Like an army defeated
    The snow hath retreated,
    And now doth fare ill
    On the top of the bare hill;
  The Ploughboy is whooping—­anon—­anon:  [A] 15
    There’s joy in the mountains;
    There’s life in the fountains;
    Small clouds are sailing,
    Blue sky prevailing;
  The rain is over and gone! 20

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A:  This line was an afterthought.—­Ed.]

The text of this poem was never altered.  It was not “written in March” (as the title states), but on the 16th of April (Good Friday) 1802.  The bridge referred to crosses Goldrill Beck, a little below Hartsop in Patterdale.  The following, from Dorothy Wordsworth’s Journal, records the walk from Ullswater, over Kirkstone Pass, to Ambleside: 

“Friday, 16th April (Good Friday).—...  When we came to the foot of Brothers Water, I left William sitting on the bridge, and went along the path on the right side of the lake through the wood.  I was delighted with what I saw:  the water under the boughs of the bare old trees, the simplicity of the mountains, and the exquisite beauty of the path.  There was one grey cottage.  I repeated ‘The Glowworm’ as I walked along.  I hung over the gate, and thought I could have stayed for ever.  When I returned, I found William writing a poem descriptive of the sights and sounds we saw and heard.  There was the gentle flowing of the stream, the glittering lively lake, green fields, without a living creature to be seen on them; behind us, a flat pasture with forty-two cattle feeding; to our left, the road leading to the hamlet.  No smoke there, the sun shone on the bare roofs.  The people were at work, ploughing, harrowing, and sowing; lasses working; a dog barking now and then; cocks crowing, birds twittering; the snow in patches at the top of the highest hills; yellow palms, purple and green twigs on the birches, ashes with their glittering stems quite bare.  The hawthorn a bright green, with black stems under the oak.  The moss of the oaks glossy....  As we went up the vale of Brothers Water, more and more cattle feeding, a hundred of them.  William finished his poem before we got to the foot of Kirkstone.  There were hundreds of cattle in the vale....  The walk up Kirkstone was very interesting.  The becks among the rocks were all alive.  William shewed me the little mossy streamlet which he had before loved, when he saw its bright green track in the snow.  The view above Ambleside very beautiful.  There we sate, and looked down on the green vale.  We watched the crows at a little distance from us become white as silver, as they flew in the sunshine; and, when they went still farther, they looked like shapes of water passing over the green fields.”

Ed.

* * * * *