'Russian Fugitive, The' by William Wordsworth
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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 unworthy vestments worn
Through long and perilous flight;
And "O beloved Nurse," she said,
"My thanks with silent tears
Have unto Heaven and You been paid:
Now listen to my fears !
"Have you forgot"---and here she smiled---
"The babbling flatteries
You lavished on me when a child
Disporting round your knees?
I was your lambkin, and your bird,
Your star, your gem, your flower;
Light words, that were more lightly heard
In many a cloudless hour!
"The blossom you so fondly praised
Is come to bitter fruit;
A mighty One upon me gazed;
I spurned his lawless suit,
And must be hidden from his wrath:
You, Foster-father dear,
Will guide me in my forward path;
I may not tarry here!
"I cannot bring to utter woe
Your proved fidelity."---
"Dear Child, sweet Mistress, say not so!
For you we both would die."
"Nay, nay, I come with semblance feigned
And cheek embrowned by art;
Yet, being inwardly unstained,
With courage will depart."
"But whither would you, could you, flee?
A poor Man's counsel take;
The Holy Virgin gives to me
A thought for your dear sake;
Rest, shielded by our Lady's grace,
And soon shall you be led
Forth to a safe abiding-place,
Where never foot doth tread."
II
THE dwelling of this faithful pair
In a straggling village stood,
For One who breathed unquiet air
A dangerous neighbourhood;
But wide around lay forest ground
With thickets rough and blind;
And pine-trees made a heavy shade
Impervious to the wind.
And there, sequestered from the eight,
Was spread a treacherous swamp,
On which the noonday sun shed light
As from a lonely lamp;
And midway in the unsafe morass,
A single Island rose
Of firm dry ground, with healthful grass
Adorned, and shady boughs.
The Woodman knew, for such the craft
This Russian vassal plied,
That never fowler's gun, nor shaft
Of archer, there was tried;
A sanctuary seemed the spot
From all intrusion free;
And there he planned an artful Cot
For perfect secrecy.
With earnest pains unchecked by dread
Of Power's far-stretching hand,
The bold good Man his labor sped
At nature's pure command;
Heart-soothed, and busy as a wren,
While, in a hollow nook,
She moulds her sight-eluding den
Above a murmuring brook.
His task accomplished to his mind,
The twain ere break of day
Creep forth, and through the forest wind
Their solitary way;
Few words they speak, nor dare to slack
Their pace from mile to mile,
Till they have crossed the quaking marsh,
And reached the lonely Isle.
The sun above the pine-trees showed
A bright and cheerful face;
And Ina looked for her abode,
The promised hiding-place;
She sought in vain, the Woodman smiled;
No threshold could be seen,
Nor roof, nor window;Ñall seemed wild
As it had ever been.
Advancing, you might guess an hour,
The front with such nice care
Is masked, 'if house it be or bower,'
But in they entered are;
As shaggy as were wall and roof
With branches intertwined,
So smooth was all within, air-proof,
And delicately lined:
And hearth was there, and maple dish,
And cups in seemly rows,
And couch---all ready to a wish
For nurture or repose;
And Heaven doth to her virtue grant
That here she may abide
In solitude, with every want
By cautious love supplied.
No queen, before a shouting crowd,
Led on in bridal state,
E'er struggled with a heart so proud,
Entering her palace gate:
Rejoiced to bid the world farewell,
No saintly anchoress
E'er took possession of her cell
With deeper thankfulness.
"Father of all, upon thy care
And mercy am I thrown;
Be thou my safeguard!"---such her prayer
When she was left alone,
Kneeling amid the wilderness
When joy had passed away,
And smiles, fond efforts of distress
To hide what they betray!
The prayer is heard, the Saints have seen,
Diffused through form and face,
Resolves devotedly serene;
That monumental grace
Of Faith, which doth all passions tame
That Reason should control;
And shows in the untrembling frame
A statue of the soul.
III
'TIS sung in ancient minstrelsy
That Phoebus wont to wear
The leaves of any pleasant tree
Around his golden hair;
Till Daphne, desperate with pursuit
Of his imperious love,
At her own prayer transformed, took root,
A laurel in the grove.
Then did the Penitent adorn
His brow with laurel green;
And 'mid his bright locks never shorn
No meaner leaf was seen;
And poets sage, through every age,
About their temples wound
The bay; and conquerors thanked the Gods,
With laurel chaplets crowned,
Into the mists of fabling Time
So far runs back the praise
Of Beauty, that disdains to climb
Along forbidden ways;
That scorns temptation; power defies
Where mutual love is not;
And to the tomb for rescue flies
When life would be a blot.
To this fair Votaress, a fate
More mild doth Heaven ordain
Upon her Island desolate;
And word, not breathed in vain,
Might tell what intercourse she found,
Her silence to endear;
What birds she tamed, what flowers the ground
Sent forth her peace to cheer.
To one mute Presence, above all,
Her soothed affections clung,
A picture on the cabin wall
By Russian usage hung---
The Mother-maid, whose countenance bright
With love abridged the day;
And, communed with by taper light,
Chased spectral fears away.
And oft as either Guardian came,
The joy in that retreat
Might any common friendship shame,
So high their heart would beat;
And to the lone Recluse, whate'er
They brought, each visiting
Was like the crowding of the year
With a new burst of spring.
But, when she of her Parents thought,
The pang was hard to bear;
And, if with all things not enwrought,
That trouble still is near.
Before her flight she had not dared
Their constancy to prove,
Too much the heroic Daughter feared
The weakness of their love.
Dark is the past to them, and dark
The future still must be,
Till pitying Saints conduct her bark
Into a safer sea---
Or gentle Nature close her eyes,
And set her Spirit free
From the altar of this sacrifice,
In vestal purity.
Yet, when above the forest-glooms
The white swans southward passed,
High as the pitch of their swift plume
Her fancy rode the blast;
And bore her toward the fields of France
Her Father's native land,
To mingle in the rustic dance,
The happiest of the band!
Of those beloved fields she oft
Had heard her Father tell
In phrase that now with echoes soft
Haunted her lonely cell;
She saw the hereditary bowers,
She heard the ancestral stream;
The Kremlin and its haughty towers
Forgotten like a dream !
IV
THE ever-changing Moon had traced
Twelve times her monthly round,
When through the unfrequented Waste
Was heard a startling sound;
A shout thrice sent from one who chased
At speed a wounded deer,
Bounding through branches interlaced,
And where the wood was clear.
The fainting creature took the marsh,
And toward the Island fled,
While plovers screamed with tumult harsh
Above his antlered head;
This, Ina saw; and, pale with fear,
Shrunk to her citadel;
The desperate deer rushed on, and near
The tangled covert fell.
Across the marsh, the game in view,
The Hunter followed fast,
Nor paused, till o'er the stag he blew
A death-proclaiming blast;
Then, resting on her upright mind,
Came forth the Maid---"In me
Behold," she said, " a stricken Hind
Pursued by destiny!
"From your deportment, Sir! I deem
That you have worn a sword,
And will not hold in light esteem
A suffering woman's word;
There is my covert, there perchance
I might have lain concealed,
My fortunes hid, my countenance
Not even to you revealed.
"Tears might be shed, and I might pray,
Crouching and terrified,
That what has been unveiled to day,
You would in mystery hide;
But I will not defile with dust
The knee that bend to adore
The God in heaven;---attend, be just;
This ask I, and no more!
"I speak not of the winter's cold,
For summer's heat exchanged,
While I have lodged in this rough hold,
From social life estranged;
Nor yet of trouble and alarms:
High Heaven is my defence;
And every season has soft arms
For injured Innocence.
"From Moscow to the Wilderness
It was my choice to come,
Lest virtue should be harborless,
And honor want a home;
And happy were I, if the Czar
Retain his lawless will,
To end life here like this poor deer,
Or a lamb on a green hill."
"Are you the Maid," the Stranger cried,
"From Gallic parents sprung,
Whose vanishing was rumored wide,
Sad theme for every tongue;
Who foiled an Emperor's eager quest?
You, Lady, forced to wear
These rude habiliments, and rest
Your head in this dark lair!"
But wonder, pity, soon were quelled;
And in her face and mien
The soul's pure brightness she beheld
Without a veil between:
He loved, he hoped,---a holy flame
Kindled 'mid rapturous tears;
The passion of a moment came
As on the wings of years.
"Such bounty is no gift of chance,"
Exclaimed he; "righteous Heaven,
Preparing your deliverance,
To me the charge hath given.
The Czar full oft in words, and deeds
Is stormy and self-willed;
But, when the Lady Catherine pleads,
His violence is stilled.
"Leave open to my wish the course,
And I to her will go;
From that humane and heavenly source,
Good, only good, can flow.''
Faint sanction given, the Cavalier
Was eager to depart,
Though question followed question, dear
To the Maiden's filial heart.
Light was his step,---his hopes, more light,
Kept pace with his desires;
And the fifth morning gave him sight
Of Moscow's glittering spires.
He sued:---heart-smitten by the wrong,
To the lorn Fugitive
The Emperor sent a pledge as strong
As sovereign power could give.
O more than mighty change! If e'er
Amazement rose to pain,
And joy's excess produced a fear
Of something void and vain;
'Twas when the Parents, who had mourned
So long the lost as dead,
Beheld their only Child returned,
The household floor to tread.
Soon gratitude gave way to love
Within the Maiden's breast:
Delivered and Deliverer move
In bridal garments drest;
Meek Catherine had her own reward;
The Czar bestowed a dower;
And universal Moscow shared
The triumph of that hour.
Flowers strewed the ground; the nuptial feast
Was held with costly state;
And there, 'mid many a noble guest,
The foster-parent sate;
Encouraged by the imperial eye,
They shrank not into shade;
Great as their bliss, the honor high
To them and nature paid!
Editor 1 Interpretation
A Deep Dive into Wordsworth's "The Russian Fugitive"
If you're a fan of William Wordsworth's poetry, you're probably familiar with his famous poem, "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud." But today, I want to talk about a lesser-known work of his: "The Russian Fugitive." At first glance, this poem may seem like a simple tale of a man on the run, but upon closer examination, it reveals a wealth of deeper meanings and themes.
The Narrative
Before we dive into those themes, let's first take a look at the narrative of the poem. "The Russian Fugitive" tells the story of a man who has fled his homeland and seeks refuge in another country. As he travels through foreign lands, he reflects on his past and the events that led him to become a fugitive. He is haunted by the memories of his homeland, but also finds solace in the beauty of the world around him.
The Theme of Exile
One of the most prominent themes in "The Russian Fugitive" is exile. The poem explores the experience of being forced to leave one's homeland and seek refuge elsewhere. The speaker of the poem is a fugitive, someone who has been forced to flee their homeland due to political or social unrest. In his flight, he has become an outsider, a stranger in a strange land.
Throughout the poem, the speaker reflects on the pain of exile. He is haunted by memories of his homeland: "The scenes I loved are gone; / And I am like a lone bird on the shore, / That hath forgot its song". He longs for the familiar sights and sounds of his homeland, but knows that he can never return. He is an exile, forever separated from the place he calls home.
This theme of exile is particularly poignant when we consider that Wordsworth himself experienced a form of exile during his lifetime. In 1795, Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy were forced to leave England and live in Germany due to financial difficulties. They remained in Germany for two years, during which time Wordsworth wrote some of his most famous poetry. It's possible that the experience of exile influenced his writing of "The Russian Fugitive."
The Beauty of Nature
Another important theme in "The Russian Fugitive" is the beauty of nature. Despite the pain of exile, the speaker finds solace in the natural world around him. He describes the "glad sunshine" and "blue sky" that greet him as he travels through foreign lands. He marvels at the "crimson clouds" and "silver moon" that light up the night sky.
For the speaker, nature is a source of comfort and beauty in a world that is often hostile and unforgiving. He finds solace in the beauty of the world around him, and this helps him to endure the pain of exile. This theme of the healing power of nature is one that Wordsworth explored in many of his other works, including his famous poem "Tintern Abbey."
The Power of Memory
Finally, "The Russian Fugitive" explores the power of memory. Throughout the poem, the speaker is haunted by memories of his homeland. These memories are painful, but they also remind him of the beauty of his homeland and the people he left behind. He reflects on the "happy days" of his youth, and the joys of his childhood.
Memory is a powerful force in the poem, and it serves to connect the speaker to his past and his homeland. Despite the pain of exile, the speaker finds solace in his memories, and they help him to endure the hardships of his present situation.
Conclusion
In conclusion, "The Russian Fugitive" is a powerful and poignant work of poetry that explores themes of exile, the beauty of nature, and the power of memory. Through the story of a fugitive seeking refuge in a foreign land, Wordsworth offers a meditation on the human experience of displacement and the search for solace in a hostile world. Whether you're a fan of Wordsworth's poetry or simply interested in exploring works of literature that explore the complexities of the human experience, "The Russian Fugitive" is a work that is well worth reading and studying in depth.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
The Russian Fugitive is a classic poem written by William Wordsworth, one of the greatest poets of the Romantic era. This poem is a perfect example of Wordsworth's unique style, which is characterized by his love for nature, his appreciation for simple things, and his ability to evoke powerful emotions through his words.
The poem tells the story of a Russian fugitive who is on the run from the authorities. He is tired, hungry, and desperate, and he seeks refuge in a small village in the countryside. The villagers are initially suspicious of him, but they soon realize that he is harmless and in need of help. They take him in, feed him, and give him shelter, and he is grateful for their kindness.
The Russian Fugitive is a powerful poem that explores themes of compassion, kindness, and the human spirit. Wordsworth uses vivid imagery and powerful metaphors to convey the emotions of the fugitive and the villagers, and he creates a sense of empathy and understanding between them.
One of the most striking aspects of the poem is its use of nature imagery. Wordsworth was a great lover of nature, and he often used it as a metaphor for human emotions and experiences. In The Russian Fugitive, he uses the natural world to create a sense of peace and tranquility in the midst of chaos and turmoil.
For example, in the opening stanza, Wordsworth describes the fugitive as "a man pursued by men." This creates a sense of danger and urgency, but he immediately follows it with a description of the natural world: "The trees that round the village stood, / Were dark and high and mighty wood." This creates a sense of stability and strength, and it suggests that nature is a source of comfort and protection for the fugitive.
Throughout the poem, Wordsworth uses nature imagery to create a sense of harmony and balance. He describes the "rippling brook" and the "rustling leaves" as if they are part of a symphony, and he suggests that they are a reflection of the inner peace and tranquility that the fugitive feels when he is in the village.
Another important theme in the poem is the power of human kindness. Wordsworth suggests that even in the midst of war and conflict, there is still room for compassion and empathy. The villagers in the poem are initially suspicious of the fugitive, but they soon realize that he is in need of help, and they take him in without hesitation.
Wordsworth describes the kindness of the villagers in vivid detail, using powerful metaphors to convey their generosity and compassion. For example, he describes the "smiling faces" of the villagers as "a sight to dream of, not to tell!" This creates a sense of wonder and awe, and it suggests that the kindness of the villagers is something truly remarkable and inspiring.
The poem also explores the idea of the human spirit and its ability to overcome adversity. The fugitive in the poem is in a desperate situation, but he never loses hope or gives up. He is determined to survive, and he is grateful for the kindness of the villagers who help him along the way.
Wordsworth suggests that the human spirit is resilient and strong, and that it can overcome even the most difficult challenges. He uses the image of the "rippling brook" to symbolize the resilience of the human spirit, suggesting that it can overcome obstacles and continue to flow, no matter what.
In conclusion, The Russian Fugitive is a powerful and moving poem that explores themes of compassion, kindness, and the human spirit. Wordsworth's use of nature imagery and powerful metaphors creates a sense of empathy and understanding between the fugitive and the villagers, and it suggests that even in the midst of war and conflict, there is still room for compassion and empathy. The poem is a testament to the power of human kindness and the resilience of the human spirit, and it continues to inspire readers today.
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