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Updated: May 15, 2025
He had intended to reach the little town of Winander that day, and he had done so. It was late, however, and after a frugal supper, Robbie went off to bed. Early next day, Monday, the young dalesman set about inquiries among the townspeople as to whether a man answering to the description which he gave of Sim had been seen to pass through the town.
In this poem he relates how he absorbed into his inmost being the orange sky of evening, the curling mist, the last autumnal crocus, the "souls of lonely places," and the huge peak, which terrified him at nightfall by seeming to stride after him and which awoke in him a "...dim and undermined sense Of unknown modes of being." In his famous lines on the "Boy of Winander," Wordsworth tells how
It was apparent that if Sim had been in Winander he had left it on Sunday. Robbie reflected with vexation that it was now the evening of Monday, and that he was farther behind the man of whom he was in pursuit than he had been at starting from Wythburn. In no very amiable mood Robbie set out afresh just as darkness was coming on, and followed the road as far as the village of Staveley.
His face was uplifted to the sky. The Major remembered a picture in the corridor of the Library of Congress the Boy of Winander Oh, the boys of the world those wonderful boys who had been drawn out from among the rest, set apart for a time, and in whose hands now rested the fate of nations! "It is epic," he said, slowly. "Take your time for it."
It was now two, and Ralph and Sim, riding good horses, must be many miles away. Robbie's vexation was overpowering when he thought of the hours that he had wasted at Winander and of the old gossip at the street corner who had prompted him to the fruitless search.
He acts instinctively, not intelligently; and he acts under the pressure of a tremendous vitality, not as the result of design or conviction. The education of play is the more deep and fundamental because it is received in entire unconsciousness; like the landscape which sank into the soul of the boy blowing mimic hootings to the owls on the shore of Winander.
His face was uplifted to the sky. The Major remembered a picture in the corridor of the Library of Congress the Boy of Winander Oh, the boys of the world those wonderful boys who had been drawn out from among the rest, set apart for a time, and in whose hands now rested the fate of nations! "It is epic," he said, slowly. "Take your time for it."
Many persons declared that they had seen such a one the day before, and some insisted that he was still in Winander.
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