Printed Publications of Wordsworth's "Nutting"

Editions published during the poet's life which are currently

available in Google Books:

1800

LYRICAL BALLADS, | WITH | OTHER POEMS. | IN TWO VOLUMES. | By W. WORDSWORTH

VOL. I. | SECOND EDITION* | LONDON: | PRINTED FOR T.N. LONGMAN AND O. REES, PATERNOSTER-ROW,

| BY BIGGS AND .CO BRISTOL. | 1800.

LYRICAL BALLADS, | WITH | OTHER POEMS. | IN TWO VOLUMES. | By W. WORDSWORTH

VOL. II. | FIRST EDITION | LONDON: | PRINTED FOR T.N. LONGMAN AND O. REES, PATERNOSTER-ROW,

| BY BIGGS AND CO. BRISTOL. | 1800.

1802

VOL. I. | THIRD EDITION* | LONDON: | PRINTED FOR T.N. LONGMAN AND O. REES, PATERNOSTER-ROW,

| BY BIGGS AND COTTLE, CRAN-COURT, FLEET-STREET. | 1802.

VOL. II. | SECOND EDITION* | LONDON: | PRINTED FOR T.N. LONGMAN AND O. REES, PATERNOSTER-ROW,

| BY BIGGS AND COTTLE, CRAN-COURT, FLEET-STREET. | 1802.

LYRICAL BALLADS, | WITH | OTHER POEMS: | IN TWO VOLUMES. | BY W. WORDSWORTH.

VOL. I [II]. | FROM THE LONDON SECOND EDITION. | PHILADELPHIA:

| PRINTED AND SOLD BY JAMES HUMPHREYS. | 1802.

LYRICAL BALLADS, | WITH | OTHER POEMS: | IN TWO VOLUMES. | BY W. WORDSWORTH.

VOL. I [II]. | FROM THE LONDON SECOND EDITION. | PHILADELPHIA: | PRINTED AND SOLD BY JAMES HUMPHREYS.

| FOR JOSEPH GROFF, | 1802.

1805

1815

1820

1824

THE | POETICAL WORKS | OF | WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. | IN FOUR VOLUMES.

1827

THE | POETICAL WORKS | OF | WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. | IN FIVE VOLUMES.

1828

THE | POETICAL WORKS | OF | WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. | COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME.

| PARIS | PUBLISHED BY A. AND W. GALIGNANI, | NO 18, RUE VIVIENNE. | 1828.

1832

*Editions with asterisks derive from subsequent printings of the edition print run. These are the existing editions on record.

Curated Editions Published Posthumously:

(Due to current time restrictions, I was unable to confirm that "Nutting" was indeed included in each of the stated posthumous editions. Information for this record was taken from the John O. Hayden edition of Wordsworth's Poetry, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH: THE POEMS, 1977)

The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, 6 volumes, 1857.

Matthew Arnold, ed., Poems of Wordsworth, 1879.

William Knight, ed., The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, 11 volumes, 1822-1829.

Edward Dowden, ed., The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, 7 volumes, 1892-1893.

Thomas Hutchinson, ed., The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, 5 volumes, 1895.

William Knight, ed., The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, 8 volumes, 1896.

A. J. George, ed., The Complete Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, Houghton Mifflin Co., 1904.

Nowell C. Smith, ed., The Poems of William Wordsworth, 3 volumes, Methuen, 1908.

132

NUTTTING.

—————————— It seems a day,

One of those heavenly days which cannot die,

When forth I sallied from our cottage-door,*

And with a wallet o'er my shoulder slung,

A nutting crook in hand, I turn'd my steps

Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,

Trick'd out in proud disguise of Beggar's weeds

Put on for the occasion, by advice

And exhortaion of my frugal Dame.

*The house at which I was boarded during the time I

was at School.

132

NUTTTING.

—————————— It seems a day,

One of those heavenly days which cannot die,

When forth I sallied from our cottage-door,*

And with a wallet o'er my shoulder slung,

A nutting crook in hand, I turn'd my steps

Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,

Trick'd out in proud disguise of Beggar's weeds

Put on for the occasion, by advice

And exhortaion of my frugal Dame.

*The house at which I was boarded during the time I

was at School.

133

Motley accoutrement! of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, and, in truth,

More ragged than need was. Among the woods,

And o'er the pathless rocks, I forc'd my way

Until, at length, I came to one dear nook

Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Droop'd with its wither'd leaves, ungracious sign

Of devastation, but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,

A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,

Breathing with such suppression of the heart

As joy delights in ; and with wise restraint

Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet, or beneath the trees I sate

Among the flowers, and with the flowers I play'd;

A temper known to those, who, after long

And weary expectation, have been bless'd

With sudden happiness beyond all hope.—

—Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves

The violets of five seasons re-appear

132

NUTTING.

—————————— It seems a day,

One of those heavenly days which cannot die,

When forth I sallied from our cottage-door,*

And with a wallet o'er my shoulder slung,

A nutting crook in hand, I turn'd my steps

Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,

Trick'd out in proud disguise of Beggar's weeds

Put on for the occasion, by advice

And exhortaion of my frugal Dame.

*The house at which I was boarded during the time I

was at School.

133

Motley accoutrement! of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, and, in truth,

More ragged than need was. Among the woods,

And o'er the pathless rocks, I forc'd my way

Until, at length, I came to one dear nook

Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Droop'd with its wither'd leaves, ungracious sign

Of devastation, but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,

A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,

Breathing with such suppression of the heart

As joy delights in ; and with wise restraint

Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet, or beneath the trees I sate

Among the flowers, and with the flowers I play'd;

A temper known to those, who, after long

And weary expectation, have been bless'd

With sudden happiness beyond all hope.—

—Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves

The violets of five seasons re-appear

134

And fade, unseen by any human eye,

Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on

For ever, and I saw the sparkling foam,

And with my cheek on one of those green stones

That, fleec'd with moss, beneath the shady trees,

Lay round me scatter'd like a flock of sheep,

I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,

In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay

Tribute to ease, and, of its joy secure

The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,

Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,

And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And dragg'd to earth both branch and bough, with crash

And merciless ravage; and the shady nook

Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower

Deform'd and sullied, patiently gave up

Their quiet being: and unless I now

Confound my present feelings with the past,

Even then, when from the bower I turn'd away,

Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings

135

I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

The silent trees and the intruding sky.—

Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades

In gentleness of heart with gentle hand

Touch,———for there is a Spirit in the woods.

132

NUTTING.

——————— It seems a day,

(I speak of one from many singled out)

One of those heavenly days which cannot die,

When forth I sallied from our Cottage-door,*

And with a wallet o'er my shoulder slung,

A nutting crook in hand, I turn'd my steps

Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,

Trick'd out in proud disguise of Beggar's weeds

Put on for the occasion, by advice

And exhortaion of my frugal Dame.

*The house at which I was boarded during the time I was at School.

132

NUTTING.

———————— It seems a day,

One of those heavenly days which cannot die,

When forth I sallied from our cottage-door,*

And with a wallet o'er my shoulder slung,

A nutting crook in hand, I turn'd my steps

Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,

Trick'd out in proud disguise of Beggar's weeds

Put on for the occasion, by advice

And exhortaion of my frugal Dame.

*The house at which I was boarded during the time I

was at School.

133

Motley accoutrements! of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, and, in truth,

More ragged than need was. Among the woods,

And o'er the pathless rocks, I forc'd my way

Until, at length, I came to one dear nook

Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Droop'd with its wither'd leaves, ungracious sign

Of devastation, but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,

A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,

Breathing with such suppression of the heart

As joy delights in; and with wise restraint

Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet, or beneath the trees I sate

Among the flowers, and with the flowers I play'd;

A temper known to those, who, after long

And weary expectation, have been bless'd

With sudden happiness beyond all hope.—

—Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves

The violets of five seasons re-appear

134

And fade, unseen by any human eye,

Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on

For ever, and I saw the sparkling foam,

And with my cheek on one of those green stones

That, fleec'd with moss, beneath the shady trees,

Lay round me scatter'd like a flock of sheep,

I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,

In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay

Tribute to ease, and, of its joy secure

The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,

Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,

And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And dragg'd to earth both branch and bough, with crash

And merciless ravage; and the shady nook

Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower

Deform'd and sullied, patiently gave up

Their quiet being: and unless I now

Confound my present feelings with the past,

Even then, when from the bower I turn'd away,

Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings

135

I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

The silent trees and the intruding sky.—

Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades

In gentleness of heart with gentle hand

Touch,——for there is a Spirit in the woods.

132

NUTTING.

——————— It seems a day,

(I speak of one from many singled out)

One of those heavenly days which cannot die,

When forth I sallied from our Cottage-door,*

And with a wallet o'er my shoulder slung,

A nutting crook in hand, I turn'd my steps

Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,

Trick'd out in proud disguise of Beggar's weeds

Put on for the occasion, by advice

And exhortaion of my frugal Dame.

*The house at which I was boarded during the time I

was at School.

133

Motley accoutrement! of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, and, in truth,

More ragged than need was. Among the woods,

And o'er the pathless rocks, I forc'd my way

Until, at length, I came to one dear nook

Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Droop'd with its wither'd leaves, ungracious sign

Of devastation, but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,

A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,

Breathing with such suppression of the heart

As joy delights in; and with wise restraint

Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet, or beneath the trees I sate

Among the flowers, and with the flowers I play'd;

A temper known to those, who, after long

And weary expectation, have been bless'd

With sudden happiness beyond all hope.—

—Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves

The violets of five seasons re-appear

134

And fade, unseen by any human eye;

Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on

For ever, and I saw the sparkling foam,

And with my cheek on one of those green stones

That, fleec'd with moss, beneath the shady trees,

Lay round me scatter'd like a flock of sheep,

I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,

In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay

Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,

The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,

Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,

And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And dragg'd to earth both branch and bough, with crash

And merciless ravage; and the shady nook

Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,

Deform'd and sullied, patiently gave up

Their quiet being: and, unless I now

Confound my present feelings with the past,

Even then, when from the bower I turn'd away

Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,

135

I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

The silent trees and the intruding sky.—

Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades

In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand

Touch,——for there is a Spirit in the woods.

132

NUTTING.

——————— It seems a day,

(I speak of one from many singled out)

One of those heavenly days which cannot die,

When forth I sallied from our Cottage-door*,

And with a wallet o'er my shoulder slung,

A nutting crook in hand, I turned my steps

Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,

Tricked out in proud disguise of Beggar's weeds

Put on for the occasion, by advice

And exhortaion of my frugal Dame.

Motley accoutrement! of power to smile

*The house at which I was boarded during the time I

was at School.

133

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, and, in truth,

More ragged than need was. Among the woods,

And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way

Until, at length, I came to one dear nook

Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign

Of devastation, but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,

A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,

Breathing with such suppression of the heart

As joy delights in; and with wise restraint

Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet, or beneath the trees I sate

Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;

A temper known to those, who, after long

And weary expectation, have been blessed

With sudden happiness beyond all hope.—

Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves

The violets of five seasons re-appear

And fade, unseen by any human eye,

134

Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on

For ever, and I saw the sparkling foam,

And with my cheek on one of those green stones

That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees,

Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep,

I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,

In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay

Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,

The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,

Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,

And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash

And merciless ravage; and the shady nook

Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,

Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up

Their quiet being: and, unless I now

Confound my present feelings with the past,

Even then, when from the bower I turned away

Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,

135

I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

The silent trees and the intruding sky.—

Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades

In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand

Touch,——for there is a Spirit in the woods.

307.

VI.

NUTTING.

——————— It seems a day,

(I speak of one from many singled out)

One of those heavenly days which cannot die,

When forth I sallied from our Cottage-door*,

With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung,

A nutting-crook in hand, I turn'd my steps

Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,

Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds

Which for that service had been husbanded,

By exhortation of my frugal Dame.

Motley accoutrement of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth,

More ragged than need was. Among the woods,

And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way

*The house at which I was boarded during the time I

was at School.

308

Until, at length, I came to one dear nook

Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign

Of devastation, but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,

A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,

Breathing with such suppression of the heart

As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint

Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet,—or beneath the trees I sate

Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;

A temper known to those, who after long

And weary expectation, have been blessed

With sudden happiness beyond all hope.—

Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves

The violets of five seasons re-appear

And fade, unseen by any human eye;

Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on

For ever,—and I saw the sparkling foam,

And with my cheek on one of those green stones

That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees,

Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep,

I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,

In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay

309

Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,

The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,

Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,

And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash

And merciless ravage; and the shady nook

Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,

Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up

Their quiet being: and, unless I now

Confound my present feelings with the past,

Even then, when from the bower I turned away

Exulting , rich beyond the wealth of kings,

I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

The silent trees and the intruding sky.—

Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades

In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand

Touch—for there is a spirit in the woods.

129

VII.

NUTTING.

——————— It seems a day,

(I speak of one from many singled out)

One of those heavenly days which cannot die;

When forth I sallied from our Cottage-door,

With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung,

A nutting-crook in hand, I turn'd my steps

Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,

Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds

Which for that service had been husbanded,

By exhortation of my frugal Dame.

Motley accoutrement of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth,

More ragged than need was. Among the woods,

And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way

130

Until, at length, I came to one dear nook

Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign

Of devastation, but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,

A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,

Breathing with such suppression of the heart

As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint

Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet,—or beneath the trees I sate

Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;

A temper known to those, who after long

And weary expectation, have been blessed

With sudden happiness beyond all hope.—

Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves

The violets of five seasons re-appear

And fade, unseen by any human eye;

Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on

For ever,—and I saw the sparkling foam,

And with my cheek on one of those green stones

That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees,

Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep,

I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,

In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay

131

Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,

The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,

Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,

And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with

crash

And merciless ravage; and the shady nook

Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,

Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up

Their quiet being: and, unless I now

Confound my present feelings with the past,

Even then, when from the bower I turned away

Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,

I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

The silent trees and the intruding sky.—

Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades

In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand

Touch—for there is a spirit in the woods.

VII.

NUTTING.

——————— It seems a day,

(I speak of one from many singled out)

One of those heavenly days which cannot die;

When forth I sallied from our Cottage-door,

With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung,

A nutting-crook in hand, I turn'd my steps

Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,

Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds

Which for that service had been husbanded,

By exhortation of my frugal Dame.

Motley accoutrement of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth,

More ragged than need was. Among the woods,

And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way

Until, at length, I came to one dear nook

Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign

Of devastation, but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,

A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,

Breathing with such suppression of the heart

As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint

Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet,—or beneath the trees I sate

Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;

A temper known to those, who after long

And weary expectation, have been blessed

With sudden happiness beyond all hope.—

Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves

The violets of five seasons re-appear

And fade, unseen by any human eye;

Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on

Forever,—and I saw the sparkling foam,

And with my cheek on one of those green stones

That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees,

Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep,

I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,

In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay

Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,

The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,

Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,

And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash

And merciless ravage; and the shady nook

Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,

Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up

Their quiet being: and, unless I now

Confound my present feelings with the past,

Even then, when from the bower I turned away

Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,

I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

The silent trees and the intruding sky.—

Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades

In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand

Touch—for there is a spirit in the woods.

VIII.

NUTTING.

——————— It seems a day,

(I speak of one from many singled out)

One of those heavenly days which cannot die;

When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,

I left our Cottage-threshold, sallying forth

With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung,

A nutting-crook in hand, I turned my steps

Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,

Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds

Which for that service had been husbanded,

By exhortation of my frugal Dame.

Motley accoutrement, of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth,

More ragged than need was! Among the woods,

And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way

Until, at length, I came to one dear nook

Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign

Of devastation, but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,

A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,

Breathing with such suppression of the heart

As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint

Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet,—or beneath the trees I sate

Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;

A temper known to those, who after long

And weary expectation, have been blest

With sudden happiness beyond all hope.—

Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves

The violets of five seasons re-appear

And fade, unseen by any human eye;

Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on

For ever,—and I saw the sparkling foam,

And with my cheek on one of those green stones

That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees,

Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep,

I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,

In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay

Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,

The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,

Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,

And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash

And merciless ravage; and the shady nook

Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,

Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up

Their quiet being: and, unless I now

Confound my present feelings with the past,

Even then, when from the bower I turned away

Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,

I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

The silent trees and the intruding sky.—

Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades

In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand

Touch—for there is a spirit in the woods.

NUTTING.

——————— It seems a day,

(I speak of one from many singled out)

One of those heavenly days which cannot die;

When, in eagerness of boyish hope,

I left our Cottage-threshold, sallying forth

With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung,

A nutting-crook in hand, I turned my steps

Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,

Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds

Which for that service had been husbanded,

By exhortation of my frugal Dame.

Motley accoutrement, of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth,

More ragged than need was! Among the woods,

Until, at length, I came to one dear nook

Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign

Of devastation, but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,

A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,

Breathing with such suppression of the heart

As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint

Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet,—or beneath the trees I sate

Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;

A temper, known to those, who after long

And weary expectation, have been blest

With sudden happiness beyond all hope.—

Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves

The violets of five seasons re-appear

And fade, unseen by any human eye;

Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on

For ever,—and I saw the sparkling foam,

And with my cheek on one of those green stones

That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees,

Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep,

I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,

In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay

Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,

The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,

Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,

And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash

And merciless ravage; and the shady nook

Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,

Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up

Their quiet being: and, unless I now

Confound my present feelings with the past,

Even then, when from the bower I turned away

Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,

I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

The silent trees and the intruding sky.—

Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades

In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand

Touch—for there is a spirit in the woods.

VIII.

NUTTING.

——————— It seems a day

(I speak of one from many singled out)

One of those heavenly days which cannot die;

When, in eagerness of boyish hope,

I left our Cottage-threshold, sallying forth

With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung,

A nutting-crook in hand, I turned my steps

Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,

Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds

Which for that service had been husbanded,

By exhortation of my frugal Dame.

Motley accoutrement, of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth,

More ragged than need was! Among the woods,

And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way

Until, at length, I came to one dear nook

Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign

Of devastation, but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,

A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,

Breathing with such suppression of the heart

As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint

Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet,—or beneath the trees I sate

Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;

A temper, known to those, who after long

And weary expectation, have been blest

With sudden happiness beyond all hope.—

Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves

The violets of five seasons re-appear

And fade, unseen by any human eye;

Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on

For ever,—and I saw the sparkling foam,

And with my cheek on one of those green stones

That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees,

Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep,

I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,

In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay

Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,

The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,

Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,

And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash

And merciless ravage; and the shady nook

Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,

Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up

Their quiet being: and, unless I now

Confound my present feelings with the past,

Even then, when from the bower I turned away

Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,

I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

The silent trees and the intruding sky.—

Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades

In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand

Touch—for there is a spirit in the woods.

*While "Nutting" was collected many more times, even during the poet's life, it should be noted that editions of the Poetical Works published between 1832 and 1850 are not currently available on Google Books. An attempt will be made to routinely check for those editions so that a more complete, variorum record of the poem can be established and added to this evolving edition.

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