Part 21

Blithe hopes and happy musings soon took flight, 120 For lo! an uncouth melancholy sight-- On a green bank a creature stood forlorn Just half protruded to the light of morn, Its hinder part concealed by hedge-row thorn. The Figure called to mind a beast of prey 125 Stript of its frightful powers by slow decay, And, though no longer upon rapine bent, Dim memory keeping of its old intent. We started, looked again with anxious eyes, And in that griesly object recognise 130 The Curate's Dog--his long-tried friend, for they, As well we knew, together had grown grey. The Master died, his drooping servant's grief Found at the Widow's feet some sad relief;[2] Yet still he lived in pining discontent, 135 Sadness which no indulgence could prevent; Hence whole day wanderings, broken nightly sleeps And lonesome watch that out of doors he keeps; Not oftentimes, I trust, as we, poor brute! Espied him on his legs sustained, blank, mute, 140 And of all visible motion destitute, So that the very heaving of his breath Seemed stopt, though by some other power than death. Long as we gazed upon the form and face, A mild domestic pity kept its place, 145 Unscared by thronging fancies of strange hue That haunted us in spite of what we knew. Even now I sometimes think of him as lost In second-sight appearances, or crost By spectral shapes of guilt, or to the ground, 150 On which he stood, by spells unnatural bound, Like a gaunt shaggy Porter forced to wait In days of old romance at Archimago's gate.

Advancing Summer, Nature's law fulfilled, The choristers in every grove had stilled; 155 But we, we lacked not music of our own, For lightsome Fanny had thus early thrown, Mid the gay prattle of those infant tongues, Some notes prelusive, from the round of songs With which, more zealous than the liveliest bird 160 That in wild Arden's brakes was ever heard, Her work and her work's partners she can cheer, The whole day long, and all days of the year.

Thus gladdened from our own dear Vale we pass And soon approach Diana's Looking-glass! 165 To Loughrigg-tarn, round, clear, and bright as heaven, Such name Italian fancy would have given, Ere on its banks the few grey cabins rose That yet disturb not its concealed repose More than the feeblest wind that idly blows. 170

Ah, Beaumont! when an opening in the road Stopped me at once by charm of what it showed, The encircling region vividly exprest Within the mirror's depth, a world at rest-- Sky streaked with purple, grove and craggy _bield_,[E] 175 And the smooth green of many a pendent field, And, quieted and soothed, a torrent small, A little daring would-be waterfall, One chimney smoking and its azure wreath, Associate all in the calm Pool beneath, 180 With here and there a faint imperfect gleam Of water-lilies veiled in misty steam-- What wonder at this hour of stillness deep, A shadowy link 'tween wakefulness and sleep, When Nature's self, amid such blending, seems 185 To render visible her own soft dreams, If, mixed with what appeared of rock, lawn, wood, Fondly embosomed in the tranquil flood, A glimpse I caught of that Abode, by Thee Designed to rise in humble privacy, 190 A lowly Dwelling, here to be outspread, Like a small Hamlet, with its bashful head Half hid in native trees. Alas 'tis not, Nor ever was; I sighed, and left the spot Unconscious of its own untoward lot, 195 And thought in silence, with regret too keen, Of unexperienced joys that might have been; Of neighbourhood and intermingling arts, And golden summer days uniting cheerful hearts. But time, irrevocable time, is flown, 200 And let us utter thanks for blessings sown And reaped--what hath been, and what is, our own.

Not far we travelled ere a shout of glee, Startling us all, dispersed my reverie; Such shout as many a sportive echo meeting 205 Oft-times from Alpine _chalets_ sends a greeting. Whence the blithe hail? behold a Peasant stand On high, a kerchief waving in her hand! Not unexpectant that by early day Our little Band would thrid this mountain way, 210 Before her cottage on the bright hill side She hath advanced with hope to be descried. Right gladly answering signals we displayed, Moving along a tract of morning shade, And vocal wishes sent of like good will 215 To our kind Friend high on the sunny hill-- Luminous region, fair as if the prime Were tempting all astir to look aloft or climb; Only the centre of the shining cot With door left open makes a gloomy spot, 220 Emblem of those dark corners sometimes found Within the happiest breast on earthly ground.

Rich prospect left behind of stream and vale, And mountain-tops, a barren ridge we scale; Descend and reach, in Yewdale's depths, a plain 225 With haycocks studded, striped with yellowing grain-- An area level as a Lake and spread Under a rock too steep for man to tread, Where sheltered from the north and bleak north-west Aloft the Raven hangs a visible nest, 230 Fearless of all assaults that would her brood molest. Hot sunbeams fill the steaming vale; but hark, At our approach, a jealous watch-dog's bark, Noise that brings forth no liveried Page of state, But the whole household, that our coming wait. 235 With Young and Old warm greetings we exchange, And jocund smiles, and toward the lowly Grange Press forward by the teasing dogs unscared. Entering, we find the morning meal prepared: So down we sit, though not till each had cast 240 Pleased looks around the delicate repast-- Rich cream, and snow-white eggs fresh from the nest, With amber honey from the mountain's breast; Strawberries from lane or woodland, offering wild Of children's industry, in hillocks piled; 245 Cakes for the nonce,[3] and butter fit to lie Upon a lordly dish; frank hospitality Where simple art with bounteous nature vied, And cottage comfort shunned not seemly pride.

Kind Hostess! Handmaid also of the feast, 250 If thou be lovelier than the kindling East, Words by thy presence unrestrained may speak Of a perpetual dawn from brow and cheek Instinct with light whose sweetest promise lies, Never retiring, in thy large dark eyes, 255 Dark but to every gentle feeling true, As if their lustre flowed from ether's purest blue.

Let me not ask what tears may have been wept By those bright eyes, what weary vigils kept, Beside that hearth what sighs may have been heaved 260 For wounds inflicted, nor what toil relieved By fortitude and patience, and the grace Of heaven in pity visiting the place. Not unadvisedly those secret springs I leave unsearched: enough that memory clings, 265 Here as elsewhere, to notices that make Their own significance for hearts awake, To rural incidents, whose genial powers Filled with delight three summer morning hours.

More could my pen report of grave or gay 270 That through our gipsy travel cheered the way; But, bursting forth above the waves, the Sun Laughs at my pains, and seems to say, "Be done." Yet, Beaumont, thou wilt not, I trust, reprove This humble offering made by Truth to Love, 275 Nor chide the Muse that stooped to break a spell Which might have else been on me yet:-- FAREWELL.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1845.

Or stedfast Centinel ... 1842.

[2]

Until the Vale she quitted, and their door Was closed, to which she will return no more; But first old Faithful to a neighbour's care Was given in charge; nor lacked he dainty fare, And in the chimney nook was free to lie And doze, or, if his hour were come, to die.

Inserted only in the edition of 1842.

[3] The phrase "for the nonce" was _italicised_ in 1842.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] In the MS. of these Fenwick notes, the following is written in pencil, the passage referred to beginning with "Our hostess," and ending at "the poem." "Revise this sentence. Here is something involved."--ED.

[B] _i.e._ John Carter, Wordsworth's confidential clerk, who saw the edition of 1857 through the press. The sentence enclosed within brackets and signed J. C. is his.--ED.

[C] See the note dealing with this date (p. 269). It should be 1811.--ED.

[D] A local word for Sledge.--W. W. 1842.

[E] A word common in the country, signifying shelter, as in Scotland.--W. W. 1842.

UPON PERUSING THE FOREGOING EPISTLE THIRTY YEARS AFTER ITS COMPOSITION

Composed 1841.--Published 1842

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

Soon did the Almighty Giver of all rest Take those dear young Ones to a fearless nest; And in Death's arms has long reposed the Friend For whom this simple Register was penned. Thanks to the moth that spared it for our eyes; 5 And Strangers even the slighted Scroll may prize, Moved by the touch of kindred sympathies. For--save the calm, repentance sheds o'er strife Raised by remembrances of misused life, The light from past endeavours purely willed 10 And by Heaven's favour happily fulfilled; Save hope that we, yet bound to Earth, may share The joys of the Departed--what so fair As blameless pleasure, not without some tears, Reviewed through Love's transparent veil of years?[A] 15

The mighty tumults of the HOUSE OF KEYS;

The Isle of Man has a constitution of its own, independent of the Imperial Parliament. The House of twenty-four Keys is the popular assembly, corresponding to the British House of Commons; the Lieutenant-Governor and Council constitute the Upper House. All legislative measures must be first considered and passed by both branches, and afterwards transmitted to the English Sovereign for the Royal Assent before becoming law.

Mona from our Abode is daily seen, But with a wilderness of waves between;

In a letter written from Bootle to Sir George Beaumont on the 28th August 1811, Wordsworth says:--

"This is like most others, a bleak and treeless coast, but abounding in corn fields, and with a noble beach, which is delightful either for walking or riding. The Isle of Man is right opposite our window; and though in this unsettled weather often invisible, its appearance has afforded us great amusement. One afternoon above the whole length of it was stretched a body of clouds, shaped and coloured like a magnificent grove in winter, when whitened with snow and illuminated, by the morning sun, which, having melted the snow in part, has intermingled black masses among the brightness. The whole sky was scattered over with fleecy dark clouds, such as any sunshiny day produces, and which were changing their shapes and positions every moment. But this line of clouds was immovably attached to the island, and manifestly took their shape from the influence of its mountains. There appeared to be just span enough of sky to allow the hand to slide between the top of Snâfell, the highest peak in the island, and the base of this glorious forest, in which little change was noticeable for more than the space of half an hour."

In the Fenwick note, Wordsworth tells us that this _Epistle_ was written in 1804; and by referring to the note prefixed to the first poem in the "Memorials of a Tour in Scotland," 1803, (see vol. ii. p. 377), it will be seen that the lines entitled _Departure from the Vale of Grasmere, August, 1803_, beginning--

The gentlest Shade that walked Elysian plains,

were "not actually written for the occasion, but transplanted from my _Epistle to Sir George Beaumont_."

It does not follow from this, however, that the lines belong to the year 1803 or 1804; because they were not published along with the earlier "Memorials" of the Scotch Tour, but appeared for the first time in the edition of 1827. It is certain that Wordsworth travelled down with his household from the Grasmere Parsonage to Bootle in August 1811--mainly to get some sea-air for his invalid children--and that he lived there for some time during the autumn of that year. He _may_ have also gone down to the south-west coast of Cumberland in 1804, and then written a part of the poem; but we have no direct evidence of this; and I rather think that the mention of the year 1804 to Miss Fenwick is just another instance in which Wordsworth's memory failed him while dictating these memoranda. If the poem was not written at different times, but was composed as a whole in 1811, we may partly account for the date he gave to Miss Fenwick, when we remember that in the year 1827 he transferred a part of it (viz. the introduction) to these "Memorials" of the Scotch Tour of 1803.

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, And the rough bed of many an unbridged brook.

Their route would be from Grasmere by Red Bank, over by High Close to Elter Water, by Colwith into Yewdale, on to Waterhead; then probably, from Coniston over Walna Scar, into Duddondale, and thence to Bootle.

Like a gaunt shaggy Porter forced to wait In days of old romance at Archimago's gate.

See Spenser's _Faërie Queene_, book i. canto i. stanza 8.

... the liveliest bird That in wild Arden's brakes was ever heard.

Compare _As you like it_, act II. scene 5.

And soon approach Diana's Looking-glass! To Loughrigg-tarn, etc.

See the note appended by Wordsworth to the sequel to this poem.

A glimpse I caught of that Abode, by Thee Designed to rise in humble privacy.

He imagines the house which Sir George Beaumont intended to build at Loughrigg Tarn, but which he never erected, to be really built by his friend, very much as in the sonnet named _Anticipation, October, 1803_, he supposes England to have been invaded, and the battle fought in which "the Invaders were laid low."

... behold a Peasant stand On high, a kerchief waving in her hand!

See the Fenwick note preceding the poem.

... a barren ridge we scale; Descend and reach, in Yewdale's depths, a plain.

They went up Little Langdale, I think, past the Tarn to Fell Foot, and crossed over the ridge of Tilberthwaite, into Yewdale by the copper mines.

Under a rock too steep for man to tread, Where sheltered from the north and bleak north-west Aloft the Raven hangs a visible nest, Fearless of all assaults that would her brood molest.

There is a Raven crag in Yewdale, evidently the one referred to in this passage, and also in the passage in the first book of _The Prelude_ (see vol. iii. p. 142), beginning--

Oh! when I have hung Above the raven's nest, by knots of grass And half-inch fissures in the slippery rock But ill sustained, etc.

... toward the lowly Grange Press forward,

To Waterhead at the top of Coniston Lake.

In connection with Loughrigg Tarn, compare the note to the poem beginning--

So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive,

and also the Biographical Sketch of Professor Archer Butler, prefixed to his _Sermons_, vol. i.--ED.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] LOUGHRIGG TARN, alluded to in the foregoing _Epistle_, resembles, though much smaller in compass, the Lake Nemi, or _Speculum Dianæ_ as it is often called, not only in its clear waters and circular form, and the beauty immediately surrounding it, but also as being overlooked by the eminence of Langdale Pikes as Lake Nemi is by that of Monte Calvo. Since this _Epistle_ was written Loughrigg Tarn has lost much of its beauty by the felling of many natural clumps of wood, relics of the old forest, particularly upon the farm called "The Oaks" from the abundance of that tree which grew there.

It is to be regretted, upon public grounds, that Sir George Beaumont did not carry into effect his intention of constructing here a Summer Retreat in the style I have described; as his Taste would have set an example how buildings, with all the accommodations modern society requires, might be introduced even into the most secluded parts of this country without injuring their native character. The design was not abandoned from failure of inclination on his part, but in consequence of local untowardnesses which need not be particularised.--W. W. 1842.

UPON THE SIGHT OF A BEAUTIFUL PICTURE,

PAINTED BY SIR G. H. BEAUMONT, BART.

Composed 1811.--Published 1815

[This was written when we dwelt in the Parsonage at Grasmere. The principal features of the picture are Bredon Hill and Cloud Hill near Coleorton. I shall never forget the happy feeling with which my heart was filled when I was impelled to compose this Sonnet. We resided only two years in this house, and during the last half of the time, which was after this poem had been written, we lost our two children, Thomas and Catherine. Our sorrow upon these events often brought it to my mind, and cast me upon the support to which the last line of it gives expression--

"The appropriate calm of blest eternity."

It is scarcely necessary to add that we still possess the Picture.--I.F.]

Included among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets." In 1815 the title was simply _Upon the Sight of a Beautiful Picture_.--ED.

Praised be the Art whose subtle power could stay Yon cloud, and fix it in that glorious shape; Nor would permit the thin smoke to escape,[A] Nor those bright sunbeams to forsake the day; Which stopped that band of travellers on their way, 5 Ere they were lost within the shady wood; And showed the Bark upon the glassy flood For ever anchored in her sheltering bay. Soul-soothing Art! whom[1] Morning, Noon-tide, Even, Do serve with all their changeful pageantry; 10 Thou, with ambition modest yet sublime, Here, for the sight of mortal man, hast given To one brief moment caught from fleeting time The appropriate calm of blest eternity,[B]

Compare the _Elegiac Stanzas, suggested by a picture of Peele Castle, in a Storm, painted by Sir George Beaumont_--especially the first three, and the fifth, sixth, and seventh stanzas. (See vol. iii. p. 54.)

In the letter written to Sir George Beaumont from Bootle, in 1811--partly quoted in the note to the previous poem (p. 268)--Wordsworth says, "A few days after I had enjoyed the pleasure of seeing, in different moods of mind, your Coleorton landscape from my fireside, it _suggested_ to me the following sonnet, which--having walked out to the side of Grasmere brook, where it murmurs through the meadows near the Church--I composed immediately--

Praised be the Art....

"The images of the smoke and the travellers are taken from your picture; the rest were added, in order to place the thought in a clear point of view, and for the sake of variety."--ED.

VARIANTS:

[1] C. and 1838.

... which ... 1815.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Compare, in Pope's _Moral Essays_, ii. 19--

Choose a firm cloud before it fall, and in it Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute. ED.

[B] Compare, in the _Elegiac Stanzas, suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle, in a Storm_ (vol. iii. p. 55)--

Elysian quiet, without toil or strife. ED.

TO THE POET, JOHN DYER

Composed 1811.--Published 1815

Classed among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets." In the edition of 1815 the title was, _To the Poet, Dyer_.--ED.

Bard of the Fleece, whose skilful genius made That work a living landscape fair and bright; Nor hallowed less with musical delight Than those soft scenes through which thy childhood strayed, Those southern tracts of Cambria, deep embayed, 5 With green hills fenced, with[1] ocean's murmur lull'd;[A] Though hasty Fame hath many a chaplet culled For worthless brows, while in the pensive shade Of cold neglect she leaves thy head ungraced, Yet pure and powerful minds, hearts meek and still, 10 A grateful few, shall love thy modest Lay, Long as the shepherd's bleating flock shall stray O'er naked Snowdon's wide aërial waste; Long as the thrush shall pipe on Grongar Hill!

John Dyer, author of _Grongar Hill_ (1726), and _The Fleece_ (1757), was born at Aberglasney, in Caermarthenshire, in 1698, and died in 1758. Both Akenside and Gray, before Wordsworth's time, had signalised his merit, in opposition to the dicta of Johnson and Horace Walpole. The passage which Wordsworth quotes is from _The Fleece_, in which Dyer is referring to his own ancestors, who were weavers, and "fugitives from superstition's rage," and who brought the art of weaving "from Devon" to

that soft tract Of Cambria, deep-embayed, Dimetian land, By green hills fenced, by ocean's murmur lulled.

It will be observed that Wordsworth quotes this last line of Dyer accurately in the edition of 1815, but changed it in 1827.

This sonnet was possibly written before 1811, as in a letter to Lady Beaumont, dated November 20, 1811, he speaks of it as written "some time ago." In that letter Wordsworth writes thus of Dyer:--"His poem is in several places dry and heavy, but its beauties are innumerable, and of a high order. In point of _imagination_ and purity of style, I am not sure that he is not superior to any writer of verse since the time of Milton." He then transcribes his sonnet, and adds--"In the above is one whole line from _The Fleece_, and also other expressions. When you read _The Fleece_, you will recognise them."--ED.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1827.

By green hills fenced, by ... 1815.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Compare Dyer's _Fleece_, book iii.--ED.

1812

The years 1812 and 1813 were poetically even less productive than 1811 had been. The first of them was saddened by domestic losses, which deprived the poet, for a time, of the power of work, and almost of any interest in the labour to which his life was devoted. Three short pieces are all that belong to 1812 and 1813 respectively.--ED.

SONG FOR THE SPINNING WHEEL

FOUNDED UPON A BELIEF PREVALENT AMONG THE PASTORAL VALES OF WESTMORELAND

Composed 1812.--Published 1820

[The belief on which this is founded I have often heard expressed by an old neighbour of Grasmere.--I. F.]

One of the "Poems of the Fancy."--ED.

Swiftly turn the murmuring wheel! Night has brought the welcome hour, When the weary fingers feel Help, as if from faery power; Dewy night o'ershades the ground; 5 Turn the swift wheel round and round!

Now, beneath the starry sky, Couch[1] the widely-scattered sheep;-- Ply the pleasant labour, ply! For the spindle, while they sleep, 10 Runs with speed more smooth and fine, Gathering[2] up a trustier line.

Short-lived likings may be bred By a glance from fickle eyes; But true love is like the thread 15 Which the kindly wool supplies, When the flocks are all at rest Sleeping on the mountain's breast.