The outward shows of sky and earth
Of hill and valley he has viewed:
And impulses of deeper birth

Have come to him in solitude.

In common things that round us lie
Some random truths he can impart,—
The harvest of a quiet eye

That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

But he is weak; both Man and Boy,
Hath been an idler in the land;
Contented if he might enjoy

The things which others understand.

-Come hither in thy hour of strength;
Come, weak as is a breaking wave!
Here stretch thy body at full length;

Or build thy house upon this grave.

Doubtless this removed and solitary temper gives to much of Wordsworth's work unusual power. His most inspired utterances have the high calm, the settled strength of his own hills. But, on the other hand, it must be admitted that such lofty aloofness does not make the personality of the poet engaging. He is not a genial man. He will not unbend. He can not, like Chaucer, make us "of his company anon." It is doubtful whether his readers ever feel a sense of every-day companionship with him. It

is true that familiarity with his poetry gradually inspires a regard such as none of his contemporaries can inspire, but—

You must love him, ere to you

He will seem worthy of your love.

Nay, even after long acquaintance, few readers would venture to designate their regard by so intimate a term. He can never be a popular poet. Yet it is the best proof of the vital and permanent power of his poetry that he has won so high a place in our literature without any of those personal qualities which have made the names of Burns and Goldsmith, for example, household words among English-speaking people.

This absolute sincerity and this truth to the deepest and most abiding things in human nature make the power of Wordsworth's poetry, when once we have felt it, so enduring and so independent of changing mood and circumstance. He has no voice for the ardor and passion of youth, he can shed no romantic glamour over the hard facts of our lot; but he teaches us nothing we must unlearn, touches no chord in our souls that soon grows silent. The colors of romance will fade, the pulse of passion

will beat more temperately as our years pass on to the broader light of noon and the gray of evening; but the sympathy for our common human lot, the "soothing thoughts that spring out of human suffering," the affection that is rich in memories, the joy in the common face of nature and the shows of earth and sky-these only grow more precious with the mellowing years; and these are the riches of Wordsworth's poetry. Nay, even more is true. Our seasons of sorrow that make beauty and romance seem idle and intruding things, only give new sanctity to the best verse of Wordsworth. As Sir Leslie Stephen says, "Other poetry becomes trifling when we make our passages through the Valley of the Shadow of Death; Wordsworth's alone retains its power."

In a line already quoted, Wordsworth indicates the three subjects under which nearly all his poems may be grouped.

On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, musing.

By "Man" we may understand Wordsworth to mean the peculiarities and incidents in the lives of individual men, especially men of humble station; by "Human Life," the general life of men, either in

its essential character or its varied relations, social, political, religious. The following chapters will discuss somewhat more fully his treatment of these three subjects: Humble and Rustic Life, Nature, His Philosophy of Life.

CHAPTER VI

HUMBLE AND RUSTIC LIFE-POETIC DICTION

I

T will be remembered that in planning the first

edition of the Lyrical Ballads, the two poets agreed that Coleridge should "devote his endeavors to persons and characters supernatural, or at least romantic," while Wordsworth was to choose such characters and incidents as may be found in almost every village. In accordance with this agreement, all of Wordsworth's contributions to the volume, with the one notable exception of the Lines Above Tintern Abbey, were on common or humble themes. Up to this time he does not seem to have considered the lives of humble folk an inviting subject for poetry. Neither in An Evening Walk nor in the Descriptive Sketches does he give more than incidental notice to persons; and when they are mentioned they are introduced chiefly to give more animation to his narrative. He says himself in The Prelude that up to his twenty-second year man was