William Wordsworth, Ecclesiastical Sketches

William Wordsworth, Ecclesiastical Sketches, in Sonnet Series and Itinerary Poems, 1820-1845, Ed. Geoffrey Jackson, Cornell Univeristy Press, Ithaca, 2004

LAMENT! For Dioclesian’s fiery sword
Works busy as the lightning; …

(I.VI. Persecution)


As, when a storm hath ceased, the birds regain
Their cheerfulness, and busily retrim
Their nests, or chaunt a gratulating hymn
To the blue ether and bespangled plain;
Even so, in many a re-constructed fane,
Have the Survivors of this Storm renewed
Their holy rites with vocal gratitude;
And solemn ceremonials they ordain
To celebrate their great deliverance;
Most feelingly instructed ’mid their their fear,
That persecution, blind with rage extreme,
May not the less, thro’ Heaven’s mild countenance,
Even in her own despite, both feed and cheer;
For all things are less dreadful than they seem.

(I.VII. Recovery)


…Shun the insidious arts
That Rome provides, less dreading from her frown
Than from her wily praise, her peaceful gown,
Language, and letters;—these, tho’ fondly viewed
As humanizing graces, are but parts
And instruments of deadliest servitude!

(I.VIII. Temptations from Roman Refinements)


…But Heaven’s high will
Permits a second and a darker shade
Of Pagan night. Afflicted and dismayed,
The Relics of the sword flee to the mountains:
O wretched Land, whose tears have flowed like fountains!

(I.XI. Saxon Conquest)

“MAN’S life is like a Sparrow, mighty King!
“That, stealing in while by the fire you sit
“Housed with rejoicing Friends, is seen to flit
“Safe from the storm, in comfort tarrying.
“Here did it enter—there, on hasty wing
“Flies out, and passes on from cold to cold;
“But whence it came we know not, nor behold
“Whither it goes. Even such that transient Thing,
“The Human Soul; not utterly unknown
“While in the Body lodged, her warm abode;
“But from what world She came, what woe or weal
“On her departure waits, no tongue hath shewn;
“This mystery if the Stranger can reveal,
“His be a welcome cordially bestowed!”

(I.XVI. Persuasion)


Death, darkness, danger, are our natural lot;
And evil Spirits may our walk attend
For aught the wisest know or comprehend;
Then let the good be free to breathe a note
Of elevation…

(I.XVIII. Apology)


METHINKS that to some vacant Hermitage
My feet would rather turn—to some dry nook
Scoop’d out of living rock, and near a brook
Hurl’d down a mountain-cove from stage to stage,
Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage
In the soft heaven of a translucent pool;

(I.XXII. Continued)


BUT what if One, thro’ grove of flowery mead,
Indulging thus at will the creeping feet
Of a voluptuous indolence, should meet
The hovering Shade of venerable Bede;
…
Sublime Recluse!
The recreant soul, that dares to shun the debt
Imposed on human kind, must first forget
Thy diligence, …

(I.XXIII. Reproof)


As with the stream our voyage we pursue
The gross materials of this world present
A marvelous study of wild accident;

(I.XXXVI. Papal Abuses)


For where, but on this River’s margin, blow
Those flowers of Chivalry, to bind the brow
Of hardihood with wreaths and shall not fail?
Fair Court of Edward! wonder of the world!
I see a matchless blazonry unfurled
Of wisdom, magnanimity, and love;

(II.IV. Continued)

ENOUGH! For see, with dim association
The tapers burn; the odorous incense feeds
A greedy flame; the pompous mass proceeds;
The Priest bestows the appointed consecration;
And, while the Host is raised, its elevation
An awe and supernatural horror breeds,
And all the People bow their heads like reeds,
To a soft breeze, in lowly adoration.
This Valdo brook’d not. On the bands of Rhone
He taught, till persecution chased him thence,
To adore the Invisible, and Him alone.
Nor were his Followers loth to seek defence,
’Mid woods and wilds, on Nature’s craggy throne,
From rites that trample upon soul and sense.

(II.VI. Transubstantiation)


YET more,—round many a Convent’s blazing fire
Unhallowed threads of revelry are spun;
There Venus sits disguis[e]d like a Nun,—
While Bacchus, clothed in semblance of a Friar,
Pours out his choicest beverage high and higher,
Sparkling, until it cannot chuse but run
Over the bowl, whose silver lip hath won
An instant kiss of masterful desire—
To stay the precious waste. In every brain
Spreads the dominion of the sprightly juice,
Through the wide world to madding Fancy dear,
Till the arch’d roof, with resolute abuse,
Of its grave echoes, swells a choral strain,
Whose votive burthen is—“OUR KINGDOM’S HERE!”

(II.XIII. Monastic Voluptuousness)


THREATS come which no submission may assuage;
No sacrifice avert, no power dispute;
The tapers shall be quenched, the belfries mute,
And, ’mid their choirs unroofed by selfish rage,
The warbling wren shall find a leafy cage;

(II.XIV. Dissolution of the Monasteries)


The lovely Nun (submissive but more meek
Through saintly habit, than from effort due
To unrelenting mandates that pursue
With equal wrath the steps of strong and weak)
Goes forth—unveiling timidly her cheek
Suffused with blushes of celestial hue,
While through the Convent gate to open view
Softly she glides, another home to seek.

(II.XV. The Same Subject)


NOT utterly unworthy to endure
Was the supremacy of crafty Rome;
…
…and, therefore, to the tomb
Pass, some through fire—and by the scaffold some—
Like saintly Fisher, and unbending More.
…More’s gay genius played
With the inoffensive sword of native wit,
Than the bare axe more luminous and keen.

(II.XIX. Apology)


GRANT, that by this unsparing Hurricane
Green leaves with yellow mixed are torn away,
And goodly fruitage with the mother spray,
’Twere madness—wished we, therefore, to detain,
With farewell sighs of mollified disdain,
The “trumpery” that ascends in bare display,—
…
Hence, with the spiritual sovereignty transferred
Unto itself, the Crown assumes a voice
Of reckless mastery, hitherto unknown.

(II.XXI. Reflections)


SCATTERING, like Birds escaped in Fowler’s net,
Some seek with timely flight a foreign strand,
Most happy, re-assembled in a land
By dauntless Luther freed, could they forget
Their Country’s woes. …

(II.XXVII. English Reformers in Exile)
HAIL, Virgin Queen! o’er many an envious bar
Triumphant—snatched from many a treacherous wile!
All hail, Sage Lady, whom a grateful Isle
Hath blest, respiring form that dismal war
Stilled by thy voice! But quickly from afar
Defiance breathes with more malignant aim;
And alien storms with home-bred ferments claim
Portentous fellowship. Her silver car
Meanwhile, by prudence ruled, glides slowly on;
Unhurt by violence; from menaced taint
Emerging pure, and seemingly more bright!
For, wheresoe’er she moves, the clouds anon
Disperse; or—under a Divine constraint—
Reflect some portion of her glorious light!

(II.XXVIII. Elizabeth)

…Weep, oh weep,
As good men wept beholding King and Priest
Despised by that stern God to whom they raise
Their suppliant hands; but holy is the feast
He keepeth; like the firmament his ways;
His statutes like the chambers of the deep.

(II.XXXVI. Afflictions of England)

WHO comes with rapture greeted, and caress’d
With frantic love—his kingdom to regain?
Him Virtue’s Nurse, Adversity, in vain
Received, and fostered in her iron breast:
For all she taught of hardiest and of best,
Or would have taught, by discipline of pain
And long privation, now dissolves amain,
Or is remembered only to give zest
To wantonness. –Away, Circean revels!
Already stands our Country on the brink
Of bigot rage, that all distinction levels
Of truth and falsehood,…

(III.III. Charles the Second)


YES, if the intensities of hope and fear
Attract us still, and passionate exercise
Of lofty thoughts, the way before us lies
Distinct with signs—through which, in fixed career,
As through a zodiac, moves the ritual year
Of England’s Church—stupendous mysteries!

(III.XII. The Liturgy)


FROM low to high doth dissolution climb,
And sinks from high to low, along a scale
Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail;
A musical but melancholy chime,
Which they can hear who meddle not with crime,
Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care.
Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear
The longest date do melt like frosty rime,
That in the morning whitened hill and plain
And is no more; drop like the tower sublime
Of yesterday, which royally did wear
Its crown of weeds, but could not even sustain
Some casual shout that broke the silent air,
Or the unimaginable touch of Time.

(III.XVI. Mutability)


MINE ear has rung, my spirits sunk subdued,
Sharing the strong emotion of the crowd,
When each pale brow to dread hosannas bowed
While clouds of incense mounting veiled the rood,
That glimmered like a pine-tree dimly viewed
Through Alpine vapours. Such appalling rite
Our Church prepares not, trusting to the might
Of simple truth with grace divine imbued;
Yet will we not conceal the precious Cross,
Like Men ashamed: …

(III.XXI. Continued)


The music bursteth into second life—
The notes luxuriate—every stone is kiss’d
By sound, or ghost of sound…

(III.XXV. The Same)


…Look forth! that Stream behold,
That Stream upon whose bosom we have pass’d
Floating at ease while nations have effaced
Nations, and Death has gathered to his fold
Long lines of mighty Kings—look forth, my Soul!
(Nor in that vision be thou slow to trust)
The living Waters, less and less by guilt
Stained and polluted, brighten as they roll,
Till they have reached the Eternal City—built
For the perfected Spirits of the just!

(III.XXVIII. Conclusion)