The Prelude. William Wordsworth

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      INTRODUCTION.—CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL-TIME

       Table of Contents

      BOOK FIRST.

       Table of Contents

      INTRODUCTION—CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL-TIME.

      O there is blessing in this gentle breeze,

       A visitant that while it fans my cheek

       Doth seem half-conscious of the joy it brings

       From the green fields, and from yon azure sky.

       Whate'er its mission, the soft breeze can come

       To none more grateful than to me; escaped

       From the vast city, where I long had pined

       A discontented sojourner: now free,

       Free as a bird to settle where I will.

       What dwelling shall receive me? in what vale

       Shall be my harbour? underneath what grove

       Shall I take up my home? and what clear stream

       Shall with its murmur lull me into rest?

       The earth is all before me. With a heart

       Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty,

       ​I look about; and should the chosen guide

       Be nothing better than a wandering cloud,

       I cannot miss my way. I breathe again!

       Trances of thought and mountings of the mind

       Come fast upon me: it is shaken off,

       That burthen of my own unnatural self,

       The heavy weight of many a weary day

       Not mine, and such as were not made for me.

       Long months of peace (if such bold word accord

       With any promises of human life),

       Long months of ease and undisturbed delight

       Are mine in prospect; whither shall I turn,

       By road or pathway, or through trackless field,

       Up hill or down, or shall some floating thing

       Upon the river point me out my course?

      Dear Liberty! Yet what would it avail

       But for a gift that consecrates the joy?

       For I, methought, while the sweet breath of heaven

       Was blowing on my body, felt within

       A correspondent breeze, that gently moved

       With quickening virtue, but is now become

       A tempest, a redundant energy,

       Vexing its own creation. Thanks to both,

       And their congenial powers, that, while they join

       ​In breaking up a long-continued frost,

       Bring with them vernal promises, the hope

       Of active days urged on by flying hours—

       Days of sweet leisure, taxed with patient thought

       Abstruse, nor wanting punctual service high,

       Matins and vespers of harmonious verse!

      Thus far, Friend! did I, not used to make

       A present joy the matter of a song,

       Pour forth that day my soul in measured strains

       That would not be forgotten, and are here

       Recorded: to the open fields I told

       A prophecy: poetic numbers came

       Spontaneously to clothe in priestly robe

       A renovated spirit singled out,

       Such hope was mine, for holy services.

       My own voice cheered me, and, far more, the mind's

       Internal echo of the imperfect sound;

       To both I listened, drawing from them both

       A cheerful confidence in things to come.

      Content and not unwilling now to give

       A respite to this passion, I paced on

       With brisk and eager steps; and came, at length,

       To a green shady place, where down I sate

       ​Beneath a tree, slackening my thoughts by choice,

       And settling into gentler happiness.

       'Twas autumn, and a clear and placid day,

       With warmth, as much as needed, from a sun

       Two hours declined towards the west; a day

       With silver clouds, and sunshine on the grass,