8. I.e., he hopes that he has not mistakenly attrib- he can no longer remember, uted his later thoughts and feelings to a time of life 9. Productive, creative.
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33 8 / WILLIA M WORDSWORT H 640 Through later years the story of my life: The road lies plain before me,? tis a theme Single, and of determined bounds; and hence I chuse it rather, at this time, than work Of ampler or more varied argument, 645 Where I might be discomfited and lost; And certain hopes are with me that to thee This labour will be welcome, honoured Friend! Book Second School-time continued Thus far, O Friend! have we, though leaving much Unvisited, endeavoured to retrace The simple ways in which my childhood walked, Those chiefly, that first led me to the love 5 Of rivers, woods, and fields. The passion yet Was in its birth, sustained, as might befal, By nourishment that came unsought; for still, From week to week, from month to month, we lived A round of tumult. Duly0 were our games appropriately io Prolonged in summer till the day-light failed; No chair remained before the doors, the bench And threshold steps were empty; fast asleep The Labourer, and the old Man who had sate, A later Lingerer, yet the revelry 15 Continued, and the loud uproar; at last, When all the ground was dark, and twinkling stars Edged the black clouds, home and to bed we went, Feverish, with weary joints and beating minds. Ah! is there One who ever has been young 20 Nor needs a warning voice to tame the pride Of intellect, and virtue's self-esteem? One is there,1 though the wisest and the best Of all mankind, who covets not at times Union that cannot be; who would not give, 25 If so he might, to duty and to truth The eagerness of infantine desire? A tranquillizing spirit presses now On my corporeal frame, so wide appears The vacancy between me and those days, 30 Which yet have such self-presence0 in my mind, actuality That, musing on them, often do I seem Two consciousnesses, conscious of myself And of some other Being. A rude mass Of native rock, left midway in the Square 35 Of our small market Village, was the goal Or centre of these sports; and, when, returned After long absence, thither I repaired, 1. I.e., 'Is there anyone ...'? '
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THE PRELUDE, BOOK THIRTEENTH / 339
Gone was the old grey stone, and in its place A smart Assembly-room usurped the ground
40 That had been ours.2 There let the fiddle scream, And be ye happy! Yet, my Friends,3 I know That more than one of you will think with me Of those soft starry nights, and that old Dame From whom the Stone was named, who there had sate
45 And watched her table with its huckster's wares0 peddler's goods Assiduous, through the length of sixty years. ?We ran a boisterous course, the year span round With giddy motion. But the time approached That brought with it a regular desire
50 For calmer pleasures, when the winning forms Of Nature were collaterally attached4 To every scheme of holiday delight, And every boyish sport, less grateful0 else pleasing And languidly pursued.
When summer came,
55 Our pastime was, on bright half-holidays, To sweep along the plain of Windermere With rival oars; and the selected bourne0 destination Was now an Island musical with birds That sang and ceased not; now a sister isle,
60 Beneath the oaks' umbrageous0 covert, sown shaded With lilies of the valley like a field; And now a third small island,5 where survived, In solitude, the ruins of a shrine Once to our Lady dedicate, and served
65 Daily with chaunted rites. In such a race, So ended, disappointment could be none, Uneasiness, or pain, or jealousy; We rested in the Shade, all pleased alike, Conquered and Conqueror. Thus the pride of strength,
70 And the vain-glory of superior skill, Were tempered, thus was gradually produced A quiet independence of the heart: And, to my Friend who knows me, I may add, Fearless of blame, that hence, for future days,
75 Ensued a diffidence and modesty; And I was taught to feel, perhaps too much, The self-sufficing power of solitude.
Our daily meals were frugal, Sabine fare!6 More than we wished we knew the blessing then
so Of vigorous hunger?hence corporeal strength Unsapped by delicate viands;0 for, exclude food A little weekly stipend,7 and we lived Through three divisions of the quartered year
2. The Hawkshead Town Hall, built in 1790. 6. Like the meals of the Roman poet Horace on 3. Coleridge and John Wordsworth (William's his Sabine farm. brother), who had visited Hawkshead together 7. In his last year at school, Wordsworth had an with William in November 1799. allowance of sixpence a week; his younger brother 4. Associated as an accompaniment. Christopher, threepence. After the Midsummer 5. The island of Lady Holm, former site of a and Christmas holidays (line 85), the boys received chapel dedicated to the Virgin Marv. a larger sum, ranging up to a guinea.
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34 0 / WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
In pennyless poverty. But now, to school
85 From the half-yearly holidays returned, We came with weightier purses, that sufficed To furnish treats more costly than the Dame Of the old grey stone, from her scanty board, supplied. Hence rustic dinners on the cool green ground,
90 Or in the woods, or by a river side, Or shady fountains,0 while among the leaves springs, streams Soft airs were stirring, and the mid-day sun Unfelt shone brightly round us in our joy.
Nor is my aim neglected if I tell
95 How sometimes, in the length of those half years, We from our funds drew largely?proud to curb, And eager to spur on, the gallopping Steed: And with the cautious Inn-keeper, whose Stud Supplied our want, we haply might employ
ioo Sly subterfuges, if the Adventure's bound Were distant, some famed Temple8 where of yore0 long ago The Druids worshipped, or the antique Walls Of that large Abbey which within the Vale Of Nightshade, to St Mary's honour built,
105 Stands yet, a mouldering Pile,0 with fractured arch, building in ruin Belfry, and Images, and living Trees; A holy Scene!9?Along the smooth green Turf Our Horses grazed:?to more than inland peace Left by the west wind sweeping overhead
