Book VII.-The Churchyard among the Mountains-continued 401

Book VIII.-The Parsonage

422

Book IX.-Discourse of the Wanderer, and an Evening Visit

to the Lake..

434

WORDSWORTH'S POETICAL WORKS.

Poems referring to the Period of Childhood.

My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky:

So was it when my life began ;
So is it now I am a man ;

So be it when I shall grow old,

Or let me die!

The child is father of the man ;

And I could wish my days to be

Bound each to each by natural piety.

TO A BUTTERFLY.

STAY near me-do not take thy flight!
A little longer stay in sight!

Much converse do I find in thee,

Historian of my infancy!

Float near me; do not yet depart !

Dead times revive in thee:

Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art!

A solemn image to my heart,

My father's family!

Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,

The time, when in our childish plays,

My sister Emmeline and I

Together chased the butterfly!

A very hunter did I rush

Upon the prey-with leaps and springs

I follow'd on from brake to bush;

But she, God love her! fear'd to brush
The dust from off its wings.

FORESIGHT,

OR THE CHARGE OF A CHILD TO HIS YOUNGER COMPANION.

THAT is work of waste and ruin

Do as Charles and I are doing!
Strawberry-blossoms, one and all,

We must spare them-here are many :

B

Look at it-the flower is small,
Small and low, though fair as any:
Do not touch it! summers two
I am older, Anne, than you.

Pull the primrose, sister Anne!
Pull as many as you can.

-Here are daisies, take your fill!
Pansies, and the cuckow-flower:
Of the lofty daffodil

Make your bed, and make your bower;
Fill your lap, and fill your bosom ;
Only spare the strawberry-blossom.

Primroses, the Spring may love them--
Summer knows but little of them;
Violets, a barren kind,

Wither'd on the ground must lie;
Daisies leave no fruit behind
When the pretty flow'rets die;
Pluck them, and another year
As many will be blowing here.
God has given a kindlier power
To the favour'd strawberry-flower.
When the months of spring are fled,
Hither let us bend our walk;

Lurking berries, ripe and red,
Then will hang on every stalk,

Each within its leafy bower;

And for that promise spare the flower!

CHARACTERISTICS OF A CHILD THREE YEARS OLD.

LOVING she is, and tractable, though wild;
And innocence hath privilege in her
To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes,
And feats of cunning; and the pretty round
Of trespasses, affected to provoke

Mock-chastisement and partnership in play.
And, as a fagot sparkles on the hearth,

Not less if unattended and alone,

Than when both young and old sit gather'd round

And take delight in its activity,

Even so this happy creature of herself

Is all-sufficient solitude to her

Is blithe society, who fills the air

With gladness and involuntary songs.

Light are her sallies as the tripping fawn's

Forth-startled from the fern where she lay couch'd;

Unthought-of, unexpected as the stir

Of the soft breeze ruffling the meadow flowers;
Or from before it chasing wantonly

The many-colour'd images impress'd

Upon the bosom of a placid lake.

ADDRESS TÓ A CHILD, DURING A BOISTEROUS WINTER EVENING.

BY A FEMALE FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR.

WHAT way does the wind come? What way does he go? He rides over the water, and over the snow,

Through wood, and through vale; and o'er rocky height
Which the goat cannot climb, takes his sounding flight.
He tosses about in every bare tree,

As, if you look up, you plainly may see;
But how he will come, and whither he goes,
There's never a scholar in England knows.

He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook,

And rings a sharp larum ;-but if you should look,
There's nothing to see but a cushion of snow,
Round as a pillow, and whiter than milk,
And softer than if it were cover'd with silk.
Sometimes he'll hide in the cave of a rock,
Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock;

-Yet seek him-and what shall you find in the place?
Nothing but silence and empty space,

Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves,

That he's left for a bed for beggars or thieves!

As soon as 'tis daylight, to-morrow, with me

You shall go to the orchard, and then you will see
That he has been there, and made a great rout,
And cracked the branches, and strewn them about;
Heaven grant that he spare but that one upright twig
That look'd up at the sky so proud and big

All last summer, as well you know,
Studded with apples, a beautiful show!

Hark! over the roof he makes a pause,
And growls as if he would fix his claws
Right in the slates, and with a huge rattle
Drive them down, like men in a battle:

-But let him range round; he does us no harm,
We build up the fire, we're snug and warm;

Untouch'd by his breath see the candle shines bright,
And burns with a clear and steady light;

Books have we to read,-hush! that half-stifled knell,
Methinks 'tis the sound of the eight o'clock bell.

-Come, now we'll to bed! and when we are there
He may work his own will, and what shall we care;
He
may knock at the door,-we'll not let him in,
May drive at the windows,-we'll laugh at his din;
Let him seek his own home wherever it be ;
Here's a cozie warm house for Edward and me.