Hath dropped all functions by the gods bestowed,
And, turned into a gewgaw, a machine,

Sets like an Opera phantom.

Thus, O Friend!

Through times of honour and through times of shame

Descending, have I faithfully retraced

The perturbations of a youthful mind
Under a long-lived storm of great events -
A story destined for thy ear, who now,
Among the fallen of nations, dost abide
Where Etna, over hill and valley, casts
His shadow stretching towards Syracuse, 1
The city of Timoleon! Righteous Heaven!
How are the mighty prostrated! They first,
They first of all that breathe should have awaked
When the great voice was heard from out the tombs
Of ancient heroes. If I suffered grief

For ill-requited France, by many deemed
A trifler only in her proudest day;

Have been distressed to think of what she once
Promised, now is; a far more sober cause

Thine eyes must see of sorrow in a land,
To the reanimating influence lost

Of memory, to virtue lost and hope,

Though with the wreck of loftier years bestrewn.

But indignation works where hope is not, And thou, O Friend! wilt be refreshed.

1 Coleridge was now in Sicily. Timoleon, after reducing Sicily to order, refused all titles and lived as a private citizen.

There is

One great society alone on earth:

The noble Living and the noble Dead.

TO FRANCIS WRANGHAM1

RACEDOWN, November 20th, 1795.

I have a poem2 which I should wish to dispose of, provided I should get anything for it. Its object is partly to expose the vices of the penal law, and the calamities of war as they affect individuals. . . As to your promoting my interest in the way of pupils, upon a review of my own attainments, I think there is so little that I am able to teach that this may be suffered to fly quietly away to the paradise of fools. 8 The copy of the poem 3 you will contrive to frank, else ten to one I shall not be able to release it from the post-office. I have lately been living upon air and the essence of carrots, cabbages, turnips, and other esculent vegetables, not excluding parsley, — the produce of my garden.

FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH TO

MRS. MARSHALL

RACEDOWN, November 30th, 1795.

We walk about two hours every morning. We have very pleasant walks about us; and what is a great advantage, the roads are of a sandy kind, and are almost

1 A fellow-student at Cambridge; later Archdeacon of Chester. 2 "Guilt and Sorrow."

8 "Juvenal's Satires"; Wordsworth had planned to write some imitations of Juvenal, for a volume of satirical pieces to be written jointly with Wrangham. The scheme was abandoned later.

always dry. We can see the sea, 150 or 200 yards from the door; and at a little distance we have a very extensive view terminated by the sea, seen through different openings of the unequal hills. We have not the warmthand luxuriance of Devonshire, though there is no want either of wood, or of cultivation; but the trees appear to suffer from the sea-blasts. We have hills which, seen from a distance, almost take the character of mountains, some cultivated nearly to their summits; others in their wild state, covered with furze and broom. These delight me most, as they remind me of our native wilds. Our common parlour is the prettiest little room that can be. . . .

FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH TO A FRIEND, AFTER A VISIT AT RACEDOWN

RACEDOWN, 1797.

He

. . You had a great loss in not seeing Coleridge. is a wonderful man. His conversation teems with soul, mind, and spirit. Then he is so benevolent, so goodtempered and cheerful, and, like William, interests himself so much about every little trifle. At first I thought him very plain, that is, for about three minutes. He is pale, thin, has a wide mouth, thick lips, and not very good teeth, longish, loose-growing, half-curling, rough, black hair. But if you hear him speak for five minutes you think no more of them. His eye is large and full, and not very dark, but grey, such an eye as would receive from a heavy soul the dullest expression; but it speaks every emotion of his animated mind: it has more of "the poet's eye in a

fine frenzy rolling" than I ever witnessed. He has fine dark eyebrows, and an overhanging forehead.

The first thing that was read after he came was William's new poem, "The Ruined Cottage," 1 with which he was much delighted; and after tea he repeated to us two acts and a half of his tragedy, "Osorio." The next morning William read his tragedy, "The Borderers."

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING

I HEARD a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;

And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,

The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 't is my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure : —
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

1 Afterwards incorporated into "The Excursion," Book I, where it is told by The Wanderer.