← The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth — Volume 2 (of 8)

Chapter 79

Resolution and Independence

Begun May 3, finished July 4, 1802.—Published 1807

The Poem

[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. This old man I met a few hundred yards from my cottage; and the account of him is taken from his own mouth. I was in the state of feeling described in the beginning of the poem, while crossing over Barton Fell from Mr. Clarkson's, at the foot of Ullswater, towards Askham. The image of the hare I then observed on the ridge of the Fell.—I. F.]

This poem was known in the Wordsworth household as "The Leech-Gatherer," although it never received that name in print. An entry in Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal of Friday, 3rd October 1800, may preface what she wrote in 1802 about the composition of the poem.

"When William and I returned from accompanying Jones, we met an old man almost double. He had on a coat thrown over his shoulders above his waistcoat and coat. Under this he carried a bundle, and had an apron on, and a night-cap. His face was interesting. He had dark eyes, and a long nose. John, who afterwards met him at Wytheburn, took him for a Jew. He was of Scotch parents, but had been born in the army. He had had a wife, 'and a good woman, and it pleased God to bless him with ten children.' All these were dead but one, of whom he had not heard for many years, a sailor. His trade was to gather leeches; but now leeches were scarce, and he had not strength for it. He lived by begging, and was making his way to Carlisle where he would buy a few books to sell. He said leeches were very scarce, partly owing to this dry season; but many years they had been scarce. He supposed it was owing to their being much sought after; that they did not breed fast; and were of slow growth. Leeches were formerly 2s. 6d. the 100; now they were 30s. He had been hurt in driving a cart, his leg broken, his body driven over, his skull fractured. He felt no pain till he recovered from his first insensibility. It was late in the evening, when the light was just going away."

It is most likely that this walk of William and Dorothy Wordsworth "accompanying Jones," was on the day of Jones's departure from Dove Cottage, viz. 26th September.

The Journal continues:

"Tuesday, 4th May, 1802.—Though William went to bed nervous and jaded in the extreme, he rose refreshed. I wrote out The Leech-Gatherer for him, which he had begun the night before, and of which he wrote several stanzas in bed this morning...."
(They started to walk up the Raise to Wytheburn.)
"It was very hot; we rested several times by the way, read, and repeated The Leech-Gatherer."
"Friday, 7th May.—William had slept uncommonly well, so, feeling himself strong, he fell to work at The Leech-Gatherer; he wrote hard at it till dinner time, then he gave over, tired to death—he had finished the poem."
"Sunday morning, 9th May.—William worked at The Leech-Gatherer almost incessantly from morning till tea-time. I copied The Leech-Gatherer and other poems for Coleridge. I was oppressed and sick at heart, for he wearied himself to death."
"Sunday, 4th July.—... William finished The Leech-Gatherer to-day."
"Monday, 5th July.—I copied out The Leech-Gatherer for Coleridge, and for us."

From these extracts it is clear that Dorothy Wordsworth considered the poem as "finished" on the 7th of May, and on the 9th she sent a copy to Coleridge; but that it was not till the 4th of July that it was really finished, and then a second copy was forwarded to Coleridge. It is impossible to say from which of the two MSS. sent to him Coleridge transcribed the copy which he forwarded to Sir George Beaumont. From that copy of a copy (which is now amongst the Beaumont MSS. at Coleorton) the various readings given, on Coleridge's authority, in the notes to the poem, were obtained some years ago.

The Fenwick note to the poem illustrates Wordsworth's habit of blending in one description details which were originally separate, both as to time and place. The scenery and the incidents of the poem are alike composite. As he tells us that he met the leech-gatherer a few hundred yards from Dove Cottage, the "lonely place" with its "pool, bare to the eye of heaven," at once suggests White Moss Common and its small tarn; but he adds that, in the opening stanzas of the poem, he is describing a state of feeling he was in, when crossing the fells at the foot of Ullswater to Askam, and that the image of the hare "running races in her mirth," with the glittering mist accompanying her, was observed by him, not on White Moss Common, but in one of the ridges of Moor Divock. To H. C. Robinson he said of the "Leech-Gatherer" (Sept. 10, 1816), that "he gave to his poetic character powers of mind which his original did not possess." (Robinson's Diary, etc., vol. ii. p. 24.)

One of the "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.

The Poem

stanza text variant footnote line number

I There was a roaring in the wind all night;
The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
The birds are singing in the distant woods;
Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods;
The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters;
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.

II All things that love the sun are out of doors;
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;
The grass is bright with rain-drops;—on the moors
The hare is running races in her mirth;
And with her feet she from the plashy earth
Raises a mist; that, glittering in the sun,
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.

III I was a Traveller then upon the moor;
I saw the hare that raced about with joy;
I heard the woods and distant waters roar;
Or heard them not, as happy as a boy:
The pleasant season did my heart employ:
My old remembrances went from me wholly;
And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy. 15

IV But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might
Of joy in minds that can no further go,
As high as we have mounted in delight
In our dejection do we sink as low;
To me that morning did it happen so;
And fears and fancies thick upon me came;
Dim sadness—and blind thoughts, I knew not, nor could name.

V I heard the sky-lark warbling in the sky;
And I bethought me of the playful hare:
Even such a happy Child of earth am I;
Even as these blissful creatures do I fare;
Far from the world I walk, and from all care;
But there may come another day to me—
Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty.

VI My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought,
As if life's business were a summer mood;
As if all needful things would come unsought
To genial faith, still rich in genial good;
But how can He expect that others should
Build for him, sow for him, and at his call
Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?

VII I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy,
The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride;
Of Him who walked in glory and in joy
Following his plough, along the mountain-side:
By our own spirits are we deified:
We Poets in our youth begin in gladness;
But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.

VIII Now, whether it were by peculiar grace,
A leading from above, a something given,
Yet it befel, that, in this lonely place,
When I with these untoward thoughts had striven,
Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven
I saw a Man before me unawares:
The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.

IX As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie
Couched on the bald top of an eminence;
Wonder to all who do the same espy,
By what means it could thither come, and whence;
So that it seems a thing endued with sense:
Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf
Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself;

X Such seemed this Man, not all alive nor dead,
Nor all asleep—in his extreme old age:
His body was bent double, feet and head
Coming together in life's pilgrimage;
As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage
Of sickness felt by him in times long past,
A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.

XI Himself he propped, limbs, body, and pale face,
Upon a long grey staff of shaven wood:
And, still as I drew near with gentle pace,
Upon the margin of that moorish flood
Motionless as a cloud the old Man stood,
That heareth not the loud winds when they call;
And moveth all together, if it move at all.

XII At length, himself unsettling, he the pond
Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look
Upon the muddy water, which he conned,
As if he had been reading in a book:
And now a stranger's privilege I took;
And, drawing to his side, to him did say,
"This morning gives us promise of a glorious day."

XIII A gentle answer did the old Man make,
In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew:
And him with further words I thus bespake,
"What occupation do you there pursue?
This is a lonesome place for one like you."
Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes.

B 85

XIV His words came feebly, from a feeble chest,
But each in solemn order followed each,
With something of a lofty utterance drest—
Choice word and measured phrase, above the reach
Of ordinary men; a stately speech;
Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use,
Religious men, who give to God and man their dues.

XV He told, that to these waters he had come
To gather leeches, being old and poor:
Employment hazardous and wearisome!
And he had many hardships to endure:
From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor;
Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance;
And in this way he gained an honest maintenance.

100

105

XVI The old Man still stood talking by my side;
But now his voice to me was like a stream
Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide;
And the whole body of the Man did seem
Like one whom I had met with in a dream;
Or like a man from some far region sent,
To give me human strength, by apt admonishment.

110

XVII My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills;
And hope that is unwilling to be fed;
Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills;
And mighty Poets in their misery dead.
—Perplexed, and longing to be comforted,
My question eagerly did I renew,
"How is it that you live, and what is it you do?"

115

XVIII He with a smile did then his words repeat;
And said, that, gathering leeches, far and wide
He travelled; stirring thus about his feet
The waters of the pools where they abide.
"Once I could meet with them on every side;
But they have dwindled long by slow decay;
Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may."

120

125

XIX While he was talking thus, the lonely place,
The old Man's shape, and speech—all troubled me:
In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace
About the weary moors continually,
Wandering about alone and silently.
While I these thoughts within myself pursued,
He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed.

130

XX And soon with this he other matter blended,
Cheerfully uttered, with demeanour kind,
But stately in the main; and when he ended,
I could have laughed myself to scorn to find
In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.
"God," said I, "be my help and stay secure;
I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor!"

Note
Contents 1802
Main Contents

135

140

Variant 1:

1827

... which, ...

1807

And in MS. letter from Coleridge to Sir George Beaumont, 1802

Variant 2:

1820

... singing ...

1807

And MS. 1802.

Variant 3:

1807

... happy ...

MS. 1802.

Variant 4:

1807

And they who lived in genial faith found nought
that grew more willingly than genial good;

MS. 1802.

Variant 5:

1815

... who perished in his pride;

MS. 1802.

... that perished in its pride;

1807

Variant 6:

1820

Behind his plough, upon the mountain-side:

1807

And MS. 1802.

Variant 7:

1836

... comes ...

1807

And MS. 1802.

Variant 8:

1807

... was ...

MS. 1802.

Variant 9:

1807

... that ...

MS. 1802.

Variant 10:

1820

When up and down my fancy thus was driven,
And I with these untoward thoughts had striven,

1807

And MS. 1802.

Variant 11:

1807

I spied ...

MS. 1802.

Variant 12:

date

My course I stopped as soon as I espied
The Old Man in that naked wilderness:
Close by a Pond, upon the further side,i
He stood alone: a minute's space I guess
I watch'd him, he continuing motionless:
To the Pool's further margin then I drew;
He being all the while before me full in view.ii

1807

This stanza, which appeared in the editions of 1807 and 1815, was, on Coleridge's advice, omitted from subsequent ones.

Variant 13:

1807

... that ...

MS. 1802.

Variant 14:

1820

... which ...

1807

And MS. 1802.

Variant 15:

1820

... in their pilgrimage

And MS. 1802.

Variant 16:

1807

... his age ...

MS. 1802.

Variant 17:

1836

Himself he propp'd, both body, limbs, and face,

MS. 1802.

... his body, ...

1807

Variant 18:

1820

Beside the little pond or moorish flood

1807

And MS. 1802.

Variant 19:

date

... moves ...

MS. 1802.

Variant 20:

He wore a Cloak the same as women wear
As one whose blood did needful comfort lack;
His face look'd pale as if it had grown fair;
And, furthermore he had upon his back,
Beneath his cloak, a round and bulky Pack;
A load of wool or raiment as might seem.
That on his shoulders lay as if it clave to him.

This stanza appeared only in MS. 1802.

Variant 21:

1820

And now such freedom as I could I took;

1807

And MS. 1802.

Variant 22:

1820

"What kind of work is that which you pursue?

1807

And MS. 1802.

Variant 23:

1807

... for such as ...

MS.

Variant 24:

1836

He answer'd me with pleasure and surprize;
And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes.

1807 and MS. 1802

He answered, while a flash of mild surprise
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes.

1820

Variant 25:

1820

Yet ...

1807

And MS. 1802.

Variant 26:

1807

... pompous ....

MS. 1802.

Variant 27:

1807

...words ...

MS.

...beyond ...

MS. 1802.

Variant 28:

1827

He told me that he to the pond had come

MS. 1802.

... this pond ...

1807

Variant 29:

1807

This was his calling, better far than some,
Though he had ...

MS. 1802.

Variant 30:

1807

But soon ...

MS. 1802.

Variant 31:

1827

... and strong admonishment.

1807

... by strong admonishment.

1820

Variant 32:

1815

The ...

1807

And MS. 1802.

Variant 33:

1820

And now, not knowing what the Old Man had said,

1807 and MS. 1802

But now, perplex'd by what the Old Man had said,

1815

Variant 34:

1807

... live? what is it that you do?"

MS. 1802.

Variant 35:

1827

And said, that wheresoe'er they might be spied
He gather'd Leeches, stirring at his feet
The waters in the Ponds ...

MS. 1802

And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide
He travelled; stirring thus about his feet
The waters of the Ponds ...

1807

Variant 36:

1807

Once he could meet with them on every side;
But fewer they became from day to day,
And so his means of life before him died away.

MS. 1802.

Variant 37:

1807

And now ...

MS. 1802.

Variant 38:

1807

Which he delivered with demeanour kind,
Yet stately ...

MS. 1802.

Sub-Variant i:

... hither side,

MS. 1802.

Sub-Variant ii:

He all the while before me being full in view.

MS. 1802.

Footnote A:

Some have thought that Wordsworth had S.T.C. in his mind, in writing this stanza. I cannot agree with this. The value and interest of the poem would be lessened by our imagining that Wordsworth's heart never failed him; and that, when he appears to moralise at his own expense, he was doing so at Coleridge's. Besides, the date of this poem, taken in connection with entries in the Grasmere Journal of Dorothy Wordsworth, makes it all but certain that Coleridge was not referred to.—Ed.

return to footnote mark

Footnote B:

Compare in The Matron of Jedborough and her Husband, p. 417, ll. 66-69:

'Some inward trouble suddenly
Broke from the Matron's strong black eye—
A remnant of uneasy light,
A flash of something over-bright!'

Ed.

Sub-Footnote a:

Additional variants obtained from this source are inserted as "MS. 1802."—Ed.

return to footnote mark

Note:

The late Bishop of Lincoln, in the Memoirs of his uncle (vol. i. pp. 172, 173), quotes from a letter, written by Wordsworth "to some friends, which has much interest as bearing on this poemC. The following are extracts from it:

"It is not a matter of indifference whether you are pleased with his figure and employment, it may be comparatively whether you are pleased with this Poem; but it is of the utmost importance that you should have had pleasure in contemplating the fortitude, independence, persevering spirit, and the general moral dignity of this old man's character." Again, "I will explain to you, in prose, my feelings in writing that poem.... I describe myself as having been exalted to the highest pitch of delight by the joyousness and beauty of nature; and then as depressed, even in the midst of those beautiful objects, to the lowest dejection and despair. A young poet in the midst of the happiness of nature is described as overwhelmed by the thoughts of the miserable reverses which have befallen the happiest of all men, viz. poets. I think of this till I am so deeply impressed with it, that I consider the manner in which I was rescued from my dejection and despair almost as an interposition of Providence. A person reading the poem with feelings like mine will have been awed and controlled, expecting something spiritual or supernatural. What is brought forward? A lonely place, 'a pond, by which an old man was, far from all house or home:' not stood, nor sat, but was—the figure presented in the most naked simplicity possible. This feeling of spirituality or supernaturalness is again referred to as being strong in my mind in this passage. How came he here? thought I, or what can he be doing? I then describe him, whether ill or well is not for me to judge with perfect confidence; but this I can confidently affirm, that though I believe God has given me a strong imagination, I cannot conceive a figure more impressive than that of an old man like this, the survivor of a wife and ten children, travelling alone among the mountains and all lonely places, carrying with him his own fortitude and the necessities which an unjust state of society has laid upon him. You speak of his speech as tedious. Every thing is tedious when one does not read with the feelings of the author. The Thorn is tedious to hundreds; and so is The Idiot Boy to hundreds. It is in the character of the old man to tell his story, which an impatient reader must feel tedious. But, good heavens! such a figure, in such a place; a pious, self-respecting, miserably infirm and pleased old man telling such a tale!"

Ed.

Footnote C:

It is unfortunate that in this, as in many other similar occasions in these delightful volumes by the poet's nephew, the reticence as to names—warrantable perhaps in 1851, so soon after the poet's death—has now deprived the world of every means of knowing to whom many of Wordsworth's letters were addressed. Professor Dowden asks about it—and very naturally:

"Was it the letter to Mary and Sara" (Hutchinson) "about The Leech-Gatherer, mentioned in Dorothy's Journal of 14th June 1802?"

Ed.

Contents 1802
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