Loch Voil in Perthshire. There are three sculptured stones in the rude
burial-place of the Macgregors, at the eastern end of the old church.
The one with the long claymore marks the resting-place of Rob Roy's
wife; the one opposite on the other side is the tomb of his eldest son;
and the central stone, more elaborately carved, marks the grave of the
hero himself.--Ed.
* * * * *
SONNET COMPOSED AT----CASTLE
Composed September 18, 1803.--Published 1807
[The castle here mentioned was Nidpath near Peebles. The person alluded
to was the then Duke of Queensbury. The fact was told to me by Walter
Scott.--I. F.]
In 1815 and 1820 this was one of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."--Ed.
Degenerate Douglas! oh, the unworthy Lord!
Whom mere despite of heart could so far please, [1]
And love of havoc, (for with such disease
Fame taxes him,) that he could send forth word
To level with the dust a noble horde, 5
A brotherhood of venerable Trees,
Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these,
Beggared and outraged!--Many hearts deplored
The fate of those old Trees; and oft with pain
The traveller, at this day, will stop and gaze 10
On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed:
For sheltered places, bosoms, nooks, and bays,
And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed,
And the green silent pastures, yet remain.
* * * * *
VARIANT ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1807.
Now as I live, I pity that great Lord,
Whom pure despite ...
MS. letter to Sir Walter Scott. Oct. 1803.
Ill wishes shall attend the unworthy Lord MS.]
"Sunday, September 18th.--After breakfast walked up the river to
Neidpath Castle, about a mile and a half from the town. The castle
stands upon a green hill, over-looking the Tweed, a strong
square-towered edifice, neglected and desolate, though not in ruin,
the garden overgrown with grass, and the high walls that fenced it
broken down. The Tweed winds between green steeps, upon which, and
close to the river side, large flocks of sheep pasturing; higher still
are the grey mountains; but I need not describe the scene, for William
has done it better than I could do in a sonnet which he wrote the same
day; the five last lines, at least, of his poem will impart to you
more of the feeling of the place than it would be possible for me to
do."
(Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland'.)
Writing to Sir Walter Scott (October 16, 1803), Wordsworth enclosed a
copy of this sonnet, with the variation of text which has been quoted.
Lockhart tells us
"in that original shape Scott always recited it, and few lines in the
language were more frequently in his mouth."
Compare Burns' 'Verses on the destruction of the Woods near Drumlanrig',
which refer to the same subject.--Ed.
* * * * *
YARROW UNVISITED
Composed 1803.--Published 1807
See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon the Banks of the
Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite Ballad of Hamilton, beginning:
"Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow!"
W. W. 1807.
One of the "Poems of the Imagination" in 1815 and 1820.--Ed.
From Stirling castle we had seen
The mazy Forth unravelled;
Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay,
And with the Tweed had travelled;
And when we came to Clovenford, 5
Then said my "_winsome Marrow_,"
"Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside,
And see the Braes of Yarrow."
"Let Yarrow folk, _frae_ Selkirk town,
Who have been buying, selling, 10
Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own;
Each maiden to her dwelling!
On Yarrow's banks let herons feed,
Hares couch, and rabbits burrow!
But we will downward [1] with the Tweed, 15
Nor turn aside to Yarrow.
"There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs,
Both lying right before us;
And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed
The lintwhites sing in chorus; 20
There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land
Made blithe with plough and harrow:
Why throw away a needful day
To go in search of Yarrow?
"What's Yarrow but a river bare, 25
That glides the dark hills under?
There are a thousand such elsewhere
As worthy of your wonder."
--Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn;
My True-love sighed for sorrow; 30
And looked me in the face, to think
I thus could speak of Yarrow!
"Oh! green," said I, "are Yarrow's holms,
And sweet is Yarrow flowing!
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, [A] 35
But we will leave it growing.
O'er hilly path, and open Strath,
We'll wander Scotland thorough;
But, though so near, we will not turn
Into the dale of Yarrow. 40
"Let beeves and home-bred kine partake
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow;
The swan on still St. Mary's Lake
Float double, swan and shadow! [B]
We will not see them; will not go, 45
To-day, nor yet to-morrow;
Enough if in our hearts we know
There's such a place as Yarrow.
"Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown!
It must, or we shall rue it: 50
We have a vision of our own;
Ah! why should we undo it?
The treasured dreams of times long past,
We'll keep them, winsome Marrow!
For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 55
'Twill be another Yarrow.
"If Care with freezing years should come,
And wandering seem but folly,--
Should we be loth to stir from home,
And yet be melancholy; 60
Should life be dull, and spirits low,
'Twill soothe us in our sorrow,
That earth has something yet to show,
The bonny holms of Yarrow!"
* * * * *
VARIANT ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1832.
... downwards ... 1807.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: See Hamilton's Ballad as above.--W. W. 1807.]
[Footnote B: In his "Recollections of Wordsworth," Aubrey de Vere
reports a conversation, in which the poet said to him,
"Scott misquoted in one of his novels my lines on 'Yarrow', He makes
me write,
'The swans on sweet St. Mary's Lake
Float double, swans and shadow;'
but I wrote,
'The _swan_ on _still_ St. Mary's Lake.'
Never could I have written 'swans' in the plural. The scene when I saw
it, with its still and dim lake, under the dusky hills, was one of
utter loneliness: there was _one_ swan, and one only, stemming the
water, and the pathetic loneliness of the region gave importance to
the one companion of that swan, its own white image in the water. It
was for that reason that I recorded the Swan and the Shadow. Had there
been many swans and many shadows, they would have implied nothing as
regards the character of the place; and I should have said nothing
about them."
See his 'Essays, chiefly on Poetry', vol. ii. p. 277.
Wordsworth wrote to his friend, Walter Scott, to thank him for a copy of
'The Lay of the Last Minstrel', and in return sent a copy of these
stanzas, 'Yarrow Unvisited'. Scott replied gratefully on the 16th March
1805, and said,
"... I by no means admit your apology, however ingeniously and
artfully stated, for not visiting the bonny holms of Yarrow, and
certainly will not rest till I have prevailed upon you to compare the
ideal with the real stream."
Wordsworth had asked him if he could suggest any name more true to the
place than Burnmill, in the line, "The sweets of Burn-mill meadow."
Scott replied:
"We have Broad-meadow upon Yarrow, which with the addition of green or
fair or any other epithet of one syllable, will give truth to the
locality, and supply the place of Burnmill meadow, which we have not.
... I like your swan upon St. Mary's Lake. How came you to know that
it is actually frequented by that superb bird?"
(See 'Familiar Letters of Sir Walter Scott', vol. i. pp. 28, 29.)--Ed.]
"September 18, 1803.--We left the Tweed when we were within about a
mile and a half or two miles of Clovenford, where we were to lodge.
Turned up the side of a hill, and went along sheep-grounds till we
reached the spot--a single stone house, without a tree near it or to
be seen from it. On our mentioning Mr. Scott's name, the woman of the
house showed us all possible civility, but her slowness was really
amusing. I should suppose it a house little frequented, for there is
no appearance of an inn. Mr. Scott, who she told me was a very clever
gentleman, 'goes there in the fishing season;' but indeed Mr. Scott is
respected everywhere; I believe that by favour of his name one might
be hospitably entertained throughout all the borders of Scotland. We
dined and drank tea--did not walk out, for there was no temptation; a
confined barren prospect from the window.
"At Clovenford, being so near to the Yarrow, we could not but think of
the possibility of going thither, but came to the conclusion of
reserving the pleasure for some future time, in consequence of which,
after our return, William wrote the poem which I shall here
transcribe."
(From Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland',
1803.)--Ed.
* * * * *
THE MATRON OF JEDBOROUGH AND HER HUSBAND
Composed between 1803 and 1805.--Published 1807
At Jedborough we went into private Lodgings for a few days; and the
following Verses were called forth by the character, and domestic
situation, of our Hostess.--W. W. 1807.
One of the "Poems referring to the Period of Old Age" in 1815 and
1820.--Ed.
Age! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers,
And call a train of laughing Hours;
And bid them dance, and bid them sing;
And thou, too, mingle in the ring!
Take to thy heart a new delight; 5
If not, make merry in despite
That [1] there is One who scorns thy power:--
But dance! for under Jedborough Tower,
A Matron dwells who, though she bears
The weight of more than seventy years, 10
Lives in the light of youthful glee, [2]
And she will dance and sing with thee.
Nay! start not at that Figure--there!
Him who is rooted to his chair!
Look at him--look again! for he 15
Hath long been of thy family.
With legs that move not, if they can,
And useless arms, a trunk of man,
He sits, and with a vacant eye;
A sight to make a stranger sigh! 20
Deaf, drooping, that is now his doom:
His world is in this single room:
Is this a place for mirthful cheer? [3]
Can merry-making enter here? [A]
The joyous Woman is the Mate 25
Of him in that forlorn estate!
He breathes a subterraneous damp;
But bright as Vesper shines her lamp:
He is as mute as Jedborough Tower:
She jocund as it was of yore, 30
With all its bravery on; in times
When all alive with merry chimes,
Upon a sun-bright morn of May,
It roused the Vale to holiday.
I praise thee, Matron! and thy due 35
Is praise, heroic praise, and true!
With admiration I behold
Thy gladness unsubdued and bold:
Thy looks, thy gestures, all present
The picture of a life well spent: 40
This do I see; and something more;
A strength unthought of heretofore!
Delighted am I for thy sake;
And yet a higher joy partake:
Our Human-nature throws away 45
Its second twilight, and looks gay;
A land of promise and of pride
Unfolding, wide as life is wide.
Ah! see her helpless Charge! enclosed
Within himself as seems, composed; 50
To fear of loss, and hope of gain,
The strife of happiness and pain,
Utterly dead! yet in the guise
Of little infants, when their eyes
Begin to follow to and fro 55
The persons that before them go,
He tracks her motions, quick or slow.
Her buoyant spirit can prevail
Where common cheerfulness would fail;
She strikes upon him with the heat 60
Of July suns; he feels it sweet;
An animal delight though dim!
'Tis all that now remains for him!
The more I looked, I wondered more--
And, while I scanned them o'er and o'er, [4] 65
Some inward trouble suddenly
Broke from the Matron's strong black eye--[5]
A remnant of uneasy light,
A flash of something over-bright![B]
Nor long this mystery did detain 70
My thoughts;--she told in pensive strain [6]
That she had borne a heavy yoke,
Been stricken by a twofold stroke;
Ill health of body; and had pined
Beneath worse ailments of the mind. 75
So be it!--but let praise ascend
To Him who is our lord and friend!
Who from disease and suffering
[7] Hath called for thee a second spring;
Repaid thee for that sore distress 80
By no untimely joyousness;
Which makes of thine a blissful state;
And cheers thy melancholy Mate!
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1827.
For ... 1807.]
[Variant 2:
1837.
... under Jedborough Tower
There liveth in the prime of glee,
A Woman, whose years are seventy-three,
And She ... 1807.
There lives a woman of seventy-three,
And she will dance and sing with thee, MS.
A Matron dwells, who though she bears
Our mortal complement of years,
Lives in the light of youthful glee, 1827.]
[Variant 3:
1827.
... for mirth and cheer? 1807.]
[Variant 4:
1827.
I look'd, I scann'd her o'er and o'er;
The more I look'd I wonder'd more: 1807.]
[Variant 5:
1837.
When suddenly I seem'd to espy
A trouble in her strong black eye; 1807.
A moment gave me to espy
A trouble . . . 1827.]
[Variant 6:
1827.
And soon she made this matter plain;
And told me, in a thoughtful strain, 1807.]
[Variant 7:
As bad almost as Life can bring, Added in MS.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Compare Tennyson's 'Deserted House', stanza iv.:
'Come away: no more of mirth
Is here, or merry-making sound.'
Ed.]
[Footnote B: Compare stanza xiii. of 'Resolution and Independence', p.
318.--Ed.]
Sept. 20, 1803.
"We were received with hearty welcome by a good woman, who, though
above seventy years old, moved about as briskly as if she was only
seventeen. Those parts of the house which we were to occupy were neat
and clean; she showed me every corner, and, before I had been ten
minutes in the house, opened her very drawers that I might see what a
stock of linen she had; then asked how long we should stay, and said
she wished we were come for three months. She was a most remarkable
person; the alacrity with which she ran up-stairs when we rung the
bell, and guessed at, and strove to prevent, our wants was surprising;
she had a quick eye, and keen strong features, and a joyousness in her
motions, like what used to be in old Molly when she was particularly
elated. I found afterwards that she had been subject to fits of
dejection and ill-health: we then conjectured that her overflowing
gaiety and strength might in part be attributed to the same cause as
her former dejection. Her husband was deaf and infirm, and sate in a
chair with scarcely the power to move a limb--an affecting contrast!
The old woman said they had been a very hard-working pair; they had
wrought like slaves at their trade--her husband had been a currier;
and she told me how they had portioned off their daughters with money,
and each a feather bed, and that in their old age they had laid out
the little they could spare in building and furnishing that house, and
she added with pride that she had lived in her youth in the family of
Lady Egerton, who was no high lady, and now was in the habit of coming
to her house whenever she was at Jedburgh, and a hundred other things;
for when she once began with Lady Egerton, she did not know how to
stop, nor did I wish it, for she was very entertaining. Mr. Scott sat
with us an hour or two, and repeated a part of the 'Lay of the Last
Minstrel'. When he was gone our hostess came to see if we wanted
anything, and to wish us good-night. On all occasions her manners were
governed by the same spirit: there was no withdrawing one's attention
from her. We were so much interested that William, long afterwards,
thought it worth while to express in verse the sensations which she
had excited, and which then remained as vividly in his mind as at the
moment when we lost sight of Jedburgh."
(From Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland',
1803.)--Ed.
* * * * *
"FLY, SOME KIND HARBINGER, TO GRASMERE-DALE" [A]
Composed September 25, 1803.--Published 1815
[This was actually composed the last day of our tour between Dalston and
Grasmere.--I.F.]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets" in 1815 and 1820.--Ed.
Fly, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmere-dale! [1]
Say that we come, and come by this day's light;
Fly upon swiftest wing round field and height, [2]
But chiefly let one Cottage hear the tale;
There let a mystery of joy prevail, 5
The kitten frolic, like a gamesome sprite, [3]
And Rover whine, as at a second sight
Of near-approaching good that shall not fail:
And from that Infant's face let joy appear;
Yea, let our Mary's one companion child--10
That hath her six weeks' solitude beguiled
With intimations manifold and dear,
While we have wandered over wood and wild--
Smile on his Mother now with bolder cheer.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1837.
Fly, some kind Spirit, fly to Grasmere Vale! 1815.
... dale, 1827.]
[Variant 2:
1837.
Glad tidings!--spread them over field and height; 1815.]
[Variant 3:
1837.
The Kitten frolic with unruly might, 1815.
The happy Kitten bound with frolic might, 1827.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: In the editions of 1815 and 1820, this poem bore the title,
'On approaching Home, after a Tour in Scotland, 1803',--Ed.]
"Sunday, September 25, 1803.--A beautiful autumnal day. Breakfasted at
a public-house by the road-side; dined at Threlkeld; arrived at home
between eight and nine o'clock, where we found Mary in perfect health,
Joanna Hutchinson with her, and little John asleep in the
clothes-basket by the fire."
(From Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland',
1803.)--Ed.
* * * * *
THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY
A TALE TOLD BY THE FIRE-SIDE, AFTER RETURNING TO THE VALE OF GRASMERE[A]
Date of composition uncertain.--Published 1807
[The story was told me by George Mackereth, for many years parish-clerk
of Grasmere. He had been an eye-witness of the occurrence. The vessel in
reality was a washing-tub, which the little fellow had met with on the
shores of the Loch.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood" in 1815 and
1820.--Ed.
Now we are tired of boisterous joy,
Have [1] romped enough, my little Boy!
Jane hangs her head upon my breast,
And you shall bring your stool and rest;
This corner is your own. 5
There! take your seat, and let me see
That [2] you can listen quietly:
And, as I promised, I will tell [3]
That strange adventure which befel
A poor blind Highland Boy. 10
A _Highland_ Boy!--why call him so?
Because, my Darlings, ye must know
That, under hills which rise like towers, [4]
Far higher hills than these of ours!
He from his birth had lived. 15
He ne'er had seen one earthly sight
The sun, the day; the stars, the night;
Or tree, or butterfly, or flower,
Or fish in stream, or bird in bower,
Or woman, man, or child. 20
And yet he neither drooped nor pined,
Nor had a melancholy mind;
For God took pity on the Boy,
And was his friend; and gave him joy
Of which we nothing know. 25
His Mother, too, no doubt, above
Her other children him did love:
For, was she here, or was she there,
She thought of him with constant care,
And more than mother's love. 30
And proud she was of heart, when clad
In crimson stockings, tartan plaid,
And bonnet with a feather gay,
To Kirk he on the sabbath day
Went hand in hand with her. 35
A dog too, had he; not for need,
But one to play with and to feed;
Which would [5] have led him, if bereft
Of company or friends, and left
Without a better guide. 40
And then the bagpipes he could blow--
And thus from house to house would go;
And all were pleased to hear and see,
For none made sweeter melody
Than did the poor blind Boy. 45
Yet he had many a restless dream;
Both when he heard the eagles scream,
And when he heard the torrents roar,
And heard the water beat the shore
Near which their cottage stood. 50
Beside a lake their cottage stood,
Not small like ours, a peaceful flood;
But one of mighty size, and strange;
That, rough or smooth, is full of change,
And stirring in its bed. 55
For to this lake, by night and day,
The great Sea-water finds its way
Through long, long windings of the hills
And drinks up all the pretty [B] rills
And rivers large and strong: [C] 60
Then hurries back the road it came--
Returns, on errand still the same;
This did it when the earth was new;
And this for evermore will do,
As long as earth shall last. 65
And, with the coming of the tide,
Come boats and ships that safely [6] ride
Between the woods and lofty rocks;
And to the shepherds with their flocks
Bring tales of distant lands. 70
And of those tales, whate'er they were,
The blind Boy always had his share;
Whether of mighty towns, or vales
With warmer suns and softer gales,
Or wonders of the Deep. 75
Yet more it pleased him, more it stirred,
When from the water-side he heard
The shouting, and the jolly cheers;
The bustle of the mariners
In stillness or in storm. 80
But what do his desires avail?
For He must never handle sail;
Nor mount the mast, nor row, nor float
In sailor's ship, or fisher's boat,
Upon the rocking waves. 85
His Mother often thought, and said,
What sin would be upon her head
If she should suffer this: "My Son,
Whate'er you do, leave this undone;
The danger is so great." 90
Thus lived he by Loch-Leven's side
Still sounding with the sounding tide,
And heard the billows leap and dance,
Without a shadow of mischance,
Till he was ten years old. 95
When one day (and now mark me well,
Ye [7] soon shall know how this befell)
He in a vessel of his own,
On the swift flood is hurrying down,
Down to the mighty Sea. [8] 100
In such a vessel never more
May human creature leave the Shore! [9]
If this or that way he should stir,
Woe to the poor blind Mariner!
For death will be his doom. 105
[10]
But say what bears him?--Ye have seen
The Indian's bow, his arrows keen,
Rare beasts, and birds with plumage bright;
Gifts which, for wonder or delight,
Are brought in ships from far. [11] 110
[D] Such gifts had those seafaring men
Spread round that haven in the glen;
Each hut, perchance, might have its own;
And to the Boy they all were known--
He knew and prized them all. 115
The rarest was a Turtle-shell
Which he, poor Child, had studied well;
A shell of ample size, and light
As the pearly car of Amphitrite,
That sportive dolphins drew. [12] 120
And, as a Coracle that braves
On Vaga's breast the fretful waves,
This shell upon the deep would swim,
And gaily lift its fearless brim
Above the tossing surge. [13] 125
And this the little blind Boy knew:
And he a story strange yet true
Had heard, how in a shell like this
An English Boy, O thought of bliss!
Had stoutly launched from shore; 130
Launched from the margin of a bay
Among the Indian isles, where lay
His father's ship, and had sailed far--
To join that gallant ship of war,
In his delightful shell. 135
Our Highland Boy oft visited
'The house that [14] held this prize; and, led
By choice or chance, did thither come
One day when no one was at home,
And found the door unbarred. 140
While there he sate, alone and blind,
That story flashed upon his mind;--
A bold thought roused him, and he took
The shell from out its secret nook,
And bore it on his head. [15] 145
He launched his vessel,--and in pride
Of spirit, from Loch-Leven's side,
Stepped into it--his thoughts all free
As the light breezes that with glee
Sang through the adventurer's hair. [16] 150
A while he stood upon his feet;
He felt the motion--took his seat;
Still better pleased as more and more
The tide retreated from the shore,
And sucked, and sucked him in. [17] 155
And there he is in face of Heaven.
How rapidly the Child is driven!
The fourth part of a mile, I ween,
He thus had gone, ere he was seen
By any human eye. 160
But when he was first seen, oh me
What shrieking and what misery!
For many saw; among the rest
His Mother, she who loved him best,
She saw her poor blind Boy. 165
But for the child, the sightless Boy,
It is the triumph of his joy!
The bravest traveller in balloon,
Mounting as if to reach the moon,
Was never half so blessed. 170
And let him, let him go his way,
Alone, and innocent, and gay!
For, if good Angels love to wait
On the forlorn unfortunate,
This Child will take no harm. 175
But now the passionate lament,
Which from the crowd on shore was sent,
The cries which broke from old and young
In Gaelic, or the English tongue,
Are stifled--all is still. 180
And quickly with a silent crew
A boat is ready to pursue;
And from the shore their course they take,
And swiftly down the running lake
They follow the blind Boy. 185
But soon they move with softer pace;
So have ye seen the fowler chase
On Grasmere's clear unruffled breast
A youngling of the wild-duck's nest
With deftly-lifted oar; 190
Or as the wily sailors crept
To seize (while on the Deep it slept)
The hapless creature which did dwell
Erewhile within the dancing shell,
They steal upon their prey. [18] 195
With sound the least that can be made,
They follow, more and more afraid,
More cautious as they draw more near;
But in his darkness he can hear,
And guesses their intent. 200