85 Which the New-comer carried through the Waste Could mean, the Arab told me that the Stone (To give it in the language of the Dream) Was Euclid's Elements;4 'and this,' said he, 'This other,' pointing to the Shell, 'this book
90 Is something of more worth': and, at the word, Stretched forth the Shell, so beautiful in shape, In color so resplendent, with command That I should hold it to my ear. I did so,? And heard, that instant, in an unknown tongue,
95 Which yet I understood, articulate sounds, A loud prophetic blast of harmony? An Ode, in passion uttered, which foretold Destruction to the Children of the Earth, By Deluge now at hand. No sooner ceased
ioo The Song than the Arab with calm look declared That all would come to pass, of which the voice Had given forewarning, and that he himself Was going then to bury those two Books: The One that held acquaintance with the stars,
105 And wedded Soul to Soul in purest bond
2. I.e., Don Quixote, the 17th-eentury novel about ded by a biographer. a man unable to distinguish between books' 3. Mathematics had flourished among the Arabs? romantic fictions and his own reality. In the 1805 hence the Arab rider. Prelude the dream vision that follows is that of the 4. Celebrated book on plane geometry and the friend mentioned in line 51. It is, in fact, closely theory of numbers by the Greek mathematician modeled on a dream actually dreamt by the 17 th-Euclid; it continued to be used as a textbook into century French philosopher Descartes and recor-the 19th century.
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THE PRELUDE, BOOK THIRTEENTH / 359
Of Reason, undisturbed by space or time: Th'other, that was a God, yea many Gods, Had voices more than all the winds, with power To exhilarate the Spirit, and to soothe,
no Through every clime, the heart of human kind. While this was uttering, strange as it may seem, I wondered not, although I plainly saw The One to be a Stone, the Other a Shell, Nor doubted once but that they both were Books;
115 Having a perfect faith in all that passed. Far stronger now grew the desire I felt To cleave unto this Man; but when I prayed To share his enterprize, he hurried on, Reckless0 of me: I followed, not unseen, heedless
120 For oftentimes he cast a backward look, Grasping his twofold treasure. Lance in rest, He rode, I keeping pace with him; and now He to my fancy had become the Knight Whose tale Cervantes tells; yet not the Knight,
125 But was an Arab of the desert, too, Of these was neither, and was both at once. His countenance, meanwhile, grew more disturbed, And looking backwards when he looked, mine eyes Saw, over half the wilderness diffused,
bo A bed of glittering light: I asked the cause. 'It is,' said he, 'the waters of the Deep Gathering upon us'; quickening then the pace Of the unwieldy Creature he bestrode, He left me; I called after him aloud,?
135 He heeded not; but with his twofold charge Still in his grasp, before me, full in view, Went hurrying o'er the illimitable Waste With the fleet waters of a drowning World In chase of him; whereat I waked in terror;
140 And saw the Sea before me, and the Book, In which I had been reading, at my side.
[THE BOY OF WINANDER]
There was a Boy;5?ye knew him well, Ye Cliffs And Islands of Winander!?many a time At evening, when the earliest stars began To move along the edges of the hills,
370 Rising or setting, would he stand alone, Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake; And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
375 Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls That they might answer him.?And they would shout
5. In an early manuscript version of this passage, Wordsworth uses the first-person pronoun. The experience he describes was thus apparently his own.
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36 0 / WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Across the watery Vale, and shout again, Responsive to his call,?with quivering peals, And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud
380 Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild Of jocund din! and when a lengthened pause Of silence came, and baffled his best skill, Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprize
385 Has carried far into his heart6 the voice Of mountain torrents; or the visible scene Would enter unawares into his mind With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, Its woods, and that uncertain heaven, received
390 Into the bosom of the steady lake. This Boy was taken from his Mates, and died In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old. Fair is the Spot, most beautiful the Vale Where he was born: the grassy Church-yard hangs 395 Upon a slope above the Village School; And through that Church-yard when my way has led On summer evenings, I believe that there A long half-hour together I have stood Mute?looking at the grave in which he lies! 400 Even now appears before the mind's clear eye That self-same Village Church; I see her sit (The throned Lady whom erewhile we hailed) On her green hill, forgetful of this Boy Who slumbers at her feet, forgetful, too, 405 Of all her silent neighbourhood of graves, And listening only to the gladsome sounds That, from the rural School ascending, play Beneath her, and about her. May she long Behold a race of Young Ones like to those 410 With whom I herded! (easily, indeed, We might have fed upon a fatter soil
Of Arts and Letters, but be that forgiven) A race of real children; not too wise, Too learned, or too good: but wanton,0 fresh, playful
415 And bandied up and down by love and hate; Not unresentful where self-justified; Fierce, moody, patient, venturous, modest, shy; Mad at their sports like withered leaves in winds: Though doing wrong and suffering, and full oft
