SOME MEMORIAL NOOKS
It may not be inopportune to mention, in this place, a few of the spots
in the neighbourhood of this, their early home, with which the memory of
Miss Wordsworth is more especially associated. By Wordsworth himself,
indeed, the whole of the Lake district of England has been immortalised,
and is more associated with his name and life than is the country of the
Trossachs with that of Sir Walter Scott. In illustration of this it is
only necessary to refer to his poems on the naming of places and
inscriptions. This fact alone, no less than the exalted teaching and
beauty of many of his works, will serve to preserve the memory of
Wordsworth; and probably thousands, to whom he would otherwise be only a
name, will become acquainted with him as a loved and trusted teacher. If
the spirits of the departed ever return and hover over the scenes of
earth which were loved and hallowed in the old-world life, it needs no
force of the imagination to fancy that of this most spiritual of women,
lingering by sunny noon or shady evening near the haunts, where, with
her kindred companion, she walked in happy converse. Among such favoured
nooks probably the next in interest to their loved "garden-orchard"
would be found the beauteous vale of Easedale. Here is a terrace walk in
Lancrigg wood which Wordsworth many years after said he and his sister
discovered three days after they took up their abode at Grasmere; and
which long remained their favourite haunt. The late Lady Richardson, in
an article in "Sharpe's London Magazine," referring at a later period to
this place, says: "It was their custom to spend the fine days of summer
in the open air, chiefly in the valley of Easedale. The 'Prelude' was
chiefly composed in a green mountain terrace, on the Easedale side of
Helm Crag, known by the name of Under Lancrigg, a place which he used to
say he knew by heart. The ladies sat at their work on the hill-side,
while he walked to and fro, on the smooth green mountain turf, humming
out his verses to himself, and then repeating them to his sympathising
and ready scribes, to be noted down on the spot and transcribed at
home."
The winding path leading up to the tarn on the west of Easedale brook,
on the other side of the valley, is, perhaps, still more closely
identified with Miss Wordsworth. The first of his "Poems on the Naming
of Places" was, he has stated, suggested on the banks of the brook that
runs through Easedale, by the side of which he had composed thousands of
verses. The poem is as follows:--
"It was an April morning: fresh and clear
The Rivulet, delighting in its strength,
Ran with a young man's speed; and yet the voice
Of waters which the winter had supplied
Was softened down into a vernal tone.
The spirit of enjoyment and desire,
And hopes and wishes, from all living things
Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.
The budding groves seemed eager to urge on
The steps of June; as if their various hues
Were only hindrances that stood between
Them and their object: but, meanwhile, prevailed
Such an entire contentment in the air
That every naked ash, and tardy tree
Yet leafless, shewed as if the countenance
With which it looked on this delightful day
Were native to the summer.--Up the brook
I roamed in the confusion of my heart,
Alive to all things, and forgetting all.
At length I to a sudden turning came
In this continuous glen, where down a rock
The Stream, so ardent in its course before,
Sent forth such sallies of glad sound that all
Which I till then had heard appeared the voice
Of common pleasure: beast and bird, the lamb,
The shepherd's dog, the linnet and the thrush
Vied with this waterfall, and made a song
Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth
Or like some natural produce of the air,
That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here;
But 'twas the foliage of the rocks--the birch,
The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn,
With hanging islands of resplendent furze:
And, on a summit, distant a short space,
By any who should look beyond the dell,
A single mountain-cottage might be seen.
I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said,
'Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook,
MY EMMA, I will dedicate to thee.'
--Soon did the spot become my other home,
My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode.
And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there,
To whom I sometimes in our idle talk
Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps,
Years after we are gone and in our graves,
When they have cause to speak of this wild place,
May call it by the name of EMMA'S DELL."
It is hardly necessary to mention that Miss Wordsworth is more than once
in the poems referred to as the poet's sister "Emma" or "Emmeline." It
is, perhaps, rather difficult to determine on what precise spot they
stood when this poem was composed, and to which the name of "Emma's
Dell" was given. Professor Knight, in his very interesting work, "The
English Lake District, as interpreted by Wordsworth," concludes that the
place is where the brook takes a "sudden turning" a few hundred yards
above Goody Bridge; but there are other spots in the brook a little
further up the valley to which the description in the poem is probably
equally applicable.
Another poem of the same series may appropriately here find a place,
containing, as it does, a loving allusion to Dorothy. This time it is
Miss Wordsworth herself who gives the name of _William's Peak_ to the
rugged summit of Stone Arthur, situated between Green Head Ghyll (the
scene of Wordsworth's pastoral poem "Michael") and Tongue Ghyll, a short
distance on the right-hand, side of the road leading from Grasmere to
Keswick:--
"There is an Eminence,--of these our hills
The last that parleys with the setting sun;
We can behold it from our orchard-seat;
And, when at evening we pursue our walk
Along the public way, this Peak, so high
Above us, and so distant in its height,
Is visible; and often seems to send
Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts.
The meteors make of it a favourite haunt:
The star of Jove, so beautiful and large,
In the mid heavens, is never half so fair
As when he shines above it. 'Tis in truth
The loneliest place we have among the clouds.
_And She who dwells with me, whom I have loved
With such communion, that no place on earth
Can ever be a solitude to me_,
Hath to this lonely Summit given my Name."
As this poem was written in the first year of their residence at
Grasmere, the reference in the closing lines can be to no other person
than Miss Wordsworth.
Still another poem of the series owes its origin to a walk by the poet,
in the company of his sister and Coleridge. The path here referred to,
by the side of the lake has, we are informed, lost its privacy and
beauty, by reason of the making of the new highway from Rydal to
Grasmere:--
"A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags,
A rude and natural causeway, interposed
Between the water and a winding slope
Of copse and thicket, leaves the eastern shore
Of Grasmere safe in its own privacy:
And there, myself and two beloved Friends,
One calm September morning, ere the mist
Had altogether yielded to the sun,
Sauntered on this retired and difficult way.
--"Ill suits the road with one in haste; but we
Played with our time; and, as we strolled along,
It was our occupation to observe
Such objects as the waves had tossed ashore--
Feather, or leaf, or weed, or withered bough,
Each on the other heaped, along the line
Of the dry wreck. And, in our vacant mood,
Not seldom did we stop to watch some tuft
Of dandelion seed or thistle's beard,
That skimmed the surface of the dead calm lake,
Suddenly halting now--a lifeless stand!
And starting off again with freak as sudden;
In all its sportive wanderings, all the while
Making report of an invisible breeze
That was its wings, its chariot, and its horse,
Its playmate, rather say, its moving soul.
--"And often, trifling with a privilege
Alike indulged to all, we paused, one now,
And now the other, to point out, perchance
To pluck, some flower or water-weed, too fair
Either to be divided from the place
On which it grew, or to be left alone
To its own beauty."
The poem goes on to relate how they saw in the distance, angling by the
margin of the lake, a man in the garb of a peasant, while from the
fields the merry noise of the reapers fell upon their ears. They
somewhat hastily came to the conclusion that the man was an idler, who,
instead of spending his time at the gentle craft, might have been more
profitably engaged in the harvest. Upon a near approach they, however,
found that he was a feeble old man, wasted by sickness, and too weak to
labour, who was doing his best to gain a scanty pittance from the lake.
It concludes by alluding to the self-upbraiding of the three friends, in
consequence of their too rashly formed opinion:--
"I will not say
What thoughts immediately were ours, nor how
The happy idleness of that sweet morn,
With all its lovely images, was changed
To serious musing and to self-reproach.
Nor did we fail to see within ourselves
What need there is to be reserved in speech,
And temper all our thoughts with charity.
--Therefore, unwilling to forget that day,
My Friend, Myself, and She who then received
The same admonishment, have called the place
By a memorial name, uncouth indeed,
As e'er by mariner was given to bay
Or foreland, on a new-discovered coast;
And _Point Rash-Judgment_ is the name it bears."
Another memorial of Miss Wordsworth in her prime is to be found in the
"Rock of Names," which stands on the right-hand side of the road from
Grasmere to Keswick, near the head of Thirlmere, and about a mile beyond
"Wytheburn's modest House of Prayer." This was a meeting-place of
Wordsworth and Coleridge, who was then resident at Keswick, and their
friends. On the surface of this "upright mural block of stone,"
moss-crowned, smooth-faced, and lichen-patched, are cut the following
letters:--
W. W.
M. H.
D. W.
S. T. C.
J. W.
S. H.
It is hardly necessary to state that the initials are those of William
Wordsworth, Mary Hutchinson (afterwards his wife), Dorothy Wordsworth,
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, John Wordsworth (the poet's brother), and Sarah
Hutchinson (the sister of Mrs. Wordsworth). It is greatly to be
regretted that on the completion of the projected reservoir of the
Manchester Corporation, this rock, unless steps are taken for its
preservation, will be submerged in its waters. Seldom did half-a-dozen
more poetic and fervent natures meet and leave a more unique, and
attractive memorial. It is to be hoped that means will be adopted not
only to have the rock removed to a place of safety, but also to preserve
it from further mutilation. Although these initials have withstood the
storms and blasts of more than four score winters, they are yet
perfectly distinct and legible, and their original character is
preserved. Whilst there are, unfortunately, now other initials and marks
upon the face of the rock, it is more free from them than might have
been expected. The very fact of attention being called to such an
interesting memento, while being a source of pleasure to the admirers of
the gifted children of genius who made this their trysting-place, also
arouses the puerile ambition of those whose interest centres in
themselves, and to whom no associations are dear, to inscribe their own
scratch. In this way there has already been added the letter J. before
the original D. W. of Miss Wordsworth. Wordsworth's allusion to this
rock, in a note to some editions of his poem, "The Waggoner," is as
follows:--
ROCK OF NAMES!
"Light is the strain, but not unjust
To Thee, and thy memorial-trust
That once seemed only to express
Love that was love in idleness;
Tokens, as year hath followed year,
How changed, alas, in character!
For they were graven on thy smooth breast
By hands of those my soul loved best;
Meek women, men as true and brave
As ever went to a hopeful grave:
Their hands and mine, when side by side,
With kindred zeal and mutual pride,
We worked until the Initials took
Shapes that defied a scornful look.--
Long as for us a genial feeling
Survives, or one in need of healing,
The power, dear Rock, around thee cast,
Thy monumental power, shall last
For me and mine! O thought of pain,
That would impair it or profane!
* * * * *
And fail not Thou, loved Rock! to keep
Thy charge when we are laid asleep."
In this place a reference by Wordsworth to his little poem, commencing
"Yes, it was the mountain echo," will be of interest. "The echo came
from Nab-scar, when I was walking on the opposite side of Rydal Mere. I
will here mention, for my dear sister's sake, that while she was sitting
alone one day, high up on this part of Loughrigg fell, she was so
affected by the voice of the cuckoo, heard from the crags at some
distance, that she could not suppress a wish to have a stone inscribed
with her name among the rocks from which the sound proceeded."