Selections from Wordsworth and Tennyson

Excerpt

MICHAEL

A PASTORAL POEM

  If from the public way you turn your steps
  Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
  You will suppose that with an upright path
  Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
  The pastoral mountains front you, face to face.
  But, courage! for around that boisterous brook
  The mountains have all opened out themselves,
  And made a hidden valley of their own.
  No habitation can be seen; but they
  Who journey thither find themselves alone 10
  With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites
  That overhead are sailing in the sky.
  It is in truth an utter solitude;
  Nor should I have made mention of this Dell
  But for one object which you might pass by, 15
  Might see and notice not. Beside the brook
  Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones,
  And to that simple object appertains
  A story,—unenriched with strange events,
  Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside, 20
  Or for the summer shade. It was the first
  Of those domestic tales that spake to me
  Of Shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men
  Whom I already loved:—not verily
  For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills 25
  Where was their occupation and abode.
  And hence this Tale, while I was yet a Boy
  Careless of books, yet having felt the power
  Of Nature, by the gentle agency
  Of natural objects, led me on to feel 30
  For passions that were not my own, and think
  (At random and imperfectly indeed)
  On man, the heart of man, and human life.
  Therefore, although it be a history
  Homely and rude, I will relate the same 35
  For the delight of a few natural hearts;
  And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake
  Of youthful Poets, who among these hills
  Will be my second self when I am gone.

  Upon the forest-side in Grasmere Vale 40
  There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his name;
  An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb.
  His bodily frame had been from youth to age
  Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen,
  Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs, 45
  And in his shepherd's calling he was prompt
  And watchful more than ordinary men.
  Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds,
  Of blasts of every tone; and oftentimes,
  When others heeded not, he heard the South 50
  Make subterraneous music, like the noise
  Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills.
  The Shepherd, at such warning, of his flock
  Bethought him, and he to himself would say,
  "The winds are now devising work for me!" 55
  And, truly, at all times, the storm, that drives
  The traveller to a shelter, summoned him
  Up to the mountains: he had been alone
  Amid the heart of many thousand mists,
  That came to him, and left him, on the heights. 60
  So lived he till his eightieth year was past.
  And grossly that man errs, who should suppose
  That the green valleys, and the streams and rocks,
  Were things indifferent to the Shepherd's thoughts....