Part 20

Such union, in the lovely Girl maintained And her twin Brother, had the parent seen, Ere, pouncing like a ravenous bird of prey, 40 Death in a moment parted them, and left The Mother, in her turns of anguish, worse Than desolate; for oft-times from the sound Of the survivor's sweetest voice (dear child, He knew it not) and from his happiest looks, 45 Did she extract the food of self-reproach, As one that lived ungrateful for the stay By Heaven afforded to uphold her maimed And tottering spirit. And full oft the Boy, Now first acquainted with distress and grief, 50 Shrunk from his Mother's presence, shunned with fear Her sad approach, and stole away to find, In his known haunts of joy where'er he might, A more congenial object. But, as time Softened her pangs and reconciled the child 55 To what he saw, he gradually returned, Like a scared Bird encouraged to renew A broken intercourse; and, while his eyes Were yet with pensive fear and gentle awe Turned upon her who bore him, she would stoop 60 To imprint a kiss that lacked not power to spread Faint colour over both their pallid cheeks, And stilled his tremulous lip. Thus they were calmed And cheered; and now together breathe fresh air In open fields; and when the glare of day 65 Is gone, and twilight to the Mother's wish Befriends the observance, readily they join In walks whose boundary is the lost One's grave, Which he with flowers hath planted, finding there Amusement, where the Mother does not miss 70 Dear consolation, kneeling on the turf In prayer, yet blending with that solemn rite Of pious faith the vanities of grief; For such, by pitying Angels and by Spirits Transferred to regions upon which the clouds 75 Of our weak nature rest not, must be deemed Those willing tears, and unforbidden sighs, And all those tokens of a cherished sorrow, Which, soothed and sweetened by the grace of Heaven As now it is, seems to her own fond heart, 80 Immortal as the love that gave it being.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Compare the _Ode, Intimations of Immortality_, l. 4, and _passim_ (vol. viii.)--ED.

1811

In the spring of 1811 Wordsworth left Allan Bank, to reside for two years in the Rectory, Grasmere. A small fragment on his daughter Catherine, the _Epistle to Sir George Beaumont, Bart., from the south-west coast of Cumberland_, the lines _To the Poet, John Dyer_, and four sonnets (mainly suggested by the events of the year in Spain) comprise all the poems belonging to 1811.--ED.

CHARACTERISTICS OF A CHILD THREE YEARS OLD

Composed 1811.--Published 1815

[Written at Allanbank, Grasmere. Picture of my daughter, Catherine, who died the year after.--I. F.]

Classed among the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood."--ED.

Loving she is, and tractable, though wild; And Innocence hath privilege in her To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes; And feats of cunning; and the pretty round Of trespasses, affected to provoke 5 Mock-chastisement and partnership in play. And, as a faggot sparkles on the hearth, Not less if unattended and alone Than when both young and old sit gathered round And take delight in its activity; 10 Even so this happy Creature of herself Is all-sufficient; solitude to her Is blithe society, who fills the air With gladness and involuntary songs. Light are her sallies as the tripping fawn's 15 Forth-startled from the fern where she lay couched; Unthought-of, unexpected, as the stir Of the soft breeze ruffling the meadow-flowers, Or from before it chasing wantonly The many-coloured images imprest 20 Upon the bosom of a placid lake.

On February 28, 1810, Dorothy Wordsworth wrote to Lady Beaumont, "Catherine is the only funny child in the family; the rest of the children are _lively_, but Catherine is comical in every look and motion. Thomas perpetually forces a tender smile by his simplicity, but Catherine makes you laugh outright, though she can hardly say a dozen words, and she joins in the laugh, as if sensible of the drollery of her appearance."--ED.

SPANISH GUERILLAS, 1811

Composed 1811.--Published 1815

Classed among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty."--ED.

They seek, are sought; to daily battle led, Shrink not, though far outnumbered by their Foes, For they have learnt to open and to close The ridges of grim war;[A] and at their head Are captains such as erst their country bred 5 Or fostered, self-supported chiefs,--like those Whom hardy Rome was fearful to oppose; Whose desperate shock the Carthaginian fled. In One who lived unknown a shepherd's life Redoubted Viriatus breathes again;[B] 10 And Mina, nourished in the studious shade,[C] With that great Leader[D] vies, who, sick of strife And bloodshed, longed in quiet to be laid In some green island of the western main.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Compare _Paradise Lost_, book vi. ll. 235-36--

and when to close The ridges of grim war. ED.

[B] Viriatus, for eight or fourteen years leader of the Lusitanians in the war with the Romans in the middle of the second century B.C. He defeated many of the Roman generals, including Q. Pompeius. Some of the historians say that he was originally a shepherd, and then a robber or guerilla chieftain. (See Livy, books 52 and 54.)--ED.

[C] "Whilst the chief force of the French was occupied in Portugal and Andalusia, and there remained in the interior of Spain only a few weak corps, the Guerilla system took deep root, and in the course of 1811 attained its greatest perfection. Left to itself the boldest and most enterprising of its members rose to command, and the mode of warfare best adapted to their force and habits was pursued. Each province boasted of a hero, in command of a formidable band--Old Castile, Don Julian Sanches; Aragon, Longa; Navarre, Esprez y Mina, ... with innumerable others, whose deeds spread a lustre over every part of the kingdom.... Mina and Longa headed armies of 6000 or 8000 men with distinguished ability, and displayed manoeuvres oftentimes for months together, in baffling the pursuit of more numerous bodies of French, which would reflect credit on the most celebrated commanders." Mina had been trained for clerical life. (See _Account of the War in Spain and Portugal, and in the south of France, from 1808 to 1814 inclusive_, by Lieut.-Colonel John T. Jones. London, 1818.)--ED.

[D] Sertorius.--W. W. 1827. See note to _The Prelude_ book i. vol. iii. p. 138.--ED.

"THE POWER OF ARMIES IS A VISIBLE THING"

Composed 1811.--Published 1815

One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty."

The power of Armies is a visible thing,[A] Formal, and circumscribed in time and space;[1] But who the limits of that power shall trace[2] Which a brave People into light can bring Or hide, at will,--for freedom combating 5 By just revenge inflamed? No foot may chase,[3] No eye can follow, to a fatal[4] place That power, that spirit, whether on the wing Like the strong wind, or sleeping like the wind Within its awful caves.--From year to year 10 Springs this indigenous produce far and near; No craft this subtle element can bind, Rising like water from the soil, to find In every nook a lip that it may cheer.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1827.

... and place; 1815.

[2] 1827.

... can trace 1815.

[3] 1827.

... can chase, 1815.

[4] The word "fatal" was _italicised_ in the editions of 1815-43.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Compare Aubrey de Vere's _Picturesque Sketches of Greece and Turkey_, vol. i. chap. viii. p. 204.--ED.

"HERE PAUSE: THE POET CLAIMS AT LEAST THIS PRAISE"

Composed 1811.--Published 1815

Included among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty." In 1815 it was called _Conclusion_, as ending this series of poems in that edition. In all editions it was headed by the date _1811_.--ED.

Here pause: the poet claims at least this praise, That virtuous Liberty hath been the scope Of his pure song, which did not shrink from hope In the worst moment of these evil days; From hope, the paramount _duty_ that Heaven lays, 5 For its own honour, on man's suffering heart.[A] Never may from our souls one truth depart-- That an accursed[1] thing it is to gaze On prosperous tyrants with a dazzled eye; Nor--touched with due abhorrence of _their_ guilt 10 For whose dire ends tears flow, and blood is spilt, And justice labours in extremity-- Forget thy weakness, upon which is built, O wretched man, the throne of tyranny!

VARIANTS:

[1] The word "accursed" was _italicised_ in the editions of 1815-43.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Compare _The Excursion_ (book iv. l. 763)--

We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love,

and S. T. C. in _The Friend_ (vol. i. p. 172). "What an awful duty, what a nurse of all others, the fairest virtues, does not Hope become! We are bad ourselves, because we despair of the goodness of others."--ED.

EPISTLE TO SIR GEORGE HOWLAND BEAUMONT, BART.

FROM THE SOUTH-WEST COAST OF CUMBERLAND.--1811

Composed 1811.--Published 1842

[This poem opened, when first written, with a paragraph that has been transferred as an introduction to the first series of my Scotch Memorials. The journey, of which the first part is here described, was from Grasmere to Bootle on the south-west coast of Cumberland, the whole among mountain roads through a beautiful country; and we had fine weather. The verses end with our breakfast at the head of Yewdale in a yeoman's house, which, like all the other property in that sequestered vale, has passed or is passing into the hands of Mr. James Marshall of Monk Coniston--in Mr. Knott's, the late owner's, time called Waterhead. Our hostess married a Mr. Oldfield, a lieutenant in the Navy. They lived together for some time at Hacket, where she still resides as his widow. It was in front of that house, on the mountain side, near which stood the peasant who, while we were passing at a distance, saluted us, waving a kerchief in her hand as described in the poem.[A] (This matron and her husband were then residing at the Hacket. The house and its inmates are referred to in the fifth book of _The Excursion_, in the passage beginning--

You behold, High on the breast of yon dark mountain, dark With stony barrenness, a shining speck.--J. C.)[B]

The dog which we met with soon after our starting belonged to Mr. Rowlandson, who for forty years was curate of Grasmere in place of the rector who lived to extreme old age in a state of insanity. Of this Mr. R. much might be said, both with reference to his character, and the way in which he was regarded by his parishioners. He was a man of a robust frame, had a firm voice and authoritative manner, of strong natural talents, of which he was himself conscious, for he has been heard to say (it grieves me to add) with an oath--"If I had been brought up at college I should have been a bishop." Two vices used to struggle in him for mastery, avarice and the love of strong drink; but avarice, as is common in like cases, always got the better of its opponent; for, though he was often intoxicated, it was never I believe at his own expense. As has been said of one in a more exalted station, he would take any _given_ quantity. I have heard a story of him which is worth the telling. One summer's morning, our Grasmere curate, after a night's carouse in the vale of Langdale, on his return home, having reached a point near which the whole of the vale of Grasmere might be seen with the lake immediately below him, stepped aside and sat down on the turf. After looking for some time at the landscape, then in the perfection of its morning beauty, he exclaimed--"Good God, that I should have led so long such a life in such a place!" This no doubt was deeply felt by him at the time, but I am not authorised to say that any noticeable amendment followed. Penuriousness strengthened upon him as his body grew feebler with age. He had purchased property and kept some land in his own hands, but he could not find in his heart to lay out the necessary hire for labourers at the proper season, and consequently he has often been seen in half-dotage working his hay in the month of November by moonlight, a melancholy sight which I myself have witnessed. Notwithstanding all that has been said, this man, on account of his talents and superior education, was looked up to by his parishioners, who without a single exception lived at that time (and most of them upon their own small inheritances) in a state of republican equality, a condition favourable to the growth of kindly feelings among them, and in a striking degree exclusive to temptations to gross vice and scandalous behaviour. As a pastor their curate did little or nothing for them; but what could more strikingly set forth the efficacy of the Church of England through its Ordinances and Liturgy than that, in spite of the unworthiness of the minister, his church was regularly attended; and, though there was not much appearance in the flock of what might be called animated piety, intoxication was rare, and dissolute morals unknown. With the Bible they were for the most part well acquainted; and, as was strikingly shown when they were under affliction, must have been supported and comforted by habitual belief in those truths which it is the aim of the Church to inculcate. _Loughrigg Tarn._--This beautiful pool and the surrounding scene are minutely described in my little Book upon the Lakes. Sir G. H. Beaumont, in the earlier part of his life, was induced, by his love of nature and the art of painting, to take up his abode at Old Brathay, about three miles from this spot, so that he must have seen it under many aspects; and he was so much pleased with it that he purchased the Tarn with a view to build, near it, such a residence as is alluded to in this Epistle. Baronets and knights were not so common in that day as now, and Sir Michael le Fleming, not liking to have a rival in that kind of distinction so near him, claimed a sort of Lordship over the territory, and showed dispositions little in unison with those of Sir G. Beaumont, who was eminently a lover of peace. The project of building was in consequence given up, Sir George retaining possession of the Tarn. Many years afterwards a Kendal tradesman born upon its banks applied to me for the purchase of it, and accordingly it was sold for the sum that had been given for it, and the money was laid out under my direction upon a substantial oak fence for a certain number of yew trees to be planted in Grasmere church-yard; two were planted in each enclosure, with a view to remove, after a certain time, the one which throve least. After several years, the stouter plant being left, the others were taken up and placed in other parts of the same church-yard, and were adequately fenced at the expense and under the care of the late Mr. Barber, Mr. Greenwood, and myself: the whole eight are now thriving, and are already an ornament to a place which, during late years, has lost much of its rustic simplicity by the introduction of iron palisades to fence off family burying-grounds, and by numerous monuments, some of them in very bad taste; from which this place of burial was in my memory quite free. See the lines in the sixth book of _The Excursion_ beginning--"Green is the church-yard, beautiful and green." The _Epistle_ to which these notes refer, though written so far back as 1804,[C] was carefully revised so late as 1842, previous to its publication. I am loth to add, that it was never seen by the person to whom it is addressed. So sensible am I of the deficiencies in all that I write, and so far does everything I attempt fall short of what I wish it to be, that even private publication, if such a term may be allowed, requires more resolution than I can command. I have written to give vent to my own mind, and not without hope that, some time or other, kindred minds might benefit by my labours: but I am inclined to believe I should never have ventured to send forth any verses of mine to the world if it had not been done on the pressure of personal occasions. Had I been a rich man, my productions, like this _Epistle_, the tragedy of _The Borderers_, etc., would most likely have been confined to manuscript.--I. F.]

Included among the "Miscellaneous Poems."--ED.

Far from our home by Grasmere's quiet Lake, From the Vale's peace which all her fields partake, Here on the bleakest point of Cumbria's shore We sojourn stunned by Ocean's ceaseless roar; While, day by day, grim neighbour! huge Black Comb Frowns deepening visibly his native gloom, 6 Unless, perchance rejecting in despite What on the Plain _we_ have of warmth and light, In his own storms he hides himself from sight. Rough is the time; and thoughts, that would be free 10 From heaviness, oft fly, dear Friend, to thee; Turn from a spot where neither sheltered road Nor hedge-row screen invites my steps abroad; Where one poor Plane-tree, having as it might Attained a stature twice a tall man's height, 15 Hopeless of further growth, and brown and sere Through half the summer, stands with top cut sheer, Like an unshifting weathercock which proves How cold the quarter that the wind best loves, Or like a Centinel[1] that, evermore 20 Darkening the window, ill defends the door Of this unfinished house--a Fortress bare, Where strength has been the Builder's only care; Whose rugged walls may still for years demand The final polish of the Plasterer's hand. 25 --This Dwelling's Inmate more than three weeks' space And oft a Prisoner in the cheerless place, I--of whose touch the fiddle would complain, Whose breath would labour at the flute in vain, In music all unversed, nor blessed with skill 30 A bridge to copy, or to paint a mill, Tired of my books, a scanty company! And tired of listening to the boisterous sea-- Pace between door and window muttering rhyme, An old resource to cheat a froward time! 35 Though these dull hours (mine is it, or their shame?) Would tempt me to renounce that humble aim. --But if there be a Muse who, free to take Her seat upon Olympus, doth forsake Those heights (like Phoebus when his golden locks 40 He veiled, attendant on Thessalian flocks) And, in disguise, a Milkmaid with her pail Trips down the pathways of some winding dale; Or, like a Mermaid, warbles on the shores To fishers mending nets beside their doors; 45 Or, Pilgrim-like, on forest moss reclined, Gives plaintive ditties to the heedless wind, Or listens to its play among the boughs Above her head and so forgets her vows-- If such a Visitant of Earth there be 50 And she would deign this day to smile on me And aid my verse, content with local bounds Of natural beauty and life's daily rounds, Thoughts, chances, sights, or doings, which we tell Without reserve to those whom we love well-- 55 Then haply, Beaumont! words in current clear Will flow, and on a welcome page appear Duly before thy sight, unless they perish here.

What shall I treat of? News from Mona's Isle? Such have we, but unvaried in its style; 60 No tales of Runagates fresh landed, whence And wherefore fugitive or on what pretence; Of feasts, or scandal, eddying like the wind Most restlessly alive when most confined. Ask not of me, whose tongue can best appease 65 The mighty tumults of the HOUSE OF KEYS; The last year's cup whose Ram or Heifer gained, What slopes are planted, or what mosses drained: An eye of fancy only can I cast On that proud pageant now at hand or past, 70 When full five hundred boats in trim array, With nets and sails outspread and streamers gay, And chanted hymns and stiller voice of prayer, For the old Manx-harvest to the Deep repair, Soon as the herring-shoals at distance shine 75 Like beds of moonlight shifting on the brine.

Mona from our Abode is daily seen, But with a wilderness of waves between; And by conjecture only can we speak Of aught transacted there in bay or creek; 80 No tidings reach us thence from town or field, Only faint news her mountain sunbeams yield, And some we gather from the misty air, And some the hovering clouds, our telegraph, declare. But these poetic mysteries I withhold; 85 For Fancy hath her fits both hot and cold, And should the colder fit with You be on When You might read, my credit would be gone.

Let more substantial themes the pen engage, And nearer interests culled from the opening stage 90 Of our migration.--Ere the welcome dawn Had from the east her silver star withdrawn, The Wain stood ready, at our Cottage-door, Thoughtfully freighted with a various store; And long or ere the uprising of the Sun 95 O'er dew-damped dust our journey was begun, A needful journey, under favouring skies, Through peopled Vales; yet something in the guise Of those old Patriarchs when from well to well They roamed through Wastes where now the tented Arabs 100 dwell.

Say first, to whom did we the charge confide, Who promptly undertook the Wain to guide Up many a sharply-twining road and down, And over many a wide hill's craggy crown, Through the quick turns of many a hollow nook, 105 And the rough bed of many an unbridged brook? A blooming Lass--who in her better hand Bore a light switch, her sceptre of command When, yet a slender Girl, she often led, Skilful and bold, the horse and burthened _sled_[D] 110 From the peat-yielding Moss on Gowdar's head. What could go wrong with such a Charioteer For goods and chattels, or those Infants dear, A Pair who smilingly sat side by side, Our hope confirming that the salt-sea tide, 115 Whose free embraces we were bound to seek, Would their lost strength restore and freshen the pale cheek? Such hope did either Parent entertain Pacing behind along the silent lane.