Friday, 31 January 2020

The Dawn of a New Era? Wordsworth in 1802



"We are right glad to find ourselves in England, for we have learned to know its value". See Letter

I have been reading a number of William Wordsworth's poems over the last few days.

With all this talk of 'the dawn of a new era', I couldn't help feeling that - in some respects- we seem to have put the clocks right back to the beginning of the nineteenth century.

Consider the following two poems by Wordsworth on the theme of National Independence and Liberty:


Composed By The Sea-Side, Near Calais, August 1802


FAIR Star of evening, Splendour of the west,
Star of my Country! - on the horizon's brink
Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink
On England's bosom; yet well pleased to rest,
Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest
Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think,
Should'st be my Country's emblem; and should'st wink,
Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest
In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot
Beneath thee, that is England; there she lies.
Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot,
One life, one glory! - I, with many a fear
For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs,
Among men who do not love her, linger here.



Composed In The Valley Near Dover, On The Day Of Landing


Here, on our native soil, we breathe once more.
The cock that crows, the smoke that curls, that sound 
Of bells; - those boys who in yon meadow-ground 
In white-sleeved shirts are playing; and the roar
Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore;
All, all are English. Oft have I looked round 
With joy in Kent's green vales; but never found 
Myself so satisfied in heart before.
Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass, 
Thought for another moment. Thou art free, 
My Country! and 'tis joy enough and pride
For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the grass
Of England once again, and hear and see, 
With such a dear Companion at my side.



And a romantic poet's afterthought?


I travelled among unknown men,
In lands beyond the sea; 
Nor, England! did I know till then 
What love I bore to thee. 

'Tis past, that melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore 
A second time; for still I seem 
To love thee more and more...



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