The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth — Volume 7 (of 8)
PART 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 5 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, 10 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 15 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; 20 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 25 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, 30 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, 35 You would in mystery hide; But I will not defile with dust The knee that bends to adore The God in heaven;--attend, be just; This ask I, and no more! 40
"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: 45 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, 50 Lest virtue should be harbourless, And honour want a home; And happy were I, if the Czar Retain his lawless will, To end life here like this poor deer, 55 Or a lamb on a green hill."
"Are you the Maid," the Stranger cried, "From Gallic parents sprung, Whose vanishing was rumoured wide, Sad theme for every tongue; 60 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; 65 And in her face and mien The soul's pure brightness he beheld Without a veil between: He loved, he hoped,--a holy flame Kindled 'mid rapturous tears; 70 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, 75 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. 80
"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 85 Was eager to depart, Though question followed question, dear To the Maiden's filial heart.[663]
Light was his step,--his hopes, more light, Kept pace with his desires; 90 And the fifth[664] 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 95 As sovereign power could give.
O more than mighty change! If e'er Amazement rose to pain, And joy's excess[665] produced a fear Of something void and vain; 100 '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 105 Within the Maiden's breast: Delivered and Deliverer move In bridal garments drest; Meek Catherine had her own reward; The Czar bestowed a dower; 110 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, 115 The Foster-parents sate; Encouraged by the imperial eye, They shrank not into shade; Great was their bliss, the honour high To them and nature paid! 120
FOOTNOTES:
[650] Peter Henry Bruce, having given in his entertaining Memoirs the substance of this Tale,[666] affirms that, besides the concurring reports of others, he had the story from the lady's own mouth.
The Lady Catherine, mentioned towards the close, is[667] the famous Catherine, then bearing that name as the acknowledged Wife of Peter the Great.--W. W. 1835.
The title of this poem in the MS. copy by Mrs. Wordsworth is--
INA, OR, THE LODGE IN THE FOREST, A Russian Tale.
ED.
[651] Compare S. T. Coleridge's verses, _To a Lady_--
'Tis not the lily-brow I prize, Nor roseate cheeks, nor sunny eyes, Enough of lilies and of roses! A thousand-fold more dear to me The gentle look that Love discloses,-- The look that Love alone can see!
And Keats' lines beginning--
Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain.
Also Wordsworth's _Jewish Family_, II. 25-28.--ED.
[652] 1835.
Yea, to the stars themselves, if born C.
[653] 1835.
... by gold unbarred,
MS. copy by Mrs. Wordsworth.
[654] 1837.
She hung upon ... 1835.
[655] 1837.
She led her Lady ... 1835.
[656] 1835.
And I must hide me from his wrath.
MS.
[657] 1850.
That here ... 1835.
[658] 1835.
And smiles, the sunshine of distress, That hide-yet more betray.
MS.
[659] 1835.
... serene; Exalting lowly grace, A Faith which does ...
MS.
[660] In the edition of 1835 the two preceding lines were placed within quotation marks, and the following added "From Golding's Translation of Ovid's _Metamorphoses_. See also his Dedicatory Epistle prefixed to the same work."-ED.
[661] "Not a Russian house, Bruce tells us, was, at his time, without a picture of the Virgin." (MS. note to a copy of this poem, in Mrs. Wordsworth's handwriting.)--ED.
[662] The Royal Palace at Moscow.--ED.
[663] 1835.
... the Cavalier Recounted all he knew, The sufferer's filial heart to cheer; Then hastily withdrew.
MS.
[664] 1837.
... third ... 1835.
[665] 1837.
And over-joy ... 1835.
[666] 1845.
of the following Tale 1835.
[667] 1837.
was 1835.
THE EGYPTIAN MAID
OR, THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY
Composed 1830.--Published 1835
For the names and persons in the following poem, see the "History of the renowned Prince Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table"; for the rest the Author is answerable; only it may be proper to add, that the Lotus, with the bust of the Goddess appearing to rise out of the full-blown flower, was suggested by the beautiful work of ancient art, once included among the Townley Marbles, and now in the British Museum.--W. W. 1835.
[In addition to the short notice prefixed to this poem, it may be worth while here to say, that it rose out of a few words casually used in conversation by my nephew, Henry Hutchinson. He was describing with great spirit the appearance and movement of a vessel which he seemed to admire more than any other he had ever seen, and said her name was the Water Lily. This plant has been my delight from my boyhood, as I have seen it floating on the lake; and that conversation put me upon constructing and composing the poem. Had I not heard those words, it would never have been written. The form of the stanza is new, and is nothing but a repetition of the first five lines as they were thrown off, and is not perhaps well suited to narrative, and certainly would not have been trusted to had I thought at the beginning that the poem would have gone to such a length.--I. F.]
In the editions of 1835 and 1837 this poem was assigned a place of its own. In 1845 it was placed among the "Memorials of a Tour in Italy, 1837."--ED.
While Merlin paced the Cornish sands, Forth-looking toward the rocks of Scilly, The pleased Enchanter was aware Of a bright Ship that seemed to hang in air, Yet was she work of mortal hands, 5 And took from men her name--THE WATER LILY.
Soft was the wind, that landward blew; And, as the Moon, o'er some dark hill ascendant, Grows from a little edge of light To a full orb, this Pinnace bright 10 Became, as nearer to the coast she drew, More glorious, with spread sail and streaming pendant.
Upon this wingèd Shape so fair Sage Merlin gazed with admiration: Her lineaments, thought he, surpass 15 Aught that was ever shown in magic glass; Was ever built with patient care; Or, at a touch, produced by happiest transformation.[668]
Now, though a Mechanist, whose skill Shames the degenerate grasp of modern science, 20 Grave Merlin (and belike the more For practising occult and perilous lore) Was subject to a freakish will That sapped good thoughts, or scared them with defiance.
Provoked to envious spleen, he cast 25 An altered look upon the advancing Stranger Whom he had hailed with joy, and cried, "My Art shall help to tame her pride--" Anon the breeze became a blast, And the waves rose, and sky portended danger. 30
With thrilling word, and potent sign Traced on the beach, his work the Sorcerer urges; The clouds in blacker clouds are lost, Like spiteful Fiends that vanish, crossed By Fiends of aspect more malign; 35 And the winds roused the Deep with fiercer scourges.
But worthy of the name she bore Was this Sea-flower, this buoyant Galley: Supreme in loveliness and grace Of motion, whether in the embrace 40 Of trusty anchorage, or scudding o'er The main flood roughened into hill and valley.
Behold, how wantonly she laves Her sides, the Wizard's craft confounding; Like something out of Ocean sprung 45 To be for ever fresh and young, Breasts the sea-flashes, and huge waves Top-gallant high, rebounding and rebounding!
But Ocean under magic heaves, And cannot spare the Thing he cherished: 50 Ah! what avails that she was fair, Luminous, blithe, and debonair? The storm has stripped her of her leaves; The Lily floats no longer!--She hath perished.
Grieve for her,--she deserves no less; 55 So like, yet so unlike, a living Creature! No heart had she, no busy brain; Though loved, she could not love again; Though pitied, _feel_ her own distress; Nor aught that troubles us, the fools of Nature. 60
Yet is there cause for gushing tears; So richly was this Galley laden, A fairer than herself she bore, And, in her struggles, cast ashore; A lovely One, who nothing hears 65 Of wind or wave--a meek and guileless Maiden.
Into a cave had Merlin fled From mischief, caused by spells himself had muttered; And while, repentant all too late, In moody posture there he sate, 70 He heard a voice, and saw, with half-raised head, A Visitant by whom these words were uttered;
"On Christian service this frail Bark Sailed" (hear me, Merlin!) "under high protection, Though on her prow a sign of heathen power 75 Was carved--a Goddess with a Lily flower, The old Egyptian's emblematic mark Of joy immortal and of pure affection.
"Her course was for the British strand; Her freight, it was a Damsel peerless; 80 God reigns above, and Spirits strong May gather to avenge this wrong Done to the Princess, and her Land Which she in duty left, sad but not cheerless.[669]
"And to Caerleon's loftiest tower 85 Soon will the Knights of Arthur's Table A cry of lamentation send; And all will weep who there attend, To grace that Stranger's bridal hour, For whom the sea was made unnavigable. 90
"Shame! should a Child of royal line Die through the blindness of thy malice?" Thus to the Necromancer spake Nina, the Lady of the Lake, A gentle Sorceress, and benign, 95 Who ne'er embittered any good man's chalice.
"What boots," continued she, "to mourn? To expiate thy sin endeavour: From the bleak isle where she is laid, Fetched by our art, the Egyptian Maid 100 May yet to Arthur's court be borne Cold as she is, ere life be fled for ever.
"My pearly Boat, a shining Light, That brought me down that sunless river, Will bear me on from wave to wave, 105 And back with her to this sea-cave;-- Then Merlin! for a rapid flight Through air, to thee my Charge will I deliver.
"The very swiftest of thy cars Must, when my part is done, be ready; 110 Meanwhile, for further guidance, look Into thy own prophetic book; And, if that fail, consult the Stars To learn thy course; farewell! be prompt and steady."
This scarcely spoken, she again 115 Was seated in her gleaming shallop, That, o'er the yet-distempered Deep, Pursued its way with bird-like sweep, Or like a steed, without a rein, Urged o'er the wilderness in sportive gallop. 120
Soon did the gentle Nina reach That Isle without a house or haven; Landing, she found not what she sought, Nor saw of wreck or ruin aught But a carved Lotus cast upon the beach[670] 125 By the fierce waves, a flower in marble graven.
Sad relique, but how fair the while! For gently each from each retreating With backward curve, the leaves revealed The bosom half, and half concealed, 130 Of a Divinity, that seemed to smile On Nina, as she passed, with hopeful greeting.
No quest was hers of vague desire, Of tortured hope and purpose shaken; Following the margin of a bay, 135 She spied the lonely Cast-away, Unmarred, unstripped of her attire, But with closed eyes,--of breath and bloom forsaken.
Then Nina, stooping down, embraced, With tenderness and mild emotion, 140 The Damsel, in that trance embound; And, while she raised her from the ground, And in the pearly shallop placed, Sleep fell upon the air, and stilled the ocean.
The turmoil hushed, celestial springs 145 Of music opened, and there came a blending Of fragrance, underived from earth, With gleams that owed not to the sun their birth, And that soft rustling of invisible wings[671] Which Angels make, on works of love descending. 150
And Nina heard a sweeter voice Than if the Goddess of the flower had spoken: "Thou hast achieved, fair Dame! what none Less pure in spirit could have done; Go, in thy enterprise rejoice! 155 Air, earth, sea, sky, and heaven, success betoken."
So cheered, she left that Island bleak, A bare rock of the Scilly cluster, And, as they traversed the smooth brine, The self-illumined Brigantine 160 Shed, on the Slumberer's cold wan cheek And pallid brow, a melancholy lustre.
Fleet was their course, and when they came To the dim cavern, whence the river Issued into the salt-sea flood, 165 Merlin, as fixed in thought he stood, Was thus accosted by the Dame; "Behold to thee my Charge I now deliver!
But where attends thy chariot--where?"-- Quoth Merlin, "Even as I was bidden, 170 So have I done; as trusty as thy barge My vehicle shall prove--O precious Charge! If this be sleep, how soft! if death, how fair! Much have my books disclosed, but the end is hidden."
He spake; and gliding into view 175 Forth from the grotto's dimmest chamber Came two mute Swans, whose plumes of dusky white Changed, as the pair approached the light, Drawing an ebon car, their hue (Like clouds of sunset) into lucid amber. 180
Once more did gentle Nina lift The Princess, passive to all changes: The car received her:--then up-went Into the ethereal element The Birds with progress smooth and swift 185 As thought, when through bright regions memory ranges.
Sage Merlin, at the Slumberer's side, Instructs the Swans their way to measure; And soon Caerleon's towers appeared, And notes of minstrelsy were heard 190 From rich pavilions spreading wide, For some high day of long-expected pleasure.
Awe-stricken stood both Knights and Dames Ere on firm ground the car alighted; Eftsoons astonishment was past, 195 For in that face they saw the last Last lingering look of clay, that tames All pride; by which all happiness is blighted.
Said Merlin, "Mighty King, fair Lords, Away with feast and tilt and tourney! 200 Ye saw, throughout this royal House, Ye heard, a rocking marvellous Of turrets, and a clash of swords Self-shaken, as I closed my airy journey.
"Lo! by a destiny well known 205 To mortals, joy is turned to sorrow; This is the wished-for Bride, the Maid Of Egypt, from a rock conveyed Where she by shipwreck had been thrown; Ill sight! but grief may vanish ere the morrow." 210
"Though vast thy power, thy words are weak," Exclaimed the King, "a mockery hateful; Dutiful Child, her lot how hard! Is this her piety's reward? Those watery locks, that bloodless cheek! 215 O winds without remorse! O shore ungrateful!
"Rich robes are fretted by the moth; Towers, temples, fall by stroke of thunder; Will that, or deeper thoughts, abate A Father's sorrow for her fate? 220 He will repent him of his troth; His brain will burn, his stout heart split asunder.
"Alas! and I have caused this woe; For, when my prowess from invading Neighbours Had freed his Realm, he plighted word 225 That he would turn to Christ our Lord, And his dear Daughter on a Knight bestow Whom I should choose for love and matchless labours.
"Her birth was heathen; but a fence Of holy Angels round her hovered: 230 A Lady added to my court So fair, of such divine report And worship, seemed a recompense For fifty kingdoms by my sword recovered.
"Ask not for whom, O Champions true! 235 She was reserved by me her life's betrayer; She who was meant to be a bride Is now a corse: then put aside Vain thoughts, and speed ye, with observance due Of Christian rites, in Christian ground to lay her." 240
"The tomb," said Merlin, "may not close Upon her yet, earth hide her beauty; Not froward to thy sovereign will Esteem me, Liege! if I, whose skill Wafted her hither, interpose 245 To check this pious haste of erring duty.
"My books command me to lay bare The secret thou art bent on keeping: Here must a high attest be given, 249 _What_ Bridegroom was for her ordained by Heaven: And in my glass significants there are Of things that may to gladness turn this weeping.
"For this, approaching, One by One, Thy Knights must touch the cold hand of the Virgin; So, for the favoured One, the Flower may bloom 255 Once more: but, if unchangeable her doom, If life departed be for ever gone, Some blest assurance, from this cloud emerging,
"May teach him to bewail his loss; Not with a grief that, like a vapour, rises 260 And melts; but grief devout that shall endure, And a perpetual growth secure Of purposes which no false thought shall cross, A harvest of high hopes and noble enterprises."
"So be it," said the King;--"anon, 265 Here, where the Princess lies, begin the trial; Knights each in order as ye stand Step forth."--To touch the pallid hand Sir Agravaine advanced; no sign he won From Heaven or earth;--Sir Kaye had like denial. 270
Abashed, Sir Dinas turned away; Even for Sir Percival was no disclosure; Though he, devoutest of all Champions, ere He reached that ebon car, the bier Whereon diffused like snow the Damsel lay, 275 Full thrice had crossed himself in meek composure.
Imagine (but ye Saints! who can?) How in still air the balance trembled-- The wishes, peradventure the despites That overcame some not ungenerous Knights; 280 And all the thoughts that lengthened out a span Of time to Lords and Ladies thus assembled.
What patient confidence was here! And there how many bosoms panted! While drawing toward the car Sir Gawaine, mailed 285 For tournament, his beaver vailed, And softly touched; but, to his princely cheer And high expectancy, no sign was granted.
Next, disencumbered of his harp, Sir Tristram, dear to thousands as a brother, 290 Came to the proof, nor grieved that there ensued No change;--the fair Izonda he had wooed With love too true, a love with pangs too sharp, From hope too distant, not to dread another.
Not so Sir Launcelot; from Heaven's grace 295 A sign he craved, tired slave of vain contrition; The royal Guinever looked passing glad. When his touch failed.--Next came Sir Galahad; He paused, and stood entranced by that still face Whose features he had seen in noontide vision. 300
For late, as near a murmuring stream He rested 'mid an arbour green and shady, Nina, the good Enchantress, shed A light around his mossy bed; And, at her call, a waking dream 305 Prefigured to his sense the Egyptian Lady.
Now, while his bright-haired front he bowed, And stood, far-kenned by mantle furred with ermine, As o'er the insensate Body hung The enrapt, the beautiful, the young, 310 Belief sank deep into the crowd That he the solemn issue would determine.
Nor deem it strange; the Youth had worn That very mantle on a day of glory, The day when he achieved that matchless feat, 315 The marvel of the PERILOUS SEAT, Which whosoe'er approached of strength was shorn, Though King or Knight the most renowned in story.
He touched with hesitating hand-- And lo! those Birds, far-famed through Love's dominions, 320 The Swans, in triumph clap their wings; And their necks play, involved in rings, Like sinless snakes in Eden's happy land;-- "Mine is she," cried the Knight;--again they clapped their pinions.
"Mine was she--mine she is, though dead, 325 And to her name my soul shall cleave in sorrow;" Whereat, a tender twilight streak Of colour dawned upon the Damsel's cheek; And her lips, quickening with uncertain red, Seemed from each other a faint warmth to borrow. 330
Deep was the awe, the rapture high, Of love emboldened, hope with dread entwining, When, to the mouth, relenting Death Allowed a soft and flower-like breath, Precursor to a timid sigh, 335 To lifted eyelids, and a doubtful shining.
In silence did King Arthur gaze Upon the signs that pass away or tarry; In silence watched the gentle strife Of Nature leading back to life; 340 Then eased his soul at length by praise Of God, and Heaven's pure Queen--the blissful Mary.
Then said he, "Take her to thy heart, Sir Galahad! a treasure, that God giveth, Bound by indissoluble ties to thee 345 Through mortal change and immortality; Be happy and unenvied, thou who art A goodly Knight that hath no peer that liveth!"
Not long the Nuptials were delayed; And sage tradition still rehearses 350 The pomp, the glory of that hour When toward the altar from her bower King Arthur led the Egyptian Maid, And Angels carolled these far-echoed verses;--
Who shrinks not from alliance 355 Of evil with good Powers, To God proclaims defiance, And mocks whom he adores.
A Ship to Christ devoted From the Land of Nile did go; 360 Alas! the bright Ship floated, An Idol at her prow.
By magic domination, The Heaven-permitted vent Of purblind mortal passion, 365 Was wrought her punishment.
The Flower, the Form within it, What served they in her need? Her port she could not win it, Nor from mishap be freed. 370
The tempest overcame her, And she was seen no more; But gently, gently blame her-- She cast a Pearl ashore.
The Maid to Jesu hearkened, 375 And kept to him her faith, Till sense in death was darkened, Or sleep akin to death.
But Angels round her pillow Kept watch, a viewless band; 380 And, billow favouring billow, She reached the destined strand.
Blest Pair! whate'er befal you, Your faith in Him approve Who from frail earth can call you 385 To bowers of endless love!
FOOTNOTES:
[668] 1837.
... set forth with wondrous transformation. 1835.
[669] 1837.
... though sad not cheerless. 1835.
[670] 1837.
... shore 1835.
[671] Compare _Paradise Lost_, book i. l. 768.--ED.
THE POET AND THE CAGED TURTLEDOVE[672]
Composed 1830.--Published 1835
[Written at Rydal Mount. This dove was one of a pair that had been given to my daughter by our excellent friend, Miss Jewsbury,[673] who went to India with her husband, Mr. Fletcher, where she died of cholera. The dove survived its mate many years, and was killed, to our great sorrow, by a neighbour's cat that got in at the window and dragged it partly out of the cage. These verses were composed extempore, to the letter, in the Terrace Summer-house before spoken of. It was the habit of the bird to begin cooing and murmuring whenever it heard me making my verses.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems of the Fancy."--ED.
As often as I murmur here My half-formed melodies, Straight from her osier mansion near, The Turtledove replies: Though silent as a leaf before, 5 The captive promptly coos; Is it to teach her own soft lore, Or second my weak Muse?
I rather think, the gentle Dove Is murmuring a reproof, 10 Displeased that I from lays of love Have dared to keep aloof; That I, a Bard of hill and dale, Have carolled, fancy free,[674] As if nor dove nor nightingale, 15 Had heart or voice for me.
If such thy meaning, O forbear, Sweet Bird! to do me wrong; Love, blessed Love, is every where The spirit of my song: 20 'Mid grove, and by the calm fireside, Love animates my lyre-- That coo again!--'tis not to chide, I feel, but to inspire.
FOOTNOTES:
[672] In a MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont I find the poem entitled "Twenty minutes Exercise on the Terrace last night, but Scene within doors."--ED.
[673] Compare the Sonnet beginning--
While Anna's peers and early playmates tread (p. 168.)--ED.
[674] Compare _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, act II. scene i. l. 164.--ED.
PRESENTIMENTS
Composed 1830.--Published 1835
[Written at Rydal Mount.--I. F.]
One of the "Poems of the Imagination."--ED.
Presentiments! they judge not right Who deem that ye from open light Retire in fear of shame; All _heaven-born_ Instincts shun the touch Of vulgar sense,--and, being such, 5 Such privilege ye claim.
The tear whose source I could not guess, The deep sigh that seemed fatherless, Were mine in early days; And now, unforced by time to part 10 With fancy, I obey my heart, And venture on your praise.
What though some busy foes to good, Too potent over nerve and blood, Lurk near you--and combine 15 To taint the health which ye infuse; This hides not from the moral Muse Your origin divine.
How oft from you, derided Powers! Comes Faith that in auspicious hours 20 Builds castles, not of air: Bodings unsanctioned by the will Flow from your visionary skill, And teach us to beware.
The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, 25 That no philosophy can lift, Shall vanish, if ye please, Like morning mist: and, where it lay, The spirits at your bidding play In gaiety and ease. 30
Star-guided contemplations move Through space, though calm, not raised above Prognostics that ye rule; The naked Indian of the wild, And haply, too, the cradled Child, 35 Are pupils of your school.
But who can fathom your intents, Number their signs or instruments? A rainbow, a sunbeam, A subtle smell that Spring unbinds, 40 Dead pause abrupt of midnight winds, An echo, or a dream.[675]
The laughter of the Christmas hearth With sighs of self-exhausted mirth Ye feelingly reprove; 45 And daily, in the conscious breast, Your visitations are a test And exercise of love.
When some great change gives boundless scope To an exulting Nation's hope, 50 Oft, startled and made wise By your low-breathed interpretings, The simply-meek foretaste the springs Of bitter contraries.
Ye daunt the proud array of war, 55 Pervade the lonely ocean far As sail hath been unfurled; For dancers in the festive hall What ghastly partners hath your call Fetched from the shadowy world. 60
'Tis said, that warnings ye dispense, Emboldened by a keener sense; That men have lived for whom, With dread precision, ye made clear The hour that in a distant year 65 Should knell them to the tomb.
Unwelcome insight! Yet there are Blest times when mystery is laid bare, Truth shows a glorious face, While on that isthmus which commands 70 The councils of both worlds, she stands, Sage Spirits! by your grace.
God, who instructs the brutes to scent All changes of the element, Whose wisdom fixed the scale 75 Of natures, for our wants provides By higher, sometimes humbler, guides, When lights of reason fail.
FOOTNOTES:
[675] Compare Robert Browning's _Bishop Blougram's Apology_, ll. 191-197--
... there's a sunset-touch, A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death, A chorus-ending from Euripides,--. And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears As old and new at once as Nature's self, To rap and knock and enter in our soul, Take hands and dance there, a fantastic ring, etc.--ED.
"IN THESE FAIR VALES HATH MANY A TREE"
Composed 1830.--Published 1835
[Engraven, during my absence in Italy, upon a brass plate inserted in the Stone.--I. F.]
This poem was classed among the "Inscriptions." In 1835 its title was _Inscription intended for a Stone in the grounds of Rydal Mount_. In 1845, and afterwards, the first line of the poem was its only title.--ED.
In these fair vales hath many a Tree At Wordsworth's suit been spared; And from the builder's hand this Stone, For some rude beauty of its own, Was rescued by the Bard: 5 So let it rest; and time will come When here the tender-hearted May heave a gentle sigh for him, As one of the departed.
The inscription is still preserved on the "brass plate inserted in the stone," within the grounds at Rydal Mount.--ED.
ELEGIAC MUSINGS
IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON HALL, THE SEAT OF THE LATE[676] SIR G.H. BEAUMONT, BART.
Composed 1830.--Published 1835
In these grounds stands the Parish Church, wherein is a mural monument bearing an inscription which,[677] in deference to the earnest request of the deceased, is confined to name, dates, and these words:--"Enter not into judgment with thy servant, O Lord!"--W. W.
[These verses were in part composed on horseback during a storm, while I was on my way from Colcorton to Cambridge: they are alluded to elsewhere.[678]--I.F.]
One of the "Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces."--ED.
With copious eulogy in prose or rhyme[679] Graven on the tomb we struggle against Time, Alas, how feebly! but our feelings rise And still we struggle when a good man dies: Such offering BEAUMONT dreaded and forbade, 5 A spirit meek in self-abasement clad. Yet _here_ at least, though few have numbered days That shunned so modestly the light of praise, His graceful manners, and the temperate ray Of that arch fancy which would round him play, 10 Brightening a converse never known to swerve From courtesy and delicate reserve; That sense, the bland philosophy of life, Which checked discussion ere it warmed to strife; Those rare accomplishments,[680] and varied powers, 15 Might have their record among sylvan bowers. Oh, fled for ever! vanished like a blast That shook the leaves in myriads as it passed;-- Gone from this world of earth, air, sea, and sky, From all its spirit-moving imagery, 20 Intensely studied with a painter's eye, A poet's heart; and, for congenial view, Portrayed with happiest pencil, not untrue To common recognitions while the line Flowed in a course of sympathy divine;-- 25 Oh! severed, too abruptly, from delights That all the seasons shared with equal rights;-- Rapt in the grace of undismantled age, From soul-felt music, and the treasured page Lit by that evening lamp which loved to shed 30 Its mellow lustre round thy honoured head; While Friends beheld thee give with eye, voice, mien, More than theatric force to Shakspeare's scene;--[681] If thou hast heard me--if thy Spirit know 34 Aught of these powers and whence their pleasures flow; If things in our remembrance held so dear, And thoughts and projects fondly cherished here, To thy exalted nature only seem Time's vanities, light fragments of earth's dream-- Rebuke us not![682]--The mandate is obeyed 40 That said, "Let praise be mute where I am laid;" The holier deprecation, given in trust To the cold marble, waits upon thy dust; Yet have we found how slowly genuine grief From _silent_ admiration wins relief. 45 Too long abashed thy Name is like a rose That doth "within itself its sweetness close;"[683] A drooping daisy changed into a cup In which her bright-eyed beauty is shut up. Within these groves, where still are flitting by 50 Shades of the Past, oft noticed with a sigh, Shall stand a votive Tablet,[684] haply free, When towers and temples fall, to speak of Thee! If sculptured emblems of our mortal doom Recal not there the wisdom of the Tomb, 55 Green ivy risen from out the cheerful earth, Will[685] fringe the lettered stone; and herbs spring forth, Whose fragrance, by soft dews and rain unbound, Shall penetrate the heart without a wound; While truth and love their purposes fulfil, 60 Commemorating genius, talent, skill, That could not lie concealed where Thou wert known; Thy virtues _He_ must judge, and He alone, The God upon whose mercy they are thrown.
FOOTNOTES:
[676] Sir George Beaumont died on 7th February 1827.--ED.
[677] 1837.
upon which, 1835.
[678] See the Fenwick note to the next poem.--ED.
[679] 1837.
... and rhyme 1835.
[680] 1837.
Those fine accomplishments 1835.
[681] Sir George Beaumont used frequently to read Shakspeare aloud to his household and friends at Coleorton.--ED.
[682] 1837.
... Shakespeare's scene-- Rebuke us not!-- 1835.
[683] See, in Constable's "England's Helicon," Dametus' song to his Diaphenia, stanza 2--
Diaphenia like the spreading roses That in thy sweets all sweet encloses.
Also in Fairfax's translation of Tasso's _Godfrey of Bullogne; or the_ _Recovery of Jerusalem_, book ii. stanza 18--
A veil obscured the sunshine of her eyes, The rose within herself her sweetness closed.--ED.
[684] This "votive Tablet" may still be seen, with its "green ivy," "fringing the lettered stone." Compare the Sonnet _To the Author's Portrait_, p. 318.--ED.
[685] 1827.
Shall ... 1835.
"CHATSWORTH! THY STATELY MANSION, AND THE PRIDE"
Composed 1830.--Published 1835.
[I have reason to remember the day that gave rise to this Sonnet, the 6th of November, 1830. Having undertaken, a great feat for me, to ride my daughter's pony from Westmoreland to Cambridge, that she might have the use of it while on a visit to her uncle at Trinity Lodge, on my way from Bakewell to Matlock I turned aside to Chatsworth, and had scarcely gratified my curiosity by the sight of that celebrated place before there came on a severe storm of wind and rain which continued till I reached Derby, both man and pony in a pitiable plight. For myself, I went to bed at noon-day. In the course of that journey I had to encounter a storm worse if possible, in which the pony could (or would) only make his way slantwise.
I mention this merely to add that notwithstanding this battering I composed, on horseback, the lines to the memory of Sir George Beaumont, suggested during my recent visit to Coleorton.--I.F.]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."--ED.
Chatsworth! thy stately mansion, and the pride Of thy domain, strange contrast do present To house and home in many a craggy rent Of the wild Peak; where new-born waters glide Through fields whose thrifty occupants abide 5 As in a dear and chosen banishment, With every semblance of entire content; So kind is simple Nature, fairly tried! Yet He whose heart in childhood gave her troth To pastoral dales, thin-set with modest farms, 10 May learn, if judgment strengthen with his growth, That, not for Fancy only, pomp hath charms; And, strenuous to protect from lawless harms The extremes of favoured life, may honour both.
1831
The Poems of 1831 included _The Primrose of the Rock_, a few Sonnets, and _Yarrow Revisited, and other Poems, composed during a tour in Scotland, and on the English Border, in the Autumn of 1831_.--ED.
THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK
Composed 1831.--Published 1835
[Written at Rydal Mount. The Rock stands on the right hand a little way leading up the middle road from Rydal to Grasmere. We have been in the habit of calling it the glow-worm rock from the number of glow-worms we have often seen hanging on it as described. The tuft of primrose has, I fear, been washed away by the heavy rains.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems of the Imagination."--ED.
A rock there is whose homely front[686] The passing traveller slights; Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps, Like stars, at various heights; And one coy Primrose to that Rock 5 The vernal breeze invites.
What hideous warfare hath been waged, What kingdoms overthrown, Since first I spied that Primrose-tuft And marked it for my own;[687] 10 A lasting link in Nature's chain From highest heaven let down!
The flowers, still faithful to the stems, Their fellowship renew; The stems are faithful to the root, 15 That worketh out of view; And to the rock the root adheres In every fibre true.
Close clings to earth the living rock, Though threatening still to fall; 20 The earth is constant to her sphere; And God upholds them all: So blooms this lonely Plant, nor dreads Her annual funeral.
* * * * *
Here closed the meditative strain; 25 But air breathed soft that day, The hoary mountain-heights were cheered, The sunny vale looked gay; And to the Primrose of the Rock I gave this after-lay. 30
I sang--Let myriads of bright flowers, Like Thee, in field and grove Revive unenvied;--mightier far, Than tremblings that reprove Our vernal tendencies to hope, 35 Is[688] God's redeeming love;
That love which changed--for wan disease, For sorrow that had bent O'er hopeless dust, for withered age-- Their moral element, 40 And turned the thistles of a curse To types beneficent.
Sin-blighted though we are, we too, The reasoning Sons of Men, From one oblivious winter called 45 Shall rise, and breathe again; And in eternal summer lose Our threescore years and ten.
To humbleness of heart descends This prescience from on high, 50 The faith that elevates the just, Before and when they die; And makes each soul a separate heaven, A court for Deity.
FOOTNOTES:
[686] 1835.
... lonely front 1836. The edition of 1841 returns to the text of 1835.
[687] In Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal the following occurs:--April 24, 1802.--"We walked in the evening to Rydal. Coleridge and I lingered behind. We all stood to look at Glow-worm Rock--a primrose that grew there, and just looked out on the road from its own sheltered bower."
The Primrose had disappeared when the Fenwick note was dictated, and Glow-worms have now almost deserted the district; but the _Rock_ is unmistakable, and it is one of the most interesting spots connected with Wordsworth in the Lake District.--ED.
[688] 1836.
In ... 1835.
TO B. R. HAYDON, ON SEEING HIS PICTURE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE ON THE ISLAND OF ST. HELENA
Composed 1831.--Published 1832
[This Sonnet, though said to be written on seeing the Portrait of Napoleon, was, in fact, composed some time after, extempore, in the wood at Rydal Mount.--I.F.]
Haydon! let worthier judges praise the skill Here by thy pencil shown in truth of lines And charm of colours; _I_ applaud those signs Of thought, that give the true poetic thrill; That unencumbered whole of blank and still, 5 Sky without cloud--ocean without a wave; And the one Man that laboured to enslave The World, sole-standing high on the bare hill-- Back turned, arms folded, the unapparent face Tinged, we may fancy, in this dreary place 10 With light reflected from the invisible sun Set, like his fortunes; but not set for aye Like them. The unguilty Power pursues his way, And before _him_ doth dawn perpetual run.[689]
FOOTNOTES:
[689] Haydon, as he tells us in his Autobiography, received a commission from Sir Robert Peel, in December 1830, "to paint Napoleon musing, the size of life." He finished it in June 1831, and thus described it himself:--
"Napoleon was peculiarly alive to poetical association as produced by scenery or sound; village bells with their echoing ding, dong, dang, now bursting full on the ear, now dying in the wind, affected him as they affect everybody alive to natural impressions, and on the eve of all his great battles you find him stealing away in the dead of the night, between the two hosts, and indulging in every species of poetical reverie. It was impossible to think of such a genius in captivity, without mysterious associations of the sky, the sea, the rock, and the solitude with which he was enveloped. I never imagined him but as if musing at dawn, or melancholy at sunset, listening at midnight to the beating and roaring of the Atlantic, or meditating as the stars gazed and the moon shone on him; in short Napoleon never appeared to me but at those seasons of silence and twilight, when nature seems to sympathise with the fallen, and when if there be moments in this turbulent earth fit for celestial intercourse, one must imagine these would be the times immortal spirits might select to descend within the sphere of mortality, to soothe and comfort, to inspire and support the afflicted.
"Under such impressions the present picture was produced.... I imagined him standing on the brow of an impending cliff, and musing on his past fortunes, ... sea-birds screaming at his feet, ... the sun just down, ... the sails of his guard-ship glittering on the horizon, and the Atlantic, calm, silent, awfully deep, and endlessly extensive."--_Life of Benjamin Robert Haydon_, vol. ii. pp. 301, 302.
This picture, one of the noblest which Haydon painted, is still at Drayton Manor.--ED.
YARROW REVISITED, AND OTHER POEMS
COMPOSED (TWO EXCEPTED) DURING A TOUR IN SCOTLAND, AND ON THE ENGLISH BORDER, IN THE AUTUMN OF 1831.
Composed 1831.--Published 1835
[In the autumn of 1831, my daughter and I set off from Rydal to visit Sir Walter Scott before his departure for Italy. This journey had been delayed by an inflammation in my eyes till we found that the time appointed for his leaving home would be too near for him to receive us without considerable inconvenience. Nevertheless we proceeded and reached Abbotsford on Monday. I was then scarcely able to lift up my eyes to the light. How sadly changed did I find him from the man I had seen so healthy, gay, and hopeful, a few years before, when he said at the inn at Paterdale, in my presence, his daughter Anne also being there, with Mr. Lockhart, my own wife and daughter, and Mr. Quillinan,--"I mean to live till I am _eighty_, and I shall write as long as I live." But to return to Abbotsford: the inmates and guests we found there were Sir Walter, Major Scott, Anne Scott, and Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart, Mr. Liddell, his Lady and Brother, and Mr. Allan the painter, and Mr. Laidlaw, a very old friend of Sir Walter's. One of Burns's sons, an officer in the Indian service, had left the house a day or two before, and had kindly expressed his regret that he could not wait my arrival, a regret that I may truly say was mutual. In the evening, Mr. and Mrs. Liddell sang, and Mrs. Lockhart chanted old ballads to her harp; and Mr. Allan, hanging over the back of a chair, told and acted old stories in a humorous way. With this exhibition and his daughter's singing, Sir Walter was much amused, as indeed were we all as far as circumstances would allow. But what is most worthy of mention is the admirable demeanour of Major Scott during the following evening when the Liddells were gone and only ourselves and Mr. Allan were present. He had much to suffer from the sight of his father's infirmities and from the great change that was about to take place at the residence he had built, and where he had long lived in so much prosperity and happiness. But what struck me most was the patient kindness with which he supported himself under the many fretful expressions that his sister Anne addressed to him or uttered in his hearing. She, poor thing, as mistress of that house, had been subject, after her mother's death, to a heavier load of care and responsibility and greater sacrifices of time than one of such a constitution of body and mind was able to bear. Of this, Dora and I were made so sensible, that, as soon as we had crossed the Tweed on our departure, we gave vent at the same moment to our apprehensions that her brain would fail and she would go out of her mind, or that she would sink under the trials she had passed and those which awaited her. On Tuesday morning Sir Walter Scott accompanied us and most of the party to Newark Castle on the Yarrow. When we alighted from the carriages he walked pretty stoutly, and had great pleasure in revisiting those his favourite haunts. Of that excursion the verses _Yarrow Revisited_ are a memorial. Notwithstanding the romance that pervades Sir Walter's works and attaches to many of his habits, there is too much pressure of fact for these verses to harmonise as much as I could wish with other poems. On our return in the afternoon we had to cross the Tweed directly opposite Abbotsford. The wheels of our carriage grated upon the pebbles in the bed of the stream that there flows somewhat rapidly: a rich but sad light of rather a purple than a golden hue was spread over the Eildon Hills at that moment; and, thinking it probable that it might be the last time Sir Walter would cross the stream, I was not a little moved, and expressed some of my feelings in the Sonnet beginning--"A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain." At noon on Thursday we left Abbotsford, and in the morning of that day Sir Walter and I had a serious conversation _tête-à-tête_, when he spoke with gratitude of the happy life which upon the whole he had led. He had written in my daughter's Album, before he came into the breakfast-room that morning, a few stanzas addressed to her, and, while putting the book into her hand, in his own study, standing by his desk, he said to her in my presence--"I should not have done anything of this kind but for your father's sake: they are probably the last verses I shall ever write." They show how much his mind was impaired, not by the strain of thought but by the execution, some of the lines being imperfect, and one stanza wanting corresponding rhymes: one letter, the initial S, had been omitted in the spelling of his own name. In this interview also it was that, upon my expressing a hope of his health being benefited by the climate of the country to which he was going, and by the interest he would take in the classic remembrances of Italy, he made use of the quotation from _Yarrow Unvisited_ as recorded by me in the _Musings of Aquapendente_ six years afterwards. Mr. Lockhart has mentioned in his life of him what I heard from several quarters while abroad, both at Rome and elsewhere, that little seemed to interest him but what he could collect or hear of the fugitive Stuarts and their adherents who had followed them into exile. Both the _Yarrow Revisited_ and the "Sonnet" were sent him before his departure from England. Some further particulars of the conversations which occurred during this visit I should have set down had they not been already accurately recorded by Mr. Lockhart. I first became acquainted with this great and amiable man--Sir Walter Scott--in the year 1803, when my sister and I, making a tour in Scotland, were hospitably received by him in Lasswade upon the banks of the Esk, where he was then living. We saw a good deal of him in the course of the following week; the particulars are given in my sister's Journal of that tour.--I.F.]
TO
SAMUEL ROGERS, Esq.
AS A TESTIMONY OF FRIENDSHIP, AND ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF INTELLECTUAL OBLIGATIONS, THESE MEMORIALS ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
RYDAL MOUNT, _Dec._ 11, 1834.
I
"THE GALLANT YOUTH, WHO MAY HAVE GAINED"
[The following Stanzas are a memorial of a day passed with Sir Walter Scott, and other Friends visiting the Banks of the Yarrow under his guidance, immediately before his departure from Abbotsford, for Naples.
The title _Yarrow Revisited_ will stand in no need of explanation, for Readers acquainted with the Author's previous poems, suggested by that celebrated Stream.--I.F.]
The gallant Youth, who may have gained, Or seeks, a "winsome Marrow," Was but an Infant in the lap When first I looked on Yarrow; Once more, by Newark's Castle-gate 5 Long left without a warder, I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee, Great Minstrel of the Border![690]
Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day, Their dignity installing 10 In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves Were on the bough, or falling; But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed-- The forest to embolden; Reddened the fiery hues, and shot 15 Transparence through the golden.
For busy thoughts the Stream flowed on In foamy agitation; And slept in many a crystal pool For quiet contemplation:[691] 20 No public and no private care The freeborn mind enthralling, We made a day of happy hours, Our happy days recalling.
Brisk Youth appeared, the Morn of youth, 25 With freaks of graceful folly,-- Life's temperate Noon, her sober Eve, Her Night not melancholy; Past, present, future, all appeared In harmony united, 30 Like guests that meet, and some from far, By cordial love invited.
And if, as Yarrow, through the woods And down the meadow ranging, Did meet us with unaltered face, 35 Though we were changed and changing; If, _then_, some natural shadows spread Our inward prospect over, The soul's deep valley was not slow Its brightness to recover. 40
Eternal blessings on the Muse, And her divine employment! The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons For hope and calm enjoyment; Albeit sickness, lingering yet, 45 Has o'er their pillow brooded; And Care waylays[692] their steps--a Sprite Not easily eluded.
For thee, O SCOTT! compelled to change Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot 50 For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes; And leave thy Tweed and Tiviot For mild Sorento's breezy waves; May classic Fancy, linking With native Fancy her fresh aid, 55 Preserve thy heart from sinking!
O! while they minister to thee, Each vying with the other, May Health return to mellow Age, With Strength, her venturous brother; 60 And Tiber, and each brook and rill Renowned in song and story, With unimagined beauty shine, Nor lose one ray of glory!
For Thou, upon a hundred streams, 65 By tales of love and sorrow, Of faithful love, undaunted truth, Hast shed the power of Yarrow; And streams unknown, hills yet unseen, Wherever they[693] invite Thee, 70 At parent Nature's grateful call, With gladness must requite Thee.
A gracious welcome shall be thine, Such looks of love and honour As thy own Yarrow gave to me 75 When first I gazed upon her; Beheld what I had feared to see, Unwilling to surrender Dreams treasured up from early days, The holy and the tender. 80
And what, for this frail world, were all That mortals do or suffer, Did no responsive harp, no pen, Memorial tribute offer? Yea, what were mighty Nature's self? 85 Her features, could they win us, Unhelped by the poetic voice That hourly speaks within us?
Nor deem that localised Romance Plays false with our affections; 90 Unsanctifies our tears--made sport For fanciful dejections: Ah, no! the visions of the past Sustain the heart in feeling Life as she is--our changeful Life, 95 With friends and kindred dealing.
Bear witness, Ye, whose thoughts that day In Yarrow's groves were centred; Who through the silent portal arch Of mouldering Newark enter'd; 100 And clomb the winding stair that once Too timidly was mounted By the "last Minstrel," (not the last!) Ere he his Tale recounted.
Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream! 105 Fulfil thy pensive duty, Well pleased that future Bards should chant For simple hearts thy beauty; To dream-light dear while yet unseen, Dear to the common sunshine, 110 And dearer still, as now I feel, To memory's shadowy moonshine!
FOOTNOTES:
[690] Wordsworth arrived at Abbotsford with his daughter to say farewell to Scott on the 21st September 1831. "On the 22nd," says Mr. Lockhart, "these two great poets, who had through life loved each other well, and in spite of very different theories as to art, appreciated each other's genius more justly than infirm spirits ever did either of them, spent the morning together in a visit to Newark. Hence the last of the three poems by which Wordsworth has connected his name to all time with the most romantic of Scottish streams."--_Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott_, vol. x. ch. lxxx. p. 104.
Compare the note to _Musings near Aquapendente_, in the Poems of the Italian Tour of 1837.--ED.
[691] Compare Tennyson's _Brook_, and Burns's _Epistle to William Simpson, Ochiltree_, stanza 15.--ED.
[692] 1837.
... waylay ... 1835.
[693] 1837.
Where'er thy path ... 1835.
II
ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT FROM ABBOTSFORD, FOR NAPLES
A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain, Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height: Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain For kindred Power departing from their sight; 5 While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain, Saddens his voice again, and yet again. Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes; Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue 10 Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows, Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true, Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea, Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope!
With the closing lines of this sonnet addressed to the "winds of ocean," and Sir Walter's departure for Naples, compare Horace's ode to the Ship carrying Virgil to Athens (_Odes_, I. 3).
On the 19th October 1833, Henry Crabb Robinson wrote thus to his friend Masquerier--"It is, I think, the most perfect sonnet in the language. Every word is a gem, from the 'pathetic light' in the second to the 'soft Parthenope' in the last line. It is composed with that deep feeling and perfection of style united that bespeak the master." (_Diary, Reminiscences, etc._, vol. iii. p. 32.)
The sonnet was sent to Alaric Watts for his _Souvenir_ in 1832. Wordsworth wrote, "I enclose a sonnet for your next volume if you choose to insert it. It would have appeared with more advantage in this year's, but was not written in time. It is proper that I should mention it has been sent to Sir Walter Scott, and one or two of my other friends." (See _Alaric Watts, a Narrative of his Life_, vol. ii. p. 190.)--ED.
III
A PLACE OF BURIAL IN THE SOUTH OF SCOTLAND
[Similar places for burial are not unfrequent in Scotland. The one that suggested this sonnet lies on the banks of a small stream called the Wauchope that flows into the Esk near Langholme. Mickle, who, as it appears from his poem on Sir Martin, was not without genuine poetic feelings, was born and passed his boyhood in this neighbourhood, under his father who was a minister of the Scotch Kirk. The Esk, both above and below Langholme, flows through a beautiful country, and the two streams of the Wauchope and the Ewes, which join it near that place, are such as a pastoral poet would delight in.--I.F.]
Part fenced by man, part by a rugged steep That curbs a foaming brook, a Grave-yard lies; The hare's best couching-place for fearless sleep; Which moonlit elves, far seen by credulous eyes, Enter in dance. Of church, or sabbath ties, 5 No vestige now remains; yet thither creep Bereft Ones, and in lowly anguish weep Their prayers out to the wind and naked skies. Proud tomb is none; but rudely-sculptured knights, By humble choice of plain old times, are seen 10 Level with earth, among the hillocks green: Union not sad, when sunny daybreak smites The spangled turf, and neighbouring thickets ring With _jubilate_ from the choirs of spring!
IV
ON THE SIGHT OF A MANSE IN THE SOUTH OF SCOTLAND
[The Manses in Scotland and the gardens and grounds about them have seldom that attractive appearance which is common about our English parsonages, even when the clergyman's income falls below the average of the Scotch minister's. This is not merely owing to the one country being poor in comparison with the other, but arises rather out of the equality of their benefices, so that no one has enough to spare for decorations that might serve as an example for others; whereas, with us, the taste of the richer incumbent extends its influence more or less to the poorest. After all, in these observations the surface only of the matter is touched. I once heard a conversation in which the Roman Catholic Religion was decried on account of its abuses. "You cannot deny, however," said a lady of the party, repeating an expression used by Charles II., "that it is the religion of a gentleman." It may be left to the Scotch themselves to determine how far this observation applies to their Kirk, while it cannot be denied, if it is wanting in that characteristic quality, the aspect of common life, so far as concerns its beauty, must suffer. Sincere christian piety may be thought not to stand in need of refinement or studied ornament; but assuredly it is ever ready to adopt them, when they fall within its notice, as means allow; and this observation applies not only to manners, but to everything a christian (truly so in spirit) cultivates and gathers round him, however humble his social condition.--I.F.]
Say, ye far-travelled clouds, far-seeing hills-- Among the happiest-looking homes of men Scatter'd all Britain over, through deep glen, On airy upland, and by forest rills, And o'er wide plains cheered by the lark that trills 5 His sky-born warblings[694]--does aught meet your ken More fit to animate the Poet's pen, Aught that more surely by its aspect fills Pure minds with sinless envy, than the Abode Of the good Priest: who, faithful through all hours 10 To his high charge, and truly serving God, Has yet a heart and hand for trees and flowers, Enjoys the walks his predecessors trod, Nor covets lineal rights in lands and towers.
FOOTNOTES:
[694] 1845.
And o'er wide plains whereon the sky distils Her lark's loved warblings; ... 1835.
V
COMPOSED IN ROSLIN CHAPEL, DURING A STORM
[We were detained by incessant rain and storm at the small inn near Roslin Chapel, and I passed a great part of the day pacing to and fro in this beautiful structure, which, though not used for public service, is not allowed to go to ruin. Here, this sonnet was composed. If it has at all done justice to the feeling which the place and the storm raging without inspired, I was as a prisoner. A painter delineating the interior of the chapel and its minute features under such circumstances would have, no doubt, found his time agreeably shortened. But the movements of the mind must be more free while dealing with words than with lines and colours; such at least was then and has been on many other occasions my belief, and, as it is allotted to few to follow both arts with success, I am grateful to my own calling for this and a thousand other recommendations which are denied to that of the painter.--I. F.]
The wind is now thy organist;--a clank (We know not whence) ministers for a bell To mark some change of service. As the swell Of music reached its height, and even when sank The notes, in prelude, ROSLIN! to a blank 5 Of silence, how it thrilled thy sumptuous roof, Pillars, and arches,--not in vain time-proof, Though Christian rites be wanting! From what bank Came those live herbs? by what hand were they sown Where dew falls not, where rain-drops seem unknown? 10 Yet in the Temple they a friendly niche Share with their sculptured fellows, that, green-grown, Copy their beauty more and more, and preach, Though mute, of all things blending into one.[695]
FOOTNOTES:
[695] "I cannot agree with you in admiring the cathedral of Melrose more than the chapel at Roslin. As far as it goes, as a whole, the chapel at Roslin appeared to me to be _perfection_, most beautiful in form, and of entire simplicity." (Dorothy Wordsworth to Mrs. Marshall, Sept. 1807.)--ED.
VI
THE TROSACHS
[As recorded in my sister's Journal, I had first seen the Trosachs in her and Coleridge's company. The sentiment that runs through this Sonnet was natural to the season in which I again saw this beautiful spot; but this and some other Sonnets that follow were coloured by the remembrance of my recent visit to Sir Walter Scott, and the melancholy errand on which he was going.--I. F.]
There's not a nook within this solemn Pass, But were an apt confessional for One Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, That Life is but a tale of morning grass Withered at eve.[696] From scenes of art which chase[697] That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes 6 Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass Untouched, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest,[698] If from a golden perch of aspen spray 10 (October's workmanship to rival May) The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast That[699] moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest!
FOOTNOTES:
[696] Compare _The Excursion_, book iii. 11. 468-474.--ED.
[697] 1837.
... that chase 1835.
[698] A supposed reading of this line printed, but placed by Wordsworth amongst the _errata_ of the edition of 1835, may be quoted, as it has given rise to some controversy. In that edition the phrase was "Thrice happy Guest." In a copy of the same edition of 1835, which Wordsworth presented to the Rev. T.C. Judkin, he crossed out the G and wrote in Q in pencil. It was a point on which the late Matthew Arnold was much interested; and although he retained, in his Selections, the reading finally sanctioned by the poet, he thought, as many others have done, that a good deal might be said in favour of the other reading.--ED.
[699] 1837.
This ... 1835.
VII
"THE PIBROCH'S NOTE, DISCOUNTENANCED OR MUTE"
The pibroch's note, discountenanced or mute; The Roman kilt, degraded to a toy Of quaint apparel for a half-spoilt boy; The target mouldering like ungathered fruit; The smoking steam-boat eager in pursuit, 5 As eagerly pursued; the umbrella spread To weather-fend the Celtic herdsman's head-- All speak of manners withering to the root, And of[700] old honours, too, and passions high: Then may we ask, though pleased that thought should range 10 Among the conquests of civility, Survives imagination--to the change Superior? Help to virtue does she give?[701] If not, O Mortals, better cease to live!
FOOTNOTES:
[700] 1845.
And some ... 1835.
[701] 1845.
... it give? 1835.
VIII
COMPOSED AFTER READING A NEWSPAPER OF THE DAY[702]
"People! your chains are severing link by link; Soon shall the Rich be levelled down--the Poor Meet them half-way." Vain boast! for These, the more They thus would rise, must low and lower sink Till, by repentance stung, they fear to think; 5 While all lie prostrate, save the tyrant few Bent in quick turns each other to undo, And mix the poison they themselves must drink. Mistrust thyself, vain Country! cease to cry, "Knowledge will save me from the threatened woe." For, if than other rash ones more thou know, 11 Yet on presumptuous wing as far would fly Above thy knowledge as they dared to go, Thou wilt provoke a heavier penalty.
FOOTNOTES:
[702] This Sonnet ought to have followed No. vii. in the series of 1831, but was omitted by mistake.--W. W. 1835.
As the above note indicates Wordsworth's own wish as to where this sonnet should be placed, and approximately gives the date of composition, it is placed as No. VIII. in the sonnets of 1831. In later editions, Wordsworth placed it as the first in the series of "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty and Order." The original title was _Sonnet, composed after reading a Newspaper of the Day_.--ED.
IX
COMPOSED IN THE GLEN OF LOCH ETIVE
["That make the Patriot spirit." It was mortifying to have frequent occasions to observe the bitter hatred of the lower orders of the Highlanders to their superiors; love of country seemed to have passed into its opposite. Emigration was the only relief looked to with hope.[703]--I. F.]
"This Land of Rainbows spanning glens whose walls, Rock-built, are hung with rainbow-coloured mists-- Of far-stretched Meres whose salt flood never rests-- Of tuneful Caves and playful Waterfalls-- Of Mountains varying momently their crests-- 5 Proud be this Land! whose poorest huts are halls Where Fancy entertains becoming guests; While native song the heroic Past recals." Thus, in the net of her own wishes caught, The Muse exclaimed; but Story now must hide 10 Her trophies, Fancy crouch; the course of pride Has been diverted, other lessons taught, That make the Patriot-spirit bow her head Where the all-conquering Roman feared to tread.
FOOTNOTES:
[703] This Fenwick note is significant. These things repeat themselves, and are as true in 1896, as they were in 1831.--ED.
X
EAGLES
COMPOSED AT DUNOLLIE CASTLE IN THE BAY OF OBAN
["The last I saw was on the wing," off the promontory of Fairhead, county of Antrim. I mention this because, though my tour in Ireland with Mr. Marshall and his son was made many years ago, this allusion to the eagle is the only image supplied by it to the poetry I have since written. We travelled through that country in October, and to the shortness of the days and the speed with which we travelled (in a carriage and four) may be ascribed this want of notices, in my verse, of a country so interesting. The deficiency I am somewhat ashamed of, and it is the more remarkable as contrasted with my Scotch and Continental tours, of which are to be found in these volumes so many memorials.--I. F.]
Dishonoured Rock and Ruin! that, by law Tyrannic, keep the Bird of Jove embarred Like a lone criminal whose life is spared. Vexed is he, and screams loud. The last I saw Was on the wing; stooping, he struck with awe 5 Man, bird, and beast; then, with a consort paired,[704] From a bold headland, their loved aery's guard, Flew high[705] above Atlantic waves, to draw Light from the fountain of the setting sun. Such was this Prisoner once; and, when his plumes The sea-blast ruffles as the storm comes on, 11 Then, for a moment, he, in spirit, resumes[706] His rank 'mong freeborn creatures that live free, His power, his beauty, and his majesty.
FOOTNOTES:
[704] 1835.
Was on the wing, and struck my soul with awe, Now wheeling low, then with a consort paired,
MS. copy sent to Sir William Rowan Hamilton.
[705] 1835.
Flying ...
MS. to Sir W. R. Hamilton.
[706] 1845.
In spirit, for a moment, he resumes
MS. to Sir W. R. Hamilton, and 1835.
XI
IN THE SOUND OF MULL
[Touring late in the season in Scotland is an uncertain speculation. We were detained a week by rain at Bunaw on Loch Etive in a vain hope that the weather would clear up and allow me to show my daughter the beauties at Glencoe. Two days we were at the Isle of Mull, on a visit to Major Campbell; but it rained incessantly, and we were obliged to give up our intention of going to Staffa. The rain pursued us to Tyndrum, where the Twelfth Sonnet was composed in a storm.--I. F.]
Tradition, be thou mute! Oblivion, throw Thy veil in mercy o'er the records, hung Round strath and mountain, stamped by the ancient tongue On rock and ruin darkening as we go,-- Spots where a word, ghost-like, survives to show 5 What crimes from hate, or desperate love, have sprung; From honour misconceived, or fancied wrong, What feuds, not quenched but fed by mutual woe. Yet, though a wild vindictive Race, untamed By civil arts and labours of the pen, 10 Could gentleness be scorned by those[707] fierce Men, Who, to spread wide the reverence they claimed[708] For patriarchal occupations, named Yon towering Peaks, "Shepherds of Etive Glen?"[709]
FOOTNOTES:
[707] 1837.
... these ... 1835.
[708] 1837.
... reverence that they claimed. 1835.
[709] In Gaelic, _Buachaill Etive_.--W. W. 1835.
XII
SUGGESTED AT TYNDRUM IN A STORM[710]
Enough of garlands, of the Arcadian crook, And all that Greece and Italy have sung Of Swains reposing myrtle groves among! _Ours_ couch on naked rocks,--will cross a brook Swoln with chill rains, nor ever cast a look 5 This way or that, or give it even a thought More than by smoothest pathway may be brought Into a vacant mind. Can written book Teach what _they_ learn? Up, hardy Mountaineer! And guide the Bard, ambitious to be One 10 Of Nature's privy council, as thou art, On cloud-sequestered heights, that see and hear To what dread Powers[711] He delegates his part On earth, who works in the heaven of heavens, alone.
FOOTNOTES:
[710] 1837.
In 1835 the title was _At Tyndrum_.
[711] 1837.
... Power ... 1835.
XIII
THE EARL OF BREADALBANE'S RUINED MANSION, AND FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE, NEAR KILLIN
Well sang the Bard who called the grave, in strains Thoughtful and sad, the "narrow house."[712] No style Of fond sepulchral flattery can beguile Grief of her sting; nor cheat, where he detains The sleeping dust, stern Death. How reconcile 5 With truth, or with each other, decked remains Of a once warm Abode, and that _new_ Pile, For the departed, built with curious pains And mausolean pomp?[713] Yet here they stand Together,--'mid trim walks and artful bowers, 10 To be looked down upon by ancient hills, That, for the living and the dead, demand And prompt a harmony of genuine powers; Concord that elevates the mind, and stills.
FOOTNOTES:
[712] This phrase is used by James Graham, in _The Poor Man's Funeral_; by Southey, in _Joan of Arc_ (book viii.); by Ossian (frequently); and by Burns, in his _Lament of Mary Queen of Scots_ (l. 53). Wordsworth probably refers to Burns.--ED.
[713] Finlarig, near Killin, is the burial-place of the Breadalbane family. "The modern mausoleum occupies a solitary position in the vicinity of the old ruins."--ED.
XIV
"REST AND BE THANKFUL!"
AT THE HEAD OF GLENCROE
Doubling and doubling with laborious walk, Who, that has gained at length the wished-for Height, This brief this simple way-side Call can slight, And rests not thankful? Whether cheered by talk With some loved friend, or by the unseen hawk 5 Whistling to clouds and sky-born streams, that shine At the sun's outbreak, as with light divine, Ere they descend to nourish root and stalk Of valley flowers. Nor, while the limbs repose, Will we forget that, as the fowl can keep 10 Absolute stillness, poised aloft in air, And fishes front, unmoved, the torrent's sweep,-- So may the Soul, through powers that Faith bestows, Win rest, and ease, and peace, with bliss that Angels share.
XV
HIGHLAND HUT
See what gay wild flowers deck this earth-built Cot, Whose smoke, forth-issuing whence and how it may, Shines in the greeting of the sun's first ray Like wreaths of vapour without stain or blot. The limpid mountain rill avoids it not; 5 And why shouldst thou?--If rightly trained and bred, Humanity is humble, finds no spot Which her Heaven-guided feet refuse to tread. The walls are cracked, sunk is the flowery roof, Undressed the pathway leading to the door; 10 But love, as Nature loves, the lonely Poor; Search, for their worth, some gentle heart wrong-proof, Meek, patient, kind, and, were its trials fewer, Belike less happy.--Stand no more aloof![714]
FOOTNOTES:
[714] This sonnet describes the _exterior_ of a Highland hut, as often seen under morning or evening sunshine. To the authoress of the _Address to the Wind_, and other poems, in these volumes, who was my fellow-traveller in this tour, I am indebted for the following extract from her journal, which[715] accurately describes, under particular circumstances, the beautiful appearance of the _interior_ of one of these rude habitations.
"On our return from the Trosachs the evening began to darken, and it rained so heavily that we were completely wet before we had come two miles, and it was dark when we landed with our boatman, at his hut upon the banks of Loch Katrine. I was faint from cold: the good woman had provided, according to her promise, a better fire than we had found in the morning; and, indeed, when I sat down in the chimney-corner of her smoky biggin, I thought I had never felt more comfortable in my life: a pan of coffee was boiling for us, and, having put our clothes in the way of drying, we all sat down thankful for a shelter. We could not prevail upon our boatman, the master of the house, to draw near the fire, though he was cold and wet, or to suffer his wife to get him dry clothes till she had served us, which she did most willingly, though not very expeditiously.
"A Cumberland man of the same rank would not have had such a notion of what was fit and right in his own house, or, if he had, one would have accused him of servility; but in the Highlander it only seemed like politeness (however erroneous and painful to us), naturally growing out of the dependence of the inferiors of the clan upon their laird; he did not, however, refuse to let his wife bring out the whisky bottle for his refreshment, at our request. 'She keeps a dram,' as the phrase is: indeed, I believe there is scarcely a lonely house by the way-side, in Scotland, where travellers may not be accommodated with a dram. We asked for sugar, butter, barley-bread, and milk; and, with a smile and a stare more of kindness than wonder, she replied, 'Ye'll get that,' bringing each article separately. We caroused our cups of coffee, laughing like children at the strange atmosphere in which we were: the smoke came in gusts, and spread along the walls; and above our heads in the chimney (where the hens were _roosting_) it appeared like clouds[716] in the sky. We laughed and laughed again, in spite of the smarting of our eyes, yet had a quieter pleasure in observing the beauty of the beams and rafters gleaming between the clouds of smoke: they had been crusted over, and varnished by many winters, till, where the firelight fell upon them, they had become as glossy as black rocks, on a sunny day, cased in ice. When we had eaten our supper we sat about half an hour, and I think I never felt so deeply the blessing of a hospitable welcome and a warm fire. The man of the house repeated from time to time that we should often tell of this night when we got to our homes, and interposed praises of his own lake, which he had more than once, when we were returning in the boat, ventured to say was 'bonnier than Loch Lomond.' Our companion from the Trosachs, who, it appeared, was an Edinburgh drawing-master going, during the vacation, on a pedestrian tour to John o' Groat's house, was to sleep in the barn with my fellow-travellers, where the man said he had plenty of dry hay. I do not believe that the hay of the Highlands is ever very dry, but this year it had a better chance than usual: wet or dry, however, the next morning they said they had slept comfortably. When I went to bed, the mistress, desiring me to '_go ben_,' attended me with a candle, and assured me that the bed was dry, though not 'sic as I had been used to.' It was of chaff; there were two others in the room, a cupboard and two chests, upon one of which stood milk in wooden vessels, covered over. The walls of the house were of stone unplastered: it consisted of three apartments, the cowhouse at one end, the kitchen or house in the middle, and the spence at the other end; the rooms were divided, not up to the rigging, but only to the beginning of the roof, so that there was a free passage for light and smoke from one end of the house to the other. I went to bed some time before the rest of the family; the door was shut between us, and they had a bright fire, which I could not see, but the light it sent up amongst[717] the varnished rafters and beams, which crossed each other in almost as intricate and fantastic a manner as I have seen the under-boughs of a large beech tree withered by the depth of shade above, produced the most beautiful effect that can be conceived. It was like what I should suppose an under-ground cave or temple to be, with a dripping or moist roof, and the moonlight entering in upon it by some means or other: and yet the colours were more like those of melted gems. I lay looking up till the light of the fire faded away, and the man and his wife and child had crept into their bed at the other end of the room: I did not sleep much, but passed a comfortable night; for my bed, though hard, was warm and clean: the unusualness of my situation prevented me from sleeping. I could hear the waves beat against the shore of the lake: a little rill close to the door made a much louder noise, and, when I sat up in my bed, I could see the lake through an open window-place at the bed's head. Add to this, it rained all night. I was less occupied by remembrance of the Trosachs, beautiful as they were, than the vision of the Highland hut, which I could not get out of my head; I thought of the Faery-land of Spenser, and what I had read in romance at other times; and then what a feast it would be for a London Pantomime-maker could he but transplant it to Drury-lane, with all its beautiful colours!"--MS. W. W. 1835.
[715] 1837.
... sunshine. The reader may not be displeased with the following extract from the journal of a Lady, my fellow-traveller in Scotland in the autumn of 1803, which ... 1835.
[716] 1837.
roosting) like clouds 1835.
[717] 1845.
among 1835.
XVI
THE BROWNIE
Upon a small island not far from the head of Loch Lomond, are some remains of an ancient building, which was for several years the abode of a solitary Individual, one of the last survivors of the clan of Macfarlane, once powerful in that neighbourhood. Passing along the shore opposite this island in the year 1814, the Author learned these particulars, and that this person then living there had acquired the appellation of "The Brownie." See _The Brownie's Cell_ (vol. vi. p. 16), to which the following[718] is a sequel.--W. W.
"How disappeared he?" Ask the newt and toad; Ask of his fellow men, and they will tell How he was found, cold as an icicle, Under an arch of that forlorn abode; Where he, unpropp'd, and by the gathering flood 5 Of years hemm'd round, had dwelt, prepared to try Privation's worst extremities, and die With no one near save the omnipresent God. Verily so to live was an awful choice-- A choice that wears the aspect of a doom; 10 But in the mould of mercy all is cast For Souls familiar with the eternal Voice; And this forgotten Taper to the last Drove from itself, we trust, all frightful gloom.
FOOTNOTES:
[718] 1837.
following Sonnet is 1835.
XVII
TO THE PLANET VENUS, AN EVENING STAR
COMPOSED AT LOCH LOMOND
Though joy attend Thee orient at the birth Of dawn, it cheers the lofty spirit most To watch thy course when Day-light, fled from earth, In the grey sky hath left his lingering Ghost, Perplexed as if between a splendour lost 5 And splendour slowly mustering. Since the Sun, The absolute, the world-absorbing One, Relinquished half his empire to the host Emboldened by thy guidance, holy Star, Holy as princely, who that looks on thee 10 Touching, as now, in thy humility The mountain borders of this seat of care, Can question that thy countenance is bright, Celestial Power, as much with love as light?
XVIII
BOTHWELL CASTLE
(PASSED UNSEEN, ON ACCOUNT OF STORMY WEATHER)
[In my Sister's Journal is an account of Bothwell Castle as it appeared to us at that time.--I.F.]
Immured in Bothwell's Towers, at times the Brave (So beautiful is Clyde) forgot to mourn The liberty they lost at Bannockburn. Once on those steeps _I_ roamed[719] at large, and have In mind the landscape, as if still in sight; 5 The river glides, the woods before me wave; Then why repine that now in vain I crave[720] Needless renewal of an old delight? Better to thank a dear and long-past day For joy its sunny hours were free to give 10 Than blame the present, that our wish hath crost. Memory, like sleep, hath powers which dreams obey, Dreams, vivid dreams, that are not fugitive: How little that she cherishes is lost!
FOOTNOTES:
[719] The following is from the same MS., and gives an account of the visit to Bothwell Castle here alluded to:--
"It was exceedingly delightful to enter thus unexpectedly upon such a beautiful region. The castle stands nobly, overlooking the Clyde. When we came up to it, I was hurt to see that flower-borders had taken place of the natural overgrowings of the ruin, the scattered stones and wild plants. It is a large and grand pile of red freestone, harmonising perfectly with the rocks of the river, from which, no doubt, it has been hewn. When I was a little accustomed to the unnaturalness of a modern garden, I could not help admiring the excessive beauty and luxuriance of some of the plants, particularly the purple-flowered clematis, and a broad-leafed creeping plant without flowers, which scrambled up the castle wall, along with the ivy, and spread its vine-like branches so lavishly that it seemed to be in its natural situation, and one could not help thinking that, though not self-planted among the ruins of this country, it must somewhere have its native abode in such places. If Bothwell Castle had not been close to the Douglas mansion, we should have been disgusted with the possessor's miserable conception of _adorning_ such a venerable ruin; but it is so very near to the house, that of necessity the pleasure-grounds must have extended beyond it, and perhaps the neatness of a shaven lawn and the complete desolation natural to a ruin might have made an unpleasing contrast; and, besides being within the precincts of the pleasure-grounds, and so very near to the dwelling of a noble family, it has forfeited, in some degree, its independent majesty, and becomes a tributary to the mansion: its solitude being interrupted, it has no longer the command over the mind in sending it back into past times, or excluding the ordinary feelings which we bear about us in daily life. We had then only to regret that the castle and the house were so near to each other; and it was impossible _not_ to regret it; for the ruin presides in state over the river, far from city or town, as if it might have a peculiar privilege to preserve its memorials of past ages, and maintain its own character for centuries to come. We sat upon a bench under the high trees, and had beautiful views of the different reaches of the river, above and below. On the opposite bank, which is finely wooded with elms and other trees, are the remains of a priory built upon a rock; and rock and ruin are so blended, that it is impossible to separate the one from the other. Nothing can be more beautiful than the little remnant of this holy place: elm trees (for we were near enough to distinguish them by their branches) grow out of the walls, and overshadow a small, but very elegant window. It can scarcely be conceived what a grace the castle and priory impart to each other; and the river Clyde flows on, smooth and unruffled below, seeming to my thoughts more in harmony with the sober and stately images of former times, than if it had roared over a rocky channel, forcing its sound upon the ear. It blended gently with the warbling of the smaller birds, and the chattering of the larger ones, that had made their nests in the ruins. In this fortress the chief of the English nobility were confined after the battle of Bannockburn. If a man _is_ to be a prisoner, he scarcely could have a more pleasant place to solace his captivity; but I thought that, for close confinement, I should prefer the banks of a lake, or the seaside. The greatest charm of a brook or river is in the liberty to pursue it through its windings: you can then take it in whatever mood you like; silent or noisy, sportive or quiet. The beauties of a brook or river must be sought, and the pleasure is in going in search of them; those of a lake or of the sea come to you of themselves. These rude warriors cared little, perhaps, about either; and yet, if one may judge from the writings of Chaucer, and from the old romances, more interesting passions were connected with natural objects in the days of chivalry than now; though going in search of scenery, as it is called, had not then been thought of. I had previously heard nothing of Bothwell Castle, at least nothing that I remembered; therefore, perhaps, my pleasure was greater, compared with what I received elsewhere, than others might feel."--MS. Journal.--W. W. 1835.
[720] 1837.
But, by occasion tempted, now I crave 1835.
XIX
PICTURE OF DANIEL IN THE LIONS' DEN, AT HAMILTON PALACE
Amid a fertile region green with wood And fresh with rivers, well did[721] it become The ducal Owner, in his palace-home To naturalise this tawny Lion brood; Children of Art, that claim strange brotherhood 5 (Couched in their den) with those that roam at large Over the burning wilderness, and charge The wind with terror while they roar for food. Satiate are _these_; and stilled to eye and ear; Hence, while we gaze,[722] a more enduring fear! 10 Yet is the Prophet calm, nor would the cave Daunt him--if his Companions, now be-drowsed Outstretched[723] and listless, were by hunger roused: Man placed him here, and God, he knows, can save.
Henry Crabb Robinson gives an account of this picture in his _Diary, etc._ (vol. ii. pp. 214, 215):--
"On September the 29th, from Lanark I visited the Duke of Hamilton's palace, and had unusual pleasure in the paintings to be seen there. I venture to copy my remarks on the famous Rubens' 'Daniel in the Lions' Den:'--'The variety of character in the lions is admirable. Here is indignation at the unintelligible power which restrains them; there reverence towards the being whom they dare not touch. One of them is consoled by the contemplation of the last skull he has been picking; one is anticipating his next meal; two are debating the subject together. But the Prophet, with a face resembling Curran's (foreshortened so as to lose its best expression), has all the muscles of his countenance strained from extreme terror. He is without joy or hope; and though his doom is postponed, he has no faith in the miracle which is to reward his integrity. It is a painting rather to astonish than delight.'"
In a footnote Robinson adds, "Daniel's head is thrown back, and he looks upwards with an earnest expression and clasped hands, as if vehemently supplicating. The picture formerly belonged to King Charles I. It was at that time entered as follows in the Catalogue of the Royal Pictures:--'A piece of Daniel in the Lions' Den with lions about him, given by the deceased Lord Dorchester to the king, being so big as the life. Done by Sir Peter Paul Rubens.' Dr. Waagen very justly observes that, upon the whole, the figure of Daniel is only an accessory employed by the great master to introduce, in the most perfect form, nine figures of lions and lionesses the size of life. Rubens, in a letter to Sir Dudley Carleton (who presented the picture to the king), dated April 28th, 1618, expressly states that it was wholly his own workmanship. The price was six hundred florins. Engraved in mezzotint by W. Ward, 1789."
This famous picture, after having been in the possession of the Duke of Hamilton, was sold--in 1882--to Mr. Denison, Yorkshire. The following is from the catalogue of the Hamilton Palace sale:--
RUBENS--DANIEL IN THE DEN OF LIONS.--The prophet is represented sitting naked in the middle of the den, his hands clasped, and his countenance directed upward with an expression of earnest prayer. Nine lions are prowling around him. Engraved by Blooteling, Van der Leuw, and Lamb, and in mezzotint by J. Ward. There is also an etching of it by Street, extremely rare. This is one of the few great pictures by Rubens which we know with certainty to have been entirely executed by his own hand. Rubens says this explicitly in an Italian letter to Sir Dudley Carleton, which Mr. Carpenter has printed in his _Pictorial Notices_, p. 140. This picture was presented by Sir Dudley Carleton to Charles I., and is inserted in the printed catalogue of his collection at page 87.
"No. 14.
[Sidenote: Done by Sir Peter Paul Rubens.]
Item.--A piece of Daniel in the lions' den, with lions about him. Given by the deceased Lord Dorchester to the king, so big as the life, in a black gilded frame."
It was sold to Mr. Denison for £5145.--ED.
FOOTNOTES:
[721] 1840.
... doth ... 1835.
[722] 1845.
But _these_ are satiate, and a stillness drear Calls into life ... 1835.
Satiate are _these_; and still--to eye and ear; Hence, while we gaze, ... 1837.
[723] 1837.
Yawning ... 1835.
XX
THE AVON
(A FEEDER OF THE ANNAN)
["Yet is it one that other rivulets bear." There is the Shakespeare Avon, the Bristol Avon; the one that flows by Salisbury, and a small river in Wales, I believe, bear the name; Avon being in the ancient tongue the general name for river.--I. F.]
Avon--a precious, an immortal name! Yet is it one that other rivulets bear Like this unheard-of, and their channels wear Like this contented, though unknown to Fame: For great and sacred is the modest claim 5 Of Streams to Nature's love, where'er they flow; And ne'er did Genius slight them, as they go, Tree, flower, and green herb, feeding without blame. But Praise can waste her voice on work of tears, Anguish, and death: full oft where innocent blood 10 Has mixed its current with the limpid flood, Her heaven-offending trophies Glory rears: Never for like distinction may the good Shrink from _thy_ name, pure Rill, with unpleased ears.
XXI
SUGGESTED BY A VIEW FROM AN EMINENCE IN INGLEWOOD FOREST
[The extensive forest of Inglewood has been enclosed within my memory. I was well acquainted with it in its ancient state. The Hart's-horn tree mentioned in the next Sonnet was one of its remarkable objects, as well as another tree that grew upon an eminence not far from Penrith: it was single and conspicuous; and being of a round shape, though it was universally known to be a Sycamore, it was always called the "Round Thorn," so difficult is it to chain fancy down to fact.--I.F.]
The forest huge of ancient Caledon Is but a name, no[724] more is Inglewood, That swept from hill to hill, from flood to flood: On her last thorn the nightly moon has shone; Yet still, though unappropriate Wild be none, 5 Fair parks spread wide where Adam Bell might deign With Clym o' the Clough, were they alive again, To kill for merry feast their venison. Nor wants the holy Abbot's gliding Shade His church with monumental wreck bestrown; 10 The feudal Warrior-chief, a Ghost unlaid, Hath still his castle, though a skeleton, That he may watch by night, and lessons con Of power that perishes, and rights that fade.
FOOTNOTES:
[724] 1845.
... nor ... 1835.
XXII
HART'S-HORN TREE, NEAR PENRITH[725]
Here stood an Oak, that long had borne affixed To his huge trunk, or, with more subtle art, Among its withering topmost branches mixed, The palmy antlers of a hunted Hart, Whom the Dog Hercules pursued--his part 5 Each desperately sustaining, till at last Both sank and died, the life-veins of the chased And chaser bursting here with one dire smart. Mutual the victory, mutual the defeat! High was the trophy hung with pitiless pride; 10 Say, rather, with that generous sympathy That wants not, even in rudest breasts, a seat; And, for this feeling's sake, let no one chide Verse that would guard thy memory, HART'S-HORN TREE![726]
FOOTNOTES:
[725] This tree has perished, but its site is still well known. Compare the note to _Roman Antiquities_, p. 308.--ED.
[726] "In the time of the first Robert de Clifford, in the year 1333 or 1334, Edward Baliol king of Scotland came into Westmoreland, and stayed some time with the said Robert at his castles of Appleby, Brougham, and Pendragon. And during that time they ran a stag by a single greyhound out of Whinfell Park, to Redkirk, in Scotland,[727] and back again to this place; where, being both spent, the stag leaped over the pales, but died on the other side; and the greyhound, attempting to leap, fell, and died on the contrary side. In memory of this fact the stag's horns were nailed upon a tree just by, and (the dog being named Hercules) this rhythm was made upon them:
Hercules kill'd Hart a greese, And Hart a greese kill'd Hercules.
The tree to this day bears the name of Hart's-horn Tree. The horns in process of time were almost grown over by the growth of the tree, and another pair was put up in their place."--Nicholson and Burn's _History of Westmoreland and Cumberland_.
The tree has now disappeared, but I well remember its[728] imposing appearance as it stood, in a decayed state, by the side of the high road leading from Penrith to Appleby. This whole neighbourhood abounds in interesting traditions and vestiges of antiquity, viz., Julian's Bower; Brougham and Penrith Castles; Penrith Beacon, and the curious remains in Penrith Churchyard; Arthur's Round Table,[729] and, close by, Maybrough; the excavation, called the Giant's Cave, on the banks of the Emont; Long Meg and her Daughters, near Eden, etc., etc.--W. W. 1835.
[727] "So say the Countess's Memoirs; but they probably mistake Redkirk for Ninekirks in this parish. A runnel, called Hart-horn Sike, in Whinfell Park, is mentioned in the partition of the Veteripont estate, between Isabella and Idonea."--Burn's _History of Westmoreland and Cumberland_.--ED.
[728] 1845.
but the author of these poems well remembers its ... 1835.
[729] 1845.
Table; the Excavation ... 1835.
XXIII
FANCY AND TRADITION
The Lovers took within this ancient grove Their last embrace; beside those crystal springs[730] The Hermit saw the Angel spread his wings For instant flight; the Sage in yon alcove[731] Sate musing; on that hill the Bard would rove, 5 Not mute, where now the linnet only sings: Thus every where to truth Tradition clings,[732] Or Fancy localises Powers we love. Were only History[733] licensed to take note Of things gone by, her meagre monuments 10 Would ill suffice for persons and events: There is an ampler page for man to quote, A readier book of manifold contents, Studied alike in palace and in cot.
FOOTNOTES:
[730] 1835.
There fell the Hero in this ancient grove The lovers pledged their faith beside these springs.
MS.
[731] 1835.
... this alcove
MS.
[732] 1835.
Thus to the truth Tradition fondly clings
MS.
[733] 1835.
Were History only ...
MS.
XXIV
COUNTESS' PILLAR[734]
On the roadside between Penrith and Appleby, there stands a pillar with the following inscription:--
"This Pillar was erected, anno 1656, By ye Rt honoble Anne Countess Dowager of Pembrock etc., Daughter and sole heire of ye Rt honoble George Earl of Cumberland, etc., for a memorial of her last parting in this place with her good and pious mother, ye Rt honoble Margaret, Countess Dowagr of Cumberland ye 2d of April 1616. In memory whereof she also left an annuity of four pounds to be distributed to ye poor within this parish of Brougham every 2d day of April for ever, upon ye stone table here hard by. Laus Deo!"--W. W.
[Suggested by the recollection of Julian's Bower and other traditions connected with this ancient forest.--I.F.]
While the Poor gather round, till the end of time May this bright flower of Charity display Its bloom, unfolding at the appointed day; Flower than the loveliest of the vernal prime Lovelier--transplanted from heaven's purest clime! 5 "Charity never faileth:" on that creed, More than on written testament or deed, The pious Lady built with hope sublime. Alms on this stone to be dealt out, _for ever_! "LAUS DEO." Many a Stranger passing by 10 Has with that Parting mixed a filial sigh, Blest its humane Memorial's fond endeavour; And, fastening on those lines an eye tear-glazed, Has ended, though no Clerk, with "God be praised!"
FOOTNOTES:
[734] The Countess' Pillar is an octagonal one, on the high road from Penrith, a couple of miles out of the town on the Appleby road, a quarter of a mile from Brougham Castle, and over eleven miles from Appleby. It is somewhat weather-worn, but is preserved with care. On the north side of the pillar are the Pembroke Arms, and the date 1654. The inscription is in a copper plate, sunk in the stone. I have copied the "inscription" from the pillar itself, and have corrected, in what is given above, some errata in the poet's transcript of it.--ED.
XXV
ROMAN ANTIQUITIES
[FROM THE ROMAN STATION AT OLD PENRITH]
How profitless the relics that we cull, Troubling the last holds of ambitious Rome, Unless they chasten fancies that presume Too high, or idle agitations lull! Of the world's flatteries if the brain be full, 5 To have no seat for thought were better doom, Like this old helmet, or the eyeless skull Of him who gloried in its nodding plume. Heaven out of view, our wishes what are they? Our fond regrets tenacious[735] in their grasp? 10 The Sage's theory? the Poet's lay?-- Mere Fibulae without a robe to clasp; Obsolete lamps, whose light no time recals; Urns without ashes, tearless lacrymals!
I am indebted to Dr. Taylor of Penrith for the following note in reference to these "Roman Antiquities" at Old Penrith:--"I have great pleasure in giving you what information I can, concerning the Roman Station of Old Penrith. It is called 'Petriana' by Camden, but most archaeologists now allocate it in the '2nd Iter,' as the Station 'Voreda'--on the road between York and Carlisle. This road passes over Stanemoor, by Bowes, Brough, Kirkbythore, Brougham, and Plumpton Wall (or Voreda), to Lugovallum or Carlisle. The Roman Camps are visible at all these places, and the old Roman road is recognisable in many parts. This Old Penrith, Plumpton Wall, or Voreda, is a camp of the third class. At a time, probably about the period which Wordsworth alludes to, several Roman stones and altars were dug up at Voreda, and are now deposited in Lowther Castle. Wordsworth had relations living in Penrith, whom he used to visit occasionally, and it is probable that after a visit to Voreda, which is about six miles from here, he wrote the Sonnet alluded to. The 'Hart-horn Tree' referred to in the 'Legend of the Hunt of the Stag' stood in the park of Whinfell, in the parish of Brougham, but has disappeared for many years."--ED.
FOOTNOTES:
[735] 1837.
... insatiate ... 1835. Our fond regrets, all that our hopes would grasp C.
XXVI
APOLOGY[736]
FOR THE FOREGOING POEMS
No more: the end is sudden and abrupt, Abrupt--as without preconceived design Was the beginning; yet the several Lays Have moved in order, to each other bound By a continuous and acknowledged tie 5 Though unapparent--like those Shapes distinct That yet survive ensculptured on the walls Of palaces, or temples,[737] 'mid the wreck Of famed Persepolis;[738] each following each, As might beseem a stately embassy, In set array; these bearing in their hands Ensign of civil power, weapon of war, Or gift to be presented at the throne Of the Great King; and others, as they go In priestly vest, with holy offerings charged, 15 Or leading victims drest for sacrifice. Nor will the Power we serve, that sacred Power, The Spirit of humanity, disdain A[739] ministration humble but sincere, That from a threshold loved by every Muse 20 Its impulse took--that sorrow-stricken door, Whence, as a current from its fountain-head, Our thoughts have issued, and our feelings flowed, Receiving, willingly or not, fresh strength From kindred sources; while around us sighed 25 (Life's three first seasons having passed away) Leaf-scattering winds; and hoar-frost sprinklings fell (Foretaste of winter) on the moorland heights; And every day brought with it tidings new Of rash change, ominous for the public weal. 30 Hence, if dejection has[740] too oft encroached Upon that sweet and tender melancholy Which may itself be cherished and caressed More than enough; a fault so natural (Even with the young, the hopeful, or the gay) 35 For prompt forgiveness will not sue in vain.
FOOTNOTES:
[736] In the edition of 1835 the title was _Apology_.
[737] 1845.
Of Palace, or of Temple, ... 1835.
[738] Compare _Processions in the Vale of Chamouny_, in the "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent," 1820, vol. vi. p. 363.--ED.
[739] 1837.
Nor will the Muse condemn, or treat with scorn Our ... 1835.
[740] 1837.
... have ... 1835.
XXVII
THE HIGHLAND BROACH
The exact resemblance which the old Broach (still in use, though rarely met with, among the Highlanders) bears to the Roman Fibula must strike every one, and concurs, with the plaid and kilt, to recall to mind the communication which the ancient Romans had with this remote country.--W. W. 1835.
[On ascending a hill that leads from Loch Awe towards Inverary, I fell into conversation with a woman of the humbler class who wore one of those Highland Broaches. I talked with her about it; and upon parting with her, when I said with a kindness I truly felt--"May that Broach continue in your family through many generations to come, as you have already possessed it"--she thanked me most becomingly and seemed not a little moved.--I.F.]
If to Tradition faith be due And echoes from old verse speak true Ere the meek Saint, Columba, bore Glad tidings to Iona's shore, No common light of nature blessed 5 The mountain region of the west, A land where gentle manners ruled O'er men in dauntless virtues schooled, That raised, for centuries, a bar Impervious to the tide of war: 10 Yet peaceful Arts did entrance gain Where haughty Force had striven in vain; And, 'mid the works of skilful hands, By wanderers brought from foreign lands And various climes, was not unknown 15 The clasp that fixed the Roman Gown; The Fibula, whose shape, I ween, Still in the Highland Broach is seen, The silver Broach of massy frame, Worn at the breast of some grave Dame 20 On road or path, or at the door Of fern-thatched hut on heathy moor: But delicate of yore its mould, And the material finest gold; As might beseem the fairest Fair, 25 Whether she graced a royal chair, Or shed, within a vaulted hall, No fancied lustre on the wall Where shields of mighty heroes hung, While Fingal heard what Ossian sung. 30
The heroic Age expired--it slept Deep in its tomb:--the bramble crept O'er Fingal's hearth; the grassy sod Grew on the floors his sons had trod: Malvina! where art thou? Their state 35 The noblest-born must abdicate; The fairest, while with fire and sword Come Spoilers--horde impelling horde, Must walk the sorrowing mountains, drest By ruder hands in homelier vest. 40 Yet still the female bosom lent, And loved to borrow, ornament; Still was its inner world a place Reached by the dews of heavenly grace; Still pity to this last retreat 45 Clove fondly; to his favourite seat Love wound his way by soft approach, Beneath a massier Highland Broach.
When alternations came of rage Yet fiercer, in a darker age; 50 And feuds, where, clan encountering clan, The weaker perished to a man; For maid and mother, when despair Might else have triumphed, baffling prayer, One small possession lacked not power, 55 Provided in a calmer hour, To meet such need as might befal-- Roof, raiment, bread, or burial: For woman, even of tears bereft, The hidden silver Broach was left. 60
As generations come and go Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow; Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, And feeble, of themselves, decay; What poor abodes the heir-loom hide, 65 In which the castle once took pride! Tokens, once kept as boasted wealth, If saved at all, are saved by stealth. Lo! ships, from seas by nature barred, Mount along ways by man prepared; 70 And in far-stretching vales, whose streams Seek other seas, their canvas gleams. Lo! busy towns spring up, on coasts Thronged yesterday by airy ghosts; Soon, like a lingering star forlorn 75 Among the novelties of morn, While young delights on old encroach, Will vanish the last Highland Broach.
But when, from out their viewless bed, Like vapours, years have rolled and spread; 80 And this poor verse, and worthier lays, Shall yield no light of love or praise; Then, by the spade, or cleaving plough, Or torrent from the mountain's brow, Or whirlwind, reckless what his might 85 Entombs, or forces into light; Blind Chance, a volunteer ally, That oft befriends Antiquity, And clears Oblivion from reproach, May render back the Highland Broach.[741] 90
FOOTNOTES:
[741] How much the Broach is sometimes prized by persons in humble stations may be gathered from an occurrence mentioned to me by a female friend. She had had an opportunity of benefiting a poor old woman in her own hut, who, wishing to make a return, said to her daughter in Erse, in a tone of plaintive earnestness, "I would give anything I have, but I _hope_ she does not wish for my Broach!" and, uttering these words, she put her hand upon the Broach which fastened her kerchief, and which, she imagined, had attracted the eye of her benefactress.--W. W. 1835.
1832
The poems written in 1832 were few. They include _Devotional Incitements_, an _Evening Voluntary_, _Rural Illusions_, and a few sonnets.--ED.
DEVOTIONAL INCITEMENTS
Composed 1832.--Published 1835
[Written at Rydal Mount.--I. F.]
One of the "Poems of the Imagination."--ED.
"Not to the earth confined, Ascend to heaven."[742]
Where will they stop, those breathing Powers, The Spirits of the new-born flowers? They wander with the breeze, they wind Where'er the streams a passage find; Up from their native ground they rise 5 In mute aërial harmonies;[743] From humble violet--modest thyme-- Exhaled, the essential odours climb, As if no space below the sky Their subtle flight could satisfy: 10 Heaven will not tax our thoughts with pride If like ambition be _their_ guide.
Roused by this kindliest of May-showers, The spirit-quickener of the flowers, That with moist virtue softly cleaves 15 The buds, and freshens the young leaves, The birds pour forth their souls in notes Of rapture from a thousand throats-- Here checked by too impetuous haste, While there the music runs to waste, 20 With bounty more and more enlarged, Till the whole air is overcharged; Give ear, O Man! to their appeal And thirst for no inferior zeal, Thou, who canst _think_, as well as feel. 25
Mount from the earth; aspire! aspire! So pleads the town's cathedral quire, In strains that from their solemn height Sink, to attain a loftier flight; While incense from the altar breathes 30 Rich fragrance in embodied wreaths; Or, flung from swinging censer, shrouds The taper-lights, and curls in clouds Around angelic Forms, the still Creation of the painter's skill, 35 That on the service wait concealed One moment, and the next revealed. --Cast off your bonds, awake, arise, And for no transient ecstasies! What else can mean the visual plea 40 Of still or moving imagery-- The iterated summons loud, Not wasted on the attendant crowd, Nor wholly lost upon the throng Hurrying the busy streets along? 45 Alas! the sanctities combined By art to unsensualise the mind, Decay and languish; or, as creeds And humours change, are spurned like weeds: The priests are from their altars thrust; 50 Temples are levelled with the dust; And solemn rites and awful forms Founder amid fanatic storms.[744][745] Yet evermore, through years renewed In undisturbed vicissitude 55 Of seasons balancing their flight On the swift wings of day and night, Kind Nature keeps a heavenly door Wide open for the scattered Poor. Where flower-breathed incense to the skies 60 Is wafted in mute harmonies; And ground fresh-cloven by the plough Is fragrant with a humbler vow; Where birds and brooks from leafy dells Chime forth unwearied canticles, 65 And vapours magnify and spread The glory of the sun's bright head-- Still constant in her worship, still Conforming to the eternal Will,[746] Whether men sow or reap the fields, 70 Divine monition[747] Nature yields, That not by bread alone we live, Or what a hand of flesh can give; That every day should leave some part Free for a sabbath of the heart: 75 So shall the seventh be truly blest, From morn to eve, with hallowed rest.
FOOTNOTES:
[742] See _Paradise Lost_, book v. ll. 78-80--
Not to Earth confined, But sometimes in the Air, as we; sometimes Ascend to heaven.
ED.
[743] Compare, in Bacon's _Essays_, No. 46, 'Of Gardens,' "The _Breath_ of Flowers is farre Sweeter in the Aire, when it comes and goes, like the Warbling of Musick."--ED.
[744] 1836.
The solemn rites, the awful forms, Founder amid fanatic storms; The priests are from their altars thrust, The temples levelled with the dust: 1835.
[745] Compare a passage in Daniel's _Musopilus_, beginning--
Sacred Religion! mother of form and fear! How gorgeously sometimes dost thou sit decked!--ED.
[746] 1836.
... almighty Will, 1835.
[747] 1845.
Her admonitions Nature yields; 1835. Divine admonishment She yields, 1836.
"CALM IS THE FRAGRANT AIR, AND LOTH TO LOSE"
Composed 1832.--Published 1835
One of the "Evening Voluntaries."--ED.
Calm is the fragrant air, and loth to lose Day's grateful warmth, tho' moist with falling dews. Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; Look up a second time, and, one by one, You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, 5 And wonder how they could elude the sight! The birds, of late so noisy in their bowers, Warbled a while with faint and fainter powers, But now are silent as the dim-seen flowers: Nor does the village Church-clock's iron tone 10 The time's and season's influence disown; Nine beats distinctly to each other bound In drowsy sequence--how unlike the sound That, in rough winter, oft inflicts a fear On fireside listeners, doubting what they hear! 15 The shepherd, bent on rising with the sun, Had closed his door before the day was done, And now with thankful heart to bed doth creep, And joins[748] his little children in their sleep. The bat, lured forth where trees the lane o'ershade, 20 Flits and reflits along the close arcade; The busy[749] dor-hawk chases the white moth With burring note, which Industry and Sloth Might both be pleased with, for it suits them both. A stream is heard--I see it not, but know 25 By its soft music whence the waters flow: Wheels[750] and the tread of hoofs are heard no more; One boat there was, but it will touch the shore With the next dipping of its slackened oar; Faint sound, that, for the gayest of the gay, 30 Might give to serious thought a moment's sway, As a last token of man's toilsome day!
FOOTNOTES:
[748] 1837.
And join ... 1835.
[749] 1837.
Far-heard the ... 1835.
[750] 1837.
... both. Wheels ... 1835.
TO THE AUTHOR'S PORTRAIT
Painted at Rydal Mount, by W. Pickersgill, Esq., for St. John's College, Cambridge.--ED.
Composed 1832.--Published 1835
[The last six lines of this Sonnet are not written for poetical effect, but as a matter of fact, which, in more than one instance, could not escape my notice in the servants of the house.--I. F.]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."--ED.
Go, faithful Portrait! and where long hath knelt Margaret, the saintly Foundress, take thy place; And, if Time spare the colours[751] for the grace Which to the work surpassing skill hath dealt, Thou, on thy rock reclined, though kingdoms melt 5 And states be torn up by the roots,[752] wilt seem To breathe in rural peace, to hear the stream,[753] And[754] think and feel as once the Poet felt. Whate'er thy fate, those features have not grown Unrecognised through many a household tear[755] 10 More prompt, more glad, to fall than drops of dew By morning shed around a flower half-blown; Tears of delight, that testified how true To life thou art, and, in thy truth, how dear!
FOOTNOTES:
[751] The colour has already faded somewhat. The portrait is reproduced in volume vi. of this edition.--ED.
[752] Compare _Elegiac Musings_, p. 269.--ED.
[753] 1835.
Before the breath of change unchanged wilt seem, Green Hills in sight, and listening to the stream,
MS.
[754] 1837.
To ... 1835.
[755] 1835.
... falling tear
MS.
... starting tear
MS.
RURAL ILLUSIONS
Composed 1832.--Published 1835
[Written at Rydal Mount. Observed a hundred times in the grounds there.--I. F.]
One of the "Poems of the Fancy."--ED.
Sylph was it? or a Bird more bright Than those of fabulous stock? A second darted by;--and lo! Another of the flock, Through sunshine flitting from the bough 5 To nestle in the rock. Transient deception! a gay freak Of April's mimicries! Those brilliant strangers, hailed with joy Among the budding trees, 10 Proved last year's leaves, pushed from the spray To frolic on the breeze.
Maternal Flora! show thy face, And let thy hand be seen, Thy hand here sprinkling tiny flowers,[756] 15 That, as they touch the green, Take root (so seems it) and look up In honour of their Queen. Yet, sooth, those little starry specks, That not in vain aspired 20 To be confounded with live growths, Most dainty, most admired, Were only blossoms dropped from twigs Of their own offspring tired.
Not such the World's illusive shows; 25 _Her_ wingless flutterings, Her blossoms which, though shed, outbrave The floweret as it springs, For the undeceived, smile as they may, Are melancholy things: 30 But gentle Nature plays her part With ever-varying wiles, And transient feignings with plain truth So well she reconciles, That those fond Idlers most are pleased 35 Whom oftenest she beguiles.
FOOTNOTES:
[756] 1836.
Which sprinkles here these tiny flowers, 1835.
LOVING AND LIKING
IRREGULAR VERSES ADDRESSED TO A CHILD
(BY MY SISTER)[757]
Composed 1832.--Published 1835.
[Written at Rydal Mount. It arose, I believe, out of a casual expression of one of Mr. Swinburne's children.--I. F.]
One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."--ED.
There's more in words than I can teach: Yet listen, Child!--I would not preach; But only give some plain directions To guide your speech and your affections. Say not you _love_ a roasted fowl, 5 But you may love a screaming owl, And, if you can, the unwieldy toad That crawls from his secure abode Within the mossy garden wall When evening dews begin to fall. 10 Oh mark the beauty of his eye: What wonders in that circle lie! So clear, so bright, our fathers said He wears a jewel in his head! And when, upon some showery day, 15 Into a path or public way A frog leaps out from bordering grass, Startling the timid as they pass, Do you observe him, and endeavour To take the intruder into favour; 20 Learning from him to find a reason For a light heart in a dull season. And you may love him in the pool, That is for him a happy school, In which he swims as taught by nature, 25 Fit[758] pattern for a human creature, Glancing amid the water bright, And sending upward sparkling light.
Nor blush if o'er your heart be stealing A love for things that have no feeling: 30 The spring's first rose by you espied, May fill your breast with joyful pride; And you may love the strawberry-flower, And love the strawberry in its bower; But when the fruit, so often praised 35 For beauty, to your lip is raised, Say not you _love_ the delicate treat, But _like_ it, enjoy it, and thankfully eat.
Long may you love your pensioner mouse, Though one of a tribe that torment the house: 40 Nor dislike for her cruel sport the cat, Deadly foe both of[759] mouse and rat; Remember she follows the law of her kind, And Instinct is neither wayward nor blind. Then think of her beautiful gliding form, 45 Her tread that would scarcely[760] crush a worm, And her soothing song by the winter fire, Soft as the dying throb of the lyre.
I would not circumscribe your love: It may soar with the eagle and brood with the dove, 50 May pierce the earth with the patient mole, Or track the hedgehog to his hole. Loving and liking are the solace of life, Rock the cradle of joy, smooth the death-bed of strife.[761] You love your father and your mother, 55 Your grown-up and your baby-brother; You love your sister, and your friends, And countless blessings which God sends: And while these right affections play, You _live_ each moment of your day; 60 They lead you on to full content, And likings fresh and innocent, That store the mind, the memory feed, And prompt to many a gentle deed: But _likings_ come, and pass away; 65 'Tis _love_ that remains till our latest day: Our heavenward guide is holy love, And will[762] be our bliss with saints above.
FOOTNOTES:
[757] 1845.
In the former editions of the author's "Miscellaneous Poems" are three pieces addressed to Children:--the following, a few lines excepted, is by the same Writer; and as it belongs to the same unassuming class of compositions, she has been prevailed upon to consent to its publication.
W. W. 1835.
By the author of the Poem, "Address to a child, during a boisterous winter evening."
W. W. 1836.
[758] 1845.
A ... 1835.
[759] 1845.
That deadly foe of both ... 1835.
That deadly foe both of ... 1836.
[760] 1836.
... not ... 1835.
[761] 1840.
They foster all joy, and extinguish all strife. 1835.
[762] 1845.
And it will ... 1835.
UPON THE LATE GENERAL FAST[763]
MARCH, 1832
Composed 1832.--Published 1832
One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty and Order."--ED.
Reluctant call it was; the rite delayed; And in the Senate some there were who doffed The last of their humanity, and scoffed At providential judgments,[764] undismayed By their own daring. But the People prayed 5 As with one voice; their flinty heart grew soft With penitential sorrow, and aloft Their spirit mounted, crying, "God us aid!" Oh that with aspirations more intense, Chastised by self-abasement more profound, 10 This People, once[765] so happy, so renowned For liberty, would seek from God defence Against far heavier ill, the pestilence[766] Of revolution, impiously unbound!
FOOTNOTES:
[763] 1837.
The title in 1832 was SONNET ON THE LATE GENERAL FAST, MARCH 21, 1832.
[764] 1840.
... judgment, ... 1832.
[765] 1837.
Oh that with soul-aspirings more intense And heart-humiliations more profound This People, long ... 1832.
[766] The fast was appointed because of an outbreak of cholera in England.--ED.
1833
The most important of the poems written in 1833 were the Memorials of the Tour undertaken during the summer of that year. They refer to several Cumbrian localities, to the Isle of Man, to the Clyde, the Western Islands of Scotland, and again to Cumberland.--ED.
A WREN'S NEST
Composed 1833.--Published 1835
[Written at Rydal Mount. This nest was built, as described, in a tree that grows near the pool in Dora's field, next the Rydal Mount garden.[767]--I. F.]
One of the "Poems of the Fancy."--ED.
Among the dwellings framed by birds In field or forest with nice care, Is none that with the little Wren's In snugness may compare.
No door the tenement requires, 5 And seldom needs a laboured roof; Yet is it to the fiercest sun Impervious, and storm-proof.
So warm, so beautiful withal, In perfect fitness for its aim, 10 That to the Kind by special grace Their instinct surely came.
And when for their abodes they seek An opportune recess, The hermit has no finer eye 15 For shadowy quietness.
These find, 'mid ivied abbey-walls, A canopy in some still nook; Others are pent-housed by a brae That overhangs a brook. 20
There to the brooding bird her mate Warbles by fits his low clear song; And by the busy streamlet both Are sung to all day long.
Or in sequestered lanes they build, 25 Where, till the flitting bird's return, Her eggs within the nest repose, Like relics in an urn.
But still, where general choice is good, There is a better and a best; 30 And, among fairest objects, some Are fairer than the rest;
This, one of those small builders proved In a green covert, where, from out The forehead of a pollard oak, 35 The leafy antlers sprout;
For She who planned the mossy lodge, Mistrusting her evasive skill, Had to a Primrose looked for aid Her wishes to fulfil. 40
High on the trunk's projecting brow And fixed an infant's span above The budding flowers, peeped forth the nest, The prettiest of the grove!
The treasure proudly did I show 45 To some whose minds without disdain Can turn to little things; but once Looked up for it in vain:
'Tis gone--a ruthless spoiler's prey, Who heeds not beauty, love, or song, 50 'Tis gone! (so seemed it) and we grieved Indignant at the wrong.
Just three days after, passing by In clearer light the moss-built cell I saw, espied its shaded mouth; 55 And felt that all was well.
The Primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves; And thus, for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives. 60
Concealed from friends who might disturb Thy quiet with no ill intent, Secure from evil eyes and hands On barbarous plunder bent,
Rest, Mother-bird! and when thy young 65 Take flight, and thou art free to roam, When withered is the guardian Flower, And empty thy late home,
Think how ye prospered, thou and thine, Amid the unviolated grove 70 Housed near the growing Primrose-tuft In foresight, or in love.
FOOTNOTES:
[767] Wrens still build (1896) in the same pollard oak tree, which survives in "Dora's Field"; and primroses grow beneath it.--ED.
TO ----
UPON THE BIRTH OF HER FIRST-BORN CHILD, MARCH, 1833
"Tum porro puer, ut sævis projectus ab undis Navita, nudus humi jacet," etc.--LUCRETIUS.[768]
Composed March 1833.--Published 1835
[Written at Moresby near Whitehaven, when I was on a visit to my son, then incumbent of that small living. While I am dictating these notes to my friend, Miss Fenwick, January 24, 1843, the child upon whose birth these verses were written is under my roof, and is of a disposition so promising that the wishes and prayers and prophecies which I then breathed forth in verse are, through God's mercy, likely to be realised.--I. F.]
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--ED.
Like a shipwreck'd Sailor tost By rough waves on a perilous coast, Lies the Babe, in helplessness And in tenderest nakedness, Flung by labouring nature forth 5 Upon the mercies of the earth. Can its eyes beseech?--no more Than the hands are free to implore: Voice but serves for one brief cry; Plaint was it? or prophecy 10 Of sorrow that will surely come? Omen of man's grievous doom!
But, O Mother! by the close Duly granted to thy throes; By the silent thanks, now tending 15 Incense-like to Heaven, descending Now to mingle and to move With the gush of earthly love, As a debt to that frail Creature, Instrument of struggling Nature 20 For the blissful calm, the peace Known but to this _one_ release-- Can the pitying spirit doubt That for human-kind springs out From the penalty a sense 25 Of more than mortal recompense?
As a floating summer cloud, Though of gorgeous drapery proud, To the sun-burnt traveller, Or the stooping labourer, 30 Oft-times makes its bounty known By its shadow round him thrown; So, by chequerings of sad cheer, Heavenly Guardians, brooding near, Of their presence tell--too bright 35 Haply for corporeal sight! Ministers of grace divine Feelingly their brows incline O'er this seeming Castaway Breathing, in the light of day, 40 Something like the faintest breath That has power to baffle death-- Beautiful, while very weakness Captivates like passive meekness.
And, sweet Mother! under warrant 45 Of the universal Parent, Who repays in season due Them who have, like thee, been true To the filial chain let down From his everlasting throne,[769] 50 Angels hovering round thy couch, With their softest whispers vouch, That--whatever griefs may fret, Cares entangle, sins beset, This thy First-born, and with tears 55 Stain her cheek in future years-- Heavenly succour, not denied To the babe, whate'er betide, Will to the woman be supplied!
Mother! blest be thy calm ease; 60 Blest the starry promises,-- And the firmament benign Hallowed be it, where they shine! Yes, for them whose souls have scope Ample for a wingèd hope, 65 And can earthward bend an ear For needful listening, pledge is here, That, if thy new-born Charge shall tread In thy footsteps, and be led By that other Guide, whose light 70 Of manly virtues, mildly bright, Gave him first the wished-for part In thy gentle virgin heart; Then, amid the storms of life Presignified by that dread strife 75 Whence ye have escaped together, She may look for serene weather; In all trials sure to find Comfort for a faithful mind; Kindlier issues, holier rest, 80 Than even now await her prest, Conscious Nursling, to thy breast!
FOOTNOTES:
[768] See _De Rerum Naturae_, lib. v. ll. 222-3.--ED.
[769] Compare _The Primrose of the Rock_, ll. 11-12.--ED.
THE WARNING
A SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING
Composed March 1833.--Published 1835
[These lines were composed during the fever spread through the nation by the Reform Bill. As the motives which led to this measure, and the good or evil which has attended or has risen from it, will be duly appreciated by future historians, there is no call for dwelling on the subject in this place. I will content myself with saying that the then condition of the people's mind is not, in these verses, exaggerated.--I. F.]
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--ED.
List, the winds of March are blowing; Her ground-flowers shrink, afraid of showing Their meek heads to the nipping air, Which ye feel not, happy pair! Sunk into a kindly sleep. 5 We, meanwhile, our hope will keep; And if Time leagued with adverse Change (Too busy fear!) shall cross its range, Whatsoever check they bring, Anxious duty hindering, 10 To like hope[770] our prayers will cling.
Thus, while the ruminating spirit feeds Upon the events of home[771] as life proceeds, Affections pure and holy in their source Gain a fresh impulse, run a livelier course; 15 Hopes that within the Father's heart prevail, Are in the experienced Grandsire's slow to fail; And if the harp pleased his gay youth, it rings To his grave touch with no unready strings, While thoughts press on, and feelings overflow, 20 And quick words round him fall like flakes of snow.[772]
Thanks to the Powers that yet maintain their sway, And have renewed the tributary Lay. Truths of the heart flock in with eager pace, And FANCY greets them with a fond embrace; 25 Swift as the rising sun his beams extends She shoots the tidings forth to distant friends; Their gifts she hails (deemed precious, as they prove For the unconscious Babe so prompt a love!)--[773] But from this peaceful centre of delight 30 Vague sympathies have urged her to take flight: Rapt[774] into upper regions, like the bee That sucks from mountain heath her honey fee; Or, like the warbling lark intent to shroud His head in sunbeams or a bowery cloud, 35 She soars--and here and there her pinions rest On proud towers, like this humble cottage, blest With a new visitant, an infant guest-- Towers where red streamers flout the breezy sky In pomp foreseen by her creative eye, 40 When feasts shall crowd the hall, and steeple bells Glad proclamation make, and heights and dells Catch the blithe music as it sinks and swells,[775] And harboured ships, whose pride is on the sea, Shall hoist their topmost flags in sign of glee, 45 Honouring the hope of noble ancestry.
But who (though neither reckoning ills assigned By Nature, nor reviewing in the mind The track that was, and is, and must be, worn With weary feet by all of woman born)-- 50 Shall _now_ by such a gift with joy be moved, Nor feel the fulness of that joy reproved? Not He, whose last faint memory will command The truth that Britain was his native land;[776] Whose infant soul was tutored to confide 55 In the cleansed faith for which her martyrs died; Whose boyish ear the voice of her renown With rapture thrilled; whose Youth revered the crown Of Saxon liberty that Alfred wore,[777] Alfred, dear Babe, thy great Progenitor! 60 --Not He, who from her mellowed practice drew His social sense of just, and fair, and true; And saw, thereafter, on the soil of France Rash Polity begin her maniac dance,[778] Foundations broken up, the deeps run wild, 65 Nor grieved to see (himself not unbeguiled)-- Woke from the dream, the dreamer to upbraid, And learn how sanguine expectations fade When novel trusts by folly are betrayed,-- To see Presumption, turning pale, refrain 70 From further havoc, but repent in vain,-- Good aims lie down, and perish in the road Where guilt had urged them on with ceaseless goad. Proofs thickening round her that on public ends Domestic virtue vitally depends, 75 That civic strife can turn the happiest hearth Into a grievous sore of self-tormenting earth.[779]
Can such a One, dear Babe! though glad and proud To welcome thee, repel the fears that crowd Into his English breast, and spare to quake 80 Less for his own than[780] for thy innocent sake? Too late--or, should the providence of God Lead, through dark[781] ways by sin and sorrow trod, Justice and peace to a secure abode, Too soon--thou com'st into this breathing world; 85 Ensigns of mimic outrage are unfurled. Who shall preserve or prop the tottering Realm? What hand suffice to govern the state-helm? If, in the aims of men, the surest test Of good or bad (whate'er be sought for or profest) 90 Lie in the means required, or ways ordained, For compassing the end, else never gained; Yet governors and govern'd both are blind To this plain truth, or fling it to the wind; If to expedience principle must bow; 95 Past, future, shrinking up beneath the incumbent Now; If cowardly concession still must feed The thirst for power in men who ne'er concede; Nor turn aside, unless to shape a way For domination at some riper day; 100 If[782] generous Loyalty must stand in awe Of subtle Treason, in[783] his mask of law, Or with bravado insolent and hard, Provoking punishment, to win reward; If office help the factious to conspire, 105 And they who _should_ extinguish, fan the fire-- Then, will the sceptre be a straw, the crown Sit loosely, like the thistle's crest of down; To be blown off at will, by Power that spares it In cunning patience, from the head that wears it. 110
Lost people, trained to theoretic feud! Lost above all, ye labouring multitude! Bewildered whether ye, by slanderous tongues Deceived, mistake calamities for wrongs; And over fancied usurpations brood, 115 Oft snapping at revenge in sullen mood; Or, from long stress of real injuries fly To desperation for a remedy; In bursts of outrage spread your judgments wide, And to your wrath cry out, "Be thou our guide;" 120 Or, bound by oaths, come forth to tread earth's floor In marshalled thousands, darkening street and moor With the worst shape mock-patience ever wore; Or, to the giddy top of self-esteem By Flatterers carried, mount into a dream 125 Of boundless suffrage, at whose sage behest Justice shall rule, disorder be supprest, And every man sit down as Plenty's Guest! --O for a bridle bitted with remorse To stop your Loaders in their headstrong course![784] 130 Oh may the Almighty scatter with his grace These mists, and lead you to a safer place, By paths no human wisdom can foretrace! May He pour round you, from worlds far above Man's feverish passions, his pure light of love, 135 That quietly restores the natural mien To hope, and makes truth willing to be seen! _Else_ shall your blood-stained hands in frenzy reap Fields gaily sown when promises were cheap.-- Why is the Past belied with wicked art, 140 The Future made to play so false a part, Among a people famed for strength of mind, Foremost in freedom, noblest of mankind? We act as if we joyed in the sad tune Storms make in rising, valued in the moon 145 Nought but her changes. Thus, ungrateful Nation! If thou persist, and, scorning moderation, Spread for thyself the snares of tribulation, Whom, then, shall meekness guard? What saving skill Lie in forbearance, strength in standing still? 150 --Soon shall the widow (for the speed of Time Nought equals when the hours are winged with crime) Widow, or wife, implore on tremulous knee, From him who judged her lord, a like decree; The skies will weep o'er old men desolate: 155 Ye little-ones! Earth shudders at your fate, Outcasts and homeless orphans----
But turn, my Soul, and from the sleeping pair Learn thou the beauty of omniscient care! Be strong in faith, bid anxious thoughts lie still; 160 Seek for the good and cherish it--the ill Oppose, or bear with a submissive will.
FOOTNOTES:
[770] 1835.
To that hope ... C.
[771] 1837.
Upon each home-event ... 1835.
[772] "_The Warning_ was composed on horseback when I was riding from Moresby in a snow-storm."--(W. W. to his nephew, the late Bishop of Lincoln.)
[773] 1840.
... Babe an unbelated love!) 1835.
... so prompt to love.) C.
[774] 1837.
... flight. She rivals the fleet Swallow, making rings In the smooth lake where'er he dips his wings: --Rapt ... 1835.
[775] 1837.
... or swells; 1835.
[776] Compare _The Lay of the Last Minstrel_, canto vi. ll. 1-3.--ED.
[777] Compare "Ecclesiastical Sonnets," Part I. XXVI., XXVII.--ED.
[778] At the Revolution, 1792.--ED.
[779] 1840.
Till undiscriminating Ruin swept The Land, and Wrong perpetual vigils kept; With proof before her that on public ends Domestic virtue vitally depends. 1835.
And civic strife, by hourly calling forth Mutual despite, can turn the happiest hearth Into a rankling sore of self-tormented earth. C.
[780] 1840.
Not for his own, but ... 1835.
[781] 1840.
... blind ... 1835.
[782] 1837.
... concede; If ... 1835.
[783] 1837.
... with ... 1835.
[784] See the Fenwick note prefixed to the poem.--ED.
"IF THIS GREAT WORLD OF JOY AND PAIN"
Composed 1833.--Published 1835
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--ED.
If this great world of joy and pain Revolve in one sure track; If freedom, set, will rise again, And virtue, flown, come back; Woe to the purblind crew who fill 5 The heart with each day's care; Nor gain, from past or future, skill To bear, and to forbear!
ON A HIGH PART OF THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND[785]
Easter Sunday, April 7
THE AUTHOR'S SIXTY-THIRD BIRTH-DAY
Composed 1833.--Published 1835
[The lines were composed on the road between Moresby and Whitehaven while I was on a visit to my son, then rector of the former place. This succession of Voluntaries, with the exception of the 8th and 9th, originated in the concluding lines of the last paragraph of this poem. With this coast I have been familiar from my earliest childhood, and remember being struck for the first time by the town and port of Whitehaven and the white waves breaking against its quays and piers, as the whole came into view from the top of the high ground down which the road (it has since been altered) then descended abruptly. My sister, when she first heard the voice of the sea from this point, and beheld the scene before her, burst into tears. Our family then lived at Cockermouth, and this fact was often mentioned among us as indicating the sensibility for which she was so remarkable.--I. F.]
One of the "Evening Voluntaries."--ED.
The Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire, Flung back from distant climes a streaming fire, Whose blaze is now subdued to tender gleams, Prelude of night's approach with soothing dreams. Look round;--of all the clouds not one is moving; 5 'Tis the still hour of thinking, feeling, loving. Silent, and stedfast as the vaulted sky, The boundless plain of waters seems to lie:-- Comes that low sound from breezes rustling o'er The grass-crowned headland that conceals the shore? No; 'tis the earth-voice of the mighty sea, 11 Whispering how meek and gentle he _can_ be![786]
Thou Power supreme! who, arming to rebuke Offenders, dost put off the gracious look, And clothe thyself with terrors like the flood 15 Of ocean roused into his fiercest mood, Whatever discipline thy Will ordain For the brief course that must for me remain; Teach me with quick-eared spirit to rejoice In admonitions of thy softest voice! 20 Whate'er the path these mortal feet may trace, Breathe through my soul the blessing of thy grace, Glad, through a perfect love, a faith sincere Drawn from the wisdom that begins with fear, Glad to expand; and, for a season, free 25 From finite cares, to rest absorbed in Thee!
FOOTNOTES:
[785] 1837.
In 1835 the title was "The Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire."
[786] Compare the _Elegiac Stanzas, suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle, in a Storm_ (1805), vol. iii. p. 54; also the sonnet (written in 1807), "_Two Voices are there; one is of the sea_," vol. iv. p. 61, and the second sonnet on the _Cave of Staffa_, in the poems descriptive of the tour in Scotland in 1833.--ED.
(BY THE SEA-SIDE)
Composed 1833.--Published 1835
One of the "Evening Voluntaries."--ED.
The sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest; And the wild storm hath somewhere found a nest; Air slumbers--wave with wave no longer strives, Only a heaving of the deep survives,[787] A tell-tale motion! soon will it be laid, 5 And by the tide alone the water swayed. Stealthy withdrawings, interminglings mild Of light with shade in beauty reconciled-- Such is the prospect far as sight can range, The soothing recompense, the welcome change. 10 Where now the ships that drove before the blast, Threatened by angry breakers as they passed; And by a train of flying clouds bemocked; Or, in the hollow surge, at anchor rocked As on a bed of death? Some lodge in peace, 15 Saved by His care who bade the tempest cease; And some, too heedless of past danger, court Fresh gales to waft them to the far-off port; But near, or hanging sea and sky between, Not one of all those wingèd powers is seen, 20 Seen in her course, nor 'mid this quiet heard; Yet oh! how gladly would the air be stirred By some acknowledgment of thanks and praise, Soft in its temper as those vesper lays Sung to the Virgin while accordant oars 25 Urge the slow bark along Calabrian shores; A sea-born service through the mountains felt Till into one loved vision all things melt: Or like those hymns that soothe with graver sound The gulfy coast of Norway iron-bound; 30 And, from the wide and open Baltic, rise With punctual care, Lutherian harmonies. Hush, not a voice is here! but why repine, Now when the star of eve comes forth to shine On British waters with that look benign?[788] 35 Ye mariners, that plough your onward way, Or in the haven rest, or sheltering bay, May silent thanks at least to God be given With a full heart; "our thoughts are _heard_ in heaven!"[789]
FOOTNOTES:
[787] Compare the previous poem.--ED.
[788] Compare Robert Browning's _Home-thoughts from the Sea_--
While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.--ED.
[789] See Young's _Night Thoughts_, book ii. l. 95.--ED.
COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SHORE
Composed 1834.--Published 1845
[These lines were suggested during my residence under my son's roof at Moresby, on the coast near Whitehaven, at the time when I was composing those verses among the "Evening Voluntaries" that have reference to the sea. It was in that neighbourhood I first became acquainted with the ocean and its appearances and movements. My infancy and early childhood were passed at Cockermouth, about eight miles from the coast, and I well remember that mysterious awe with which I used to listen to anything said about storms and shipwrecks. Sea-shells of many descriptions were common in the town; and I was not a little surprised when I heard that Mr. Landor[790] had denounced me as a plagiarist from himself for having described a boy applying a sea-shell to his ear and listening to it for intimations of what was going on in its native element. This I had done myself scores of times, and it was a belief among us that we could know from the sound whether the tide was ebbing or flowing.--I.F.]
One of the "Evening Voluntaries."--ED.
What mischief cleaves to unsubdued regret, How fancy sickens by vague hopes beset; How baffled projects on the spirit prey, And fruitless wishes eat the heart away, The Sailor knows; he best, whose lot is cast 5 On the relentless sea that holds him fast On chance dependent, and the fickle star Of power, through long and melancholy war. O sad it is, in sight of foreign shores, Daily to think on old familiar doors, 10 Hearths loved in childhood, and ancestral floors; Or, tossed about along a waste of foam, To ruminate on that delightful home, Which with the dear Betrothèd _was_ to come; Or came and was and is, yet meets the eye 15 Never but in the world of memory; Or in a dream recalled, whose smoothest range Is crossed by knowledge, or by dread, of change, And if not so, whose perfect joy makes sleep A thing too bright for breathing man to keep. 20 Hail to the virtues which that perilous life Extracts from Nature's elemental strife; And welcome glory won in battles fought As bravely as the foe was keenly sought. But to each gallant Captain and his crew 25 A less imperious sympathy is due, Such as my verse now yields, while moonbeams play On the mute sea in this unruffled bay; Such as will promptly flow from every breast, Where good men, disappointed in the quest 30 Of wealth and power and honours, long for rest; Or, having known the splendours of success, Sigh for the obscurities of happiness.
FOOTNOTES:
[790] The passage in Landor's _Gebir_, book i., is quoted in a note to the fourth book of _The Excursion_ (see vol. v. p. 188).--ED.
POEMS,[791]
COMPOSED OR SUGGESTED DURING A TOUR, IN THE SUMMER OF 1833
Composed 1833.--Published 1835
Having been prevented by the lateness of the season, in 1831, from visiting Staffa and Iona, the author made these the principal objects of a short tour in the summer of 1833, of which the following series of poems is a Memorial. The course pursued was down the Cumberland river Derwent, and to Whitehaven; thence (by the Isle of Man, where a few days were passed) up the Frith of Clyde to Greenock, then to Oban, Staffa, Iona; and back towards England by Loch Awe, Inverary, Loch Goilhead, Greenock, and through parts of Renfrewshire, Ayrshire, and Dumfries-shire to Carlisle, and thence up the river Eden, and homewards by Ullswater.--W. W.
[My companions were H. C. Robinson and my son John.--I. F.]
FOOTNOTES:
[791] 1845.
The Title in the 1835 edition was Sonnets composed or suggested during a tour in Scotland, in the Summer of 1833.
I
ADIEU, RYDALIAN LAURELS! THAT HAVE GROWN
Adieu, Rydalian Laurels! that have grown And spread as if ye knew that days might come When ye would shelter in a happy home, On this fair Mount, a Poet of your own, One who ne'er ventured for a Delphic crown 5 To sue the God; but, haunting your green shade[792] All seasons through, is humbly pleased to braid[793] Ground-flowers, beneath your guardianship, self-sown.[794] Farewell! no Minstrels now with harp new-strung For summer wandering quit their household bowers; Yet not for this wants Poesy a tongue 11 To cheer the Itinerant on whom she pours Her spirit, while he crosses lonely moors, Or musing sits forsaken halls among.
FOOTNOTES:
[792] 1835.
One who to win your emblematic crown Aspires not, but frequenting your green shade
MS.
Who dares not sue the God for your bright crown Of deathless leaves, but haunting your green shade
MS.
[793] 1835.
... delights fresh wreaths to braid.
MS.
[794] The yellow flowering poppy and the wild geranium. Compare the poem _Poor Robin_, March 1840.--ED.
II
"WHY SHOULD THE ENTHUSIAST, JOURNEYING THROUGH THIS ISLE"
Why should the Enthusiast, journeying through this Isle, Repine as if his hour were come too late? Not unprotected in her mouldering state, Antiquity salutes him with a smile, 'Mid fruitful fields that ring with jocund toil, 5 And pleasure-grounds where Taste, refined Co-mate Of Truth and Beauty, strives to imitate, Far as she may, primeval Nature's style. Fair Land! by Time's parental love made free, By Social Order's watchful arms embraced; 10 With unexampled union meet in thee, For eye and mind, the present and the past; With golden prospect for futurity, If that be reverenced which ought to last.[795]
FOOTNOTES:
[795] 1845.
If what is rightly reverenced may last. 1835.
III
"THEY CALLED THEE MERRY ENGLAND, IN OLD TIME"
They called Thee MERRY ENGLAND, in old time; A happy people won for thee that name With envy heard in many a distant clime; And, spite of change, for me thou keep'st the same Endearing title, a responsive chime 5 To the heart's fond belief; though some there are Whose sterner judgments deem that world a snare For inattentive Fancy, like the lime Which foolish birds are caught with. Can, I ask, This face of rural beauty be a mask 10 For discontent, and poverty, and crime; These spreading towns a cloak for lawless will? Forbid it, Heaven!-and[796] MERRY ENGLAND still Shall[797] be thy rightful name, in prose and rhyme!
FOOTNOTES:
[796] 1837.
... that ... 1835.
[797] 1837.
May.... 1835.
IV
TO THE RIVER GRETA, NEAR KESWICK
Greta, what fearful listening! when huge stones Rumble along thy bed, block after block: Or, whirling with reiterated shock, Combat, while darkness aggravates the groans: But if thou (like Cocytus from the moans[798] 5 Heard on his rueful margin[799]) thence wert named The Mourner, thy true nature was defamed, And the habitual murmur that atones For thy worst rage, forgotten. Oft as Spring Decks, on thy sinuous banks, her thousand thrones, 10 Seats of glad instinct and love's carolling, The concert, for the happy, then may vie With liveliest peals of birth-day harmony: To a grieved heart, the notes are benisons.
Compare _The Prelude_, book i. l. 269 (vol. iii. p. 140):--
"Was it for this That one, the fairest of all rivers, loved To blend his murmurs with my nurse's song, And, from his alder shades and rocky falls, And from his fords and shallows, sent a voice That flowed along my dreams?
* * * * *
Make ceaseless music that composed my thoughts To more than infant softness."
ED.
FOOTNOTES:
[798] Many years ago, when I was at Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire, the hostess of the inn, proud of her skill in etymology, said, that "the name of the river was taken from the _bridge_, the form of which, as every one must notice, exactly resembled a great A." Dr. Whitaker has derived it from the word of common occurrence in the North of England, "_to greet_;" signifying to lament aloud, mostly with weeping: a conjecture rendered more probable from the stony and rocky channel of both the Cumberland and Yorkshire rivers. The Cumberland Greta, though it does not, among the country people, take up _that_ name till within three miles of its disappearance in the River Derwent, may be considered as having its source in the mountain cove of Wythburn, and flowing through Thirlmere, the beautiful features of which lake are known only to those who, travelling between Grasmere and Keswick, have quitted the main road in the vale of Wythburn, and, crossing over to the opposite side of the lake, have proceeded with it on the right hand.
The channel of the Greta, immediately above Keswick, has, for the purposes of building, been in a great measure cleared of the immense stones which, by their concussion in high floods, produced the loud and awful noises described in the sonnet.
"The scenery upon this river," says Mr. Southey in his Colloquies, "where it passes under the woody side of Latrigg, is of the finest and most rememberable kind:--
---- 'ambiguo lapsu refluitque fluitque, Occurrensque sibi venturas aspicit undas.'"
W. W. 1835.
[799] The Cocytus was a tributary of the Acheron, in Epirus, but was supposed to have some connection with the underworld, doubtless, as Wordsworth puts it,
from the moans Heard on his rueful margin.
Compare Homer, _Odyssey_ x. 513, and Virgil, _Aenid_ vi. 295.--ED.
V
TO THE RIVER DERWENT[800]
Among the mountains were we nursed, loved Stream! Thou near the eagle's nest[801]--within brief sail, I, of his bold wing floating on the gale, Where thy deep voice could lull me! Faint the beam Of human life when first allowed to gleam 5 On mortal notice.--Glory of the vale, Such thy meek outset, with a crown, though frail, Kept in perpetual verdure by the steam Of thy soft breath!--Less vivid wreath entwined Nemæan victor's brow;[802] less bright was worn, 10 Meed of some Roman chief--in triumph borne With captives chained; and shedding from his car The sunset splendours of a finished war Upon the proud enslavers of mankind!
FOOTNOTES:
[800] This sonnet has already appeared in several editions of the author's poems; but he is tempted to reprint it in this place, as a natural introduction to the two that follow it.--W. W. 1835.
It was first published in 1819.--ED.
[801] The river Derwent rises in Langstrath valley, Borrowdale, in which is Eagle Crag, so named from its having been the haunt of a bird that is now extinct in Cumberland.--ED.
[802] The Nemæan games were celebrated every third or fifth year at Nemæa in Argolis. The victor was crowned with a wreath of olive.--ED.
VI
IN SIGHT OF THE TOWN OF COCKERMOUTH
(Where the Author was born, and his Father's remains are laid.)
A point of life between my Parents' dust, And yours, my buried Little-ones![803] am I; And to those graves looking habitually In kindred quiet I repose my trust. Death to the innocent is more than just, 5 And, to the sinner, mercifully bent; So may I hope, if truly I repent And meekly bear the ills which bear I must: And You, my Offspring! that do still remain, Yet may outstrip me in the appointed race, 10 If e'er, through fault of mine, in mutual pain We breathed together for a moment's space, The wrong, by love provoked, let love arraign, And only love keep in your hearts a place.
FOOTNOTES:
[803] His children, Catherine and Thomas, who died in infancy at the Parsonage, Grasmere, and were buried in Grasmere Churchyard.--ED.
VII
ADDRESS FROM THE SPIRIT OF COCKERMOUTH CASTLE
"Thou look'st upon me, and dost fondly think, Poet! that, stricken as both are by years, We, differing once so much, are now Compeers, Prepared, when each has stood his time, to sink Into the dust. Erewhile a sterner link 5 United us; when thou, in boyish play, Entering my dungeon, didst become a prey To soul-appalling darkness. Not a blink Of light was there;--and thus did I, thy Tutor, Make thy young thoughts acquainted with the grave; While thou wert chasing the wing'd butterfly 11 Through my green courts;[804] or climbing, a bold suitor Up to the flowers whose golden progeny Still round my shattered brow in beauty wave."[805]
FOOTNOTES:
[804] Compare _To a Butterfly_ (1802), vol. ii. p. 284--
Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, The time, when, in our childish plays, My sister Emmeline and I Together chased the butterfly!
ED.
[805] Compare _The Prelude_, book i. ll. 283-85--
The shadow of those towers That yet survive, a shattered monument Of feudal sway.
Compare also the sonnet _At Furness Abbey_, written in 1844.--ED.
VIII
NUN'S WELL, BRIGHAM
[So named from the religious House that stood close by. I have rather an odd anecdote to relate of the Nun's Well. One day the landlady of a public-house, a field's length from the well, on the roadside, said to me--"You have been to see the Nun's Well, Sir?" "The Nun's Well! what is that?" said the Postman, who in his royal livery stopt his mail-car at the door. The landlady and I explained to him what the name meant, and what sort of people the nuns were. A countryman who was standing by, rather tipsy, stammered out--"Aye, those nuns were good people; they are gone; but we shall soon have them back again." The Reform mania was just then at its height.--I.F.]
The cattle crowding round this beverage clear To slake their thirst, with reckless hoofs have trod The encircling turf into a barren clod; Through which the waters creep, then disappear, Born to be lost in Derwent flowing near; 5 Yet, o'er the brink, and round the lime-stone cell Of the pure spring (they call it the "Nun's Well," Name that first struck by chance my startled ear) A tender Spirit broods--the pensive Shade Of ritual honours to this Fountain paid 10 By hooded Votaresses[806] with saintly cheer;[807] Albeit oft the Virgin-mother mild Looked down with pity upon eyes beguiled Into the shedding of "too soft a tear."[808]
FOOTNOTES:
[806] 1837.
... Votaries ... 1835.
[807] Attached to the church of Brigham was formerly a chantry, which held a moiety of the manor; and in the decayed parsonage some vestiges of monastic architecture are still to be seen.--W. W. 1835.
[808] See Pope's _Eloïsa to Abelard_, l. 224.--ED.
IX
TO A FRIEND[809]
(ON THE BANKS OF THE DERWENT)
[My son John, who was then building a parsonage on his small living at Brigham.--I.F.]
Pastor and Patriot!--at whose bidding rise These modest walls, amid a flock that need, For one who comes to watch them and to feed, A fixed Abode--keep down presageful sighs.[810] Threats, which the unthinking only can despise, 5 Perplex the Church; but be thou firm,--be true To thy first hope, and this good work pursue, Poor as thou art. A welcome sacrifice Dost Thou prepare, whose sign will be the smoke[811] Of thy new hearth; and sooner shall its wreaths, 10 Mounting while earth her morning incense breathes, From wandering fiends of air receive a yoke, And straightway cease to aspire, than God disdain This humble tribute as ill-timed or vain.
FOOTNOTES:
[809] John Wordsworth, the poet's son, the subject of this sonnet, was incumbent of Moresby, near Whitehaven, before he went to Brigham. See the Fenwick note to the lines, _Composed by the Sea-shore_, p. 340. In 1833 Wordsworth wrote to Lady Beaumont:--
"Were you ever told that my son is building a parsonage-house upon a small living, to which he was lately presented by the Earl of Lonsdale. The situation is beautiful, commanding the windings of the Derwent both above and below the site of the house; the mountain Skiddaw terminating the view one way, at a distance of six miles, and the ruins of Cockermouth Castle appearing nearly in the centre of the same view. In consequence of some discouraging thoughts expressed by my son when he had entered upon this undertaking, I addressed to him the following Sonnet, which you may perhaps read with some interest at the present crisis."--ED.
[810] 1835.
... foreboding sighs.
MS. Letter to Lady Beaumont.
[811] 1835.
To Him who dwells in Heaven will be the smoke
MS. Letter to Lady Beaumont.
X
MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS
(LANDING AT THE MOUTH OF THE DERWENT, WORKINGTON)[812]
[I will mention for the sake of the friend who is writing down these notes, that it was among the fine Scotch firs near Ambleside, and particularly those near Green Bank, that I have over and over again paused at the sight of this image. Long may they stand to afford a like gratification to others!--This wish is not uncalled for, several of their brethren having already disappeared.--I. F.]
Dear to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed, The Queen drew back the wimple that she wore; And to the throng, that on the Cumbrian shore Her landing hailed, how touchingly she bowed![813] And like a Star (that, from a heavy cloud[814] 5 Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts,[815] When a soft summer gale at evening parts The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud) She smiled;[816] but Time, the old Saturnian seer, Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand, 10 With step prelusive to a long array Of woes and degradations hand in hand-- Weeping captivity, and shuddering fear Stilled by the ensanguined block of Fotheringay![817]
FOOTNOTES:
[812] "The fears and impatience of Mary were so great," says Robertson, "that she got into a fisher-boat, and with about twenty attendants landed at Workington, in Cumberland; and thence she was conducted with many marks of respect to Carlisle." The apartment in which the Queen had slept at Workington Hall (where she was received by Sir Henry Curwen as became her rank and misfortunes) was long preserved, out of respect to her memory, as she had left it; and one cannot but regret that some necessary alterations in the mansion could not be effected without its destruction.--W. W. 1835.
[813] 1837.
And to the throng how touchingly she bowed That hailed her landing on the Cumbrian shore; 1835.
[814] 1840.
Bright as a star (that, from a sombre cloud 1835.
[815] 1835.
High poised in air of pine-tree foliage, darts, MS.
[816] Compare _The Triad_, ll. 189, 190 (p. 188)--
So gleams the crescent moon, that loves To be descried through shady groves.--ED.
[817] 1835.
Thenceforth he saw a long and long array Of miserable seasons hand in hand-- Weeping, captivity, and pallid fear, And last, the ensanguined block of Fotheringay.
MS.
XI
STANZAS SUGGESTED IN A STEAM-BOAT OFF SAINT BEES' HEADS, ON THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND[818]
If Life were slumber on a bed of down, Toil unimposed, vicissitude unknown, Sad were our lot: no hunter of the hare Exults like him whose javelin from the lair Has roused the lion; no one plucks the rose, 5 Whose proffered beauty in safe shelter blows 'Mid a trim garden's summer luxuries, With joy like his who climbs, on hands and knees, For some rare plant, yon Headland of St. Bees.
This independence upon oar and sail, 10 This new indifference to breeze or gale, This straight-lined progress, furrowing a flat lea, And regular as if locked in certainty-- Depress the hours. Up, Spirit of the storm! That Courage may find something to perform; 15 That Fortitude, whose blood disdains to freeze At Danger's bidding, may confront the seas, Firm as the towering Headlands of St. Bees.
Dread cliff of Baruth! _that_ wild wish may sleep, Bold as if men and creatures of the Deep 20 Breathed the same element; too many wrecks Have struck thy sides, too many ghastly decks Hast thou looked down upon, that such a thought Should here be welcome, and in verse enwrought: With thy stern aspect better far agrees 25 Utterance of thanks that we have past with ease, As millions thus shall do, the Headlands of St. Bees.
Yet, while each useful Art augments her store, What boots the gain if Nature should lose more? And Wisdom, as she holds[819] a Christian place 30 In man's intelligence sublimed by grace? When Bega sought of yore the Cumbrian coast,[820] Tempestuous winds her holy errand cross'd: She[821] knelt in prayer--the waves their wrath appease; And, from her vow well weighed in Heaven's decrees, Rose, where she touched the strand, the Chantry of St. Bees. 36
"Cruel of heart were they, bloody of hand," Who in these Wilds then struggled for command;[822] The strong were merciless, without hope the weak; Till this bright Stranger came, fair as day-break, 40 And as a cresset true that darts its length Of beamy lustre from a tower of strength; Guiding the mariner through troubled seas, And cheering oft his peaceful reveries, Like the fixed Light that crowns yon Headland of St. Bees. 45
To aid the Votaress, miracles believed Wrought in men's minds, like miracles achieved; So piety took root; and Song might tell What humanising virtues near her cell[823] Sprang up, and spread their fragrance wide around; How savage bosoms melted at the sound 51 Of gospel-truth enchained in harmonies Wafted o'er waves, or creeping through close trees, From her religious Mansion of St. Bees.
When her sweet Voice, that instrument of love, 55 Was glorified, and took its place, above The silent stars, among the angelic quire, Her chantry blazed with sacrilegious fire, And perished utterly; but her good deeds Had sown the spot, that witnessed them, with seeds 60 Which lay in earth expectant, till a breeze With quickening impulse answered their mute pleas, And lo! a _statelier_ pile, the Abbey of St. Bees.[824]
There are[825] the naked clothed, the hungry fed; And Charity extendeth[826] to the dead, 65 Her intercessions made for the soul's rest Of tardy penitents; or for the best Among the good (when love might else have slept, Sickened, or died) in pious memory kept. Thanks to the austere and simple Devotees, 70 Who, to that service bound by venial fees, Keep watch before the altars of St. Bees.
Are[827] not, in sooth, their Requiems sacred ties[828] Woven out of passion's sharpest agonies, Subdued, composed, and formalized by art, 75 To fix a wiser sorrow in the heart? The prayer for them whose hour is past away Says[829] to the Living, profit while ye may! A little part, and that the worst, he sees Who thinks that priestly cunning holds the keys 80 That best unlock the secrets of St. Bees.
Conscience, the timid being's inmost light, Hope of the dawn and solace of the night, Cheers these Recluses with a steady ray In many an hour when judgment goes astray. 85 Ah! scorn not hastily their rule who try Earth to despise, and flesh to mortify; Consume with zeal, in wingèd ecstasies Of prayer and praise forget their rosaries, Nor hear the loudest surges of St. Bees. 90
Yet none so prompt to succour and protect The forlorn traveller, or sailor wrecked On the bare coast; nor do they grudge the boon Which staff and cockle hat and sandal shoon Claim for the pilgrim: and, though chidings sharp 95 May sometimes greet the strolling minstrel's harp, It is not then when, swept with sportive ease, It charms a feast-day throng of all degrees, Brightening the archway of revered St. Bees.
How did the cliffs and echoing hills rejoice 100 What time the Benedictine Brethren's voice, Imploring, or commanding with meet pride, Summoned the Chiefs to lay their feuds aside, And under one blest ensign serve the Lord In Palestine. Advance, indignant Sword! 105 Flaming till thou from Panym hands release That Tomb, dread centre of all sanctities Nursed in the quiet Abbey of St. Bees.
But look we now to them whose minds from far[830] Follow the fortunes which they may not share. 110 While in Judea Fancy loves to roam, She helps to make a Holy-land at home: The Star of Bethlehem from its sphere invites To sound the crystal depth of maiden rights;[831] And wedded Life, through scriptural mysteries, 115 Heavenward ascends with all her charities, Taught by the hooded Celibates of St. Bees.
Nor be it e'er forgotten how by skill Of cloistered Architects, free their souls to fill With love of God, throughout the Land were raised 120 Churches, on whose symbolic beauty gazed Peasant and mail-clad Chief with pious awe; As at this day men seeing what they saw, Or the bare wreck of faith's solemnities, Aspire to more than earthly destinies; 125 Witness yon Pile that greets us from St. Bees.[832]
Yet more; around those Churches, gathered Towns[833] Safe from the feudal Castle's haughty frowns; Peaceful abodes, where Justice might uphold Her scales with even hand, and culture mould 130 The heart to pity, train the mind in care For rules of life, sound as the Time could bear. Nor dost thou fail, thro' abject love of ease, Or hindrance raised by sordid purposes, To bear thy part in this good work, St. Bees.[834] 135
Who with the ploughshare clove the barren moors, And to green meadows changed the swampy shores? Thinned the rank woods; and for the cheerful grange Made room where wolf and boar were used to range? Who taught, and showed by deeds, that gentler chains 140 Should bind the vassal to his lord's domains? The thoughtful Monks, intent their God to please, For Christ's dear sake, by human sympathies Poured from the bosom of thy Church, St. Bees!
But all availed not; by a mandate given 145 Through lawless will the Brotherhood was driven Forth from their cells; their ancient House laid low In Reformation's sweeping overthrow. But now once more the local Heart revives, The inextinguishable Spirit strives. 150 Oh may that Power who hushed the stormy seas, And cleared a way for the first Votaries, Prosper the new-born College of St. Bees![835]
Alas! the Genius of our age, from Schools Less humble, draws her lessons, aims, and rules. 153 To Prowess guided by her insight keen Matter and Spirit are as one Machine; Boastful Idolatress of formal skill She in her own would merge the eternal will:[836] Better,[837] if Reason's triumphs match with these, 160 Her flight before the bold credulities That furthered the first teaching of St. Bees.[838]
FOOTNOTES:
[818] St. Bees' Heads, anciently called the Cliff of Baruth, are a conspicuous sea-mark for all vessels sailing in the N.E. parts of the Irish Sea. In a bay, one side of which is formed by the southern headland, stands the village of St. Bees; a place distinguished, from very early times, for its religious and scholastic foundations.
"St. Bees," say Nicholson and Burns, "had its name from Bega, an holy woman from Ireland, who is said to have founded here, about the year of our Lord 650, a small monastery, where afterwards a church was built in memory of her.
"The aforesaid religious house, being destroyed by the Danes, was restored by William de Meschiens, son of Ranulph, and brother of Ranulph de Meschiens, first Earl of Cumberland after the Conquest; and made a cell of a prior and six Benedictine monks to the Abbey of St. Mary at York."
Several traditions of miracles, connected with the foundation of the first of these religious houses, survive among the people of the neighbourhood; one of which is alluded to in these Stanzas; and another, of a somewhat bolder and more peculiar character, has furnished the subject of a spirited poem by the Rev. R. Parkinson, M.A., late Divinity Lecturer of St. Bees' College, and now Fellow of the Collegiate Church of Manchester.
After the dissolution of the monasteries, Archbishop Grindal founded a free school at St. Bees, from which the counties of Cumberland and Westmoreland have derived great benefit; and recently, under the patronage of the Earl of Lonsdale, a college has been established there for the education of ministers for the English Church. The old Conventual Church has been repaired under the superintendence of the Rev. Dr. Ainger, the Head of the College; and is well worthy of being visited by any strangers who might be led to the neighbourhood of this celebrated spot.
The form of stanza in this Poem, and something in the style of versification, are adopted from the _St. Monica_, a poem of much beauty upon a monastic subject, by Charlotte Smith: a lady to whom English verse is under greater obligations than are likely to be either acknowledged or remembered. She wrote little, and that little unambitiously, but with true feeling for rural nature,[839] at a time when nature was not much regarded by English Poets; for in point of time her earlier writings preceded, I believe, those of Cowper and Burns.[840]--W. W. 1835.
[819] 1845.
And Wisdom, that once held ... 1835.
[820] See the note, p. 351.--ED.
[821] 1837.
... cross'd; As high and higher heaved the billows, faith Grew with them, mightier than the powers of death. She ... 1835.
[822] The Danes, and the Cymric aborigines.--ED.
[823] 1837.
... round her Cell 1835.
[824] See the extract from Nicholson and Burn's _History of Cumberland_, in Wordsworth's note, p. 351.--ED.
[825] 1837.
There were ... 1835.
[826] 1837.
... extended ... 1835.
[827] 1837.
Were ... 1835.
[828] I am aware that I am here treading upon tender ground; but to the intelligent reader I feel that[841] no apology is due. The prayers of survivors, during passionate grief for the recent loss of relatives and friends, as the object of those prayers could no longer be the suffering body of the dying, would naturally be ejaculated for the souls of the departed; the barriers between the two worlds dissolving before the power of love and faith. The ministers of religion, from their habitual attendance upon sick-beds, would be daily witnesses of these benign results; and hence would be strongly tempted to aim at giving to them permanence, by embodying them in rites and ceremonies, recurring at stated periods. All this, as it was in course of nature, so was it blameless, and even praiseworthy; since some of its effects, in that rude state of society, could not but be salutary. No reflecting person, however, can view[842] without sorrow the abuses which rose out of thus formalizing sublime instincts, and disinterested movements of passion, and perverting them into means of gratifying the ambition and rapacity of the priesthood. But, while we deplore and are indignant at these abuses, it would be a great mistake if we imputed the origin of the offices to prospective selfishness on the part of the monks and clergy: _they_ were at first sincere in their sympathy, and in their degree dupes rather of their own creed, than artful and designing men. Charity is, upon the whole, the safest guide that we can take in judging our fellow-men, whether of past ages, or of the present time.--W. W. 1835.
[829] 1837.
... was past away Said ... 1835.
[830] 1837.
On, Champions, on!--But mark! the passing Day Submits her intercourse to milder sway, With high and low whose busy thoughts from far 1835.
[831] Compare _The Virgin_, in the "Ecclesiastical Sonnets," Part II. xxv.--ED.
[832] 1845.
As through the land we seeing what they saw, Or the bare wreck of faith's solemnities, May lift {the} hearts {to} blissful destinies; {our} {for} {Witness the remnant of thy Church, St. Bees. {Witness your works, good coenobites of St. Bees. C. (or) As on this day we seeing what they saw, Uplift our hearts for heavenly destinies In field or town, 'mid mountain fastnesses, Or on wave-beaten shores like thine, St. Bees. C.
[833] See "The English Town" in Green's _Short History of the English_ _People_, ch. iv. sec. 4.--ED.
[834] This stanza and the preceding one were added in 1845.--ED.
[835] This College was founded for the education of clerks in holy orders who did not mean to proceed to Oxford or Cambridge.--ED.
[836] 1835.
... our age, her rules From schools that scorning faith in things unseen, Most confident when most they overween, Would merge, idolaters of formal skill In their own system God's eternal will. C.
... aims and rules Would merge, Idolaters of formal skill In her own system God's eternal will. C.
[837] 1837.
... will: Expert to move in paths that Newton trod, From Newton's Universe would banish God. Better, ... 1835.
[838] See _The Excursion_, seventh part; and "Ecclesiastical Sonnets," second part, near the beginning.--W. W. 1850.
The passages referred to are the following: _The Excursion_, book vii. l. 1008, etc. (vol. v. p. 324), beginning--
The courteous Knight,
and alluding to Sir Alfred Irthing; and in the "Ecclesiastical Sonnets," Part II. III., IV., V., _Cistercian Monastery_, and _Monks and Schoolmen_.--ED.
[839] 1837.
but with true feeling for nature. 1835.
[840] From "at a time" to "Burns" was added in 1837.
[841] 1845.
The Author is aware that he is here ... reader he feels that 1835.
[842] 1837.
praiseworthy; but no reflecting person can view 1835.
XII
IN THE CHANNEL, BETWEEN THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND AND THE ISLE OF MAN
Ranging the heights of Scawfell or Black-Comb,[843] In his lone course the Shepherd oft will pause, And strive to fathom the mysterious laws By which the clouds, arrayed in light or gloom, On Mona settle, and the shapes assume 5 Of all her peaks and ridges.[844] What he draws From sense, faith, reason, fancy, of the cause, He will take with him to the silent tomb. Or, by his fire, a child upon his knee, Haply the untaught Philosopher may speak 10 Of the strange sight, nor hide his theory That satisfies the simple and the meek, Blest in their pious ignorance, though weak To cope with Sages undevoutly free.
FOOTNOTES:
[843] 1837.
... Black-coom, 1835.
[844] Compare the _View from the top of Black Comb_ (vol. iv. p. 279); also the Inscription, _Written with a Slate Pencil on a Stone, on the Side of the Mountain of Black Comb_ (vol. iv. p. 281).
The atmospheric phenomena referred to in the sonnet are frequently seen from the Cumberland hills, overspreading the peaks and ridges of the Isle of Man; and a similar appearance is often visible on the Cumbrian hills, as seen from Mona.--ED.
XIII
AT SEA OFF THE ISLE OF MAN
Bold words affirmed, in days when faith was strong And doubts and scruples seldom teazed the brain, That[845] no adventurer's bark had power to gain These shores if he approached them bent on wrong; For, suddenly up-conjured from the Main, 5 Mists rose to hide the Land--that search, though long And eager, might be still pursued in vain. O Fancy, what an age was _that_ for song! That age, when not by _laws_ inanimate, As men believed, the waters were impelled, 10 The air controlled, the stars their courses held; But element and orb on _acts_ did wait Of _Powers_ endued with visible form, instinct With will, and to their work by passion linked.
FOOTNOTES:
[845] 1837.
... strong, That ... 1835.
XIV
"DESIRE WE PAST ILLUSIONS TO RECAL"
Desire we past illusions to recal? To reinstate wild Fancy, would we hide Truth whose thick veil Science has drawn aside? No,--let this Age, high as she may, instal In her esteem the thirst that wrought man's fall, 5 The universe is infinitely wide; And conquering Reason, if self-glorified, Can nowhere move uncrossed by some new wall Or gulf of mystery, which thou alone, Imaginative Faith! canst overleap, 10 In progress toward the fount of Love,--the throne Of Power whose ministers the[846] records keep Of periods fixed, and laws established, less Flesh to exalt than prove its nothingness.
FOOTNOTES:
[846] 1837.
Of Power, whose ministering Spirits ... 1835.
XV
ON ENTERING DOUGLAS BAY, ISLE OF MAN
"Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori."[847]
The feudal Keep, the bastions of Cohorn,[848] Even when they rose to check or to repel Tides of aggressive war, oft served as well Greedy ambition, armed to treat with scorn Just limits; but yon Tower, whose smiles adorn 5 This perilous bay, stands clear of all offence; Blest work it is of love and innocence, A Tower of refuge built for the else forlorn.[849] Spare it, ye waves, and lift the mariner, Struggling for life, into its saving arms! 10 Spare, too, the human helpers! Do they stir 'Mid your fierce shock like men afraid to die? No; their dread service nerves the heart it warms, And they are led by noble HILLARY.[850]
FOOTNOTES:
[847] See Horace, _Odes_, book iv. ode viii. l. 28.--ED.
[848] Baron Menno van Cohorn (or Coehoorn) was a Dutch military engineer of genius (1641-1704). His fame rests on discoveries connected with the effect of projectiles on fortifications. His practical successes against the French, under Vauban, were great; and the fortifications he designed and constructed, of which that of Bergen-op-Zoom was the chief, give him a place in the history of military science, greater than that derived from his writings. He devised a kind of small mortar or howitzer, for use in siege operations, which is named after him a Cohorn.--ED.
[849] 1845.
A Tower of refuge to the else forlorn. 1835.
A Tower of refuge built for the forlorn. C.
[850] The TOWER OF REFUGE, an ornament to Douglas Bay, was erected chiefly through the humanity and zeal of Sir William Hillary; and he also was the founder of the lifeboat establishment, at that place; by which, under his superintendence, and often by his exertions at the imminent hazard of his own life, many seamen and passengers have been saved.--W. W. 1835.
In Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal of a visit to the Isle of Man in 1826, the following occurs:--"Monday, 3rd July.--Sir William Hillary saved a boy's life to-day in harbour. He raised a regiment for government, and chose his own reward, viz., a Baronetcy! and now lives here on £300 per annum, etc. etc."--ED.
XVI
BY THE SEA-SHORE, ISLE OF MAN
Why stand we gazing on the sparkling Brine, With wonder smit by its transparency, And all-enraptured with its purity?-- Because the unstained, the clear, the crystalline, Have ever in them something of benign; 5 Whether in gem, in water, or in sky, A sleeping infant's brow, or wakeful eye Of a young maiden, only not divine. Scarcely the hand forbears to dip its palm For beverage drawn as from a mountain-well. 10 Temptation centres in the liquid Calm; Our daily raiment seems no obstacle To instantaneous plunging in, deep Sea! And revelling[851] in long embrace with thee.[852]
FOOTNOTES:
[851] 1835.
And wantoning ...
MS.
[852] The sea-water on the coast of the Isle of Man is singularly pure and beautiful.--W. W. 1837.
XVII
ISLE OF MAN
[My son William[853] is here the person alluded to as saving the life of the youth, and the circumstances were as mentioned in the Sonnet.--I. F.]
A youth too certain of his power to wade On the smooth bottom of this clear bright sea,[854] To sight so shallow, with a bather's glee, Leapt from this rock, and but for timely aid He, by the alluring element betrayed, 5 Had perished. Then might Sea-nymphs (and with sighs Of self-reproach) have chanted elegies[855] Bewailing his sad fate, when he was laid[856] In peaceful earth: for, doubtless, he was frank, Utterly in himself devoid of guile; 10 Knew not the double-dealing of a smile; Nor aught that makes men's promises a blank, Or deadly snare: and He survives to bless The Power that saved him in his strange distress.
FOOTNOTES:
[853] But it was his son John, and not William, who accompanied the poet in this Tour. See the first Fenwick note (p. 342).--ED.
[854] 1835.
... that his feet could wade At will the flow of this pellucid sea,
MS.
On the smooth bottom of this clear blue sea,
MS.
[855] Compare Ariel's Song in _The Tempest_, act I. scene ii.--
Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell.--ED.
[856] 1837.
Leapt from this rock, and surely, had not aid Been near, must soon have breathed out life, betrayed By fondly trusting to an element Fair, and to others more than innocent; Then had sea-nymphs sung dirges for him laid 1835.
Here ...
MS.
XVIII
ISLE OF MAN[857]
Did[858] pangs of grief for lenient time too keen, Grief that devouring waves had caused--or guilt[859] Which they had witnessed, sway[860] the man who built This Homestead, placed where nothing could be seen, Nought heard, of ocean troubled or serene? 5 A tired Ship-soldier[861] on paternal land, That o'er the channel holds august command, The dwelling raised,--a veteran Marine![862] He, in disgust, turned from the neighbouring sea[863] To shun the memory of a listless life 10 That hung between two callings. May no strife More hurtful here beset him, doomed though free, Self-doomed, to worse inaction, till his eye Shrink from the daily sight of earth and sky!
FOOTNOTES:
[857] 1837.
The Retired Marine Officer, Isle of Man. 1835.
[858] 1837.
Not ... 1835.
[859] 1837.
... nor guilt 1835.
[860] 1837.
... swayed ... 1835.
[861] 1835.
No--a Ship-soldier ... 1837.
[862] Henry Hutchinson. See the Fenwick note to the next sonnet.--ED.
[863] 1835.
The dwelling raised. Fantastic slave of spleen He sought by shunning thus the neighbouring sea, Refuge from memory of a listless life C.
The habitation raised, a slave of spleen, C.
The weary man turned from the neighbouring sea
MS.
XIX
BY A RETIRED MARINER[864]
(A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR)
[Mrs. Wordsworth's Brother, Henry.[865]--I. F.]
From early youth I ploughed the restless Main, My mind as restless and as apt to change; Through every clime and ocean did I range, In hope at length a competence to gain; For poor to Sea I went, and poor I still remain. 5 Year after year I strove, but strove in vain, And hardships manifold did I endure, For Fortune on me never deign'd to smile; Yet I at last a resting-place have found, With just enough life's comforts to procure, 10 In a snug Cove on this our favoured Isle, A peaceful spot where Nature's gifts abound; Then sure I have no reason to complain, Though poor to Sea I went, and poor I still remain.
FOOTNOTES:
[864] This unpretending Sonnet is by a gentleman nearly connected with me, and I hope, as it falls so easily into its place, that both the writer and the reader will excuse its appearance here.--W. W. 1835.
[865] Mr. Henry Hutchinson, Mrs. Wordsworth's brother, was--the Bishop of Lincoln tells us--"a person of great originality and vigour of mind, a very enterprising sailor, and a writer of verses distinguished by no ordinary merit."--See the _Memoirs of Wordsworth_, vol. ii. p. 246.--ED.
XX
AT BALA-SALA, ISLE OF MAN
(SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY A FRIEND)
[Supposed to be written by a friend (Mr. Cookson), who died there a few years after.[866]--I. F.]
Broken in fortune, but in mind entire And sound in principle, I seek repose Where ancient trees this convent-pile enclose,[867] In ruin beautiful. When vain desire Intrudes on peace, I pray the eternal Sire 5 To cast a soul-subduing shade on me, A grey-haired, pensive, thankful Refugee; A shade--but with some sparks of heavenly fire Once to these cells vouchsafed.[868] And when I note The old Tower's brow yellowed as with the beams 10 Of sunset ever there,[869] albeit streams[870] Of stormy weather-stains that semblance wrought, I thank the silent Monitor, and say "Shine so, my aged brow, at all hours of the day!"
FOOTNOTES:
[866] Henry Crabb Robinson--the Wordsworths' companion in the tour, wrote in his Journal, 14th July: "At Ballasalla called on Mr. and Mrs. Cookson, esteemed friends of the W.'s, whom adversity had driven to this asylum."--ED.
[867] Rushen Abbey.--W. W. 1835.
[868] 1835.
... with such sparks of holy fire As once were cherished here....
MS.
[869] The "old Tower" is that of Rushen Abbey, close to Bala-Sala, the latest dissolved monastery in the British Isles. Little of it survives; only the tower, refectory, and dormitory. The tower is still yellowed with lichen stains. The following occurs in one of Mr. H. C. Robinson's letters on the Italian Tour of 1837:--"This reminds me that I was once privy to the conception of a Sonnet with a distinctness which did not once occur on the longer Italian journey. This was when I accompanied him into the Isle of Man. We had been drinking tea with Mr. and Mrs. Cookson, and left them when the weather was dull. Very soon after leaving them we passed the Church Tower of Bala-Sala. The upper part of the tower had a sort of frieze of yellow lichens. Mr. W. Pointed it out to me, and said, 'It's a Perpetual sunshine.' I thought no more of it till I had read the beautiful sonnet,
'Broken in fortune, but in mind entire.'"--ED.
[870] 1835.
.... and know that streams
MS.
XXI
TYNWALD HILL
[Mr. Robinson and I walked the greater part of the way from Castle-town to Piel, and stopped some time at Tynwald Hill. One of my companions was an elderly man who, in a muddy way (for he was tipsy), explained and answered, as far as he could, my enquiries about this place and the ceremonies held here. I found more agreeable company in some little children; one of them, upon my request, recited the Lord's Prayer to me, and I helped her to a clearer understanding of it as well as I could; but I was not at all satisfied with my own part; hers was much better done, and I am persuaded that, like other children, she knew more about it than she was able to express, especially to a stranger.--I. F.]
Once on the top of Tynwald's formal mound (Still marked with green turf circles narrowing[871] Stage above stage)[872] would sit this Island's King, The laws to promulgate, enrobed and crowned; While, compassing the little mount around,[873] 5 Degrees and Orders stood, each under each: Now, like to things within fate's easiest reach,[874] The power is merged, the pomp a grave has found. Off with yon cloud,[875] old Snafell![876] that thine eye Over three Realms may take its widest range; 10 And let, for them, thy fountains utter strange Voices, thy winds break forth in prophecy, If the whole State must suffer mortal change, Like Mona's miniature of sovereignty.
FOOTNOTES:
[871] The ground at Tynwald Hill (as it is called) remains unchanged. Here, on a small plot of ground, the whole Manx people meet annually on Midsummer Day, July 5th, to appoint officers and enact new laws. The first historical notice of these meetings is in 1417. The name Tynwald is derived from the Scandinavian _thing_, "court of justice," and _wald_, "fenced." The mound is only 12 feet high, rising by four circular platforms, each 3 feet higher than the one below it. The circumference at the base is 240 feet, and at the top 18 feet. It used once to be walled round, and had two gates. The approach now is by twenty-one steps cut in the turf.
In his _Diary_, _etc._, Robinson wrote of Tynwald--"It brought to my mind a similar monument of simple manners at Sarnen in Switzerland."--ED.
[872] 1835.
Once on the top of Tynwald Hill (a Mound
MS.
Time was when on the top of yon small mound (Still marked with circles duly narrowing Each above each) ...
MS.
[873] 1835.
Would sit by solemn usage robed and crowned, While compassing the grassy mount around,
MS.
Sate 'mid the assembled people robed and crowned,
MS.
[874] 1835.
Now like a thing within Fate's easiest reach,
MS.
[875] 1835.
Off with those clouds, ...
MS.
[876] The summit of this mountain is well chosen by Cowley as the scene of the "Vision," in which the spectral angel discourses with him concerning the government of Oliver Cromwell. "I found myself," says he, "on the top of that famous hill in the Island Mona, which has the prospect of three great, and not long since most happy, kingdoms. As soon as ever I looked upon them, they called forth the sad representation of all the sins and all the miseries that had overwhelmed them these twenty years." It is not to be denied that the changes now in progress, and the passions, and the way in which they work, strikingly resemble those which led to the disasters the philosophic writer so feelingly bewails. God grant that the resemblance may not become still more striking as months and years advance!--W. W. 1835.
The top of Snaefell (which Wordsworth names "Snafell"), the highest mountain in the Isle of Man, whence England, Scotland, and Ireland are to be seen, as mentioned in the Sonnet, is not visible from Tynwald Hill.--ED.
XXII
"DESPOND WHO WILL--_I_ HEARD A VOICE EXCLAIM"
Despond who will--_I_ heard a voice exclaim, "Though fierce the assault, and shatter'd the defence,[877] It cannot be that Britain's social frame, The glorious work of time and providence, Before a flying season's rash pretence,[878] 5 Should fall; that She, whose virtue put to shame, When Europe prostrate lay, the Conqueror's aim, Should perish, self-subverted. Black and dense The cloud is; but brings _that_ a day of doom To Liberty? Her sun is up the while,[879] 10 That orb whose beams round Saxon Alfred shone: Then laugh, ye innocent Vales! ye Streams, sweep on, Nor let one billow of our heaven-blest Isle[880] Toss in the fanning wind a humbler plume."
FOOTNOTES:
[877] 1835.
Clear voices from pure worlds of hope exclaim "Tho' fierce the assault, and shattered the defence,"
MS.
[878] 1835.
Before a season's calculating sense,
MS.
[879] 1835.
... The sun is up ...
MS.
[880] 1835.
... of this heaven-blest Isle
MS.
XXIII
IN THE FRITH OF CLYDE, AILSA CRAG[881]
DURING AN ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, JULY 17
[The morning of the eclipse was exquisitely beautiful while we passed the Crag as described in the Sonnet. On the deck of the steam-boat were several persons of the poor and labouring class, and I could not but be struck by their cheerful talk with each other, while not one of them seemed to notice the magnificent objects with which we were surrounded; and even the phenomenon of the eclipse attracted but little of their attention. Was it right not to regret this? They appeared to me, however, so much alive in their own minds to their own concerns that I could not look upon it as a misfortune that they had little perception for such pleasures as cannot be cultivated without ease and leisure. Yet, if one surveys life in all its duties and relations, such ease and leisure will not be found so enviable a privilege as it may at first appear. Natural Philosophy, Painting, and Poetry, and refined taste are no doubt great acquisitions to society; but among those who dedicate themselves to such pursuits, it is to be feared that few are as happy, and as consistent in the management of their lives, as the class of persons who at that time led me into this course of reflection. I do not mean by this to be understood to derogate from intellectual pursuits, for that would be monstrous: I say it in deep gratitude for this compensation to those whose cares are limited to the necessities of daily life. Among them, self-tormentors, so numerous in the higher classes of society, are rare.--I. F.]
Since risen from ocean, ocean to defy, Appeared the Crag of Ailsa, ne'er did morn With gleaming lights more gracefully adorn His sides, or wreathe with mist his forehead high: Now, faintly darkening with the sun's eclipse,[882] 5 Still is he seen, in lone sublimity, Towering above the sea and little ships; For dwarfs the tallest seem while sailing by, Each for her haven; with her freight of Care, Pleasure, or Grief, and Toil that seldom looks 10 Into the secret of to-morrow's fare; Though poor, yet rich, without the wealth of books, Or aught that watchful Love to Nature owes For her mute Powers, fix'd Forms, or[883] transient Shows.
FOOTNOTES:
[881] 1845.
IN THE FRITH OF CLYDE, AILSA CRAG. (July 17, 1833) 1835.
IN THE FRITH OF CLYDE, AILSA CRAG. (July 17) 1837.
[882] Compare _The Eclipse of the Sun_, 1820, in the "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent, 1820" (vol. vi. p. 345).--ED.
[883] 1837.
... and ... 1835.
XXIV
ON THE FRITH OF CLYDE
(IN A STEAM-BOAT)
[The mountain outline on the north of this island, as seen from the Frith of Clyde,[884] is much the finest I have ever noticed in Scotland or elsewhere--I.F.]
Arran! a single-crested Teneriffe, A St. Helena next--in shape and hue, Varying her crowded peaks and ridges blue; Who but must covet a cloud-seat, or skiff Built for the air, or winged Hippogriff? 5 That he might fly, where no one could pursue, From this dull Monster and her sooty crew; And, as[885] a God, light on thy topmost cliff. Impotent wish! which reason would despise If the mind knew no union of extremes, 10 No natural bond between the boldest schemes Ambition frames, and heart-humilities.[886] Beneath stern mountains many a soft vale lies, And lofty springs give birth to lowly streams.
FOOTNOTES:
[884] He doubtless refers to the view of Goatfell and Kaim-na-Calliach, with Loch Ranza in front.--ED.
[885] 1837.
And, like ... 1835.
[886] Compare _The Triad_, II. 145-148--
High is her aim as heaven above, And wide as ether her good-will; And, like the lowly reed, her love Can drink its nurture from the scantiest rill.--ED.
XXV
ON REVISITING DUNOLLY CASTLE
(See former series, "Yarrow Revisited," etc., p. 278.)
The captive Bird was gone;--to cliff or moor Perchance had flown, delivered by the storm; Or he had pined, and sunk to feed the worm: Him found we not: but, climbing a tall tower, There saw, impaved with rude fidelity 5 Of art mosaic, in a roofless floor,[887] An Eagle with stretched wings, but beamless eye-- An Eagle that could neither wail nor soar. Effigy[888] of the Vanished[889]--(shall I dare To call thee so?) or symbol of fierce deeds 10 And of the towering courage which past times Rejoiced in--take, whate'er thou be, a share,[890] Not undeserved, of the memorial rhymes That animate my way where'er it leads!
Lieutenant-Colonel M'Dougal of Dunollie wrote to me (October 1883) that "the mosaic picture of an eagle--if it may be called so--still exists, though it is rather a rude work of art. I believe it was executed by a gardener, who was here about the time of Wordsworth's visit. It was made of small stones, and is now a good deal overgrown with weeds, moss, etc., as the second story of the old ruin is open to the weather. An eagle was for many years kept in a cage, made against a wall of the ruin, and this no doubt was the cause of the rude picture being made."--ED.
FOOTNOTES:
[887] 1835.
Espied an old mosaic effigy Set in a roofless chamber's pavement floor,
MS.
[888] 1837.
Shade of the poor Departed ... MS.
Effigies of the Vanished ... 1835.
[889] This ingenious piece of workmanship, as I afterwards learned, had been executed for their own amusement by some labourers employed about the place.--W. W. 1835.
[890] 1837.
... or symbol of past times, That towering courage, and the savage deeds Those times were proud of, take Thou too a share, 1835.
Their towering courage, and the savage deeds Which they were proud of, ...
MS.
XXVI
THE DUNOLLY EAGLE
Not to the clouds, not to the cliff, he flew; But when a storm, on sea or mountain bred, Came and delivered him, alone he sped Into the castle-dungeon's darkest mew. Now, near his master's house in open view 5 He dwells, and hears indignant tempests howl, Kennelled and chained. Ye tame domestic fowl,[891] Beware of him! Thou, saucy cockatoo, Look to thy plumage and thy life!--The roe, Fleet as the west wind, is for _him_ no quarry; 10 Balanced in ether he will never tarry, Eyeing the sea's blue depths. Poor Bird! even so Doth man of brother man a creature make That clings to slavery for its own sad sake.
FOOTNOTES:
[891] 1835.
... villatic Fowl,
MS.
XXVII
WRITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF MACPHERSON'S OSSIAN[892]
Composed 1824.--Published 1827
[The verses,
or strayed From hope and promise, self-betrayed,
were, I am sorry to say, suggested from apprehensions of the fate of my friend, H.C.,[893] the subject of the verses addressed to _H.C. when six years old_. The piece to "Memory" arose out of similar feelings.[894]--I. F.]
Oft have I caught, upon a fitful breeze,[895] Fragments of far-off melodies, With ear not coveting the whole, A part so charmed the pensive soul: While a dark storm before my sight 5 Was yielding, on a mountain height Loose vapours have I watched, that won Prismatic colours from the sun; Nor felt a wish that heaven would show The image of its perfect bow. 10 What need, then, of these finished Strains? Away with counterfeit Remains! An abbey in its lone recess, A temple of the wilderness, Wrecks though they be, announce with feeling 15 The majesty of honest dealing. Spirit of Ossian! if imbound In language thou may'st yet be found, If aught (intrusted to the pen Or floating on the tongues of men, 20 Albeit shattered and impaired) Subsist thy dignity to guard, In concert with memorial claim Of old grey stone, and high-born name That cleaves to rock or pillared cave 25 Where moans the blast, or beats the wave, Let Truth, stern arbitress of all, Interpret that Original, And for presumptuous wrongs atone;-- Authentic words be given, or none! 30
Time is not blind;--yet He, who spares Pyramid pointing to the stars, Hath preyed with ruthless appetite On all that marked the primal flight Of the poetic ecstasy 35 Into the land of mystery. No tongue is able to rehearse One measure, Orpheus! of thy verse;[896] Musæus, stationed with his lyre Supreme among the Elysian quire, 40 Is, for the dwellers upon earth Mute as a lark ere morning's birth,[897] Why grieve for these, though past away The music, and extinct the lay? When thousands, by severer doom, 45 Full early to the silent tomb Have sunk, at Nature's call; or strayed From hope and promise, self-betrayed; The garland withering on their brows; Stung with remorse for broken vows; 50 Frantic--else how might they rejoice? And friendless, by their own sad choice!
Hail, Bards of mightier grasp! on you I chiefly call, the chosen Few, Who cast-not off the acknowledged guide, 55 Who faltered not, nor turned aside; Whose lofty genius could survive Privation, under sorrow thrive; In whom the fiery Muse revered The symbol of a snow-white beard, 60 Bedewed with meditative tears Dropped from the lenient cloud of years.
Brothers in soul! though distant times Produced you nursed in various climes, Ye, when the orb of life had waned, 65 A plenitude of love retained: Hence, while in you each sad regret By corresponding hope was met, Ye lingered among human kind, Sweet voices for the passing wind; 70 Departing sunbeams, loth to stop, Though smiling on the last hill top![898] Such to the tender-hearted maid Even ere her joys begin to fade; Such, haply, to the rugged chief 75 By fortune crushed, or tamed by grief; Appears, on Morven's lonely shore, Dim-gleaming through imperfect lore, The Son of Fingal; such was blind Mæonides of ampler mind;[899] 80 Such Milton, to the fountain head Of glory by Urania led!
FOOTNOTES:
[892] This poem was first published among the _Poems of Sentiment and_ _Reflection_ in the edition of 1827. In the edition of 1836 Wordsworth gave 1824 as the year of its composition. It is here printed in the series to which it was finally assigned, although slightly out of its chronological place.--ED.
[893] Hartley Coleridge.--ED.
[894] See p. 117.--ED.
[895] 1832.
... caught from fitful breeze 1827.
[896] The genuine Orphic Literature included some Hymns, a Theogony, Oracles, Songs, and Sacred Legends, #hieroi logoi#: but none have come down to modern times. The _Orphica_ which have survived are spurious.--ED.
[897] None of the fragments attributed to Musæus by the ancients--the #Chrêsmoi#, #Hypothêkai#, #Theogonia#, etc.--have survived.--ED.
[898] Compare vol. ii. p. 163--
There is an Eminence,--of these our hills The last that parleys with the setting sun.--ED.
[899] Homer; so called from the fact that Mæonia in Lydia was, by some, claimed as his birth-place.--ED.
XXVIII
CAVE OF STAFFA[900]
We saw, but surely, in the motley crowd, Not one of us has felt the far-famed sight; How _could_ we feel it? each the other's blight, Hurried and hurrying, volatile and loud. O for those motions only that invite 5 The Ghost of Fingal to his tuneful Cave By the breeze entered, and wave after wave Softly embosoming the timid light! And by _one_ Votary who at will might stand Gazing, and take into his mind and heart, 10 With undistracted reverence, the effect Of those proportions where the almighty hand That made the worlds, the sovereign Architect, Has deigned to work as if with human Art![901]
FOOTNOTES:
[900] The reader may be tempted to exclaim, "How came this and the two following sonnets to be written, after the dissatisfaction expressed in the preceding one?" In fact, at the risk of incurring the reasonable displeasure of the master of the steam-boat, I returned[902] to the cave, and explored it under circumstances more favourable to those imaginative impressions which it is so wonderfully fitted to make upon the mind.--W. W. 1835.
[901] Staffa, or the island of Staves, as some derive the name.--ED.
[902] 1845.
the Author returned 1835.
XXIX
CAVE OF STAFFA
(AFTER THE CROWD HAD DEPARTED)[903]
Thanks for the lessons of this Spot--fit school For the presumptuous thoughts that would assign Mechanic laws to agency divine; And, measuring heaven by earth, would overrule Infinite Power. The pillared vestibule, 5 Expanding yet precise, the roof embowed,[904] Might seem designed to humble man, when proud Of his best workmanship by plan and tool. Down-bearing with his whole Atlantic weight Of tide and tempest on the Structure's base, 10 And flashing to that Structure's topmost height,[905] Ocean has proved its strength, and of its grace In calms is conscious,[906] finding for his freight Of softest music some responsive place.
FOOTNOTES:
[903] 1845.
CAVE OF STAFFA. 1835.
[904] Note the topographical accuracy of this description.--ED.
[905] 1837.
And flashing upwards to its topmost height, 1835.
[906] Compare, _On a high part of the Coast of Cumberland_, p. 338--
No; 'tis the earth-voice of the mighty sea, Whispering how meek and gentle he _can_ be!--ED.
XXX
CAVE OF STAFFA
Ye shadowy Beings, that have rights and claims In every cell of Fingal's mystic Grot, Where are ye? Driven or venturing to the spot, Our fathers glimpses caught of your thin Frames, And, by your mien and bearing, knew your names; 5 And they could hear _his_ ghostly song who trod Earth, till the flesh lay on him like a load, While he struck his desolate harp without hopes or aims. Vanished ye are, but subject to recal; Why keep _we_ else the instincts whose dread law 10 Ruled here of yore, till what men felt they saw, Not by black arts but magic natural! If eyes be still sworn vassals of belief, Yon light shapes forth a Bard, that shade a Chief.
XXXI
FLOWERS ON THE TOP OF THE PILLARS AT THE ENTRANCE OF THE CAVE
Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer![907] Ye fresh Flowers that brave What Summer here escapes not, the fierce wave, And whole artillery of the western blast, Battering the Temple's front, its long-drawn nave 5 Smiting, as if each moment were their last. But ye, bright Flowers, on frieze and architrave Survive,[908] and once again the Pile stands fast; Calm as the Universe, from specular towers Of heaven contemplated by Spirits pure 10 With mute astonishment, it stands sustained Through every part in symmetry, to endure,[909] Unhurt, the assault of Time with all his hours, As the supreme Artificer ordained.[910]
FOOTNOTES:
[907] Upon the head of the columns which form the front of the cave, rests a body of decomposed basaltic matter, which was richly decorated with that large bright flower, the ox-eyed daisy. I had[911] noticed the same flower growing with profusion among the bold rocks on the western coast of the Isle of Man; making a brilliant contrast with their black and gloomy surfaces.--W. W. 1835.
[908] They still survive, and flourish above the pillars.--ED.
[909] 1840 and C.
Suns and their systems, diverse yet sustained In symmetry, and fashioned to endure, 1835.
[910] 1835.
As the Supreme Geometer ordained.
MS.
[911] 1845.
The author had 1835.
XXXII
IONA
On to Iona!--What can she afford To _us_ save matter for a thoughtful sigh, Heaved over ruin with stability In urgent contrast? To diffuse the WORD (Thy Paramount, mighty Nature! and Time's Lord) Her Temples rose,[912] 'mid pagan gloom; but why, 6 Even for a moment, has our verse deplored Their wrongs, since they fulfilled their destiny? And when, subjected to a common doom Of mutability, those far-famed Piles 10 Shall disappear from both the sister Isles, Iona's Saints, forgetting not past days, Garlands shall wear of amaranthine bloom, While heaven's vast sea of voices chants their praise.
FOOTNOTES:
[912] St. Columba took up his residence at Iona, in 563.--ED.
XXXIII
IONA
(UPON LANDING)
How sad a welcome! To each voyager[913] Some ragged child holds up for sale a store[914] Of wave-worn pebbles, pleading on the shore[915] Where once came monk and nun with gentle stir, Blessings to give, news ask, or suit prefer. 5 Yet is[916] yon neat trim church[917] a grateful speck Of novelty amid the sacred wreck Strewn far and wide. Think, proud Philosopher![918] Fallen though she be, this Glory of the west,[919] Still on her sons, the beams of mercy shine; 10 And "hopes, perhaps more heavenly bright than thine, A grace by thee unsought and unpossest, A faith more fixed, a rapture more divine, Shall gild their passage to eternal rest."[920]
FOOTNOTES:
[913] 1837.
With earnest look, to every voyager, 1835.
[914] 1837.
... his store 1835.
[915] 1835.
With outstretched hands, round every voyager Press ragged children, each to supplicate A price for wave-worn pebbles on his plate,
MS.
[916] 1837.
But see ... 1835.
[917] This refers to the modern parish Church on the Island, not to St. Oran's Chapel, or the Cathedral Church of St. Mary.--ED.
[918] 1837.
... this sacred wreck-- Nay spare thy scorn, haughty Philosopher! 1835.
[919] 1835.
Fallen as she is, this Glory of the West,
MS.
[920] The four last lines of this sonnet are adopted from a well-known sonnet of Russel, as conveying my feeling[921] better than any words of my own[922] could do.--W. W. 1835.
These "last four lines" are taken from sonnet No. x. of _Sonnets and_ _Miscellaneous Poems_, by the late Thomas Russel, Fellow of New College Oxford, printed for D. Price and J. Cooke, 1789. The Rev. Thomas Russell, author of these _Sonnets_, was born 1762, died 1788. He was a Wykehamist, and is referred to in a letter by Wordsworth to Dyce in 1833.--ED.
[921] 1845
the author's feeling 1835.
[922] 1845
his own 1835.
XXXIV
THE BLACK STONES OF IONA
[See Martin's Voyage among the Western Isles.[923]]
Here on their knees men swore; the stones were black,[924] Black in the people's minds and words,[925] yet they Were at that time, as now, in colour grey. But what is colour, if upon the rack Of conscience souls are placed by deeds that lack 5 Concord with oaths? What differ night and day Then, when before the Perjured on his way Hell opens, and the heavens in vengeance crack Above his head uplifted in vain prayer To Saint, or Fiend,[926] or to the Godhead whom 10 He had insulted--Peasant, King, or Thane? Fly where the culprit may, guilt meets a doom; And, from invisible worlds at need laid bare, Come links for social order's awful chain.
FOOTNOTES:
[923] _Description of the Western Islands of Scotland; including an account of the Manners, Customs, Religion, Language, Dress, etc., of the Inhabitants_, by M. Martin, 1703.--ED.
[924] In Johnson's _Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland_ the following occurs in the section on "Icolmkill:"--"The place is said to be known where the Black Stones lie concealed, on which the old Highland chiefs, when they made contracts and alliances, used to take the oath, which was considered more sacred than any other obligation, and which could not be violated without the blackest infamy. In these days of violence and rapine, it was of great importance to impose upon savage minds the sanctity of an oath, by some particular and extraordinary circumstances--they would not have recourse to the Black Stones upon small or common occasions; and when they had established their faith by this tremendous sanction, inconstancy and treachery were no longer feared."--ED.
[925] 1835.
Here on their knees, they swore, the stones were black, Black in men's minds and words, ...
MS.
[926] 1835.
To saints, to fiends, ...
MS.
XXXV
"HOMEWARD WE TURN. ISLE OF COLUMBA'S CELL"
Homeward we turn. Isle of Columba's Cell, Where Christian piety's soul-cheering spark (Kindled from Heaven between the light and dark Of time) shone like the morning-star, farewell!-- And fare thee well, to Fancy visible, 5 Remote St. Kilda, lone and loved sea-mark[927] For many a voyage made in her swift bark,[928] When with more hues than in the rainbow dwell Thou a mysterious intercourse dost hold, Extracting from clear skies and air serene, 10 And out of sun-bright waves, a lucid veil, That thickens, spreads, and, mingling fold with fold, Makes known, when thou no longer canst be seen, Thy whereabout, to warn the approaching sail.
FOOTNOTES:
[927] St. Kilda is sixty miles to the north-west of Harris, in the Outer Hebrides.--ED.
[928] 1837.
... farewell!-- Remote St. Kilda, art thou visible? No--but farewell to thee, beloved sea-mark From many a voyage made in Fancy's bark, 1835.
XXXVI
GREENOCK
Per me si va nella Città dolente.[929]
_We_ have not passed into a doleful City, We who were led to-day down a grim dell, By some too boldly named "the Jaws of Hell:"[930] Where be the wretched ones, the sights for pity? These crowded streets resound no plaintive ditty:-- 5 As from the hive where bees in summer dwell, Sorrow seems here excluded; and that knell, It neither damps the gay, nor checks the witty. Alas! too busy Rival of old Tyre,[931] Whose merchants Princes were, whose decks were thrones; Soon may the punctual sea in vain respire 11 To serve thy need, in union with that Clyde Whose nursling current brawls o'er mossy stones,[932] The poor, the lonely, herdsman's joy and pride.
FOOTNOTES:
[929] See Dante, _Inferno_, iii. I.--ED.
[930] They came down from Inveraray to Loch Goil by Hell's Glen.--ED.
[931] 1837.
Too busy Mart! thus fared it with old Tyre, 1835.
[932] Above Elvanfoot, near the watershed, at "Summit" on the Caledonian Railway line, where the Clyde rises.--ED.
XXXVII
"THERE!" SAID A STRIPLING, POINTING WITH MEET PRIDE
[Mosgiel was thus pointed out to me by a young man on the top of the coach on my way from Glasgow to Kilmarnock. It is remarkable that, though Burns lived some time here, and during much the most productive period of his poetical life, he nowhere adverts to the splendid prospects stretching towards the sea and bounded by the peaks of Arran on one part, which in clear weather he must have had daily before his eyes. In one of his poetical effusions he speaks of describing "fair Nature's face" as a privilege on which he sets a high value; nevertheless, natural appearances rarely take a lead in his poetry. It is as a human being, eminently sensitive and intelligent, and not as a poet, clad in his priestly robes and carrying the ensigns of sacerdotal office, that he interests and affects us. Whether he speaks of rivers, hills and woods, it is not so much on account of the properties with which they are absolutely endowed, as relatively to local patriotic remembrances and associations, or as they ministered to personal feelings, especially those of love, whether happy or otherwise;--yet it is not always so. Soon after we had passed Mosgiel Farm we crossed the Ayr, murmuring and winding through a narrow woody hollow. His line--"Auld hermit Ayr strays through his woods"--came at once to my mind with Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, and Doon,--Ayrshire streams over which he breathes a sigh as being unnamed in song; and surely his own attempts to make them known were as successful as his heart could desire.--I. F.]
"There!" said a Stripling, pointing with meet pride Towards a low roof with green trees half concealed, "Is Mosgiel Farm; and that's the very field Where Burns ploughed up the Daisy."[933] Far and wide A plain below stretched seaward, while, descried 5 Above sea-clouds, the Peaks of Arran rose; And, by that simple notice, the repose Of earth, sky, sea, and air, was vivified. Beneath "the random _bield_ of clod or stone" Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower 10 Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the One That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.
FOOTNOTES:
[933] See Burns's poem _To a Mountain Daisy_, or as it was originally called, _The Gowan_.--ED.
XXXVIII
THE RIVER EDEN, CUMBERLAND
["Nature gives thee flowers That have no rivals among British bowers."
This can scarcely be true to the letter; but, without stretching the point at all, I can say that the soil and air appear more congenial with many upon the banks of this river than I have observed in any other parts of Great Britain.--I. F.]
Eden! till now thy beauty had I viewed By glimpses only, and confess with shame That verse of mine, whate'er its varying mood, Repeats but once the sound of thy sweet name:[934] Yet fetched from Paradise[935] that honour came, 5 Rightfully borne; for Nature gives thee flowers That have no rivals among British bowers; And thy bold rocks are worthy of their fame.[936] Measuring thy course, fair Stream! at length I pay[937] To my life's neighbour dues of neighbourhood; 10 But I have traced thee on thy winding way[938] With pleasure sometimes by this thought restrained For things far off we toil, while many a good[939] Not sought, because too near, is never gained.[940]
FOOTNOTES:
[934] 1835.
Full long thy beauty, Eden, had I viewed, By glimpses only ...
MS.
Eden! the Muse has wronged thee, be the shame Frankly acknowledged, in no careless mood Of memory, my verse have I reviewed And met but once the sound of thy sweet name:
MS.
[935] It is to be feared that there is more of the poet than the sound etymologist in this derivation of the Eden. On the western coast of Cumberland is a rivulet which enters the sea at Moresby, known also in the neighbourhood by the name of Eden. May not the latter syllable come from the word Dean, _a valley_? Langdale, near Ambleside, is by the inhabitants called Langden. The former syllable occurs in the name Emont, a principal feeder of the Eden; and the stream which flows, when the tide is out, over Cartmel Sands, is called the Ea--French, eau--Latin, aqua.--W. W. 1835.
[936] Especially on the upper reaches of the river, as seen from the Midland Railway line beyond Appleby.--ED.
[937] 1835.
Bright are the hours that prompt me now to pay
MS.
[938] 1835.
Thee have I traced along thy winding way
MS.
[939] 1845.
... by the thought restrained That things far off are toiled for, while a good 1835.
That for things far off we toil, while many a good 1840.
[940] 1840.
... is seldom gained 1835 and
MS.
XXXIX
MONUMENT OF MRS. HOWARD
(by Nollekens)
IN WETHERAL CHURCH, NEAR COREY, ON THE BANKS OF THE EDEN
[Before this monument was put up in the Church at Wetheral, I saw it in the sculptor's studio. Nollekens, who, by-the-bye, was a strange and grotesque figure that interfered much with one's admiration of his works, showed me at the same time the various models in clay which he had made, one after another, of the Mother and her Infant: the improvement on each was surprising; and how so much grace, beauty, and tenderness had come out of such a head I was sadly puzzled to conceive. Upon a window-seat in his parlour lay two casts of faces, one of the Duchess of Devonshire, so noted in her day; and the other of Mr. Pitt, taken after his death, a ghastly resemblance, as these things always are, even when taken from the living subject, and more ghastly in this instance from the peculiarity of the features. The heedless and apparently neglectful manner in which the faces of these two persons were left--the one so distinguished in London society, and the other upon whose counsels and public conduct, during a most momentous period, depended the fate of this great Empire and perhaps of all Europe--afforded a lesson to which the dullest of casual visitors could scarcely be insensible. It touched me the more because I had so often seen Mr. Pitt upon his own ground at Cambridge and upon the floor of the House of Commons.--I. F.]
Stretched on the dying Mother's lap, lies dead Her new-born Babe; dire ending[941] of bright hope! But Sculpture here, with the divinest scope Of luminous faith, heavenward hath raised that head So patiently; and through one hand has spread 5 A touch so tender for the insensate Child-- (Earth's lingering love to parting reconciled, Brief parting, for the spirit is all but fled)-- That we, who contemplate the turns of life Through this still medium, are consoled and cheered; Feel with the Mother, think the severed Wife 11 Is less to be lamented than revered; And own that Art, triumphant over strife And pain, hath powers to Eternity endeared.
FOOTNOTES:
[941] 1845.
... issue ... 1835.
XL
SUGGESTED BY THE FOREGOING[942]
Tranquillity! the sovereign aim wert thou In heathen schools of philosophic lore;[943] Heart-stricken by stern destiny of yore The Tragic Muse thee served with thoughtful vow; And what of hope Elysium could allow 5 Was fondly seized by Sculpture, to restore Peace to the Mourner. But when He who wore[944] The crown of thorns around his bleeding brow Warmed our sad being with celestial light,[945] _Then_ Arts which still had drawn a softening grace 10 From shadowy fountains of the Infinite, Communed with that Idea face to face: And move around it now as planets run, Each in its orbit round the central Sun.
FOOTNOTES:
[942] In the edition of 1835 there is no title to this sonnet.
[943] #Ataraxia#, was the aim of Stoic, Epicurean, and Sceptic alike.--ED.
[944] 1840.
Peace to the Mourner's soul; but He who wore 1835.
[945] 1840.
... with his glorious light: 1835.
Round our sad being shed celestial light, C.
XLI
NUNNERY[946]
[I became acquainted with the walks of Nunnery when a boy: they are within easy reach of a day's pleasant excursion from the town of Penrith, where I used to pass my summer holidays under the roof of my maternal Grandfather. The place is well worth visiting; though, within these few years, its privacy, and therefore the pleasure which the scene is so well fitted to give, has been injuriously affected by walks cut in the rocks on that side the stream which had been left in its natural state.--I. F.]
The floods are roused, and will not soon be weary; Down from the Pennine Alps[947] how fiercely sweeps Croglin, the stately Eden's tributary![948] He raves, or through some moody passage creeps Plotting new mischief--out again he leaps 5 Into broad light, and sends, through regions airy,[949] That voice which soothed the Nuns while on the steeps They knelt in prayer, or sang to blissful Mary.[950] That union ceased: then, cleaving easy walks Through crags, and smoothing paths beset with danger, Came studious Taste; and many a pensive stranger 11 Dreams on the banks, and to the river talks. What change shall happen next to Nunnery Dell?[951] Canal, and Viaduct, and Railway, tell![952]
FOOTNOTES:
[946] Nunnery; so named from the House for Benedictine Nuns established by William Rufus.--ED.
[947] The chain of Crossfell[953]--W. W. 1835.
[948] The two streams of the Croglin and the Eden unite in the grounds of Nunnery.--ED.
[949] 1835.
Seeking in vain broad light, and regions aery.
MS.
[950] 1835.
But with that voice which once high on his steeps Mingled with vespers, sung to blissful Mary--
MS.
[951] 1835.
... to Croglin Dell?
MS.
[952] At Corby, a few miles below Nunnery, the Eden is crossed by a magnificent viaduct; and another of these works is thrown over a deep glen or ravine at a very short distance from the main stream.--W. W. 1835.
[953] 1845.
which parts Cumberland and Westmoreland from Northumberland and Durham. 1835.
XLII
STEAMBOATS, VIADUCTS, AND RAILWAYS
Motions and Means, on land and sea[954] at war With old poetic feeling, not for this, Shall ye, by Poets even, be judged amiss! Nor shall your presence, howsoe'er it mar The loveliness of Nature, prove a bar 5 To the Mind's gaining that prophetic sense Of future change, that point of vision, whence May be discovered what in soul ye are. In spite of all that beauty may disown In your harsh features, Nature doth embrace 10 Her lawful offspring in Man's art; and Time, Pleased with your triumphs o'er his brother Space, Accepts from your bold hands the proffered crown Of hope, and smiles on you with cheer sublime.[955]
FOOTNOTES:
[954] 1835.
... on sea or land ...
Version in _The Morning Post_.
[955] Compare the Sonnet _On the Projected Kendal and Windermere Railway_, written in 1844.--ED.
XLIII
THE MONUMENT COMMONLY CALLED LONG MEG AND HER DAUGHTERS, NEAR THE RIVER EDEN[956]
Composed, _probably_, in 1821.--Published 1822
A weight of awe, not easy to be borne, Fell suddenly upon my Spirit--cast From the dread bosom of the unknown past, When first I saw that family forlorn.[957] Speak Thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn[958] The power of years--pre-eminent, and placed 6 Apart, to overlook the circle vast-- Speak, Giant-mother! tell it to the Morn While she dispels the cumbrous shades of Night; Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud; 10 At whose behest uprose on British ground That Sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite The inviolable God, that tames the proud![959][960]
FOOTNOTES:
[956] It first appeared in _A Description of the Scenery of the Lakes in the North of England_, third edition, 1822.--ED.
[957] 1837.
....that Sisterhood forlorn. 1822.
[958] 1837.
And him, whose strength and stature seems to scorn 1822.
[959] The daughters of Long Meg, placed in a perfect circle eighty yards in diameter, are seventy-two in number above ground; a little way out of the circle stands Long Meg herself, a single stone, eighteen feet high. When I first saw this monument, as I came upon it by surprise, I might over-rate its importance as an object; but, though it will not bear a comparison with Stonehenge, I must say, I have not seen any other relique of those dark ages, which can pretend to rival it in singularity and dignity of appearance.--W. W. 1837.
The text of this note, in the edition of 1822, is slightly different.--ED.
In a letter to Sir George Beaumont, January 6, 1821, Wordsworth wrote, "My road brought me suddenly and unexpectedly upon that ancient monument, called by the country people Long Meg and her Daughters. Everybody has heard of it, and so had I from very early childhood; but had never seen it before. Next to Stonehenge it is beyond dispute the most noble relic of the kind that this or probably any other country contains. Long Meg is a single block of unhewn stone, eighteen feet high, at a small distance from a vast circle of other stones, some of them of huge size, though curtailed of their stature, by their own incessant pressure upon it." Compare a note in Wordsworth's _Guide to the Scenery of the Lakes_, section 2.--ED.
[960] 1837.
When, how, and wherefore, rose on British ground That wondrous Monument, whose mystic round Forth shadows, some have deemed, to mortal sight The inviolable God that tames the proud! 1822.
XLIV
LOWTHER[961]
["Cathedral pomp." It may be questioned whether this union was in the contemplation of the artist when he planned the edifice. However this might be, a poet may be excused for taking the view of the subject presented in this Sonnet.--I. F.]
Lowther! in thy majestic Pile are seen[962] Cathedral pomp and grace, in apt accord[963] With the baronial castle's sterner mien;[964] Union significant of God adored, And charters won and guarded by the sword 5 Of ancient honour; whence that goodly state Of polity which wise men venerate,[965] And will maintain, if God his help afford. Hourly the democratic torrent swells;[966] For airy promises and hopes suborned 10 The strength of backward-looking thoughts is scorned. Fall if ye must, ye Towers and Pinnacles, With what ye symbolise; authentic Story Will say, Ye disappeared with England's Glory!
FOOTNOTES:
[961] There was no title in the edition of 1835.
[962] 1835.
... in thy magnificence are seen
MS.
[963] 1835.
Shapes of cathedral pomp that well accord
MS.
[964] The present Castle was begun in 1808. It is in the style of the 13th and 14th century structures. The arched corridors surrounding the staircase--which is sixty feet square and ninety feet high--may justify the description in the sonnet. These stone corridors open on each side, through the centre of the castle. Compare the reference to Lowther in Barren's _Travels in China_, p. 134, in the course of his description of "Gehol's matchless gardens," referred to in _The Prelude_, book viii. (vol. iii. p. 274.)--ED.
[965] The Lowther family have been, for generations, the representatives of the Conservative cause in Cumberland.--ED.
[966] 1835.
But high the democratic torrent swells.
MS.
XLV
TO THE EARL OF LONSDALE
"Magistratus indicat virum."
Lonsdale! it were unworthy of a Guest, Whose heart with gratitude to thee inclines, If he should speak, by fancy touched, of signs On thy Abode harmoniously imprest, Yet be unmoved with wishes to attest 5 How in thy mind and moral frame agree Fortitude, and that Christian Charity Which, filling, consecrates the human breast. And if the Motto on thy 'scutcheon teach With truth, "THE MAGISTRACY SHOWS THE MAN;" _That_ searching test thy public course has stood;[967] 11 As will be owned alike by bad and good, Soon as the measuring of life's little span Shall place thy virtues out of Envy's reach.[968]
FOOTNOTES:
[967] 1835.
Lonsdale! it were unworthy of a Guest, One chiefly well aware how much he owes To thy regard, to speak in verse or prose Of types and signs harmoniously imprest On thy Abode, neglecting to attest That in thy Mansion's Lord as well agree Meekness and strength and Christian charity, That filling, consecrates the human breast. And if, as thy armorial bearings teach, "The Magistracy indicates the Man," That test thy life triumphantly has stood;
MS.
[968] This sonnet was written immediately after certain trials, which took place at the Cumberland Assizes, when the Earl of Lonsdale, in consequence of repeated and long-continued attacks upon his character, through the local press, had thought it right to prosecute the conductors and proprietors of three several journals. A verdict of libel was given in one case; and, in the others, the prosecutions were withdrawn, upon the individuals retracting and disavowing the charges, expressing regret that they had been made, and promising to abstain from the like in future.--W. W. 1835.
XLVI
THE SOMNAMBULIST[969]
[This poem might be dedicated to my friends, Sir G. Beaumont and Mr. Rogers jointly. While we were making an excursion together in this part of the Lake District we heard that Mr. Glover, the artist, while lodging at Lyulph's Tower, had been disturbed by a loud shriek, and upon rising he had learnt that it had come from a young woman in the house who was in the habit of walking in her sleep. In that state she had gone down stairs, and, while attempting to open the outer door, either from some difficulty or the effect of the cold stone upon her feet, had uttered the cry which alarmed him. It seemed to us all that this might serve as a hint for a poem, and the story here told was constructed and soon after put into verse by me as it now stands.--I. F.]
List, ye who pass by Lyulph's Tower[970][971] At eve; how softly then Doth Aira-force, that torrent hoarse, Speak from the woody glen![972] Fit music for a solemn vale! 5 And holier seems the ground[973] To him who catches[974] on the gale The spirit of a mournful tale, Embodied in the sound.
Not far from that fair site whereon 10 The Pleasure-house is reared, As story says, in antique days A stern-brow'd house appeared; Foil to a Jewel rich in light There set, and guarded well; 15 Cage for a Bird of plumage bright, Sweet-voiced, nor wishing for a flight Beyond her native dell.
To win this bright Bird from her cage, To make this Gem their own, 20 Came Barons bold, with store of gold, And Knights of high renown; But one She prized, and only one; Sir Eglamore was he; Full happy season, when was known, 25 Ye Dales and Hills! to you alone Their mutual loyalty--[975]
Known chiefly, Aira! to thy glen, Thy brook, and bowers of holly; Where Passion caught what Nature taught, 30 That all but love is folly; Where Fact with Fancy stooped to play; Doubt came not, nor regret-- To trouble hours that winged their way, As if through an immortal day 35 Whose sun could never set.
But in old times[976] Love dwelt not long Sequester'd with repose; Best throve the fire of chaste desire, Fanned by the breath of foes. 40 "A conquering lance is beauty's test, And proves the Lover true;" So spake Sir Eglamore, and pressed The drooping Emma[977] to his breast, And looked a blind adieu. 45
They parted.--Well with him it fared Through wide-spread regions errant; A knight of proof in love's behoof, The thirst of fame his warrant: And She her happiness[978] can build 50 On woman's quiet hours; Though faint, compared with spear and shield, The solace beads and masses yield, And needlework and flowers.
Yet blest was Emma[979] when she heard 55 Her Champion's praise recounted; Though brain would swim, and eyes grow dim, And high her blushes mounted; Or when a bold heroic lay She warbled from full heart; 60 Delightful blossoms for the _May_ Of absence! but they will not stay, Born only to depart.
Hope wanes with her, while lustre fills Whatever path he chooses; 65 As if his orb, that owns no curb, Received the light hers loses. He comes not back; an ampler space Requires for nobler deeds; He ranges on from place to place, 70 Till of his doings is no trace, But what her fancy breeds.
His fame may spread, but in the past Her spirit finds its centre; Clear sight She has of what he was, 75 And that would now content her. "Still is he my devoted Knight?" The tear in answer flows; Month falls on month with heavier weight; Day sickens round her, and the night 80 Is empty of repose.
In sleep She sometimes walked abroad, Deep sighs with quick words blending, Like that pale Queen whose hands are seen With fancied spots contending;[980] 85 But _she_ is innocent of blood,-- The moon is not more pure That shines aloft, while through the wood She thrids her way, the sounding Flood Her melancholy lure! 90
While 'mid the fern-brake sleeps the doe, And owls alone are waking, In white arrayed, glides on the Maid The downward pathway taking, That leads her to the torrent's side 95 And to a holly bower; By whom on this still night descried? By whom in that lone place espied? By thee, Sir Eglamore![981]
A wandering Ghost, so thinks the Knight, 100 His coming step has thwarted, Beneath the boughs that heard their vows, Within whose shade they parted. Hush, hush, the busy Sleeper see! Perplexed her fingers seem, 105 As if they from the holly tree Green twigs would pluck, as rapidly Flung from her to the stream.
What means the Spectre? Why intent To violate the Tree, 110 Thought Eglamore, by which I swore Unfading constancy? Here am I, and to-morrow's sun, To her I left, shall prove That bliss is ne'er so surely won 115 As when a circuit has been run Of valour, truth, and love.
So from the spot whereon he stood, He moved with stealthy pace; And, drawing nigh, with his living eye,[982] 120 He recognised the face; And whispers caught, and speeches small, Some to the green-leaved tree, Some muttered to the torrent-fall;-- "Roar on, and bring him with thy call; 125 I heard, and so may He!"
Soul-shattered was the Knight, nor knew If Emma's Ghost[983] it were, Or boding Shade, or if the Maid Her very self stood there. 130 He touched; what followed who shall tell? The soft touch snapped the thread Of slumber--shrieking back she fell, And the Stream whirled her down the dell Along its foaming bed. 135
In plunged the Knight!--when on firm ground The rescued Maiden lay, Her eyes grew bright with blissful light, Confusion passed away; She heard, ere to the throne of grace 140 Her faithful Spirit flew, His voice--beheld his speaking face; And, dying, from his own embrace, She felt that he was true.
So was he reconciled to life: 145 Brief words may speak the rest;[984] Within the dell he built a cell, And there was Sorrow's guest; In hermits' weeds repose he found, From vain temptations[985] free;[986] 150 Beside the torrent dwelling--bound By one deep heart-controlling sound, And awed to piety.
Wild stream of Aira, hold thy course, Nor fear memorial lays, 155 Where clouds that spread in solemn shade, Are edged with golden rays! Dear art thou to the light of heaven, Though minister of sorrow; Sweet is thy voice at pensive even; 160 And thou, in lovers' hearts forgiven, Shalt take thy place with Yarrow!
This poem was translated into Latin verse by the poet's son, and published in the second edition of _Yarrow Revisited, and other Poems_, 1835.--ED.
FOOTNOTES:
[969] The original title of the Poem (in MS.) was
_Aira Force,_ _or_ _Sir Eglamore and Elva._
There were no changes of text in the published editions of this poem. The various readings given are from MS. copies of the poem, in Mrs. Wordsworth's handwriting.--ED.
[970] 1835.
'Tis sweet to stand by Lyulph's Tower
MS.
[971] A pleasure-house built by the late Duke of Norfolk upon the banks of Ullswater. FORCE is the word used in the Lake District for Waterfall.--W. W. 1835.
[972] Compare _Airey-Force Valley_--
the brook itself, Old as the hills that feed it from afar, Doth rather deepen than disturb the calm, etc.--ED.
[973] 1835.
To rudest shepherd of the vale The spot seems holy ground;
MS.
[974] 1835.
For he can catch....
MS.
[975] 1835.
Their true love's sanctity--
MS.
[976] 1835.
But in that age ...
MS.
[977] 1835.
... Elva ...
MS.
[978] 1835.
She, too, a happiness ...
MS.
[979] 1835.
... Elva ...
MS.
[980] See _Macbeth_, act IV. scene V.--ED.
[981] 1835.
The knight, Sir Eglamore.
MS.
[982] 1835.
... with living eye,
MS.
[983] 1835.
If Elva's Ghost ...
MS.
[984] 1835.
In plunged the Knight--he strove in vain. Brief words may speak the rest;
MS.
[985] 1835.
... temptation ...
MS.
[986] Compare the _Ode to Duty_, vol. iii. p. 37:--
From vain temptations dost set free--ED.
XLVII
TO CORDELIA M----[987]
HALLSTEADS, ULLSWATER
Not in the mines beyond the western main, You say, Cordelia,[988] was the metal sought, Which a fine skill, of Indian growth, has wrought Into this flexible yet faithful Chain; Nor is it silver of romantic Spain 5 But from our loved Helvellyn's[989] depths was brought, Our own domestic mountain. Thing and thought Mix strangely; trifles light, and partly vain, Can prop, as you have learnt, our nobler being: Yes, Lady, while about your neck is wound 10 (Your casual glance oft meeting) this bright cord, What witchery, for pure gifts of inward seeing, Lurks in it, Memory's Helper, Fancy's Lord, For precious tremblings in your bosom found!
FOOTNOTES:
[987] Cordelia Marshall.--ED.
[988] 1845.
You tell me, Delia!... 1835.
[989] 1845.
You say but from Helvellyn's ... 1835.
XLVIII
"MOST SWEET IT IS WITH UNUPLIFTED EYES"[990]
Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes To pace the ground, if path be there or none, While a fair region round the traveller lies[991] Which he forbears again to look upon; Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, 5 The work of Fancy, or some happy tone Of meditation, slipping in between The beauty coming and the beauty gone.[992] If Thought and Love desert us, from that day Let us break off all commerce with the Muse: 10 With Thought and Love companions of our way, Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay.
FOOTNOTES:
[990] The title to this sonnet, in the editions previous to 1845, was _Conclusion_.
[991] 1835.
While round the conscious traveller beauty lies
MS.
[992] 1835.
Pleased rather with that soothing after-tone Whose seat is in the mind, occasion's Queen! Else Nature's noblest objects were I ween A yoke endured, a penance undergone.
MS.
1834
The Poems of 1834 include four of the _Evening Voluntaries_, _The Labourer's Noon-day Hymn_, and the stanzas to _The Redbreast_.--ED.
"NOT IN THE LUCID INTERVALS OF LIFE"
Composed 1834.--Published 1835
[The lines following "nor do words" were written with Lord Byron's character as a poet before me, and that of others his contemporaries who wrote under like influences.--I. F.]
One of the "Evening Voluntaries."--ED.
Not in the lucid intervals of life That come but as a curse to party-strife; Not in some hour when Pleasure with a sigh Of languor puts his rosy garland by; Not in the breathing-times of that poor slave 5 Who daily piles up wealth in Mammon's cave-- Is Nature felt, or can be; nor do words, Which practised talent[993] readily affords, Prove that her hand has touched responsive chords; Nor has her gentle beauty power to move 10 With genuine rapture and with fervent love The soul of Genius, if he dare[994] to take Life's rule from passion craved for passion's sake; Untaught that meekness is the cherished bent Of all the truly great and all the innocent. 15
But who _is_ innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise, O Nature! we are thine, Through good and evil thine, in just degree Of rational and manly sympathy. 19 To all that Earth from pensive hearts is stealing, And Heaven is now to gladdened eyes revealing, Add every charm the Universe can show Through every change its aspects undergo-- Care may be respited, but not repealed; No perfect cure grows on that bounded field. 25 Vain is the pleasure, a false calm the peace, If He, through whom alone our conflicts cease, Our virtuous hopes without relapse advance, Come not to speed the Soul's deliverance; To the distempered Intellect refuse 30 His gracious help, or give what we abuse.
FOOTNOTES:
[993] See the Fenwick note.--ED.
[994] 1837.
... dares ... 1835.
BY THE SIDE OF RYDAL MERE
Composed 1834.--Published 1835
One of the "Evening Voluntaries."--ED.
The linnet's warble, sinking towards a close, Hints to the thrush 'tis time for their repose; The shrill-voiced thrush is heedless, and again The monitor revives his own sweet strain; But both will soon be mastered, and the copse 5 Be left as silent as the mountain-tops, Ere some commanding star[995] dismiss to rest The throng of rooks, that now, from twig or nest, (After a steady flight on home-bound wings, And a last game of mazy hoverings 10 Around their ancient grove) with cawing noise Disturb the liquid music's equipoise.
O Nightingale! Who ever heard thy song Might here be moved, till Fancy grows so strong That listening sense is pardonably cheated 15 Where wood or stream by thee was never greeted.[996] Surely, from fairest spots of favoured lands, Were not some gifts withheld by jealous hands, This hour of deepening darkness here would be As a fresh morning for new harmony; 20 And lays as prompt would hail the dawn of Night: A _dawn_ she has both beautiful and bright, When the East kindles with the full moon's light;[997] Not like the rising sun's impatient glow Dazzling the mountains, but an overflow 25 Of solemn splendour, in mutation slow.
Wanderer by spring with gradual progress led, For sway profoundly felt as widely spread; To king, to peasant, to rough sailor, dear, And to the soldier's trumpet-wearied ear; 30 How welcome wouldst thou be to this green Vale Fairer than Tempe![998] Yet, sweet Nightingale! From the warm breeze that bears thee on, alight At will, and stay thy migratory flight; Build, at thy choice, or sing, by pool or fount, 35 Who shall complain, or call thee to account? The wisest, happiest, of our kind are they That ever walk content with Nature's way, God's goodness--measuring bounty as it may; For whom the gravest thought of what they miss, 40 Chastening the fulness of a present bliss, Is with that wholesome office satisfied, While unrepining sadness is allied In thankful bosoms to a modest pride.
FOOTNOTES:
[995] Compare the _Lines, composed at Grasmere_ in 1806 (vol iv. p. 48), when Mr. Fox's death was hourly expected--
Yon star upon the mountain-top Is listening quietly.--ED.
[996] The nightingale is not usually heard in England farther north than the valley of the Trent.
Compare _The Excursion_, book iv. l. 1167 (vol. v. p. 188); also the lines (vol. iv, p. 67) beginning--
O Nightingale! thou surely art A creature of a "fiery heart."--ED.
[997] 1837.
... moon's light. Wanderer by ... 1835.
[998] The Thessalian valley, five miles long, from Olympus to Ossa, through which the Peneus makes its way to the Ægean sea.--ED.
"SOFT AS A CLOUD IS YON BLUE RIDGE--THE MERE"
Composed 1834.--Published 1835
One of the "Evening Voluntaries."--ED.
Soft as a cloud is yon blue Ridge--the Mere[999] Seems firm as solid crystal, breathless, clear, And motionless; and, to the gazer's eye, Deeper than ocean, in the immensity Of its vague mountains and unreal sky! 5 But, from the process in that still retreat, Turn to minuter changes at our feet; Observe how dewy Twilight has withdrawn The crowd of daisies from the shaven lawn, And has restored to view its tender green, 10 That, while the sun rode high, was lost beneath their dazzling sheen. --An emblem this of what the sober Hour Can do for minds disposed to feel its power! Thus oft, when we in vain have wish'd away The petty pleasures of the garish day, 15 Meek eve shuts up the whole usurping host (Unbashful dwarfs each glittering at his post) And leaves the disencumbered spirit free To reassume a staid simplicity.
'Tis well--but what are helps of time and place, 20 When wisdom stands in need of nature's grace; Why do good thoughts, invoked or not, descend, Like Angels from their bowers, our virtues to befriend; If yet To-morrow, unbelied, may say, "I come to open out, for fresh display, 25 The elastic vanities of yesterday?"
FOOTNOTES:
[999] The "mere" was probably Rydal, and the "ridge" that of Silver How.--ED.
"THE LEAVES THAT RUSTLED ON THIS OAK-CROWNED HILL"
Composed 1834.--Published 1835
[Composed by the side of Grasmere lake. The mountains that enclose the vale, especially towards Easdale, are most favorable to the reverberation of sound. There is a passage in _The Excursion_ towards the close of the fourth book, where the voice of the raven in flight is traced through the modifications it undergoes, as I have often heard it in that vale and others of this district.[1000]
"Often, at the hour When issue forth the first pale stars, is heard, Within the circuit of this fabric huge, One voice--the solitary raven."--I. F.]
One of the "Evening Voluntaries."--ED.
The leaves that rustled on this oak-crowned hill, And sky that danced among those leaves, are still; Rest smooths the way for sleep; in field and bower Soft shades and dews have shed their blended power On drooping eyelid and the closing flower; 5 Sound is there none at which the faintest heart Might leap, the weakest nerve of superstition start; Save when the Owlet's unexpected scream Pierces the ethereal vault; and ('mid the gleam Of unsubstantial imagery, the dream, 10 From the hushed vale's realities, transferred To the still lake) the imaginative Bird Seems, 'mid inverted mountains, not unheard.
Grave Creature!--whether, while the moon shines bright On thy wings opened wide for smoothest flight, 15 Thou art discovered in a roofless tower, Rising from what may once have been a lady's bower; Or spied where thou sitt'st moping in thy mew At the dim centre of a churchyard yew; Or, from a rifted crag or ivy tod 20 Deep in a forest, thy secure abode, Thou giv'st, for pastime's sake, by shriek or shout, A puzzling notice of thy whereabout-- May the night never come, nor[1001] day be seen, When I shall scorn thy voice or mock thy mien! 25
In classic ages men perceived a soul Of sapience in thy aspect, headless Owl! Thee Athens reverenced in the studious grove;[1002] And, near the golden sceptre grasped by Jove, His Eagle's favourite perch, while round him sate 30 The Gods revolving the decrees of Fate, Thou, too, wert present at Minerva's side: Hark to that second larum!--far and wide The elements have heard, and rock and cave replied.
FOOTNOTES:
[1000] See also the extract from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, in the note to _The Excursion_ (vol. v. p. 189).--ED.
[1001] 1837.
... the ... 1835.
[1002] The owl became the emblem of Athens--and was associated with Minerva--because the birds abounded there.--ED.
THE LABOURER'S NOON-DAY HYMN
Composed 1834.--Published 1835
[Bishop Ken's Morning and Evening Hymns are, as they deserve to be, familiarly known. Many other hymns have also been written on the same subject; but, not being aware of any designed for noon-day, I was induced to compose these verses. Often one has occasion to observe cottage children carrying, in their baskets, dinner to their Fathers engaged with their daily labours in the fields and woods. How gratifying would it be to me could I be assured that any portion of these stanzas had been sung by such a domestic concert under such circumstances. A friend of mine has told me that she introduced this Hymn into a village-school which she superintended, and the stanzas in succession furnished her with texts to comment upon in a way which without difficulty was made intelligible to the children, and in which they obviously took delight, and they were taught to sing it to the tune of the old 100th Psalm.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--ED.
Up to the throne of God is borne The voice of praise at early morn, And he accepts the punctual hymn Sung as the light of day grows dim.
Nor will he turn his ear aside 5 From holy offerings at noontide. Then here reposing let us raise A song of gratitude and praise.
What though our burthen be not light, We need not toil from morn to night; 10 The respite of the mid-day hour Is in the thankful Creature's power.
Blest are the moments, doubly blest, That, drawn from this one hour of rest, Are with a ready heart bestowed 15 Upon the service of our God!
Each field is then a hallowed spot,[1003] An altar is in each man's cot, A church in every grove that spreads Its living roof above our heads. 20
Look up to Heaven! the industrious Sun Already half his race hath run; _He_ cannot halt nor go astray, But our immortal Spirits may.
Lord! since his rising in the East, 25 If we have faltered or transgressed, Guide, from thy love's abundant source, What yet remains of this day's course:
Help with thy grace, through life's short day, Our upward and our downward way; 30 And glorify for us the west, When we shall sink to final rest.
FOOTNOTES:
[1003] 1845.
Why should we crave a hallowed spot? 1835.
THE REDBREAST
(SUGGESTED IN A WESTMORELAND COTTAGE)
Composed 1834.--Published 1835
[Written at Rydal Mount. All our cats having been banished the house, it was soon frequented by redbreasts. Two or three of them, when the window was open, would come in, particularly when Mrs. Wordsworth was breakfasting alone, and hop about the table picking up the crumbs. My sister being then confined to her room by sickness, as, dear creature, she still is, had one that, without being caged, took up its abode with her, and at night used to perch upon a nail from which a picture had hung. It used to sing and fan her face with its wings in a manner that was very touching.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."--ED.
Driven in by Autumn's sharpening air From half-stripped woods and pastures bare, Brisk Robin seeks a kindlier home: Not like a beggar is he come, But enters as a looked-for guest, 5 Confiding in his ruddy breast, As if it were a natural shield Charged with a blazon on the field, Due to that good and pious deed Of which we in the Ballad read. 10 But pensive fancies putting by, And wild-wood sorrows, speedily He plays the expert ventriloquist; And, caught by glimpses now--now missed, Puzzles the listener with a doubt 15 If the soft voice he throws about Comes from within doors or without! Was ever such a sweet confusion, Sustained by delicate illusion? He's at your elbow--to your feeling 20 The notes are from the floor or ceiling; And there's a riddle to be guessed, 'Till you have marked his heaving chest, And busy throat whose sink and swell,[1004] Betray the Elf that loves to dwell 25 In Robin's bosom, as a chosen cell.
Heart-pleased we smile upon the Bird If seen, and with like pleasure stirred Commend him, when he's only heard. But small and fugitive our gain 30 Compared with _hers_[1005] who long hath lain, With languid limbs and patient head Reposing on a lone sick-bed; Where now, she[1006] daily hears a strain That cheats her[1007] of too busy cares, 35 Eases her pain, and helps her prayers.[1008] And who but this dear Bird beguiled The fever of that pale-faced Child; Now cooling, with his passing wing, Her forehead, like a breeze of Spring: 40 Recalling now, with descant soft Shed round her pillow from aloft, Sweet thoughts of angels hovering nigh, And the invisible sympathy Of "Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John, 45 Blessing the bed she lies upon?"[1009] And sometimes, just as listening ends In slumber, with the cadence blends A dream of that low-warbled hymn Which old folk, fondly pleased to trim 50 Lamps of faith, now burning dim, Say that the Cherubs carved in stone, When clouds gave way at dead of night And the ancient church was filled with light,[1010] Used to sing in heavenly tone, 55 Above and round the sacred places They guard, with winged baby-faces.
Thrice happy Creature! in all lands Nurtured by hospitable hands: Free entrance to this cot has he, 60 Entrance and exit both _yet_ free; And, when the keen unruffled weather That thus brings man and bird together, Shall with its pleasantness be past, And casement closed and door made fast, 65 To keep at bay the howling blast, _He_ needs not fear the season's rage, For the whole house is Robin's cage. Whether the bird flit here or there, O'er table _lilt_, or perch on chair, 70 Though some may frown and make a stir, To scare him as a trespasser, And he belike will flinch or start, Good friends he has to take his part; One chiefly, who with voice and look 75 Pleads for him from the chimney-nook, Where sits the Dame, and wears away Her long and vacant holiday; With images about her heart, Reflected from the years gone by, 80 On human nature's second infancy.
FOOTNOTES:
[1004] 1836.
... breast, Where tiny sinking, and faint swell, 1835.
[1005] 1845.
... _his_ ... 1835.
[1006] 1845.
... he ... 1835.
[1007] 1845.
... him ... 1835.
[1008] 1845.
Eases his pain, and helps his prayers. 1835.
[1009] The words--
"Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John, Bless the bed that I lie on,"
are part of a child's prayer, still in general use through the northern counties.--W. W. 1835.
[1010] 1836.
And the moon filled the church with light, 1835.
ADDENDA
(1) p. 35. _How soon--alas! etc._
The following version is written in the late Lord Coleridge's copy of the Poems:--
Alas! full soon did man created pure, By Angels guarded, deviate from the line Of innocence, and woeful forfeiture Incur by wilful breach of law divine. Even so Christ's church, how prone was she to appear Obedient to her Lord, how prompt to twine 'Mid glorious flowers that shall for aye endure, Weeds on whose front the world hath fixed her sign. So Man, if with thy trials thus it fares, And good can smooth the way to evil choice, From hasty censure be the mind kept free. He only judges right who weighs, compares, And in the sternest sentence, which his voice May utter, ne'er abandons Charity.
C.
(2) p. 83. _Down a swift stream, etc._, l. 14--
The manifold aspects of our sacred theme.
C.
(3) p. 86. _Bishops and Priests_, _etc._, l. 1--
... how blessed ...
C.
(4) p. 160, footnote [448]--
The extract is from _The Shepherd and the Calm_, p. 113, in _Miscellany Poems on Several Occasions, written by a Lady, Anne Finch, Countesse of W._, 1713.
(5) p. 306. _Fancy and Tradition_, l. 4--
Ere he took flight; the Sage in this alcove
MS.
(6) p. 307. _Fancy and Tradition_, l. 12--
There is an ampler page from which to quote,
MS.
(7) p. 342. _Adieu, Rydalian Laurels_, _etc._, l. 2--
As if not ignorant that days would come
MS.
(8) p. 358. _Stanzas suggested in a Steam-boat_, ll. 156-9--
Would merge, Idolatress of formal skill, In her own systems, God's eternal will, To her, despising faith in things unseen, Matter and spirit are in one machine.
C.
END OF VOL. VII
_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_.
Transcriber's Notes:
Simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors were corrected.
Punctuation normalized.
Anachronistic and non-standard spellings retained as printed.
Italics markup is enclosed in _underscores_.
Greek text is transliterated and enclosed in #number symbols#.
Dagger symbol is denoted as [dagger].