Bruges.--The morning was bright, sunshine and shade falling upon the
lines of houses, and the out-juttings of the more noble buildings. In
the bright light of morning the same tender melancholy was over the city
as in the sober time of twilight, yet with intervening images of rural
life. A few peasants were now entering the town, and the rattling of a
rustic cart, prettily laden with vegetables fresh from the soil, gave a
gentle stirring to the fancy. Early as it was, people of all ages were
abroad chiefly on their way to the churches: the figure, gait, and
motions of the women in harmony with the collegiate air of the streets,
and the processions and solemnities of Catholic worship. Such figures
might have walked through these streets, two hundred years ago; streets
bearing no stamp of progress or of decay. One might fancy that as the
city had been built so it had remained. We first went to the Church of
St. Salvador, a venerable Gothic edifice. Within the Church, our walk
between the lofty pillars was very solemn. We saw in perspective the
marble floor scattered over, at irregular distances, with people of all
ages--standing, or upon their knees, silent, yet making such motions as
the order of their devotions prescribed, crossing themselves, beating
their breasts, or telling their beads. Such the general appearance of
the worshippers: but the gestures of some were more impassioned....
"We spent some time in admiring the beauty of the choir, and every other
part of this noble building, adorned as it is with statues; and pictures
not in the paltry style of the Churches at Calais and Fernes; but works
of art that would be interesting _anywhere_, and are much more so in
these sacred places, where the wretched and the happy, the poor and the
rich are alike invited to cast away worldly feelings, and may be
elevated by the representations of Scripture history, or of the
sufferings and glory of martyrs and saints."
In the final arrangement of his poems, Wordsworth placed the one
entitled _Incident at Brugès_--which belonged to the year 1828--after
the two sonnets on Brugès in these "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent
in 1820." In the present edition the former poem is restored to its
chronological place (see vol. vii.), where it is associated with _A
Jewish Family_. As a consequence the numbering of the poems differs
slightly from that which Wordsworth finally adopted.--ED.
VARIANTS:
[Footnote 477: 1827.
And Tales transmitted through the popular tongue, 1822.
]
[Footnote 478: 1837.
Strikes at ... 1822.
Strikes to ... 1827.
]
[Footnote 479: 1827.
... slide ... 1822.
]
[Footnote 480: 1837.
A nobler ... 1822.
]
IV
AFTER VISITING THE FIELD OF WATERLOO
A wingèd Goddess--clothed in vesture wrought
Of rainbow colours; One whose port was bold,
Whose overburthened hand could scarcely hold
The glittering crowns and garlands which it brought--
Hovered in air above the far-famed Spot. 5
She vanished; leaving prospect blank and cold
Of wind-swept corn that wide around us rolled
In dreary billows, wood, and meagre cot,
And monuments that soon must disappear:
Yet a dread local recompense we found; 10
While glory seemed betrayed, while patriot-zeal
Sank in our hearts, we felt as men _should_ feel[481]
With such vast hoards of hidden carnage near,
And horror breathing from the silent ground!
"Namur, Tuesday 18th.--Our ride yesterday, except for the intervention
of Waterloo, and its interests, which were so melancholy that I do not
like to touch upon them, was a dull one, though the road was pleasant
through the forest of Soignies. Waterloo, its pretty chapel, the walls
within covered with monuments, recording the fall of many of our brave
countrymen, and some few others as brave, La Haye Sainte, La Belle
Alliance, Quatre Bras. Dined at Genappe; two bullet shots in the
wainscot of the room, which, during the battle, had been heaped with
dead and dying." (From Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)
"Monday, 17th July, Brussels.--I could understand little till we got to
the field of battle, where we stood upon an elevation; and thence,
looking round upon every memorable spot, by help of gesture and action,
and the sounds 'les Anglois, les Francois,' etc. etc., I gathered up a
small portion of the story, helped out by a few monuments erected to the
memory of the slain; but all round, there was no other visible record of
slaughter: the wide fields were covered with luxuriant crops, just as
they had been before the battles, except that now the corn was nearly
ripe, and _then_ it was green. We stood upon grass, and corn fields
where _heaps_ of our countrymen lay buried beneath our feet. There was
little to be seen, but much to be felt; sorrow and sadness, and even
something like horror breathed out of the ground as we stood upon it!"
(From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.) Compare the two sonnets
_Occasioned by the Battle of Waterloo, February, 1816_, also the
_Thanksgiving Ode_.--ED.
VARIANTS:
[Footnote 481: 1827.
She vanished--All was joyless, blank, and cold;
But if from wind-swept fields of corn that roll'd
In dreary billows, from the meagre cot,
And monuments that soon may disappear,
Meanings we craved which could not there be found;
If the wide prospect seemed an envious seal
Of great exploits; we felt as Men _should_ feel, 1822.
]
V
BETWEEN[482] NAMUR AND LIEGE
[The scenery on the Meuse pleases me more, upon the whole, than that of
the Rhine, though the river itself is much inferior in grandeur. The
rocks, both in form and colour, especially between Namur and Liege,
surpass any upon the Rhine, though they are in several places
disfigured by quarries, whence stones were taken for the new
fortifications. This is much to be regretted, for they are useless, and
the scars will remain perhaps for thousands of years. A like injury to a
still greater degree has been inflicted, in my memory, upon the
beautiful rocks of Clifton, on the banks of the Avon. There is probably
in existence a very long letter of mine to Sir Uvedale Price, in which
was given a description of the landscapes on the Meuse as compared with
those on the Rhine.
Details in the spirit of these sonnets are given both in Mrs.
Wordsworth's Journals and my Sister's, and the reperusal of them has
strengthened a wish long entertained that somebody would put together,
as in one work, the notices contained in them, omitting particulars that
were written down merely to aid our memory, and bringing the whole into
as small a compass as is consistent with the general interests belonging
to the scenes, circumstances, and objects touched on by each writer.--I.
F.]
What lovelier home could gentle Fancy choose?
Is this the stream, whose cities, heights, and plains,
War's favourite play-ground, are with crimson stains
Familiar, as the Morn with pearly dews?
The Morn, that now, along the silver MEUSE, 5
Spreading her peaceful ensigns, calls the swains
To tend their silent boats and ringing wains,
Or strip the bough whose mellow fruit bestrews
The ripening corn beneath it. As mine eyes
Turn from the fortified and threatening hill, 10
How sweet the prospect of yon watery glade,
With its grey rocks clustering in pensive shade--
That, shaped like old monastic turrets, rise
From the smooth meadow-ground, serene and still!
The following extract from Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal illustrates this
sonnet, and explains the Fenwick note. The "long entertained" "wish" of
the poet, expressed in that note, has never yet been accomplished. It
may be realised in one of the volumes which follow, in this edition.
"July 18. Departure from _Namur_, road out of the town beautiful, wide,
disk-like valley, gardens, groves, town standing upon its two rivers.
Ramparts towering above, very impressive to cast the eyes back upon.
Market people flocking in in groups, variety of dresses, of all gay
colours. Flowers seem to be the delight of the peasantry. They are worn
in their hats, upon their breasts, carried in the mouth when their hands
are at work sometimes, or stuck behind the ear. Road excellent all the
way down the Meuse. Villages in all situations,--among the rocks, now
one peeps out of a recess, again another upon a knoll with its spire
rising from among trees. More and more beautiful as you proceed down the
river--rocks on the banks of the most fantastic forms, something like
those on the Wye. Sometimes the valley reminded us of the trough of the
Clyde. _Huy._ Church handsome, the high tower struck by lightning
fourteen years ago; new fortifications, most picturesque and romantic
situation. Crossed the Meuse here, charming view from the bridge....
Road very delightful, rocks, woods, chateau, convent, vineyards, hanging
gardens, orchards with profusion of fruit, shrubs, and flowers, and corn
lands, all in the most luxuriant state. So beautiful a day's journey I
never before travelled."
The following is from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.:--"Tuesday,
July 18. Namur.--Having traversed the Vale, we travel downwards, with
the stately, though muddy, river to our left--pass under limestone
rocks resembling abbeys or castles--the opening prospect still
presenting something new. Backwards, a noble view of the vale,
terminated by the city and fortifications of Namur at the distance of,
perhaps, two miles or more--our last farewell view! Still, as we go on,
the rocks change their shapes, in prospect far off; or as we roll
swiftly away beneath them. Villages not to be numbered by the hasty
traveller, rise up, with spires and towers; cottages embowered in
gardens and orchards, and sometimes an old chateau or modern villa. All
these (in succession or together) vary the scene, while, the abundance
of flowers, fruit, vegetables, and corn, interbedded and intermingled,
give an image of plenty and happy industry."--ED.
VARIANTS:
[Footnote 482: 1837.
SCENERY BETWEEN ... 1822.
]
VI
AIX-LA-CHAPELLE
Was it to disenchant, and to undo,
That we approached the Seat of Charlemaine?
To sweep from many an old romantic strain
That faith which no devotion may renew!
Why does this puny Church present to view 5
Her[483] feeble columns? and that scanty chair!
This sword that one of our weak times might wear!
Objects of false pretence, or meanly true!
If from a traveller's fortune I might claim
A palpable memorial of that day, 10
Then would I seek the Pyrenean Breach
That[484] ROLAND clove with huge two-handed sway,[HC]
And to the enormous labour left his name,
Where unremitting frosts the rocky crescent bleach.
_Where unremitting frosts the rocky crescent bleach._
"Let a wall of rocks be imagined from three to six hundred feet in
height, and rising between France and Spain, so as physically to
separate the two kingdoms--let us fancy this wall curved like a crescent
with its convexity towards France. Lastly, let us suppose, that in the
very middle of the wall a breach of 300 feet wide has been beaten down
by the famous _Roland_, and we may have a good idea of what the
mountaineers call the 'BRECHE DE ROLEND.'" (_Raymond's Pyrenees._)--W.
W. 1822.
"Thursday, 20th July.--... Descend towards the town of Aix-la-Chapelle,
a chapel on the opposite side of the vale upon a high knoll, overlooking
the spires and towers.... Wm., T. M., and myself walked to the chapel we
had seen on the heights, said to be built by Charlemagne: a very
interesting view of the town, and over a large space of the country
beyond, and _into_ the country looking the other way. Wm. went higher to
a monument recording that Buonaparte visited the spot with one
attendant. We were too late to be satisfied here, the darkness only
allowing us to form a notion of the outline, and to catch here and there
a spire or a tower in the distance. The chapel here alluded to was not
larger in appearance than the tiny rocky edifice at Buttermere. A Christ
under the branches of a spreading oak, brought to my mind by contrast, a
gay image of a brightly painted fox, on a sign board, among the branches
of a flowing chestnut tree, which William and I saw gleaming in the
setting sun, when walking through the village of Souldren." (From Mrs.
Wordsworth's Journal.)
"Thursday, 20th July. Aix-la-Chapelle.--I went to the Cathedral, a
curious Building where are to be seen the chair of Charlemagne, on which
the Emperors were formerly crowned, some marble pillars much older than
_his_ time; and many pictures; but I could not stay to examine any of
these curiosities, and gladly made my way alone back to the inn to rest
there. The market-place is a fine old square; but at Aix-la-Chapelle
there is always a mighty preponderance of poverty and dulness, except in
a few of the showiest of the streets, and even there, a flashy meanness,
a slight patchery of things falling to pieces is everywhere visible."
(From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)--ED.
VARIANTS:
[Footnote 483: 1837.
Its ... 1822.
]
[Footnote 484: 1837.
Which ... 1822.
]
[Footnote HC: Compare _Paradise Lost_, book vi. l. 251--
With huge two-handed sway.
ED.
]
VII
IN THE CATHEDRAL AT COLOGNE
O for the help of Angels to complete
This Temple[HD]--Angels governed by a plan
Thus far pursued (how gloriously!) by Man,[485]
Studious that _He_ might not disdain the seat
Who dwells in heaven! But that aspiring heat 5
Hath failed; and now, ye Powers! whose gorgeous wings
And splendid aspect yon emblazonings
But faintly picture, 'twere an office meet
For you, on these unfinished shafts to try
The midnight virtues of your harmony:-- 10
This vast design might tempt you to repeat
Strains[486] that call forth upon empyreal ground
Immortal Fabrics, rising to the sound
Of penetrating harps and voices sweet!
"Friday, July 21. Cologne.--... The Cathedral, a most magnificent
edifice. Tower unfinished (this I perceived, but took it for a ruin at
ten miles distance), built 700 years ago. The outside reminds you of
Westminster Abbey in parts; and, had the Projector's wish been
fulfilled, within and without, this would have been a much more
sumptuous pile. It affectingly called to my mind William's lines--
Things incomplete and purposes betrayed
Make sadder transits o'er truth's mystic glass,
Than noblest objects utterly decayed.[HE]
Within the fluted Pillars are very grand; the dimensions, 180 German
feet high, 700 long, and 500 broad. A curious old picture, 450 years
old. Subject, the 3 Kings of Cologne in the centre (for it was divided
into three parts, and kept shut up to protect it), and on the sides
Ursula and the 11,000 virgins, by Ralfe; mounted 250 steps to the top of
the unfinished Tower, and had a fine prospect of the river winding its
way towards Dusseldorf.... The cathedral--that august and solemnly
_impressive_ Temple.... William in his musing way...." (From Mrs.
Wordsworth's Journal.)
"Friday, 21st July. Cologne.--I cannot attempt to describe the
Cathedral; nor indeed could any skill of mine do justice to that august
pile, even if I might have lingered half a day among its walls. At our
entrance, the evening sunshine rested upon portions of some of the
hundred massy columns; while the shade and gloom, spread through the
edifice, were deepened by those brilliant touches of golden light. Some
of the painted windows were beautified by the melting together and the
intermingling of colours, reflected upon the stone-work, colours and
shapes, to the eye as unsubstantial as light itself, and visionary as
the rainbow. The choir is hung with tapestry, designed by Rubens. It
does, I think, to an unlearned eye somewhat resemble Henry the Seventh's
chapel at Westminster, but is much loftier and larger. The long
lancet-shaped painted windows are beautiful. The pillars and arches
through the aisles of this Cathedral are of grey stone, sober, solemn,
of great size, yet exquisitely proportioned; and no paltry images or
tinselled altars disturb the one impression of awful magnificence, an
impression received at once, and not to be overcome by regrets, that
_only_ the _Choir_ and side aisles are finished. The nave, at half its
destined height, is covered with a ceiling of boards. The exterior of
this stupendous edifice is of massy, though most _beautiful_,
architecture. Some of the lighter wreaths of stone-work (if great things
may be compared with small) made me think of the Chapel of Roslin in its
sequestered dell, where the adder's tongue and fern are mingled with
green-grown flowers, and leaves of stone that neither fall nor fade.
Flowers and bushes here grow out of the gigantic ruins--yet _ruins_ they
are not; for as the Builder's hand left the unfinished work, so it
appears to have remained in firmness and strength unshakable, while
Nature has made her own of ornaments framed in imitation of her works,
having overspread them with her colouring, and blended them with the
treasures of her lonely places." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal,
vol. i.)--ED.
VARIANTS:
[Footnote 485: 1837.
How gloriously pursued by daring Man, 1822.
]
[Footnote 486: 1827.
Charms ... 1822.
]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote HD: The cathedral of Cologne was completed on October 15,
1880.--ED.]
[Footnote HE: The reference is to the sonnet on _Malham Cove_ (see p.
185), and the Fenwick note to _The Excursion_.--ED.]
VIII
IN A CARRIAGE, UPON THE BANKS OF THE RHINE
Amid this dance of objects sadness steals
O'er the defrauded heart--while sweeping by,
As in a fit of Thespian jollity,[HF]
Beneath her vine-leaf crown the green Earth reels:
Backward, in rapid evanescence, wheels 5
The venerable pageantry of Time,
Each beetling rampart, and each tower sublime,
And what the Dell unwillingly reveals
Of lurking cloistral arch, through trees espied
Near the bright River's edge. Yet why repine? 10
To muse, to creep, to halt at will, to gaze--
Such sweet way-faring--of life's spring the pride,
Her summer's faithful joy--_that_ still is mine,
And in fit measure cheers autumnal days.[487]
"Saturday 22nd.--We were anxious, at least Wm. was, to be in
Switzerland, and we must follow our destiny. Leaving the rich plain,
came to the fine range of mountains we saw yesterday, and to the side of
the glorious river, by which we have since travelled. Magnificent
heights on its banks. The most abrupt and fantastic outlines; Convents
(what an exquisite one that first which pushed itself forward on the
green shore, where the river bends in its course); Ruined Castles,
looking at each other from aloft, or down upon the convents, lurk in the
woody clefts; picturesque Villages with their spires, at every turn of
this stately winding river; beautiful road following its windings; every
variety of form given to the rocks; and affecting intimations brought to
mind, by the frequent oratories and crosses, here neither tawdry nor
obtrusive. After changing horses at _Remengen_, lost sight for a while
of our noble companion, which soon reappeared stretching along a more
widely-spread vale; the green hills softly retiring, vineyards climbing
up their sides, and into every crevice; corn yellow-green, the different
crops richly filling the centre of the vale; the fine road, bordered now
by apple-trees laden with fruit, now open to the undivided plain. Again
the hills approached, and never was beheld a grander display of Nature's
works and of human Art, than continued in succession to feast our eyes
and imaginations. D. noted the objects _individually_, in one of the
most beautiful passages" (of her journal). (Mrs. Wordsworth.)
"Saturday, 22nd July. Cologne.--For some miles, the traveller goes
through the magnificent plain, which from its great width appears almost
circular. Though _unseen_ the river Rhine, we never can forget that it
is there! When the vale becomes narrower, one of the most interesting
and beautiful of prospects opens on the view from a gentle rising in the
road. On an island stands a large grey convent, sadly pensive among its
garden walls and embowering wood. The musket and cannon have spared that
sanctuary, and we were told that, though the establishment is dissolved,
a few of the nuns still remain there, attached to the spot; or probably
having neither friends or other home to repair to. On the right bank of
the river, opposite to us, is a bold precipice, bearing on its summit a
ruined fortress which looks down upon the convent; and the warlike and
religious Edifices are connected together by a chivalrous story of
slighted or luckless love, which caused the withdrawing of a fair Damsel
to the Island, where she founded the monastery. Another bold ruin stands
upon an eminence adjoining, and all these monuments of former times
combine with villages and churches, and dells (between the steeps) green
or corn-clad, and with the majestic River (here spread out like a lake)
to compose a most affectingly beautiful scene, whether viewed in
prospect or in retrospect. Still we rolled along (ah! far too swiftly!
and often did I wish that I were a youthful traveller on foot), still we
rolled along, meeting the flowing River, smooth as glass, yet so rapid
that the stream of motion is always perceptible, even from a great
distance. The riches of this region are not easily fancied,--the pretty
paths, the gardens among plots of vineyard and corn, cottages peeping
from the shade, villages and spires, in never-ending variety." (From
Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)--ED.
VARIANTS:
[Footnote 487: 1837.
... Yet why repine?
Pedestrian liberty shall yet be mine
To muse, to creep, to halt at will, to gaze:
Freedom which youth with copious hand supplied,
May in fit measure bless my later days. 1822.
]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote HF: Thespis was the reputed inventor of tragedy, and he is
said to have carried his rude stage and apparatus from village to
village on waggons. Horace, _Ars Poetica_, 275.
Ignotum tragicae genus invenisse Camenae
Dicitur et plaustris vexisse poëmata Thespis
Quae canerent agerentque peruncti faecibus ora.
Thespis began the drama: rumour says
In travelling carts he carried round his plays,
When actors, smeared with lees, before the throng,
Performed their parts with gesture and with song!
(CONINGTON.)
These celebrations became identified with the nine Dionysiac festivals.
See Virgil, _Georgics_ ii. 380.
There is a reference to the dignity of tragedy throughout the sonnet,
and yet to the fact that it is a passing show.--ED.]
IX
HYMN,
FOR THE BOATMEN, AS THEY APPROACH THE RAPIDS UNDER THE CASTLE OF
HEIDELBERG
Jesu! bless our slender Boat,
By the current swept along;
Loud its threatenings--let them not
Drown the music of a song
Breathed thy mercy to implore, 5
Where these troubled waters roar!
Saviour, for our warning, seen[488]
Bleeding on that precious Rood;
If, while through the meadows green
Gently wound the peaceful flood, 10
We forgot Thee, do not Thou
Disregard thy Suppliants now!
Hither, like yon ancient Tower
Watching o'er the River's bed,
Fling the shadow of thy power, 15
Else we sleep among the dead;
Thou who trod'st[489] the billowy sea,
Shield us in our jeopardy!
Guide our Bark among the waves;
Through the rocks our passage smooth; 20
Where the whirlpool frets and raves
Let thy love its anger soothe:
All our hope is placed in Thee;
_Miserere Domine!_[HG]
VARIANTS:
[Footnote 488: 1837.
Lord and Saviour! who art seen 1822.
Saviour, in thy image, seen 1827.
]
[Footnote 489: 1827.
Traveller on ... 1822.
]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote HG: _Miserere Domine._
See the beautiful Song in Mr. Coleridge's Tragedy, "THE REMORSE." Why is
the Harp of Quantock silent?--W. W. 1822.
The following is the song, _Miserere Domine_, from Coleridge's
_Remorse_, act III. scene i.:--
Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell,
Lest a blacker charm compel!
So shall the midnight breezes swell
With thy deep long-lingering knell.
And at evening evermore,
In a Chapel on the shore,
Shall the Chaunters sad and saintly,
Yellow tapers burning faintly,
Doleful Masses chaunt for thee,
_Miserere Domine!_
Hark! the cadence dies away
On the quiet moonlight sea:
The boatmen rest their oars and say,
_Miserere Domine!_
This song was set to music by Mr. Carnaby in 1802.--ED.