aches to the
impressions of his youth, and even to the memory of these impressions
which remains with him to console his maturer life. The bird is a link
which binds him to his childhood:

"And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again."

In other poems, especially in the _Intimaticns of Immortality_, he speaks
of "the glory and the freshness of a dream," which hallowed nature for
him as a child, and which grew fainter as the "shades of the prison-house
began to close upon the growing Boy".

NUTTING

COMPOSED 1799; PUBLISHED 1800.

"Written in Germany; intended as a part of a poem on my own life, but
struck out as not being wanted there. Like most of my schoolfellows, I
was an impassioned Nutter. For this pleasure, the Vale of Esthwaite,
abounding in coppice wood, furnished a very wide range. These verses
arose out of the remembrance of feelings I had often had when a boy, and
particularly in the extensive woods that still stretch from the side of
Esthwaite Lake towards Graythwaite."

Wordsworth possessed in an unusual degree the power of reviving the
impressions of his youth. Few autobiographical records are so vivid in
this respect as his _Prelude_. In his famous ode on the _Intimations of
Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood_, he dwells upon the
unreflective exultation which in the child responds to the joyousness of
nature, and with a profound intuition that may not be justified in the
facts, he sees in this heedless delight a mystical intimation of
immortality.

In the poem _Nutting_ the animal exhilaration of boyhood is finely
blended with this deeper feeling of mystery. The boy exultingly
penetrates into one of those woodland retreats where nature seems to be
holding communion with herself. For some moments he is subdued by the
beauty of the place, and lying among the flowers he hears with ecstasy
the murmur of the stream. Then the spirit of ravage peculiar to boyhood
comes over him, and he rudely mars the beauty of the spot:

"And the shady nook
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being:"

Such wantonness seems to his maturer reflection a sacrilege, and even the
boy was not insensible to the silent reproach of the "intruding sky."

TOUCH,--FOR THERE IS A SPIRIT IN THE WOODS. Many lines might be quoted
from Wordsworth to illustrate his theor