Vaudracour And Julia
O
HAPPY
time
of
youthful
lovers
(thus
My
story
may
begin)
O
balmy
time,
In
which
a
love-knot
on
a
lady's
brow
Is
fairer
than
the
fairest
star
in
heaven!
To
such
inheritance
of
blessed
fancy
(Fancy
that
sports
more
desperately
with
minds
Than
ever
fortune
hath
been
known
to
do)
The
high-born
Vaudracour
was
brought,
by
years
Whose
progress
had
a
little
overstepped
His
stripling
prime.
A
town
of
small
repute,
Among
the
vine-clad
mountains
of
Auvergne,
Was
the
Youth's
birth-place.
There
he
wooed
a
Maid
Who
heard
the
heart-felt
music
of
his
suit
With
answering
vows.
Plebeian
was
the
stock,
Plebeian,
though
ingenuous,
the
stock,
From
which
her
graces
and
her
honours
sprung:
And
hence
the
father
of
the
enamoured
Youth,
With
haughty
indignation,
spurned
the
thought
Of
such
alliance.--From
their
cradles
up,
With
but
a
step
between
their
several
homes,
Twins
had
they
been
in
pleasure;
after
strife
And
petty
quarrels,
had
grown
fond
again;
Each
other's
advocate,
each
other's
stay;
And,
in
their
happiest
moments,
not
content,
If
more
divided
than
a
sportive
pair
Of
sea-fowl,
conscious
both
that
they
are
hovering
Within
the
eddy
of
a
common
blast,
Or
hidden
only
by
the
concave
depth
Of
neighbouring
billows
from
each
other's
sight.
Thus,
not
without
concurrence
of
an
age
Unknown
to
memory,
was
an
earnest
given
By
ready
nature
for
a
life
of
love,
For
endless
constancy,
and
placid
truth;
But
whatsoe'er
of
such
rare
treasure
lay
Reserved,
had
fate
permitted,
for
support
Of
their
maturer
years,
his
present
mind
Was
under
fascination;--he
beheld
A
vision,
and
adored
the
thing
he
saw.
Arabian
fiction
never
filled
the
world
With
half
the
wonders
that
were
wrought
for
him.
Earth
breathed
in
one
great
presence
of
the
spring;
Life
turned
the
meanest
of
her
implements,
Before
his
eyes,
to
price
above
all
gold;
The
house
she
dwelt
in
was
a
sainted
shrine;
Her
chamber-window
did
surpass
in
glory
The
portals
of
the
dawn;
all
paradise
Could,
by
the
simple
opening
of
a
door,
Let
itself
in
upon
him:--pathways,
walks,
Swarmed
with
enchantment,
till
his
spirit
sank,
Surcharged,
within
him,
overblest
to
move
Beneath
a
sun
that
wakes
a
weary
world
To
its
dull
round
of
ordinary
cares;
A
man
too
happy
for
mortality!
So
passed
the
time,
till
whether
through
effect
Of
some
unguarded
moment
that
dissolved
Virtuous
restraint--ah,
speak
it,
think
it,
not!
Deem
rather
that
the
fervent
Youth,
who
saw
So
many
bars
between
his
present
state
And
the
dear
haven
where
he
wished
to
be
In
honourable
wedlock
with
his
Love,
Was
in
his
judgment
tempted
to
decline
To
perilous
weakness,
and
entrust
his
cause
To
nature
for
a
happy
end
of
all;
Deem
that
by
such
fond
hope
the
Youth
was
swayed,
And
bear
with
their
transgression,
when
I
add
That
Julia,
wanting
yet
the
name
of
wife,
Carried
about
her
for
a
secret
grief
The
promise
of
a
mother.
To
conceal
The
threatened
shame,
the
parents
of
the
Maid
Found
means
to
hurry
her
away
by
night,
And
unforewarned,
that
in
some
distant
spot
She
might
remain
shrouded
in
privacy,
Until
the
babe
was
born.
When
morning
came
The
Lover,
thus
bereft,
stung
with
his
loss,
And
all
uncertain
whither
he
should
turn,
Chafed
like
a
wild
beast
in
the
toils;
but
soon
Discovering
traces
of
the
fugitives,
Their
steps
he
followed
to
the
Maid's
retreat.
Easily
may
the
sequel
be
divined--
Walks
to
and
fro--watchings
at
every
hour;
And
the
fair
Captive,
who,
whene'er
she
may,
Is
busy
at
her
casement
as
the
swallow
Fluttering
its
pinions,
almost
within
reach,
About
the
pendent
nest,
did
thus
espy
Her
Lover!--thence
a
stolen
interview,
Accomplished
under
friendly
shade
of
night.
I
pass
the
raptures
of
the
pair;--such
theme
Is,
by
innumerable
poets,
touched
In
more
delightful
verse
than
skill
of
mine
Could
fashion;
chiefly
by
that
darling
bard
Who
told
of
Juliet
and
her
Romeo,
And
of
the
lark's
note
heard
before
its
time,
And
of
the
streaks
that
laced
the
severing
clouds
In
the
unrelenting
east.--Through
all
her
courts
The
vacant
city
slept;
the
busy
winds,
That
keep
no
certain
intervals
of
rest,
Moved
not;
meanwhile
the
galaxy
displayed
Her
fires,
that
like
mysterious
pulses
beat
Aloft;--momentous
but
uneasy
bliss!
To
their
full
hearts
the
universe
seemed
hung
On
that
brief
meeting's
slender
filament!
They
parted;
and
the
generous
Vaudracour
Reached
speedily
the
native
threshold,
bent
On
making
(so
the
Lovers
had
agreed)
A
sacrifice
of
birthright
to
attain
A
final
portion
from
his
father's
hand;
Which
granted,
Bride
and
Bridegroom
then
would
flee
To
some
remote
and
solitary
place,
Shady
as
night,
and
beautiful
as
heaven,
Where
they
may
live,
with
no
one
to
behold
Their
happiness,
or
to
disturb
their
love.
But
'now'
of
this
no
whisper;
not
the
less,
If
ever
an
obtrusive
word
were
dropped
Touching
the
matter
of
his
passion,
still,
In
his
stern
father's
hearing,
Vaudracour
Persisted
openly
that
death
alone
Should
abrogate
his
human
privilege
Divine,
of
swearing
everlasting
truth,
Upon
the
altar,
to
the
Maid
he
loved.
'You
shall
be
baffled
in
your
mad
intent
If
there
be
justice
in
the
court
of
France,'
Muttered
the
Father.--From
these
words
the
Youth
Conceived
a
terror;
and,
by
night
or
day,
Stirred
nowhere
without
weapons,
that
full
soon
Found
dreadful
provocation:
for
at
night
When
to
his
chamber
he
retired,
attempt
Was
made
to
seize
him
by
three
armed
men,
Acting,
in
furtherance
of
the
father's
will,
Under
a
private
signet
of
the
State.
One
the
rash
Youth's
ungovernable
hand
Slew,
and
as
quickly
to
a
second
gave
A
perilous
wound--he
shuddered
to
behold
The
breathless
corse;
then
peacefully
resigned
His
person
to
the
law,
was
lodged
in
prison,
And
wore
the
fetters
of
a
criminal.
Have
you
observed
a
tuft
of
winged
seed
That,
from
the
dandelion's
naked
stalk,
Mounted
aloft,
is
suffered
not
to
use
Its
natural
gifts
for
purposes
of
rest,
Driven
by
the
autumnal
whirlwind
to
and
fro
Through
the
wide
element?
or
have
you
marked
The
heavier
substance
of
a
leaf-clad
bough,
Within
the
vortex
of
a
foaming
flood,
Tormented?
by
such
aid
you
may
conceive
The
perturbation
that
ensued;--ah,
no!
Desperate
the
Maid--the
Youth
is
stained
with
blood;
Unmatchable
on
earth
is
their
disquiet!
Yet
as
the
troubled
seed
and
tortured
bough
Is
Man,
subjected
to
despotic
sway.
For
him,
by
private
influence
with
the
Court,
Was
pardon
gained,
and
liberty
procured;
But
not
without
exaction
of
a
pledge,
Which
liberty
and
love
dispersed
in
air.
He
flew
to
her
from
whom
they
would
divide
him--
He
clove
to
her
who
could
not
give
him
peace--
Yea,
his
first
word
of
greeting
was,--'All
right
Is
gone
from
me;
my
lately-towering
hopes,
To
the
least
fibre
of
their
lowest
root,
Are
withered;
thou
no
longer
canst
be
mine,
I
thine--the
conscience-stricken
must
not
woo
The
unruffled
Innocent,--I
see
thy
face,
Behold
thee,
and
my
misery
is
complete!'
'One,
are
we
not?'
exclaimed
the
Maiden--'One,
For
innocence
and
youth,
for
weal
and
woe?'
Then
with
the
father's
name
she
coupled
words
Of
vehement
indignation;
but
the
Youth
Checked
her
with
filial
meekness;
for
no
thought
Uncharitable
crossed
his
mind,
no
sense
Of
hasty
anger
rising
in
the
eclipse
Of
true
domestic
loyalty,
did
e'er
Find
place
within
his
bosom.--Once
again
The
persevering
wedge
of
tyranny
Achieved
their
separation:
and
once
more
Were
they
united,--to
be
yet
again
Disparted,
pitiable
lot!
But
here
A
portion
of
the
tale
may
well
be
left
In
silence,
though
my
memory
could
add
Much
how
the
Youth,
in
scanty
space
of
time,
Was
traversed
from
without;
much,
too,
of
thoughts
That
occupied
his
days
in
solitude
Under
privation
and
restraint;
and
what,
Through
dark
and
shapeless
fear
of
things
to
come,
And
what,
through
strong
compunction
for
the
past,
He
suffered--breaking
down
in
heart
and
mind!
Doomed
to
a
third
and
last
captivity,
His
freedom
he
recovered
on
the
eve
Of
Julia's
travail.
When
the
babe
was
born,
Its
presence
tempted
him
to
cherish
schemes
Of
future
happiness.
'You
shall
return,
Julia,'
said
he,
'and
to
your
father's
house
Go
with
the
child.--You
have
been
wretched;
yet
The
silver
shower,
whose
reckless
burthen
weighs
Too
heavily
upon
the
lily's
head,
Oft
leaves
a
saving
moisture
at
its
root.
Malice,
beholding
you,
will
melt
away.
Go!--'tis
a
town
where
both
of
us
were
born;
None
will
reproach
you,
for
our
truth
is
known;
And
if,
amid
those
once-bright
bowers,
our
fate
Remain
unpitied,
pity
is
not
in
man.
With
ornaments--the
prettiest,
nature
yields
Or
art
can
fashion,
shall
you
deck
our
boy,
And
feed
his
countenance
with
your
own
sweet
looks
Till
no
one
can
resist
him.--Now,
even
now,
I
see
him
sporting
on
the
sunny
lawn;
My
father
from
the
window
sees
him
too;
Startled,
as
if
some
new-created
thing
Enriched
the
earth,
or
Faery
of
the
woods
Bounded
before
him;--but
the
unweeting
Child
Shall
by
his
beauty
win
his
grandsire's
heart
So
that
it
shall
be
softened,
and
our
loves
End
happily,
as
they
began!'
These
gleams
Appeared
but
seldom;
oftener
was
he
seen
Propping
a
pale
and
melancholy
face
Upon
the
Mother's
bosom;
resting
thus
His
head
upon
one
breast,
while
from
the
other
The
Babe
was
drawing
in
its
quiet
food.
--That
pillow
is
no
longer
to
be
thine,
Fond
Youth!
that
mournful
solace
now
must
pass
Into
the
list
of
things
that
cannot
be!
Unwedded
Julia,
terror-smitten,
hears
The
sentence,
by
her
mother's
lip
pronounced,
That
dooms
her
to
a
convent.--Who
shall
tell,
Who
dares
report,
the
tidings
to
the
lord
Of
her
affections?
so
they
blindly
asked
Who
knew
not
to
what
quiet
depths
a
weight
Of
agony
had
pressed
the
Sufferer
down:
The
word,
by
others
dreaded,
he
can
hear
Composed
and
silent,
without
visible
sign
Of
even
the
least
emotion.
Noting
this,
When
the
impatient
object
of
his
love
Upbraided
him
with
slackness,
he
returned
No
answer,
only
took
the
mother's
hand
And
kissed
it;
seemingly
devoid
of
pain,
Or
care,
that
what
so
tenderly
he
pressed,
Was
a
dependant
on
the
obdurate
heart
Of
one
who
came
to
disunite
their
lives
For
ever--sad
alternative!
preferred,
By
the
unbending
Parents
of
the
Maid,
To
secret
'spousals
meanly
disavowed.
--So
be
it!
In
the
city
he
remained
A
season
after
Julia
had
withdrawn
To
those
religious
walls.
He,
too,
departs--
Who
with
him?--even
the
senseless
Little-one.
With
that
sole
charge
he
passed
the
city-gates,
For
the
last
time,
attendant
by
the
side
Of
a
close
chair,
a
litter,
or
sedan,
In
which
the
Babe
was
carried.
To
a
hill,
That
rose
a
brief
league
distant
from
the
town,
The
dwellers
in
that
house
where
he
had
lodged
Accompanied
his
steps,
by
anxious
love
Impelled;--they
parted
from
him
there,
and
stood
Watching
below
till
he
had
disappeared
On
the
hill
top.
His
eyes
he
scarcely
took,
Throughout
that
journey,
from
the
vehicle
(Slow-moving
ark
of
all
his
hopes!)
that
veiled
The
tender
infant:
and,
at
every
inn,
And
under
every
hospitable
tree
At
which
the
bearers
halted
or
reposed,
Laid
him
with
timid
care
upon
his
knees,
And
looked,
as
mothers
ne'er
were
known
to
look,
Upon
the
nursling
which
his
arms
embraced.
This
was
the
manner
in
which
Vaudracour
Departed
with
his
infant;
and
thus
reached
His
father's
house,
where
to
the
innocent
child
Admittance
was
denied.
The
young
man
spake
No
word
of
indignation
or
reproof,
But
of
his
father
begged,
a
last
request,
That
a
retreat
might
be
assigned
to
him
Where
in
forgotten
quiet
he
might
dwell,
With
such
allowance
as
his
wants
required;
For
wishes
he
had
none.
To
a
lodge
that
stood
Deep
in
a
forest,
with
leave
given,
at
the
age
Of
four-and-twenty
summers
he
withdrew;
And
thither
took
with
him
his
motherless
Babe,
And
one
domestic
for
their
common
needs,
An
aged
woman.
It
consoled
him
here
To
attend
upon
the
orphan,
and
perform
Obsequious
service
to
the
precious
child,
Which,
after
a
short
time,
by
some
mistake
Or
indiscretion
of
the
Father,
died.--
The
Tale
I
follow
to
its
last
recess
Of
suffering
or
of
peace,
I
know
not
which:
Theirs
be
the
blame
who
caused
the
woe,
not
mine!
From
this
time
forth
he
never
shared
a
smile
With
mortal
creature.
An
Inhabitant
Of
that
same
town,
in
which
the
pair
had
left
So
lively
a
remembrance
of
their
griefs,
By
chance
of
business,
coming
within
reach
Of
his
retirement,
to
the
forest
lodge
Repaired,
but
only
found
the
matron
there,
Who
told
him
that
his
pains
were
thrown
away,
For
that
her
Master
never
uttered
word
To
living
thing--not
even
to
her.--Behold!
While
they
were
speaking,
Vaudracour
approached;
But,
seeing
some
one
near,
as
on
the
latch
Of
the
garden-gate
his
hand
was
laid,
he
shrunk--
And,
like
a
shadow,
glided
out
of
view.
Shocked
at
his
savage
aspect,
from
the
place
The
visitor
retired.
Thus
lived
the
Youth
Cut
off
from
all
intelligence
with
man,
And
shunning
even
the
light
of
common
day;
Nor
could
the
voice
of
Freedom,
which
through
France
Full
speedily
resounded,
public
hope,
Or
personal
memory
of
his
own
deep
wrongs,
Rouse
him:
but
in
those
solitary
shades
His
days
he
wasted,
an
imbecile
mind!
William Wordsworth
The English poet William Wordsworth is considered to be one of the most important literary figures in modern history, as well as one of the leading purveyors of the Romantic Movement. He was born in 1770, in Cumbria, and was one of four children. Over the course of his life, he continued to return to the Lake District, and eventually passed away in Cumbria, in 1850. The influence of William Wordsworth should not be underestimated, as he not only helped to kick-start the Romantic Age, he also formed half of one of the most famous literary partnerships in history. The friendship that he shared with fellow poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge is now the stuff of legend, as is the subsequent fallout after the friendship fell apart.