A captive greets thee, coming from a house
Of bondage, from yon city’s walls set free,
A prison where he hath been long immured.
Now I am free, enfranchised and at large,
May fix my habitation where I will.
When I was young and angry I could take
on everyone, could even take on you—
or thought I could—but getting old I’ve turned
to universal stuff (the breeze, the birds).
I sit alone and make corrections, sit
and speak them softly to myself like this,
free as a bird to settle where I will.
When I was young I told you that my mind
was as duteous as the mother dove
but had its goadings on—a sudden spur
or instinct that would drive me out of doors
to drink wild water, and to pluck green herbs.
I told you that I rowed by moonlight just
to scare myself, not knowing who it was
that pulled the oars, that goaded me to pull.
Dear Liberty! Yet what would it avail
but for a gift that consecrates the joy?
When I was young I could become, at will,
a spot of pure emancipated time,
a child of five years running down the storm.
I knew the whole of life. I saw the dark
invisible workmanship that reconciles
discordant elements, and makes them move
in one society. But I got vague.
I wanted mind and matter in accord.
I thought I could become the mother dove,
free as a bird to settle where I will.
I wanted pure emancipated space
as huge and endless as the spheres. I heard
the sounds of burning flesh and heard the hiss
of iron brands in water, bodies bought
and sold like sugarcane. I understood.
You are the work you do. I turned away
and as I turned I started to feel free.
My mind became a prison without walls.
Dear Liberty! Yet what would it avail
but for a gift that consecrates the joy?
There are no goadings anymore. Alone,
I cannot see my bondage to reject it.
(Quotations in red are taken from the 1805 version of Wordsworth’s Prelude and in blue from the 1850 version, published just after his death.)
