Mar. Ay, what shall we encounter next? This issue- Of this too much. [Drawing OSWALD towards the Cottage— stops short at the door. Men are there, millions, Oswald, Who with bare hands would have plucked out thy heart And flung it to the dogs: but I am raised Coward I have been; know, there lies not now A deed that I would shrink from;-but to endure, Of penitential anguish, yea with tears. An incommunicable rivalship Maintained, for peaceful ends beyond our view. [Confused voices-several of the band enter -rush upon OSWALD and seize him. One of them. I would have dogged him to the jaws of hell Osw. Ha! is it so!-That vagrant Hag!-this comes Of having left a thing like her alive! Several voices. Despatch him! Osw. If I pass beneath a rock And shout, and, with the echo of my voice, Bring down a heap of rubbish, and it crush me, I die without dishonour. Famished, starved, A Fool and Coward blended to my wish! [Aside. [Smiles scornfully and exultingly at MARMADUKE. Wal. "Tis done! (stabs him). Another of the band. The ruthless traitor! Mar. A rash deed! With that reproof I do resign a station Of which I have been proud. Wil. (approaching MARMADUKE). O my poor master! Why art thou here? [Turning to WALLACE. Wallace, upon these Borders, To you, In all things worthier of that noble birth, Whose long-suspended rights are now on the eve Several of the band (eagerly). Captain! Mar. No more of that; in silence hear my doom: A hermitage has furnished fit relief To some offenders; other penitents, Less patient in their wretchedness, have fallen, Or sleep, or rest: but, over waste and wild, A Man by pain and thought compelled to live, In Heaven, and Mercy gives me leave to die. THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN. Comp. 1797. Pub. 1800. [Written 1801 or 1802. This arose out of my observations of the affecting music of these birds, hanging in this way in the London streets during the freshness and stillness of the spring morning.] The preceding Fenwick note to this poem is manifestly inaccurate as to date, since the poem is printed in the Lyrical Ballads of 1800. In the edition of 1836 the date of composition is given as 1797, and this date is followed by Mr Carter, the editor of 1857. Miss Wordsworth's journal gives no date; and, as the Fenwick note is certainly incorrect-and the poem must have been written before the edition of 1800 came out-it seems best to trust to the date sanctioned by Wordsworth himself in 1836, and followed by his literary executor in 1857.-ED. AT the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, She sees 'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, She looks, and her heart is in heaven; but they fade, 1798. . [Composed on the road between Nether Stowey and Alfoxden, extempore. I distinctly recollect the very moment when I was struck, as described,-"He looks up, the clouds are split," &c.] -THE sky is overcast With a continuous cloud of texture close, So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls, 1 In the edition of 1800 the following stanza is added :-- Chequering the ground-from rock, plant, tree, or tower. At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam Startles the pensive traveller while he treads His lonesome path, with unobserving eye Bent earthwards; he looks up the clouds are split The clear Moon, and the glory of the heavens. Built round by those white clouds, enormous clouds, At length the Vision closes; and the mind, Not undisturbed by the delight it feels, Which slowly settles into peaceful calm, [Written at Alfoxden in the spring of 1798, under circumstances somewhat remarkable. The little girl who is the heroine, I met within the area of Goodrich Castle in the year 1793. Having left the Isle of Wight, and crossed Salisbury Plain, as mentioned in the preface to "Guilt and Sorrow," I proceeded by Bristol up the Wye, and so on to N. Wales to the Vale of Clwydd, where I spent my summer under the roof of the father of my friend, Robert Jones. In reference to this Poem, I will here mention one of the most remark able facts in my own poetic history, and that of Mr Coleridge. In the spring of the year 1798, he, my sister, and myself, started from Alfoxden pretty late in the afternoon, with a view to visit Lenton and the Valley of Stones near to it; and as our united funds were very small, we agreed to defray the expense of the tour by writing a poem, to be sent to the |