THE POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
VOL. VIII
[Illustration: _William Wordsworth_
_after Thomas Woolner_
_Printed by Ch Wittmann Paris_]
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
EDITED BY
WILLIAM KNIGHT
VOL. VIII
[Illustration: _Gallow Hill_
_Yorkshire_]
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
New York: Macmillan & Co.
1896
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS
PAGE
1834
Lines suggested by a Portrait from the Pencil of F. Stone 1
The foregoing Subject resumed 6
To a Child 7
Lines written in the Album of the Countess of Lonsdale,
Nov. 5, 1834 8
1835
“Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant” 12
To the Moon 13
To the Moon 15
Written after the Death of Charles Lamb 17
Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg 24
Upon seeing a Coloured Drawing of the Bird of Paradise
in an Album 29
“Desponding Father! mark this altered bough” 31
“Four fiery steeds impatient of the rein” 31
To ---- 32
Roman Antiquities discovered at Bishopstone, Herefordshire 33
St. Catherine of Ledbury 34
“By a blest Husband guided, Mary came” 35
“Oh what a Wreck! how changed in mien and speech!” 36
1836
November 1836 37
To a Redbreast--(In Sickness) 38
1837
“Six months to six years added he remained” 39
Memorials of a Tour in Italy, 1837--To Henry Crabb Robinson 41
I. Musings near Aquapendente, April, 1837 42
II. The Pine of Monte Mario at Rome 58
III. At Rome 59
IV. At Rome--Regrets--in Allusion to Niebuhr and other
Modern Historians 60
V. Continued 61
VI. Plea for the Historian 61
VII. At Rome 62
VIII. Near Rome, in Sight of St. Peter’s 63
IX. At Albano 64
X. “Near Anio’s stream, I spied a gentle Dove” 65
XI. From the Alban Hills, looking towards Rome 65
XII. Near the Lake of Thrasymene 66
XIII. Near the same Lake 67
XIV. The Cuckoo at Laverna 67
XV. At the Convent of Camaldoli 72
XVI. Continued 73
XVII. At the Eremite or Upper Convent of Camaldoli 74
XVIII. At Vallombrosa 75
XIX. At Florence 78
XX. Before the Picture of the Baptist, by Raphael,
in the Gallery at Florence 79
XXI. At Florence--From Michael Angelo 80
XXII. At Florence--From Michael Angelo 81
XXIII. Among the Ruins of a Convent in the Apennines 82
XXIV. In Lombardy 83
XXV. After leaving Italy 84
XXVI. Continued 85
At Bologna, in Remembrance of the late Insurrections,
1837.--I. 86
II. Continued 86
III. Concluded 87
“What if our numbers barely could defy” 87
A Night Thought 88
The Widow on Windermere Side 89
1838
To the Planet Venus 92
“Hark! ’tis the Thrush, undaunted, undeprest” 93
“’Tis He whose yester-evening’s high disdain” 94
Composed at Rydal on May Morning, 1838 94
Composed on a May Morning, 1838 97
A Plea for Authors, May 1838 99
“Blest Statesman He, whose Mind’s unselfish will” 101
Valedictory Sonnet 102
1839
Sonnets upon the Punishment of Death--
I. Suggested by the View of Lancaster Castle (on the
Road from the South) 103
II. “Tenderly do we feel by Nature’s law” 104
III. “The Roman Consul doomed his sons to die” 105
IV. “Is _Death_, when evil against good has fought” 106
V. “Not to the object specially designed” 106
VI. “Ye brood of conscience--Spectres! that frequent” 107
VII. “Before the world had past her time of youth” 107
VIII. “Fit retribution, by the moral code” 108
IX. “Though to give timely warning and deter” 109
X. “Our bodily life, some plead, that life the shrine” 109
XI. “Ah, think how one compelled for life to abide” 110
XII. “See the Condemned alone within his cell” 110
XIII. Conclusion 111
XIV. Apology 112
“Men of the Western World! in Fate’s dark book” 112
1840
To a Painter 114
On the same Subject 115
Poor Robin 116
On a Portrait of the Duke of Wellington upon the Field
of Waterloo, by Haydon 118
1841
Epitaph in the Chapel-Yard of Langdale, Westmoreland 120
1842
“Intent on gathering wool from hedge and brake” 122
Prelude, prefixed to the Volume entitled “Poems chiefly
of Early and Late Years” 123
Floating Island 125
“The Crescent-moon, the Star of Love” 127
“_A Poet!_--He hath put his heart to school” 127
“The most alluring clouds that mount the sky” 128
“Feel for the wrongs to universal ken” 129
In Allusion to various Recent Histories and Notices of
the French Revolution 130
Continued 131
Concluded 131
“Lo! where she stands fixed in a saint-like trance” 132
The Norman Boy 132
The Poet’s Dream 135
Suggested by a Picture of the Bird of Paradise 140
To the Clouds 142
Airey-Force Valley 146
“Lyre! though such power do in thy magic live” 147
Love lies Bleeding 148
“They call it Love lies bleeding! rather say” 150
Companion to the Foregoing 150
The Cuckoo-Clock 151
“Wansfell! this Household has a favoured lot” 153
“Though the bold wings of Poesy affect” 154
“Glad sight wherever new with old” 154
1843
“While beams of orient light shoot wide and high” 156
Inscription for a Monument in Crosthwaite Church, in
the Vale of Keswick 157
To the Rev. Christopher Wordsworth, D.D., Master of
Harrow School 162
1844
“So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive” 164
On the projected Kendal and Windermere Railway 166
“Proud were ye, Mountains, when, in times of old” 167
At Furness Abbey 168
1845
“Forth from a jutting ridge, around whose base” 170
The Westmoreland Girl 172
At Furness Abbey 176
“Yes! thou art fair, yet be not moved” 176
“What heavenly smiles! O Lady mine” 177
To a Lady 177
To the Pennsylvanians 179
“Young England--what is then become of Old” 180
1846
Sonnet 181
“Where lies the truth? has Man, in wisdom’s creed” 182
To Lucca Giordano 183
“Who but is pleased to watch the moon on high” 184
Illustrated Books and Newspapers 184
Sonnet. To an Octogenarian 185
“I know an aged Man constrained to dwell” 186
“The unremitting voice of nightly streams” 187
“How beautiful the Queen of Night, on high” 188
On the Banks of a Rocky Stream 188
Ode. Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of
Early Childhood 189
POEMS
BY
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
AND BY
DOROTHY WORDSWORTH
NOT INCLUDED IN THE EDITION OF 1849-50
1787
Sonnet, on seeing Miss Helen Maria Williams weep at a
Tale of Distress 209
Lines written by William Wordsworth as a School Exercise
at Hawkshead, Anno Ætatis 14 211
1792 (or earlier)
“Sweet was the walk along the narrow lane” 214
“When Love was born of heavenly line” 215
The Convict 217
1798
“The snow-tracks of my friends I see” 219
The Old Cumberland Beggar (MS. Variants, not inserted
in Vol. I.) 220
1800
Andrew Jones 221
“There is a shapeless crowd of unhewn stones” 223
1802
“Among all lovely things my Love had been” 231
“Along the mazes of this song I go” 233
“The rains at length have ceas’d, the winds are still’d” 233
“Witness thou” 234
Wild-Fowl 234
Written in a Grotto 234
Home at Grasmere 235
“Shall he who gives his days to low pursuits” 257
1803
“I find it written of Simonides” 258
1804
“No whimsey of the purse is here” 258
1805
“Peaceful our valley, fair and green” 259
“Ah! if I were a lady gay” 262
1806
To the Evening Star over Grasmere Water, July 1806 263
Michael Angelo in Reply to the Passage upon his Statue
of Night sleeping 263
“Come, gentle Sleep, Death’s image tho’ thou art” 264
“Brook, that hast been my solace days and week” 265
Translation from Michael Angelo 265
1808
George and Sarah Green 266
1818
“The Scottish Broom on Bird-nest brae” 270
Placard for a Poll bearing an old Shirt 271
“Critics, right honourable Bard, decree” 271
1819
“Through Cumbrian wilds, in many a mountain cove” 272
“My Son! behold the tide already spent” 273
1820
Author’s Voyage down the Rhine 273
1822
“These vales were saddened with no common gloom” 275
Translation of Part of the First Book of the _Æneid_ 276
1823
“Arms and the Man I sing, the first who bore” 281
1826
Lines addressed to Joanna H. from Gwerndwffnant in June 1826 282
Holiday at Gwerndwffnant, May 1826 284
Composed when a Probability existed of our being obliged
to quit Rydal Mount as a Residence 289
“I, whose pretty Voice you hear” 295
1827
To my Niece Dora 297
1829
“My Lord and Lady Darlington” 298
1833
To the Utilitarians 299
1835
“Throned in the Sun’s descending car” 300
“And oh! dear soother of the pensive breast” 301
1836
“Said red-ribboned Evans” 301
1837
On an Event in Col. Evans’s Redoubted Performances in Spain 303
1838
“Wouldst thou be gathered to Christ’s chosen flock” 303
Protest against the Ballot, 1838 304
“Said Secrecy to Cowardice and Fraud” 304
A Poet to his Grandchild 305
1840
On a Portrait of I.F., painted by Margaret Gillies 306
To I.F. 307
“Oh Bounty without measure, while the Grace” 308
1842
The Eagle and the Dove 309
Grace Darling 310
“When Severn’s sweeping flood had overthrown” 314
The Pillar of Trajan 314
1846
“Deign, Sovereign Mistress! to accept a lay” 319
1847
Ode, performed in the Senate-House, Cambridge, on the 6th of
July 1847, at the First Commencement after the Installation
of His Royal Highness the Prince Albert, Chancellor of the
University 320
To Miss Sellon 325
“The worship of this Sabbath morn” 325
BIBLIOGRAPHIES--
I. Great Britain 329
II. America 380
III. France 421
ERRATA AND ADDENDA LIST 431
INDEX TO THE POEMS 433
INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES 451
PREFATORY NOTE
The American Bibliography is almost entirely the work of Mrs. St. John
of Ithaca, and is the result of laborious and careful critical research
on her part. The French Bibliography is not so full. I have been
assisted in it mainly by M. Legouis at Lyons, and by workers at the
British Museum. I have also collected a German Bibliography, but it is
in too incomplete a state for publication in its present form.
The English Bibliography is fuller than any of its predecessors; but
there is no such thing as finality in such work, especially when an
addition to the literature of the subject is made nearly every week.
Many kind friends, and coadjutors, have assisted me in it, amongst whom
I may mention Dr. Garnett of the British Museum, and _very specially_
Mr. Tutin, of Hull, and also Mr. John J. Smith, St. Andrews, and Mr.
Maclauchlan, Dundee. If I omit, either here or elsewhere, to record the
assistance which I have received from any one, in my efforts to make
this edition of Wordsworth as perfect as is possible at this stage of
literary criticism and editorship, I sincerely regret it; but many of
my correspondents have specially requested that no mention should be
made of their names or their services.
In the Preface to the first volume of this edition there was an
unfortunate omission. In returning the final proofs to press, I
accidentally transmitted an uncorrected one, in which two names did
not appear. They were those of Mr. Thomas Hutchinson, Dublin, and
Mr. S. C. Hill, of Hughli College, Bengal. The former kindly revised
most of the sheets of Volumes I. and II., and corrected errors,
besides making other valuable suggestions and additions. When his own
Clarendon Press edition of Wordsworth was being prepared for press,
Mr. Hutchinson asked permission to incorporate in it materials which
were not afterwards inserted. This I granted cordially, as a similar
permission had been given to Professor Dowden for his Aldine edition.
The unfortunate omission of Mr. Hutchinson’s name was not discovered
by me till after the issue of volumes I. and II. (which appeared
simultaneously), and it was first brought under my notice by Mr.
Hutchinson’s own letters to the newspapers. My debt to Mr. Hutchinson
is great; and, although I have already thanked him for the services
which he has rendered to the world in connection with Wordsworthian
literature, I may perhaps be allowed to repeat the acknowledgment now.
The revised sheets of Vols. I. and II. of this edition were, however,
submitted to others at the same time that they were sent to Mr.
Hutchinson; more especially to the late Mr. Dykes Campbell, and on his
death to Mr. Belinfante, and then to the late Mr. Kinghorn, all of whom
were engaged by my publishers to assist in the work entrusted to me.
They “turned on the microscope” on my own work, and Mr. Hutchinson’s;
and to them I have been indebted in many ways.
Mr. Hill’s services, in tracing the sources of numerous quotations from
other poets which occur in Wordsworth’s text, have been great. He sent
me his discoveries, unsolicited, and I wish to express very cordially
my indebtedness to him. To discover some of these quotations--there
are several hundreds of them--cost me much labour, before I had the
pleasure of hearing from, or knowing, Mr. Hill; and his assistance
in this matter has been greater than that of any other person. It
will be seen that I have failed--after much study and extensive
correspondence--to discover them all.
In addition to actual quotations--indicated by Wordsworth by inverted
commas in his poems--to trace parallel passages from other poets, or
phrases which may have suggested to him what he recast and glorified,
has seemed to me work not unworthy of accomplishment. At the same time,
and in the same connection, to discover the somewhat similar debts
of later poets to Wordsworth, and to indicate this here and there in
footnotes, may not be wholly useless to posterity.
My obligations to my friend, Mr. Dykes Campbell, are greater than I can
adequately express. He supplied me with much material, drawn from many
quarters; and, although he did not always mention his sources, I had
implicit confidence in him, both as a literary man and a friend. After
his death, through the kindness of Mrs. Campbell, I examined some MS.
volumes of _Wordsworthiana_ written by him, which were of much use to
me.
Some of these were from unknown sources, which I should perhaps have
traced out before making use of them, but, in all my Wordsworth work, I
have acted from first to last on the legal opinion of a distinguished
Judge, that the heir of the writer of literary work could alone
authorise its subsequent publication; and, since the heirs of the Poet
had kindly given me permission to collect and publish his works, I did
so, with a view to the benefit of posterity.
Some of Mr. Campbell’s material was derived from MSS. now in the
possession of Mr. T. Norton Longman, and I have to express my sincere
regret that in the earlier volumes I copied from Mr. Campbell’s
transcripts of these MSS.--which were lent to him on the condition
that no public use should be made of them without Mr. Longman’s
permission--some variations of the text, without mentioning the source
whence they were derived.
I was unaware that these MSS. were lent to Mr. Campbell with the
condition attached, and regret very much that I am unable to trust my
memory to indicate now what variations of text I have quoted from them.
But I may add that Mr. Longman is about to publish a work which will
enable Wordsworth students to become practically acquainted with the
contents of his MSS.
In reference to the poems not published by Wordsworth or his sister
during their lifetime, I have included in this volume not only fugitive
pieces printed in Magazines and elsewhere, but also those which have
been since recovered from numerous manuscript sources. They are of
varying merit. It would be interesting to know, and to record in every
instance, where these manuscripts now are; but this is impossible. In
many cases the manuscripts have recently changed ownership. I have
obtained a sight of many of them, and have been granted permission to
transcribe them, from the fortunate possessors of large autograph
collections, and also from dealers in autographs; but, after the sale
of manuscripts at public auction-rooms, it is, as a rule, impossible to
trace them.
In many cases the MS. variants which have been published in previous
volumes occur in copies of the poems, transcribed by the Wordsworth
household in private letters to friends. I have occasionally indicated
this in footnotes; but, to have done so always would have disfigured
the pages, and frequently the notes would have been longer than the
text. To trace the present possessors of the MSS. would be well-nigh
impossible. It is perhaps worth mentioning that in several cases
Wordsworth entered as “misprints” in future editions, what some of his
editors have considered “new readings.” _E.g._ in _The Excursion_, book
ix. l. 679, “wild” demeanour, instead of “mild” demeanour.
On Nov. 4, 1893, Mr. Aubrey de Vere wrote to me--
“I earnestly hope that, in your ‘monumental edition,’ you will
restore the _Ode, Intimations of Immortality_, to the place
which Wordsworth always assigned to it, that of the High Altar
of his poetic Cathedral; remitting Quillinan’s laureate Ode
on an unworthy, because ‘occasional,’ subject to an Appendix,
as a work that at the time of publication was attributed to
Wordsworth, but was written by another, though it probably
was seen by him, and had a line or two of his in it, and
corrections by him.
“This is certainly the truth; and I should think that he
probably himself told all that truth to the officials, when
transmitting the Ode; but that they concealed the circumstance;
and that Wordsworth, then profoundly depressed in spirits, gave
no more thought to the subject, and soon forgot all about it.…
“Yours very sincerely,
“AUBREY DE VERE.”
It was in compliance with Mr. Aubrey de Vere’s request that, in this
edition, I departed, in a single instance, from the chronological
arrangement of the poems.
It may not be too trivial a detail to mention that I gladly gave
permission to other editors of Wordsworth to make use of any of the
material which I discovered, and brought together, in former editions;
_e.g._ to Mr. George, in Boston, for his edition of _The Prelude_ (in
which, if the reader, or critic, compares my original edition with his
notes, he will see what Mr. George has done); and to Professor Dowden,
Trinity College, Dublin, for his most admirable Aldine edition. For the
latter--which will always hold a high place in Wordsworth literature--I
placed everything asked from me at the disposal of Mr. Dowden.
While these sheets are passing through the press, Dr. Garnett, of the
British Museum--one of the kindest and ablest of bibliographers--has
forwarded to me a contribution, previously sent by him to _The
Academy_, and printed in its issue of January 2, 1897.
I have no means of knowing--or of ultimately discovering--whether that
sonnet, printed as Wordsworth’s, is really his. Dr. Garnett says, in
his letter to me, “The verses were undoubtedly in Wordsworth’s hand”;
and, he adds, “I think they should be preserved, because they are
Wordsworth’s, and as an additional proof of his regard for Camoens,
whom he enumerates elsewhere among great sonnet-writers. I have added
a version of the quatrains, that the piece may be complete. From the
character of the handwriting, the lines would seem to have been written
down in old age; and I am not quite certain of the word which I have
transcribed as ‘Austral.’”
Vasco, whose bold and happy mainyard spread
Sunward thy sails where dawning glory dyed
Heaven’s Orient gate; whose westering prow the tide
Clove, where the day star bows him to his bed:
Not sterner toil than thine, or strife more dread,
Or nobler laud to nobler lyre allied,
His, who did baffled Polypheme deride;
Or his, whose scaring shaft the Harpy fled.
Camoens, he the accomplished and the good,
Gave to thy fame a more illustrious flight
Than that brave vessel, though she sailed so far.
Through him her course along the Austral flood
Is known to all beneath the polar star,
Through him the Antipodes in thy name delight.
WILLIAM KNIGHT.
WORDSWORTH’S POETICAL WORKS
1834
LINES
SUGGESTED BY A PORTRAIT FROM THE PENCIL OF F. STONE
Composed 1834.--Published 1835
[This Portrait has hung for many years in our principal sitting-room,
and represents J. Q.[1] as she was when a girl. The picture, though it
is somewhat thinly painted, has much merit in tone and general effect:
it is chiefly valuable, however, from the sentiment that pervades
it. The anecdote of the saying of the monk in sight of Titian’s
picture was told in this house by Mr. Wilkie, and was, I believe,
first communicated to the public in this poem, the former portion of
which I was composing at the time. Southey heard the story from Miss
Hutchinson, and transferred it to the _Doctor_; but it is not easy to
explain how my friend Mr. Rogers, in a note subsequently added to his
_Italy_, was led to speak of the same remarkable words having many
years before been spoken in his hearing by a monk or priest in front
of a picture of the Last Supper, placed over a Refectory-table in a
convent at Padua.--I.F.]
One of the “Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.”--ED.
Beguiled into forgetfulness of care
Due to the day’s unfinished task; of pen
Or book regardless, and of that fair scene
In Nature’s prodigality displayed
Before my window, oftentimes and long 5
I gaze upon a Portrait whose mild gleam
Of beauty never ceases to enrich
The common light; whose stillness charms the air,
Or seems to charm it, into like repose;
Whose silence, for the pleasure of the ear, 10
Surpasses sweetest music. There she sits
With emblematic purity attired
In a white vest, white as her marble neck
Is, and the pillar of the throat would be
But for the shadow by the drooping chin 15
Cast into that recess--the tender shade,
The shade and light, both there and every where,
And through the very atmosphere she breathes,
Broad, clear, and toned harmoniously, with skill
That might from nature have been learnt in the hour 20
When the lone shepherd sees the morning spread
Upon the mountains. Look at her, whoe’er
Thou be that, kindling with a poet’s soul,
Hast loved the painter’s true Promethean craft
Intensely--from Imagination take 25
The treasure,--what mine eyes behold see thou,
Even though the Atlantic ocean roll between.
A silver line, that runs from brow to crown
And in the middle parts the braided hair,
Just serves to show how delicate a soil 30
The golden harvest grows in; and those eyes,
Soft and capacious as a cloudless sky
Whose azure depth their colour emulates,
Must needs be conversant with upward looks,
Prayer’s voiceless service; but now, seeking nought 35
And shunning nought, their own peculiar life
Of motion they renounce, and with the head
Partake its inclination towards earth
In humble grace, and quiet pensiveness
Caught at the point where it stops short of sadness. 40
Offspring of soul-bewitching Art, make me
Thy confidant! say, whence derived that air
Of calm abstraction? Can the ruling thought
Be with some lover far away, or one
Crossed by misfortune, or of doubted faith? 45
Inapt conjecture! Childhood here, a moon
Crescent in simple loveliness serene,
Has but approached the gates of womanhood,
Not entered them; her heart is yet unpierced
By the blind Archer-god; her fancy free: 50
The fount of feeling, if unsought elsewhere,
Will not be found.
Her right hand, as it lies
Across the slender wrist of the left arm
Upon her lap reposing, holds--but mark
How slackly, for the absent mind permits 55
No firmer grasp--a little wild-flower, joined
As in a posy, with a few pale ears
Of yellowing corn, the same that overtopped
And in their common birthplace sheltered it
’Till they were plucked together; a blue flower 60
Called by the thrifty husbandman a weed;
But Ceres, in her garland, might have worn
That ornament, unblamed. The floweret, held
In scarcely conscious fingers, was, she knows,
(Her Father told her so) in youth’s gay dawn 65
Her Mother’s favourite; and the orphan Girl,
In her own dawn--a dawn less gay and bright,
Loves it, while there in solitary peace
She sits, for that departed Mother’s sake.
--Not from a source less sacred is derived 70
(Surely I do not err) that pensive air
Of calm abstraction through the face diffused
And the whole person.
Words have something told
More than the pencil can, and verily
More than is needed, but the precious Art 75
Forgives their interference--Art divine,
That both creates and fixes, in despite
Of Death and Time, the marvels it hath wrought.
Strange contrasts have we in this world of ours!
That posture, and the look of filial love 80
Thinking of past and gone, with what is left
Dearly united, might be swept away
From this fair Portrait’s fleshly Archetype,
Even by an innocent fancy’s slightest freak
Banished, nor ever, haply, be restored 85
To their lost place, or meet in harmony
So exquisite; but _here_ do they abide,
Enshrined for ages. Is not then the Art
Godlike, a humble branch of the divine,
In visible quest of immortality, 90
Stretched forth with trembling hope?--In every realm,
From high Gibraltar to Siberian plains,
Thousands, in each variety of tongue
That Europe knows, would echo this appeal;
One above all, a Monk who waits on God 95
In the magnific Convent built of yore
To sanctify the Escurial palace. He--
Guiding, from cell to cell and room to room,
A British Painter (eminent for truth
In character,[2] and depth of feeling, shown 100
By labours that have touched the hearts of kings,
And are endeared to simple cottagers)--
Came, in that service, to a glorious work,[3]
Our Lord’s Last Supper, beautiful as when first
The appropriate Picture, fresh from Titian’s hand, 105
Graced the Refectory: and there, while both
Stood with eyes fixed upon that masterpiece,
The hoary Father in the Stranger’s ear
Breathed out these words:--“Here daily do we sit,
Thanks given to God for daily bread, and here 110
Pondering the mischiefs of these restless times,
And thinking of my Brethren, dead, dispersed,
Or changed and changing, I not seldom gaze
Upon this solemn Company unmoved
By shock of circumstance, or lapse of years, 115
Until I cannot but believe that they--
They are in truth the Substance, we
the Shadows.”[4]
So spake the mild Jeronymite, his griefs
Melting away within him like a dream
Ere he had ceased to gaze, perhaps to speak: 120
And I, grown old, but in a happier land,
Domestic Portrait! have to verse consigned
In thy calm presence those heart-moving words:
Words that can soothe, more than they agitate;
Whose spirit, like the angel that went down 125
Into Bethesda’s pool, with healing virtue
Informs the fountain in the human breast
Which[5] by the visitation was disturbed.
----But why this stealing tear? Companion mute,
On thee I look, not sorrowing; fare thee well, 130
My Song’s Inspirer, once again farewell![6]
[1] Jemima Quillinan, the eldest daughter of Edward Quillinan,
Wordsworth’s future son-in-law. The portrait was taken when she was a
school-girl, and while her father resided at Oporto.--ED.
[2] Wilkie. See the Fenwick note.--ED.
[3] 1837.
Left not unvisited a glorious work,
1835.
[4] “When Wilkie was in the Escurial, looking at Titian’s famous
picture of the Last Supper, in the Refectory there, an old Jeronymite
said to him: ‘I have sate daily in sight of that picture for now nearly
three score years; during that time my companions have dropt off, one
after another--all who were my seniors, all who were my contemporaries,
and many, or most of those who were younger than myself; more than one
generation has passed away, and there the figures in the picture have
remained unchanged! I look at them till I sometimes think that they are
the realities, and we but shadows!’
I wish I could record the name of the monk by whom that natural feeling
was so feelingly and strikingly expressed.
The shows of things are better than themselves,
says the author of the tragedy of Nero, whose name also I could wish
had been forthcoming; and the classical reader will remember the lines
of Sophocles:
ὁρῶ γὰρ ἡμᾶς οὐδὲν ὄντας ἄλλο, πλὴν
εἴδωλ’, ὅσοιπερ ζῶμεν, ὴ κούφην σκιάν.
These are reflections which should make us think
Of that same time when no more change shall be
But steadfast rest of all things, firmly stayd
Upon the pillars of Eternity,
That is contrain to mutability;
For all that moveth doth in change delight:
But henceforth all shall rest eternally
With Him that is the God of Sabaoth hight,
O that great Sabaoth God grant me that Sabbath’s sight.
SPENSER.”
(Southey, _The Doctor_, vol. iii. p. 235.)--ED.
[5] 1837.
That …
1835.
[6] The pile of buildings, composing the palace and convent of San
Lorenzo, has, in common usage, lost its proper name in that of the
_Escurial_, a village at the foot of the hill upon which the splendid
edifice, built by Philip the Second, stands. It need scarcely be added,
that Wilkie is the painter alluded to.--W.W. 1835.
THE FOREGOING SUBJECT RESUMED
Composed 1834.--Published 1835.
One of the “Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.”--ED.
Among a grave fraternity of Monks,
For One, but surely not for One alone,
Triumphs, in that great work, the Painter’s skill,
Humbling the body, to exalt the soul;
Yet representing, amid wreck and wrong 5
And dissolution and decay, the warm
And breathing life of flesh, as if already
Clothed with impassive majesty, and graced
With no mean earnest of a heritage
Assigned to it in future worlds. Thou, too, 10
With thy memorial flower, meek Portraiture!
From whose serene companionship I passed
Pursued by thoughts that haunt me still; thou also--
Though but a simple object, into light
Called forth by those affections that endear 15
The private hearth; though keeping thy sole seat
In singleness, and little tried by time,
Creation, as it were, of yesterday--
With a congenial function art endued
For each and all of us, together joined 20
In course of nature under a low roof
By charities and duties that proceed
Out of the bosom of a wiser vow.
To a like salutary sense of awe
Or sacred wonder, growing with the power 25
Of meditation that attempts to weigh,
In faithful scales, things and their opposites,
Can thy enduring quiet gently raise
A household small and sensitive,--whose love,
Dependent as in part its blessings are 30
Upon frail ties dissolving or dissolved
On earth, will be revived, we trust, in heaven.[7]
[7] In the class entitled “Musings,” in Mr. Southey’s Minor Poems, is
one upon his own miniature picture, taken in childhood, and another
upon a landscape painted by Gaspar Poussin. It is possible that every
word of the above verses, though similar in subject, might have been
written had the author been unacquainted with those beautiful effusions
of poetic sentiment. But, for his own satisfaction, he must be allowed
thus publicly to acknowledge the pleasure those two poems of his Friend
have given him, and the grateful influence they have upon his mind as
often as he reads them, or thinks of them.--W.W. 1835.
TO A CHILD
WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM[8]
Composed 1834.--Published 1835
[This quatrain was extempore on observing this image, as I had often
done, on the lawn of Rydal Mount. It was first written down in the
Album of my God-daughter, Rotha Quillinan.--I.F.]
In 1837 this was one of the “Inscriptions.” In 1845 it was transferred
to the “Miscellaneous Poems.”--ED.
Small service is true service while it lasts:
Of humblest Friends, bright Creature! scorn not one![9]
The Daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dew-drop from the Sun.[10]
[8] The original title (1835) was “Written in an Album.” In 1837 it was
“Written in the Album of a Child.” In 1845 the title was reconstructed
as above.
[9] 1845.
Of Friends, however humble, scorn not one:
1835.
[10] Compare the lines, written in 1845, beginning--
So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive.
ED.
LINES
WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF THE COUNTESS OF LONSDALE,[11] NOV. 5, 1834
Composed 1834.--Published 1835
[This is a faithful picture of that amiable Lady, as she then was. The
youthfulness of figure and demeanour and habits, which she retained in
almost unprecedented degree, departed a very few years after, and she
died without violent disease by gradual decay before she reached the
period of old age.--I.F.]
This was placed, in 1845, among the “Miscellaneous Poems.”--ED.
Lady! a Pen (perhaps with thy regard,
Among the Favoured, favoured not the least)
Left, ’mid the Records of this Book inscribed,
Deliberate traces, registers of thought
And feeling, suited to the place and time 5
That gave them birth:--months passed, and still this hand,
That had not been too timid to imprint
Words which the virtues of thy Lord inspired,
Was yet not bold enough to write of Thee.
And why that scrupulous reserve? In sooth 10
The blameless cause lay in the Theme itself.
Flowers are there many that delight to strive
With the sharp wind, and seem to court the shower,
Yet are by nature careless of the sun
Whether he shine on them or not; and some, 15
Where’er he moves along the unclouded sky,
Turn a broad front full on his flattering beams:
Others do rather from their notice shrink,
Loving the dewy shade,--a humble band,
Modest and sweet, a progeny of earth, 20
Congenial with thy mind and character,
High-born Augusta!
Witness Towers, and Groves!
And Thou, wild Stream, that giv’st the honoured name[12]
Of Lowther to this ancient Line, bear witness[13]
From thy most secret haunts; and ye Parterres, 25
Which She is pleased and proud to call her own,
Witness how oft upon my noble Friend
_Mute_ offerings, tribute from an inward sense
Of admiration and respectful love,
Have waited--till the affections could no more 30
Endure that silence, and broke out in song,
Snatches of music taken up and dropt
Like those self-solacing, those under, notes
Trilled by the redbreast, when autumnal leaves
Are thin upon the bough. Mine, only mine, 35
The pleasure was, and no one heard the praise,
Checked, in the moment of its issue, checked
And reprehended, by a fancied blush
From the pure qualities that called it forth.
Thus Virtue lives debarred from Virtue’s meed; 40
Thus, Lady, is retiredness a veil
That, while it only spreads a softening charm
O’er features looked at by discerning eyes,
Hides half their beauty from the common gaze;
And thus,[14] even on the exposed and breezy hill 45
Of lofty station, female goodness walks,
When side by side with lunar gentleness,
As in a cloister. Yet the grateful Poor
(Such the immunities of low estate,
Plain Nature’s enviable privilege, 50
Her sacred recompense for many wants)
Open their hearts before Thee, pouring out
All that they think and feel, with tears of joy;
And benedictions not unheard in heaven:
And friend in the ear of friend, where speech is free 55
To follow truth, is eloquent as they.
Then let the Book receive in these prompt lines
A just memorial; and thine eyes consent
To read that they, who mark thy course, behold
A life declining with the golden light 60
Of summer, in the season of sere leaves;[15]
See cheerfulness undamped by stealing Time;
See studied kindness flow with easy stream,
Illustrated with inborn courtesy;
And an habitual disregard of self 65
Balanced by vigilance for others’ weal.
And shall the Verse not tell of lighter gifts
With these ennobling attributes conjoined
And blended, in peculiar harmony,
By Youth’s surviving spirit? What agile grace! 70
A nymph-like liberty, in nymph-like form,
Beheld with wonder; whether floor or path
Thou tread; or sweep--borne on the managed steed--[16]
Fleet as the shadows, over down or field,
Driven by strong winds at play among the clouds. 75
Yet one word more--one farewell word--a wish
Which came, but it has passed into a prayer--
That, as thy sun in brightness is declining,
So--at an hour yet distant for _their_ sakes
Whose tender love, here faltering on the way 80
Of a diviner love, will be forgiven--
So may it set in peace, to rise again
For everlasting glory won by faith.
[11] 1837.
Countess of ----
1835.
[12] The Lowther stream passes the Castle, and joins the Eamont below
Brougham Hall, near Penrith.--ED.
[13] 1837.
Towers, and stately Groves,
Bear witness for me; thou, too, Mountain-stream!
1835.
[14]
When hence …
C.
[15] Compare _September, 1819_, and _Upon the Same Occasion_, vol. vi.
pp. 201, 202, especially the lines in the latter--
Me, conscious that my leaf is sere,
And yellow on the bough, etc.
ED.
[16] 1837.
Thou tread, or on the managed steed art borne,
1835.
1835
Two Evening Voluntaries, two Elegies (on the deaths of Charles Lamb and
James Hogg), the lines on the Bird of Paradise, and a few sonnets, make
up the poems belonging to the year 1835.--ED.
“WHY ART THOU SILENT? IS THY LOVE A PLANT”
Composed 1835 (or earlier).--Published 1835
[In the month of January,--when Dora and I were walking from Town-end,
Grasmere, across the Vale, snow being on the ground, she espied, in
the thick though leafless hedge, a bird’s nest half-filled with snow.
Out of this comfortless appearance arose this Sonnet, which was, in
fact, written without the least reference to any individual object,
but merely to prove to myself that I could, if I thought fit, write in
a strain that Poets have been fond of. On the 14th of February in the
same year, my daughter, in a sportive mood, sent it as a Valentine,
under a fictitious name, to her cousin C.W.--I.F.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant?
Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant-- 5
Bound to thy service with unceasing care,[17]
The mind’s least generous wish a mendicant
For nought but what thy happiness could spare.
Speak--though this soft warm heart, once free to hold
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, 10
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold
Than a forsaken bird’s-nest filled with snow
’Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine--
Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know!
[17] 1845.
… with incessant care,
C.
(As would my deeds have been) with hourly care,
1835.
TO THE MOON
(COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE,--ON THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND)
Composed 1835.--Published 1837
One of the “Evening Voluntaries.”--ED.
Wanderer! that stoop’st so low, and com’st so near
To human life’s unsettled atmosphere;
Who lov’st with Night and Silence to partake,
So might it seem, the cares of them that wake;
And, through the cottage-lattice softly peeping, 5
Dost shield from harm the humblest of the sleeping;
What pleasure once encompassed those sweet names
Which yet in thy behalf the Poet claims,
An idolizing dreamer as of yore!--
I slight them all; and, on this sea-beat shore 10
Sole-sitting, only can to thoughts attend
That bid me hail thee as the SAILOR’S FRIEND;
So call thee for heaven’s grace through thee made known
By confidence supplied and mercy shown,
When not a twinkling star or beacon’s light 15
Abates the perils of a stormy night;
And for less obvious benefits, that find
Their way, with thy pure help, to heart and mind;
Both for the adventurer starting in life’s prime;
And veteran ranging round from clime to clime, 20
Long-baffled hope’s slow fever in his veins,
And wounds and weakness oft his labour’s sole remains.
The aspiring Mountains and the winding Streams,
Empress of Night! are gladdened by thy beams;
A look of thine the wilderness pervades, 25
And penetrates the forest’s inmost shades;
Thou, chequering peaceably the minster’s gloom,
Guid’st the pale Mourner to the lost one’s tomb;
Canst reach the Prisoner--to his grated cell
Welcome, though silent and intangible!-- 30
And lives there one, of all that come and go
On the great waters toiling to and fro,
One, who has watched thee at some quiet hour
Enthroned aloft in undisputed power,
Or crossed by vapoury streaks and clouds that move 35
Catching the lustre they in part reprove--
Nor sometimes felt a fitness in thy sway
To call up thoughts that shun the glare of day,
And make the serious happier than the gay?
Yes, lovely Moon! if thou so mildly bright 40
Dost rouse, yet surely in thy own despite,
To fiercer mood the phrenzy-stricken brain,
Let me a compensating faith maintain;
That there’s a sensitive, a tender, part
Which thou canst touch in every human heart, 45
For healing and composure.--But, as least
And mightiest billows ever have confessed
Thy domination; as the whole vast Sea
Feels through her lowest depths thy sovereignty;
So shines that countenance with especial grace 50
On them who urge the keel her _plains_ to trace
Furrowing its way right onward. The most rude,
Cut off from home and country, may have stood--
Even till long gazing hath bedimmed his eye,
Or the mute rapture ended in a sigh-- 55
Touched by accordance of thy placid cheer,
With some internal lights to memory dear,
Or fancies stealing forth to soothe the breast
Tired with its daily share of earth’s unrest,--
Gentle awakenings, visitations meek; 60
A kindly influence whereof few will speak,
Though it can wet with tears the hardiest cheek.
And when thy beauty in the shadowy cave
Is hidden, buried in its monthly grave;[18]
Then, while the Sailor, ’mid an open sea 65
Swept by a favouring wind that leaves thought free,
Paces the deck--no star perhaps in sight,
And nothing save the moving ship’s own light
To cheer the long dark hours of vacant night--
Oft with his musings does thy image blend, 70
In his mind’s eye thy crescent horns ascend,
And thou art still, O Moon, that SAILOR’S FRIEND!
[18] Compare--
When thou wert hidden in thy monthly grave,
in the lines _Written in a Grotto_, p. 235.--ED.
TO THE MOON
(RYDAL)
Composed 1835.--Published 1837
One of the “Evening Voluntaries.”--ED.
Queen of the stars!--so gentle, so benign,
That ancient Fable did to thee assign,
When darkness creeping o’er thy silver brow
Warned thee these upper regions to forego,
Alternate empire in the shades below-- 5
A Bard, who, lately near the wide-spread sea
Traversed by gleaming ships, looked up to thee
With grateful thoughts, doth now thy rising hail
From the close confines of a shadowy vale.
Glory of night, conspicuous yet serene, 10
Nor less attractive when by glimpses seen
Through cloudy umbrage,[19] well might that fair face,
And all those attributes of modest grace,
In days when Fancy wrought unchecked by fear,
Down to the green earth fetch thee from thy sphere, 15
To sit in leafy woods by fountains clear!
O still belov’d (for thine, meek Power, are charms
That fascinate the very Babe in arms,
While he, uplifted towards thee, laughs outright,
Spreading his little palms in his glad Mother’s sight) 20
O still belov’d, once worshipped! Time, that frowns
In his destructive flight on earthly crowns,
Spares thy mild splendour; still those far-shot beams
Tremble on dancing waves and rippling streams
With stainless touch, as chaste as when thy praise 25
Was sung by Virgin-choirs in festal lays;
And through dark trials still dost thou explore
Thy way for increase punctual as of yore,
When teeming Matrons--yielding to rude faith
In mysteries of birth and life and death 30
And painful struggle and deliverance--prayed
Of thee to visit them with lenient aid.
What though the rites be swept away, the fanes
Extinct that echoed to the votive strains;
Yet thy mild aspect does not, cannot, cease 35
Love to promote and purity and peace;
And Fancy, unreproved, even yet may trace
Faint types of suffering in thy beamless face.
Then, silent Monitress! let us--not blind
To worlds unthought of till the searching mind 40
Of Science laid them open to mankind--
Told, also, how the voiceless heavens declare
God’s glory; and acknowledging thy share
In that blest charge; let us--without offence
To aught of highest, holiest, influence-- 45
Receive whatever good ’tis given thee to dispense.
May sage and simple, catching with one eye
The moral intimations of the sky,
Learn from thy course, where’er their own be taken,
“To look on tempests, and be never shaken”;[20] 50
To keep with faithful step the appointed way
Eclipsing or eclipsed, by night or day,
And from example of thy monthly range
Gently to brook decline and fatal change;
Meek, patient, stedfast, and with loftier scope, 55
Than thy revival yields, for gladsome hope![21]
[19] Compare _The Triad_, vol. vii. p. 181.--ED.
[20] Compare l. 6 of Shakespeare’s sonnet, beginning--
Let me not to the marriage of true minds.
ED.
[21] See a fragment of ten lines, which was written by Wordsworth in
MS. after the above, in a copy of his poems. They are printed in the
Appendix to this volume.--ED.
WRITTEN AFTER THE DEATH OF CHARLES LAMB
[Light will be thrown upon the tragic circumstance alluded to in this
poem when, after the death of Charles Lamb’s Sister, his biographer,
Mr. Sergeant Talfourd, shall be at liberty to relate particulars which
could not, at the time his Memoir was written, be given to the public.
Mary Lamb was ten years older than her brother, and has survived him as
long a time. Were I to give way to my own feelings, I should dwell not
only on her genius and intellectual powers, but upon the delicacy and
refinement of manner which she maintained inviolable under most trying
circumstances. She was loved and honoured by all her brother’s friends;
and others, some of them strange characters, whom his philanthropic
peculiarities induced him to countenance. The death of C. Lamb himself
was doubtless hastened by his sorrow for that of Coleridge, to whom
he had been attached from the time of their being school-fellows at
Christ’s Hospital. Lamb was a good Latin scholar, and probably would
have gone to college upon one of the school foundations but for the
impediment in his speech. Had such been his lot, he would most likely
have been preserved from the indulgences of social humours and fancies
which were often injurious to himself, and causes of severe regret to
his friends, without really benefiting the object of his misapplied
kindness.--I.F.]
In the edition of 1837, these lines had no title. They were printed
privately,--before their first appearance in that edition,--as a small
pamphlet of seven pages without title or heading. A copy will be found
in the fifth volume of the collection of pamphlets, forming part of
the library bequeathed by the late Mr. John Forster to the South
Kensington Museum. There are several readings to be found only in this
privately-printed edition. The poem was placed among the “Epitaphs and
Elegiac Pieces.”--ED.
Composed November 19, 1835.--Published 1837
To a good Man of most dear memory[22]
This Stone is sacred.[23] Here he lies apart
From the great city where he first drew breath,
Was reared and taught; and humbly earned his bread,
To the strict labours of the merchant’s desk 5
By duty chained. Not seldom did those tasks
Tease, and the thought of time so spent depress,
His spirit, but the recompense was high;
Firm Independence, Bounty’s rightful sire;
Affections, warm as sunshine, free as air; 10
And when the precious hours of leisure came,
Knowledge and wisdom, gained from converse sweet
With books, or while he ranged the crowded streets
With a keen eye, and overflowing heart:
So genius triumphed over seeming wrong, 15
And poured out truth in works by thoughtful love
Inspired--works potent over smiles and tears.
And as round mountain-tops the lightning plays,
Thus innocently sported, breaking forth
As from a cloud of some grave sympathy, 20
Humour and wild instinctive wit, and all
The vivid flashes of his spoken words.
From the most gentle creature nursed in fields[24]
Had been derived the name he bore--a name,
Wherever christian altars have been raised, 25
Hallowed to meekness and to innocence;
And if in him meekness at times gave way,
Provoked out of herself by troubles strange,
Many and strange, that hung about his life;[25]
Still, at the centre of his being, lodged 30
A soul by resignation sanctified:
And if too often, self-reproached, he felt
That innocence belongs not to our kind,
A power that never ceased to abide in him,
Charity, ’mid the multitude of sins[26] 35
That she can cover, left not his exposed
To an unforgiving judgment from just Heaven.
O, he was good, if e’er a good Man lived!
From a reflecting mind and sorrowing heart
Those simple lines flowed with an earnest wish, 40
Though but a doubting hope, that they might serve
Fitly to guard the precious dust of him
Whose virtues called them forth. That aim is missed;
For much that truth most urgently required
Had from a faltering pen been asked in vain: 45
Yet, haply, on the printed page received,
The imperfect record, there, may stand unblamed
As long as verse of mine shall breathe the air
Of memory, or see the light of love.[27]
Thou wert a scorner of the fields, my Friend, 50
But more in show than truth;[28] and from the fields,
And from the mountains, to thy rural grave
Transported, my soothed spirit hovers o’er
Its green untrodden turf, and blowing flowers;
And taking up a voice shall speak (tho’ still 55
Awed by the theme’s peculiar sanctity
Which words less free presumed not even to touch)
Of that fraternal love, whose heaven-lit lamp
From infancy, through manhood, to the last
Of threescore years, and to thy latest hour, 60
Burnt on with ever-strengthening light, enshrined[29]
Within thy bosom.
“Wonderful” hath been
The love established between man and man,
“Passing the love of women;” and between
Man and his help-mate in fast wedlock joined 65
Through God,[30] is raised a spirit and soul of love
Without whose blissful influence Paradise
Had been no Paradise; and earth were now
A waste where creatures bearing human form,
Direst of savage beasts, would roam in fear, 70
Joyless and comfortless. Our days glide on;[31]
And let him grieve who cannot choose but grieve
That he hath been an Elm without his Vine,
And her bright dower of clustering charities,
That, round his trunk and branches, might have clung 75
Enriching and adorning. Unto thee,
Not so enriched, not so adorned, to thee
Was given (say rather thou of later birth
Wert given to her) a Sister--’tis a word
Timidly uttered, for she _lives_, the meek, 80
The self-restraining, and the ever-kind;
In whom thy reason and intelligent heart
Found--for all interests, hopes, and tender cares,
All softening, humanising, hallowing powers,
Whether withheld, or for her sake unsought-- 85
More than sufficient recompense!
Her love
(What weakness prompts the voice to tell it here?)
Was as the love of mothers; and when years,
Lifting the boy to man’s estate, had called
The long-protected to assume the part 90
Of a protector, the first filial tie
Was undissolved; and, in or out of sight,
Remained imperishably interwoven
With life itself. Thus, ’mid a shifting world,
Did they together testify of time[32] 95
And season’s difference--a double tree
With two collateral stems sprung from one root;
Such were they--such thro’ life they _might_ have been
In union, in partition only such;
Otherwise wrought the will of the Most High; 100
Yet, thro’ all visitations and all trials,
Still they were faithful; like two vessels launched
From the same beach one ocean to explore[33]
With mutual help, and sailing--to their league
True, as inexorable winds, or bars 105
Floating or fixed of polar ice, allow.[34]
But turn we rather, let my spirit turn
With thine, O silent and invisible Friend!
To those dear intervals, nor rare nor brief,
When reunited, and by choice withdrawn 110
From miscellaneous converse, ye were taught
That the remembrance of foregone distress,
And the worse fear of future ill (which oft
Doth hang around it, as a sickly child
Upon its mother) may be both alike 115
Disarmed of power to unsettle present good
So prized, and things inward and outward held
In such an even balance, that the heart
Acknowledges God’s grace, his mercy feels,
And in its depth of gratitude is still. 120
O gift divine of quiet sequestration!
The hermit, exercised in prayer and praise,
And feeding daily on the hope of heaven,
Is happy in his vow, and fondly cleaves
To life-long singleness; but happier far 125
Was to your souls, and, to the thoughts of others,
A thousand times more beautiful appeared,
Your _dual_ loneliness. The sacred tie
Is broken; yet why grieve? for Time but holds
His moiety in trust, till Joy shall lead 130
To the blest world where parting is unknown.[35]
[22] 1837.
_To the dear memory of a frail good Man_
In privately printed edition.
[23] Charles Lamb died December 27, 1834, and was buried in Edmonton
Churchyard, in a spot selected by himself.--ED.
[24] This way of indicating the _name_ of my lamented friend has been
found fault with, perhaps rightly so; but I may say in justification of
the double sense of the word, that similar allusions are not uncommon
in epitaphs. One of the best in our language in verse, I ever read,
was upon a person who bore the name of Palmer†; and the course of the
thought, throughout, turned upon the Life of the Departed, considered
as a pilgrimage. Nor can I think that the objection in the present
case will have much force with any one who remembers Charles Lamb’s
beautiful sonnet addressed to his own name, and ending--
No deed of mine shall shame thee, gentle name!
W. W. 1837.
† 1840.
Pilgrim;
1837.
Professor Henry Reed, in his edition of 1837, added the following note
to Wordsworth’s. “In _Hierologus_, a Church Tour through England and
Wales, I have met with an epitaph which is probably the one alluded to
above … a Kentish epitaph on one Palmer:
Palmers all our fathers were;
I, a Palmer lived here,
And traveyled sore, till worn with age,
I ended this world’s pilgrimage,
On the blest Ascension Day
In the cheerful month of May.”
The above is Professor Reed’s note. The following is an exact copy of
the epitaph:--
_Palmers_ all our faders were;
I, a _Palmer_ livyd here
And travyld still till worne wyth age,
I endyd this world’s pylgramage,
On the blyst assention day
In the cherful month of May;
A thowsand wyth fowre hundryd seven,
And took my jorney hense to heven.
(Printed by Weever.)
ED.
[25] Compare Talfourd’s _Final Memorials of Charles Lamb_,
_passim_.--ED.
[26] 1837.
_He had a constant friend--in Charity_;
HER _who, among_ a multitude of sins,
In privately printed edition.
[27] 1837.
From a reflecting mind and sorrowing heart
This tribute flow’d, with hope that it might guard
The dust of him whose virtues call’d it forth;
But ’tis a little space of earth that man,
Stretch’d out in death, is doom’d to occupy;
Still smaller space doth modest custom yield,
On sculptured tomb or tablet, to the claims
Of the deceased, or rights of the bereft.
’Tis well; and tho’, the record overstepped
Those narrow bounds, yet on the printed page
Received, there may it stand, I trust, unblamed
As long as verse of mine shall steal from tears
Their bitterness, or live to shed a gleam
Of solace over one dejected thought.
In privately printed edition.
Professor Dowden quotes, from “a slip of MS. in the poet’s
hand-writing,” the following variation of these lines--
’Tis well, and if the Record in the strength
And earnestness of feeling, overpass’d
Those narrow limits and so miss’d its aim,
Yet will I trust that on the printed page
Received, it there may keep a place unblamed.
ED.
[28] Lamb’s indifference to the country “was a sort of ‘mock apparel,’
in which it was his humour at times to invest himself.” (H. N.
Coleridge, Supplement to the _Biographia Literaria_, p. 333.)--ED.
[29] 1837.
Burned, and with ever-strengthening light, enshrined
In privately printed edition.
[30] 1837.
By God, …
In privately printed edition.
[31] 1837.
… Our days pass on;
In privately printed edition.
[32] 1837.
Together stood they witnessing of time
In privately printed edition.
[33] 1837.
Yet, in all visitations, through all trials
Still they were faithful, like two goodly ships
Launch’d from the beach, …
In privately printed edition.
[34] Compare the testimony borne to Mary Lamb by Mr. Procter (Barry
Cornwall), and by Henry Crabb Robinson.--ED.
[35] 1837.
… The sacred tie
Is broken, to become more sacred still.
In privately printed edition.
Wordsworth originally meant to write an epitaph on Charles Lamb,
but his verse grew into an elegy of some length. A reference to the
circumstance of its “composition” will be found in one of his letters,
in a later volume.--ED.
EXTEMPORE EFFUSION UPON THE DEATH OF JAMES HOGG
Composed 1835.--Published 1835
[These verses were written extempore, immediately after reading a
notice of the Ettrick Shepherd’s death, in the Newcastle paper, to the
Editor of which I sent a copy for publication. The persons lamented
in these verses were all either of my friends or acquaintance. In
Lockhart’s _Life of Sir Walter Scott_, an account is given of my
first meeting with him in 1803. How the Ettrick Shepherd and I became
known to each other has already been mentioned in these notes. He was
undoubtedly a man of original genius, but of coarse manners and low
and offensive opinions. Of Coleridge and Lamb I need not speak here.
Crabbe I have met in London at Mr. Rogers’s, but more frequently and
favourably at Mr. Hoare’s upon Hampstead Heath. Every spring he used to
pay that family a visit of some length, and was upon terms of intimate
friendship with Mrs. Hoare, and still more with her daughter-in-law,
who has a large collection of his letters addressed to herself. After
the Poet’s decease, application was made to her to give up these
letters to his biographer, that they, or at least part of them, might
be given to the public. She hesitated to comply, and asked my opinion
on the subject. “By no means,” was my answer, grounded not upon any
objection there might be to publishing a selection from these letters,
but from an aversion I have always felt to meet idle curiosity by
calling back the recently departed to become the object of trivial
and familiar gossip. Crabbe obviously for the most part preferred the
company of women to that of men, for this among other reasons, that
he did not like to be put upon the stretch in general conversation:
accordingly in miscellaneous society his _talk_ was so much below what
might have been expected from a man so deservedly celebrated, that to
me it seemed trifling. It must upon other occasions have been of a
different character, as I found in our rambles together on Hampstead
Heath, and not so much from a readiness to communicate his knowledge
of life and manners as of natural history in all its branches. His
mind was inquisitive, and he seems to have taken refuge from the
remembrance of the distresses he had gone through, in these studies
and the employments to which they led. Moreover, such contemplations
might tend profitably to counterbalance the painful truths which he had
collected from his intercourse with mankind. Had I been more intimate
with him, I should have ventured to touch upon his office as a minister
of the Gospel, and how far his heart and soul were in it so as to make
him a zealous and diligent labourer: in poetry, though he wrote much
as we all know, he assuredly was not so. I happened once to speak of
pains as necessary to produce merit of a certain kind which I highly
valued: his observation was--“It is not worth while.” You are quite
right, thought I, if the labour encroaches upon the time due to teach
truth as a steward of the mysteries of God: if there be cause to fear
_that_, write less: but, if poetry is to be produced at all, make
what you do produce as good as you can. Mr. Rogers once told me that
he expressed his regret to Crabbe that he wrote in his later works so
much less correctly than in his earlier. “Yes,” replied he, “but then
I had a reputation to make; now I can afford to relax.” Whether it
was from a modest estimate of his own qualifications, or from causes
less creditable, his motives for writing verse and his hopes and aims
were not so high as is to be desired. After being silent for more than
twenty years, he again applied himself to poetry, upon the spur of
applause he received from the periodical publications of the day, as he
himself tells us in one of his prefaces. Is it not to be lamented that
a man who was so conversant with permanent truth, and whose writings
are so valuable an acquisition to our country’s literature, should have
_required_ an impulse from such a quarter? Mrs. Hemans was unfortunate
as a poetess in being obliged by circumstances to write for money, and
that so frequently and so much, that she was compelled to look out for
subjects wherever she could find them, and to write as expeditiously as
possible. As a woman, she was to a considerable degree a spoilt child
of the world. She had been early in life distinguished for talent, and
poems of hers were published while she was a girl. She had also been
handsome in her youth, but her education had been most unfortunate.
She was totally ignorant of housewifery, and could as easily have
managed the spear of Minerva as her needle. It was from observing these
deficiencies, that, one day while she was under my roof, I _purposely_
directed her attention to household economy, and told her I had
purchased _Scales_ which I intended to present to a young lady as a
wedding present; pointed out their utility (for her especial benefit)
and said that no ménage ought to be without them. Mrs. Hemans, not in
the least suspecting my drift, reported this saying, in a letter to a
friend at the time, as a proof of my simplicity. Being disposed to make
large allowances for the faults of her education and the circumstances
in which she was placed, I felt most kindly disposed towards her, and
took her part upon all occasions, and I was not a little affected
by learning that after she withdrew to Ireland, a long and severe
sickness raised her spirit as it depressed her body. This I heard from
her most intimate friends, and there is striking evidence of it in a
poem written and published not long before her death. These notices
of Mrs. Hemans would be very unsatisfactory to her intimate friends,
as indeed they are to myself, not so much for what is said, but what
for brevity’s sake is left unsaid. Let it suffice to add, there was
much sympathy between us, and, if opportunity had been allowed me to
see more of her, I should have loved and valued her accordingly; as it
is, I remember her with true affection for her amiable qualities, and,
above all, for her delicate and irreproachable conduct during her long
separation from an unfeeling husband, whom she had been led to marry
from the romantic notions of inexperienced youth. Upon this husband I
never heard her cast the least reproach, nor did I ever hear her even
name him, though she did not wholly forbear to touch upon her domestic
position; but never so that any fault could be found with her manner of
adverting to it. --I.F.]
This first appeared in _The Athenæum_, December 12, 1835, and in
the edition of 1837 it was included among the “Epitaphs and Elegiac
Pieces.”--ED.
When first, descending from the moorlands,
I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide
Along a bare and open valley,
The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide.[36]
When last along its banks I wandered, 5
Through groves that had begun to shed
Their golden leaves upon the pathways,
My steps the Border-minstrel led.
The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer,[37]
’Mid mouldering ruins low he lies;[38] 10
And death upon the braes of Yarrow,
Has closed the Shepherd-poet’s eyes:[39]
Nor has the rolling year twice measured,
From sign to sign, its stedfast course,
Since every mortal power of Coleridge 15
Was frozen at its marvellous source;[40]
The rapt One, of the godlike forehead,[41]
The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth:
And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle,
Has vanished from his lonely hearth.[42] 20
Like clouds that rake the mountain-summits,[43]
Or waves that own no curbing hand,
How fast has brother followed brother,
From sunshine to the sunless land!
Yet I, whose lids from infant slumber[44] 25
Were earlier raised, remain to hear
A timid voice, that asks in whispers,
“Who next will drop and disappear?”
Our haughty life is crowned with darkness,
Like London with its own black wreath, 30
On which with thee, O Crabbe! forth-looking,
I gazed from Hampstead’s breezy heath.
As if but yesterday departed,
Thou too art gone before;[45] but why,
O’er ripe fruit, seasonably gathered, 35
Should frail survivors heave a sigh?
Mourn rather for that holy Spirit,
Sweet as the spring, as ocean deep;
For Her who, ere her summer faded,
Has sunk into a breathless sleep.[46] 40
No more of old romantic sorrows,
For slaughtered Youth or love-lorn Maid!
With sharper grief is Yarrow smitten,
And Ettrick mourns with her their Poet dead.[47]
[36] Compare _Yarrow Visited_ (September, 1814), vol. vi. p. 35.--ED.
[37] Compare _Yarrow Revisited_ (1831), vol. vii. p. 278.--ED.
[38] Scott died at Abbotsford, on the 21st September 1832, and was
buried in Dryburgh Abbey.--ED.
[39] Hogg died at Altrive, on the 21st November 1835.--ED.
[40] Coleridge died at Highgate, on the 25th July 1834.--ED.
[41] Compare the _Stanzas written in my Pocket Copy of Thomson’s
“Castle of Indolence”_ (vol. ii. p. 307)--
Profound his forehead was, though not severe.
ED.
[42] Lamb died in London, on the 27th December 1834.--ED.
[43] “This expression is borrowed from a sonnet by Mr. G. Bell, the
author of a small volume of poems lately printed at Penrith. Speaking
of Skiddaw he says--
Yon dark cloud ‘rakes,’ and shrouds its noble brow.”
(Henry Reed, 1837.)--ED.
[44] 1845.
… slumbers
1837.
[45] George Crabbe died at Trowbridge, Wiltshire, on the 3rd of
February 1832.--ED.
[46] Felicia Hemans died 16th May 1835.--ED.
[47]
Grieve rather for that holy Spirit
Pure as the sky, as ocean deep;
For her who ere the summer faded
Has sunk into a breathless sleep.
No more of old romantic sorrows
For slaughtered Youth or love-lorn Maid!
With sharper grief is Yarrow smitten,
And Ettrick mourns her Shepherd Poet dead.
C.
UPON SEEING A COLOURED DRAWING OF THE BIRD OF PARADISE IN AN ALBUM
Composed 1835.--Published 1836
[I cannot forbear to record that the last seven lines of this Poem were
composed in bed during the night of the day on which my sister Sara
Hutchinson died about 6 P.M., and it was the thought of her innocent
and beautiful life that, through faith, prompted the words----
On wings that fear no glance of God’s pure sight,
No tempest from his breath.
The reader will find two poems on pictures of this bird among my
Poems. I will here observe that in a far greater number of instances
than have been mentioned in these notes one poem has, as in this
case, grown out of another, either because I felt the subject had
been inadequately treated, or that the thoughts and images suggested
in course of composition have been such as I found interfered with
the unity indispensable to every work of art, however humble in
character.--I.F.]
One of the “Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.”--ED.
Who rashly strove thy Image to portray?
Thou buoyant minion of the tropic air;
How could he think of the live creature----gay
With a divinity of colours, drest
In all her brightness, from the dancing crest 5
Far as the last gleam of the filmy train
Extended and extending to sustain
The motions that it graces----and forbear
To drop his pencil! Flowers of every clime
Depicted on these pages smile at time; 10
And gorgeous insects copied with nice care
Are here, and likenesses of many a shell
Tossed ashore by restless waves,
Or in the diver’s grasp fetched up from caves
Where sea-nymphs might be proud to dwell: 15
But whose rash hand (again I ask) could dare,
’Mid casual tokens and promiscuous shows,
To circumscribe this Shape in fixed repose;
Could imitate for indolent survey,
Perhaps for touch profane, 20
Plumes that might catch, but cannot keep, a stain;
And, with cloud-streaks lightest and loftiest, share
The sun’s first greeting, his last farewell ray!
Resplendent Wanderer! followed with glad eyes
Where’er her course; mysterious Bird! 25
To whom, by wondering Fancy stirred,
Eastern Islanders have given
A holy name----the Bird of Heaven!
And even a title higher still,
The Bird of God![48] whose blessed will 30
She seems performing as she flies
Over the earth and through the skies
In never-wearied search of Paradise----
Region that crowns her beauty with the name
She bears for _us_----for us how blest, 35
How happy at all seasons, could like aim
Uphold our Spirits urged to kindred flight
On wings that fear no glance of God’s pure sight,
No tempest from his breath, their promised rest
Seeking with indefatigable quest 40
Above a world that deems itself most wise
When most enslaved by gross realities!
[48] Compare, in Robert Browning’s poem on Guercino’s picture of _The
Guardian-Angel at Fano_----
Thou bird of God.
ED.
“DESPONDING FATHER! MARK THIS ALTERED BOUGH”
Composed 1835.--Published 1835
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Desponding Father! mark this altered bough,[49]
So beautiful of late, with sunshine warmed,
Or moist with dews; what more unsightly now,
Its blossoms shrivelled, and its fruit, if formed,
Invisible? yet Spring her genial brow 5
Knits not o’er that discolouring and decay
As false to expectation. Nor fret thou
At like unlovely process in the May
Of human life: a Stripling’s graces blow,
Fade and are shed, that from their timely fall 10
(Misdeem it not a cankerous change) may grow
Rich mellow bearings, that for thanks shall call:
In all men, sinful is it to be slow
To hope----in Parents, sinful above all.
[49] Compare _The Excursion_ (book iii. l. 649), and the sonnet (vol.
vi. p. 72) beginning----
Surprised by joy----impatient as the Wind.
ED.
“FOUR FIERY STEEDS IMPATIENT OF THE REIN”
Composed 1835.--Published 1835
[Suggested on the road between Preston and Lancaster where it first
gives a view of the Lake country, and composed on the same day, on the
roof of the coach.--I.F.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Four fiery steeds impatient of the rein
Whirled us o’er sunless ground beneath a sky
As void of sunshine, when, from that wide plain,
Clear tops of far-off mountains we descry,
Like a Sierra of cerulean Spain, 5
All light and lustre. Did no heart reply?
Yes, there was One;--for One, asunder fly
The thousand links of that ethereal chain;
And green vales open out, with grove and field,
And the fair front of many a happy Home; 10
Such tempting spots as into vision come
While Soldiers, weary of the arms they wield
And sick at heart[50] of strifeful Christendom,
Gaze on the moon by parting clouds revealed.
[50] 1837.
While Soldiers, of the weapons that they wield
Weary, and sick of strifeful …
1835.
TO ----
Composed 1835.--Published 1835
[The fate of this poor Dove, as described, was told to me at Brinsop
Court, by the young lady to whom I have given the name of Lesbia.--I.F.]
[Miss not the occasion: by the forelock take
That subtle Power, the never-halting Time,
Lest a mere moment’s putting-off should make
Mischance almost as heavy as a crime.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
“Wait, prithee, wait!” this answer Lesbia[51] threw
Forth to her Dove, and took no further heed.
Her eye was busy, while her fingers flew
Across the harp, with soul-engrossing speed;
But from that bondage when her thoughts were freed 5
She rose, and toward the close-shut casement drew,
Whence the poor unregarded Favourite, true
To old affections, had been heard to plead
With flapping wing for entrance. What a shriek
Forced from that voice so lately tuned to a strain 10
Of harmony!----a shriek of terror, pain,
And self-reproach! for, from aloft, a Kite
Pounced,----and the Dove, which from its ruthless beak
She could not rescue, perished in her sight!
[51] Miss Loveday Walker, daughter of the Rector of Brinsop. See the
Fenwick note to the next sonnet.--ED.
ROMAN ANTIQUITIES DISCOVERED AT BISHOPSTONE, HEREFORDSHIRE
Composed 1835.--Published 1835
[My attention to these antiquities was directed by Mr. Walker, son
to the itinerant Eidouranian Philosopher. The beautiful pavement was
discovered within a few yards of the front door of his parsonage, and
appeared from the site (in full view of several hills upon which there
had formerly been Roman encampments) as if it might have been the
villa of the commander of the forces, at least such was Mr. Walker’s
conjecture.--I.F.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
While poring Antiquarians search the ground
Upturned with curious pains, the Bard, a Seer,
Takes fire:----The men that have been reappear;
Romans for travel girt, for business gowned;
And some recline on couches, myrtle-crowned, 5
In festal glee: why not? For fresh and clear,
As if its hues were of the passing year,
Dawns this time-buried pavement. From that mound
Hoards may come forth of Trajans, Maximins,
Shrunk into coins with all their warlike toil: 10
Or a fierce impress issues with its foil
Of tenderness--the Wolf, whose suckling Twins
The unlettered ploughboy pities when he wins
The casual treasure from the furrowed soil.
ST. CATHERINE OF LEDBURY
Composed 1835.--Published 1835
[Written on a journey from Brinsop Court, Herefordshire.--I.F.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
When human touch (as monkish books attest)
Nor was applied nor could be, Ledbury bells
Broke forth in concert flung adown the dells,
And upward, high as Malvern’s cloudy crest;[52]
Sweet tones, and caught by a noble Lady blest 5
To rapture! Mabel listened at the side
Of her loved mistress: soon the music died,
And Catherine said, Here I set up my rest.
Warned in a dream, the Wanderer long had sought
A home that by such miracle of sound 10
Must be revealed:--she heard it now, or felt
The deep, deep joy of a confiding thought;
And there, a saintly Anchoress, she dwelt
Till she exchanged for heaven that happy ground.
[52] The Ledbury bells are easily audible on the Malvern hills.--ED.
“BY A BLEST HUSBAND GUIDED, MARY CAME”[53]
Published 1835
[This lady was named Carleton; she, along with a sister, was brought
up in the neighbourhood of Ambleside. The epitaph, a part of it at
least, is in the church at Bromsgrove, where she resided after her
marriage.--I.F.]
One of the “Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces.”--ED.
By a blest Husband guided, Mary came
From nearest kindred, Vernon[54] her new name;
She came, though meek of soul, in seemly pride
Of happiness and hope, a youthful Bride.
O dread reverse! if aught _be_ so, which proves 5
That God will chasten whom he dearly loves.
Faith bore her up through pains in mercy given,
And troubles that were each a step to Heaven:
Two Babes were laid in earth before she died;
A third now slumbers at the Mother’s side; 10
Its Sister-twin survives, whose smiles afford
A trembling solace to her widowed Lord.
Reader! if to thy bosom cling the pain
Of recent sorrow combated in vain;
Or if thy cherished grief have failed to thwart 15
Time still intent on his insidious part,
Lulling the mourner’s best good thoughts asleep,
Pilfering regrets we would, but cannot, keep;
Bear with Him--judge _Him_ gently who makes known
His bitter loss by this memorial Stone; 20
And pray that in his faithful breast the grace
Of resignation find a hallowed place.
[53] 1837.
In the edition of 1835 the title was “Epitaph.”
[54] 1837.
From nearest kindred, …
1835.
“OH WHAT A WRECK! HOW CHANGED IN MIEN AND SPEECH!”
Composed 1835.--Published 1838
[The sad condition of poor Mrs. Southey[55] put me upon writing this.
It has afforded comfort to many persons whose friends have been
similarly affected.--I.F.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Oh what a Wreck! how changed in mien and speech!
Yet--though dread Powers, that work in mystery, spin
Entanglings of[56] the brain; though shadows stretch
O’er the chilled heart--reflect; far, far within
Hers is a holy Being, freed from Sin. 5
She is not what she seems, a forlorn wretch,
But delegated Spirits comfort fetch
To Her from heights that Reason may not win.
Like Children, She is privileged to hold
Divine communion;[57] both do live and move, 10
Whate’er to shallow Faith their ways unfold,
Inly illumined by Heaven’s pitying love;
Love pitying innocence not long to last,
In them--in Her our sins and sorrows past.
[55] Mrs. Southey died 16th November 1837. She had long been an
invalid. See Southey’s _Life and Correspondence_, vol. vi. p. 347.--ED.
[56] 1842.
… for …
1838.
[57] Compare a remark of Wordsworth’s that he never saw those with
mind unhinged, but he thought of the words, “Life hid in God.” It is a
curious oriental belief that idiots are in closer communion with the
Infinite than the sane are.--ED.
1836
So far as can be ascertained, only one sonnet was written by Wordsworth
in 1836. The verses _To a Redbreast_, by his sister-in-law, Sarah
Hutchinson, may however be placed alongside of the sonnet addressed to
her.--ED.
NOVEMBER 1836
Composed 1836.--Published 1837.
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Even so for me a Vision sanctified
The sway of Death; long ere mine eyes had seen
Thy countenance--the still rapture of thy mien--
When thou, dear Sister![58] wert become Death’s Bride:
No trace of pain or languor could abide 5
That change:--age on thy brow was smoothed--thy cold
Wan cheek at once was privileged to unfold
A loveliness to living youth denied.
Oh! if within me hope should e’er decline,
The lamp of faith, lost Friend! too faintly burn; 10
Then may that heaven-revealing smile of thine,
The bright assurance, visibly return:
And let my spirit in that power divine
Rejoice, as, through that power, it ceased to mourn.
[58] Sarah Hutchinson--Mrs. Wordsworth’s sister--died at Rydal on the
23rd June 1836. It was after her that the poet named one of the two
“heath-clad rocks” referred to in the “Poems on the naming of Places,”
and which he called respectively “Mary-Point” and “Sarah-Point.” In
1827 he inscribed to her the sonnet beginning--
Excuse is needless when with love sincere,
and the lines she wrote _To a Redbreast_, beginning--
Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay,
were published among Wordsworth’s own poems.
The sonnet written in 1806, beginning--
Methought I saw the footsteps of a throne,
was, Wordsworth tells us, a great favourite with S. H. He adds, “When
I saw her lying in death I could not resist the impulse to compose the
sonnet that follows it.” (See vol. iv. p. 46.)
In a letter to Southey (unpublished), Wordsworth refers to her death,
and adds: “I saw her within an hour after her decease, in the silence
and peace of death, with as heavenly an expression on her countenance
as ever human creature had. Surely there is food for faith in these
appearances: for myself, I can say that I have passed a wakeful night,
more in joy than in sorrow, with that blessed face before my eyes
perpetually as I lay in bed.”
TO A REDBREAST--(IN SICKNESS)
Published 1842
[Almost the only verses by our lamented sister Sara Hutchinson.--I.F.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Poems.”--ED.
Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay,
And at my casement sing,
Though it should prove a farewell lay
And this our parting spring.
Though I, alas! may ne’er enjoy 5
The promise in thy song;
A charm, _that_ thought can not destroy,
Doth to thy strain belong.
Methinks that in my dying hour
Thy song would still be dear, 10
And with a more than earthly power
My passing Spirit cheer.
Then, little Bird, this boon confer,
Come, and my requiem sing,
Nor fail to be the harbinger 15
Of everlasting Spring.
S.H.
1837
The poems belonging to the year 1837 include the “Memorials of a Tour
in Italy” with Henry Crabb Robinson in that year, and one or two
additional sonnets.--ED.
“SIX MONTHS TO SIX YEARS ADDED HE REMAINED”
Published 1837
One of the “Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces.”--ED.
Six months to six years added he remained
Upon this sinful earth, by sin unstained:
O blessed Lord! whose mercy then removed
A Child whom every eye that looked on loved;
Support us, teach us calmly to resign 5
What we possessed, and now is wholly thine![59]
[59] This refers to the poet’s son Thomas, who died December 1, 1812.
He was buried in Grasmere churchyard, beside his sister Catherine; and
Wordsworth placed these lines upon his tombstone. They may have been
written much earlier than 1836, probably in 1813, but it is impossible
to ascertain the date, and they were not published till 1837.--ED.
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN ITALY 1837
Composed 1837.--Published 1842
[During my whole life I had felt a strong desire to visit Rome and the
other celebrated cities and regions of Italy, but did not think myself
justified in incurring the necessary expense till I received from Mr.
Moxon, the publisher of a large edition of my poems, a sum sufficient
to enable me to gratify my wish without encroaching upon what I
considered due to my family. My excellent friend H.C. Robinson readily
consented to accompany me, and in March 1837, we set off from London,
to which we returned in August, earlier than my companion wished or
I should myself have desired had I been, like him, a bachelor. These
Memorials of that tour touch upon but a very few of the places and
objects that interested me, and, in what they do advert to, are for
the most part much slighter than I could wish. More particularly do I
regret that there is no notice in them of the South of France, nor of
the Roman antiquities abounding in that district, especially of the
Pont de Degard, which, together with its situation, impressed me full
as much as any remains of Roman architecture to be found in Italy.
Then there was Vaucluse, with its Fountain, its Petrarch, its rocks of
all seasons, its small plots of lawn in their first vernal freshness,
and the blossoms of the peach and other trees embellishing the scene
on every side. The beauty of the stream also called forcibly for the
expression of sympathy from one who, from his childhood, had studied
the brooks and torrents of his native mountains. Between two and three
hours did I run about climbing the steep and rugged crags from whose
base the water of Vaucluse breaks forth. “Has Laura’s Lover,” often
said I to myself, “ever sat down upon this stone? or has his foot ever
pressed that turf?” Some, especially of the female sex, would have felt
sure of it: my answer was (impute it to my years) “I fear, not.” Is it
not in fact obvious that many of his love verses must have flowed, I
do not say from a wish to display his own talent, but from a habit of
exercising his intellect in that way rather than from an impulse of his
heart? It is otherwise with his Lyrical poems, and particularly with
the one upon the degradation of his country: there he pours out his
reproaches, lamentations, and aspirations like an ardent and sincere
patriot. But enough: it is time to turn to my own effusions such as
they are.--I.F.]
TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON[60]
Companion! by whose buoyant Spirit cheered,
In[61] whose experience trusting, day by day
Treasures I gained with zeal that neither feared
The toils nor felt the crosses of the way,
These records take, and happy should I be 5
Were but the Gift a meet Return to thee
For kindnesses that never ceased to flow,
And prompt self-sacrifice to which I owe
Far more than any heart but mine can know.
W. WORDSWORTH.
RYDAL MOUNT, _Feb. 14th, 1842._
[60] The following is the Itinerary of the Italian Tour of 1837,
supplied by Mr. Henry Crabb Robinson. (See _Memoirs of Wordsworth_,
vol. ii. pp. 316, 317.) The spelling of the names of places is
Robinson’s.
March, 1837.
19. By steam to Calais.
20. Posting to Samer.
21. Posting to Granvilliers.
22. Through Beauvais to Paris.
26. To Fontainbleau.
27. Through Nemours to Cosne.
28. To Moulins.
29. To Tarare.
30. To Lyons.
31. Through Vienne to Tain.
April.
1. Through Valence to Orange.
2. To Avignon; to Vaucluse and back.
3, 4. By Pont du Gard to Nismes.
5, 6. By St. Remi to Marseilles.
7. To Toulon.
8. To Luc.
9. By Frejus to Cannes.
10, 11. To Nice.
12. Through Mentone to St. Remo.
13. Through Finale to Savone.
14-16. To Genoa.
17. To Chiaveri.
18. To Spezia.
19. By Carrara to Massa.
20. To Lucca.
21. To Pisa.
22. To Volterra.
23. By Castiglonacco and Sienna.
24. To Radicofani.
25. By Aquapendente to Viterbo.
26. To Rome.
May.
13. Excursion to Tivoli with Dr. Carlyle.
17-21. Excursion to Albano, etc., etc., with Miss Mackenzie.
23. To Terni.
24. After seeing the Falls, to Spoleto.
25. To Cortona and Perugia.
26. To Arezzo.
27. To Bibiena and Laverna.
28. To Camaldoli.
29. From Muselea to Ponte Sieve.
30. From Ponte Sieve to Val Ombrosa and Florence.
June.
6, 7. To Bologna.
8. Parma.
9. Through Piacenza to Milan.
11. To the Certosa and back.
12. To the Lake of Como and back.
13. To Bergamo.
14. To Pallazuola and Isco.
15. Excursion to Riveri and back.
16. To Brescia and Desinzano.
17. On Lake of Garda to Riva.
19. To Verona.
20. Vicenza.
21. Padua.
22. Venice.
28. To Logerone.
29. To Sillian.
30. Spittal (in Carinthia).
July.
1. Over Kazenberg to Tweng.
2. Through Werfen to Hallein.
3. Excursion to Konigsee.
4, 5. To Saltzburg.
6. To Ischl. A week’s stay in the Salzkammer Gut, viz.--
8. Gmund.
9. Travenfalls and back.
10. Aussee.
11. Excursion to lakes, then to Hallstadt.
13. Through Ischl to St. Gilgin.
14. Through Salzburg to Trauenstein.
15. To Miesbach.
16. To Tegernsee and Holzkirken.
17. To Munich.
21. To Augsburg.
22. To Ulm.
23. To Stuttgard.
24. To Besigham.
25. To Heidelberg.
28. Through Worms to Mayence.
29. To Coblenz.
30. To Bonn.
31. Through Cologne to Aix-la-Chapelle.
August.
1. To Louvain
2. To Brussels.
3. To Antwerp.
4. To Liege.
5. Through Lille to Cassell.
6. Calais.
7. London.
[61] 1845.
To …
1842.
The Tour of which the following Poems are very inadequate remembrances
was shortened by report, too well founded, of the prevalence of Cholera
at Naples. To make some amends for what was reluctantly left unseen
in the South of Italy, we visited the Tuscan Sanctuaries among the
Apennines, and the principal Italian Lakes among the Alps. Neither
of those lakes, nor of Venice, is there any notice in these Poems,
chiefly because I have touched upon them elsewhere. See, in particular,
_Descriptive Sketches_, “Memorials of a Tour on the Continent in 1820,”
and a Sonnet upon the extinction of the Venetian Republic.--W.W.
I
MUSINGS NEAR AQUAPENDENTE
APRIL, 1837
[Not the less
Had his sunk eye kindled at those dear words
That spake of bards and minstrels.
His, Sir Walter Scott’s, eye, _did_ in fact kindle at them, for the
lines, “Places forsaken now” and the two that follow, were adopted from
a poem of mine which nearly forty years ago was _in part_ read to him,
and he never forgot them.
Old Helvellyn’s brow
Where once together, in his day of strength,
We stood rejoicing.
Sir Humphry Davy was with us at the time. We had ascended from
Patterdale, and I could not but admire the vigour with which Scott
scrambled along that horn of the mountain called “Striding Edge.” Our
progress was necessarily slow, and was beguiled by Scott’s telling many
stories and amusing anecdotes, as was his custom. Sir H. Davy would
have probably been better pleased if other topics had occasionally been
interspersed, and some discussion entered upon: at all events he did
not remain with us long at the top of the mountain, but left us to find
our way down its steep side together into the Vale of Grasmere, where,
at my cottage, Mrs. Scott was to meet us at dinner.
With faint smile
…
He said, “When I am there, although ’tis fair,
’Twill be another Yarrow.”
See among these notes the one on _Yarrow Revisited_.
A few short steps (painful they were) apart
From Tasso’s Convent-haven, and retired grave.
This, though introduced here, I did not know till it was told me at
Rome by Miss Mackenzie of Seaforth, a lady whose friendly attentions
during my residence at Rome I have gratefully acknowledged with
expressions of sincere regret that she is no more. Miss M. told me
that she accompanied Sir Walter to the Janicular Mount, and, after
showing him the grave of Tasso in the church upon the top, and a mural
monument, there erected to his memory, they left the church and stood
together on the brow of the hill overlooking the City of Rome: his
daughter Anne was with them, and she, naturally desirous, for the sake
of Miss Mackenzie especially, to have some expression of pleasure from
her father, half reproached him for showing nothing of that kind either
by his looks or voice: “How can I,” replied he, “having only one leg
to stand upon, and that in extreme pain!” so that the prophecy was more
than fulfilled.
Over waves rough and deep.
We took boat near the lighthouse at the point of the right horn of
the bay which makes a sort of natural port for Genoa; but the wind
was high, and the waves long and rough, so that I did not feel quite
recompensed by the view of the city, splendid as it was, for the danger
apparently incurred. The boatman (I had only one) encouraged me saying
we were quite safe, but I was not a little glad when we gained the
shore, though Shelley and Byron--one of them at least, who seemed to
have courted agitation from any quarter--would have probably rejoiced
in such a situation: more than once I believe were they both in extreme
danger even on the lake of Geneva. Every man, however, has his fears
of some kind or other; and no doubt they had theirs: of all men whom I
have ever known, Coleridge had the most of passive courage in bodily
peril, but no one was so easily cowed when moral firmness was required
in miscellaneous conversation or in the daily intercourse of social
life.
How lovely robed in forenoon light and shade,
Each ministering to each, didst thou appear,
Savona.
There is not a single bay along this beautiful coast that might not
raise in a traveller a wish to take up his abode there, each as it
succeeds seems more inviting than the other; but the desolated convent
on the cliff in the bay of Savona struck my fancy most; and had I, for
the sake of my own health or that of a dear friend, or any other cause,
been desirous of a residence abroad, I should have let my thoughts
loose upon a scheme of turning some part of this building into a
habitation provided as far as might be with English comforts. There is
close by it a row or avenue, I forget which, of tall cypresses. I could
not forbear saying to myself--“What a sweet family walk, or one for
lonely musings, would be found under the shade!” but there, probably,
the trees remained little noticed and seldom enjoyed.
This flowering broom’s dear neighbourhood.
The broom is a great ornament through the months of March and April to
the vales and hills of the Apennines, in the wild parts of which it
blows in the utmost profusion, and of course successively at different
elevations as the season advances. It surpasses ours in beauty and
fragrance,[62] but, speaking from my own limited observations only,
I cannot affirm the same of several of their wild spring flowers,
the primroses in particular, which I saw not unfrequently but thinly
scattered and languishing compared to ours.
The note at the end of this poem, upon the Oxford movement, was
entrusted to my friend, Mr. Frederick Faber.[63] I told him what I
wished to be said, and begged that, as he was intimately acquainted
with several of the Leaders of it, he would express my thought in the
way least likely to be taken amiss by them. Much of the work they are
undertaking was grievously wanted, and God grant their endeavours may
continue to prosper as they have done.--I.F.]
Ye Apennines! with all your fertile vales
Deeply embosomed, and your winding shores
Of either sea, an Islander by birth,
A Mountaineer by habit, would resound
Your praise, in meet accordance with your claims 5
Bestowed by Nature, or from man’s great deeds
Inherited:--presumptuous thought!--it fled
Like vapour, like a towering cloud, dissolved.
Not, therefore, shall my mind give way to sadness;--
Yon snow-white torrent-fall, plumb down it drops 10
Yet ever hangs or seems to hang in air,
Lulling the leisure of that high perched town,
AQUAPENDENTE, in her lofty site
Its neighbour and its namesake--town, and flood
Forth flashing out of its own gloomy chasm 15
Bright sunbeams--the fresh verdure of this lawn
Strewn with grey rocks, and on the horizon’s verge,
O’er intervenient waste, through glimmering haze,
Unquestionably kenned, that cone-shaped hill
With fractured summit,[64] no indifferent sight 20
To travellers, from such comforts as are thine,
Bleak Radicofani![65] escaped with joy--
These are before me; and the varied scene
May well suffice, till noon-tide’s sultry heat
Relax, to fix and satisfy the mind 25
Passive yet pleased. What! with this Broom in flower
Close at my side! She bids me fly to greet
Her sisters, soon like her to be attired
With golden blossoms opening at the feet
Of my own Fairfield.[66] The glad greeting given, 30
Given with a voice and by a look returned
Of old companionship, Time counts not minutes
Ere, from accustomed paths, familiar fields,
The local Genius hurries me aloft,
Transported over that cloud-wooing hill, 35
Seat Sandal, a fond suitor of the clouds,[67]
With dream-like smoothness, to Helvellyn’s top,[68]
There to alight upon crisp moss and range,
Obtaining ampler boon, at every step,
Of visual sovereignty--hills multitudinous, 40
(Not Apennine can boast of fairer) hills
Pride of two nations, wood and lake and plains,
And prospect right below of deep coves shaped[69]
By skeleton arms, that, from the mountain’s trunk
Extended, clasp the winds, with mutual moan 45
Struggling for liberty, while undismayed
The shepherd struggles with them. Onward thence
And downward by the skirt of Greenside fell,[70]
And by Glenridding-screes,[71] and low Glencoign,[72]
Places forsaken now, though[73] loving still 50
The muses, as they loved them in the days
Of the old minstrels and the border bards.--
But here am I fast bound; and let it pass,
The simple rapture;--who that travels far
To feed his mind with watchful eyes could share 55
Or wish to share it?--One there surely was,
“The Wizard of the North,” with anxious hope
Brought to this genial climate, when disease
Preyed upon body and mind--yet not the less
Had his sunk eye kindled at those dear words 60
That spake of bards and minstrels; and his spirit
Had flown with mine to old Helvellyn’s brow,
Where once together, in his day of strength,
We stood rejoicing,[74] as if earth were free
From sorrow, like the sky above our heads. 65
Years followed years, and when, upon the eve
Of his last going from Tweed-side, thought turned,
Or by another’s sympathy was led,
To this bright land, Hope was for him no friend,
Knowledge no help; Imagination shaped 70
No promise. Still, in more than ear-deep seats,
Survives for me, and cannot but survive
The tone of voice which wedded borrowed words
To sadness not their own, when, with faint smile
Forced by intent to take from speech its edge, 75
He said, “When I am there, although ’tis fair,
’Twill be another Yarrow.”[75] Prophecy
More than fulfilled, as gay Campania’s shores
Soon witnessed, and the city of seven hills,
Her sparkling fountains, and her mouldering tombs; 80
And more than all, that Eminence[76] which showed
Her splendours, seen, not felt, the while he stood
A few short steps (painful they were) apart
From Tasso’s Convent-haven, and retired grave.[77]
Peace to their Spirits! why should Poesy 85
Yield to the lure of vain regret, and hover
In gloom on wings with confidence outspread
To move in sunshine?--Utter thanks, my Soul!
Tempered with awe, and sweetened by compassion
For them who in the shades of sorrow dwell, 90
That I--so near the term to human life
Appointed by man’s common heritage,[78]
Frail as the frailest, one withal (if that
Deserve a thought) but little known to fame--
Am free to rove where Nature’s loveliest looks, 95
Art’s noblest relics, history’s rich bequests,
Failed to reanimate and but feebly cheered
The whole world’s Darling--free to rove at will
O’er high and low, and if requiring rest,
Rest from enjoyment only.
Thanks poured forth 100
For what thus far hath blessed my wanderings, thanks
Fervent but humble as the lips can breathe
Where gladness seems a duty--let me guard
Those seeds of expectation which the fruit
Already gathered in this favoured Land 105
Enfolds within its core. The faith be mine,
That He who guides and governs all, approves
When gratitude, though disciplined to look
Beyond these transient spheres, doth wear a crown
Of earthly hope put on with trembling hand; 110
Nor is least pleased, we trust, when golden beams,
Reflected through the mists of age, from hours
Of innocent delight, remote or recent,
Shoot but a little way--’tis all they can--
Into the doubtful future. Who would keep 115
Power must resolve to cleave to it through life,
Else it deserts him, surely as he lives.
Saints would not grieve nor guardian angels frown
If one--while tossed, as was my lot to be,
In a frail bark urged by two slender oars 120
Over waves rough and deep,[79] that, when they broke,
Dashed their white foam against the palace walls
Of Genoa the superb--should there be led
To meditate upon his own appointed tasks,
However humble in themselves, with thoughts 125
Raised and sustained by memory of Him
Who oftentimes within those narrow bounds
Rocked on the surge, there tried his spirit’s strength
And grasp of purpose, long ere sailed his ship
To lay a new world open.
Nor less prized 130
Be those impressions which incline the heart
To mild, to lowly, and to seeming weak,
Bend that way her desires. The dew, the storm--
The dew whose moisture fell in gentle drops
On the small hyssop destined to become, 135
By Hebrew ordinance devoutly kept,
A purifying instrument--the storm
That shook on Lebanon the cedar’s top,
And as it shook, enabling the blind roots
Further to force their way, endowed its trunk 140
With magnitude and strength fit to uphold
The glorious temple--did alike proceed
From the same gracious will, were both an offspring
Of bounty infinite.
Between Powers that aim
Higher to lift their lofty heads, impelled 145
By no profane ambition, Powers that thrive
By conflict, and their opposites, that trust
In lowliness--a mid-way tract there lies
Of thoughtful sentiment for every mind
Pregnant with good. Young, Middle-aged, and Old, 150
From century on to century, must have known
The emotion--nay, more fitly were it said--
The blest tranquillity that sunk so deep
Into my spirit, when I paced, enclosed
In Pisa’s Campo Santo,[80] the smooth floor 155
Of its Arcades paved with sepulchral slabs,[81]
And through each window’s open fret-work looked
O’er the blank Area of sacred earth
Fetched from Mount Calvary,[82] or haply delved
In precincts nearer to the Saviour’s tomb, 160
By hands of men, humble as brave, who fought
For its deliverance--a capacious field
That to descendants of the dead it holds
And to all living mute memento breathes,
More touching far than aught which on the walls 165
Is pictured, or their epitaphs can speak,
Of the changed City’s long-departed power,
Glory, and wealth, which, perilous as they are,
Here did not kill, but nourished, Piety.
And, high above that length of cloistral roof, 170
Peering in air and backed by azure sky,
To kindred contemplations ministers
The Baptistery’s dome,[83] and that which swells
From the Cathedral pile;[84] and with the twain
Conjoined in prospect mutable or fixed 175
(As hurry on in eagerness the feet,
Or pause) the summit of the Leaning-tower.[85]
Nor[86] less remuneration waits on him
Who having left the Cemetery stands
In the Tower’s shadow, of decline and fall 180
Admonished not without some sense of fear,
Fear that soon vanishes before the sight
Of splendour unextinguished, pomp unscathed,
And beauty unimpaired. Grand in itself,
And for itself, the assemblage, grand and fair 185
To view, and for the mind’s consenting eye
A type of age in man, upon its front
Bearing the world-acknowledged evidence
Of past exploits, nor fondly after more
Struggling against the stream of destiny, 190
But with its peaceful majesty content.
--Oh what a spectacle at every turn
The Place unfolds, from pavement skinned with moss,
Or grass-grown spaces, where the heaviest foot
Provokes no echoes, but must softly tread; 195
Where Solitude with Silence paired stops short
Of Desolation, and to Ruin’s scythe
Decay submits not.
But where’er my steps
Shall wander, chiefly let me cull with care
Those images of genial beauty, oft 200
Too lovely to be pensive in themselves
But by reflection made so, which do best
And fitliest serve to crown with fragrant wreaths
Life’s cup when almost filled with years, like mine.
--How lovely robed in forenoon light and shade, 205
Each ministering to each, didst thou appear
Savona,[87] Queen of territory fair
As aught that marvellous coast thro’ all its length
Yields to the Stranger’s eye. Remembrance holds
As a selected treasure thy one cliff, 210
That, while it wore for melancholy crest
A shattered Convent, yet rose proud to have
Clinging to its steep sides a thousand herbs
And shrubs, whose pleasant looks gave proof how kind
The breath of air can be where earth had else 215
Seemed churlish. And behold, both far and near,
Garden and field all decked with orange bloom,
And peach and citron, in Spring’s mildest breeze
Expanding; and, along the smooth shore curved
Into a natural port, a tideless sea, 220
To that mild breeze with motion and with voice
Softly responsive; and, attuned to all
Those vernal charms of sight and sound, appeared
Smooth space of turf which from the guardian fort
Sloped seaward, turf whose tender April green, 225
In coolest climes too fugitive, might even here
Plead with the sovereign Sun for longer stay
Than his unmitigated beams allow,
Nor plead in vain, if beauty could preserve,
From mortal change, aught that is born on earth 230
Or doth on time depend.
While on the brink
Of that high Convent-crested cliff I stood,
Modest Savona! over all did brood
A pure poetic Spirit--as the breeze,
Mild--as the verdure, fresh--the sunshine, bright-- 235
Thy gentle Chiabrera![88]--not a stone,
Mural or level with the trodden floor,
In Church or Chapel, if my curious quest
Missed not the truth, retains a single name
Of young or old, warrior, or saint, or sage, 240
To whose dear memories his sepulchral verse[89]
Paid simple tribute, such as might have flowed
From the clear spring of a plain English heart,
Say rather, one in native fellowship
With all who want not skill to couple grief 245
With praise, as genuine admiration prompts.
The grief, the praise, are severed from their dust,
Yet in his page the records of that worth
Survive, uninjured;--glory then to words,
Honour to word-preserving Arts, and hail 250
Ye kindred local influences that still,
If Hope’s familiar whispers merit faith,
Await my steps when they the breezy height
Shall range of philosophic Tusculum;[90]
Or Sabine vales[91] explored inspire a wish 255
To meet the shade of Horace by the side
Of his Bandusian fount;[92]--or I invoke
His presence to point out the spot where once
He sate, and eulogized with earnest pen
Peace, leisure, freedom, moderate desires; 260
And all the immunities of rural life
Extolled, behind Vacuna’s crumbling fane.[93]
Or let me loiter, soothed with what is given
Nor asking more, on that delicious Bay,[94]
Parthenope’s Domain--Virgilian haunt, 265
Illustrated with never-dying verse,[95]
And, by the Poet’s laurel-shaded tomb,[96]
Age after age to Pilgrims from all lands
Endeared.
And who--if not a man as cold
In heart as dull in brain--while pacing ground 270
Chosen by Rome’s legendary Bards, high minds
Out of her early struggles well inspired
To localize heroic acts--could look
Upon the spots with undelighted eye,
Though even to their last syllable the Lays 275
And very names of those who gave them birth
Have perished?--Verily, to her utmost depth,
Imagination feels what Reason fears not
To recognize, the lasting virtue lodged
In those bold fictions that, by deeds assigned 280
To the Valerian, Fabian, Curian Race,
And others like in fame, created Powers
With attributes from History derived,
By Poesy irradiate, and yet graced,
Through marvellous felicity of skill, 285
With something more propitious to high aims
Than either, pent within her separate sphere,
Can oft with justice claim.
And not disdaining
Union with those primeval energies
To virtue consecrate, stoop ye from your height 290
Christian Traditions! at my Spirit’s call
Descend, and, on the brow of ancient Rome
As she survives in ruin, manifest
Your glories mingled with the brightest hues
Of her memorial halo, fading, fading, 295
But never to be extinct while Earth endures.
O come, if undishonoured by the prayer,
From all her Sanctuaries!--Open for my feet
Ye Catacombs, give to mine eyes a glimpse
Of the Devout, as, ’mid your glooms convened 300
For safety, they of yore enclasped the Cross[97]
On knees that ceased from trembling, or intoned
Their orisons with voices half-suppressed,
But sometimes heard, or fancied to be heard,
Even at this hour.
And thou Mamertine prison,[98] 305
Into that vault receive me from whose depth
Issues, revealed in no presumptuous vision,
Albeit lifting human to divine,
A saint, the Church’s Rock, the mystic Keys
Grasped in his hand;[99] and lo! with upright sword 310
Prefiguring his own impendent doom,
The Apostle of the Gentiles; both prepared
To suffer pains with heathen scorn and hate
Inflicted;--blessed Men, for so to Heaven
They follow their dear Lord!
Time flows--nor winds, 315
Nor stagnates, nor precipitates his course,
But many a benefit borne upon his breast
For human-kind sinks out of sight, is gone,
No one knows how; nor seldom is put forth
An angry arm that snatches good away, 320
Never perhaps to reappear. The Stream
Has to our generation brought and brings
Innumerable gains; yet we, who now
Walk in the light of day, pertain full surely
To a chilled age, most pitiably shut out 325
From that which _is_ and actuates, by forms,
Abstractions, and by lifeless fact to fact
Minutely linked with diligence uninspired,
Unrectified, unguided, unsustained,
By godlike insight. To this fate is doomed 330
Science, wide-spread and spreading still as be
Her conquests, in the world of sense made known.
So with the internal mind it fares; and so
With morals, trusting, in contempt or fear
Of vital principle’s controlling law, 335
To her purblind guide Expediency; and so
Suffers religious faith. Elate with view
Of what is won, we overlook or scorn
The best that should keep pace with it, and must,
Else more and more the general mind will droop, 340
Even as if bent on perishing. There lives
No faculty within us which the Soul
Can spare,[100] and humblest earthly Weal demands,
For dignity not placed beyond her reach,
Zealous co-operation of all means 345
Given or acquired, to raise us from the mire,
And liberate our hearts from low pursuits.
By gross Utilities enslaved we need
More of ennobling impulse from the past,
If to the future aught of good must come 350
Sounder and therefore holier than the ends
Which, in the giddiness of self-applause,
We covet as supreme. O grant the crown
That Wisdom wears, or take his treacherous staff
From Knowledge!--If the Muse, whom I have served 355
This day, be mistress of a single pearl
Fit to be placed in that pure diadem;
Then, not in vain, under these chesnut boughs
Reclined, shall I have yielded up my soul
To transports from the secondary founts 360
Flowing of time and place, and paid to both
Due homage; nor shall fruitlessly have striven,
By love of beauty moved, to enshrine in verse
Accordant meditations, which in times
Vexed and disordered, as our own, may shed 365
Influence, at least among a scattered few,
To soberness of mind and peace of heart
Friendly; as here to my repose hath been
This flowering broom’s dear neighbourhood,[101] the light
And murmur issuing from yon pendent flood, 370
And all the varied landscape. Let us now
Rise, and to-morrow greet magnificent Rome.[102]
[62] Wordsworth himself, his nephew tells us, had no sense of smell
(see the _Memoirs_, by his nephew Christopher, vol. ii. p. 322).--ED.
[63] Afterwards Father Faber, priest of the Oratory of St. Philip
Neri.--ED.
[64] Monte Amiata,--ED.
[65] On the old high road from Siena to Rome.--ED.
[66] The mountain between Rydal Head and Helvellyn.--ED.
[67] Seat Sandal is the mountain between Tongue Ghyll and Grisedale
Tarn on the south and east, and the Dunmail Raise road on the west.--ED.
[68] Compare _The Eclipse of the Sun_, l. 78, in “Memorials of a Tour
on the Continent in 1820” (vol. vi. p. 345).--ED.
[69] Keppelcove, Nethermost cove, and the cove in which Red Tarn lies
bounded by the “skeleton arms” of Striding Edge and Swirrel Edge.
Compare _Fidelity_, l. 17, vol. iii. p. 45--
It was a cove, a huge recess,
That keeps, till June, December’s snow.
ED.
[70] Descending to Ullswater from Helvellyn, Greenside Fell and Mines
are passed.--ED.
[71] The Glenridding Screes are bold rocks on the left as you descend
Helvellyn to Patterdale.--ED.
[72] Glencoign is an offshoot of the Patterdale valley between
Glenridding and Goldbarrow.--ED.
[73] 1845.
… but …
1842.
[74] See the Fenwick note.--ED.
[75] These words were quoted to me from _Yarrow Unvisited_, by Sir
Walter Scott, when I visited him at Abbotsford, a day or two before his
departure for Italy: and the affecting condition in which he was when
he looked upon Rome from the Janicular Mount, was reported to me by a
lady who had the honour of conducting him thither.--W.W. 1842. See also
the Fenwick note to this poem, and compare Lockhart’s _Memoirs of the
Life of Sir Walter Scott_ (chapter lxxx. vol. x. p. 104).--ED.
[76] The Janicular Mount.--ED.
[77] See the Fenwick note prefixed to this poem.--ED.
[78] He was then sixty-seven years of age.--ED.
[79] See the Fenwick note.--ED.
[80] The Campo Santo, or Burial Ground, founded by Archbishop Ubaldo
(1188-1200).--ED.
[81] “There are forty-three flat arcades, resting on forty-four
pilasters.… In the interior there is a spacious hall, the open
round-arched windows of which, with their beautiful tracery, sixty-two
in number, look out upon a green quadrangle.… The walls are covered
with frescoes by the Tuscan School of the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries, below which is a collection of Roman, Etruscan, and
mediaeval sculptures.… The tombstones of persons interred here form the
pavement.” (Baedeker’s _Northern Italy_, p. 324.)--ED.
[82] Ubaldo conveyed hither fifty-three ship-loads of earth from Mount
Calvary, in the Holy Land, in order that the dead might repose in holy
ground.--ED.
[83] The Baptistery in Pisa was begun in 1153 by Diotisalvi, and
completed in 1278. It is a circular structure, covered by a conical
dome, 190 feet high.--ED.
[84] The Cathedral of Pisa is a basilica, built in 1063, in the Tuscan
style, and has an elliptical dome.--ED.
[85] The Campanile, or Clock-Tower, rises in eight stories to the
height of 179 feet, and (from its oblique position) is known as the
Leaning-Tower.--ED.
[86] 1845.
Not …
1842.
[87] See the Fenwick note to this poem. Savona is a town on the Gulf of
Genoa, capital of the Montenotte Department under Napoleon.--ED.
[88] The theatre in Savona is dedicated to Chiabrera, who was a native
of the place.--ED.
[89] If any English reader should be desirous of knowing how far I
am justified in thus describing the epitaphs of Chiabrera, he will
find translated specimens of them in this Volume, under the head of
“Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces.”--W.W. 1842.
[90] Tusculum was the birthplace of the elder Cato, and the residence
of Cicero.--ED.
[91] “Satis beatus unicis Sabinis.” _Odes_, ii. 18, 14.--ED.
[92] See Horace, _Odes_, iii. 13.--ED.
[93] See Horace, _Epistles_, i. 10, 49--
Haec tibi dictabam post fanum putre Vacunae.
Vacuna was a Sabine divinity. She had a sanctuary near Horace’s Villa.
(Compare Pliny, _Nat. Hist._ iii. 42, 47.) A traveller in Italy writes:
“Following a path along the brink of the torrent Digentia, we passed
a towering rock, on which once stood Vacuna’s shrine.” See also Ovid,
_Fasti_, vi. 307.--ED.
[94] The Bay of Naples. Neapolis (the new city) received its ancient
name of Parthenope from one of the Sirens, whose body was said to have
been washed ashore in that bay. Sil. 12, 33.--ED.
[95] See _Georgics_, iv. 564.--ED.
[96] Virgil died at Brundusium, but his remains were carried to his
favourite residence, Naples, and were buried by the side of the road
leading to Puteoli--the Via Puteolana. His tomb is still pointed out
near Posilipo,--close to the sea, and about half way from Naples to
Puteoli, the _Scuola di Virgilio_.
“The monument, now called the tomb of Virgil, is not on the road
which passes through the tunnel of Posilipo; but if the Via Puteolana
ascended the hill of Posilipo, as it may have done, the situation of
the monument would agree very well with the description of Donatus.”
(George Long, in Smith’s _Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography_.)
The inscription said to have been placed on the tomb was as follows:--
Mantua me genuit, Calabri rapuere, tenet nunc
Parthenope. Cecini pascua, rura, duces.
ED.
[97] The catacombs were subterranean chambers and passages, usually
cut out of the solid rock, and used as places of burial, or of refuge.
The early Christians made use of the catacombs in the Appian Way for
worship, as well as for sepulture.--ED.
[98] The Carcer Mamertinus,--one of the most ancient Roman
structures,--overhung the Forum, as Livy tells us, “imminens foro,”
underneath the Capitoline hill. It still exists, and is entered from
the sacristy of the church of S. Giuseppe de Falagnami, to the left
of the arch of Severus. It was originally a well (the _Tullianum_ of
Livy), and afterwards a prison, in which Jugurtha was starved to death,
and Catiline’s accomplices perished. There are two chambers in the
prison, one beneath the other; the lower-most containing, in its rock
floor, a spring, which rises nearly to the surface. For the legend
connected with it see the next note.--ED.
[99] According to the legend, St. Peter, who was imprisoned in the
_Carcer Mamertinus_ under Nero, caused this spring to flow miraculously
in order to baptize his jailors. Hence the building is called _S.
Pietro in Carcere._--ED.
[100] Compare “Despondency Corrected,” _The Excursion_, book iv. l.
1058--
Within the soul a faculty abides, etc.
ED.
[101] See the Fenwick note.--ED.
[102] It would be ungenerous not to advert to the religious movement
that, since the composition of these verses in 1837, has made itself
felt, more or less strongly, throughout the English Church;--a movement
that takes, for its first principle, a devout deference to the voice of
Christian antiquity. It is not my office to pass judgment on questions
of theological detail; but my own repugnance to the spirit and system
of Romanism has been so repeatedly and, I trust, feelingly expressed,
that I shall not be suspected of a leaning that way, if I do not join
in the grave charge, thrown out, perhaps in the heat of controversy,
against the learned and pious men to whose labours I allude. I speak
apart from controversy; but, with strong faith in the moral temper
which would elevate the present by doing reverence to the past, I would
draw cheerful auguries for the English Church from this movement, as
likely to restore among us a tone of piety more earnest and real than
that produced by the mere formalities of the understanding, refusing,
in a degree, which I cannot but lament, that its own temper and
judgment shall be controlled by those of antiquity.--W.W. 1842.
II
THE PINE OF MONTE MARIO[103] AT ROME
[Sir George Beaumont told me that, when he first visited Italy,
pine-trees of this species abounded, but that on his return thither,
which was more than thirty years after, they had disappeared from many
places where he had been accustomed to admire them, and had become
rare all over the country, especially in and about Rome. Several Roman
villas have within these few years passed into the hands of foreigners,
who, I observed with pleasure, have taken care to plant this tree,
which in course of years will become a great ornament to the city
and to the general landscape. May I venture to add here, that having
ascended the Monte Mario, I could not resist embracing the trunk of
this interesting monument of my departed friend’s feelings for the
beauties of nature, and the power of that art which he loved so much,
and in the practice of which he was so distinguished?--I.F.]
I saw far off the dark top of a Pine
Look like a cloud--a slender stem the tie
That bound it to its native earth--poised high
’Mid evening hues, along the horizon line,
Striving in peace each other to outshine. 5
But when I learned the Tree was living there,
Saved from the sordid axe by Beaumont’s care,[104]
Oh, what a gush of tenderness was mine!
The rescued Pine-tree, with its sky so bright
And cloud-like beauty, rich in thoughts of home, 10
Death-parted friends, and days too swift in flight,
Supplanted the whole majesty of Rome
(Then first apparent from the Pincian Height)[105]
Crowned with St. Peter’s everlasting dome.[106]
[103] The Monte Mario is to the north-west of Rome, beyond the
Janiculus and the Vatican. The view from the summit embraces Rome, the
Campagna, and the sea. It is capped by the villa Millini, in which the
“magnificent solitary pine-tree” of this sonnet still stands, amidst
its cypress plantations.--ED.
[104] “It was Mr. Theed, the sculptor, who informed us of the pine-tree
being the gift of Sir George Beaumont.” H.C. Robinson. (See _Memoirs of
Wordsworth_, by his nephew, vol. ii. p. 330.)--ED.
[105] From the _Mons Pincius_, “collis hortorum,” where were the
gardens of Lucullus, there is a remarkable view of modern Rome.--ED.
[106] Within a couple of hours of my arrival at Rome, I saw from
Monte Pincio, the Pine tree as described in the sonnet; and, while
expressing admiration at the beauty of its appearance, I was told by
an acquaintance of my fellow-traveller, who happened to join us at the
moment, that a price had been paid for it by the late Sir G. Beaumont,
upon condition that the proprietor should not act upon his known
intention of cutting it down.--W.W. 1842.
III
AT ROME
[Sight is at first sight a sad enemy to imagination and to those
pleasures belonging to old times with which some exertions of that
power will always mingle: nothing perhaps brings this truth home to
the feelings more than the city of Rome; not so much in respect to the
impression made at the moment when it is first seen and looked at as
a whole, for then the imagination may be invigorated and the mind’s
eye quickened; but when particular spots or objects are sought out,
disappointment is I believe invariably felt. Ability to recover from
this disappointment will exist in proportion to knowledge, and the
power of the mind to reconstruct out of fragments and parts, and to
make details in the present subservient to more adequate comprehension
of the past.--I.F.]
Is this, ye Gods, the Capitolian Hill?
Yon petty Steep in truth the fearful Rock,
Tarpeian named of yore,[107] and keeping still
That name, a local Phantom proud to mock
The Traveller’s expectation?--Could our Will
Destroy the ideal Power within, ’twere done
Thro’ what men see and touch,--slaves wandering on,
Impelled by thirst of all but Heaven-taught skill.
Full oft, our wish obtained, deeply we sigh;
Yet not unrecompensed are they who learn, 10
From that depression raised, to mount on high
With stronger wing, more clearly to discern
Eternal things; and, if need be, defy
Change, with a brow not insolent, though stern.
[107] The Tarpeian rock, from which those condemned to death were
hurled, is not now precipitous, as it used to be: the ground having
been much raised by successive heaps of ruin.--ED.
IV
AT ROME--REGRETS--IN ALLUSION TO NIEBUHR AND OTHER MODERN HISTORIANS
Those old credulities, to nature dear,
Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock
Of History, stript naked as a rock
’Mid a dry desert? What is it we hear?
The glory of Infant Rome must disappear,[108] 5
Her morning splendours vanish, and their place
Know them no more. If Truth, who veiled her face
With those bright beams yet hid it not, must steer
Henceforth a humbler course perplexed and slow;
One solace yet remains for us who came 10
Into this world in days when story lacked
Severe research, that in our hearts we know
How, for exciting youth’s heroic flame,
Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.
[108] Niebuhr, in his Lectures on Roman History (1826-29), was one of
the first to point out the legendary character of much of the earlier
history, and its “historical impossibility.” He explained the way
in which much of it had originated in family and national vanity,
etc.--ED.
V
CONTINUED
Complacent Fictions were they, yet the same
Involved a history of no doubtful sense,
History that proves by inward evidence
From what a precious source of truth it came.
Ne’er could the boldest Eulogist have dared 5
Such deeds to paint, such characters to frame,
But for coeval sympathy prepared
To greet with instant faith their loftiest claim.
None but a noble people could have loved
Flattery in Ancient Rome’s pure-minded style: 10
Not in like sort the Runic Scald was moved;
He, nursed ’mid savage passions that defile
Humanity, sang feats that well might call
For the blood-thirsty mead of Odin’s riotous Hall.
VI
PLEA FOR THE HISTORIAN
Forbear to deem the Chronicler unwise,
Ungentle, or untouched by seemly ruth,
Who, gathering up all that Time’s envious tooth
Has spared of sound and grave realities,
Firmly rejects those dazzling flatteries, 5
Dear as they are to unsuspecting Youth,
That might have drawn down Clio from the skies
To vindicate the majesty of truth.
Such was her office while she walked with men,[109]
A Muse, who,[110] not unmindful of her Sire 10
All-ruling Jove, whate’er the[111] theme might be
Revered her Mother, sage Mnemosyne,
And taught her faithful servants how the lyre
Should[112] animate, but not mislead, the pen.[113]
[109] Clio, daughter of Zeus and Mnemosyne, the first-born of the
Muses, presided over History. It was her office to record the actions
of illustrious heroes.--ED.
[110] 1845.
Her rights to claim, and vindicate the truth.
Her faithful Servants while she walked with men
Were they who, …
1842.
[111] 1845.
… their …
1842.
[112] 1845.
And, at the Muse’s will, invoked the lyre
To animate, …
1842.
[113]
Quem virum--lyra--
--sumes celebrare Clio?
W. W. 1842.
VII
AT ROME
[I have a private interest in this Sonnet, for I doubt whether it
would ever have been written but for the lively picture given me by
Anna Ricketts of what she had witnessed of the indignation and sorrow
expressed by some Italian noblemen of their acquaintance upon the
surrender, which circumstances had obliged them to make, of the best
portion of their family mansions to strangers.--I.F.]
They--who have seen the noble Roman’s scorn
Break forth at thought of laying down his head,
When the blank day is over, garreted
In his ancestral palace, where, from morn
To night, the desecrated floors are worn 5
By feet of purse-proud strangers; they--who have read
In one meek smile, beneath a peasant’s shed,
How patiently the weight of wrong is borne;
They--who have heard some learned Patriot treat[114]
Of freedom, with mind grasping the whole theme 10
From ancient Rome, downwards through that bright dream
Of Commonwealths, each city a starlike seat
Of rival glory; they--fallen Italy--
Nor must, nor will, nor can, despair of Thee!
VIII
NEAR ROME, IN SIGHT OF ST. PETER’S
Long has the dew been dried on tree and lawn;
O’er man and beast a not unwelcome boon
Is shed, the languor of approaching noon;
To shady rest withdrawing or withdrawn
Mute are all creatures, as this couchant fawn, 5
Save insect-swarms that hum in air afloat,
Save that the Cock is crowing, a shrill note,
Startling and shrill as that which roused the dawn.
--Heard in that hour, or when, as now, the nerve
Shrinks from the note[115] as from a mis-timed thing, 10
Oft for a holy warning may it serve,
Charged with remembrance of _his_ sudden sting,
His bitter tears, whose name the Papal Chair
And yon resplendent Church are proud to bear.
[114] 1845.
They--who have heard thy lettered sages treat
1842.
[115] 1845.
… voice …
1842.
IX
AT ALBANO[116]
[This Sonnet is founded on simple fact, and was written to enlarge,
if possible, the views of those who can see nothing but evil in the
intercessions countenanced by the Church of Rome. That they are in
many respects lamentably pernicious must be acknowledged; but, on the
other hand, they who reflect, while they see and observe, cannot but
be struck with instances which will prove that it is a great error to
condemn in all cases such mediation as purely idolatrous. This remark
bears with especial force upon addresses to the Virgin.--I.F.]
Days passed--and Monte Calvo would not clear
His head from mist; and, as the wind sobbed through
Albano’s dripping Ilex avenue,[117]
My dull forebodings in a Peasant’s ear
Found casual vent. She said, “Be of good cheer; 5
Our yesterday’s procession did not sue
In vain; the sky will change to sunny blue,
Thanks to our Lady’s grace.” I smiled to hear,
But not in scorn:--the Matron’s Faith may lack
The heavenly sanction needed to ensure 10
Fulfilment; but, we trust, her upward track[118]
Stops not at this low point, nor wants the lure
Of flowers the Virgin without fear may own,
For by her Son’s blest hand the seed was sown.
[116] Albano, 10 miles south-east of Rome, is a small town and
episcopal residence, a favourite autumnal resort of Roman citizens. It
is on the site of the ruins of the villa of Pompey. Monte Carlo (the
Monte Calvo of this sonnet) is the ancient _Mons Latialis_, 3127 feet
high. At its summit a convent of Passionist Monks occupies the site of
the ancient temple of Jupiter.--ED.
[117] The ilex-grove of the Villa Doria is one of the most marked
features of Albano.--ED.
[118] 1845.
Its own fulfilment; but her upward track
1842.
X
“NEAR ANIO’S STREAM, I SPIED A GENTLE DOVE”
Near Anio’s stream,[119] I spied a gentle Dove
Perched on an olive branch, and heard her cooing
’Mid new-born blossoms that soft airs were wooing,
While all things present told of joy and love.
But restless Fancy left that olive grove 5
To hail the exploratory Bird renewing
Hope for the few, who, at the world’s undoing,
On the great flood were spared to live and move.
O bounteous Heaven! signs true as dove and bough
Brought to the ark are coming evermore, 10
Given though we seek them not, but, while we plough[120]
This sea of life without a visible shore,
Do neither promise ask nor grace implore
In what alone is ours, the living Now.[121]
[119] The Anio joins the Tiber north of Rome, flowing from the
north-east past Tivoli.--ED.
[120] 1845.
Even though men seek them not, but, while they plough
1842.
[121] 1845.
… the vouchsafed Now.
1842.
XI
FROM THE ALBAN HILLS, LOOKING TOWARDS ROME
Forgive, illustrious Country! these deep sighs,
Heaved less for thy bright plains and hills bestrown
With monuments decayed or overthrown,
For all that tottering stands or prostrate lies,
Than for like scenes in moral vision shown, 5
Ruin perceived for keener sympathies;
Faith crushed, yet proud of weeds, her gaudy crown
Virtues laid low, and mouldering energies.
Yet why prolong this mournful strain?--Fallen Power,
Thy fortunes, twice exalted,[122] might provoke 10
Verse to glad notes prophetic of the hour
When thou, uprisen, shalt break thy double yoke,
And enter, with prompt aid from the Most High,
On the third stage of thy great destiny.[123]
[122] The ancient Classic period, and that of the Renaissance.--ED.
[123] This period seems to have been already entered. Compare Mrs.
Browning’s “Poems before Congress,” _passim_.--ED.
XII
NEAR THE LAKE OF THRASYMENE
When here with Carthage Rome to conflict came,[124]
An earthquake, mingling with the battle’s shock,
Checked not its rage;[125] unfelt the ground did rock,
Sword dropped not, javelin kept its deadly aim.--
Now all is sun-bright peace. Of that day’s shame, 5
Or glory, not a vestige seems to endure,
Save in this Rill that took from blood the name[126]
Which yet it bears, sweet Stream! as crystal pure.
So may all trace and sign of deeds aloof
From the true guidance of humanity, 10
Thro’ Time and Nature’s influence, purify
Their spirit; or, unless they for reproof
Or warning serve, thus let them all, on ground
That gave them being, vanish to a sound.
[124] The Carthaginian general Hannibal defeated the Roman Consul C.
Flaminius, near the lacus Trasimenus, 217 B.C., with a loss of 15,000
men. (See Livy, book xxii. 4, etc.)--ED.
[125] Compare _Hannibal, A Historical Drama_, by the late Professor
John Nichol, act II. scene vi. p. 107--
Here shall shepherds tell
To passing travellers, when we are dust,
How, by the shores of reedy Thrasymene,
We fought and conquered, while the earthquake shook
The walls of Rome.
ED.
[126] Sanguinetto.--W.W. 1845.
XIII
NEAR THE SAME LAKE
For action born, existing to be tried,
Powers manifold we have that intervene
To stir the heart that would too closely screen
Her peace from images to pain allied.
What wonder if at midnight, by the side 5
Of Sanguinetto or broad Thrasymene,[127]
The clang of arms is heard, and phantoms glide,
Unhappy ghosts in troops by moonlight seen;
And singly thine, O vanquished Chief![128] whose corse,
Unburied, lay hid under heaps of slain: 10
But who is He?--the Conqueror. Would he force
His way to Rome? Ah, no,--round hill and plain
Wandering, he haunts, at fancy’s strong command,
This spot--his shadowy death-cup in his hand.[129]
[127] Lake Thrasymene is the largest of the Etrurian lakes, being ten
miles in length and three in breadth.--ED.
[128] C. Flaminius.--ED.
[129] After the battle of Lake Thrasymene, Hannibal did not push on to
Rome, but turned through the Apennines to Apulia, just as subsequently
after the battle of Cannas he remained inactive.--ED.
XIV
THE CUCKOO AT LAVERNA[130]
MAY 25TH 1837
[Among a thousand delightful feelings connected in my mind with
the voice of the cuckoo, there is a personal one which is rather
melancholy. I was first convinced that age had rather dulled my
hearing, by not being able to catch the sound at the same distance as
the younger companions of my walks; and of this failure I had a proof
upon the occasion that suggested these verses. I did not hear the sound
till Mr. Robinson had twice or thrice directed my attention to it.]
List--’twas the Cuckoo.--O with what delight
Heard I that voice! and catch it now, though faint,[131]
Far off and faint, and melting into air,
Yet not to be mistaken. Hark again!
Those louder cries give notice that the Bird, 5
Although invisible as Echo’s self,[132]
Is wheeling hitherward. Thanks, happy Creature,
For this unthought-of greeting!
While allured
From vale to hill, from hill to vale led on,
We have pursued, through various lands, a long 10
And pleasant course; flower after flower has blown,
Embellishing the ground that gave them birth
With aspects novel to my sight; but still
Most fair, most welcome, when they drank the dew
In a sweet fellowship with kinds beloved, 15
For old remembrance sake. And oft--where Spring
Display’d her richest blossoms among files
Of orange-trees bedecked with glowing fruit
Ripe for the hand, or under a thick shade
Of Ilex, or, if better suited to the hour, 20
The lightsome Olive’s twinkling canopy--[133]
Oft have I heard the Nightingale and Thrush
Blending as in a common English grove
Their love-songs; but, where’er my feet might roam,
Whate’er assemblages of new and old, 25
Strange and familiar, might beguile the way,
A gratulation from that vagrant Voice
Was wanting;--and most happily till now.
For see, Laverna! mark the far-famed Pile,
High on the brink of that precipitous rock,[134] 30
Implanted like a Fortress, as in truth
It is, a Christian Fortress, garrisoned
In faith and hope, and dutiful obedience,
By a few Monks, a stern society,
Dead to the world and scorning earth-born joys. 35
Nay--though the hopes that drew, the fears that drove,
St. Francis, far from Man’s resort, to abide
Among these sterile heights of Apennine, [135]
Bound him, nor, since he raised yon House, have ceased
To bind his spiritual Progeny, with rules 40
Stringent as flesh can tolerate and live;[136]
His milder Genius (thanks to the good God
That made us) over those severe restraints
Of mind, that dread heart-freezing discipline,
Doth sometimes here predominate, and works 45
By unsought means for gracious purposes;
For earth through heaven, for heaven, by changeful earth,
Illustrated, and mutually endeared.
Rapt though He were above the power of sense,
Familiarly, yet out of the cleansed heart 50
Of that once sinful Being overflowed
On sun, moon, stars, the nether elements,
And every shape of creature they sustain,
Divine affections; and with beast and bird
(Stilled from afar--such marvel story tells-- 55
By casual outbreak of his passionate words,
And from their own pursuits in field or grove
Drawn to his side by look or act of love
Humane, and virtue of his innocent life)
He wont to hold companionship so free, 60
So pure, so fraught with knowledge and delight,
As to be likened in his Followers’ minds
To that which our first Parents, ere the fall
From their high state darkened the Earth with fear,
Held with all Kinds in Eden’s blissful bowers. 65
Then question not that, ’mid the austere Band,
Who breathe the air he breathed, tread where he trod,
Some true Partakers of his loving spirit
Do still survive,[137] and, with those gentle hearts
Consorted, Others, in the power, the faith, 70
Of a baptized imagination, prompt
To catch from Nature’s humblest monitors
Whate’er they bring of impulses sublime.
Thus sensitive must be the Monk, though pale
With fasts, with vigils worn, depressed by years, 75
Whom in a sunny glade I chanced to see,
Upon a pine-tree’s storm-uprooted trunk,
Seated alone, with forehead sky-ward raised,
Hands clasped above the crucifix he wore
Appended to his bosom, and lips closed 80
By the joint pressure of his musing mood
And habit of his vow. That ancient Man--
Nor haply less the Brother whom I marked,
As we approached the Convent gate, aloft
Looking far forth from his aerial cell, 85
A young Ascetic--Poet, Hero, Sage,
He might have been, Lover belike he was--
If they received into a conscious ear
The notes whose first faint greeting startled me,
Whose sedulous iteration thrilled with joy 90
My heart--may have been moved like me to think,
Ah! not like me who walk in the world’s ways,
On the great Prophet, styled _the Voice of One_
_Crying amid the wilderness_, and given,
Now that their snows must melt, their herbs and flowers 95
Revive, their obstinate winter pass away,
That awful name to Thee, thee, simple Cuckoo,
Wandering in solitude, and evermore
Foretelling and proclaiming, ere thou leave
This thy last haunt beneath Italian skies 100
To carry thy glad tidings over heights
Still loftier, and to climes more near the Pole.
Voice of the Desert, fare-thee-well; sweet Bird!
If that substantial title please thee more,
Farewell!--but go thy way, no need hast thou 105
Of a good wish sent after thee; from bower
To bower as green, from sky to sky as clear,
Thee gentle breezes waft--or airs that meet
Thy course and sport around thee softly fan--
Till Night, descending upon hill and vale, 110
Grants to thy mission a brief term of silence,
And folds thy pinions up in blest repose.
[130] Laverna is a corruption of _Alverna_ (now called Alverniac). It
is about five or six hours’ walk from Camaldoli, on a height of the
Apennines, not far from the sources of the Anio. To reach it, “the
southern height of the Monte Valterona is ascended as far as the chapel
of St. Romaiald; then a descent is made to Moggiona, beyond which the
path turns to the left, traversing a long and fatiguing succession of
gorges and slopes; the path at the base of the mountain is therefore
preferable. The market town of Soci in the valley of the Archiano
is first reached, then the profound valley of the Corsaline; beyond
it rises a blunted cone, on which the path ascends in windings to a
stony plain with marshy meadows. Above this rises the abrupt sandstone
mass of the _Vernia_, to the height of 850 feet. On its S.W. slope,
one-third of the way up, and 3906 feet above the sea-level, is seen a
wall with small windows, the oldest part of the monastery, built in
1218 by St. Francis of Assisi. The church dates from 1284.… One of the
grandest points is the _Penna della Vernia_ (4796 feet), the ridge of
the Vernia, also known as _l’Apennino_, the ‘rugged rock between the
sources of the Tiber and Anio,’ as it is called by Dante (_Paradiso_,
ii. 106).… Near the monastery are the _Luoghi Santi_, a number of
grottos and rock-hewn chambers in which St. Francis once lived.” (See
Baedeker’s _Northern Italy_, 1886, p. 463.)
“The Monte Alverno, or Monte della Verni is situated on the border
of Tuscany, near the sources of the Tiber and Anio, not far from the
Castle of Chiusi, where Orlando lived.” (Mrs. Oliphant’s _Francis of
Assisi_, chap. xvi. p. 248.)
See also Herzog’s _Real-Encyklopädie für protestantische Theologie und
Kirche_, vol. iv. p. 655.--ED.
[131] Compare _To the Cuckoo_, II. 3, 4 (vol. ii. p. 289)--
… Bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?
ED.
[132] Compare _To the Cuckoo_, l. 15 (vol. ii. p. 290)--
No bird, but an invisible thing.
ED.
[133] From the difference in the colour of each side of the leaf,
a grove of olives when _wind-tossed_ is pre-eminently a “twinkling
canopy.”--ED.
[134] See note, p. 67.--ED.
[135] St. Francis of Assisi, founder of the order of Friars Minors,
after establishing numerous monasteries in Italy, Spain, and France,
resigned his office and retired to this, one of the highest of the
Apennine heights. See note, p. 67. He was canonised in 1230. Henry
Crabb Robinson tells us, “It was at Laverna that he” [W.W.] “led me to
expect that he had found a subject on which he could write, and that
was the love which birds bore to St. Francis. He repeated to me a short
time afterwards a few lines, which I do not recollect amongst those
he has written on St. Francis in this poem. On the journey, one night
only I heard him in bed composing verses, and on the following day I
offered to be his amanuensis; but I was not patient enough, I fear, and
he did not employ me a second time. He made inquiries for St. Francis’s
biography, as if he would dub him his Leibheiliger (body-saint), as
Goethe (saying that every one must have one) declared St. Philip Neri
to be his.” (See the _Memoirs of William Wordsworth_, by his nephew,
vol. ii. p. 331)--ED.
[136] The characteristic feature of the Franciscan order was its vow
of Poverty, and Francis desired that it should be taken in the most
rigorous sense, viz. that no individual member of the fraternity,
nor the fraternity itself, should be allowed to possess any property
whatsoever, even in things necessary to human use.--ED.
[137] The members of the Franciscan order were the Stoics of
Christendom. The order has been powerful, and of great service to
the Roman Church--alike in literature, and in practical action and
enterprise.--ED.
XV
AT THE CONVENT OF CAMALDOLI
This famous sanctuary was the original establishment of Saint Romualdo
(or Rumwald, as our ancestors saxonised the name) in the 11th century,
the ground (campo) being given by a Count Maldo. The Camaldolensi,
however, have spread wide as a branch of Benedictines, and may
therefore be classed among the _gentlemen_ of the monastic orders. The
society comprehends two orders, monks and hermits; symbolised by their
arms, two doves drinking out of the same cup. The monastery in which
the monks here reside is beautifully situated, but a large unattractive
edifice, not unlike a factory. The hermitage is placed in a loftier and
wilder region of the forest. It comprehends between 20 and 30 distinct
residences, each including for its single hermit an inclosed piece of
ground and three very small apartments. There are days of indulgence
when the hermit may quit his cell, and when old age arrives, he
descends from the mountain and takes his abode among the monks.
My companion had, in the year 1831, fallen in with the monk, the
subject of these two sonnets, who showed him his abode among the
hermits. It is from him that I received the following[138] particulars.
He was then about 40 years of age, but his appearance was that of an
older man. He had been a painter by profession, but on taking orders
changed his name from Santi to Raffaello, perhaps with an unconscious
reference as well to the great Sanzio d’Urbino as to the archangel.
He assured my friend that he had been 13 years in the hermitage and
had never known melancholy or ennui. In the little recess for study
and prayer, there was a small collection of books. “I read only,” said
he, “books of asceticism and mystical theology.” On being asked the
names of the most famous[139] mystics, he enumerated _Scaramelli_, _San
Giovanni della Croce_, _St. Dionysius the Areopagite_ (supposing the
work which bears his name to be really his),[140] and with peculiar
emphasis _Ricardo di San Vittori_. The works of _Saint Theresa_ are
also in high repute among ascetics.[141] These names may interest some
of my readers.
We heard that Raffaello was then living in the convent; my friend
sought in vain to renew his acquaintance with him. It was probably a
day of seclusion. The reader will perceive that these sonnets were
supposed to be written when he was a young man.--W.W. 1842.
The monastery of Camaldoli is on the highest point of the hills near
Naples (1476 feet), and commands one of the finest views in Italy.--ED.
Grieve for the Man who hither came bereft,
And seeking consolation from above;
Nor grieve the less that skill to him was left
To paint this picture of his lady-love:
Can she, a blessed saint, the work approve? 5
And O, good Brethren of the cowl, a thing
So fair, to which with peril he must cling,
Destroy in pity, or with care remove.
That bloom--those eyes--can they assist to bind
Thoughts that would stray from Heaven? The dream must cease 10
To be; by Faith, not sight, his soul must live;
Else will the enamoured Monk too surely find
How wide a space can part from inward peace
The most profound repose his cell can give.
[138] 1845.
received these particulars.
1842.
[139] 1845.
famous Italian mystics,
1842.
[140] 1845.
_San Dionysia_, _Areopagitica_, and with
1842.
[141] 1845.
are among ascetics in high repute, but she was a Spaniard.
1842.
XVI
CONTINUED
The world forsaken, all its busy cares
And stirring interests shunned with desperate flight,
All trust abandoned in the healing might
Of virtuous action; all that courage dares,
Labour accomplishes, or patience bears-- 5
Those helps rejected, they, whose minds perceive
How subtly works man’s weakness, sighs may heave
For such a One beset with cloistral snares.
Father of Mercy! rectify his view,
If with his vows this object ill agree; 10
Shed over it thy grace, and thus subdue[142]
Imperious passion in a heart set free:--
That earthly love may to herself be true,
Give him a soul that cleaveth unto thee.
[142] 1845.
… and so subdue
1842.
XVII
AT THE EREMITE OR UPPER CONVENT OF CAMALDOLI
What aim had they, the Pair of Monks, in size[143]
Enormous, dragged, while side by side they sate,
By panting steers up to this convent gate?
How, with empurpled cheeks and pampered eyes,
Dare they confront the lean austerities 5
Of Brethren, who, here fixed, on Jesu wait
In sackcloth, and God’s anger deprecate
Through all that humbles flesh and mortifies?
Strange contrast!--verily the world of dreams,
Where mingle, as for mockery combined, 10
Things in their very essences at strife,
Shows not a sight incongruous as the extremes
That everywhere, before the thoughtful mind,
Meet on the solid ground of waking life.[144]
[143] In justice to the Benedictines of Camaldoli, by whom strangers
are so hospitably entertained, I feel obliged to notice, that I saw
among them no other figures at all resembling, in size and complexion,
the two Monks described in this Sonnet. What was their office, or the
motive which brought them to this place of mortification, which they
could not have approached without being carried in this or some other
way, a feeling of delicacy prevented me from inquiring. An account has
before been given of the hermitage they were about to enter. It was
visited by us towards the end of the month of May; yet snow was lying
thick under the pine-trees, within a few yards of the gate.--W.W. 1842.
[144] See note, pp. 72, 73.--ED.
XVIII
AT VALLOMBROSA[145]
[I must confess, though of course I did not acknowledge it in the few
lines I wrote in the Strangers’ book kept at the convent, that I was
somewhat disappointed at Vallombrosa. I had expected, as the name
implies, a deep and narrow valley overshadowed by enclosing hills; but
the spot where the convent stands is in fact not a valley at all, but
a cove or crescent open to an extensive prospect. In the book before
mentioned, I read the notice in the English language that if anyone
would ascend the steep ground above the convent, and wander over it, he
would be abundantly rewarded by magnificent views. I had not time to
act upon this recommendation, and only went with my young guide to a
point, nearly on a level with the site of the convent, that overlooks
the Vale of Arno for some leagues. To praise great and good men has
ever been deemed one of the worthiest employments of poetry, but the
objects of admiration vary so much with time and circumstances, and
the noblest of mankind have been found, when intimately known, to be
of characters so imperfect, that no eulogist can find a subject which
he will venture upon with the animation necessary to create sympathy,
unless he confines himself to a particular part or he takes something
of a one-sided view of the person he is disposed to celebrate. This
is a melancholy truth, and affords a strong reason for the poetic
mind being chiefly exercised in works of fiction: the poet can then
follow wherever the spirit of admiration leads him, unchecked by such
suggestions as will be too apt to cross his way if all that he is
prompted to utter is to be tested by fact. Something in this spirit I
have written in the note attached to the Sonnet on the King of Sweden;
and many will think that in this poem and elsewhere I have spoken
of the author of _Paradise Lost_ in a strain of panegyric scarcely
justifiable by the tenor of some of his opinions, whether theological
or political, and by the temper he carried into public affairs, in
which, unfortunately for his genius, he was so much concerned.--I.F.]
Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks
In Vallombrosa, where Etrurian shades
High over-arch’d embower.
PARADISE LOST.[146]
“Vallombrosa--I longed in thy shadiest wood
To slumber, reclined on the moss-covered floor!”[147]
Fond wish that was granted at last, and the Flood,
That lulled me asleep, bids me listen once more.
Its murmur how soft! as it falls down the steep, 5
Near that Cell--yon sequestered Retreat high in air--[148]
Where our Milton was wont lonely vigils to keep
For converse with God, sought through study and prayer.
The Monks still repeat the tradition with pride,
And its truth who shall doubt? for his Spirit is here;[149] 10
In the cloud-piercing rocks doth her grandeur abide,
In the pines pointing heavenward her beauty austere;
In the flower-besprent meadows his genius we trace
Turned to humbler delights, in which youth might confide,
That would yield him fit help while prefiguring that Place 15
Where, if Sin had not entered, Love never had died.
When with life lengthened out came a desolate time,
And darkness and danger had compassed him round,
With a thought he would[150] flee to these haunts of his prime,
And here once again a kind shelter be found. 20
And let me believe that when nightly the Muse
Did[151] waft him to Sion, the glorified hill,[152]
Here also, on some favoured height, he[153] would choose
To wander, and drink inspiration at will.
Vallombrosa! of thee I first heard in the page 25
Of that holiest of Bards, and the name for my mind
Had a musical charm, which the winter of age
And the changes it brings had no power to unbind.
And now, ye Miltonian shades! under you
I repose, nor am forced from sweet fancy to part, 30
While your leaves I behold and the brooks they will strew,
And the realised vision is clasped to my heart.
Even so, and unblamed, we rejoice as we may
In Forms that must perish, frail objects of sense;
Unblamed--if the Soul be intent on the day 35
When the Being of Beings shall summon her hence.
For he and he only with wisdom is blest
Who, gathering true pleasures wherever they grow,
Looks up in all places, for joy or for rest,
To the Fountain whence Time and Eternity flow. 40
[145] The name of Milton is pleasingly connected with Vallombrosa in
many ways. The pride with which the Monk, without any previous question
from me, pointed out his residence, I shall not readily forget. It may
be proper here to defend the Poet from a charge which has been brought
against him, in respect to the passage in _Paradise Lost_, where this
place is mentioned. It is said, that he has erred in speaking of the
trees there being deciduous, whereas they are, in fact, pines. The
fault-finders are themselves mistaken; the _natural_ woods of the
region of Vallombrosa _are_ deciduous, and spread to a great extent;
those near the convent are, indeed, mostly pines; but they are avenues
of trees _planted_ within a few steps of each other, and thus composing
large tracts of wood; plots of which are periodically cut down. The
appearance of those narrow avenues, upon steep slopes open to the sky,
on account of the height which the trees attain by being _forced_
to grow upwards, is often very impressive. My guide, a boy of about
fourteen years old, pointed this out to me in several places.--W.W.
1842.
[146] Compare _Paradise Lost_, book i. l. 302. Vallombrosa--the shady
valley--is 18 miles distant from Florence. Wordsworth’s quotation from
Milton was from memory. It is not quite accurate.--ED.
[147] See for the two _first lines_, _Stanzas composed in the Simplon
Pass_.--W.W. 1842. (See vol. vi. p. 357.)--ED.
[148] The monastery of Vallombrosa was founded about 1050, by S.
Giovanni Gnalberto. It was suppressed in 1869, and is now converted
into the R. Instituto Forestale, or forest school. The “cell,” the
“sequestered retreat” referred to by Wordsworth, is doubtless _Il
Paradisino_, or _Le Celle_, a small hermitage 266 feet above the
monastery, which is itself 2980 feet above the sea.--ED.
[149] Compare Milton’s letter to Benedetto Bonmattei of Florence,
written during his stay in the city, September 10, 1638.--ED.
[150] 1845.
… might …
1842.
[151] 1845.
Would …
1842.
[152] Compare _Paradise Lost_, book iii. l. 29--
… but chief
Thee, Sion, and the flourie Brooks beneath,
That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow,
Nightly I visit.
ED.
[153] 1845.
… they …
1842.
XIX
AT FLORENCE
[Upon what evidence the belief rests that this stone was a favourite
seat of Dante, I do not know; but a man would little consult his own
interest as a traveller, if he should busy himself with doubts as
to the fact. The readiness with which traditions of this character
are received, and the fidelity with which they are preserved from
generation to generation, are an evidence of feelings honourable to
our nature. I remember how, during one of my rambles in the course
of a college vacation, I was pleased on being shown a seat near a
kind of rocky cell at the source of the river, on which it was said
that Congreve wrote his _Old Bachelor_. One can scarcely hit on any
performance less in harmony with the scene; but it was a local tribute
paid to intellect by those who had not troubled themselves to estimate
the moral worth of that author’s comedies; and why should they? He
was a man distinguished in his day; and the sequestered neighbourhood
in which he often resided was perhaps as proud of him as Florence of
her Dante: it is the same feeling, though proceeding from persons one
cannot bring together in this way without offering some apology to the
Shade of the great Visionary.--I.F.]
Under the shadow of a stately Pile,
The dome of Florence, pensive and alone,
Nor giving heed to aught that passed the while,
I stood, and gazed upon a marble stone,
The laurelled Dante’s favourite seat.[154] A throne, 5
In just esteem, it rivals; though no style
Be there of decoration to beguile
The mind, depressed by thought of greatness flown.
As a true man, who long had served the lyre,
I gazed with earnestness, and dared no more. 10
But in his breast the mighty Poet bore
A Patriot’s heart, warm with undying fire.
Bold with the thought, in reverence I sate down,
And, for a moment, filled that empty Throne.
[154] The _Sasso di Dante_ is built into the wall of the house, No. 29
Casa dei Canonici, close to the Duomo.--ED.
XX
BEFORE THE PICTURE OF THE BAPTIST, BY RAPHAEL, IN THE GALLERY AT
FLORENCE[155]
[It was very hot weather during the week we stayed at Florence; and,
never having been there before, I went through much hard service, and
am not therefore _ashamed_ to confess I fell asleep before this picture
and sitting with my back towards the Venus de Medicis. Buonaparte--in
answer to one who had spoken of his being in a sound sleep up to the
moment when one of his great battles was to be fought, as a proof
of the calmness of his mind and command over anxious thoughts--said
frankly, that he slept because from bodily exhaustion he could not help
it. In like manner it is noticed that criminals on the night previous
to their execution seldom awake before they are called, a proof that
the body is the master of us far more than we need be willing to allow.
Should this note by any possible chance be seen by any of my countrymen
who might have been in the gallery at the time (and several persons
were there) and witnessed such an indecorum, I hope he will give up the
opinion which he might naturally have formed to my prejudice.--I.F.]
The Baptist might have been ordain’d to cry
Forth from the towers of that huge Pile, wherein
His Father served Jehovah; but how win
Due audience, how for aught but scorn defy
The obstinate pride and wanton revelry 5
Of the Jerusalem below, her sin
And folly, if they with united din
Drown not at once mandate and prophecy?
Therefore the Voice spake from the Desert, thence
To Her, as to her opposite in peace, 10
Silence, and holiness, and innocence,
To Her and to all Lands its warning sent,
Crying with earnestness that might not cease,
“Make straight a highway for the Lord--repent!”
[155] This sonnet refers to the picture of the young St. John the
Baptist, now in the Tribuna, Florence, designed about the same time as
the Madonna di San Sisto, for Cardinal Colonna, who is said to have
presented it to his doctor, Jacopo da Carpi. It has been much admired,
and often copied; but it is inferior, both in drawing and in colouring,
to the great works of Raphael. How much of it was actually from his
hand is uncertain; and Baptist is painted rather like a Bacchus than a
Saint.--ED.
XXI
AT FLORENCE--FROM MICHAEL ANGELO
[However at first these two sonnets from Michael Angelo may seem in
their spirit somewhat inconsistent with each other, I have not scrupled
to place them side by side as characteristic of their great author,
and others with whom he lived. I feel, nevertheless, a wish to know
at what periods of his life they were respectively composed.[156] The
latter, as it expresses, was written in his advanced years, when it
was natural that the Platonism that pervades the one should give way to
the Christian feeling that inspired the other: between both there is
more than poetic affinity.--I.F.]
Rapt above earth by power of one fair face,
Hers in whose sway alone my heart delights,
I mingle with the blest on those pure heights
Where Man, yet mortal, rarely finds a place.
With Him who made the Work that Work accords 5
So well, that by its help and through his grace
I raise my thoughts, inform my deeds and words,
Clasping her beauty in my soul’s embrace.
Thus, if from two fair eyes mine cannot turn,
I feel how in their presence doth abide 10
Light which to God is both the way and guide;
And, kindling at their lustre, if I burn,
My noble fire emits the joyful ray
That through the realms of glory shines for aye.
[156] The second of the two sonnets translated by Wordsworth is No.
lxxiii. in Signor Cesare Guastî’s edition of Michael Angelo (1863).
AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS.
_Scaro d’un’ importuna._
It was evidently written in old age. The following is Mr. John
Addington Symond’s translation of the same sonnet.
Freed from a burden sore and grievous band,
Dear Lord, and from this wearying world untied,
Like a frail bark I turn me to Thy side,
As from a fierce storm to a tranquil land.
Thy thorns, Thy nails, and either bleeding hand,
With Thy mild gentle piteous face, provide
Promise of help and mercies multiplied,
And hope that yet my soul secure may stand.
Let not Thy holy eyes be just to see
My evil part, Thy chastened ears to hear,
And stretch the arm of judgment to my crime:
Let Thy blood only love and succour me,
Yielding more perfect pardon, better cheer,
As older still I grow with lengthening time.
_The Sonnets of Michael Angelo Buonarroti and Tomaso Campanella_, by
John Addington Symonds, p. 110.
Compare Wordsworth’s translation of other three sonnets by Michael
Angelo (vol. iii. pp. 380-384).--ED.
XXII
AT FLORENCE--FROM M. ANGELO
Eternal Lord! eased of a cumbrous load,
And loosened from the world, I turn to Thee;
Shun, like a shattered bark, the storm, and flee
To thy protection for a safe abode.
The crown of thorns, hands pierced upon the tree, 5
The meek, benign, and lacerated face,
To a sincere repentance promise grace,
To the sad soul give hope of pardon free.
With justice mark not Thou, O Light divine,
My fault, nor hear it with thy sacred ear; 10
Neither put forth that way thy arm severe;
Wash with thy blood my sins; thereto incline
More readily the more my years require
Help, and forgiveness speedy and entire.
XXIII
AMONG THE RUINS OF A CONVENT IN THE APENNINES
[The political revolutions of our time have multiplied, on the
Continent, objects that unavoidably call forth reflections such as are
expressed in these verses, but the Ruins in those countries are too
recent to exhibit, in anything like an equal degree, the beauty with
which time and nature have invested the remains of our Convents and
Abbeys. These verses, it will be observed, take up the beauty long
before it is matured, as one cannot but wish it may be among some of
the desolations of Italy, France, and Germany.--I.F.]
Ye Trees! whose slender roots entwine
Altars that piety neglects;
Whose infant arms enclasp the shrine
Which no devotion now respects;
If not a straggler from the herd 5
Here ruminate, nor shrouded bird,
Chanting her low-voiced hymn, take pride
In aught that ye would grace or hide--
How sadly is your love misplaced,
Fair Trees, your bounty run to waste! 10
Ye, too,[157] wild Flowers! that no one heeds,
And ye--full often spurned as weeds--
In beauty clothed, or breathing sweetness
From fractured arch and mouldering wall--
Do but more touchingly recal 15
Man’s headstrong violence and Time’s fleetness,
Making[158] the precincts ye adorn
Appear to sight still more forlorn.
[157] 1845.
And ye, …
1842.
[158] 1845.
And make …
1842.
XXIV
IN LOMBARDY
See, where his difficult way that Old Man wins
Bent by a load of Mulberry leaves!--most hard
Appears _his_ lot, to the small Worm’s compared,
For whom his toil with early day begins.
Acknowledging no task-master, at will 5
(As if her labour and her ease were twins)
_She_ seems to work, at pleasure to lie still;--
And softly sleeps within the thread she spins.
So fare they--the Man serving as her Slave.
Ere long their fates do each to each conform: 10
Both pass into new being,--but the Worm,
Transfigured, sinks into a hopeless grave;
_His_ volant Spirit will, he trusts, ascend
To bliss unbounded, glory without end.
XXV
AFTER LEAVING ITALY
[I had proof in several instances that the Carbonari, if I may still
call them so, and their favourers, are opening their eyes to the
necessity of patience, and are intent upon spreading knowledge actively
but quietly as they can. May they have resolution to continue in this
course! for it is the only one by which they can truly benefit their
country. We left Italy by the way which is called the “Nuova Strada de
Allmagna,” to the east of the high passes of the Alps, which take you
at once from Italy into Switzerland. This road leads across several
smaller heights, and winds down different vales in succession, so that
it was only by the accidental sound of a few German words that I was
aware we had quitted Italy, and hence the unwelcome shock alluded to in
the two or three last lines of the latter sonnet.--I.F.]
Fair Land! Thee all men greet with joy; how few,
Whose souls take pride in freedom, virtue, fame,
Part from thee without pity dyed in shame:
I could not--while from Venice we withdrew,
Led on till an Alpine strait confined our view[159] 5
Within its depths, and to the shore we came
Of Lago Morto, dreary sight and name,
Which o’er sad thoughts a sadder colouring threw.
Italia! on the surface of thy spirit,
(Too aptly emblemed by that torpid lake) 10
Shall a few partial breezes only creep?--
Be its depths quickened; what thou dost inherit
Of the world’s hopes, dare to fulfil; awake,
Mother of Heroes, from thy death-like sleep!
[159] They left Venice by the Nuova Strada de Allmagna, resting
at Logerone, Sillian, Spittal (in Carinthia), and thence on to
Salzburg.--ED.
XXVI
CONTINUED
As indignation mastered grief, my tongue
Spake bitter words; words that did ill agree
With those rich stores of Nature’s imagery,
And divine Art, that fast to memory clung--
Thy gifts, magnificent Region, ever young 5
In the sun’s eye, and in his sister’s sight
How beautiful! how worthy to be sung
In strains of rapture, or subdued delight!
I feign not; witness that unwelcome shock
That followed the first sound of German speech, 10
Caught the far-winding barrier Alps among.
In that announcement, greeting seemed to mock[160]
Parting; the casual word had power to reach
My heart, and filled that heart with conflict strong.
[160] See the Fenwick note to the last sonnet.--ED.
AT BOLOGNA, IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE LATE INSURRECTIONS, 1837[161][162]
Composed 1837.--Published 1842
This was originally (1842) included in the “Memorials of a Tour in
Italy,” but, in 1845, it was transferred, along with the two which
follow it, to the “Sonnets dedicated to Liberty and Order.”--ED.
I
Ah why deceive ourselves! by no mere fit
Of sudden passion roused shall men attain
True freedom where for ages they have lain
Bound in a dark abominable pit,
With life’s best sinews more and more unknit. 5
Here, there, a banded few who loathe the chain
May rise to break it: effort worse than vain
For thee, O great Italian nation, split
Into those jarring fractions.--Let thy scope
Be one fixed mind for all; thy rights approve 10
To thy own conscience gradually renewed;
Learn to make Time the father of wise Hope;
Then trust thy cause to the arm of Fortitude,
The light of Knowledge, and the warmth of Love.
II
CONTINUED
Composed 1837.--Published 1842
Hard task! exclaim the undisciplined, to lean
On Patience coupled with such slow endeavour,
That long-lived servitude must last for ever.
Perish the grovelling few, who, prest between
Wrongs and the terror of redress, would wean 5
Millions from glorious aims. Our chains to sever
Let us break forth in tempest now or never!--
What, is there then no space for golden mean
And gradual progress?--Twilight leads to day,
And, even within the burning zones of earth, 10
The hastiest sunrise yields a temperate ray;
The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth:
Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes,
She scans the future with the eye of gods.
III
CONCLUDED
Composed 1837.--Published 1842
As leaves are to the tree whereon they grow
And wither, every human generation
Is to the Being of a mighty nation,
Locked in our world’s embrace through weal and woe;
Thought that should teach the zealot to forego 5
Rash schemes, to abjure all selfish agitation,
And seek through noiseless pains and moderation
The unblemished good they only can bestow.
Alas! with most, who weigh futurity
Against time present, passion holds the scales: 10
Hence equal ignorance of both prevails,
And nations sink; or, struggling to be free,
Are doomed to flounder on, like wounded whales
Tossed on the bosom of a stormy sea.
[161] This date was omitted in the edition of 1842.
[162] The three sonnets, _At Bologna, in remembrance of the late
Insurrections_, 1837, are printed as a sequel to the Italian Tour of
that year.--ED.
“WHAT IF OUR NUMBERS BARELY COULD DEFY”
Composed 1837.--Published 1837
One of the “Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty.”--ED.
What if our numbers barely could defy
The arithmetic of babes, must foreign hordes,
Slaves, vile as ever were befooled by words,
Striking through English breasts the anarchy
Of Terror, bear us to the ground, and tie 5
Our hands behind our backs with felon cords?
Yields every thing to discipline of swords?
Is man as good as man, none low, none high?--
Nor discipline nor valour can withstand
The shock, nor quell[163] the inevitable rout, 10
When in some great extremity breaks out
A people, on their own beloved Land
Risen, like one man, to combat in the sight
Of a just God for liberty and right.
[163] 1837.
… nor stem …
C.
A NIGHT THOUGHT
Composed 1837.--Published 1837
[These verses were thrown off extempore upon leaving Mrs. Luff’s
house at Fox Ghyll one evening. The good woman is not disposed to
look at the bright side of things, and there happened to be present
certain ladies who had reached the point of life where _youth_ is
ended, and who seemed to contend with each other in expressing their
dislike of the country and climate. One of them had been heard to say
she could not endure a country where there was “neither sunshine nor
cavaliers.”--I.F.]
This poem was first published in _The Tribute, a Collection of
Miscellaneous unpublished Poems by various Authors, edited by Lord
Northampton_, in 1837, “for the benefit of the widow and family of the
Rev. Edward Smedley.” (The same volume contained a poem by Southey on
Brough Bells.) It next found a place in “Poems chiefly of Early and
Late Years” (1842). A stanza given in _The Tribute_, No. 2 (see below),
was omitted afterwards.--ED.
Lo! where the Moon along the sky
Sails with her happy destiny;[164]
Oft is she hid from mortal eye
Or dimly seen,
But when the clouds asunder fly 5
How bright her mien![165]
Far different we--a froward race,[166]
Thousands though rich in Fortune’s grace
With cherished sullenness of pace
Their way pursue, 10
Ingrates who wear a smileless face
The whole year through.
If kindred humours e’er would make[167]
My spirit droop for drooping’s sake,
From Fancy following in thy wake, 15
Bright ship of heaven!
A counter impulse let me take
And be forgiven.[168]
[164] 1842.
The moon that sails along the sky
Moves with a happy destiny,
1837.
[165] 1837.
Not flagging when the winds all sleep,
Not hurried onward, when they sweep
The bosom of th’ ethereal deep,
Not turned aside,
She knows an even course to keep,
Whate’er betide.
In the text of 1837 only.
[166] 1842.
Perverse are we--a froward race;
1837.
[167] 1842.
If kindred humour e’er should make
1837.
[168] Compare the poem _To the Daisy_ (1802), beginning--
Bright Flower! whose home is everywhere.
ED.
THE WIDOW ON WINDERMERE SIDE
Published 1842
[The facts recorded in this Poem were given me, and the character of
the person described, by my friend the Rev. R. P. Graves,[169] who
has long officiated as curate at Bowness, to the great benefit of the
parish and neighbourhood. The individual was well known to him. She
died before these verses were composed. It is scarcely worth while
to notice that the stanzas are written in the sonnet form, which was
adopted when I thought the matter might be included in twenty-eight
lines.--I.F.]
One of the “Poems founded on the Affections.”--ED.
I
How beautiful when up a lofty height
Honour ascends among the humblest poor,
And feeling sinks as deep! See there the door
Of One, a Widow, left beneath a weight
Of blameless debt. On evil Fortune’s spite 5
She wasted no complaint, but strove to make
A just repayment, both for conscience-sake
And that herself and hers should stand upright
In the world’s eye. Her work when daylight failed
Paused not, and through the depth of night she kept 10
Such earnest vigils, that belief prevailed
With some, the noble Creature never slept;
But, one by one, the hand of death assailed
Her children from her inmost heart bewept.
II
The Mother mourned, nor ceased her tears to flow, 15
Till a winter’s noon-day placed her buried Son
Before her eyes, last child of many gone--
His raiment of angelic white, and lo!
His very feet bright as the dazzling snow
Which they are touching; yea far brighter, even 20
As that which comes, or seems to come, from heaven,
Surpasses aught these elements can show.
Much she rejoiced, trusting that from that hour
Whate’er befel she could not grieve or pine;
But the Transfigured, in and out of season, 25
Appeared, and spiritual presence gained a power
Over material forms that mastered reason.
Oh, gracious Heaven, in pity make her thine!
III
But why that prayer? as if to her could come
No good but by the way that leads to bliss 30
Through Death,--so judging we should judge amiss.
Since reason failed want is her threatened doom,
Yet frequent transports mitigate the gloom:
Nor of those maniacs is she one that kiss
The air or laugh upon a precipice; 35
No, passing through strange sufferings toward the tomb,
She smiles as if a martyr’s crown were won:
Oft, when light breaks through clouds or waving trees,
With outspread arms and fallen upon her knees
The Mother hails in her descending Son 40
An Angel, and in earthly ecstasies
Her own angelic glory seems begun.
[169] The late Archdeacon of Dublin, author of _Life of Sir William
Rowan Hamilton_, etc. He gives the date of the composition of the poem
as 1837.--ED.
1838
In 1838 Wordsworth wrote ten sonnets. These were published (along with
the one suggested by Mrs. Southey) for the first time in the volume of
collected Sonnets, several being inserted out of their intended place,
while the book was passing through the press.
The _Protest against the Ballot_, which appeared in 1838, was never
republished.--ED.
TO THE PLANET VENUS
UPON ITS APPROXIMATION (AS AN EVENING STAR) TO THE EARTH, JANUARY 1838
Composed 1838.--Published 1838[170]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
What strong allurement draws, what spirit guides,
Thee, Vesper! brightening still, as if the nearer
Thou com’st to man’s abode the spot grew dearer
Night after night? True is it Nature hides
Her treasures less and less.--Man now presides 5
In power, where once he trembled in his weakness;
Science[171] advances with gigantic strides;
But are we aught enriched in love and meekness?[172]
Aught dost thou see, bright Star! of pure and wise
More than in humbler times graced human story; 10
That makes our hearts more apt to sympathise
With heaven, our souls more fit for future glory,
When earth shall vanish from our closing eyes,
Ere we lie down in our last dormitory?[173]
[170] It was afterwards printed in the _Saturday Magazine_, Oct. 24,
1840.--ED.
[171] 1845.
Knowledge
1838.
[172] Compare Tennyson’s _In Memoriam_, stanza cxx.--
Let Science prove we are, and then
What matters Science unto men, etc.
ED.
[173] Compare the poem in vol. vii. p. 299, _To the Planet Venus, an
Evening Star_.--ED.
“HARK! ’TIS THE THRUSH, UNDAUNTED, UNDEPREST”
Composed 1838.--Published 1838
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Hark! ’tis the Thrush, undaunted, undeprest,
By twilight premature of cloud and rain;
Nor does that roaring wind deaden his strain[174]
Who carols thinking of his Love and nest,
And seems, as more incited, still more blest. 5
Thanks; thou hast snapped a fire-side Prisoner’s chain,
Exulting Warbler! eased a fretted brain,
And in a moment charmed my cares to rest.
Yes, I will forth, bold Bird! and front the blast,
That we may sing together, if thou wilt, 10
So loud, so clear, my Partner through life’s day,
Mute in her nest love-chosen, if not love-built
Like thine, shall gladden, as in seasons past,
Thrilled by loose snatches of the social Lay.
RYDAL MOUNT, 1838.
[174] 1838.
… undaunted, unopprest,
Struggling with twilight premature and rain.
Loud roars the wind, but smothers not his strain
MS.
“’TIS HE WHOSE YESTER-EVENING’S HIGH DISDAIN”
Composed 1838.--Published 1838
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
’Tis He whose yester-evening’s high disdain
Beat back the roaring storm--but how subdued
His day-break note, a sad vicissitude!
Does the hour’s drowsy weight his glee restrain?
Or, like the nightingale, her joyous vein 5
Pleased to renounce, does this dear Thrush attune
His voice to suit the temper of yon Moon
Doubly depressed, setting, and in her wane?
Rise, tardy Sun! and let the Songster prove
(The balance trembling between night and morn 10
No longer) with what ecstasy upborne
He can pour forth his spirit. In heaven above,
And earth below, they best can serve true gladness
Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.
COMPOSED AT RYDAL ON MAY MORNING, 1838[175]
Composed 1st May 1838.--Published 1838
[This and the following sonnet were composed on what we call the “Far
Terrace” at Rydal Mount, where I have murmured out many thousands of
verses.--I.F.]
This sonnet was first published in the Volume of Collected Sonnets
in 1838. In 1842 it was classed among the “Miscellaneous Sonnets”;
but in 1845 it was transferred to the “Memorials of a Tour in Italy,
1837.”--ED.
If with old love of you, dear Hills! I share
New love of many a rival image brought
From far, forgive the wanderings of my thought:
Nor art thou wronged, sweet May! when I compare[176]
Thy present birth-morn with thy last,[177][178] so fair, 5
So rich to me in favours. For my lot
Then was, within the famed Egerian Grot
To sit and muse, fanned by its dewy air
Mingling with thy soft breath! That morning too,
Warblers I heard their joy unbosoming 10
Amid the sunny, shadowy, Coliseum;[179]
Heard them, unchecked by aught of saddening hue,[180]
For victories there won by flower-crowned Spring,[181]
Chant in full choir their innocent Te Deum.
[175] 1845.
The title in 1838 was “COMPOSED ON MAY-MORNING, 1838”; and “RYDAL
MOUNT” was written at the foot of the sonnet.
[176] 1838.
May, if from these thy northern haunts I share
Fond looks of mind for images remote
Fetched out of milder climates, blame me not,
Nor that, upris’n thus early, I compare
MS.
Let those who will or can, dear May, forbear
To rise and hail thy coming, I could not.
The vivid images of scenes remote
Rushing on memory urge me to compare
MS.
Dear native Hills, the love of you I share
With …
MS.
Dear fields and native mountains, if I share
My love of youth with love of objects brought
{From far, by faithful memory, blame me not. }
{Fetched from a milder climate, blame me not.}
{From a distant land by memory, blame me not.}
{Nor that, upris’n thus early, }
{Nor be displeased, sweet May, if} I compare
{May,}
{Thy } present …
MS.
[177] 1838.
… past,
MS.
[178] On May morning, 1837, Wordsworth was in Rome with Henry Crabb
Robinson.--ED.
[179] The Flavian Amphitheatre, begun by Vespasian, A.D. 72, and
continued by his son Titus, one of the noblest structures in Rome, now
a ruin. --ED.
[180] 1845.
… of sombre hue,
1838.
… by thoughts of sombre hue,
MS.
[181] 1838.
… too,
How my heart swelled when in the mighty ring,
The mouldering, shadowy, sunny Collosseum,
I heard with some sad thoughts of local hue
Warblers there lodged, for victories won by spring
MS.
… too,
Here did I a deathless joy embosoming,
{Mid } the shadowy Collosseum,
{Within}
Hear not without sad thoughts of local hue
MS.
… too,
Heard I, a deathless joy embosoming,
Tho’ not without sad thoughts of local hue,
Amid the shadowy, sunny, Collosseum,
Warblers there lodged, for victories won by Spring
MS.
COMPOSED ON A MAY MORNING, 1838[182]
Composed 1838.--Published 1838[183]
This was one of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Life with yon Lambs, like day, is just begun,
Yet Nature seems to them a heavenly guide.[184]
Does joy approach? they meet the coming tide;
And sullenness avoid, as now they shun[185]
Pale twilight’s lingering glooms,--and in the sun 5
Couch near their dams, with quiet satisfied;[186]
Or gambol--each with his shadow at his side,[187]
Varying its shape wherever he may run.
As they from turf yet hoar with sleepy dew
All turn, and court the shining and the green, 10
Where herbs look up, and opening flowers are seen;
Why to God’s goodness cannot We be true,
And so, His[188] gifts and promises between,
Feed to the last on pleasures ever new?
[182] 1845.
The title, in 1838, was “COMPOSED ON THE SAME MORNING”; referring to
the previous sonnet in that edition, beginning--
If with old love of you, dear Hills! I share.
[183] There were so many tentative efforts in the construction of this
sonnet, and the one which follows it, that I feel justified in printing
them from MS. sources.--ED.
[184] 1838.
Life with yon mountain lambs is just begun,
MS.
Yon mountain Lambs whose life is just begun
Some guidance know to Man’s grave years denied.
MS.
Your lives, ye mountain lambs, tho’ just begun
A guidance know to our best years denied.
MS. sent to Mr. Clarkson.
[185] 1838.
O that by Nature we were prompt the tide
Of joy to meet, as {they} are who {now } shun
{ye } {there}
MS. sent to Mr. Clarkson.
[186] 1838.
The lingering glooms of twilight, in the sun
To couch, with sober quiet satisfied.
MS. sent to Mr. Clarkson.
… shun
Hollows unbrightened by the {rising} sun
{morning}
On slopes to couch with quiet satisfied.
MS.
To couch on slopes where he his beams has tried,
Sporting and running wheresoe’er ye run.
MS.
[187] 1838.
Couch near their dams; or frisk in sportive pride
Each with his playful shadow at his side,
MS.
[188] 1838.
As they from turf hoary with unsunned dew
Turn and do one and all prefer the green
To chilly nooks, knolls cheered with glistening sheen,
Why may not we a kindred course pursue
And so, God’s …
MS.
… shun
Hollows {enlivened } by the rising sun
{unbrightened}
On slopes to couch with quiet satisfied,
Or gambol each, his shadow at his side,
Running in sport wherever he may run.
As from dull turf hoary with unsunned dew
They turn, and one and all prefer the green
To chilly nooks, knolls {warmed} with glistening sheen,
{cheered}
Why may not we a kindred course pursue
And so, Heaven’s …
MS.
… shun
The lingering gloom of twilight in the sun,
To couch with sober quiet satisfied,
Or gambol each, his shadow at his side,
Varying its shape wherever he may run.
MS.
As they from turf with thick and sleepy dew
{{Yet} whitened o’er, turn and}
{{All} } prefer the green
{Turn, and do one and all }
To chilly nooks, {slopes} warm with glistening sheen,
{knolls}
Why may not we thro’ life such course pursue
And so, God’s …
MS.
As they from turf with thick and sleepy dew
Yet whitened o’er, turn and prefer the green;
To chilly nooks, slopes warm with glistering sheen,
Why may not we such course through life pursue,
And so, God’s gifts and promises between,
Feed …
MS.
A PLEA FOR AUTHORS, MAY 1838
Failing impartial measure to dispense
To every suitor, Equity is lame;
And social Justice, stript of reverence
For natural rights, a mockery and a shame;
Law but a servile dupe of false pretence, 5
If, guarding grossest things from common claim
Now and for ever, She, to works that came[189]
From mind and spirit, grudge a short-lived fence.
“What! lengthened privilege, a lineal tie,
For _Books_!” Yes, heartless Ones, or be it proved 10
That ’tis a fault in Us to have lived and loved
Like others, with like temporal hopes to die;
No public harm that Genius from her course
Be turned; and streams of truth dried up, even at their source![190]
[189] 1838.
{If} failing one strict measure to dispense
{When}
To all her suitors Equity is lame,
And social justice by fit reverence
Of natural right unswayed is but a name,
MS.
{Law but} the servile dupe of false pretence,
{And Law}
MS.
{When} guarding grossest things from common claim
{If}
Now, and for ever, She for work that came
MS.
… lame,
Justice unswayed, unmoved by reverence
For natural right {what is she but a name?}
{is but an empty name, }
MS.
[190] 1838.
… from its course
Be turned, and streams of truth dried at their source.
MS.
From mind and spirit grudge a short-lived fence.
But no--{our} sages join in banded force
{the}
{That} books by right or wrong {may} glad the isle
{With} {to}
Say, {would} this serve the {future should our} course
{can } {people if the }
{Of pure domestic hopes be checked the while}
{Of prejudice be less opposed the while }
{Should} toil-worn Genius want a cheering smile
{If }
And streams of truth be dried up at their source?
MS.
Out of the mind grudges a short-lived fence.
{But no--the Sages join in banded force }
{And how preposterous Sages is your course}
Who cry give books free passage thro’ the isle.
{Say can this serve the people of our isle, }
{By right or wrong, for better or for worse,}
Friends to the people, what care ye the while
Tho’ toil-worn genius want a cheering smile
And far-fetched truth be dried up at her source?
MS.
“BLEST STATESMAN HE, WHOSE MIND’S UNSELFISH WILL”
Composed 1838.--Published 1838
One of the “Sonnets dedicated to Liberty and Order.”--ED.
Blest Statesman He, whose Mind’s unselfish will
Leaves him[191] at ease among grand thoughts: whose eye
Sees that, apart from magnanimity,
Wisdom exists not; nor the humbler skill
Of Prudence, disentangling good and ill 5
With patient care. What tho’[192] assaults run high,
They daunt not him who holds his ministry,
Resolute, at all hazards, to fulfil
Its[193] duties;--prompt to move, but firm to wait,--
Knowing, things rashly sought are rarely found; 10
That, for[194] the functions of an ancient State--
Strong by her charters, free because imbound,
Servant of Providence, not slave of Fate--
Perilous is sweeping change, all chance unsound.[195]
[191] 1842.
… her
C. and 1838.
[192] 1838.
… if
C.
[193] 1838.
His
C.
[194] 1838.
… in
C.
[195]
All change is perilous, and all chance unsound.
SPENSER.--W.W. 1838.
The passage will be found in _The Faërie Queene_, book v. canto xii.
stanza 36.--ED.
VALEDICTORY SONNET[196]
Composed 1838.--Published 1838
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Serving no haughty Muse, my hands have here
Disposed some cultured Flowerets (drawn from spots
Where they bloomed singly, or in scattered knots),
Each kind in several beds of one parterre;
Both to allure the casual Loiterer, 5
And that, so placed, my Nurslings may requite
Studious regard with opportune delight,
Nor be unthanked, unless I fondly err.
But metaphor dismissed, and thanks apart,
Reader, farewell! My last words let them be-- 10
If in this book Fancy and Truth agree;
If simple Nature trained by careful Art
Through It have won a passage to thy heart;
Grant me thy love, I crave no other fee!
[196] This closed the volume of sonnets published in 1838.--ED.
1839
The fourteen “Sonnets upon the Punishment of Death” were originally
published in the _Quarterly Review_ (in December 1841), in an article
on the “Sonnets of William Wordsworth” by the late Sir Henry Taylor,
author of _Philip van Artevelde_, and other poems. Towards the close of
this article (of 1841), after reviewing the volume of Sonnets published
in 1838, Sir Henry adds, “There is a short series _written two years
ago_, which we have been favoured with permission to present to the
public for the first time. It was suggested by the recent discussions
in Parliament, and elsewhere, on the subject of the ‘Punishment of
Death.’”
When republishing this and other critical Essays on Poetry, in
the collected edition of his works in 1878, Sir Henry omitted the
paragraphs relating to these particular sonnets. Wordsworth published
the sonnets in his volume of “Poems chiefly of Early and Late Years,”
in 1842.--ED.
SONNETS UPON THE PUNISHMENT OF DEATH
IN SERIES
Composed 1839.--Published 1841
“In the session of 1836, a report by the Commissioners on Criminal
Law--of which the second part was on this subject (the Punishment of
Death)--was laid before Parliament. In the ensuing session this was
followed by papers presented to Parliament by her Majesty’s command,
and consisting of a correspondence between the Commissioners, Lord
John Russell, and Lord Denman. Upon the foundation afforded by these
documents, the bills of the 17th July 1837--(7th Gul. IV. and 1st
Vict. cap. 84 to 89 and 91)--were brought in and passed. These acts
removed the punishment of death from about 200 offences, and left it
applicable to high treason,--murder and attempts at murder--rape--arson
with danger to life--and to piracies, burglaries, and robberies, when
aggravated by cruelty and violence.” (Sir Henry Taylor, _Quarterly
Review_, Dec. 1841, p. 39.) Some members of the House of Commons--Mr.
Fitzroy Kelly, Mr. Ewart, and others--desired a further limitation
of the punishment of death to the crimes of murder and treason only:
and the question of the entire abolition of capital punishment being
virtually before the country, Wordsworth dealt with it in the following
series of sonnets.--ED.
I
SUGGESTED BY THE VIEW OF LANCASTER CASTLE (ON THE ROAD FROM THE SOUTH)
This Spot--at once unfolding sight so fair
Of sea and land, with yon grey towers that still
Rise up as if to lord it over air--
Might soothe in human breasts the sense of ill,
Or charm it out of memory; yea, might fill 5
The heart with joy and gratitude to God
For all his bounties upon man bestowed:
Why bears it then the name of “Weeping Hill”?[197]
Thousands, as toward yon old Lancastrian Towers,
A prison’s crown, along this way they past 10
For lingering durance or quick death with shame,
From this bare eminence thereon have cast
Their first look--blinded as tears fell in showers
Shed on their chains; and hence that doleful name.
[197] The name given to the spot from which criminals on their way to
the Castle of Lancaster first see it.--ED.
II[198]
“TENDERLY DO WE FEEL BY NATURE’S LAW”
Tenderly do we feel by Nature’s law
For worst offenders: though the heart will heave
With indignation, deeply moved we grieve,
In after thought, for Him who stood in awe
Neither of God nor man, and only saw, 5
Lost wretch, a horrible device enthroned
On proud temptations, till the victim groaned
Under the steel his hand had dared to draw.
But O, restrain compassion, if its course,
As oft befalls, prevent or turn aside 10
Judgments and aims and acts whose higher source
Is sympathy with the unforewarned, who died[199]
Blameless--with them that shuddered o’er his grave,
And all who from the law firm safety crave.
[198] “The first sonnet prepares the reader to sympathise with the
sufferings of the culprits. The next cautions him as to the limits
within which his sympathies are to be restrained.” (Sir Henry
Taylor.)--ED.
[199] 1842.
… that died
1841.
III[200]
“THE ROMAN CONSUL DOOMED HIS SONS TO DIE”
The Roman Consul doomed his sons to die
Who had betrayed their country.[201] The stern word
Afforded (may it through all time afford)
A theme for praise and admiration high.
Upon the surface of humanity 5
He rested not; its depths his mind explored;
He felt; but his parental bosom’s lord
Was Duty,--Duty calmed his agony.
And some, we know, when they by wilful act
A single human life have wrongly taken, 10
Pass sentence on themselves, confess the fact,
And, to atone for it, with soul unshaken
Kneel at the feet of Justice, and, for faith
Broken with all mankind, solicit death.
[200] “In the third and fourth sonnets the reader is prepared to
regard as low and effeminate the views which would estimate life and
death as the most important of all sublunary conditions.” (Sir Henry
Taylor.)--ED.
[201] Lucius Junius Brutus, who condemned his sons to die for the part
they took in the conspiracy to restore the Tarquins. (See Livy, book
ii.)--ED.
IV
“IS _DEATH_, WHEN EVIL AGAINST GOOD HAS FOUGHT”
Is _Death_, when evil against good has fought
With such fell mastery that a man may dare
By deeds the blackest purpose to lay bare?
Is Death, for one to that condition brought,
For him, or any one, the thing that ought 5
To be _most_ dreaded? Lawgivers, beware,
Lest, capital pains remitting till ye spare
The murderer, ye, by sanction to that thought
Seemingly given, debase the general mind;
Tempt the vague will tried standards to disown, 10
Nor only palpable restraints unbind,
But upon Honour’s head disturb the crown,
Whose absolute rule permits not to withstand
In the weak love of life his least command.
V
“NOT TO THE OBJECT SPECIALLY DESIGNED”
Not to the object specially designed,
Howe’er momentous in itself it be,
Good to promote or curb depravity,
Is the wise Legislator’s view confined.
His Spirit, when most severe, is oft most kind; 5
As all Authority in earth depends
On Love and Fear, their several powers he blends,
Copying with awe the one Paternal mind.
Uncaught by processes in show humane,
He feels how far the act would derogate 10
From even the humblest functions of the State;
If she, self-shorn of Majesty, ordain
That never more shall hang upon her breath
The last alternative of Life or Death.
VI[202]
“YE BROOD OF CONSCIENCE--SPECTRES! THAT FREQUENT”
Ye brood of conscience--Spectres! that frequent
The bad man’s restless walk, and haunt his bed--
Fiends in your aspect, yet beneficent
In act, as hovering Angels when they spread
Their wings to guard the unconscious Innocent-- 5
Slow be the Statutes of the land to share
A laxity that could not but impair
_Your_ power to punish crime, and so prevent.
And ye, Beliefs! coiled serpent-like about
The adage on all tongues, “Murder will out,”[203] 10
How shall your ancient warnings work for good
In the full might they hitherto have shown,
If for deliberate shedder of man’s blood
Survive not Judgment that requires his own?
[202] “The sixth sonnet adverts to the effect of the law in preventing
the crime of murder, not merely by fear, but by horror, by investing
the crime itself with the colouring of dark and terrible imaginations.”
(Sir Henry Taylor.)--ED.
[203] See Chaucer, _The Nonnes Priestes Tale_, l. 232.--ED.
VII
“BEFORE THE WORLD HAD PAST HER TIME OF YOUTH”
Before the world had past her time of youth
While polity and discipline were weak,
The precept eye for eye, and tooth for tooth,
Came forth--a light, though but as of day-break,
Strong as could then be borne. A Master meek 5
Proscribed the spirit fostered by that rule,
Patience _his_ law, long-suffering _his_ school,
And love the end, which all through peace must seek.
But lamentably do they err who strain
His mandates, given rash impulse to controul 10
And keep vindictive thirstings from the soul,
So far that, if consistent in their scheme,
They must forbid the State to inflict a pain,
Making of social order a mere dream.
VIII[204]
“FIT RETRIBUTION, BY THE MORAL CODE”
Fit retribution, by the moral code
Determined, lies beyond the State’s embrace,
Yet, as she may, for each peculiar case
She plants well-measured terrors in the road
Of wrongful acts. Downward it is and broad, 5
And, the main fear once doomed to banishment,
Far oftener then, bad ushering worse event,
Blood would be spilt that in his dark abode
Crime might lie better hid. And, should the change
Take from the horror due to a foul deed, 10
Pursuit and evidence so far must fail,
And, guilt escaping, passion then might plead
In angry spirits for her old free range,
And the “wild justice of revenge”[205] prevail.
[204] “In the eighth sonnet the doctrine, which would strive to measure
out the punishments awarded by the law in proportion to the degrees of
moral turpitude, is disavowed.” (Sir Henry Taylor.)--ED.
[205] See Bacon’s Essay _Of Revenge_, beginning, “Revenge is a sort of
wild justice.”--ED.
IX
“THOUGH TO GIVE TIMELY WARNING AND DETER”
Though to give timely warning and deter
Is one great aim of penalty, extend
Thy mental vision further and ascend
Far higher, else full surely shalt thou err.[206]
What is a State? The wise behold in her 5
A creature born of time, that keeps one eye
Fixed on the statutes of Eternity,
To which her judgments reverently defer.
Speaking through Law’s dispassionate voice the State
Endues her conscience with external life 10
And being, to preclude or quell the strife
Of individual will, to elevate
The grovelling mind, the erring to recal,
And fortify the moral sense of all.
[206] 1845.
… thou shalt err.
1842.
X
“OUR BODILY LIFE, SOME PLEAD, THAT LIFE THE SHRINE”
Our bodily life, some plead, that life the shrine
Of an immortal spirit, is a gift
So sacred, so informed with light divine,
That no tribunal, though most wise to sift
Deed and intent, should turn the Being adrift 5
Into that world where penitential tear
May not avail, nor prayer have for God’s ear
A voice--that world whose veil no hand can lift
For earthly sight. “Eternity and Time”
_They_ urge, “have interwoven claims and rights 10
Not to be jeopardised through foulest crime:
The sentence rule by mercy’s heaven-born lights.”
Even so; but measuring not by finite sense
Infinite Power, perfect Intelligence.
XI[207]
“AH, THINK HOW ONE COMPELLED FOR LIFE TO ABIDE”
Ah, think how one compelled for life to abide
Locked in a dungeon needs must eat the heart
Out of his own humanity, and part
With every hope that mutual cares provide;
And, should a less unnatural doom confide 5
In life-long exile on a savage coast,
Soon the relapsing penitent may boast
Of yet more heinous guilt, with fiercer pride.
Hence thoughtful Mercy, Mercy sage and pure,
Sanctions the forfeiture that Law demands, 10
Leaving the final issue in _His_ hands
Whose goodness knows no change, whose love is sure,
Who sees, foresees; who cannot judge amiss,
And wafts at will the contrite soul to bliss.
[207] “In the eleventh and twelfth sonnets the alternatives of
secondary punishment,--solitary imprisonment, and transportation,--are
adverted to.” (Sir Henry Taylor.)--ED.
XII
“SEE THE CONDEMNED ALONE WITHIN HIS CELL”
See the Condemned alone within his cell
And prostrate at some moment when remorse
Stings to the quick, and, with resistless force,
Assaults the pride she strove in vain to quell.
Then mark him, him who could so long rebel, 5
The crime confessed, a kneeling Penitent
Before the Altar, where the Sacrament
Softens his heart, till from his eyes outwell
Tears of salvation. Welcome death! while Heaven
Does in this change exceedingly rejoice; 10
While yet the solemn heed the State hath given
Helps him to meet the last Tribunal’s voice
In faith, which fresh offences, were he cast
On old temptations, might for ever blast.
XIII[208]
CONCLUSION
Yes, though He well may tremble at the sound
Of his own voice, who from the judgment-seat
Sends the pale Convict to his last retreat
In death; though Listeners shudder all around,
They know the dread requital’s source profound; 5
Nor is, they feel, its wisdom obsolete--
(Would that it were!) the sacrifice unmeet
For Christian Faith. But hopeful signs abound;
The social rights of man breathe purer air;
Religion deepens her preventive care; 10
Then, moved by needless fear of past abuse,
Strike not from Law’s firm hand that awful rod,
But leave it thence to drop for lack of use:
Oh, speed the blessed hour, Almighty God!
[208] “In the thirteenth sonnet he anticipates that a time may come
when the punishment of death will be needed no longer; but he wishes
that the disuse of it should grow out of the absence of the need, not
be imposed by legislation.” (Sir Henry Taylor.)--ED.
XIV
APOLOGY
The formal World relaxes her cold chain
For One who speaks in numbers; ampler scope
His utterance finds; and, conscious of the gain,
Imagination works with bolder hope
The cause of grateful reason to sustain; 5
And, serving Truth, the heart more strongly beats
Against all barriers which his labour meets
In lofty place, or humble Life’s domain.
Enough;--before us lay a painful road,
And guidance have I sought in duteous love 10
From Wisdom’s heavenly Father. Hence hath flowed
Patience, with trust that, whatsoe’er the way
Each takes in this high matter, all may move
Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day.
1840.[209]
[209] In the editions of 1842, 1845, and 1850 the date “1840” follows
this poem. It may have been written in that year.--ED.
“MEN OF THE WESTERN WORLD! IN FATE’S DARK BOOK”
Published 1842
One of the “Sonnets dedicated to Liberty and Order.”--ED.
Men of the Western World! in Fate’s dark book
Whence these opprobrious leaves of dire portent?
Think ye your British Ancestors forsook
Their native Land, for outrage provident;
From unsubmissive necks the bridle shook 5
To give, in their Descendants, freer vent
And wider range to passions turbulent,
To mutual tyranny a deadlier look?
Nay, said a voice, soft as the south wind’s breath,
Dive through the stormy surface of the flood 10
To the great current flowing underneath;
Explore the countless springs of silent good;
So shall the truth be better understood,
And thy grieved Spirit brighten strong in faith.[210]
[210] These lines were written several years ago, when reports
prevailed of cruelties committed in many parts of America, by men
making a law of their own passions. A far more formidable, as being a
more deliberate mischief, has appeared among those States, which have
lately broken faith with the public creditor in a manner so infamous.
I cannot, however, but look at both evils under a similar relation to
inherent good, and hope that the time is not distant when our brethren
of the West will wipe off this stain from their name and nation.
ADDITIONAL NOTE.
I am happy to add that this anticipation is already partly realised;
and that the reproach addressed to the Pennsylvanians is no longer
applicable to them. I trust that those other states to which it may yet
apply will soon follow the example now set them by Philadelphia, and
redeem their credit with the world.--W.W. 1850.
“This editorial note is on a fly-leaf at the end of the fifth volume of
the edition, which was completed only a short time before the Poet’s
death. It contains probably the last sentences composed by him for the
press. It was promptly added by him in consequence of a suggestion
from me, that the sonnet addressed “_To Pennsylvanians_” was no longer
just--a fact which is mentioned to shew that the fine sense of truth
and justice which distinguish his writings was active to the last.”
(Note to Professor Reed’s American Edition of 1851.)--ED.
1840
Only four poems, viz. _Poor Robin_, two sonnets referring to Miss
Gillies, and one on Haydon’s portrait of the Duke of Wellington, belong
to 1840.--ED.
TO A PAINTER
Composed 1840.--Published 1842
[The picture which gave occasion to this and the following sonnet was
from the pencil of Miss M. Gillies, who resided for several weeks under
our roof at Rydal Mount.--I.F.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
All praise the Likeness by thy skill portrayed;[211]
But ’tis a fruitless task to paint for me,
Who, yielding not to changes Time has made,
By the habitual light of memory see
Eyes unbedimmed, see bloom that cannot fade, 5
And smiles that from their birth-place ne’er shall flee
Into the land where ghosts and phantoms be;
And, seeing this, own nothing in its stead.
Couldst thou go back into far-distant years,
Or share with me, fond thought! that inward eye,[212] 10
Then, and then only, Painter! could thy Art
The visual powers of Nature satisfy,
Which hold, whate’er to common sight appears,
Their sovereign empire in a faithful heart.
[211] Miss Gillies told me that she visited Rydal Mount in 1841, at the
invitation of the Wordsworths, to make a miniature portrait of the poet
on ivory, which had been commissioned by Mr. Moon, the publisher, for
the purpose of engraving. An engraving of this portrait was published
on the 6th of August 1841. The original is now in America. I think she
must have been wrong in her memory of the year, which was 1840. Miss
Gillies also told me that the Wordsworths were so pleased with what she
had done for Mr. Moon that they wished a replica for themselves, with
Mrs. Wordsworth added. She painted this; and a copy of it, subsequently
taken for Miss Quillinan, was long in her possession at Loughrigg
Holme. It now belongs to Mr. Gordon Wordsworth. It is to the portrait
of Mrs. Wordsworth that this sonnet and the next refer.--ED.
[212] Compare the lines in vol. iii. p. 5--
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude.
The fact that these two lines had been added by Mrs. Wordsworth (see
note to the poem, p. 7) was doubtless remembered by the poet, when he
wrote this sonnet suggested by her portrait.--ED.
ON THE SAME SUBJECT
Composed 1840.--Published 1842
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Though I beheld at first with blank surprise
This Work, I now have gazed on it so long
I see its truth with unreluctant eyes;
O, my Belovèd! I have done thee wrong,
Conscious of blessedness, but, whence it sprung, 5
Ever too heedless, as I now perceive:
Morn into noon did pass, noon into eve,
And the old day was welcome as the young,
As welcome, and as beautiful--in sooth
More beautiful, as being a thing more holy: 10
Thanks to thy virtues, to the eternal youth
Of all thy goodness, never melancholy;
To thy large heart and humble mind, that cast
Into one vision, future, present, past.[213]
[213] Compare--
O dearer far than light and life are dear (1824).
Let other bards of angels sing (1824).
Such age how beautiful! O Lady bright (1827).
What heavenly smiles! O Lady mine (1845).
ED.
POOR ROBIN[214]
Composed March 1840.--Published 1842
[I often ask myself what will become of Rydal Mount after our day.
Will the old walls and steps remain in front of the house and about
the grounds, or will they be swept away with all the beautiful mosses
and ferns and wild geraniums and other flowers which their rude
construction suffered and encouraged to grow among them?[215]--This
little wild flower--“Poor Robin”--is here constantly courting my
attention, and exciting what may be called a domestic interest with the
varying aspects of its stalks and leaves and flowers.[216] Strangely do
the tastes of men differ according to their employment and habits of
life. “What a nice well would that be,” said a labouring man to me one
day, “if all that rubbish was cleared off.” The “_rubbish_” was some of
the most beautiful mosses and lichens and ferns and other wild growths
that could possibly be seen. Defend us from the tyranny of trimness and
neatness showing itself in this way! Chatterton says of freedom--“Upon
her head wild weeds were spread,” and depend upon it if “the marvellous
boy” had undertaken to give Flora a garland, he would have preferred
what we are apt to call weeds to garden flowers. True taste has an eye
for both. Weeds have been called flowers out of place. I fear the place
most people would assign to them is too limited. Let them come near to
our abodes, as surely they may, without impropriety or disorder.--I.F.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Poems.”--ED.
Now when the primrose makes a splendid show,
And lilies face the March-winds in full blow,
And humbler growths as moved with one desire
Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire,
Poor Robin is yet flowerless; but how gay 5
With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
And, as his tufts[217] of leaves he spreads, content
With a hard bed and scanty nourishment,
Mixed with the green, some shine not lacking power
To rival summer’s brightest scarlet flower; 10
And flowers they well might seem to passers-by
If looked at only with a careless eye;
Flowers--or a richer produce (did it suit
The season) sprinklings of ripe strawberry fruit.
But while a thousand pleasures come unsought, 15
Why fix upon his wealth or want[218] a thought?
Is the string touched in prelude to a lay
Of pretty fancies that would round him play
When all the world acknowledged elfin sway?
Or does it suit our humour to commend 20
Poor Robin as a sure and crafty friend,
Whose practice teaches, spite of names to show
Bright colours whether they deceive or no?--
Nay, we would simply praise the free good-will
With which, though slighted, he, on naked hill 25
Or in warm valley, seeks his part to fill;
Cheerful alike if bare of flowers as now,
Or when his tiny gems shall deck his brow:
Yet more, we wish that men by men despised,
And such as lift their foreheads overprized, 30
Should sometimes think, where’er they chance to spy
This child of Nature’s own humility,
What recompense is kept in store or left
For all that seem neglected or bereft;
With what nice care equivalents are given, 35
How just, how bountiful, the hand of Heaven.
_March, 1840._
[214] The small wild Geranium known by that name.--W.W. 1842.
[215] These things remain comparatively unaltered. Rydal Mount has
suffered little in picturesqueness since Wordsworth’s death; while the
house, and the grounds, have gained in many ways by what the present
tenant has done for them. It is impossible to keep such a place exactly
as it was left by its greatest tenant; and Mr. Crewdson has certainly
not injured, but wisely improved the place.--ED.
[216] Compare what is said of it in the _Memoirs of Wordsworth_, by his
nephew, vol. i. p. 20.--ED.
[217] 1849.
… tuft
1842.
[218] 1845.
… want or wealth
1842.
ON A PORTRAIT OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON UPON THE FIELD OF WATERLOO, BY
HAYDON[219]
Composed August 31, 1840.--Published 1842
[This was composed while I was ascending Helvellyn in company with my
daughter and her husband. She was on horseback, and rode to the top
of the hill without once dismounting, a feat which it was scarcely
possible to perform except during a season of dry weather; and a guide,
with whom we fell in on the mountain, told us he believed it had never
been accomplished before by any one.--I.F.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets”; but first published in the “Poems
chiefly of Early and Late Years.”--ED.
By Art’s bold privilege Warrior and War-horse stand
On ground yet strewn with their last battle’s wreck;
Let the Steed glory while his Master’s hand
Lies fixed for ages on his conscious neck;
But by the Chieftain’s look, though at his side 5
Hangs that day’s treasured sword, how firm a check
Is given to triumph and all human pride!
Yon trophied Mound shrinks to a shadowy speck
In his calm presence! Him the mighty deed
Elates not, brought far nearer the grave’s rest, 10
As shows that time-worn face, for he such seed
Has sown as yields, we trust, the fruit of fame
In Heaven;[220] hence no one blushes for thy name,
Conqueror, ’mid some sad thoughts, divinely blest!
[219] Haydon worked at this picture of Wellington from June to
November, 1839. (See his Autobiography, vol. iii. pp. 108-131.) He
writes under date, Sept. 4, 1840:--“Hard at work. I heard from dear
Wordsworth, with a glorious sonnet on the Duke, and Copenhagen.† It is
very fine, and I began a new journal directly, and put in the sonnet.
God bless him.” The following is part of Wordsworth’s letter:--
“MY DEAR HAYDON,--We are all charmed with your etching. It is both
poetically and pictorially conceived, and finely executed. I should
have written immediately to thank you for it, and for your letter
and the enclosed one, which is interesting, but I wished to gratify
you by writing a sonnet. I now send it, but with an earnest request
that it may not be put into circulation for some little time, as it
is warm from the brain, and may require, in consequence, some little
retouching. It has this, at least, remarkable attached to it, which
will add to its value in your eyes, that it was actually composed while
I was climbing Helvellyn last Monday.”--ED.
† Wellington’s war-horse.--ED.
[220] 1842.
… Since the mighty deed
Him years have brought far nearer the grave’s rest,
He shows that face time-worn. But he such seed
Has sowed that bears, we trust, the fruit of fame
In Heaven.…
From a copy sent to Haydon.
1841
EPITAPH
IN THE CHAPEL-YARD OF LANGDALE, WESTMORELAND
Composed 1841.--Published 1842
[OWEN LLOYD, the subject of this epitaph, was born at Old Brathay,
near Ambleside, and was the son of Charles Lloyd and his wife Sophia
(_née_ Pemberton), both of Birmingham, who came to reside in this part
of the country, soon after their marriage. They had many children,
both sons and daughters, of whom the most remarkable was the subject
of this epitaph. He was educated under Mr. Dawes, at Ambleside, Dr.
Butler, of Shrewsbury, and lastly at Trinity College, Cambridge, where
he would have been greatly distinguished as a scholar but for inherited
infirmities of bodily constitution, which, from early childhood,
affected his mind. His love for the neighbourhood in which he was
born, and his sympathy with the habits and characters of the mountain
yeomanry, in conjunction with irregular spirits, that unfitted him for
facing duties in situations to which he was unaccustomed, induced him
to accept the retired curacy of Langdale. How much he was beloved and
honoured there, and with what feelings he discharged his duty under the
oppression of severe malady, is set forth, though imperfectly, in the
epitaph.--I.F.]
One of the “Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces.”--ED.
By playful smiles, (alas! too oft
A sad heart’s sunshine) by a soft
And gentle nature, and a free
Yet modest hand of charity,
Through life was OWEN LLOYD endeared 5
To young and old; and how revered
Had been that pious spirit, a tide
Of humble mourners testified,
When, after pains dispensed to prove
The measure of God’s chastening love, 10
Here, brought from far, his corse found rest,--
Fulfilment of his own request;--
Urged less for this Yew’s shade, though he
Planted with such fond hope the tree;
Less for the love of stream and rock, 15
Dear as they were, than that his Flock,
When they no more their Pastor’s voice
Could hear to guide them in their choice
Through good and evil, help might have,
Admonished, from his silent grave, 20
Of righteousness, of sins forgiven,
For peace on earth and bliss in heaven.
This commemorative epitaph to the Rev. Owen Lloyd--the friend of
Hartley Coleridge and of Faber--is carved on the headstone over his
grave in the churchyard at the small hamlet of Chapel Stile, Great
Langdale, Westmoreland. The stone also carries the inscription, “To
the memory of Owen Lloyd, M.A., nearly twelve years incumbent of this
chapel. Born at Old Brathay, March 31, 1803, died at Manchester, April
18, 1841, aged 38.” See a letter of Wordsworth’s referring to Lloyd
amongst his letters in a subsequent volume. In a previous edition I
erred by giving this poem an earlier date. Professor Dowden has shown
the true one conclusively.
Writing from Rydal on 11th August 1841, to his brother Christopher,
Wordsworth said, “I send you with the last corrections an epitaph which
I have just written for poor Owen Lloyd. His brother Edward forwarded
for my perusal some verses which he had composed with a view to that
object; but he expressed a wish that I would compose something myself.
Not approving Edward’s lines altogether, though the sentiments were
sufficiently appropriate, I sent him what I now forward to you, or
rather the substance of it, for something has been added, and some
change of expression introduced. I hope you will approve of it. I find
no fault with it myself, the circumstances considered, except that it
is too long for an Epitaph, but this was inevitable if the memorial was
to be as conspicuous as the subject required, at least according to the
light in which it offered itself to my mind.”--ED.
1842
The poems of 1842 include _The Floating Island_, _The Norman Boy_, _The
Poet’s Dream_, _Airey-Force Valley_, the lines _To the Clouds_, and a
number of miscellaneous sonnets.--ED.
“INTENT ON GATHERING WOOL FROM HEDGE AND BRAKE”
Composed 8th March 1842.--Published 1842
[Suggested by a conversation with Miss Fenwick, who along with her
sister had, during their childhood, found much delight in such
gatherings for the purposes here alluded to.--I.F.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Intent on gathering wool from hedge and brake
Yon busy Little-ones rejoice that soon
A poor old Dame will bless them for the boon:
Great is their glee while flake they add to flake
With rival earnestness; far other strife 5
Than will hereafter move them, if they make
Pastime their idol, give their day of life
To pleasure snatched for reckless pleasure’s sake.
Can pomp and show allay one heart-born grief?
Pains which the World inflicts can she requite? 10
Not for an interval however brief;
The silent thoughts that search for stedfast light,
Love from her depths,[221] and Duty in her might,
And Faith--these only yield secure relief.
_March 8th, 1842._
[221] 1845.
Love from on high, …
1842.
PRELUDE,
PREFIXED TO THE VOLUME ENTITLED “POEMS CHIEFLY OF EARLY AND LATE YEARS”
Composed March 26, 1842.--Published 1842
[These verses were begun while I was on a visit to my son John at
Brigham, and were finished at Rydal. As the contents of the volume,
to which they are now prefixed, will be assigned to their respective
classes when my poems shall be collected in one volume, I should be at
a loss where with propriety to place this prelude, being too restricted
in its bearing to serve for a preface for the whole. The lines towards
the conclusion allude to the discontents then fomented through the
country by the agitators of the Anti-Corn-Law League: the particular
causes of such troubles are transitory, but disposition to excite and
liability to be excited are nevertheless permanent, and therefore
proper objects for the poet’s regard.--I.F.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Poems.”--ED.
In desultory walk through orchard grounds,
Or some deep chestnut grove, oft have I paused
The while a Thrush, urged rather than restrained
By gusts of vernal storm, attuned his song
To his own genial instincts; and was heard 5
(Though not without some plaintive tones between)
To utter, above showers of blossom swept
From tossing boughs, the promise of a calm,
Which the unsheltered traveller might receive
With thankful spirit. The descant, and the wind 10
That seemed to play with it in love or scorn,
Encouraged and endeared the strain of words
That haply flowed from me, by fits of silence
Impelled to livelier pace. But now, my Book!
Charged with those lays, and others of like mood, 15
Or loftier pitch if higher rose the theme,
Go, single--yet aspiring to be joined
With thy Forerunners that through many a year
Have faithfully prepared each other’s way--
Go forth upon a mission best fulfilled 20
When and wherever, in this changeful world,
Power hath been given to please for higher ends
Than pleasure only; gladdening to prepare
For wholesome sadness, troubling to refine,
Calming to raise; and, by a sapient Art 25
Diffused through all the mysteries of our Being,
Softening the toils and pains that have not ceased
To cast their shadows on our mother Earth
Since the primeval doom. Such is the grace
Which, though unsued for, fails not to descend 30
With heavenly inspiration; such the aim
That Reason dictates; and, as even the wish
Has virtue in it, why should hope to me
Be wanting that sometimes, where fancied ills
Harass the mind and strip from off the bowers 35
Of private life their natural pleasantness,
A Voice--devoted to the love whose seeds
Are sown in every human breast, to beauty
Lodged within compass of the humblest sight,
To cheerful intercourse with wood and field, 40
And sympathy with man’s substantial griefs--
Will not be heard in vain? And in those days
When unforeseen distress spreads far and wide
Among a People mournfully cast down,
Or into anger roused by venal words 45
In recklessness flung out to overturn
The judgment, and divert the general heart
From mutual good--some strain of thine, my Book!
Caught at propitious intervals, may win
Listeners who not unwillingly admit 50
Kindly emotion tending to console
And reconcile; and both with young and old
Exalt the sense of thoughtful gratitude
For benefits that still survive, by faith
In progress, under laws divine, maintained. 55
RYDAL MOUNT, _March 26, 1842_.
FLOATING ISLAND
Published 1842
These lines are by the Author of the _Address to the Wind_, etc.,
published heretofore along with my Poems. Those to a Redbreast are by a
deceased female Relative.--W.W. 1842.
[My poor sister takes a pleasure in repeating these verses, which she
composed not long before the beginning of her sad illness.--I.F.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Poems.”--ED.
Harmonious Powers with Nature work
On sky, earth, river, lake, and sea;
Sunshine and cloud, whirlwind and breeze,
All in one duteous task agree.
Once did I see a slip of earth 5
(By throbbing waves long undermined)
Loosed from its hold; how, no one knew,
But all might see it float, obedient to the wind;
Might see it, from the mossy shore
Dissevered, float upon the Lake, 10
Float with its crest of trees adorned
On which the warbling birds their pastime take.
Food, shelter, safety, there they find;
There berries ripen, flowerets bloom;
There insects live their lives, and die; 15
A peopled world it is; in size a tiny room.
And thus through many seasons’ space
This little Island may survive;
But Nature, though we mark her not,
Will take away, may cease to give. 20
Perchance when you are wandering forth
Upon some vacant sunny day,
Without an object, hope, or fear,
Thither your eyes may turn--the Isle is passed away;
Buried beneath the glittering Lake, 25
Its place no longer to be found;
Yet the lost fragments shall remain
To fertilize some other ground.
D. W.
There is one of these floating islands in Loch Lomond in Argyll,
another in Loch Dochart in Perthshire, and another in Loch Treig
in Inverness. Their origin is probably due to a mass of peat being
detached from the shore, and floated out into the lake. A mass of
vegetable matter, however, has sometimes risen from the bottom of the
water, and assumed for a time all the appearance of an island. This
has been probably due to an accumulation of gas, within or under the
detached portion, produced by the decay of vegetation in extremely hot
weather.
Southey, in an unpublished letter to Sir George Beaumont (10th July
1824), thus describes the Island at Derwentwater: “You will have seen
by the papers that the Floating Island has made its appearance. It
sank again last week, when some heavy rains had raised the lake four
feet. By good fortune Professor Sedgewick happened to be in Keswick,
and examined it in time. Where he probed it a thin layer of mud lies
upon a bed of peat, which is six feet thick, and this rests upon a
stratum of fine white clay,--the same I believe which Miss Barker
found in Borrowdale when building her unlucky house. Where the gas is
generated remains yet to be discovered, but when the peat is filled
with this gas, it separates from the clay and becomes buoyant. There
must have been a considerable convulsion when this took place, for a
rent was made in the bottom of the lake, several feet in depth, and
not less than fifty yards long, on each side of which the bottom rose
and floated. It was a pretty sight to see the small fry exploring this
new made strait and darting at the bubbles which rose as the Professor
was probing the bank. The discharge of air was considerable here, when
a pole was thrust down. But at some distance where the rent did not
extend, the bottom had been heaved up in a slight convexity, sloping
equally in an inclined plane all round: and there, when the pole was
introduced, a rush like a jet followed, as it was withdrawn. The thing
is the more curious, because as yet no example of it is known to have
been observed in any other place.”
Another of these detached islands used to float about in Esthwaite
Water, and was carried from side to side of the pool at the north end
of the lake--the same pool which the swans, described in _The Prelude_,
used to frequent. This island had a few bushes on it: but it became
stranded some time ago. One of the old natives of Hawkeshead described
the process of trying to float it off again, by tying ropes to the
bushes on its surface,--an experiment which was unsuccessful. Compare
the reference to the Floating or “Buoyant” Island of Derwentwater, and
to the “mossy islet” of Esthwaite, in Wordsworth’s _Guide through the
District of the Lakes_.--ED.
“THE CRESCENT-MOON, THE STAR OF LOVE”
Published 1842
One of the “Evening Voluntaries.”--Ed.
The Crescent-moon, the Star of Love,
Glories of evening, as ye there are seen
With but a span of sky between--
Speak one of you, my doubts remove,
Which is the attendant Page and which the Queen?
“_A POET!_--HE HATH PUT HIS HEART TO SCHOOL”
Published 1842
[I was impelled to write this Sonnet by the disgusting frequency with
which the word _artistical_, imported with other impertinences from the
Germans, is employed by writers of the present day: for artistical
let them substitute artificial, and the poetry written on this system,
both at home and abroad, will be for the most part much better
characterised.--I.F.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
_A Poet!_--He hath put his heart to school,
Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff
Which Art hath lodged within his hand--must laugh
By precept only, and shed tears by rule.
Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff, 5
And let the groveller sip his stagnant pool,
In fear that else, when Critics grave and cool
Have killed him, Scorn should write his epitaph.[222]
How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold?
Because the lovely little flower is free 10
Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold;
And so the grandeur of the Forest-tree
Comes not by casting in a formal mould,
But from its _own_ divine vitality.
[222] Compare _A Poet’s Epitaph_ (vol. ii. p. 75).--ED.
“THE MOST ALLURING CLOUDS THAT MOUNT THE SKY”
Published 1842
[Hundreds of times have I seen, hanging about and above the vale
of Rydal, clouds that might have given birth to this sonnet, which
was thrown off on the impulse of the moment one evening when I was
returning from the favourite walk of ours, along the Rotha, under
Loughrigg.--I.F.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
The most alluring clouds that mount the sky
Owe to a troubled element their forms,
Their hues to sunset. If with raptured eye
We watch their splendour, shall we covet storms,
And wish the Lord of day his slow decline 5
Would hasten, that such pomp may float on high?
Behold, already they forget to shine,
Dissolve--and leave to him who gazed a sigh.
Not loth to thank each moment for its boon
Of pure delight, come whensoe’er[223] it may, 10
Peace let us seek,--to stedfast things attune
Calm expectations, leaving to the gay
And volatile their love of transient bowers,
The house that cannot pass away be ours.[224]
[223] 1849
… whencesoe’er …
1842.
[224] Compare _To the Clouds_, I. 94, p. 145.--ED.
“FEEL FOR THE WRONGS TO UNIVERSAL KEN”
Published 1842
[This Sonnet is recommended to the perusal of those who consider that
the evils under which we groan are to be removed or palliated by
measures ungoverned by moral and religious principles.--I.F.]
One of the “Sonnets dedicated to Liberty and Order.”--ED.
Feel for the wrongs to universal ken
Daily exposed, woe that unshrouded lies;
And seek the Sufferer in his darkest den,
Whether conducted to the spot by sighs
And moanings, or he dwells (as if the wren 5
Taught him concealment) hidden from all eyes
In silence and the awful modesties
Of sorrow;--feel for all, as brother Men!
Rest not in hope want’s icy chain to thaw
By casual boons and formal charities;[225] 10
Learn to be just, just through impartial law;
Far as ye may, erect and equalise;
And, what ye cannot reach by statute, draw
Each from his fountain of self-sacrifice!
[225] 1845.
… Men!--
Feel for the Poor,--but not to still your qualms
By formal charity or dole of alms;
Learn …
1842.
IN ALLUSION TO VARIOUS RECENT HISTORIES AND NOTICES OF THE FRENCH
REVOLUTION
Published 1842
One of the “Sonnets dedicated to Liberty and Order.”--ED.
Portentous change when History can appear
As the cool Advocate of foul device;[226]
Reckless audacity extol, and jeer
At consciences perplexed with scruples nice!
They who bewail not, must abhor, the sneer 5
Born of Conceit, Power’s blind Idolater;
Or haply sprung from vaunting Cowardice
Betrayed by mockery of holy fear.
Hath it not long been said the wrath of Man
Works not the righteousness of God? Oh bend, 10
Bend, ye Perverse! to judgments from on High,
Laws that lay under Heaven’s perpetual ban
All principles of action that transcend
The sacred limits of humanity.
[226] Wordsworth wrote this sonnet against Carlyle’s _French
Revolution_ in particular. Carlyle knew it, and this may in
part--although only in part--account for Carlyle’s indifference to
Wordsworth.--ED.
CONTINUED
Published 1842
One of the “Sonnets dedicated to Liberty and Order.”--ED.
Who ponders National events shall find
An awful balancing of loss and gain,
Joy based on sorrow, good with ill combined,
And proud deliverance issuing out of pain
And direful throes; as if the All-ruling Mind, 5
With whose perfection it consists to ordain
Volcanic burst, earthquake, and hurricane,
Dealt in like sort with feeble human kind
By laws immutable. But woe for him
Who thus deceived shall lend an eager hand 10
To social havoc. Is not Conscience ours,
And Truth, whose eye guilt only can make dim;
And Will, whose office, by divine command,
Is to control and check disordered Powers?
CONCLUDED
Published 1842
One of the “Sonnets dedicated to Liberty and Order.”--ED.
Long-favoured England! be not thou misled
By monstrous theories of alien growth,
Lest alien frenzy seize thee, waxing wroth,
Self-smitten till thy garments reek dyed red
With thy own blood, which tears in torrents shed 5
Fail to wash out, tears flowing ere thy troth
Be plighted, not to ease but sullen sloth,
Or wan despair--the ghost of false hope fled
Into a shameful grave. Among thy youth,
My Country! if such warning be held dear, 10
Then shall a Veteran’s heart be thrilled with joy,
One who would gather from eternal truth,
For time and season, rules that work to cheer--
Not scourge, to save the People--not destroy.
“LO! WHERE SHE STANDS FIXED IN A SAINT-LIKE TRANCE”
Published 1842
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Lo! where she stands fixed in a saint-like trance,
One upward hand, as if she needed rest
From rapture, lying softly on her breast!
Nor wants her eyeball an ethereal glance;
But not the less--nay more--that countenance, 5
While thus illumined, tells of painful strife
For a sick heart made weary of this life
By love, long crossed with adverse circumstance.
--Would She were now as when she hoped to pass
At God’s appointed hour to them who tread 10
Heaven’s sapphire pavement, yet breathed well content,
Well pleased, her foot should print earth’s common grass,
Lived thankful for day’s light, for daily bread,
For health, and time in obvious duty spent.
THE NORMAN BOY
Published 1842
[The subject of this poem was sent me by Mrs. Ogle, to whom I was
personally unknown, with a hope on her part that I might be induced
to relate the incident in verse; and I do not regret that I took the
trouble, for not improbably the fact is illustrative of the boy’s
early piety, and may concur with my other little pieces on children
to produce profitable reflection among my youthful readers. This is
said, however, with an absolute conviction that children will derive
most benefit from books which are not unworthy the perusal of persons
of any age. I protest with all my heart against those productions, so
abundant in the present day, in which the doings of children are dwelt
upon as if they were incapable of being interested in anything else. On
this subject I have dwelt at length in the poem on the growth of my own
mind.--I.F.]
One of the “Poems referring to the Period of Childhood.”--ED.
High on a broad unfertile tract of forest-skirted Down,
Nor kept by Nature for herself, nor made by man his own,
From home and company remote and every playful joy,
Served, tending a few sheep and goats, a ragged Norman boy.
Him never saw I, nor the spot; but from an English Dame, 5
Stranger to me and yet my friend, a simple notice came,
With suit that I would speak in verse of that sequestered child
Whom, one bleak winter’s day, she met upon the dreary Wild.
His flock, along the woodland’s edge with relics sprinkled o’er
Of last night’s snow, beneath a sky threatening the fall of more, 10
Where tufts of herbage tempted each, were busy at their feed,
And the poor Boy was busier still, with work of anxious heed.
There _was_ he, where of branches rent and withered and decayed,
For covert from the keen north wind, his hands a hut had made.
A tiny tenement, forsooth, and frail, as needs must be 15
A thing of such materials framed, by a builder such as he.
The hut stood finished by his pains, nor seemingly lacked aught
That skill or means of his could add, but the architect had wrought
Some limber twigs into a Cross, well-shaped with fingers nice,
To be engrafted on the top of his small edifice. 20
That Cross he now was fastening there, as the surest power and best
For supplying all deficiencies, all wants of the rude nest
In which, from burning heat, or tempest driving far and wide,
The innocent Boy, else shelterless, his lonely head must hide.
That Cross belike he also raised as a standard for the true 25
And faithful service of his heart in the worst that might ensue
Of hardship and distressful fear, amid the houseless waste
Where he, in his poor self so weak, by Providence was placed.
----Here, Lady! might I cease; but nay, let _us_ before we part
With this dear holy shepherd-boy breathe a prayer of earnest heart, 30
That unto him, where’er shall lie his life’s appointed way,
The Cross, fixed in his soul, may prove an all-sufficing stay.
THE POET’S DREAM[227]
SEQUEL TO THE NORMAN BOY
Published 1842
One of the “Poems referring to the Period of Childhood.”--ED.
Just as those final words were penned, the sun broke out in power,
And gladdened all things; but, as chanced, within that very hour,
Air blackened, thunder growled, fire flashed from clouds that hid
the sky,
And, for the Subject of my Verse, I heaved a pensive sigh.
Nor could my heart by second thoughts from heaviness be cleared, 5
For bodied forth before my eyes the cross-crowned hut appeared;
And, while around it storm as fierce seemed troubling earth
and air,
I saw, within, the Norman Boy kneeling alone in prayer.
The Child, as if the thunder’s voice spake with articulate call,
Bowed meekly in submissive fear, before the Lord of All; 10
His lips were moving; and his eyes, upraised to sue for grace,
With soft illumination cheered the dimness of that place.
How beautiful is holiness!--what wonder if the sight,
Almost as vivid as a dream, produced a dream at night?
It came with sleep and showed the Boy, no cherub, not transformed, 15
But the poor ragged Thing whose ways my human heart had warmed.
Me had the dream equipped with wings, so I took him in my arms,
And lifted from the grassy floor, stilling his faint alarms,
And bore him high through yielding air my debt of love to pay,
By giving him, for both our sakes, an hour of holiday. 20
I whispered, “Yet a little while, dear Child! thou art my own,
To show thee some delightful thing, in country or in town.
What shall it be? a mirthful throng? or that holy place and calm
St. Denis, filled with royal tombs,[228] or the Church of Notre
Dame?[229]
“St. Ouen’s golden Shrine?[230] Or choose what else would please
thee most 25
Of any wonder Normandy, or all proud France, can boast!”
“My Mother,” said the Boy, “was born near to a blessèd Tree,
The Chapel Oak of Allonville;[231] good Angel, show it me!”
On wings, from broad and stedfast poise let loose by this reply,
For Allonville, o’er down and dale, away then did we fly; 30
O’er town and tower we flew, and fields in May’s fresh verdure
drest;
The wings they did not flag; the Child, though grave, was not
deprest.
But who shall show, to waking sense, the gleam of light that
broke
Forth from his eyes, when first the Boy looked down on that
huge oak,
For length of days so much revered, so famous where it stands 35
For twofold hallowing--Nature’s care, and work of human hands?
Strong as an Eagle with my charge I glided round and round
The wide-spread boughs, for view of door, window, and stair that
wound
Gracefully up the gnarled trunk; nor left we unsurveyed
The pointed steeple peering forth from the centre of the shade. 40
I lighted--opened with soft touch the chapel’s iron door,[232]
Past softly, leading in the Boy; and, while from roof to floor
From floor to roof all round his eyes the Child with wonder
cast,[233]
Pleasure on pleasure crowded in, each livelier than the last.
For, deftly framed within the trunk, the[234] sanctuary showed, 45
By light of lamp and precious stones, that glimmered here, there
glowed,
Shrine, Altar, Image, Offerings hung in sign of gratitude;
Sight that inspired accordant thoughts; and speech[235] I thus
renewed:
“Hither the Afflicted come, as thou hast heard thy Mother say,
And, kneeling, supplication make to our Lady de la Paix;[236] 50
What mournful sighs have here been heard, and, when the voice was
stopt
By sudden pangs; what bitter tears have on this pavement dropt!
“Poor Shepherd of the naked Down, a favoured lot is thine,
Far happier lot, dear Boy, than brings full many to this shrine;
From body pains and pains of soul thou needest no release, 55
Thy hours as they flow on are spent, if not in joy, in peace.
“Then offer up thy heart to God in thankfulness and praise,
Give to Him prayers, and many thoughts, in thy most busy days;
And in His sight the fragile Cross, on thy small hut, will be
Holy as that which long hath crowned the Chapel of this Tree; 60
“Holy as that far seen which crowns the sumptuous Church in Rome
Where thousands meet to worship God under a mighty Dome;[237]
He sees the bending multitude, He hears the choral rites,
Yet not the less, in children’s hymns and lonely prayer, delights.
“God for His service needeth not proud work of human skill; 65
They please Him best who labour most to do in peace His will:
So let us strive to live, and to our Spirits will be given
Such wings as, when our Saviour calls, shall bear us up to heaven.”
The Boy no answer made by words, but, so earnest was his look,
Sleep fled, and with it fled the dream--recorded in this book, 70
Lest all that passed should melt away in silence from my mind,
As visions still more bright have done, and left no trace behind.
But oh! that Country-man of thine, whose eye, loved Child, can see
A pledge of endless bliss in acts of early piety,
In verse, which to thy ear might come, would treat this simple
theme, 75
Nor leave untold our happy flight in that adventurous dream.[238]
Alas the dream,[239] to thee, poor Boy! to thee from whom it flowed,
Was nothing, scarcely can be aught, yet ’twas[240] bounteously
bestowed,
If I may dare to cherish hope that gentle eyes will read
Not loth, and listening Little-ones, heart-touched, their fancies
feed. 80
[227] 1845.
The title in 1842 was “SEQUEL TO THE NORMAN BOY.”
[228] The Abbey Church of St. Denis, to the north of Paris,--one of the
finest specimens of French Gothic,--was the burial-place of the French
Kings for many generations.--ED.
[229] In Paris.--ED.
[230] The Church of St. Ouen, in Rouen, is the most perfect edifice of
its kind in Europe.--ED.
[231] “Among ancient Trees there are few, I believe, at least in
France, so worthy of attention as an Oak which may be seen in the ‘Pays
de Caux,’ about a league from Yvetot, close to the church, and in the
burial-ground of Allonville.
The height of this Tree does not answer to its girth; the trunk, from
the roots to the summit, forms a complete cone; and the inside of this
cone is hollow throughout the whole of its height.
Such is the Oak of Allonville, in its state of nature. The hand of Man,
however, has endeavoured to impress upon it a character still more
interesting, by adding a religious feeling to the respect which its age
naturally inspires.
The lower part of its hollow trunk has been transformed into a Chapel
of six or seven feet in diameter, carefully wainscotted and paved, and
an open iron gate guards the humble Sanctuary.
Leading to it there is a staircase, which twists round the body of the
Tree. At certain seasons of the year divine service is performed in
this Chapel.
The summit has been broken off many years, but there is a surface at
the top of the trunk, of the diameter of a very large tree, and from it
rises a pointed roof, covered with slates, in the form of a steeple,
which is surmounted with an iron Cross, that rises in a picturesque
manner from the middle of the leaves, like an ancient Hermitage above
the surrounding Wood.
Over the entrance to the Chapel an Inscription appears, which informs
us it was erected by the Abbé du Détroit, Curate of Allonville, in the
year 1696; and over a door is another, dedicating it ‘To Our Lady of
Peace.’”--Vide 14 _No. Saturday Magazine_.--W.W. 1842.
[232] 1845.
… touch a grated iron door,
1842.
[233] 1845.
… his eyes the wondering creature cast,
1842.
[234] 1845.
… a …
1842.
[235] 1845.
And swift as lightning went the time, ere speech
1842.
[236] See note, p. 137.--ED.
[237] St. Peter’s Church.--ED.
[238] This stanza was added in the edition of 1845.
[239] 1845.
And though the dream, …
1842.
[240] 1845.
Was nothing, nor e’er can be aught, ’twas …
1842.
SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF THE BIRD OF PARADISE
Published 1842
[This subject has been treated of in another note. I will here only, by
way of comment, direct attention to the fact, that pictures of animals
and other productions of Nature, as seen in conservatories, menageries,
and museums, etc., would do little for the national mind, nay, they
would be rather injurious to it, if the imagination were excluded by
the presence of the object, more or less out of a state of Nature. If
it were not that we learn to talk and think of the lion and the eagle,
the palm-tree, and even the cedar, from the impassioned introduction of
them so frequently into Holy Scripture, and by great poets, and divines
who wrote as poets, the spiritual part of our nature, and therefore
the higher part of it, would derive no benefit from such intercourse
with such subjects.--I.F.]
One of the “Poems of the Imagination.”--ED.
The gentlest Poet, with free thoughts endowed,
And a true master of the glowing strain,
Might scan the narrow province with disdain
That to the Painter’s skill is here allowed.
This, this the Bird of Paradise! disclaim 5
The daring thought, forget the name;
This the Sun’s Bird, whom Glendoveers might own
As no unworthy Partner in their flight
Through seas of ether, where the ruffling sway
Of nether air’s rude billows is unknown; 10
Whom Sylphs, if e’er for casual pastime they
Through India’s spicy regions wing their way,
Might bow to as their Lord. What character,
O sovereign Nature! I appeal to thee,
Of all thy feathered progeny 15
Is so unearthly, and what shape so fair?
So richly decked in variegated down,
Green, sable, shining yellow, shadowy brown,
Tints softly with each other blended,
Hues doubtfully begun and ended; 20
Or intershooting, and to sight
Lost and recovered, as the rays of light
Glance on the conscious plumes touched here and there?
Full surely, when with such proud gifts of life
Began the pencil’s strife, 25
O’erweening Art was caught as in a snare.
A sense of seemingly presumptuous wrong
Gave the first impulse to the Poet’s song;
But, of his scorn repenting soon, he drew
A juster judgment from a calmer view; 30
And, with a spirit freed from discontent,
Thankfully took an effort that was meant
Not with God’s bounty, Nature’s love, to vie,
Or made with hope to please that inward eye
Which ever strives in vain itself to satisfy, 35
But to recal the truth by some faint trace
Of power ethereal and celestial grace,
That in the living Creature find on earth a place.
TO THE CLOUDS[241]
Published 1842
[These verses were suggested while I was walking on the foot-road
between Rydal Mount and Grasmere. The clouds were driving over the top
of Nab-Scar across the vale: they set my thoughts a-going, and the rest
followed almost immediately.--I.F.]
First published (1842) in “Poems chiefly of Early and Late Years,”
afterwards included in the “Poems of the Imagination.”--ED.
Army of Clouds! ye wingèd Host in troops
Ascending from behind the motionless brow
Of that tall rock,[242] as from a hidden world,
O whither with[243] such eagerness of speed?
What seek ye, or what shun ye? of the gale[244] 5
Companions, fear ye to be left behind,
Or racing o’er[245] your blue ethereal field
Contend ye with each other? of the sea
Children, thus post ye over vale and height[246]
To sink upon your mother’s lap--and rest?[247] 10
Or were ye rightlier hailed, when first mine eyes
Beheld in your impetuous march the likeness
Of a wide army pressing on to meet
Or overtake some unknown enemy?--
But your smooth motions suit a peaceful aim; 15
And Fancy, not less aptly pleased, compares
Your squadrons to an endless flight of birds
Aerial, upon due migration bound
To milder climes; or rather do ye urge
In caravan your hasty pilgrimage 20
To pause at last on more aspiring heights
Than these,[248] and utter your devotion there
With thunderous voice? Or are ye jubilant,
And would ye, tracking your proud lord the Sun,
Be present at his setting; or the pomp 25
Of Persian mornings would ye fill, and stand
Poising your splendours high above the heads
Of worshippers kneeling to their up-risen God?
Whence, whence, ye Clouds! this eagerness of speed?
Speak, silent creatures.--They are gone, are fled, 30
Buried together in yon gloomy mass
That loads the middle heaven; and clear and bright
And vacant doth the region which they thronged
Appear; a calm descent of sky conducting
Down to the unapproachable abyss, 35
Down to that hidden gulf from which they rose
To vanish--fleet as days and months and years,
Fleet as the generations of mankind,
Power, glory, empire, as the world itself,
The lingering world, when time hath ceased to be. 40
But the winds roar, shaking the rooted trees,
And see! a bright precursor to a train
Perchance as numerous, overpeers the rock
That sullenly refuses to partake
Of the wild impulse. From a fount of life 45
Invisible, the long procession moves
Luminous or gloomy, welcome to the vale
Which they are entering, welcome to mine eye
That sees them, to my soul that owns in them,
And in the bosom of the firmament 50
O’er which they move, wherein they are contained,
A type of her capacious self and all
Her restless progeny.
A humble walk
Here is my body doomed to tread, this path,
A little hoary line and faintly traced,[249] 55
Work, shall we call it, of the shepherd’s foot
Or of his flock?--joint vestige of them both.
I pace it unrepining, for my thoughts
Admit no bondage and my words have wings.
Where is the Orphean lyre, or Druid harp, 60
To accompany the verse? The mountain blast
Shall be our _hand_ of music; he shall sweep
The rocks, and quivering trees, and billowy lake,
And search the fibres of the caves, and they
Shall answer, for our song is of the Clouds 65
And the wind loves them; and the gentle gales--
Which by their aid re-clothe the naked lawn
With annual verdure, and revive the woods,
And moisten the parched lips of thirsty flowers--
Love them; and every idle breeze of air 70
Bends to the favourite burthen. Moon and stars
Keep their most solemn vigils when the Clouds
Watch also, shifting peaceably their place
Like bands of ministering Spirits, or when they lie,
As if some Protean art the change had wrought, 75
In listless quiet o’er the ethereal deep
Scattered, a Cyclades[250] of various shapes
And all degrees of beauty. O ye Lightnings!
Ye are their perilous offspring;[251] and the Sun--
Source inexhaustible of life and joy, 80
And type of man’s far-darting reason, therefore
In old time worshipped as the god of verse,[252]
A blazing intellectual deity--
Loves his own glory in their looks, and showers
Upon that unsubstantial brotherhood 85
Visions with all but beatific light
Enriched--too transient were they not renewed
From age to age, and did not, while we gaze
In silent rapture, credulous desire
Nourish the hope that memory lacks not power 90
To keep the treasure unimpaired. Vain thought!
Yet why repine, created as we are
For joy and rest, albeit to find them only
Lodged in the bosom of eternal things?
[241] The title in the edition of 1842 was _Address to the Clouds_.--ED.
[242] See the Fenwick note and compare Dorothy Wordsworth’s Grasmere
Journal, 31st January 1802.--ED.
[243] 1842.
… in …
MS.
[244] 1842.
… wind
MS.
[245] 1842.
… on …
MS.
[246] 1842.
… over dale and mountain height
MS.
[247] 1842.
… mother’s joyous lap?
MS.
[248] 1842.
Or come ye as I hailed you first, a Flight
Aerial, on a due migration bound,
Embodied travellers not blindly led
To milder climes; or rather do ye urge
Your Caravan, your hasty pilgrimage
With hope to pause at last upon the top
Of some remoter mountains more beloved
Than these, …
MS.
[249] Compare, in the “Poems on the Naming of Places” (1805), the lines
beginning, “When, to the attractions of the busy world,” l. 48--
A hoary pathway traced between the trees.
ED.
[250] The fifty-three small islands in the Ægean surrounding Delos, as
with a circle (κύκλος)--hence the name.--ED.
[251] Compare Coleridge’s _Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale of
Chamouni_--
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
ED.
[252] Sol = Phoebus = Apollo.--ED.
AIREY-FORCE VALLEY
Published 1842
First published (1842) in “Poems, chiefly of Early and Late Years.”
Afterwards one of the “Poems of the Imagination.”--ED.
----Not a breath of air
Ruffles the bosom of this leafy glen.
From the brook’s margin, wide around, the trees
Are stedfast as the rocks; the brook itself,
Old as the hills that feed it from afar, 5
Doth rather deepen than disturb the calm
Where all things else are still and motionless.
And yet, even now, a little breeze, perchance
Escaped from boisterous winds that rage without,
Has entered, by the sturdy oaks unfelt, 10
But to its gentle touch how sensitive
Is the light ash! that, pendent from the brow
Of yon dim cave,[253] in seeming silence makes
A soft eye-music of slow-waving boughs,
Powerful almost as vocal harmony 15
To stay the wanderer’s steps and soothe his thoughts.
The Aira beck rises on the slopes of Great Dodd, passes Dockray, and
enters Ullswater between Glencoin Park and Gowbarrow Park, about two
miles from the head of the lake. The Force is quite near to _Lyulph’s
Tower_, where the stream has a fall of about eighty feet. Compare the
reference to it in _The Somnambulist_ (1833), and Wordsworth’s account
of “Aira-Force,” in his _Guide through the District of the Lakes_,
“Here is a powerful Brook, which dashes among rocks through a deep
glen, hung on every side with a rich and happy intermixture of native
wood; here are beds of luxuriant fern, aged hawthorns and hollies
decked with honeysuckles; and fallow deer glancing and bounding over
the lawns and through the thickets.”--ED.
[253] An ash-tree may still be seen at Aira-Force.--ED.
“LYRE! THOUGH SUCH POWER DO IN THY MAGIC LIVE”
Composed 1842 (or earlier).--Published 1842
One of the “Poems of the Imagination.”--ED.
Lyre! though such power do in thy magic live
As might from India’s farthest plain
Recal the not unwilling Maid,
Assist me to detain
The lovely Fugitive: 5
Check with thy notes the impulse which, betrayed
By her sweet farewell looks, I longed to aid.
Here let me gaze enrapt upon that eye,
The impregnable and awe-inspiring fort
Of contemplation, the calm port 10
By reason fenced from winds that sigh
Among the restless sails of vanity.
But if no wish be hers that we should part,
A humbler bliss would satisfy my heart.
Where all things are so fair, 15
Enough by her dear side to breathe the air
Of this Elysian weather;
And, on or in, or near, the brook, espy
Shade upon the sunshine lying
Faint and somewhat pensively; 20
And downward Image gaily vying
With its upright living tree
’Mid silver clouds, and openings of blue sky
As soft almost and deep as her cerulean eye.
Nor less the joy with many a glance 25
Cast up the Stream or down at her beseeching,
To mark its eddying foam-balls prettily distrest
By ever-changing shape and want of rest;
Or watch, with mutual teaching,
The current as it plays 30
In flashing leaps and stealthy creeps
Adown a rocky maze;
Or note (translucent summer’s happiest chance!)
In the slope-channel floored with pebbles bright,
Stones of all hues, gem emulous of gem, 35
So vivid that they take from keenest sight
The liquid veil that seeks not to hide them.[254]
[254] Compare Wordsworth’s description of the Duddon as “diaphanous,
because it travels slowly,”--ED.
LOVE LIES BLEEDING
Composed 1842.--Published 1842
[It has been said that the English, though their country has produced
so many great poets, is now the most unpoetical nation in Europe. It
is probably true; for they have more temptation to become so than any
other European people. Trade, commerce, and manufactures, physical
science, and mechanic arts, out of which so much wealth has arisen,
have made our countrymen infinitely less sensible to movements of
imagination and fancy than were our forefathers in their simple state
of society. How touching and beautiful were, in most instances, the
names they gave to our indigenous flowers, or any other they were
familiarly acquainted with!--Every month for many years have we been
importing plants and flowers from all quarters of the globe, many of
which are spread through our gardens, and some perhaps likely to be met
with on the few Commons which we have left. Will their botanical names
ever be displaced by plain English appellations, which will bring them
home to our hearts by connexion with our joys and sorrows? It can never
be, unless society treads back her steps towards those simplicities
which have been banished by the undue influence of towns spreading and
spreading in every direction, so that city-life with every generation
takes more and more the lead of rural. Among the ancients, villages
were reckoned the seats of barbarism. Refinement, for the most part
false, increases the desire to accumulate wealth; and while theories
of political economy are boastfully pleading for the practice,
inhumanity pervades all our dealings in buying and selling. This
selfishness wars against disinterested imagination in all directions,
and, evils coming round in a circle, barbarism spreads in every quarter
of our island. Oh for the reign of justice, and then the humblest man
among us would have more power and dignity in and about him than the
highest have now!--I.F.]
One of the “Poems of the Fancy.”--ED.
You call it, “Love lies bleeding,”--so you may,[255]
Though the red Flower, not prostrate, only droops,
As we have seen it here from day to day,
From month to month, life passing not away:
A flower how rich in sadness! Even thus stoops, 5
(Sentient by Grecian sculpture’s marvellous power)
Thus leans, with hanging brow and body bent
Earthward in uncomplaining languishment,
The dying Gladiator. So, sad Flower!
(’Tis Fancy guides me willing to be led, 10
Though by a slender thread,)
So drooped Adonis bathed in sanguine dew
Of his death-wound, when he from innocent air
The gentlest breath of resignation drew;
While Venus in a passion of despair 15
Rent, weeping over him, her golden hair
Spangled with drops of that celestial shower.
She suffered, as Immortals sometimes do;
But pangs more lasting far, _that_ Lover knew
Who first, weighed down by scorn, in some lone bower 20
Did press this semblance of unpitied smart
Into the service of his constant heart,
His own dejection, downcast Flower! could share
With thine, and gave the mournful name which thou wilt ever bear.
[255] Compare _Midsummer Night’s Dream_, act II. scene i. ll.
165-168.--ED.
“THEY CALL IT LOVE LIES BLEEDING! RATHER SAY”
The previous poem was originally composed in sonnet form; and it
belongs, in that form, to the year 1833. It occurs in a MS. copy of
the sonnets which record the Tour of 1833 to the Isle of Man and to
Scotland.--ED.
They call it Love lies bleeding! rather say
That in this crimson Flower Love bleeding _droops_,
A Flower how sick in sadness! Thus it stoops
With languid head unpropped from day to day
From month to month, life passing not away. 5
Even so the dying Gladiator leans
On mother earth, and from his patience gleans
Relics of tender thoughts, regrets that stay
A moment and are gone. O fate-bowed flower!
Fair as Adonis bathed in sanguine dew, 10
Of his death-wound, _that_ Lover’s heart was true
As heaven, who pierced by scorn in some lone bower
Could press thy semblance of unpitied smart
Into the service of his constant heart.
COMPANION TO THE FOREGOING
Composed (?)[256]--Published 1845
Never enlivened with the liveliest ray
That fosters growth or checks or cheers decay,
Nor by the heaviest rain-drops more deprest,
This Flower, that first appeared as summer’s guest,
Preserves her beauty ’mid autumnal leaves 5
And to her mournful habits fondly cleaves.
When files of stateliest plants have ceased to bloom,
One after one submitting to their doom,
When her coevals each and all are fled,
What keeps her thus reclined upon her lonesome bed? 10
The old mythologists, more impress’d than we
Of this late day by character in tree
Or herb, that claimed peculiar sympathy,
Or by the silent lapse of fountain clear,
Or with the language of the viewless air 15
By bird or beast made vocal, sought a cause
To solve the mystery, not in Nature’s laws
But in Man’s fortunes. Hence a thousand tales
Sung to the plaintive lyre in Grecian vales.
Nor doubt that something of their spirit swayed 20
The fancy-stricken Youth or heart-sick Maid,
Who, while each stood companionless and eyed
This undeparting Flower in crimson dyed,
Thought of a wound which death is slow to cure,
A fate that has endured and will endure, 25
And, patience coveting yet passion feeding,
Called the dejected Lingerer, _Love lies bleeding_.
[256] The date of the composition of this poem is uncertain, but, as
“companion” to _Love lies Bleeding_, it must be placed in immediate
succession to it.--ED.
THE CUCKOO-CLOCK
Composed 1842.--Published 1842
[Of this clock I have nothing further to say than what the poem
expresses, except that it must be here recorded that it was a
present from the dear friend for whose sake these notes were chiefly
undertaken, and who has written them from my dictation.--I.F.]
One of the “Poems of the Imagination.”--ED.
Wouldst thou be taught, when sleep has taken flight,
By a sure voice that can most sweetly tell,
How far-off yet a glimpse of morning light,
And if to lure the truant back be well,
Forbear to covet a Repeater’s stroke, 5
That, answering to thy touch, will sound the hour;
Better provide thee with a Cuckoo-clock
For service hung behind thy chamber-door;
And in due time the soft spontaneous shock,
The double note, as if with living power, 10
Will to composure lead--or make thee blithe as bird in bower.
List, Cuckoo--Cuckoo!--oft tho’ tempests howl,
Or nipping frost remind thee trees are bare,
How cattle pine, and droop the shivering fowl,
Thy spirits will seem to feed on balmy air: 15
I speak with knowledge,--by that Voice beguiled,
Thou wilt salute old memories as they throng
Into thy heart; and fancies, running wild
Through fresh green fields, and budding groves among,
Will make thee happy, happy as a child; 20
Of sunshine wilt thou think, and flowers, and song,
And breathe as in a world where nothing can go wrong.
And know--that, even for him who shuns the day
And nightly tosses on a bed of pain;
Whose joys, from all but memory swept away, 25
Must come unhoped for, if they come again;
Know--that, for him whose waking thoughts, severe
As his distress is sharp, would scorn my theme,
The mimic notes, striking upon his ear
In sleep, and intermingling with his dream, 30
Could from sad regions send him to a dear
Delightful land of verdure, shower and gleam,
To mock the _wandering_ Voice[257] beside some haunted
stream.[258]
O bounty without measure! while the grace
Of Heaven doth in such wise, from humblest springs, 35
Pour pleasure forth, and solaces that trace
A mazy course along familiar things,
Well may our hearts have faith that blessings come,
Streaming from founts above the starry sky,
With angels when their own untroubled home 40
They leave, and speed on nightly embassy
To visit earthly chambers,--and for whom?
Yea, both for souls who God’s forbearance try,
And those that seek his help, and for his mercy sigh.
[257] Compare _To the Cuckoo_ (vol. ii. p. 289)--
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?
ED.
[258] Professor Dowden has appropriately called attention to the
fact that the cuckoo-clock at Rydal Mount was not stopped during
Wordsworth’s last illness.--ED.
“WANSFELL! THIS HOUSEHOLD HAS A FAVOURED LOT”
Composed 1842.--Published 1845
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Wansfell![259] this Household has a favoured lot,
Living with liberty on thee to gaze,
To watch while Morn first crowns thee with her rays,
Or when along thy breast serenely float
Evening’s angelic clouds. Yet ne’er a note 5
Hath sounded (shame upon the Bard!) thy praise
For all that thou, as if from heaven, hast brought
Of glory lavished on our quiet days.
Bountiful Son of Earth! when we are gone
From every object dear to mortal sight, 10
As soon we shall be, may these words attest
How oft, to elevate our spirits, shone
Thy visionary majesties of light,
How in thy pensive glooms our hearts found rest.
_Dec. 24, 1842._
[259] The Hill that rises to the south-east, above Ambleside.--W.W.
1842.
“THOUGH THE BOLD WINGS OF POESY AFFECT”
Composed (?)--Published 1842
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Though the bold wings of Poesy affect
The clouds, and wheel around the mountain tops
Rejoicing, from her loftiest height she drops
Well pleased to skim the plain with wild flowers deckt,
Or muse in solemn grove whose shades protect 5
The lingering dew--there steals along, or stops
Watching the least small bird that round her hops,
Or creeping worm, with sensitive respect.
Her functions are they therefore less divine,
Her thoughts less deep, or void of grave intent 10
Her simplest fancies? Should that fear be thine,
Aspiring Votary, ere thy hand present
One offering, kneel before her modest shrine,
With brow in penitential sorrow bent!
“GLAD SIGHT WHEREVER NEW WITH OLD”
Composed 1842.[260]--Published 1845
One of the “Poems of the Fancy.”--ED.
Glad sight wherever new with old[261]
Is joined through some dear homeborn tie;
The life[262] of all that we behold
Depends upon that mystery.
Vain is the glory of the sky,[263] 5
The beauty vain of field and grove,
Unless, while with admiring eye[264]
We gaze, we also learn to love.[265]
[260] A MS. copy of this fragment in Wordsworth’s handwriting, 31st
December 1842, fixes the date approximately.--ED.
[261] 1845.
Look up, look round, let things unfold
Far as they may, their mysteries;
What profits it if new with old
Unites not with some homeborn ties.
MS. 31st Dec. 1842.
Welcome the sight when new with old
C.
Glad sight it is when new with old
MS. 1843.
[262] 1845.
The good …
C.
[263] 1845.
… skies,
MS. 1843.
[264] 1845.
… eyes
MS. 1843.
[265] Compare the lines addressed to Mrs. Wordsworth in 1824,
beginning--
True beauty dwells in deep retreats.
ED.
1843
Two sonnets, and an _Inscription_ for a monument to Southey, were
written in 1843.--ED.
“WHILE BEAMS OF ORIENT LIGHT SHOOT WIDE AND HIGH”
Composed 1st January 1843.--Published 1845
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
While beams of orient light shoot wide and high,
Deep in the vale a little rural Town[266]
Breathes forth a cloud-like creature of its own,
That mounts not toward the radiant morning sky,
But, with a less ambitious sympathy, 5
Hangs o’er its Parent waking to the cares
Troubles and toils that every day prepares.
So Fancy, to the musing Poet’s eye,
Endears that Lingerer. And how blest her sway[267]
(Like influence never may my soul reject)[268] 10
If the calm Heaven, now to its zenith decked[269]
With glorious forms in numberless array,
To the lone shepherd on the hills disclose
Gleams from[270] a world in which the saints repose.
_Jan. 1, 1843._
[266] Ambleside.--W.W. 1845.
[267] 1845.
… And blessed be her sway
MS.
So Fancy charms the musing Poet’s eye
Fixed on that Lingerer …
C.
[268] 1845.
Ne’er may my soul like influence reject.
MS.†
[269] 1845.
Endear that Lingerer. And how blest her sway,
The faith how pure and holy in effect,
If the calm Heavens, now to their summit decked
MS.†
[270]
… of …
MS.†
† These MS. variants occur in a copy of the sonnet written by
Wordsworth for Mrs. Arnold at Foxhowe.
INSCRIPTION
FOR A MONUMENT IN CROSTHWAITE CHURCH, IN THE VALE OF KESWICK
Composed 1843.--Published 1845
One of the “Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces.”--ED.
Ye vales and hills whose beauty hither drew
The poet’s steps, and fixed him here, on you,
His eyes have closed! And ye, lov’d books, no more
Shall Southey feed upon your precious lore,
To works that ne’er shall forfeit their renown 5
Adding immortal labours of his own--
Whether he traced historic truth, with zeal
For the State’s guidance, or the Church’s weal,
Or Fancy, disciplined by studious art,
Inform’d his pen, or wisdom of the heart, 10
Or judgments sanctioned in the Patriot’s mind
By reverence for the rights of all mankind.
Wide were his aims, yet in no human breast
Could private feelings meet for holier rest.
His joys, his griefs, have vanished like a cloud 15
From Skiddaw’s top; but he to heaven was vowed
Through his industrious life, and Christian faith
Calmed in his soul the fear of change and death.
I received, from the late Lord Coleridge, the following extracts
from letters written by Wordsworth to his father, the Hon. Justice
Coleridge, in reference to the Southey Inscription in Crosthwaite
Church. Wordsworth seems to have submitted the proposed Inscription to
Mr. Coleridge’s judgment, and the changes he made upon it, in deference
to the opinions he received, shew, as Lord Coleridge says, “the extreme
care Wordsworth took to have the substance, and the expression also, as
perfect as he could make it.” The original draft of the “Inscription”
was as follows:--
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF ROBERT SOUTHEY, WHOSE MORTAL REMAINS
ARE INTERRED IN THE ADJOINING CHURCHYARD. HE WAS BORN AT
BRISTOL, OCTOBER YE 4TH, 1774, AND DIED, AFTER A RESIDENCE OF
NEARLY FORTY YEARS, AT GRETA HALL IN THIS PARISH. MARCH 21ST,
1843.
Ye Vales and Hills, whose beauty hither drew
The Poet’s steps, and fixed him here, on you
His eyes have closed; and ye, loved Books, no more
Shall Southey feed upon your precious lore,
To Works that ne’er shall forfeit their renown
Adding immortal labours of his own,
As Fancy, disciplined by studious Art
Informed his pen, or Wisdom of the heart,
Or judgments rooted in a Patriot’s mind
Taught to revere the rights of all mankind.
Friends, Family--ah wherefore touch that string,
To them _so_ fondly did the good man cling!
His joys, his griefs, have vanished like a cloud
From Skiddaw’s top; but He to Heaven was vowed
Through a long life; and calmed by Christian faith,
In his pure soul, the fear of change and death.
This Memorial was erected by friends of Robert Southey.
Alteration in the Epitaph--
… He to Heaven was vowed
Through a life long and pure; and Christian faith
Calmed in his soul the fear of change and death.--W.W.
December the 6th.
MY DEAR MR. JUSTICE COLERIDGE,
Notwithstanding what I have written before, I could not but
wish to meet _your wishes_ upon the points which you mentioned,
and, accordingly, have added and altered as on the other side
of this paper. If you approve don’t trouble yourself to answer.
Ever faithfully yours,
W. WORDSWORTH.
Ye torrents, foaming down the rocky steeps,
Ye lakes, wherein the spirit of water sleeps,
Ye vales and hills, etc.
Or judgments sanctioned in the Patriot’s mind
By reverence for the rights of all mankind.
Friends, Family--within no human breast
Could private feelings need a holier nest.
His joys, his griefs, have vanished.
These alterations are approved of by friends here, and I hope
will please you.
* * * * *
MY DEAR MR. JUSTICE COLERIDGE,
Pray accept my thanks for the pains you have taken with the
Inscription, and excuse the few words I shall have to say upon
your remarks. There are two lakes in the Vale of Keswick; both
which, along with the lateral Vale of Newlands immediately
opposite Southey’s study window, will be included in the words
“Ye _Vales_ and Hills” by everyone who is familiar with the
neighbourhood.
I quite agree with you that the construction of the lines
that particularize his writings is rendered awkward by so
many participles passive, and the more so on account of the
transitive verb _informed_. One of these participles may be
got rid of, and, I think, a better couplet produced by this
alteration--
Or judgments sanctioned in the Patriot’s mind
By reverence for the rights of all mankind.
As I have entered into particulars as to the character of S.’s
writings, and they are so various, I thought his historic
works ought by no means to be omitted, and therefore, though
unwilling to lengthen the Epitaph, I added the two following--
… Labours of his own,
Whether he traced historic truth with zeal
For the State’s guidance, or the Church’s weal,
Or Fancy, disciplined by studious Art,
Informed his pen, or wisdom of the heart,
Or judgments sanctioned in the Patriot’s mind
By reverence for the rights of all mankind.
I do not feel with you in respect to the word “so”; it refers,
of course, to the preceding line, and as the reference is to
fireside feelings and intimate friends, there appears to me
a propriety in an expression inclining to the colloquial.
The couplet was the dictate of my own feelings, and the
construction is accordingly broken and rather dramatic,--but
too much of this. If you have any objection to the couplet
as altered, be so kind as let me know; if not, on no account
trouble yourself to answer this letter.
_Prematurely_ I object to as you do. I used the word with
reference to that decay of faculties which is not uncommon in
advanced life, and which often leads to dotage,--but the word
must not be retained.
We regret much to hear that Lady Coleridge is unwell, pray
present to her our best wishes.
What could induce the Bishop of London to forbid the choral
service at St. Mark’s? It was in execution, I understand, above
all praise.
Ever most faithfully yours,
W. WORDSWORTH.
* * * * *
_December 2nd, ’43._
MY DEAR MR. JUSTICE COLERIDGE,
The first line would certainly have more spirit by reading
“your” as you suggest. I had previously considered _that_;
but decided in favour of “the,” as “your,” I thought, would
clog the sentence in sound, there being “ye” thrice repeated,
and followed by “_you_” at the close of the 4th line. I also
thought that “_your_” would interfere with the application of
“you” at the end of the fourth line, to the _whole_ of the
particular previous images as I intended it to do. But I don’t
trouble you with this Letter on that account, but merely to ask
you whether the couplet now standing:--
Large were his aims, yet in no human breast
Could private feelings find a holier nest,
would not be better thus
Could private feelings meet in holier rest.
This alteration does not quite satisfy me, but I can do no
better. The word “_nest_” both in itself and in conjunction
with “_holier_” seems to me somewhat bold and rather startling
for marble, particularly in a Church. I should not have thought
of any alteration in a merely printed poem, but this makes a
difference. If you think the proposed alteration better, don’t
trouble yourself to answer this; if not, pray be so kind as to
tell me so by a single line. I would not on any account have
trespassed on your time but for this public occasion. We are
sorry to hear of Lady Coleridge’s indisposition; pray present
to her our kind regards and best wishes for her recovery,
united with the greetings of the season both for her and
yourself, and believe me faithfully,
Your obliged,
WM. WORDSWORTH.
RYDAL MOUNT, _December 23rd, ’43_.
* * * * *
TO THE MEMORY OF ROBERT SOUTHEY, A MAN EMINENT FOR GENIUS,
VERSATILE TALENTS, EXTENSIVE AND ACCURATE KNOWLEDGE, AND
HABITS OF THE MOST CONSCIENTIOUS INDUSTRY. NOR WAS HE LESS
DISTINGUISHED FOR STRICT TEMPERANCE, PURE BENEVOLENCE, AND WARM
AFFECTIONS; BUT HIS MIND, SUCH ARE THE AWFUL DISPENSATIONS OF
PROVIDENCE, WAS PREMATURELY AND ALMOST TOTALLY OBSCURED BY A
SLOWLY-WORKING AND INSCRUTABLE MALADY UNDER WHICH HE LANGUISHED
UNTIL RELEASED BY DEATH IN THE 69TH YEAR OF HIS AGE.
READER! PONDER THE CONDITION TO WHICH THIS GREAT AND GOOD
MAN, NOT WITHOUT MERCIFUL ALLEVIATIONS, WAS DOOMED, AND LEARN
FROM HIS EXAMPLE TO MAKE TIMELY USE OF THY ENDOWMENTS AND
OPPORTUNITIES, AND TO WALK HUMBLY WITH THY GOD.
* * * * *
COPY OF THE PRINTED INSCRIPTION
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF ROBERT SOUTHEY, WHOSE MORTAL REMAINS
ARE INTERRED IN THE ADJOINING CHURCHYARD. HE WAS BORN AT
BRISTOL, OCTOBER 4TH, 1774, AND DIED AFTER A RESIDENCE OF
NEARLY 40 YEARS AT GRETA HALL, IN THIS PARISH, MARCH 21ST, 1843.
Ye torrents, foaming down the rocky steeps,
Ye lakes, wherein the spirit of water sleeps,
Ye vales and hills, whose beauty hither drew
The Poet’s steps and fixed him here, on you
His eyes have closed! and ye, loved books, no more
Shall Southey feed upon your precious lore,
To works that ne’er shall forfeit their renown
Adding immortal labours of his own--
Whether he traced historic truth, with zeal
For the State’s guidance or the Church’s weal,
Or Fancy, disciplined by studious art,
Informed his pen, or wisdom of the heart,
Or judgments sanctioned in the Patriot’s mind
By reverence for the rights of all mankind.
Wide were his aims, yet in no human breast
Could private feelings find a holier nest.
His joys, his griefs, have vanished like a cloud
From Skiddaw’s top; but he to Heaven was vowed
Through a long life, and calmed by Christian faith,
In his pure soul, the fear of change and death.
This Memorial was erected by friends of Robert Southey.
Edward Quillinan wrote, 25th March 1843, “Yesterday I drove Mr.
Wordsworth early over to Keswick, that he and I might attend the
funeral of Mr. Southey, who was buried in Crosthwaite churchyard there
at eleven A.M. It was very affecting to see Kate Southey with her
brother Cuthbert, and brother-in-law Herbert Hill, at her father’s
grave as the coffin was lowered into it. She looked as if she yearned
to be there too. She says she has now got her father back again.”--ED.
TO THE REV. CHRISTOPHER WORDSWORTH, D.D., MASTER OF HARROW SCHOOL[271]
After the perusal of his _Theophilus Anglicanus_, recently published.
Composed 1843.--Published 1845
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Enlightened Teacher, gladly from thy hand
Have I received this proof of pains bestowed
By Thee to guide thy Pupils on the road
That, in our native isle, and every land,
The Church, when trusting in divine command 5
And in her Catholic attributes, hath trod:
O may these lessons be with profit scanned
To thy heart’s wish, thy labour blest by God!
So the bright faces of the young and gay
Shall look more bright--the happy, happier still; 10
Catch, in the pauses of their keenest play,
Motions of thought which elevate the will
And, like the Spire that from your classic Hill
Points heavenward, indicate the end and way.
RYDAL MOUNT, _Dec. 11, 1843_.
[271] The poet’s nephew, afterwards Canon of Westminster, and Bishop of
Lincoln, and the biographer of his uncle.--ED.
1844
Only four poems were written in 1844.--ED.
“SO FAIR, SO SWEET, WITHAL SO SENSITIVE”
Composed July 1844.--Published 1845
One of the “Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.”--ED.
So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive,
Would that the little Flowers were born to live,
Conscious of half the pleasure which they give;
That to this mountain-daisy’s self were known[272]
The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown 5
On the smooth surface of this[273] naked stone!
And what if hence a bold desire should mount
High as the Sun, that he could take account
Of all that issues from his glorious fount!
So might he ken how by his sovereign aid 10
These delicate companionships are made;
And how he rules the pomp of light and shade;
And were the Sister-power that shines by night
So privileged, what a countenance of delight
Would through the clouds break forth on human sight! 15
Fond fancies! wheresoe’er shall turn thine eye
On earth, air, ocean, or the starry sky,
Converse with Nature in pure sympathy;[274]
All vain desires, all lawless wishes quelled,
Be Thou to love and praise alike impelled, 20
Whatever boon is granted or withheld.[275][276]
[272] Compare the lines _To a Child, written in her Album_, in
1834.--ED.
[273] 1844.
Its sole companion on this
C.
[274] 1845.
Fond fancies’ bond, between a smile and sigh,
Do thou more wise, where’er thou turn’st thine eye
Converse with Nature in pure sympathy.
C.
… be taught to fix an eye
On holy Nature in pure sympathy.
C.
Fond fancies, wheresoe’er shall range thine eye
Among the forms and powers of earth or sky,
Converse with Nature in pure sympathy.
C.
[275] 1845.
A thankful heart all lawless wishes quelled,
To joy, to praise, to love alike compelled,
Whatever boon be granted or withheld.
C.
The following variation of the two last stanzas is from a MS. copy by
Wordsworth.
Fond fancies! wheresoe’er shall range thine eye
Among the forms and powers of earth and sky,
Converse with nature in pure sympathy.
A thankful heart, all lawless wishes quell’d,
To joy, to praise, to love alike compell’d,
Whatever boon be granted or withheld.
_August, 1844._--ED.
[276] The following account of the circumstance which gave rise to the
preceding poem is from the _Memoir_ of Professor Archer Butler, by Mr.
Woodward, prefixed to the “First Series” of his Sermons. The late Rev.
Archdeacon Graves, of Dublin (in 1849 of Windermere), in writing to Mr.
Woodward, gives an interesting account of a walk, in July 1844, from
Windermere, by Rydal and Grasmere, to Loughrigg Tarn, etc., in which
Butler was accompanied by Wordsworth, Julius Charles Hare, Sir William
Hamilton, etc. He says, “The day was additionally memorable as giving
birth to an interesting minor poem of Mr. Wordsworth’s. When we reached
the side of Loughrigg Tarn (which you may remember he notes for its
similarity, in the peculiar character of its beauty, to the Lago di
Nemi--Dianae Speculum), the loveliness of the scene arrested our steps
and fixed our gaze. The splendour of a July noon surrounded us and
lit up the landscape, with the Langdale Pikes soaring above, and the
bright tarn shining beneath; and when the poet’s eyes were satisfied
with their feast on the beauties familiar to them, they sought relief
in the search, to them a happy vital habit, for new beauty in the
flower-enamelled turf at his feet. There his attention was arrested
by a fair smooth stone, of the size of an ostrich’s egg, seeming to
imbed at its centre, and at the same time to display a dark star-shaped
fossil of most distinct outline. Upon closer inspection this proved
to be the shadow of a daisy projected upon it with extraordinary
precision by the intense light of an almost vertical sun. The poet drew
the attention of the rest of the party to the minute but beautiful
phenomenon, and gave expression at the time to thoughts suggested by
it, which so interested our friend Professor Butler, that he plucked
the tiny flower, and, saying that “it should be not only the theme but
the memorial of the thought they had heard,” bestowed it somewhere
carefully for preservation. The little poem, in which some of these
thoughts were afterwards crystallised, commences with the stanza--
So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive,
Would that the little flowers were born to live,
Conscious of half the pleasure that they give.”
_Memoir_, pp. 27, 28.--ED.
ON THE PROJECTED KENDAL AND WINDERMERE RAILWAY
Composed October 12, 1844.--Published 1844[277]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Is then no nook of English ground secure
From rash assault?[278] Schemes of retirement sown
In youth, and ’mid the busy world kept pure
As when their earliest flowers of hope were blown,
Must perish;--how can they this blight endure? 5
And must he too the ruthless change bemoan
Who scorns a false utilitarian lure
’Mid his paternal fields at random thrown?
Baffle the threat, bright Scene, from Orrest-head[279]
Given to the pausing traveller’s rapturous glance: 10
Plead for thy peace, thou beautiful romance
Of nature; and, if human hearts be dead,
Speak, passing winds; ye torrents, with your strong
And constant voice, protest against the wrong.
_October 12th, 1844._
[277] In the first edition of his pamphlet “On the projected Kendal and
Windermere Railway.”--ED.
[278] The degree and kind of attachment which many of the yeomanry
feel to their small inheritances can scarcely be over-rated. Near the
house of one of them stands a magnificent tree, which a neighbour of
the owner advised him to fell for profit’s sake. “Fell it!” exclaimed
the yeoman, “I had rather fall on my knees and worship it.” It happens,
I believe, that the intended railway would pass through this little
property, and I hope that an apology for the answer will not be thought
necessary by one who enters into the strength of the feeling.--W.W.
1845.
Compare the two letters on the Kendal and Windermere Railway,
contributed by Wordsworth to _The Morning Post_ in 1844, at Kendal,
revised and reprinted in the same year. See _The Prose Works of
Wordsworth_, vol. ii. pp. 383-405.--ED.
[279] Orresthead is the height close to Windermere, to the north of the
town.--ED.
“PROUD WERE YE, MOUNTAINS, WHEN, IN TIMES OF OLD”
Composed 1844.--Published 1845[280]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Proud were ye, Mountains, when, in times of old,
Your patriot sons, to stem invasive war,
Intrenched your brows; ye gloried in each scar:
Now, for your shame, a Power, the Thirst of Gold,
That rules o’er Britain like a baneful star, 5
Wills that your peace, your beauty, shall be sold,
And clear way made for her triumphal car
Through the beloved retreats your arms enfold!
Heard YE that Whistle? As her long-linked Train
Swept onwards, did the vision cross your view? 10
Yes, ye were startled;--and, in balance true,
Weighing the mischief with the promised gain,
Mountains, and Vales, and Floods, I call on you
To share the passion of a just disdain.
The following by Canon Rawnsley--suggested by an attempt to introduce
a mineral railway into Borrowdale--may be read in connection with
Wordsworth’s two sonnets.--ED.
A CRY FROM DERWENTWATER
Shall then the stream of ruinous Lodore
Not fill the valley with its changeful sound
Unchallenged! shall grey Derwent’s sacred bound
Hear the harsh brawl and intermittent roar
Of mocking waves upon an iron shore,
Whereby nor health nor happiness is found!--
While steam-wains drag from Honister’s heart wound
The long cooled ashes of its fiery core!
Burst forth ye sulphurous fountains, as ye broke
On Skiddaw, lick the waters, blast the trees,
And let men have the earth they would desire,--
As well go pass our children through the fire
With shrieks, Cath-Belus, round thine altar’s smoke,
As let old Derwent hear such sounds as these.
H.D. RAWNSLEY.
WRAY VICARAGE, AMBLESIDE.
[280] This sonnet was first published in _The Morning Post_, December
17, 1844.--ED.
AT FURNESS ABBEY
Composed 1844.--Published 1845
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.
Here, where, of havoc tired and rash undoing,
Man left this Structure to become Time’s prey
A soothing spirit follows in the way
That Nature takes, her counter-work pursuing.
See how her Ivy clasps the sacred Ruin[281] 5
Fall to prevent or beautify decay;
And, on the mouldered walls, how bright, how gay,
The flowers in pearly dews their bloom renewing!
Thanks to the place, blessings upon the hour;
Even as I speak the rising Sun’s first smile 10
Gleams on the grass-crowned top of yon tall Tower[282]
Whose cawing occupants with joy proclaim
Prescriptive title to the shattered pile
Where, Cavendish,[283] _thine_ seems nothing but a name!
[281] In the chancel of the church at Furness Abbey, ivy almost covers
the north wall. In the Belfry and in the Chapter House, it is the same.
The “tower,” referred to in the sonnet, is evidently the belfry tower
to the west. It is still “grass-crowned.” The sonnet was doubtless
composed on the spot, and if Wordsworth ascended to the top of the
belfry tower, he might have seen the morning sunlight strike the small
remaining fragment of the central tower. But it is more likely that he
looked up from the nave, or choir, of the church to the belfry, when he
spoke of the sun’s first smile gleaming from the top of the tall tower.
“Flowers”--crowfoot, campanulas, etc.--still luxuriate on the mouldered
walls. With the line,
Fall to prevent or beautify decay;
compare,
Nature softening and concealing,
And busy with a hand of healing,
in the description of Bolton Abbey in _The White Doe of Rylstone_,
canto i. I. 118. Compare also the _Address from the Spirit of
Cockermouth Castle_, vol. vii. p. 347.--ED.
[282] See preceding note.
[283] Furness Abbey is the property of the Duke of Devonshire, whose
family name is Cavendish.--ED.
1845
The Poems of 1845 include one of the group “On the Naming of Places,”
_The Westmoreland Girl_ (addressed to the Poet’s grandchildren),
several fragments addressed to Mrs. Wordsworth, and to friends, with
one or two Sonnets.--ED.
“FORTH FROM A JUTTING RIDGE, AROUND WHOSE BASE”
Composed 1845.--Published 1845
One of the “Poems upon the Naming of Places.”--ED.
Forth from a jutting ridge, around whose base
Winds our deep Vale, two heath-clad Rocks ascend[284][285]
In fellowship, the loftiest of the pair
Rising to no ambitious height; yet both,
O’er lake[286] and stream, mountain and flowery mead, 5
Unfolding prospects fair as human eyes[287]
Ever beheld. Up-led with mutual help,
To one or other brow of those twin Peaks
Were two adventurous Sisters wont to climb,
And took no note of the hour while thence they gazed, 10
The blooming heath their couch, gazed, side by side,
In speechless admiration. I, a witness
And frequent sharer of their calm[288] delight
With thankful heart, to either Eminence
Gave the baptismal name each Sister bore. 15
Now are they parted,[289] far as Death’s cold hand
Hath power to part the Spirits of those who love
As they did love. Ye kindred Pinnacles--
That, while the generations of mankind
Follow each other to their hiding-place 20
In time’s abyss, are privileged to endure
Beautiful in yourselves, and richly graced
With like command of beauty--grant your aid
For MARY’S humble, SARAH’S silent, claim,
That their pure joy in nature may survive 25
From age to age in blended memory.
[284] 1845.
Winds our sequestered vale, two rocks ascend
MS.
[285] These two rocks rise to the left of the lower high-road from
Grasmere to Rydal, after it leaves the former lake and turns eastwards
towards the latter. They are still “heath-clad,” and covered with the
coppice of the old Bane Riggs Wood, so named because the shortest
road from Ambleside to Grasmere used to pass through it; “bain” or
“bane” signifying, in the Westmoreland dialect, a short cut. Dr.
Cradock wrote of them thus:--“They are now difficult of approach,
being enclosed in a wood, with dense undergrowth, and surrounded by
a high, well-built wall. They can be well seen from the lower road,
from a spot close to the three-mile stone from Ambleside. They are
some fifty or sixty feet above the road, about twenty yards apart, and
separated by a slight depression of, say, ten feet. The view from the
easterly one is now much preferable, as it is less encumbered with
shrubs; and for that reason also is more heath-clad. The twin rocks
are also well seen, though at a farther distance, from the hill in
White Moss Common between the roads, which Dr. Arnold used to call ‘Old
Corruption,’ and ‘Bit-by-bit Reform.’ Doubtless the rocks were far more
easily approached fifty years ago, when walls, if any, were low and
ill-built. It is probable, however, that even then they were enclosed
and protected; for heath will not grow on the Grasmere hills, on places
much frequented by sheep.” The best view of these “heath-clad” rocks
from the lower carriage road is at a spot two or three yards to the
west of a large rock on the road-side near the milestone. The view
of them from the Loughrigg Terrace walks is also interesting. The
two sisters were Mary and Sarah Hutchinson (Mrs. Wordsworth and her
Sister); and, in the Rydal household, the rocks were respectively named
“Mary-Point,” and “Sarah-Point.”--ED.
[286] 1845.
O’er wood …
MS.
[287] 1845.
… eye
MS.
[288] 1845.
… that deep …
MS.
[289] 1845.
Gone to a common home, their duty done,
In this dear vale the Sisters lived, but long
Have they been parted …
C.
True to a common love, their early choice
In this dear Vale, the sisters lived, but long
Have they been parted-- …
C.
THE WESTMORELAND GIRL[290]
TO MY GRANDCHILDREN
Composed June 6, 1845.--Published 1845
One of the “Poems referring to the Period of Childhood.”--ED.
PART I
Seek who will delight in fable
I shall tell you truth. A Lamb
Leapt from this steep bank to follow
’Cross the brook its thoughtless dam.[291]
Far and wide on hill and valley 5
Rain had fallen, unceasing rain,
And the bleating mother’s Young-one
Struggled with the flood in vain:
But, as chanced, a Cottage-maiden
(Ten years scarcely had she told) 10
Seeing, plunged into the torrent,
Clasped the Lamb and kept her hold.
Whirled adown the rocky channel,
Sinking, rising, on they go,
Peace and rest, as seems, before them 15
Only in the lake below.
Oh! it was a frightful current
Whose fierce wrath the Girl had braved;
Clap your hands with joy my Hearers,
Shout in triumph, both are saved; 20
Saved by courage that with danger
Grew, by strength the gift of love,
And belike a guardian angel
Came with succour from above.