Through the grey west; and lo! these waters, steeled
By breezeless air to smoothest polish, yield
A vivid repetition[2] of the stars;
Jove, Venus, and the ruddy crest of Mars 5
Amid his fellows beauteously revealed
At happy distance from earth's groaning field,
Where ruthless mortals wage incessant wars.
Is it a mirror?--or the nether Sphere
Opening to view the abyss in which she feeds 10
Her own calm fires?[3]--But list! a voice is near;
Great Pan himself low-whispering through the reeds,
"Be thankful, thou; for, if unholy deeds
Ravage the world, tranquillity is here!"
VARIANTS:
[1] 1827.
Eve's lingering clouds extend ... MS. and 1819.
[2] 1819.
A bright re-duplication ... MS.
[3] 1837.
Opening a vast abyss, while fancy feeds
On the rich show? ... MS.
Opening its vast abyss, ... 1819.
Opening to view the abyss in which it feeds
Its own calm fires?-- ... 1827.
IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON, THE SEAT OF SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT, BART.,
LEICESTERSHIRE
Composed 1808.--Published 1815
[In the grounds of Coleorton these verses are engraved on a stone placed
near the Tree, which was thriving and spreading when I saw it in the
summer of 1841.--I. F.]
Included among the "Inscriptions."--ED.
The embowering rose, the acacia, and the pine,
Will[1] not unwillingly their place resign;
If but the Cedar thrive that near them stands,
Planted by Beaumont's and by Wordsworth's hands.
One wooed the silent Art with studious pains: 5
These groves have heard the Other's pensive strains;
Devoted thus, their spirits did unite
By interchange of knowledge and delight.
May Nature's kindliest powers sustain the Tree,
And Love protect it from all injury! 10
And when its potent branches, wide out-thrown,
Darken the brow of this memorial Stone,
[2]Here may some Painter sit in future days,
Some future Poet meditate his lays;
Not mindless of that distant age renowned 15
When Inspiration hovered o'er this ground,
The haunt of him who sang how spear and shield
In civil conflict met on Bosworth-field;
And of that famous Youth, full soon removed
From earth, perhaps by Shakspeare's self approved, 20
Fletcher's Associate, Jonson's Friend beloved.
About twelve years after the last visit of Wordsworth to Coleorton,
referred to in the Fenwick note--of which the date should, I think, be
1842, not 1841--this cedar tree fell, uprooted during a storm. It was,
however, as the Coleorton gardener who was then on the estate told me,
replanted with much labour, and protected with care; although, the top
branches being injured, it was never quite the same as it had been.
During the night of the great storm on the 13th October 1880, however,
it fell a second time, and perished irretrievably. The memorial stone
remains, injured a good deal by the wear and tear of time; and the
inscription is more than half obliterated. It is in a situation much
more exposed to the elements than the other two inscriptions at
Coleorton. He
who sang how spear and shield
In civil conflict met on Bosworth-field,
was Sir John Beaumont, the brother of the dramatist, who wrote a poem on
the battle of Bosworth. (See one of Wordsworth's notes to the _Song at
the Feast of Brougham Castle_, p. 84.) The
famous Youth, full soon removed
From earth,
was Francis Beaumont, the dramatist, who wrote in conjunction with
Fletcher. He died at the age of twenty-nine.
In an undated letter addressed to Sir George Beaumont, Wordsworth wrote,
"I like your ancestor's verses the more, the more I see of them. They
are manly, dignified, and extremely harmonious. I do not remember in any
author of that age such a series of well-tuned couplets."
In another letter written from Grasmere (probably in 1811) to Sir
George, he says in reference to his own poems, "These inscriptions have
all one fault, they are too long; but I was unable to do justice to the
thoughts in less room. The second has brought Sir John Beaumont and his
brother Francis so livelily to my mind that I recur to the plan of
republishing the former's poems, perhaps in connection with those of
Francis."
On November 16, 1811, he wrote to him again, "I am glad that the
inscriptions please you. It did always appear to me, that inscriptions,
particularly those in verse, or in a dead language, were never supposed
_necessarily_ to be the composition of those in whose name they
appeared. If a more striking or more dramatic effect could be produced,
I have always thought, that in an epitaph or memorial of any kind, a
father or husband, etc., might be introduced speaking, without any
absolute deception being intended; that is, the reader is understood to
be at liberty to say to himself,--these verses, or this Latin, may be
the composition of some unknown person, and not that of the father,
widow, or friend, from whose hand or voice they profess to proceed.... I
have altered the verses, and I have only to regret that the alteration
is not more happily done. But I never found anything more difficult. I
wished to preserve the expression _patrimonial grounds_,[A] but I found
this impossible, on account of the awkwardness of the pronouns, he and
his, as applied to Reynolds, and to yourself. This, even when it does
not produce confusion, is always inelegant. I was, therefore, obliged to
drop it; so that we must be content, I fear, with the inscription as it
stands below. I hope it will do. I tried a hundred different ways, but
cannot hit upon anything better...."--ED.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1815.
Shall ... 1820.
The text of 1827 returns to that of 1815.
[2] And to a favourite resting-place invite,
For coolness grateful and a sober light;
Inserted only in the editions of 1815 and 1820, and in a MS. letter
to Sir George Beaumont, 1811.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] See p. 79, l. 13.--ED.
IN A GARDEN OF THE SAME
Composed 1811.--Published 1815
[This Niche is in the sandstone-rock in the winter-garden at Coleorton,
which garden, as has been elsewhere said, was made under our direction
out of an old unsightly quarry. While the labourers were at work, Mrs.
Wordsworth, my sister and I used to amuse ourselves occasionally in
scooping this seat out of the soft stone. It is of the size, with
something of the appearance, of a stall in a Cathedral. This inscription
is not engraven, as the former and the two following are, in the
grounds.--I. F.]
Classed by Wordsworth among his "Inscriptions."--ED.
Oft is the medal faithful to its trust
When temples, columns, towers, are laid in dust;
And 'tis a common ordinance of fate
That things obscure and small outlive the great:
Hence, when yon mansion and the flowery trim 5
Of this fair garden, and its alleys dim,
And all its stately trees, are passed away,
This little Niche, unconscious of decay,
Perchance may still survive. And be it known
That it was scooped within[1] the living stone,-- 10
Not by the sluggish and ungrateful pains
Of labourer plodding for his daily gains,
But by an industry that wrought in love;
With help from female hands, that proudly strove[2]
To aid the work, what time these walks and bowers 15
Were shaped to cheer dark winter's lonely hours.[3]
This niche is still to be seen, although not quite "unconscious of
decay." The growth of yew-trees, over and around it, has darkened the
seat; and constant damp has decayed the soft stone. The niche having
been scooped out by Mrs. Wordsworth and Dorothy, as well as by
Wordsworth, suggests the cutting of the inscriptions on the Rock of
Names in 1800, in which they all took part. (See vol. iii. pp. 61, 62.)
On his return to Grasmere from Coleorton, Wordsworth wrote thus to Sir
George Beaumont, in an undated letter, about this inscription:--"What
follows I composed yesterday morning, thinking there might be no
impropriety in placing it so as to be visible only to a person sitting
within the niche, which is hollowed out of the sandstone in the
winter-garden. I am told that this is, in the present form of the
niche, impossible; but I shall be most ready, when I come to Coleorton,
to scoop out a place for it, if Lady Beaumont think it worth while."
Then follows the--
INSCRIPTION.
Oft is the medal faithful to its trust.
On Nov. 16, 1811, writing again to Sir George on this subject of the
"Inscriptions," and evidently referring to this one on the "Niche," he
says, "As to the 'Female,' and 'Male,' I know not how to get rid of it;
for that circumstance gives the recess an appropriate interest.... On
this account, the lines had better be suppressed, for it is not
improbable that the altering of them might cost me more trouble than
writing a hundred fresh ones."--ED.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1815.
That it was fashioned in ... MS.
[2] 1815.
But by prompt hands of Pleasure and of Love,
Female and Male; that emulously strove MS.
[3] 1827.
To shape the work, what time these walks and bowers
Were framed to cheer dark winter's lonely hours. 1815.
... bleak ... MS.
WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT, BART., AND IN HIS NAME,
FOR AN URN, PLACED BY HIM AT THE TERMINATION OF A NEWLY-PLANTED
AVENUE, IN THE SAME GROUNDS
Composed 1808.--Published 1815
One of the "Inscriptions."--ED.
Ye Lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed Urn,
Shoot forth with lively power at Spring's return;
And be not slow a stately growth to rear
Of pillars, branching off from year to year,
Till they have learned to frame a darksome aisle;-- 5
That may recal to mind that awful Pile[1]
Where Reynolds, 'mid our country's noblest dead,
In the last sanctity of fame is laid.
--There, though by right the excelling Painter sleep
Where Death and Glory a joint sabbath keep, 10
Yet not the less his Spirit would hold dear
Self-hidden praise, and Friendship's private tear:
Hence, on my patrimonial grounds, have I
Raised this frail tribute to his memory;
From youth a zealous follower of the Art[2] 15
That he professed; attached to him in heart;
Admiring, loving, and with grief and pride
Feeling what England lost when Reynolds died.
These Lime-trees now form "a stately growth of pillars," "a darksome
aisle"; and the urn remains, as set up in 1807, at the end of the
avenue.
The "awful Pile," where Reynolds lies, and where--
... Death and Glory a joint sabbath keep,
is, of course, Westminster Abbey.
After Wordsworth's return from Coleorton and Stockton to Grasmere, he
wrote thus to Sir George Beaumont:--
"MY DEAR SIR GEORGE,
"Had there been room at the end of the small avenue of lime-trees
for planting a spacious circle of the same trees, the Urn might
have been placed in the centre, with the inscription thus altered,
"Ye lime-trees ranged around this hallowed urn,
Shoot forth with lively power at spring's return!
And be not slow a stately growth to rear,
Bending your docile boughs from year to year,
Till in a solemn concave they unite;
Like that Cathedral Dome beneath whose height
Reynolds, among our country's noble Dead,
In the last sanctity of fame is laid.
Here may some Painter sit in future days.
Some future poet meditate his lays!
Not mindless of that distant age, renowned,
When inspiration hovered o'er this ground,
The haunt of him who sang, how spear and shield
In civil conflict met on Bosworth field,
And of that famous youth (full soon removed
From earth!) by mighty Shakespeare's self approved,
Fletcher's associate, Jonson's friend beloved.
"The first couplet of the above, as it before stood, would have
appeared ludicrous, if the stone had remained after the trees
might have been gone. The couplet relating to the household
virtues did not accord with the painter and the poet; the former
being allegorical figures; the latter, living men."
This letter--which is not now in the Beaumont collection at Coleorton
Hall--seems to imply that Wordsworth thought of combining the first
couplet on the Urn with the last nine lines of the inscription for the
stone behind the Cedar tree. But this was never carried out. The
inscriptions are printed in the text as they were carved at
Coleorton.--ED.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1820.
Till ye have framed, at length, a darksome aisle,
Like a recess within that sacred pile
MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont, 1811.
Till they at length have framed a darksome Aisle;--
Like a recess within that awful Pile 1815.
[2] 1815.
Hence, an obscure Memorial, without blame,
In these domestic Grounds, may bear his name;
Unblamed this votive Urn may oft renew
Some mild sensations to his Genius due
From One--a humble Follower of the Art
Five lines instead of three in MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont,
16th November, 1811.
FOR A SEAT IN THE GROVES OF COLEORTON
Composed November 19, 1811.--Published 1815
One of the "Inscriptions."--ED.
Beneath yon eastern ridge, the craggy bound,
Rugged and high, of Charnwood's forest ground,
Stand yet, but, Stranger! hidden from thy view
The ivied Ruins of forlorn GRACE DIEU;
Erst a religious House, which[1] day and night 5
With hymns resounded, and the chanted rite:
And when those rites had ceased, the Spot gave birth
To honourable Men of various worth:[2]
There, on the margin of a streamlet wild,
Did Francis Beaumont sport, an eager child; 10
There, under shadow of the neighbouring rocks,
Sang youthful tales of shepherds and their flocks;
Unconscious prelude to heroic themes,
Heart-breaking tears, and melancholy dreams
Of slighted love, and scorn, and jealous rage, 15
With which his genius shook[3] the buskined stage.
Communities are lost, and Empires die,
And things of holy use unhallowed lie;[A]
They perish;--but the Intellect can raise,[4]
From airy words alone, a Pile that ne'er decays. 20
Charnwood forest, in Leicestershire, is an almost treeless wold of
between fifteen and sixteen thousand acres. The
eastern ridge, the craggy bound,
Rugged and high,
refers probably to High Cadmon. The nunnery of Grace Dieu was a
religious house, in a retired spot near the centre of the forest; and
was built between 1236 and 1242. The English monasteries were suppressed
in 1536; but Grace Dieu, with thirty others of the smaller monasteries,
was allowed to continue some time longer. It was finally suppressed in
1539, when the site of the priory, with the demesne lands, was granted
to Sir Humphrey Foster, who conveyed the whole to John Beaumont. Francis
Beaumont, the dramatic poet, was born at Grace Dieu in 1586. He died in
1615, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.
"William and I went to Grace Dieu last week. We were enchanted with the
little valley and its nooks, and the rocks of Charnwood upon the
hill."--Dorothy Wordsworth to Lady Beaumont, November 17, 1806.
This "Inscription" was composed at Grasmere, November 19, 1811, as the
following extract from a letter of Wordsworth's to Lady Beaumont
indicates:--"Grasmere, Wednesday, November 20, 1811.--My Dear Lady
Beaumont--When you see this you will think I mean to overrun you with
inscriptions. I do not mean to tax you with putting them up, only with
reading them. The following I composed yesterday morning in a walk from
Brathay, whither I had been to accompany my sister:--
FOR A SEAT IN THE GROVES OF COLEORTON.
Beneath yon eastern ridge, the craggy bound.
The thought of writing this inscription occurred to me many years
ago."--ED.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1820.
... that ... 1815.
[2] 1815.
But, when the formal Mass had long been stilled,
And wise and mighty changes were fulfilled;
That Ground gave birth to men of various Parts
For Knightly Services and liberal Arts.
MS. letter to Lady Beaumont, 20th November, 1811.
[3] 1815.
With which his skill inspired ... MS.
[4] 1815.
But Truth and Intellectual Power can raise,
MS. letter to Lady Beaumont, 20th November, 1811.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] In the editions of 1815 and 1820, Wordsworth appended the following
line from Daniel, as a note to the third last line of this "Inscription"--
Strait all that holy was unhallowed lies.
DANIEL. ED.
SONG AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE,
UPON THE RESTORATION OF LORD CLIFFORD, THE SHEPHERD, TO THE ESTATES AND
HONOURS OF HIS ANCESTORS
Composed 1807.--Published 1807
[See the note. This poem was composed at Coleorton while I was walking
to and fro along the path that led from Sir George Beaumont's
Farmhouse, where we resided, to the Hall, which was building at that
time.--I. F.]
One of the "Poems of the Imagination."--ED.
High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate,
And Emont's murmur mingled with the Song.--
The words of ancient time I thus translate,
A festal strain that hath been silent long:--
"From town to town, from tower to tower, 5
The red rose is a gladsome flower.
Her thirty years of winter past,
The red rose is revived at last;
She lifts her head for endless spring,
For everlasting blossoming:[A] 10
Both roses flourish, red and white:
In love and sisterly delight
The two that were at strife are blended,
And all old troubles[1] now are ended.--
Joy! joy to both! but most to her 15
Who is the flower of Lancaster!
Behold her how She smiles to-day
On this great throng, this bright array!
Fair greeting doth she send to all
From every corner of the hall; 20
But chiefly from above the board
Where sits in state our rightful Lord,
A Clifford to his own restored!
"They came with banner, spear, and shield;
And it was proved in Bosworth-field. 25
Not long the Avenger was withstood--
Earth helped him with the cry of blood:[B]
St George was for us, and the might
Of blessed Angels crowned the right.
Loud voice the Land has[2] uttered forth, 30
We loudest in the faithful north:
Our fields rejoice, our mountains ring,
Our streams proclaim a welcoming;
Our strong-abodes and castles see
The glory of their loyalty.[3] 35
"How glad is Skipton at this hour--
Though lonely, a deserted Tower;[4]
Knight, squire, and yeoman, page and groom:[5]
We have them at the feast of Brough'm.
How glad Pendragon--though the sleep 40
Of years be on her!--She shall reap
A taste of this great pleasure, viewing
As in a dream her own renewing.
Rejoiced is Brough, right glad I deem
Beside her little humble stream; 45
And she that keepeth watch and ward
Her statelier Eden's course to guard;
They both are happy at this hour,
Though each is but a lonely Tower:--
But here is perfect joy and pride 50
For one fair House by Emont's side,
This day, distinguished without peer
To see her Master and to cheer--
Him, and his Lady-mother dear!
"Oh! it was a time forlorn 55
When the fatherless was born--
Give her wings that she may fly,
Or she sees her infant die!
Swords that are with slaughter wild
Hunt the Mother and the Child. 60
Who will take them from the light?
--Yonder is a man in sight--
Yonder is a house--but where?
No, they must not enter there.
To the caves, and to the brooks, 65
To the clouds of heaven she looks;
She is speechless, but her eyes
Pray in ghostly agonies.
Blissful Mary, Mother mild,
Maid and Mother undefiled, 70
Save a Mother and her Child!
"Now Who is he that bounds with joy
On Carrock's side, a Shepherd-boy?
No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass
Light as the wind along the grass. 75
Can this be He who hither came
In secret, like a smothered flame?
O'er whom such thankful tears were shed
For shelter, and a poor man's bread!
God loves the Child; and God hath willed 80
That those dear words should be fulfilled,
The Lady's words, when forced away
The last she to her Babe did say:
'My own, my own, thy Fellow-guest
I may not be; but rest thee, rest, 85
For lowly shepherd's life is best!'
"Alas! when evil men are strong
No life is good, no pleasure long.
The Boy must part from Mosedale's groves,
And leave Blencathara's rugged coves,[C] 90
And quit the flowers that summer brings[D]
To Glenderamakin's lofty springs;
Must vanish, and his careless cheer
Be turned to heaviness and fear.
--Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise! 95
Hear it, good man, old in days!
Thou tree of covert and of rest
For this young Bird that is distrest;
Among thy branches safe he lay,
And he was free to sport and play, 100
When falcons were abroad for prey.
"A recreant harp, that sings of fear
And heaviness in Clifford's ear!
I said, when evil men are strong,
No life is good, no pleasure long, 105
A weak and cowardly untruth!
Our Clifford was a happy Youth,
And thankful through a weary time,
That brought him up to manhood's prime.
--Again he wanders forth at will, 110
And tends a flock from hill to hill:[6]
His garb is humble; ne'er was seen
Such garb with such a noble mien;
Among the shepherd grooms no mate
Hath he, a Child of strength and state! 115
Yet lacks not friends for simple[7] glee,
Nor yet for higher sympathy.[8]
To his side the fallow-deer
Came, and rested without fear;
The eagle, lord of land and sea, 120
Stooped down to pay him fealty;[E]
And both the undying fish that swim
Through Bowscale-tarn did wait on him;[F]
The pair were servants of his eye
In their immortality; 125
And glancing, gleaming, dark or bright,
Moved to and fro, for his delight.[9]
He knew the rocks which Angels haunt
Upon[10] the mountains visitant;
He hath kenned[11] them taking wing: 130
And into caves[12] where Faeries sing
He hath entered; and been told
By Voices how men lived of old.
Among the heavens his eye can see
The face of thing[13] that is to be; 135
And, if that men report him right,
His tongue could whisper words of might.[14]
--Now another day is come,
Fitter hope, and nobler doom;
He hath thrown aside his crook, 140
And hath buried deep his book;
Armour rusting in his halls
On the blood of Clifford calls;--[G]
'Quell the Scot,' exclaims the Lance--
Bear me to the heart of France, 145
Is the longing of the Shield--
Tell thy name, thou trembling Field;
Field of death, where'er thou be,
Groan thou with our victory!
Happy day, and mighty hour, 150
When our Shepherd, in his power,
Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword,
To his ancestors restored
Like a re-appearing Star,
Like a glory from afar, 155
First shall head the flock of war!"
Alas! the impassioned minstrel did not know
How, by Heaven's grace, this Clifford's heart was framed:
How he, long forced in humble walks to go,[15]
Was softened into feeling, soothed, and tamed. 160
Love had he found in huts where poor men lie;
His daily teachers had been woods and rills,
The silence that is in[16] the starry sky,
The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
In him the savage virtue of the Race, 165
Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts were dead:
Nor did he change; but kept in lofty place
The wisdom which adversity had bred.
Glad were the vales, and every cottage-hearth;
The Shepherd-lord was honoured more and more; 170
And, ages after he was laid in earth,
"The good Lord Clifford" was the name he bore.
The original text of this _Song_ was altered but little in succeeding
editions, and was not changed at all till 1836 and 1845. The following
is Wordsworth's explanatory note, appended to the poem in all the
editions:--