last the land withdrew.

x.x.xIII

"But the calm summer season now was past. [32]

On as we drove, the equinoctial deep 290 Ran mountains high before the howling blast, And many perished in the whirlwind's sweep.

We gazed with terror on their gloomy sleep, [33]

Untaught that soon such anguish must ensue, Our hopes such harvest of affliction reap, 295 That we the mercy of the waves should rue: We reached the western world, a poor devoted crew.

[34]

x.x.xIV

"The pains and plagues that on our heads came down, Disease and famine, agony and fear, In wood or wilderness, in camp or town, 300 It would unman the firmest heart to hear. [35]

All perished--all in one remorseless year, Husband and children! one by one, by sword And ravenous plague, all perished: every tear Dried up, despairing, desolate, on board 305 A British s.h.i.+p I waked, as from a trance restored."

x.x.xV

Here paused she of all present thought forlorn, Nor voice, nor sound, that moment's pain expressed, Yet Nature, with excess of grief o'erborne, From her full eyes their watery load released. 310 He too was mute: and, ere her weeping ceased, He rose, and to the ruin's portal went, And saw the dawn opening the silvery east With rays of promise, north and southward sent; And soon with crimson fire kindled the firmament. 315

x.x.xVI

"O come," he cried, "come, after weary night Of such rough storm, this happy change to view."

So forth she came, and eastward looked; the sight Over her brow like dawn of gladness threw; Upon her cheek, to which its youthful hue 320 Seemed to return, dried the last lingering tear, And from her grateful heart a fresh one drew: The whilst her comrade to her pensive cheer Tempered fit words of hope; and the lark warbled near.

x.x.xVII

They looked and saw a lengthening road, and wain 325 That rang down a bare slope not far remote: The barrows glistered bright with drops of rain, Whistled the waggoner with merry note, The c.o.c.k far off sounded his clarion throat; But town, or farm, or hamlet, none they viewed, 330 Only were told there stood a lonely cot A long mile thence. While thither they pursued Their way, the Woman thus her mournful tale renewed.

x.x.xVIII

"Peaceful as this immeasurable plain Is now, by beams of dawning light imprest, [36] 335 In the calm suns.h.i.+ne slept the glittering main; The very ocean hath its hour of rest.

I too forgot the heavings of my breast. [37]

How quiet 'round me s.h.i.+p and ocean were!

As quiet all within me. I was blest, 340 And looked, and fed upon the silent air Until it seemed to bring a joy to my despair.[38]

x.x.xIX

"Ah! how unlike those late terrific sleeps, And groans that rage of racking famine spoke; The unburied dead that lay in festering heaps,[39] 345 The breathing pestilence that rose like smoke, The shriek that from the distant battle broke, The mine's dire earthquake, and the pallid host Driven by the bomb's incessant thunder-stroke To loathsome vaults, where heart-sick anguish tossed, 350 Hope died, and fear itself in agony was lost!

[40]

XL

"Some mighty gulf of separation pa.s.sed, I seemed transported to another world; A thought resigned with pain, when from the mast The impatient mariner the sail unfurled, 355 And, whistling, called the wind that hardly curled The silent sea. From the sweet thoughts of home And from all hope I was for ever hurled.

For me--farthest from earthly port to roam Was best, could I but shun the spot where man might come. 360

XLI

"And oft I thought (my fancy was so strong) That I, at last, a resting-place had found; 'Here will I dwell,' said I, 'my whole life long, [41]

Roaming the illimitable waters round; Here will I live, of all but heaven disowned, 365 And end my days upon the peaceful flood.'--[42]

To break my dream the vessel reached its bound; And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.

XLII

"No help I sought; in sorrow turned adrift, 370 Was hopeless, as if cast on some bare rock; [43]

Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift, Nor raised [44] my hand at any door to knock.

I lay where, with his drowsy mates, the c.o.c.k From the cross-timber of an out-house hung: 375 Dismally [45] tolled, that night, the city clock!

At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung, Nor to the beggar's language could I fit [46] my tongue.

XLIII

"So pa.s.sed a second day; and, when the third Was come, I tried in vain the crowd's resort. [47] 380 --In deep despair, by frightful wishes stirred, Near the sea-side I reached a ruined fort; There, pains which nature could no more support, With blindness linked, did on my vitals fall; And, after many interruptions short [48] 385 Of hideous sense, I sank, [49] nor step could crawl: Unsought for was the help that did my life recal. [50]

XLIV

"Borne to a hospital, I lay with brain Drowsy and weak, and shattered memory; [51]

I heard my neighbours in their beds complain 390 Of many things which never troubled me-- Of feet still bustling round with busy glee, Of looks where common kindness had no part, Of service done with cold formality, [52]

Fretting the fever round the languid heart, 395 And groans which, as they said, might [53] make a dead man start.

XLV

"These things just served to stir the slumbering [54] sense, Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised.

With strength did memory return; [55] and, thence Dismissed, again on open day I gazed, 400 At houses, men, and common light, amazed.

The lanes I sought, and, as the sun retired, Came where beneath the trees a f.a.ggot blazed; The travellers [56] saw me weep, my fate inquired, And gave me food--and rest, more welcome, more desired. 405 [57]

XLVI

"Rough potters seemed they, trading soberly With panniered a.s.ses driven from door to door; But life of happier sort set forth to me, [58]