Behold the mighty Moon! this way As on their silent tasks they move! 1807. BEGGARS.+ SHE had a tall man's height or more; A mantle, to her very feet And on her head a cap as white as new-fallen snow. * In the Edition of 1815 the poem concludes thus: oh better wrong and strife, Better vain deeds, or evil, than such life! The silent heavens have goings-on; The stars have tasks, but these have none. There can be little doubt that, in this case, the alteration is an improvement. This poem was written, March, 1802, from Miss Wordsworth's description of what she had seen two years before in her brother's absence. "It presents a remarkable illustration," says Dr. C. Wordsworth, "of the fact that the sister's eye was ever on the watch to provide for the brother's pen. His poems are sometimes little more than poetical versions of her descriptions of the objects which she had seen, and he treated them as seen by himself." Strangely enough, this scene so dwelt upon the Poet's mind that he wrote a sequel to the poem in 1817. In the Edition of 1815 the stanza runs thus: SHE had a tall man's height or more; No bonnet screened her from the heat; Her skin was of Egyptian brown: * To lead those ancient Amazonian files; Or ruling Bandit's wife among the Grecian isles. Advancing, forth she stretched her hand. And yet a boon I gave her, for the creature I left her, and pursued my way; A pair of little Boys at play, The taller followed with his hat in hand, Wreathed round with yellow flowers the gayest of the land. The other wore a rimless crown A long drab-coloured cloak she wore, What other dress she had I could not know, * In all my walks through field or town Such figure had I never seen; Her face was of Egyptian brown; Fit person was she for a Queen.-Edit. 1815. Before me begging did she stand, Pouring out sorrows like a sea, Grief after grief: on English land, &c.-Edit. 1815. And, while both followed up and down, Yet they, so blithe of heart, seemed fit Wings let them have, and they might flit Scattering fresh flowers; though happier far, I ween, They dart across my path—but lo, Your Mother has had alms of mine." "That cannot be," one answered-"she is dead :". I looked reproof-they saw-but neither hung his head. + "She has been dead, Sir, many a day.” "Hush, boys! you're telling me a lie ;§ It was your Mother, as I say!" And, in the twinkling of an eye, "Come! come!" cried one, and without more ado, Off to some other play the joyous Vagrants flew ! || * Two brothers seemed they, eight and ten years old, And like that woman's face as gold is like to gold.-Edit. 1815. This stanza is not in the Edition of 1815. Nay, but I gave her pence, and she will buy you bread.-Edit. 1815. § Sweet boys, you're telling me a lie.-Edit. 1815. they both together flew.-Edit. 1815. YARROW UNVISITED.* (See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon the banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite Ballad of Hamilton beginning 'Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride, FROM Stirling castle we had seen Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay, "Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, * Miss Wordsworth says in her journal of the Scotch tour in August and September, 1803,-"Being so near the Yarrow when we were at Clovenford, we could not but think of the possibility of going thither, and debated concerning it, but came to the conclusion of reserving the pleasure for some future time; in consequence of which, after our return, William wrote this poem." T And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land Made blithe with plough and harrow : What's Yarrow but a river bare, That glides the dark hills under? There are a thousand such elsewhere As worthy of your wonder." -Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn ; My True-love sighed for sorrow ; And looked me in the face, to think I thus could speak of Yarrow ! 66 "Oh! green," said I, are Yarrow's holms, And sweet is Yarrow flowing! Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,* But we will leave it growing. O'er hilly path, and open Strath, We'll wander Scotland thorough; But, though so near, we will not turn Let beeves and home-bred kine partake * See Hamilton's Ballad as above. This is the line which has been so often quoted as "The swan on sweet St. Mary's lake," much to the Poet's dissatisfaction, and no wonder; for a very perfect image is thereby made common-place. |