Annexe II

p. 399-400


Texte intégral

“The Drowned Man of Esthwaite”

Version de 1805 (Prelude V, v. 450-481)

Well do I call to mind the very week450
When I was first entrusted to the care
Of that sweet valley — when its paths, its shores
And brooks, were like a dream of novelty
To my half-infant thoughts — that very week,
While I was roving up and down alone455
Seeking I knew not what, I chanced to cross
One of those open fields, which, shaped like ears,
Make green peninsulas on Esthwaite’s Lake.
Twilight was coming on, yet through the gloom
I saw distinctly on the opposite shore460
A heap of garments, left as I supposed
By one who there was bathing. Long I watched,
But no one owned them ; meanwhile the calm lake
Grew dark, with all the shadows on its breast,
And now and then a fish up-leaping snapped465
The breathless stillness. The succeeding day —
Those unclaimed garments telling a plain tale —
Went there a company, and in their boat
Sounded with grappling-irons and long poles :
At length, the dead man, ‘mid that beauteous scene470
Of trees and hills and water, bolt upright
Rose with his ghastly face, a spectre shape —
Of terror even. And yet no vulgar fear,
Young as I was, a child not nine years old,
Possessed me, for my inner eye had seen475
Such sights before among the shining streams
Of fairyland, the forests of romance —
Thence came a spirit hallowing what I saw
With decoration and ideal grace,
A dignity, a smoothness, like the words480
Of Grecian art and purest Poesy.

Version de 1850 (Prelude V, v. 426-459)

Well do I call to mind the very week
When I was first intrusted to the care
Of that sweet Valley ; when its paths, its shores,
And brooks were like a dream of novelty
To my half-infant thoughts ; that very week,430
While I was roving up and down alone,
Seeking I knew not what, I chanced to cross
One of those open fields, which, shaped like ears,
Make green peninsulas on Esthwaite’s Lake :
Twilight was coming on, yet through the gloom435
Appeared distinctly on the opposite shore
A heap of garments, as if left by one
Who might have there been bathing. Long I watched,
But no one owned them ; meanwhile the calm lake
Grew dark with all the shadows on its breast,440
And, now and then, a fish up-leaping snapped
The breathless stillness. The succeeding day,
Those unclaimed garments telling a plain tale
Drew to the spot an anxious crowd ; some looked
In passive expectation from the shore,445
While from a boat others hung o’er the deep,
Sounding with grappling irons and long poles.
At last, the dead man, ‘mid that beauteous scene
Of trees and hills and water, bolt upright
Rose, with his ghastly face, a spectre shape450
Of terror ; yet no soul-debasing fear,
Young as I was, a child not nine years old,
Possessed me, for my inner eye had seen
Such sights before, among the shining streams
Of faery land, the forest of romance.455
Their spirit hallowed the sad spectacle
With decoration of ideal grace ;
A dignity, a smoothness, like the works
Of Grecian art, and purest poesy.

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