URL originale : https://books.openedition.org/ugaeditions/21703

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 week | 450 |
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 alone | 455 |
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 shore | 460 |
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 snapped | 465 |
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 scene | 470 |
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 seen | 475 |
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 words | 480 |
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 gloom | 435 |
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 shape | 450 |
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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Wordsworth et ses miroirs
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Wordsworth et ses miroirs
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