The Prelude by William Wordsworth Boat Stealing Scene

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Visit my magazine's website for a full analysis and commentary: https://www.troubadourmag.com/post/wi... • The Boat Stealing Scene from the 1850 Prelude by William Wordsworth: • One summer evening (led by her) I found • A little boat tied to a willow tree • Within a rocky cove, its usual home. • Straight I unloosed her chain, and stepping in • Pushed from the shore. It was an act of stealth • And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice • Of mountain-echoes did my boat move on; • Leaving behind her still, on either side, • Small circles glittering idly in the moon, • Until they melted all into one track • Of sparkling light. But now, like one who rows, • Proud of his skill, to reach a chosen point • With an unswerving line, I fixed my view • Upon the summit of a craggy ridge, • The horizon’s utmost boundary; far above • Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky. • She was an elfin pinnace; lustily • I dipped my oars into the silent lake, • And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat • Went heaving through the water like a swan; • When, from behind that craggy steep till then • The horizon’s bound, a huge peak, black and huge, • As if with voluntary power instinct, • Upreared its head. I struck and struck again, • And growing still in stature the grim shape • Towered up between me and the stars, and still, • For so it seemed, with purpose of its own • And measured motion like a living thing, • Strode after me. With trembling oars I turned, • And through the silent water stole my way • Back to the covert of the willow tree; • There in her mooring-place I left my bark, – • And through the meadows homeward went, in grave • And serious mood; but after I had seen • That spectacle, for many days, my brain • Worked with a dim and undetermined sense • Of unknown modes of being; o’er my thoughts • There hung a darkness, call it solitude • Or blank desertion. No familiar shapes • Remained, no pleasant images of trees, • Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields; • But huge and mighty forms, that do not live • Like living men, moved slowly through the mind • By day, and were a trouble to my dreams.

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