THE POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM WORDSWORTH - VOL. 2 (Completed)

STEPPING WESTWARD

Composed between 1803 and 1805.--Published 1807

While my Fellow-traveller and I were walking by the side of Loch Ketterine, one fine evening after sunset, in our road to a Hut where in the course of our Tour we had been hospitably entertained some weeks before, we met, in one of the loneliest parts of that solitary region, two well dressed Women, one of whom said to us, by way of greeting, "What, you are stepping westward?"--W. W. 1807.

Classed in 1815 and 1820 among the "Poems of the Imagination."--Ed.

"What, you are stepping westward?"--" Yea."

'Twould be a wildish [A] destiny,

If we, who thus together roam

In a strange Land, and far from home,

Were in this place the guests of Chance:

Yet who would stop, or fear to advance,

Though home or shelter he had none,

With such a sky to lead him on?

The dewy ground was dark and cold;

Behind, all gloomy to behold;

And stepping westward seemed to be

A kind of heavenly destiny:

I liked the greeting; 'twas a sound

Of something without place or bound;

And seemed to give me spiritual right

To travel through that region bright.

The voice was soft, and she who spake

Was walking by her native lake:

The salutation had to me [1]

The very sound of courtesy:

Its power was felt; and while my eye

Was fixed upon the glowing Sky,

The echo of the voice enwrought

A human sweetness with the thought

Of travelling through the world that lay

Before me in my endless way.

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VARIANT ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:1807.

... seemed to me

In MS. letter to Sir G. Beaumont. N. D.]

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FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A:

Italics were first used in 1855.--Ed.]

The following is from the 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland':

"Sunday, Sept. 11th.--We have never had a more delightful walk than this evening. Ben Lomond and the three pointed-topped mountains of Loch Lomond, which we had seen from the garrison, were very majestic under the clear sky, the lake perfectly calm, the air sweet and mild. I felt that it was much more interesting to visit a place where we have been before than it can possibly be the first time, except under peculiar circumstances. The sun had been set for some time, when, being within a quarter of a mile of the ferry man's hut, our path having led us close to the shore of the calm lake, we met two neatly-dressed women, without hats, who had probably been taking their Sunday evening's walk. One of them said to us in a friendly, soft tone of voice, 'What, you are stepping westward?' I cannot describe how affecting this simple expression was in that remote place, with the western sky in front, yet glowing with the departed sun. William wrote the following poem long after, in remembrance of his feelings and mine."

Ed.

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