William Wordsworth
The Female Vagrant
from Lyrical Ballads (First Edition, 1798)
By Derwents side my Fathers cottage stood, | |||
(The Woman thus her artless story told) | |||
One field, a flock, and what the neighbouring flood | |||
Supplied, to him were more than mines of gold. | |||
5 | Light was my sleep; my days in transport rolld: | ||
With thoughtless joy I stretchd along the shore | |||
My fathers nets, or from the mountain fold | |||
Saw on the distant lake his twinkling oar | |||
Or watchd his lazy boat still lessning more and more | |||
10 | My father was a good and pious man, | ||
An honest man by honest parents bred, | |||
And I believe that, soon as I began | |||
To lisp, he made me kneel beside my bed, | |||
And in his hearing there my prayers I said: | |||
15 | And afterwards, by my good father taught, | ||
I read, and loved the books in which I read; | |||
For books in every neighbouring house I sought, | |||
And nothing to my mind a sweeter pleasure brought. | |||
Can I forget what charms did once adorn | |||
20 | My garden, stored with pease, and mint, and thyme, | ||
And rose and lilly for the sabbath morn? | |||
The sabbath bells, and their delightful chime; | |||
The gambols and wild freaks at shearing time; | |||
My hens rich nest through long grass scarce espied; | |||
25 | The cowslip-gathering at Mays dewy prime; | ||
The swans, that, when I sought the water-side, | |||
From far to meet me came, spreading their snowy pride. | |||
The staff I yet remember which upbore | |||
The bending body of my active sire; | |||
30 | His seat beneath the honeyed sycamore | ||
When the bees hummed, and chair by winter fire; | |||
When market-morning came, the neat attire | |||
With which, though bent on haste, myself I deckd; | |||
My watchful dog, whose starts of furious ire, | |||
35 | When stranger passed, so often I have checkd; | ||
The red-breast known for years, which at my casement peckd. | |||
The suns of twenty summers danced along,— | |||
Ah! little marked, how fast they rolled away: | |||
Then rose a stately hall our woods among, | |||
40 | And cottage after cottage owned its sway. | ||
No joy to see a neighbouring house, or stray | |||
Through pastures not his own, the master took; | |||
My Father dared his greedy wish gainsay; | |||
He loved his old hereditary nook, | |||
45 | And ill could I the thought of such sad parting brook. | ||
But when he had refused the proffered gold, | |||
To cruel injuries he became a prey, | |||
Sore traversed in whateer he bought and sold: | |||
His troubles grew upon him day by day, | |||
50 | Till all his substance fell into decay. | ||
His little range of water was denied; 1 | |||
All but the bed where his old body lay. | |||
All, all was seized, and weeping, side by side, | |||
We sought a home where we uninjured might abide. | |||
55 | Can I forget that miserable hour, | ||
When from the last hill-top, my sire surveyed, | |||
Peering above the trees, the steeple tower | |||
That on his marriage-day sweet music made? | |||
Till then he hoped his bones might there be laid, | |||
60 | Close by my mother in their native bowers: | ||
Bidding me trust in God, he stood and prayed,— | |||
I could not pray:—through tears that fell in showers, | |||
Glimmerd our dear-loved home, alas! no longer ours! | |||
There was a youth whom I had loved so long. | |||
65 | That when I loved him not I cannot say. | ||
Mid the green mountains many and many a song | |||
We two had sung, like gladsome birds in May. | |||
When we began to tire of childish play | |||
We seemed still more and more to prize each other; | |||
70 | We talked of marriage and our marriage day; | ||
And I in truth did love him like a brother, | |||
For never could I hope to meet with such another. | |||
His father said, that to a distant town | |||
He must repair, to ply the artists trade. | |||
75 | What tears of bitter grief till then unknown? | ||
What tender vows our last sad kiss delayed! | |||
To him we turned:—we had no other aid. | |||
Like one revived, upon his neck I wept, | |||
And her whom he had loved in joy, he said | |||
80 | He well could love in grief: his faith he kept; | ||
And in a quiet home once more my father slept. | |||
Four years each day with daily bread was blest, | |||
By constant toil and constant prayer supplied. | |||
Three lovely infants lay upon my breast; | |||
85 | And often, viewing their sweet smiles, I sighed, | ||
And knew not why. My happy father died | |||
When sad distress reduced the childrens meal: | |||
Thrice happy! that from him the grave did hide | |||
The empty loom, cold hearth, and silent wheel, | |||
90 | And tears that flowed for ills which patience could not heal. | ||
Twas a hard change, an evil time was come; | |||
We had no hope, and no relief could gain. | |||
But soon, with proud parade, the noisy drum | |||
Beat round, to sweep the streets of want and pain. | |||
95 | My husbands arms now only served to strain | ||
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. | |||
100 | There foul neglect for months and months we bore, | ||
Nor yet the crowded fleet its anchor stirred. | |||
Green fields before us and our native shore, | |||
By fever, from polluted air incurred, | |||
Ravage was made, for which no knell was heard. | |||
105 | Fondly we wished, and wished away, nor knew, | ||
Mid that long sickness, and those hopes deferrd, | |||
That happier days we never more must view: | |||
The parting signal streamed, at last the land withdrew. | |||
But from delay the summer calms were past. | |||
110 | On as we drove, the equinoctial deep | ||
Ran mountains-high before the howling blast. | |||
We gazed with terror on the gloomy sleep | |||
Of them that perished in the whirlwinds sweep, | |||
Untaught that soon such anguish must ensue, | |||
115 | Our hopes such harvest of affliction reap, | ||
That we the mercy of the waves should rue. | |||
We readied the western world, a poor, devoted crew. | |||
Oh I dreadful price of being to resign | |||
All that is dear _in_ being! better far | |||
120 | In Wants most lonely cave till death to pine, | ||
Unseen, unheard, unwatched by any star; | |||
Or in the streets and walks where proud men are, | |||
Better our dying bodies to obtrude, | |||
Than dog-like, wading at the heels of war, | |||
125 | Protract a curst existence, with the brood | ||
That lap (their very nourishment!) their brothers blood. | |||
The pains and plagues that on our heads came down; | |||
Disease and famine, agony and fear, | |||
In wood or wilderness, in camp or town, | |||
130 | It would thy brain unsettle even to hear. | ||
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 | |||
135 | A British ship I waked, as from a trance restored. | ||
Peaceful as some immeasurable plain | |||
By the first beams of dawning light impressd; | |||
In the calm sunshine slept the glittering main, | |||
The very ocean has its hour of rest, | |||
140 | That comes not to the human mourners breast. | ||
Remote from man, and storms of mortal care, | |||
A heavenly silence did the waves invest: | |||
I looked and looked along the silent air, | |||
Until it seemed to bring a joy to my despair. | |||
145 | Ah! how unlike those late terrific sleeps! | ||
And groans, that rage of racking famine spoke: | |||
The unburied dead that lay in festering heaps! | |||
The breathing pestilence that rose like smoke! | |||
The shriek that from the distant battle broke! | |||
150 | The mines dire earthquake, and the pallid host | ||
Driven by the bombs incessant thunder-stroke | |||
To loathsome vaults, where heart-sick anguish tossd, | |||
Hope died, and fear itself in agony was lost! | |||
Yet does that burst of woe congeal my frame, | |||
155 | When the dark streets appeared to heave and gape, | ||
While like a sea the storming army came, | |||
And Fire from hell reared his gigantic shape, | |||
And Murder, by the ghastly gleam, and Rape | |||
Seized their joint prey, the mother and the child! | |||
160 | But from these crazing thoughts my brain, escape! | ||
—For weeks the balmy air breathed soft and mild, | |||
And on the gliding vessel Heaven and Ocean smiled. | |||
Some mighty gulph of separation past, | |||
I seemed transported to another world:— | |||
165 | A thought resigned with pain, when from the mast | ||
The impatient mariner the sail unfurld, | |||
And whistling, called the wind that hardly curled | |||
The silent sea. From the sweet thoughts of home, | |||
And from all hope I was forever hurled. | |||
170 | For me—farthest from earthly port to roam | ||
Was best, could I but shun the spot where man might come. | |||
And oft, robbd of my perfect mind, I thought | |||
At last my feet a resting-place had found: | |||
Here will I weep in peace, (so fancy wrought,) | |||
175 | Roaming the illimitable waters round; | ||
Here watch, of every human friend disowned, | |||
All day, my ready tomb the ocean-flood— | |||
To break my dream the vessel reached its bound: | |||
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, | |||
180 | And near a thousand tables pined, and wanted food. | ||
By grief enfeebled was I turned adrift, | |||
Helpless as sailor cast on desert rock; | |||
Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift, | |||
Nor dared my hand at any door to knock. | |||
185 | I lay, where with his drowsy mates, the cock | ||
From the cross timber of an out-house hung; | |||
How dismal tolled, that night, the city clock! | |||
At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung, | |||
Nor to the beggars language could I frame my tongue. | |||
190 | So passed another day, and so the third: | ||
Then did I try, in vain, the crowds resort, | |||
In deep despair by frightful wishes stirrd, | |||
Near the sea-side I reached a ruined fort: | |||
There, pains which nature could no more support, | |||
195 | With blindness linked, did on my vitals fall; | ||
Dizzy my brain, with interruption short | |||
Of hideous sense; I sunk, nor step could crawl, | |||
And thence was borne away to neighbouring hospital. | |||
Recovery came with food: but still, my brain | |||
200 | Was weak, nor of the past had memory. | ||
I heard my neighbours, in their beds, complain | |||
Of many things which never troubled me; | |||
Of feet still bustling round with busy glee, | |||
Of looks where common kindness had no part. | |||
205 | Of service done with careless cruelty, | ||
Fretting the fever round the languid heart, | |||
And groans, which, as they said, would make a dead man start. | |||
These things just served to stir the torpid sense, | |||
Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised. | |||
210 | Memory, though slow, returned with strength: and thence | ||
Dismissed, again on open day I gazed, | |||
At houses, men, and common light, amazed. | |||
The lanes I sought, and as the sun retired, | |||
Came, where beneath the trees a faggot blazed; | |||
215 | The wild brood saw me weep, my fate enquired, | ||
And gave me food, and rest, more welcome, more desired. | |||
My heart is touched to think that men like these, | |||
The rude earths tenants, were my first relief: | |||
How kindly did they paint their vagrant ease! | |||
220 | And their long holiday that feared not grief, | ||
For all belonged to all, and each was chief. | |||
No plough their sinews strained; on grating road | |||
No wain they drove, and yet, the yellow sheaf | |||
In every vale for their delight was stowed: | |||
225 | For them, in natures meads, the milky udder flowed, | ||
Semblance, with straw and panniered ass, they made | |||
Of potters wandering on from door to door: | |||
But life of happier sort to me pourtrayed, | |||
And other joys my fancy to allure; | |||
230 | The bag-pipe dinning on the midnight moor | ||
In barn uplighted, and companions boon | |||
Well met from far with revelry secure, | |||
In depth of forest glade, when jocund June | |||
Rolled fast along the sky his warm and genial moon. | |||
235 | But ill it suited me, in journey dark | ||
Oer moor and mountain, midnight theft to hatch; | |||
To charm the surly house-dogs faithful bark, | |||
Or hang on tiptoe at the lifted latch; | |||
The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match, | |||
240 | The black disguise, the warning whistle shrill, | ||
And ear still busy on its nightly watch, | |||
Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill; | |||
Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding still. | |||
What could I do, unaided and unblest? | |||
245 | Poor Father! gone was every friend of thine: | ||
And kindred of dead husband are at best | |||
Small help, and, after marriage such as mine, | |||
With little kindness would to me incline. | |||
Ill was I then for toil or service fit: | |||
250 | With tears whose course no effort could confine, | ||
By high-way side forgetful would I sit | |||
Whole hours, my idle arms in moping sorrow knit. | |||
I lived upon the mercy of the fields | |||
And oft of cruelty the sky accused; | |||
255 | On hazard, or what general bounty yields. | ||
Now coldly given, now utterly refused, | |||
The fields I for my bed have often used: | |||
But, what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth | |||
Is, that I have my inner self abused, | |||
260 | Foregone the home delight of constant truth, | ||
And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth. | |||
Three years a wanderer, often have I viewd, | |||
In tears, the sun towards that country tend | |||
Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude: | |||
265 | And now across this moor my steps I bend— | ||
Oh! tell me whither—for no earthly friend | |||
Have I.—She ceased, and weeping turned away, | |||
As if because her tale was at an end | |||
She wept;—because she had no more to say | |||
270 | Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay. | ||
1Several of the Lakes in the north of England are let out to different Fishermen, in parcels marked out by imaginary lines drawn from rock to rock. |
First published 1798
Robert Clark