THE POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, VOL. 8 (Completed)

1805 - "PEACEFUL OUR VALLEY, FAIR AND GREEN"

This is extracted from a copy of an appendix to Recollections of a Tour in Scotland by Dorothy Wordsworth, written by Mrs. Clarkson, September-November 1805. It was composed by the poet's sister. In February 1892 it was published in The Monthly Packet under the title"Grasmere: a Fragment," and with the signature "Rydal Mount, September26, 1829." It is now printed from the MS. of 1805.--ED.

Peaceful our valley, fair and green;

And beautiful the cottages

Each in its nook, its sheltered hold,

Or underneath its tuft of trees.

Many and beautiful they are;

But there is one that I love best,

A lowly roof in truth it is,

A brother of the rest.

Yet when I sit on rock or hill

Down-looking on the valley fair,

That cottage with its grove of trees

Summons my heart; it settles there.

Others there are whose small domain

Of fertile fields with hedgerows green

Might more seduce the traveller's mind

To wish that there his home had been.

Such wish be his! I blame him not,

My fancies they, perchance, are wild;

I love that house because it is

The very mountain's child.

Fields hath it of its own, green fields;

But they are craggy, steep, and bare;

Their fence is of the mountain stone,

And moss and lichen flourish there.

And when the storm comes from the North

It lingers near that pastoral spot,

And piping through the mossy walls,

It seems delighted with its lot.

And let it take its own delight,

And let it range the pastures bare

Until it reach that grove of trees

----It may not enter there!

A green unfading grove it is,

Skirted with many a lesser tree,

Hazel and holly, beech and oak,

A fair and flourishing company!

Precious the shelter of those trees!

They screen the cottage that I love;

The sunshine pierces to the roof

And the tall pine trees tower above.

When first I saw that dear abode

It was a lovely winter's day:

After a night of perilous storm

The West wind ruled with gentle sway;

A day so mild, it might have been

The first day of the gladsome spring;

The robins warbled; and I heard

One solitary throstle sing:

A stranger in the neighbourhood,

All faces then to me unknown,

I left my sole companion-friend

To wander out alone.

Lur'd by a little winding path,

I quitted soon the public road,

A smooth and tempting path it was

By sheep and shepherds trod.

Eastward, toward the mighty hills

This pathway led me on,

Until I reach'd a lofty Rock

With velvet moss o'ergrown.

With russet Oak and tufts of Fern

Its top was richly garlanded;

Its sides adorn'd with Eglantine

Bedropp'd with hips of glossy red.

There too in many a shelter'd chink

The foxglove's broad leaves flourish'd fair,

And silver birch whose purple twigs

Bend to the softest breathing air.

Beneath that rock my course I stay'd

And, looking to its summit high,

"Thou wear'st," said I, "a splendid garb,

Here winter keeps his revelry.

"I've been a dweller on the plains,

Have sigh'd when summer days were gone;

No more I'll sigh; for winter here

Hath gladsome gardens of his own.

"What need of flowers?

The splendid moss Is gayer than an April mead;

More rich its hues of various green,

Orange and gold and glowing red."

----Beside that gay and lovely rock

There came with merry voice

A foaming streamlet glancing by,

It seem'd to say "Rejoice!"

My youthful wishes all fulfill'd,

Wishes matured by thoughtful choice,

I stood an Inmate of this vale,

How could I but rejoice?