curtain of mountains, and the sun meanwhile has sunk in a glory of
flame beneath the faint outline of the Hebrides; the last flush of
crimson has faded from the sky and the twilight is deepening into night
adown the valley. In leaving the scene, if I have succeeded in showing
how we have it in our own power to quicken the influence of scenery
on the imagination, we may I trust take with us the full conviction
that there is no landscape so fair which may not be endued with fresh
interest if the light of scientific discovery be allowed to fall upon
it. Bearing this light with us in our wanderings, whether at home or
abroad, we are gifted, as it were, with an added sense and an increased
power of gathering some of the purest enjoyment which the face of
Nature can yield.
FOOTNOTES:
[7] _Fortnightly Review_, April, 1893.
[8] Herodotus, vii. 129.
[9] Diod. Sic., iv. 18. See also Lucan, _Pharsalia_, vi. 345.
[10] Diod. Sic., iv. 18, who allows his readers to choose which version
of the legend they prefer.
[11] See Strabo, x. 458. Diodorus also (iv. 35), giving a similar
interpretation of the legends, tells us how Hercules hollowed out a new
bed for the Achelous, thereby reclaiming a vast tract of exceedingly
fertile land.
[12] Diod. Sic., iv. 18.
[13] Fouqué, _Santorin et ses Eruptions_, chap. iii.
[14] _Carm._ I., iv. 7.
[15] See this subject fully discussed by Grote, _History of Greece_,
vol. i.
[16] Book vii. 129, see _ante_ p. 37.
[17] Book ix. 429.
[18] See Grimm's _Deutsche Mythologie_, i. 502.
[19] _Tour in the Hebrides_, p. 346.
III
Landscape and Literature[20]
The several races of mankind are marked off from each other by certain
bodily and mental differences which, there can be no doubt, have been
largely determined by the diverse geographical conditions of the
surface of the globe. We may be disposed to put aside the first origin
of these racial differences, as a problem which may for ever remain
insoluble. Yet we cannot refuse to admit that in the disposition of
land and sea, in the form and trend of coast-lines, in the grouping of
mountains, valleys, and plains, in the disposition and flow of rivers,
in the arrangement of climates, and in the distribution of vegetation
and animals, a series of influences must be recognized which have
unquestionably played a large part in the successive stages of human
development.
Though no record of the earliest of these stages has probably survived,
some of the later steps in the progress of advancement may not be
beyond the reach of investigation. The connection, for example,
between the circumscribing topography and geology of a country, and
the mythological creed of its inhabitants offers a tempting field of
inquiry, in which much may yet be gleaned. Who can doubt that the
legends and superstitions of ancient Greece took their form and colour
in no small measure from the mingled climates, varied scenery, and
rocky structure of that mountainous land, or that the grim titanic
mythology of Scandinavia bears witness to its birth in a region of
rugged snowy uplands, under gloomy and tempestuous skies?[21]
If the primeval efforts of the human imagination were thus stimulated
by the more impressive features of the outer world, it is natural to
believe that the same external influences would continue to exert their
power during the later mental development of a people. In particular,
it seems reasonable to anticipate that such potent causes would more
or less make themselves felt in the growth of a national literature.
The songs and ballads of the plains might be expected to present some
marked diversities from those of the mountains. There may, of course,
be risks of error in generalisations of this kind, especially where the
writings of distinct races are compared with each other. But the risks
may be reduced if we confine ourselves to the consideration of a single
country and a single literature. Such at least is the task which I have
undertaken on the present occasion. I propose to discuss the leading
types of scenery that distinguish the British Isles, and to inquire how
far it may be possible to trace from each of them an influence upon
the growth of English literature as shown in our poetry.
Under the term scenery may be included those variations in the general
aspect of the land that arise from the combined effects of three main
geographical elements--topography, climate, and vegetation. Of these
three factors, we are mainly concerned with the first, but the other
two will necessarily obtrude themselves continually on our attention.
Although geological details are not essential for the inquiry before
us, nevertheless some knowledge of them will be found of service
in enabling us to recognise more clearly the essential features of
a landscape, and to discriminate the real nature and extent of the
diversities between the landscapes of different parts of the country.
The fundamental elements of the scenery depend upon the nature and
structure of the rocks that come to the surface, and the manifold
varieties of external form arise from the constant succession of
different geological formations.
The evolution of the scenery of these islands has been a long-continued
process, wherein the chief part has been played by the air, rain,
rivers, frost, and the other superficial agencies which are continually
at work in wearing down the surface of the land. Each different kind
of rock has yielded in its own fashion to the agents of destruction.
Those rocks which have offered least resistance have been worn down
into hollows and plains. Those of a more durable nature have been
left standing up as ridges, hills, or mountains. The composition of
the rocks has likewise governed the nature of the soils and the
distribution of vegetation. Chalk, for instance, forms long ridges
of grassy and bushless down. Sandy and gravelly tracts are marked by
heather and pine-trees. Volcanic rocks often rise into isolated crags
with verdant slopes below. Granite lifts itself into mountains and
rocky moorlands, with cliffs, corries and 'tors' and long trails of
naked scree.
For the purposes of the present Lecture, I will arrange the scenery of
this country in three leading types:
I. LOWLANDS.
II. UPLANDS.
III. HIGHLANDS.
These types are not always separable from each other by any definite
lines of boundary. The lowlands, for example, include ranges of
hills, and here and there gradually rise into uplands, which in turn
occasionally mount into lofty, rugged ground that may well be called
highland. Moreover, each type presents a number of local varieties,
dependent on geological structure. Thus the English lowlands differ in
many respects from the Scottish, and both from the Irish.
The arrangement now proposed, though not strictly scientific, is for
the proposed discussion convenient. We shall find, I think, that
each of the three main types has had a perceptible influence on our
literature, and not only so, but that even the local variations of each
type have left their impress on our literary history. To treat the
subject as fully as it deserves to be treated would require a course
of lectures. I can only attempt to illustrate it by selecting a few
instances from our poets where the relation that I wish to establish
seems to be most readily perceptible.
I. THE LOWLANDS OF BRITAIN. If a line be drawn across England from
the mouth of the Humber through the Midlands to the Bristol Channel,
it will divide the country into two sharply contrasted portions. To
the west of it, the older, harder, and therefore more durable rocks
rise into the high grounds of Wales, the Pennine Chain, and the
Lakes. To the east of it, on the other hand, the younger, softer,
and consequently more destructible, formations occupy the whole of
the territory, giving a characteristic lowland topography to the
districts that have been longest settled and cultivated, which include
the greater portion of what is most familiar and typical in English
landscape.
The eastern Lowlands of England consist of a succession of gently
undulating ridges, separated from each other by winding vales or
plains. These features have a general trend across the country from
south-west or west to north-east or east--a direction determined by the
successive outcrops of the different formations. But the denudation
of the surface has been so great and so unequal that, despite the
continuity and parallelism of the formations, their outcrops have
been worn into endless diversities of topographical detail, producing
abundant variety among the gentle profiles of the landscapes.
As examples of the ridges, we may take the North and South Downs, and
the chain of heights that stretches from Wiltshire into Norfolk. The
intervening plains may be illustrated by the Weald of Sussex, and by
the lower basin of the Thames.
The differences between the successive geological formations of the
English lowlands never pass a restricted limit in regard to composition
and structure. Essentially soft and easily decomposable, the rocks
include no thick bands of much harder material than the rest, such as
might project in prominent features. The prevailing characteristic
of the topography is therefore unbroken placidity. Nowhere does any
ruggedness obtrude itself. No part of the ground towers abruptly above
or sinks suddenly beneath the general level. The successive ranges of
low hills have rounded summits and smooth slopes, which, even when
steep, seldom allow naked rock to appear, but conceal it everywhere
under a carpet of herbage. So gentle is the inclination of the ground,
from the watersheds to the coast, that the drainage winds in sluggish
streams that often hardly seem to flow. 'Purling brooks' are scarcely
ever to be found. Since the running waters of the country have played
no inconsiderable part in the inspiration of our poets, it is well
worthy of remark that in the east and south-east of England the streams
are, for the most part, silent. We shall see how strongly they are thus
contrasted with the brooks that traverse the lowlands of the north.
Since the rocks of these eastern and southern districts decay into
soils that are on the whole fertile, the surface, well watered by the
rains from the western ocean, is clothed with meadows, corn-fields,
and gardens, while trees have been planted along the roads and
fields, and in abundant patches of coppice and woodland. The country
thus wears a verdant park-like aspect, which at once impresses the
eye of a stranger who comes here either from the European continent
or from America. Undoubtedly cultivation has in the course of long
centuries considerably altered the primeval landscapes; the progress of
agriculture having gradually narrowed the area of the once predominant
open heaths, while the ancient forests, formerly so abundant and
extensive, have wellnigh vanished. There can be little doubt, however,
that the general enclosed and cultivated character of the landscapes
has, over much of the ground, remained nearly the same as now for
hundreds of years.
One further feature of these English lowlands should be borne in
mind. They are washed by the sea along the whole of their eastern
and southern borders. Even the most inland part of them is not more
than one hundred miles from the coast. Their long lines of ridge
and down stretch to the very margin of the land, where they plunge
in picturesque cliffs to the sea-level, as in the headlands of
Flamborough, Dover, and Beachy. Moreover the coast-line is indented
by numerous bays, creeks, and inlets, which, as they allow the sea
to penetrate far into the land, furnish many admirable natural
harbours. There can be no doubt that this feature in our topography
has powerfully fostered that love of the sea which has always been a
national characteristic, and has contributed to the development of that
maritime power which has led to the establishment of our world-wide
empire.[22] To the same cause may be traced that appreciation of the
poetry of the sea so noticeable in our literature.
We may now inquire how far the placid scenery of these eastern lowlands
may have had an influence on the literary progress of the nation. It
is of course chiefly among the poets that traces of such an influence
may be expected to be discoverable. Not until comparatively late times
did prose-writers deal with scenery, save as a mere background for the
human incidents which they had to describe. It is impossible, within
the prescribed limits of a single lecture, to follow the gradual
development of an appreciation of landscape among the writers who have
lived on these English lowlands. The simple child-like delight in
Nature, so characteristic of Chaucer, and the influence of cultivated
scenery, so conspicuous in him, are readily traceable among his
successors. Shakespeare throughout his plays presents us with not a few
reminiscences of his youth among the Warwickshire woodlands. In Milton
we see how the placid rural quiet of the Colne valley inspired the two
finest lyrics in the English tongue. For a century after Milton's time,
poetry in this country ceased to have any living hold on outer nature,
but became with each generation more polished and artificial. When at
last a reaction set in, the impulse that led to the most momentous
revolution that has marked the history of English poetry came in
large measure from the writings of three poets, each of whom drew his
inspiration from lowland scenery. As illustrations therefore of the
part played by this scenery in our literature, I will cite Cowper,
Thomson, and Burns.
The retreat in the valley of the Ouse, to which Cowper escaped from the
noise and distractions of city-life, was eminently fitted by its quiet
seclusion to soothe his spirit, and to fill his eye and his imagination
with images of rural peacefulness and gentle beauty. If the choice of
such a home was of infinite service to the poet, it was hardly less
momentous in the progress of English literature.
The scenery of that valley, around Olney and Weston, is thoroughly
characteristic of the southern lowlands. The ground lies on limestones
and clays, belonging to the Oolitic series, which, though they have
been greatly denuded, have yielded in a general equable manner to the
progress of decay. They possess no such differences of structure as
to allow one part of them to project in crag or scar above the rest.
They have been worn down into a gently undulating plateau or plain,
covered with corn-fields and pastures, and dotted with occasional woods
and 'spinnies,' or patches of trees. Farms and villages diversify the
landscape, while to the north lies the forest-like expanse of Yardley
Chase. Through this champaign the River Ouse has cut for itself a
winding valley, the bottom of which, quite flat and from a few hundred
yards to upwards of a mile in breadth, lies rather more than a hundred
feet below the general level of the country. Along the flat alluvial
plain, the stream, sluggishly flowing among rushes and sedges, curves
in circuitous bends, often dividing so as to enclose insular patches of
meadow, which it entirely overspreads in times of flood. The slopes
rise softly from the river-plain, now projecting, now retreating, as
the valley winds from side to side. A gentle ascent brings us from the
banks of the Ouse up to the highest part of the ground in the vicinity,
and places before our eyes a wide sweep of rich agricultural country,
with peeps of village spires and gleams of the winding river.
Such were the simple elements of Cowper's landscape. They have no
special attraction that is not shared by hundreds of other similar
scenes in the Oolitic tracts of England. To the cursory visitor
they may even seem tame and commonplace. And yet for us, apart from
any mere beauty they may possess, they have been for ever glorified
and consecrated by the imagination of the poet. We see in them the
natural features which soothed his sorrow and gladdened his heart,
and which became the sources of an inspiration that breathed fresh
life into the poetry of England. The lapse of time has left the scene
essentially unchanged. We may take the same walks that Cowper loved,
and see the same prospects that charmed his eyes and filled his verse.
In so following his steps, we note the accuracy and felicity of his
descriptions, and appreciate more vividly the poetic genius which, out
of such simple materials, could work such a permanent change in the
attitude of his countrymen towards nature. As an illustration of his
treatment of landscape let me cite the well-known passage descriptive
of the walk between Olney and Weston--
'How oft upon yon eminence our pace
Has slackened to a pause, and we have borne
The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew,
While admiration, feeding at the eye,
And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene.
Thence with what pleasure have we just discerned
The distant plough slow-moving, and beside
His labouring team, that swerved not from the track,
The sturdy swain diminished to a boy!
Here Ouse, slow-winding through a level plain
Of spacious meads with cattle sprinkled o'er,
Conducts the eye along his sinuous course
Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank,
Stand, never overlooked, our favourite elms,
That screen the huntsman's solitary hut;
While far beyond, and overthwart the stream,
That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale,
The sloping land recedes into the clouds;
Displaying, on its varied side, the grace
Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower,
Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells
Just undulates upon the listening ear,
Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote.'[23]
No scene could have been more thoroughly congenial to such a
temperament as that of Cowper. He never wearied of the sights and
sounds of that peaceful landscape. He watched its changes from hour to
hour, from day to day, and from season to season. Every change awakened
new joy in his breast, and gave fresh inspiration to his verse. And so
year after year he lived in closest communion with nature. Well might
he say that
'Scenes must be beautiful which, daily viewed
Please daily, and whose novelty survives
Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years.'[24]
Cowper's poetic vision was like his landscape, limited, though within
its range it was searching and accurate. His timid nature shrank from
what was rugged and wild. He found his consolation in
'Nature in her cultivated trim
And dressed to his taste.'[25]
But no one before him had revealed to men the infinite variety and
beauty and charm to be seen by the contemplative eye even in these
everyday surroundings. The calm of evening--
'With matron step slow moving, while the Night
Treads on her sweeping train,'[26]
or the river shining in the moonlight beneath the 'wearisome but
needful length' of Olney bridge, or the creep of autumn over wood and
field and weedy fallow, or the advent of winter and the shrouding of
the valley under snow, or the coming of spring, when--
'The primrose ere her time
Peeps through the moss that clothes the hawthorn root,'[27]
--every mood of nature in this sequestered vale is painted with a
vividness and skill that evoke our admiration, and with a sympathy and
grace which win our heart. That quiet valley has thus become classic
ground, for as long as English poetry is read, the affections of men
will be drawn to the home of Cowper by the banks of the Ouse.
The other two lowland writers whom I have selected were contemporaries
of Cowper, though Thomson died when Cowper was only seventeen years
old. In dealing with their influence, we turn to the Scottish lowlands
where they both were born, and from which came their poetic impulse.
A traveller, familiar with the low grounds of England, when he first
enters the northern lowlands is at once impressed by their much more
limited extent. He finds them to occupy comparatively restricted spaces
between uplands and highlands, their largest expanse lying in the broad
depression between the southern border of the Highland mountains and
the great tract of high pastoral land in the southern counties. Another
considerable area of them intervenes between these southern uplands
and the flanks of the Cheviot Hills. A further contrast to the English
type is to be seen in the broken character of the surface. There are
no extensive level flats like those of the English midlands, nor any
continuous bands of gentle ridge like those of the English downs. The
ground is separated into detached districts by ranges of hills, which
sometimes even become sufficiently high and broad to deserve the name
of uplands. A third characteristic arises from the great diversity of
geological structure, and especially the intercalation of abundant
volcanic rocks among the other formations. As a consequence of this
intermingling of hard and durable materials with others more easily
abraded, the topography is diversified by endless crags and hills
rising picturesquely out of the surrounding lower country, and often
crowned with ancient castles or ruined peels.
Such a disposition of the elements of the landscape is accompanied
with a much greater diversity in the mantle of vegetation than is
seen among the English lowlands. The surrounding uplands and hills,
for the most part bare of trees, are clothed with pasture, save where
they support a covering of heathy herbage or dark peat-moss. The lower
grounds have in large measure been brought under cultivation, but still
retain tracts of moorland, haunted by lapwing and curlew. Though the
ancient natural wood has mostly disappeared, hard-wood trees are now
abundant, while sombre plantations of fir give a northern character to
the landscapes.
But perhaps the feature in these Scottish lowlands which more
particularly deserves notice here, is the contrast to be found between
their streams and those of south-eastern England. Owing to the uneven
forms and steeper slopes of the ground, the drainage runs off rapidly
to the sea. The brooks are full of motion, as they tumble over
waterfalls, plunge through rocky ravines, and sweep round the boulders
that cumber their channels. They furnish, moreover, countless dells and
dingles where the native copsewoods find their surest shelter. There
the gorse and the sloe come earliest into bloom, and the wild flowers
linger longest. There too the birds make their chief home. These strips
of wild nature, winding through cultivated field or bare moor, from the
hills to the sea, offer in summer scenes of perfect repose. But they
furnish too, from time to time, pictures of tumult and uproar, when
rain-clouds have burst upon the uplands, and the streams come down in
heavy flood, pouring through the glens with a din that can be heard
from far.
Brooks and rivers have always had a fascination for poets. Their
banks supply secluded spots for reverie and communion with nature.
Under their shade and shelter, bird and blossom and flower are
guarded from the blasts around, while the sparkle and murmur of their
waters give a sense of life and companionship even in the depths of
solitude. Constant familiarity with such a type of stream as that of
the Scottish lowlands can hardly fail to strike the imagination in a
different way from that which has attended the slow-creeping and silent
brooks of the south-east of England. The Scottish poets, even in the
earlier centuries, show traces of the influence of their more rugged
surroundings; but not till the eighteenth century did this influence
manifest itself in such a manner as to affect the general flow of
English literature.