From the Vale's peace which all her fields partake,
Here on the bleakest point of Cumbria's shore
We sojourn stunned by Ocean's ceaseless roar;
While, day by day, grim neighbour! huge Black Comb
Frowns deepening visibly his native gloom, 6
Unless, perchance rejecting in despite
What on the Plain _we_ have of warmth and light,
In his own storms he hides himself from sight.
Rough is the time; and thoughts, that would be free 10
From heaviness, oft fly, dear Friend, to thee;
Turn from a spot where neither sheltered road
Nor hedge-row screen invites my steps abroad;
Where one poor Plane-tree, having as it might
Attained a stature twice a tall man's height, 15
Hopeless of further growth, and brown and sere
Through half the summer, stands with top cut sheer,
Like an unshifting weathercock which proves
How cold the quarter that the wind best loves,
Or like a Centinel[1] that, evermore 20
Darkening the window, ill defends the door
Of this unfinished house--a Fortress bare,
Where strength has been the Builder's only care;
Whose rugged walls may still for years demand
The final polish of the Plasterer's hand. 25
--This Dwelling's Inmate more than three weeks' space
And oft a Prisoner in the cheerless place,
I--of whose touch the fiddle would complain,
Whose breath would labour at the flute in vain,
In music all unversed, nor blessed with skill 30
A bridge to copy, or to paint a mill,
Tired of my books, a scanty company!
And tired of listening to the boisterous sea--
Pace between door and window muttering rhyme,
An old resource to cheat a froward time! 35
Though these dull hours (mine is it, or their shame?)
Would tempt me to renounce that humble aim.
--But if there be a Muse who, free to take
Her seat upon Olympus, doth forsake
Those heights (like Phoebus when his golden locks 40
He veiled, attendant on Thessalian flocks)
And, in disguise, a Milkmaid with her pail
Trips down the pathways of some winding dale;
Or, like a Mermaid, warbles on the shores
To fishers mending nets beside their doors; 45
Or, Pilgrim-like, on forest moss reclined,
Gives plaintive ditties to the heedless wind,
Or listens to its play among the boughs
Above her head and so forgets her vows--
If such a Visitant of Earth there be 50
And she would deign this day to smile on me
And aid my verse, content with local bounds
Of natural beauty and life's daily rounds,
Thoughts, chances, sights, or doings, which we tell
Without reserve to those whom we love well-- 55
Then haply, Beaumont! words in current clear
Will flow, and on a welcome page appear
Duly before thy sight, unless they perish here.
What shall I treat of? News from Mona's Isle?
Such have we, but unvaried in its style; 60
No tales of Runagates fresh landed, whence
And wherefore fugitive or on what pretence;
Of feasts, or scandal, eddying like the wind
Most restlessly alive when most confined.
Ask not of me, whose tongue can best appease 65
The mighty tumults of the HOUSE OF KEYS;
The last year's cup whose Ram or Heifer gained,
What slopes are planted, or what mosses drained:
An eye of fancy only can I cast
On that proud pageant now at hand or past, 70
When full five hundred boats in trim array,
With nets and sails outspread and streamers gay,
And chanted hymns and stiller voice of prayer,
For the old Manx-harvest to the Deep repair,
Soon as the herring-shoals at distance shine 75
Like beds of moonlight shifting on the brine.
Mona from our Abode is daily seen,
But with a wilderness of waves between;
And by conjecture only can we speak
Of aught transacted there in bay or creek; 80
No tidings reach us thence from town or field,
Only faint news her mountain sunbeams yield,
And some we gather from the misty air,
And some the hovering clouds, our telegraph, declare.
But these poetic mysteries I withhold; 85
For Fancy hath her fits both hot and cold,
And should the colder fit with You be on
When You might read, my credit would be gone.
Let more substantial themes the pen engage,
And nearer interests culled from the opening stage 90
Of our migration.--Ere the welcome dawn
Had from the east her silver star withdrawn,
The Wain stood ready, at our Cottage-door,
Thoughtfully freighted with a various store;
And long or ere the uprising of the Sun 95
O'er dew-damped dust our journey was begun,
A needful journey, under favouring skies,
Through peopled Vales; yet something in the guise
Of those old Patriarchs when from well to well
They roamed through Wastes where now the tented Arabs 100
dwell.
Say first, to whom did we the charge confide,
Who promptly undertook the Wain to guide
Up many a sharply-twining road and down,
And over many a wide hill's craggy crown,
Through the quick turns of many a hollow nook, 105
And the rough bed of many an unbridged brook?
A blooming Lass--who in her better hand
Bore a light switch, her sceptre of command
When, yet a slender Girl, she often led,
Skilful and bold, the horse and burthened _sled_[D] 110
From the peat-yielding Moss on Gowdar's head.
What could go wrong with such a Charioteer
For goods and chattels, or those Infants dear,
A Pair who smilingly sat side by side,
Our hope confirming that the salt-sea tide, 115
Whose free embraces we were bound to seek,
Would their lost strength restore and freshen the pale cheek?
Such hope did either Parent entertain
Pacing behind along the silent lane.
Blithe hopes and happy musings soon took flight, 120
For lo! an uncouth melancholy sight--
On a green bank a creature stood forlorn
Just half protruded to the light of morn,
Its hinder part concealed by hedge-row thorn.
The Figure called to mind a beast of prey 125
Stript of its frightful powers by slow decay,
And, though no longer upon rapine bent,
Dim memory keeping of its old intent.
We started, looked again with anxious eyes,
And in that griesly object recognise 130
The Curate's Dog--his long-tried friend, for they,
As well we knew, together had grown grey.
The Master died, his drooping servant's grief
Found at the Widow's feet some sad relief;[2]
Yet still he lived in pining discontent, 135
Sadness which no indulgence could prevent;
Hence whole day wanderings, broken nightly sleeps
And lonesome watch that out of doors he keeps;
Not oftentimes, I trust, as we, poor brute!
Espied him on his legs sustained, blank, mute, 140
And of all visible motion destitute,
So that the very heaving of his breath
Seemed stopt, though by some other power than death.
Long as we gazed upon the form and face,
A mild domestic pity kept its place, 145
Unscared by thronging fancies of strange hue
That haunted us in spite of what we knew.
Even now I sometimes think of him as lost
In second-sight appearances, or crost
By spectral shapes of guilt, or to the ground, 150
On which he stood, by spells unnatural bound,
Like a gaunt shaggy Porter forced to wait
In days of old romance at Archimago's gate.
Advancing Summer, Nature's law fulfilled,
The choristers in every grove had stilled; 155
But we, we lacked not music of our own,
For lightsome Fanny had thus early thrown,
Mid the gay prattle of those infant tongues,
Some notes prelusive, from the round of songs
With which, more zealous than the liveliest bird 160
That in wild Arden's brakes was ever heard,
Her work and her work's partners she can cheer,
The whole day long, and all days of the year.
Thus gladdened from our own dear Vale we pass
And soon approach Diana's Looking-glass! 165
To Loughrigg-tarn, round, clear, and bright as heaven,
Such name Italian fancy would have given,
Ere on its banks the few grey cabins rose
That yet disturb not its concealed repose
More than the feeblest wind that idly blows. 170
Ah, Beaumont! when an opening in the road
Stopped me at once by charm of what it showed,
The encircling region vividly exprest
Within the mirror's depth, a world at rest--
Sky streaked with purple, grove and craggy _bield_,[E] 175
And the smooth green of many a pendent field,
And, quieted and soothed, a torrent small,
A little daring would-be waterfall,
One chimney smoking and its azure wreath,
Associate all in the calm Pool beneath, 180
With here and there a faint imperfect gleam
Of water-lilies veiled in misty steam--
What wonder at this hour of stillness deep,
A shadowy link 'tween wakefulness and sleep,
When Nature's self, amid such blending, seems 185
To render visible her own soft dreams,
If, mixed with what appeared of rock, lawn, wood,
Fondly embosomed in the tranquil flood,
A glimpse I caught of that Abode, by Thee
Designed to rise in humble privacy, 190
A lowly Dwelling, here to be outspread,
Like a small Hamlet, with its bashful head
Half hid in native trees. Alas 'tis not,
Nor ever was; I sighed, and left the spot
Unconscious of its own untoward lot, 195
And thought in silence, with regret too keen,
Of unexperienced joys that might have been;
Of neighbourhood and intermingling arts,
And golden summer days uniting cheerful hearts.
But time, irrevocable time, is flown, 200
And let us utter thanks for blessings sown
And reaped--what hath been, and what is, our own.
Not far we travelled ere a shout of glee,
Startling us all, dispersed my reverie;
Such shout as many a sportive echo meeting 205
Oft-times from Alpine _chalets_ sends a greeting.
Whence the blithe hail? behold a Peasant stand
On high, a kerchief waving in her hand!
Not unexpectant that by early day
Our little Band would thrid this mountain way, 210
Before her cottage on the bright hill side
She hath advanced with hope to be descried.
Right gladly answering signals we displayed,
Moving along a tract of morning shade,
And vocal wishes sent of like good will 215
To our kind Friend high on the sunny hill--
Luminous region, fair as if the prime
Were tempting all astir to look aloft or climb;
Only the centre of the shining cot
With door left open makes a gloomy spot, 220
Emblem of those dark corners sometimes found
Within the happiest breast on earthly ground.
Rich prospect left behind of stream and vale,
And mountain-tops, a barren ridge we scale;
Descend and reach, in Yewdale's depths, a plain 225
With haycocks studded, striped with yellowing grain--
An area level as a Lake and spread
Under a rock too steep for man to tread,
Where sheltered from the north and bleak north-west
Aloft the Raven hangs a visible nest, 230
Fearless of all assaults that would her brood molest.
Hot sunbeams fill the steaming vale; but hark,
At our approach, a jealous watch-dog's bark,
Noise that brings forth no liveried Page of state,
But the whole household, that our coming wait. 235
With Young and Old warm greetings we exchange,
And jocund smiles, and toward the lowly Grange
Press forward by the teasing dogs unscared.
Entering, we find the morning meal prepared:
So down we sit, though not till each had cast 240
Pleased looks around the delicate repast--
Rich cream, and snow-white eggs fresh from the nest,
With amber honey from the mountain's breast;
Strawberries from lane or woodland, offering wild
Of children's industry, in hillocks piled; 245
Cakes for the nonce,[3] and butter fit to lie
Upon a lordly dish; frank hospitality
Where simple art with bounteous nature vied,
And cottage comfort shunned not seemly pride.
Kind Hostess! Handmaid also of the feast, 250
If thou be lovelier than the kindling East,
Words by thy presence unrestrained may speak
Of a perpetual dawn from brow and cheek
Instinct with light whose sweetest promise lies,
Never retiring, in thy large dark eyes, 255
Dark but to every gentle feeling true,
As if their lustre flowed from ether's purest blue.
Let me not ask what tears may have been wept
By those bright eyes, what weary vigils kept,
Beside that hearth what sighs may have been heaved 260
For wounds inflicted, nor what toil relieved
By fortitude and patience, and the grace
Of heaven in pity visiting the place.
Not unadvisedly those secret springs
I leave unsearched: enough that memory clings, 265
Here as elsewhere, to notices that make
Their own significance for hearts awake,
To rural incidents, whose genial powers
Filled with delight three summer morning hours.
More could my pen report of grave or gay 270
That through our gipsy travel cheered the way;
But, bursting forth above the waves, the Sun
Laughs at my pains, and seems to say, "Be done."
Yet, Beaumont, thou wilt not, I trust, reprove
This humble offering made by Truth to Love, 275
Nor chide the Muse that stooped to break a spell
Which might have else been on me yet:--
FAREWELL.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1845.
Or stedfast Centinel ... 1842.
[2]
Until the Vale she quitted, and their door
Was closed, to which she will return no more;
But first old Faithful to a neighbour's care
Was given in charge; nor lacked he dainty fare,
And in the chimney nook was free to lie
And doze, or, if his hour were come, to die.
Inserted only in the edition of 1842.
[3] The phrase "for the nonce" was _italicised_ in 1842.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] In the MS. of these Fenwick notes, the following is written in
pencil, the passage referred to beginning with "Our hostess," and ending
at "the poem." "Revise this sentence. Here is something involved."--ED.
[B] _i.e._ John Carter, Wordsworth's confidential clerk, who saw the
edition of 1857 through the press. The sentence enclosed within brackets
and signed J. C. is his.--ED.
[C] See the note dealing with this date (p. 269). It should be 1811.--ED.
[D] A local word for Sledge.--W. W. 1842.
[E] A word common in the country, signifying shelter, as in Scotland.--W.
W. 1842.
UPON PERUSING THE FOREGOING EPISTLE THIRTY YEARS AFTER ITS COMPOSITION
Composed 1841.--Published 1842
Included among the "Miscellaneous Poems."--ED.
Soon did the Almighty Giver of all rest
Take those dear young Ones to a fearless nest;
And in Death's arms has long reposed the Friend
For whom this simple Register was penned.
Thanks to the moth that spared it for our eyes; 5
And Strangers even the slighted Scroll may prize,
Moved by the touch of kindred sympathies.
For--save the calm, repentance sheds o'er strife
Raised by remembrances of misused life,
The light from past endeavours purely willed 10
And by Heaven's favour happily fulfilled;
Save hope that we, yet bound to Earth, may share
The joys of the Departed--what so fair
As blameless pleasure, not without some tears,
Reviewed through Love's transparent veil of years?[A] 15
The mighty tumults of the HOUSE OF KEYS;
The Isle of Man has a constitution of its own, independent of the
Imperial Parliament. The House of twenty-four Keys is the popular
assembly, corresponding to the British House of Commons; the
Lieutenant-Governor and Council constitute the Upper House. All
legislative measures must be first considered and passed by both
branches, and afterwards transmitted to the English Sovereign for the
Royal Assent before becoming law.
Mona from our Abode is daily seen,
But with a wilderness of waves between;
In a letter written from Bootle to Sir George Beaumont on the 28th
August 1811, Wordsworth says:--
"This is like most others, a bleak and treeless coast, but
abounding in corn fields, and with a noble beach, which is
delightful either for walking or riding. The Isle of Man is right
opposite our window; and though in this unsettled weather often
invisible, its appearance has afforded us great amusement. One
afternoon above the whole length of it was stretched a body of
clouds, shaped and coloured like a magnificent grove in winter,
when whitened with snow and illuminated, by the morning sun,
which, having melted the snow in part, has intermingled black
masses among the brightness. The whole sky was scattered over with
fleecy dark clouds, such as any sunshiny day produces, and which
were changing their shapes and positions every moment. But this
line of clouds was immovably attached to the island, and
manifestly took their shape from the influence of its mountains.
There appeared to be just span enough of sky to allow the hand to
slide between the top of Snafell, the highest peak in the island,
and the base of this glorious forest, in which little change was
noticeable for more than the space of half an hour."
In the Fenwick note, Wordsworth tells us that this _Epistle_ was written
in 1804; and by referring to the note prefixed to the first poem in the
"Memorials of a Tour in Scotland," 1803, (see vol. ii. p. 377), it will
be seen that the lines entitled _Departure from the Vale of Grasmere,
August, 1803_, beginning--
The gentlest Shade that walked Elysian plains,
were "not actually written for the occasion, but transplanted from my
_Epistle to Sir George Beaumont_."
It does not follow from this, however, that the lines belong to the year
1803 or 1804; because they were not published along with the earlier
"Memorials" of the Scotch Tour, but appeared for the first time in the
edition of 1827. It is certain that Wordsworth travelled down with his
household from the Grasmere Parsonage to Bootle in August 1811--mainly
to get some sea-air for his invalid children--and that he lived there
for some time during the autumn of that year. He _may_ have also gone
down to the south-west coast of Cumberland in 1804, and then written a
part of the poem; but we have no direct evidence of this; and I rather
think that the mention of the year 1804 to Miss Fenwick is just another
instance in which Wordsworth's memory failed him while dictating these
memoranda. If the poem was not written at different times, but was
composed as a whole in 1811, we may partly account for the date he gave
to Miss Fenwick, when we remember that in the year 1827 he transferred
a part of it (viz. the introduction) to these "Memorials" of the Scotch
Tour of 1803.
Up many a sharply-twining road and down,
And over many a wide hill's craggy crown,
Through the quick turns of many a hollow nook,
And the rough bed of many an unbridged brook.
Their route would be from Grasmere by Red Bank, over by High Close to
Elter Water, by Colwith into Yewdale, on to Waterhead; then probably,
from Coniston over Walna Scar, into Duddondale, and thence to Bootle.
Like a gaunt shaggy Porter forced to wait
In days of old romance at Archimago's gate.
See Spenser's _Faerie Queene_, book i. canto i. stanza 8.
... the liveliest bird
That in wild Arden's brakes was ever heard.
Compare _As you like it_, act II. scene 5.
And soon approach Diana's Looking-glass!
To Loughrigg-tarn, etc.
See the note appended by Wordsworth to the sequel to this poem.
A glimpse I caught of that Abode, by Thee
Designed to rise in humble privacy.
He imagines the house which Sir George Beaumont intended to build at
Loughrigg Tarn, but which he never erected, to be really built by his
friend, very much as in the sonnet named _Anticipation, October, 1803_,
he supposes England to have been invaded, and the battle fought in which
"the Invaders were laid low."
... behold a Peasant stand
On high, a kerchief waving in her hand!
See the Fenwick note preceding the poem.
... a barren ridge we scale;
Descend and reach, in Yewdale's depths, a plain.
They went up Little Langdale, I think, past the Tarn to Fell Foot, and
crossed over the ridge of Tilberthwaite, into Yewdale by the copper
mines.
Under a rock too steep for man to tread,
Where sheltered from the north and bleak north-west
Aloft the Raven hangs a visible nest,
Fearless of all assaults that would her brood molest.
There is a Raven crag in Yewdale, evidently the one referred to in this
passage, and also in the passage in the first book of _The Prelude_ (see
vol. iii. p. 142), beginning--
Oh! when I have hung
Above the raven's nest, by knots of grass
And half-inch fissures in the slippery rock
But ill sustained, etc.
... toward the lowly Grange
Press forward,
To Waterhead at the top of Coniston Lake.
In connection with Loughrigg Tarn, compare the note to the poem
beginning--
So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive,
and also the Biographical Sketch of Professor Archer Butler, prefixed to
his _Sermons_, vol. i.--ED.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] LOUGHRIGG TARN, alluded to in the foregoing _Epistle_, resembles,
though much smaller in compass, the Lake Nemi, or _Speculum Dianae_ as it
is often called, not only in its clear waters and circular form, and the
beauty immediately surrounding it, but also as being overlooked by the
eminence of Langdale Pikes as Lake Nemi is by that of Monte Calvo. Since
this _Epistle_ was written Loughrigg Tarn has lost much of its beauty by
the felling of many natural clumps of wood, relics of the old forest,
particularly upon the farm called "The Oaks" from the abundance of that
tree which grew there.
It is to be regretted, upon public grounds, that Sir George Beaumont did
not carry into effect his intention of constructing here a Summer
Retreat in the style I have described; as his Taste would have set an
example how buildings, with all the accommodations modern society
requires, might be introduced even into the most secluded parts of this
country without injuring their native character. The design was not
abandoned from failure of inclination on his part, but in consequence of
local untowardnesses which need not be particularised.--W. W. 1842.
UPON THE SIGHT OF A BEAUTIFUL PICTURE,
PAINTED BY SIR G. H. BEAUMONT, BART.
Composed 1811.--Published 1815
[This was written when we dwelt in the Parsonage at Grasmere. The
principal features of the picture are Bredon Hill and Cloud Hill near
Coleorton. I shall never forget the happy feeling with which my heart
was filled when I was impelled to compose this Sonnet. We resided only
two years in this house, and during the last half of the time, which was
after this poem had been written, we lost our two children, Thomas and
Catherine. Our sorrow upon these events often brought it to my mind, and
cast me upon the support to which the last line of it gives expression--
"The appropriate calm of blest eternity."
It is scarcely necessary to add that we still possess the Picture.--I.F.]
Included among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets." In 1815 the title was simply
_Upon the Sight of a Beautiful Picture_.--ED.
Praised be the Art whose subtle power could stay
Yon cloud, and fix it in that glorious shape;
Nor would permit the thin smoke to escape,[A]
Nor those bright sunbeams to forsake the day;
Which stopped that band of travellers on their way, 5
Ere they were lost within the shady wood;
And showed the Bark upon the glassy flood
For ever anchored in her sheltering bay.
Soul-soothing Art! whom[1] Morning, Noon-tide, Even,
Do serve with all their changeful pageantry; 10
Thou, with ambition modest yet sublime,
Here, for the sight of mortal man, hast given
To one brief moment caught from fleeting time
The appropriate calm of blest eternity,[B]
Compare the _Elegiac Stanzas, suggested by a picture of Peele Castle, in
a Storm, painted by Sir George Beaumont_--especially the first three,
and the fifth, sixth, and seventh stanzas. (See vol. iii. p. 54.)
In the letter written to Sir George Beaumont from Bootle, in
1811--partly quoted in the note to the previous poem (p.
268)--Wordsworth says, "A few days after I had enjoyed the pleasure of
seeing, in different moods of mind, your Coleorton landscape from my
fireside, it _suggested_ to me the following sonnet, which--having
walked out to the side of Grasmere brook, where it murmurs through the
meadows near the Church--I composed immediately--
Praised be the Art....
"The images of the smoke and the travellers are taken from your picture;
the rest were added, in order to place the thought in a clear point of
view, and for the sake of variety."--ED.
VARIANTS:
[1] C. and 1838.
... which ... 1815.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Compare, in Pope's _Moral Essays_, ii. 19--
Choose a firm cloud before it fall, and in it
Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute. ED.
[B] Compare, in the _Elegiac Stanzas, suggested by a Picture of Peele
Castle, in a Storm_ (vol. iii. p. 55)--
Elysian quiet, without toil or strife. ED.
TO THE POET, JOHN DYER
Composed 1811.--Published 1815
Classed among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets." In the edition of 1815 the
title was, _To the Poet, Dyer_.--ED.