The Complete Poetical Works of William Wordsworth

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1911 edition. Excerpt: ... THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE1* 1830 1835 Early in life this story had interested me, and I often thought it would make a pleasing subject for an opera or musical drama. PART I Enough of rose-bud lips, and eyes Like harebells bathed in dew, Of cheek that with carnation vies, And veins of violet hue; Earth wants not beauty that may scorn A likening to frail flowers; Yea, to the stars, if they were born For seasons and for hours. Through Moscow's gates, with gold unbarred, Stepped One at dead of night, Whom such high beauty could not guard From meditated blight; By stealth she passed, and fled as fast As doth the hunted fawn, Nor stopped, till in the dappling east Appeared unwelcome dawn. Seven days she lurked in brake and field, Seven nights her course renewed, Sustained by what her scrip might yield, Or berries of the wood; At length, in darkness travelling on, When lowly doors were shut, The haven of her hope she won, Her Foster-mother's hut. "To put your love to dangerous proof I come," said she, "from far; For I have left my Father's roof, In terror of the Czar." No answer did the Matron give, No second look she cast, But hung upon the Fugitive, Embracing and embraced. She led the Lady to a seat Beside the glimmering fire, Bathed duteously her wayworn feet, Prevented each desire: -- The cricket chirped, the house-dog dozed, And on that simple bed, Where she in childhood had reposed, Now rests her weary head. When she, whose couch had been the sod, Whose curtain, pine or thorn, Had breathed a sigh of thanks to God, Who comforts the forlorn; While over her the Matron bent Sleep sealed her eyes, and stole Feeling from limbs with travel spent, And trouble from the soul. Refreshed, the Wanderer rose at morn, And soon again was dight In those...