The ever-changing Moon had traced
Twelve times her monthly round,
When through the unfrequented Waste
Was heard a startling sound;
A shout thrice sent from one who chased 5
At speed a wounded deer,
Bounding through branches interlaced,
And where the wood was clear.
The fainting creature took the marsh,
And toward the Island fled, 10
While plovers screamed with tumult harsh
Above his antlered head;
This, Ina saw; and, pale with fear,
Shrunk to her citadel;
The desperate deer rushed on, and near 15
The tangled covert fell.
Across the marsh, the game in view,
The Hunter followed fast,
Nor paused, till o'er the stag he blew
A death-proclaiming blast; 20
Then, resting on her upright mind,
Came forth the Maid--"In me
Behold," she said, "a stricken Hind
Pursued by destiny!
"From your deportment, Sir! I deem 25
That you have worn a sword,
And will not hold in light esteem
A suffering woman's word;
There is my covert, there perchance
I might have lain concealed, 30
My fortunes hid, my countenance
Not even to you revealed.
"Tears might be shed, and I might pray,
Crouching and terrified,
That what has been unveiled to-day, 35
You would in mystery hide;
But I will not defile with dust
The knee that bends to adore
The God in heaven;--attend, be just;
This ask I, and no more! 40
"I speak not of the winter's cold,
For summer's heat exchanged,
While I have lodged in this rough hold,
From social life estranged;
Nor yet of trouble and alarms: 45
High Heaven is my defence;
And every season has soft arms
For injured Innocence.
"From Moscow to the Wilderness
It was my choice to come, 50
Lest virtue should be harbourless,
And honour want a home;
And happy were I, if the Czar
Retain his lawless will,
To end life here like this poor deer, 55
Or a lamb on a green hill."
"Are you the Maid," the Stranger cried,
"From Gallic parents sprung,
Whose vanishing was rumoured wide,
Sad theme for every tongue; 60
Who foiled an Emperor's eager quest?
You, Lady, forced to wear
These rude habiliments, and rest
Your head in this dark lair!"
But wonder, pity, soon were quelled; 65
And in her face and mien
The soul's pure brightness he beheld
Without a veil between:
He loved, he hoped,--a holy flame
Kindled 'mid rapturous tears; 70
The passion of a moment came
As on the wings of years.
"Such bounty is no gift of chance,"
Exclaimed he; "righteous Heaven,
Preparing your deliverance, 75
To me the charge hath given.
The Czar full oft in words and deeds
Is stormy and self-willed;
But, when the Lady Catherine pleads,
His violence is stilled. 80
"Leave open to my wish the course,
And I to her will go;
From that humane and heavenly source,
Good, only good, can flow."
Faint sanction given, the Cavalier 85
Was eager to depart,
Though question followed question, dear
To the Maiden's filial heart.[663]
Light was his step,--his hopes, more light,
Kept pace with his desires; 90
And the fifth[664] morning gave him sight
Of Moscow's glittering spires.
He sued:--heart-smitten by the wrong,
To the lorn Fugitive
The Emperor sent a pledge as strong 95
As sovereign power could give.
O more than mighty change! If e'er
Amazement rose to pain,
And joy's excess[665] produced a fear
Of something void and vain; 100
'Twas when the Parents, who had mourned
So long the lost as dead,
Beheld their only Child returned,
The household floor to tread.
Soon gratitude gave way to love 105
Within the Maiden's breast:
Delivered and Deliverer move
In bridal garments drest;
Meek Catherine had her own reward;
The Czar bestowed a dower; 110
And universal Moscow shared
The triumph of that hour.
Flowers strewed the ground; the nuptial feast
Was held with costly state;
And there, 'mid many a noble guest, 115
The Foster-parents sate;
Encouraged by the imperial eye,
They shrank not into shade;
Great was their bliss, the honour high
To them and nature paid! 120
FOOTNOTES:
[650] Peter Henry Bruce, having given in his entertaining Memoirs the
substance of this Tale,[666] affirms that, besides the concurring
reports of others, he had the story from the lady's own mouth.
The Lady Catherine, mentioned towards the close, is[667] the famous
Catherine, then bearing that name as the acknowledged Wife of Peter the
Great.--W. W. 1835.
The title of this poem in the MS. copy by Mrs. Wordsworth is--
INA,
OR,
THE LODGE IN THE FOREST,
A Russian Tale.
ED.
[651] Compare S. T. Coleridge's verses, _To a Lady_--
'Tis not the lily-brow I prize,
Nor roseate cheeks, nor sunny eyes,
Enough of lilies and of roses!
A thousand-fold more dear to me
The gentle look that Love discloses,--
The look that Love alone can see!
And Keats' lines beginning--
Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain.
Also Wordsworth's _Jewish Family_, II. 25-28.--ED.
[652] 1835.
Yea, to the stars themselves, if born C.
[653] 1835.
... by gold unbarred,
MS. copy by Mrs. Wordsworth.
[654] 1837.
She hung upon ... 1835.
[655] 1837.
She led her Lady ... 1835.
[656] 1835.
And I must hide me from his wrath.
MS.
[657] 1850.
That here ... 1835.
[658] 1835.
And smiles, the sunshine of distress,
That hide-yet more betray.
MS.
[659] 1835.
... serene;
Exalting lowly grace,
A Faith which does ...
MS.
[660] In the edition of 1835 the two preceding lines were placed within
quotation marks, and the following added "From Golding's Translation of
Ovid's _Metamorphoses_. See also his Dedicatory Epistle prefixed to the
same work."-ED.
[661] "Not a Russian house, Bruce tells us, was, at his time, without
a picture of the Virgin." (MS. note to a copy of this poem, in Mrs.
Wordsworth's handwriting.)--ED.
[662] The Royal Palace at Moscow.--ED.
[663] 1835.
... the Cavalier
Recounted all he knew,
The sufferer's filial heart to cheer;
Then hastily withdrew.
MS.
[664] 1837.
... third ... 1835.
[665] 1837.
And over-joy ... 1835.
[666] 1845.
of the following Tale 1835.
[667] 1837.
was 1835.
THE EGYPTIAN MAID
OR, THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY
Composed 1830.--Published 1835
For the names and persons in the following poem, see the "History of
the renowned Prince Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table"; for
the rest the Author is answerable; only it may be proper to add, that
the Lotus, with the bust of the Goddess appearing to rise out of the
full-blown flower, was suggested by the beautiful work of ancient
art, once included among the Townley Marbles, and now in the British
Museum.--W. W. 1835.
[In addition to the short notice prefixed to this poem, it may be worth
while here to say, that it rose out of a few words casually used in
conversation by my nephew, Henry Hutchinson. He was describing with
great spirit the appearance and movement of a vessel which he seemed
to admire more than any other he had ever seen, and said her name was
the Water Lily. This plant has been my delight from my boyhood, as I
have seen it floating on the lake; and that conversation put me upon
constructing and composing the poem. Had I not heard those words, it
would never have been written. The form of the stanza is new, and is
nothing but a repetition of the first five lines as they were thrown
off, and is not perhaps well suited to narrative, and certainly would
not have been trusted to had I thought at the beginning that the poem
would have gone to such a length.--I. F.]
In the editions of 1835 and 1837 this poem was assigned a place of its
own. In 1845 it was placed among the "Memorials of a Tour in Italy,
1837."--ED.
While Merlin paced the Cornish sands,
Forth-looking toward the rocks of Scilly,
The pleased Enchanter was aware
Of a bright Ship that seemed to hang in air,
Yet was she work of mortal hands, 5
And took from men her name--THE WATER LILY.
Soft was the wind, that landward blew;
And, as the Moon, o'er some dark hill ascendant,
Grows from a little edge of light
To a full orb, this Pinnace bright 10
Became, as nearer to the coast she drew,
More glorious, with spread sail and streaming pendant.
Upon this wingèd Shape so fair
Sage Merlin gazed with admiration:
Her lineaments, thought he, surpass 15
Aught that was ever shown in magic glass;
Was ever built with patient care;
Or, at a touch, produced by happiest transformation.[668]
Now, though a Mechanist, whose skill
Shames the degenerate grasp of modern science, 20
Grave Merlin (and belike the more
For practising occult and perilous lore)
Was subject to a freakish will
That sapped good thoughts, or scared them with defiance.
Provoked to envious spleen, he cast 25
An altered look upon the advancing Stranger
Whom he had hailed with joy, and cried,
"My Art shall help to tame her pride--"
Anon the breeze became a blast,
And the waves rose, and sky portended danger. 30
With thrilling word, and potent sign
Traced on the beach, his work the Sorcerer urges;
The clouds in blacker clouds are lost,
Like spiteful Fiends that vanish, crossed
By Fiends of aspect more malign; 35
And the winds roused the Deep with fiercer scourges.
But worthy of the name she bore
Was this Sea-flower, this buoyant Galley:
Supreme in loveliness and grace
Of motion, whether in the embrace 40
Of trusty anchorage, or scudding o'er
The main flood roughened into hill and valley.
Behold, how wantonly she laves
Her sides, the Wizard's craft confounding;
Like something out of Ocean sprung 45
To be for ever fresh and young,
Breasts the sea-flashes, and huge waves
Top-gallant high, rebounding and rebounding!
But Ocean under magic heaves,
And cannot spare the Thing he cherished: 50
Ah! what avails that she was fair,
Luminous, blithe, and debonair?
The storm has stripped her of her leaves;
The Lily floats no longer!--She hath perished.
Grieve for her,--she deserves no less; 55
So like, yet so unlike, a living Creature!
No heart had she, no busy brain;
Though loved, she could not love again;
Though pitied, _feel_ her own distress;
Nor aught that troubles us, the fools of Nature. 60
Yet is there cause for gushing tears;
So richly was this Galley laden,
A fairer than herself she bore,
And, in her struggles, cast ashore;
A lovely One, who nothing hears 65
Of wind or wave--a meek and guileless Maiden.
Into a cave had Merlin fled
From mischief, caused by spells himself had muttered;
And while, repentant all too late,
In moody posture there he sate, 70
He heard a voice, and saw, with half-raised head,
A Visitant by whom these words were uttered;
"On Christian service this frail Bark
Sailed" (hear me, Merlin!) "under high protection,
Though on her prow a sign of heathen power 75
Was carved--a Goddess with a Lily flower,
The old Egyptian's emblematic mark
Of joy immortal and of pure affection.
"Her course was for the British strand;
Her freight, it was a Damsel peerless; 80
God reigns above, and Spirits strong
May gather to avenge this wrong
Done to the Princess, and her Land
Which she in duty left, sad but not cheerless.[669]
"And to Caerleon's loftiest tower 85
Soon will the Knights of Arthur's Table
A cry of lamentation send;
And all will weep who there attend,
To grace that Stranger's bridal hour,
For whom the sea was made unnavigable. 90
"Shame! should a Child of royal line
Die through the blindness of thy malice?"
Thus to the Necromancer spake
Nina, the Lady of the Lake,
A gentle Sorceress, and benign, 95
Who ne'er embittered any good man's chalice.
"What boots," continued she, "to mourn?
To expiate thy sin endeavour:
From the bleak isle where she is laid,
Fetched by our art, the Egyptian Maid 100
May yet to Arthur's court be borne
Cold as she is, ere life be fled for ever.
"My pearly Boat, a shining Light,
That brought me down that sunless river,
Will bear me on from wave to wave, 105
And back with her to this sea-cave;--
Then Merlin! for a rapid flight
Through air, to thee my Charge will I deliver.
"The very swiftest of thy cars
Must, when my part is done, be ready; 110
Meanwhile, for further guidance, look
Into thy own prophetic book;
And, if that fail, consult the Stars
To learn thy course; farewell! be prompt and steady."
This scarcely spoken, she again 115
Was seated in her gleaming shallop,
That, o'er the yet-distempered Deep,
Pursued its way with bird-like sweep,
Or like a steed, without a rein,
Urged o'er the wilderness in sportive gallop. 120
Soon did the gentle Nina reach
That Isle without a house or haven;
Landing, she found not what she sought,
Nor saw of wreck or ruin aught
But a carved Lotus cast upon the beach[670] 125
By the fierce waves, a flower in marble graven.
Sad relique, but how fair the while!
For gently each from each retreating
With backward curve, the leaves revealed
The bosom half, and half concealed, 130
Of a Divinity, that seemed to smile
On Nina, as she passed, with hopeful greeting.
No quest was hers of vague desire,
Of tortured hope and purpose shaken;
Following the margin of a bay, 135
She spied the lonely Cast-away,
Unmarred, unstripped of her attire,
But with closed eyes,--of breath and bloom forsaken.
Then Nina, stooping down, embraced,
With tenderness and mild emotion, 140
The Damsel, in that trance embound;
And, while she raised her from the ground,
And in the pearly shallop placed,
Sleep fell upon the air, and stilled the ocean.
The turmoil hushed, celestial springs 145
Of music opened, and there came a blending
Of fragrance, underived from earth,
With gleams that owed not to the sun their birth,
And that soft rustling of invisible wings[671]
Which Angels make, on works of love descending. 150
And Nina heard a sweeter voice
Than if the Goddess of the flower had spoken:
"Thou hast achieved, fair Dame! what none
Less pure in spirit could have done;
Go, in thy enterprise rejoice! 155
Air, earth, sea, sky, and heaven, success betoken."
So cheered, she left that Island bleak,
A bare rock of the Scilly cluster,
And, as they traversed the smooth brine,
The self-illumined Brigantine 160
Shed, on the Slumberer's cold wan cheek
And pallid brow, a melancholy lustre.
Fleet was their course, and when they came
To the dim cavern, whence the river
Issued into the salt-sea flood, 165
Merlin, as fixed in thought he stood,
Was thus accosted by the Dame;
"Behold to thee my Charge I now deliver!
But where attends thy chariot--where?"--
Quoth Merlin, "Even as I was bidden, 170
So have I done; as trusty as thy barge
My vehicle shall prove--O precious Charge!
If this be sleep, how soft! if death, how fair!
Much have my books disclosed, but the end is hidden."
He spake; and gliding into view 175
Forth from the grotto's dimmest chamber
Came two mute Swans, whose plumes of dusky white
Changed, as the pair approached the light,
Drawing an ebon car, their hue
(Like clouds of sunset) into lucid amber. 180
Once more did gentle Nina lift
The Princess, passive to all changes:
The car received her:--then up-went
Into the ethereal element
The Birds with progress smooth and swift 185
As thought, when through bright regions memory ranges.
Sage Merlin, at the Slumberer's side,
Instructs the Swans their way to measure;
And soon Caerleon's towers appeared,
And notes of minstrelsy were heard 190
From rich pavilions spreading wide,
For some high day of long-expected pleasure.
Awe-stricken stood both Knights and Dames
Ere on firm ground the car alighted;
Eftsoons astonishment was past, 195
For in that face they saw the last
Last lingering look of clay, that tames
All pride; by which all happiness is blighted.
Said Merlin, "Mighty King, fair Lords,
Away with feast and tilt and tourney! 200
Ye saw, throughout this royal House,
Ye heard, a rocking marvellous
Of turrets, and a clash of swords
Self-shaken, as I closed my airy journey.
"Lo! by a destiny well known 205
To mortals, joy is turned to sorrow;
This is the wished-for Bride, the Maid
Of Egypt, from a rock conveyed
Where she by shipwreck had been thrown;
Ill sight! but grief may vanish ere the morrow." 210
"Though vast thy power, thy words are weak,"
Exclaimed the King, "a mockery hateful;
Dutiful Child, her lot how hard!
Is this her piety's reward?
Those watery locks, that bloodless cheek! 215
O winds without remorse! O shore ungrateful!
"Rich robes are fretted by the moth;
Towers, temples, fall by stroke of thunder;
Will that, or deeper thoughts, abate
A Father's sorrow for her fate? 220
He will repent him of his troth;
His brain will burn, his stout heart split asunder.
"Alas! and I have caused this woe;
For, when my prowess from invading Neighbours
Had freed his Realm, he plighted word 225
That he would turn to Christ our Lord,
And his dear Daughter on a Knight bestow
Whom I should choose for love and matchless labours.
"Her birth was heathen; but a fence
Of holy Angels round her hovered: 230
A Lady added to my court
So fair, of such divine report
And worship, seemed a recompense
For fifty kingdoms by my sword recovered.
"Ask not for whom, O Champions true! 235
She was reserved by me her life's betrayer;
She who was meant to be a bride
Is now a corse: then put aside
Vain thoughts, and speed ye, with observance due
Of Christian rites, in Christian ground to lay her." 240
"The tomb," said Merlin, "may not close
Upon her yet, earth hide her beauty;
Not froward to thy sovereign will
Esteem me, Liege! if I, whose skill
Wafted her hither, interpose 245
To check this pious haste of erring duty.
"My books command me to lay bare
The secret thou art bent on keeping:
Here must a high attest be given, 249
_What_ Bridegroom was for her ordained by Heaven:
And in my glass significants there are
Of things that may to gladness turn this weeping.
"For this, approaching, One by One,
Thy Knights must touch the cold hand of the Virgin;
So, for the favoured One, the Flower may bloom 255
Once more: but, if unchangeable her doom,
If life departed be for ever gone,
Some blest assurance, from this cloud emerging,
"May teach him to bewail his loss;
Not with a grief that, like a vapour, rises 260
And melts; but grief devout that shall endure,
And a perpetual growth secure
Of purposes which no false thought shall cross,
A harvest of high hopes and noble enterprises."
"So be it," said the King;--"anon, 265
Here, where the Princess lies, begin the trial;
Knights each in order as ye stand
Step forth."--To touch the pallid hand
Sir Agravaine advanced; no sign he won
From Heaven or earth;--Sir Kaye had like denial. 270
Abashed, Sir Dinas turned away;
Even for Sir Percival was no disclosure;
Though he, devoutest of all Champions, ere
He reached that ebon car, the bier
Whereon diffused like snow the Damsel lay, 275
Full thrice had crossed himself in meek composure.
Imagine (but ye Saints! who can?)
How in still air the balance trembled--
The wishes, peradventure the despites
That overcame some not ungenerous Knights; 280
And all the thoughts that lengthened out a span
Of time to Lords and Ladies thus assembled.
What patient confidence was here!
And there how many bosoms panted!
While drawing toward the car Sir Gawaine, mailed 285
For tournament, his beaver vailed,
And softly touched; but, to his princely cheer
And high expectancy, no sign was granted.
Next, disencumbered of his harp,
Sir Tristram, dear to thousands as a brother, 290
Came to the proof, nor grieved that there ensued
No change;--the fair Izonda he had wooed
With love too true, a love with pangs too sharp,
From hope too distant, not to dread another.
Not so Sir Launcelot; from Heaven's grace 295
A sign he craved, tired slave of vain contrition;
The royal Guinever looked passing glad.
When his touch failed.--Next came Sir Galahad;
He paused, and stood entranced by that still face
Whose features he had seen in noontide vision. 300
For late, as near a murmuring stream
He rested 'mid an arbour green and shady,
Nina, the good Enchantress, shed
A light around his mossy bed;
And, at her call, a waking dream 305
Prefigured to his sense the Egyptian Lady.
Now, while his bright-haired front he bowed,
And stood, far-kenned by mantle furred with ermine,
As o'er the insensate Body hung
The enrapt, the beautiful, the young, 310
Belief sank deep into the crowd
That he the solemn issue would determine.
Nor deem it strange; the Youth had worn
That very mantle on a day of glory,
The day when he achieved that matchless feat, 315
The marvel of the PERILOUS SEAT,
Which whosoe'er approached of strength was shorn,
Though King or Knight the most renowned in story.
He touched with hesitating hand--
And lo! those Birds, far-famed through Love's dominions, 320
The Swans, in triumph clap their wings;
And their necks play, involved in rings,
Like sinless snakes in Eden's happy land;--
"Mine is she," cried the Knight;--again they clapped their pinions.
"Mine was she--mine she is, though dead, 325
And to her name my soul shall cleave in sorrow;"
Whereat, a tender twilight streak
Of colour dawned upon the Damsel's cheek;
And her lips, quickening with uncertain red,
Seemed from each other a faint warmth to borrow. 330
Deep was the awe, the rapture high,
Of love emboldened, hope with dread entwining,
When, to the mouth, relenting Death
Allowed a soft and flower-like breath,
Precursor to a timid sigh, 335
To lifted eyelids, and a doubtful shining.
In silence did King Arthur gaze
Upon the signs that pass away or tarry;
In silence watched the gentle strife
Of Nature leading back to life; 340
Then eased his soul at length by praise
Of God, and Heaven's pure Queen--the blissful Mary.
Then said he, "Take her to thy heart,
Sir Galahad! a treasure, that God giveth,
Bound by indissoluble ties to thee 345
Through mortal change and immortality;
Be happy and unenvied, thou who art
A goodly Knight that hath no peer that liveth!"
Not long the Nuptials were delayed;
And sage tradition still rehearses 350
The pomp, the glory of that hour
When toward the altar from her bower
King Arthur led the Egyptian Maid,
And Angels carolled these far-echoed verses;--
Who shrinks not from alliance 355
Of evil with good Powers,
To God proclaims defiance,
And mocks whom he adores.
A Ship to Christ devoted
From the Land of Nile did go; 360
Alas! the bright Ship floated,
An Idol at her prow.
By magic domination,
The Heaven-permitted vent
Of purblind mortal passion, 365
Was wrought her punishment.
The Flower, the Form within it,
What served they in her need?
Her port she could not win it,
Nor from mishap be freed. 370
The tempest overcame her,
And she was seen no more;
But gently, gently blame her--
She cast a Pearl ashore.
The Maid to Jesu hearkened, 375
And kept to him her faith,
Till sense in death was darkened,
Or sleep akin to death.
But Angels round her pillow
Kept watch, a viewless band; 380
And, billow favouring billow,
She reached the destined strand.
Blest Pair! whate'er befal you,
Your faith in Him approve
Who from frail earth can call you 385
To bowers of endless love!
FOOTNOTES:
[668] 1837.
... set forth with wondrous transformation. 1835.
[669] 1837.
... though sad not cheerless. 1835.
[670] 1837.
... shore 1835.
[671] Compare _Paradise Lost_, book i. l. 768.--ED.
THE POET AND THE CAGED TURTLEDOVE[672]
Composed 1830.--Published 1835
[Written at Rydal Mount. This dove was one of a pair that had been
given to my daughter by our excellent friend, Miss Jewsbury,[673]
who went to India with her husband, Mr. Fletcher, where she died of
cholera. The dove survived its mate many years, and was killed, to
our great sorrow, by a neighbour's cat that got in at the window
and dragged it partly out of the cage. These verses were composed
extempore, to the letter, in the Terrace Summer-house before spoken of.
It was the habit of the bird to begin cooing and murmuring whenever it
heard me making my verses.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems of the Fancy."--ED.
As often as I murmur here
My half-formed melodies,
Straight from her osier mansion near,
The Turtledove replies:
Though silent as a leaf before, 5
The captive promptly coos;
Is it to teach her own soft lore,
Or second my weak Muse?
I rather think, the gentle Dove
Is murmuring a reproof, 10
Displeased that I from lays of love
Have dared to keep aloof;
That I, a Bard of hill and dale,
Have carolled, fancy free,[674]
As if nor dove nor nightingale, 15
Had heart or voice for me.
If such thy meaning, O forbear,
Sweet Bird! to do me wrong;
Love, blessed Love, is every where
The spirit of my song: 20
'Mid grove, and by the calm fireside,
Love animates my lyre--
That coo again!--'tis not to chide,
I feel, but to inspire.
FOOTNOTES:
[672] In a MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont I find the poem entitled
"Twenty minutes Exercise on the Terrace last night, but Scene within
doors."--ED.
[673] Compare the Sonnet beginning--
While Anna's peers and early playmates tread (p. 168.)--ED.
[674] Compare _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, act II. scene i. l. 164.--ED.
PRESENTIMENTS
Composed 1830.--Published 1835
[Written at Rydal Mount.--I. F.]
One of the "Poems of the Imagination."--ED.
Presentiments! they judge not right
Who deem that ye from open light
Retire in fear of shame;
All _heaven-born_ Instincts shun the touch
Of vulgar sense,--and, being such, 5
Such privilege ye claim.
The tear whose source I could not guess,
The deep sigh that seemed fatherless,
Were mine in early days;
And now, unforced by time to part 10
With fancy, I obey my heart,
And venture on your praise.
What though some busy foes to good,
Too potent over nerve and blood,
Lurk near you--and combine 15
To taint the health which ye infuse;
This hides not from the moral Muse
Your origin divine.
How oft from you, derided Powers!
Comes Faith that in auspicious hours 20
Builds castles, not of air:
Bodings unsanctioned by the will
Flow from your visionary skill,
And teach us to beware.
The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, 25
That no philosophy can lift,
Shall vanish, if ye please,
Like morning mist: and, where it lay,
The spirits at your bidding play
In gaiety and ease. 30
Star-guided contemplations move
Through space, though calm, not raised above
Prognostics that ye rule;
The naked Indian of the wild,
And haply, too, the cradled Child, 35
Are pupils of your school.
But who can fathom your intents,
Number their signs or instruments?
A rainbow, a sunbeam,
A subtle smell that Spring unbinds, 40
Dead pause abrupt of midnight winds,
An echo, or a dream.[675]
The laughter of the Christmas hearth
With sighs of self-exhausted mirth
Ye feelingly reprove; 45
And daily, in the conscious breast,
Your visitations are a test
And exercise of love.
When some great change gives boundless scope
To an exulting Nation's hope, 50
Oft, startled and made wise
By your low-breathed interpretings,
The simply-meek foretaste the springs
Of bitter contraries.
Ye daunt the proud array of war, 55
Pervade the lonely ocean far
As sail hath been unfurled;
For dancers in the festive hall
What ghastly partners hath your call
Fetched from the shadowy world. 60
'Tis said, that warnings ye dispense,
Emboldened by a keener sense;
That men have lived for whom,
With dread precision, ye made clear
The hour that in a distant year 65
Should knell them to the tomb.
Unwelcome insight! Yet there are
Blest times when mystery is laid bare,
Truth shows a glorious face,
While on that isthmus which commands 70
The councils of both worlds, she stands,
Sage Spirits! by your grace.
God, who instructs the brutes to scent
All changes of the element,
Whose wisdom fixed the scale 75
Of natures, for our wants provides
By higher, sometimes humbler, guides,
When lights of reason fail.
FOOTNOTES:
[675] Compare Robert Browning's _Bishop Blougram's Apology_, ll.
191-197--
... there's a sunset-touch,
A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death,
A chorus-ending from Euripides,--.
And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears
As old and new at once as Nature's self,
To rap and knock and enter in our soul,
Take hands and dance there, a fantastic ring, etc.--ED.
"IN THESE FAIR VALES HATH MANY A TREE"
Composed 1830.--Published 1835
[Engraven, during my absence in Italy, upon a brass plate inserted in
the Stone.--I. F.]
This poem was classed among the "Inscriptions." In 1835 its title was
_Inscription intended for a Stone in the grounds of Rydal Mount_.
In 1845, and afterwards, the first line of the poem was its only
title.--ED.
In these fair vales hath many a Tree
At Wordsworth's suit been spared;
And from the builder's hand this Stone,
For some rude beauty of its own,
Was rescued by the Bard: 5
So let it rest; and time will come
When here the tender-hearted
May heave a gentle sigh for him,
As one of the departed.
The inscription is still preserved on the "brass plate inserted in the
stone," within the grounds at Rydal Mount.--ED.
ELEGIAC MUSINGS
IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON HALL, THE SEAT
OF THE LATE[676] SIR G.H. BEAUMONT, BART.
Composed 1830.--Published 1835
In these grounds stands the Parish Church, wherein is a mural monument
bearing an inscription which,[677] in deference to the earnest request
of the deceased, is confined to name, dates, and these words:--"Enter
not into judgment with thy servant, O Lord!"--W. W.
[These verses were in part composed on horseback during a storm, while
I was on my way from Colcorton to Cambridge: they are alluded to
elsewhere.[678]--I.F.]
One of the "Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces."--ED.
With copious eulogy in prose or rhyme[679]
Graven on the tomb we struggle against Time,
Alas, how feebly! but our feelings rise
And still we struggle when a good man dies:
Such offering BEAUMONT dreaded and forbade, 5
A spirit meek in self-abasement clad.
Yet _here_ at least, though few have numbered days
That shunned so modestly the light of praise,
His graceful manners, and the temperate ray
Of that arch fancy which would round him play, 10
Brightening a converse never known to swerve
From courtesy and delicate reserve;
That sense, the bland philosophy of life,
Which checked discussion ere it warmed to strife;
Those rare accomplishments,[680] and varied powers, 15
Might have their record among sylvan bowers.
Oh, fled for ever! vanished like a blast
That shook the leaves in myriads as it passed;--
Gone from this world of earth, air, sea, and sky,
From all its spirit-moving imagery, 20
Intensely studied with a painter's eye,
A poet's heart; and, for congenial view,
Portrayed with happiest pencil, not untrue
To common recognitions while the line
Flowed in a course of sympathy divine;-- 25
Oh! severed, too abruptly, from delights
That all the seasons shared with equal rights;--
Rapt in the grace of undismantled age,
From soul-felt music, and the treasured page
Lit by that evening lamp which loved to shed 30
Its mellow lustre round thy honoured head;
While Friends beheld thee give with eye, voice, mien,
More than theatric force to Shakspeare's scene;--[681]
If thou hast heard me--if thy Spirit know 34
Aught of these powers and whence their pleasures flow;
If things in our remembrance held so dear,
And thoughts and projects fondly cherished here,
To thy exalted nature only seem
Time's vanities, light fragments of earth's dream--
Rebuke us not![682]--The mandate is obeyed 40
That said, "Let praise be mute where I am laid;"
The holier deprecation, given in trust
To the cold marble, waits upon thy dust;
Yet have we found how slowly genuine grief
From _silent_ admiration wins relief. 45
Too long abashed thy Name is like a rose
That doth "within itself its sweetness close;"[683]
A drooping daisy changed into a cup
In which her bright-eyed beauty is shut up.
Within these groves, where still are flitting by 50
Shades of the Past, oft noticed with a sigh,
Shall stand a votive Tablet,[684] haply free,
When towers and temples fall, to speak of Thee!
If sculptured emblems of our mortal doom
Recal not there the wisdom of the Tomb, 55
Green ivy risen from out the cheerful earth,
Will[685] fringe the lettered stone; and herbs spring forth,
Whose fragrance, by soft dews and rain unbound,
Shall penetrate the heart without a wound;
While truth and love their purposes fulfil, 60
Commemorating genius, talent, skill,
That could not lie concealed where Thou wert known;
Thy virtues _He_ must judge, and He alone,
The God upon whose mercy they are thrown.
FOOTNOTES:
[676] Sir George Beaumont died on 7th February 1827.--ED.
[677] 1837.
upon which, 1835.
[678] See the Fenwick note to the next poem.--ED.
[679] 1837.
... and rhyme 1835.
[680] 1837.
Those fine accomplishments 1835.
[681] Sir George Beaumont used frequently to read Shakspeare aloud to
his household and friends at Coleorton.--ED.
[682] 1837.
... Shakespeare's scene--
Rebuke us not!-- 1835.
[683] See, in Constable's "England's Helicon," Dametus' song to his
Diaphenia, stanza 2--
Diaphenia like the spreading roses
That in thy sweets all sweet encloses.
Also in Fairfax's translation of Tasso's _Godfrey of Bullogne; or the_
_Recovery of Jerusalem_, book ii. stanza 18--
A veil obscured the sunshine of her eyes,
The rose within herself her sweetness closed.--ED.
[684] This "votive Tablet" may still be seen, with its "green ivy,"
"fringing the lettered stone." Compare the Sonnet _To the Author's
Portrait_, p. 318.--ED.
[685] 1827.
Shall ... 1835.
"CHATSWORTH! THY STATELY MANSION, AND THE PRIDE"
Composed 1830.--Published 1835.
[I have reason to remember the day that gave rise to this Sonnet, the
6th of November, 1830. Having undertaken, a great feat for me, to ride
my daughter's pony from Westmoreland to Cambridge, that she might have
the use of it while on a visit to her uncle at Trinity Lodge, on my way
from Bakewell to Matlock I turned aside to Chatsworth, and had scarcely
gratified my curiosity by the sight of that celebrated place before
there came on a severe storm of wind and rain which continued till I
reached Derby, both man and pony in a pitiable plight. For myself,
I went to bed at noon-day. In the course of that journey I had to
encounter a storm worse if possible, in which the pony could (or would)
only make his way slantwise.
I mention this merely to add that notwithstanding this battering I
composed, on horseback, the lines to the memory of Sir George Beaumont,
suggested during my recent visit to Coleorton.--I.F.]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."--ED.
Chatsworth! thy stately mansion, and the pride
Of thy domain, strange contrast do present
To house and home in many a craggy rent
Of the wild Peak; where new-born waters glide
Through fields whose thrifty occupants abide 5
As in a dear and chosen banishment,
With every semblance of entire content;
So kind is simple Nature, fairly tried!
Yet He whose heart in childhood gave her troth
To pastoral dales, thin-set with modest farms, 10
May learn, if judgment strengthen with his growth,
That, not for Fancy only, pomp hath charms;
And, strenuous to protect from lawless harms
The extremes of favoured life, may honour both.
1831
The Poems of 1831 included _The Primrose of the Rock_, a few Sonnets,
and _Yarrow Revisited, and other Poems, composed during a tour in
Scotland, and on the English Border, in the Autumn of 1831_.--ED.
THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK
Composed 1831.--Published 1835
[Written at Rydal Mount. The Rock stands on the right hand a little way
leading up the middle road from Rydal to Grasmere. We have been in the
habit of calling it the glow-worm rock from the number of glow-worms we
have often seen hanging on it as described. The tuft of primrose has, I
fear, been washed away by the heavy rains.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems of the Imagination."--ED.
A rock there is whose homely front[686]
The passing traveller slights;
Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps,
Like stars, at various heights;
And one coy Primrose to that Rock 5
The vernal breeze invites.
What hideous warfare hath been waged,
What kingdoms overthrown,
Since first I spied that Primrose-tuft
And marked it for my own;[687] 10
A lasting link in Nature's chain
From highest heaven let down!
The flowers, still faithful to the stems,
Their fellowship renew;
The stems are faithful to the root, 15
That worketh out of view;
And to the rock the root adheres
In every fibre true.
Close clings to earth the living rock,
Though threatening still to fall; 20
The earth is constant to her sphere;
And God upholds them all:
So blooms this lonely Plant, nor dreads
Her annual funeral.
* * * * *
Here closed the meditative strain; 25
But air breathed soft that day,
The hoary mountain-heights were cheered,
The sunny vale looked gay;
And to the Primrose of the Rock
I gave this after-lay. 30
I sang--Let myriads of bright flowers,
Like Thee, in field and grove
Revive unenvied;--mightier far,
Than tremblings that reprove
Our vernal tendencies to hope, 35
Is[688] God's redeeming love;
That love which changed--for wan disease,
For sorrow that had bent
O'er hopeless dust, for withered age--
Their moral element, 40
And turned the thistles of a curse
To types beneficent.
Sin-blighted though we are, we too,
The reasoning Sons of Men,
From one oblivious winter called 45
Shall rise, and breathe again;
And in eternal summer lose
Our threescore years and ten.
To humbleness of heart descends
This prescience from on high, 50
The faith that elevates the just,
Before and when they die;
And makes each soul a separate heaven,
A court for Deity.
FOOTNOTES:
[686] 1835.
... lonely front 1836.
The edition of 1841 returns to the text of 1835.
[687] In Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal the following
occurs:--April 24, 1802.--"We walked in the evening to Rydal. Coleridge
and I lingered behind. We all stood to look at Glow-worm Rock--a
primrose that grew there, and just looked out on the road from its own
sheltered bower."
The Primrose had disappeared when the Fenwick note was dictated, and
Glow-worms have now almost deserted the district; but the _Rock_ is
unmistakable, and it is one of the most interesting spots connected
with Wordsworth in the Lake District.--ED.
[688] 1836.
In ... 1835.
TO B. R. HAYDON, ON SEEING HIS PICTURE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE ON THE
ISLAND OF ST. HELENA
Composed 1831.--Published 1832
[This Sonnet, though said to be written on seeing the Portrait of
Napoleon, was, in fact, composed some time after, extempore, in the
wood at Rydal Mount.--I.F.]
Haydon! let worthier judges praise the skill
Here by thy pencil shown in truth of lines
And charm of colours; _I_ applaud those signs
Of thought, that give the true poetic thrill;
That unencumbered whole of blank and still, 5
Sky without cloud--ocean without a wave;
And the one Man that laboured to enslave
The World, sole-standing high on the bare hill--
Back turned, arms folded, the unapparent face
Tinged, we may fancy, in this dreary place 10
With light reflected from the invisible sun
Set, like his fortunes; but not set for aye
Like them. The unguilty Power pursues his way,
And before _him_ doth dawn perpetual run.[689]
FOOTNOTES:
[689] Haydon, as he tells us in his Autobiography, received a
commission from Sir Robert Peel, in December 1830, "to paint Napoleon
musing, the size of life." He finished it in June 1831, and thus
described it himself:--
"Napoleon was peculiarly alive to poetical association as produced
by scenery or sound; village bells with their echoing ding, dong,
dang, now bursting full on the ear, now dying in the wind, affected
him as they affect everybody alive to natural impressions, and on the
eve of all his great battles you find him stealing away in the dead
of the night, between the two hosts, and indulging in every species
of poetical reverie. It was impossible to think of such a genius in
captivity, without mysterious associations of the sky, the sea, the
rock, and the solitude with which he was enveloped. I never imagined
him but as if musing at dawn, or melancholy at sunset, listening at
midnight to the beating and roaring of the Atlantic, or meditating as
the stars gazed and the moon shone on him; in short Napoleon never
appeared to me but at those seasons of silence and twilight, when
nature seems to sympathise with the fallen, and when if there be
moments in this turbulent earth fit for celestial intercourse, one
must imagine these would be the times immortal spirits might select
to descend within the sphere of mortality, to soothe and comfort, to
inspire and support the afflicted.
"Under such impressions the present picture was produced.... I imagined
him standing on the brow of an impending cliff, and musing on his past
fortunes, ... sea-birds screaming at his feet, ... the sun just
down, ... the sails of his guard-ship glittering on the horizon,
and the Atlantic, calm, silent, awfully deep, and endlessly
extensive."--_Life of Benjamin Robert Haydon_, vol. ii. pp. 301, 302.
This picture, one of the noblest which Haydon painted, is still at
Drayton Manor.--ED.
YARROW REVISITED, AND OTHER POEMS
COMPOSED (TWO EXCEPTED) DURING A TOUR IN SCOTLAND, AND ON THE
ENGLISH BORDER, IN THE AUTUMN OF 1831.
Composed 1831.--Published 1835
[In the autumn of 1831, my daughter and I set off from Rydal to visit
Sir Walter Scott before his departure for Italy. This journey had been
delayed by an inflammation in my eyes till we found that the time
appointed for his leaving home would be too near for him to receive
us without considerable inconvenience. Nevertheless we proceeded and
reached Abbotsford on Monday. I was then scarcely able to lift up my
eyes to the light. How sadly changed did I find him from the man I
had seen so healthy, gay, and hopeful, a few years before, when he
said at the inn at Paterdale, in my presence, his daughter Anne also
being there, with Mr. Lockhart, my own wife and daughter, and Mr.
Quillinan,--"I mean to live till I am _eighty_, and I shall write as
long as I live." But to return to Abbotsford: the inmates and guests we
found there were Sir Walter, Major Scott, Anne Scott, and Mr. and Mrs.
Lockhart, Mr. Liddell, his Lady and Brother, and Mr. Allan the painter,
and Mr. Laidlaw, a very old friend of Sir Walter's. One of Burns's
sons, an officer in the Indian service, had left the house a day or two
before, and had kindly expressed his regret that he could not wait my
arrival, a regret that I may truly say was mutual. In the evening, Mr.
and Mrs. Liddell sang, and Mrs. Lockhart chanted old ballads to her
harp; and Mr. Allan, hanging over the back of a chair, told and acted
old stories in a humorous way. With this exhibition and his daughter's
singing, Sir Walter was much amused, as indeed were we all as far as
circumstances would allow. But what is most worthy of mention is the
admirable demeanour of Major Scott during the following evening when
the Liddells were gone and only ourselves and Mr. Allan were present.
He had much to suffer from the sight of his father's infirmities and
from the great change that was about to take place at the residence
he had built, and where he had long lived in so much prosperity and
happiness. But what struck me most was the patient kindness with which
he supported himself under the many fretful expressions that his sister
Anne addressed to him or uttered in his hearing. She, poor thing, as
mistress of that house, had been subject, after her mother's death, to
a heavier load of care and responsibility and greater sacrifices of
time than one of such a constitution of body and mind was able to bear.
Of this, Dora and I were made so sensible, that, as soon as we had
crossed the Tweed on our departure, we gave vent at the same moment to
our apprehensions that her brain would fail and she would go out of her
mind, or that she would sink under the trials she had passed and those
which awaited her. On Tuesday morning Sir Walter Scott accompanied us
and most of the party to Newark Castle on the Yarrow. When we alighted
from the carriages he walked pretty stoutly, and had great pleasure in
revisiting those his favourite haunts. Of that excursion the verses
_Yarrow Revisited_ are a memorial. Notwithstanding the romance that
pervades Sir Walter's works and attaches to many of his habits, there
is too much pressure of fact for these verses to harmonise as much as
I could wish with other poems. On our return in the afternoon we had
to cross the Tweed directly opposite Abbotsford. The wheels of our
carriage grated upon the pebbles in the bed of the stream that there
flows somewhat rapidly: a rich but sad light of rather a purple than
a golden hue was spread over the Eildon Hills at that moment; and,
thinking it probable that it might be the last time Sir Walter would
cross the stream, I was not a little moved, and expressed some of my
feelings in the Sonnet beginning--"A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping
rain." At noon on Thursday we left Abbotsford, and in the morning of
that day Sir Walter and I had a serious conversation _tête-à-tête_,
when he spoke with gratitude of the happy life which upon the whole he
had led. He had written in my daughter's Album, before he came into the
breakfast-room that morning, a few stanzas addressed to her, and, while
putting the book into her hand, in his own study, standing by his desk,
he said to her in my presence--"I should not have done anything of this
kind but for your father's sake: they are probably the last verses I
shall ever write." They show how much his mind was impaired, not by
the strain of thought but by the execution, some of the lines being
imperfect, and one stanza wanting corresponding rhymes: one letter, the
initial S, had been omitted in the spelling of his own name. In this
interview also it was that, upon my expressing a hope of his health
being benefited by the climate of the country to which he was going,
and by the interest he would take in the classic remembrances of Italy,
he made use of the quotation from _Yarrow Unvisited_ as recorded by me
in the _Musings of Aquapendente_ six years afterwards. Mr. Lockhart has
mentioned in his life of him what I heard from several quarters while
abroad, both at Rome and elsewhere, that little seemed to interest him
but what he could collect or hear of the fugitive Stuarts and their
adherents who had followed them into exile. Both the _Yarrow Revisited_
and the "Sonnet" were sent him before his departure from England. Some
further particulars of the conversations which occurred during this
visit I should have set down had they not been already accurately
recorded by Mr. Lockhart. I first became acquainted with this great and
amiable man--Sir Walter Scott--in the year 1803, when my sister and I,
making a tour in Scotland, were hospitably received by him in Lasswade
upon the banks of the Esk, where he was then living. We saw a good deal
of him in the course of the following week; the particulars are given
in my sister's Journal of that tour.--I.F.]
TO
SAMUEL ROGERS, Esq.
AS A TESTIMONY OF FRIENDSHIP, AND ACKNOWLEDGMENT
OF INTELLECTUAL OBLIGATIONS, THESE MEMORIALS
ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
RYDAL MOUNT, _Dec._ 11, 1834.
I
"THE GALLANT YOUTH, WHO MAY HAVE GAINED"
[The following Stanzas are a memorial of a day passed with Sir Walter
Scott, and other Friends visiting the Banks of the Yarrow under his
guidance, immediately before his departure from Abbotsford, for Naples.
The title _Yarrow Revisited_ will stand in no need of explanation, for
Readers acquainted with the Author's previous poems, suggested by that
celebrated Stream.--I.F.]
The gallant Youth, who may have gained,
Or seeks, a "winsome Marrow,"
Was but an Infant in the lap
When first I looked on Yarrow;
Once more, by Newark's Castle-gate 5
Long left without a warder,
I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee,
Great Minstrel of the Border![690]
Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day,
Their dignity installing 10
In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves
Were on the bough, or falling;
But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed--
The forest to embolden;
Reddened the fiery hues, and shot 15
Transparence through the golden.
For busy thoughts the Stream flowed on
In foamy agitation;
And slept in many a crystal pool
For quiet contemplation:[691] 20
No public and no private care
The freeborn mind enthralling,
We made a day of happy hours,
Our happy days recalling.
Brisk Youth appeared, the Morn of youth, 25
With freaks of graceful folly,--
Life's temperate Noon, her sober Eve,
Her Night not melancholy;
Past, present, future, all appeared
In harmony united, 30
Like guests that meet, and some from far,
By cordial love invited.
And if, as Yarrow, through the woods
And down the meadow ranging,
Did meet us with unaltered face, 35
Though we were changed and changing;
If, _then_, some natural shadows spread
Our inward prospect over,
The soul's deep valley was not slow
Its brightness to recover. 40
Eternal blessings on the Muse,
And her divine employment!
The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons
For hope and calm enjoyment;
Albeit sickness, lingering yet, 45
Has o'er their pillow brooded;
And Care waylays[692] their steps--a Sprite
Not easily eluded.
For thee, O SCOTT! compelled to change
Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot 50
For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes;
And leave thy Tweed and Tiviot
For mild Sorento's breezy waves;
May classic Fancy, linking
With native Fancy her fresh aid, 55
Preserve thy heart from sinking!
O! while they minister to thee,
Each vying with the other,
May Health return to mellow Age,
With Strength, her venturous brother; 60
And Tiber, and each brook and rill
Renowned in song and story,
With unimagined beauty shine,
Nor lose one ray of glory!
For Thou, upon a hundred streams, 65
By tales of love and sorrow,
Of faithful love, undaunted truth,
Hast shed the power of Yarrow;
And streams unknown, hills yet unseen,
Wherever they[693] invite Thee, 70
At parent Nature's grateful call,
With gladness must requite Thee.
A gracious welcome shall be thine,
Such looks of love and honour
As thy own Yarrow gave to me 75
When first I gazed upon her;
Beheld what I had feared to see,
Unwilling to surrender
Dreams treasured up from early days,
The holy and the tender. 80
And what, for this frail world, were all
That mortals do or suffer,
Did no responsive harp, no pen,
Memorial tribute offer?
Yea, what were mighty Nature's self? 85
Her features, could they win us,
Unhelped by the poetic voice
That hourly speaks within us?
Nor deem that localised Romance
Plays false with our affections; 90
Unsanctifies our tears--made sport
For fanciful dejections:
Ah, no! the visions of the past
Sustain the heart in feeling
Life as she is--our changeful Life, 95
With friends and kindred dealing.
Bear witness, Ye, whose thoughts that day
In Yarrow's groves were centred;
Who through the silent portal arch
Of mouldering Newark enter'd; 100
And clomb the winding stair that once
Too timidly was mounted
By the "last Minstrel," (not the last!)
Ere he his Tale recounted.
Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream! 105
Fulfil thy pensive duty,
Well pleased that future Bards should chant
For simple hearts thy beauty;
To dream-light dear while yet unseen,
Dear to the common sunshine, 110
And dearer still, as now I feel,
To memory's shadowy moonshine!
FOOTNOTES:
[690] Wordsworth arrived at Abbotsford with his daughter to say
farewell to Scott on the 21st September 1831. "On the 22nd," says Mr.
Lockhart, "these two great poets, who had through life loved each other
well, and in spite of very different theories as to art, appreciated
each other's genius more justly than infirm spirits ever did either of
them, spent the morning together in a visit to Newark. Hence the last
of the three poems by which Wordsworth has connected his name to all
time with the most romantic of Scottish streams."--_Memoirs of the Life
of Sir Walter Scott_, vol. x. ch. lxxx. p. 104.
Compare the note to _Musings near Aquapendente_, in the Poems of the
Italian Tour of 1837.--ED.
[691] Compare Tennyson's _Brook_, and Burns's _Epistle to William
Simpson, Ochiltree_, stanza 15.--ED.
[692] 1837.
... waylay ... 1835.
[693] 1837.
Where'er thy path ... 1835.
II
ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT FROM ABBOTSFORD, FOR NAPLES
A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,
Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light
Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height:
Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain
For kindred Power departing from their sight; 5
While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain,
Saddens his voice again, and yet again.
Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might
Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes;
Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue 10
Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows,
Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true,
Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea,
Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope!
With the closing lines of this sonnet addressed to the "winds of
ocean," and Sir Walter's departure for Naples, compare Horace's ode to
the Ship carrying Virgil to Athens (_Odes_, I. 3).
On the 19th October 1833, Henry Crabb Robinson wrote thus to his
friend Masquerier--"It is, I think, the most perfect sonnet in the
language. Every word is a gem, from the 'pathetic light' in the second
to the 'soft Parthenope' in the last line. It is composed with that
deep feeling and perfection of style united that bespeak the master."
(_Diary, Reminiscences, etc._, vol. iii. p. 32.)
The sonnet was sent to Alaric Watts for his _Souvenir_ in 1832.
Wordsworth wrote, "I enclose a sonnet for your next volume if you
choose to insert it. It would have appeared with more advantage in this
year's, but was not written in time. It is proper that I should mention
it has been sent to Sir Walter Scott, and one or two of my other
friends." (See _Alaric Watts, a Narrative of his Life_, vol. ii. p.
190.)--ED.
III
A PLACE OF BURIAL IN THE SOUTH OF SCOTLAND
[Similar places for burial are not unfrequent in Scotland. The one that
suggested this sonnet lies on the banks of a small stream called the
Wauchope that flows into the Esk near Langholme. Mickle, who, as it
appears from his poem on Sir Martin, was not without genuine poetic
feelings, was born and passed his boyhood in this neighbourhood, under
his father who was a minister of the Scotch Kirk. The Esk, both above
and below Langholme, flows through a beautiful country, and the two
streams of the Wauchope and the Ewes, which join it near that place,
are such as a pastoral poet would delight in.--I.F.]
Part fenced by man, part by a rugged steep
That curbs a foaming brook, a Grave-yard lies;
The hare's best couching-place for fearless sleep;
Which moonlit elves, far seen by credulous eyes,
Enter in dance. Of church, or sabbath ties, 5
No vestige now remains; yet thither creep
Bereft Ones, and in lowly anguish weep
Their prayers out to the wind and naked skies.
Proud tomb is none; but rudely-sculptured knights,
By humble choice of plain old times, are seen 10
Level with earth, among the hillocks green:
Union not sad, when sunny daybreak smites
The spangled turf, and neighbouring thickets ring
With _jubilate_ from the choirs of spring!
IV
ON THE SIGHT OF A MANSE IN THE SOUTH OF SCOTLAND
[The Manses in Scotland and the gardens and grounds about them have
seldom that attractive appearance which is common about our English
parsonages, even when the clergyman's income falls below the average
of the Scotch minister's. This is not merely owing to the one country
being poor in comparison with the other, but arises rather out of
the equality of their benefices, so that no one has enough to spare
for decorations that might serve as an example for others; whereas,
with us, the taste of the richer incumbent extends its influence more
or less to the poorest. After all, in these observations the surface
only of the matter is touched. I once heard a conversation in which
the Roman Catholic Religion was decried on account of its abuses.
"You cannot deny, however," said a lady of the party, repeating
an expression used by Charles II., "that it is the religion of a
gentleman." It may be left to the Scotch themselves to determine
how far this observation applies to their Kirk, while it cannot be
denied, if it is wanting in that characteristic quality, the aspect
of common life, so far as concerns its beauty, must suffer. Sincere
christian piety may be thought not to stand in need of refinement or
studied ornament; but assuredly it is ever ready to adopt them, when
they fall within its notice, as means allow; and this observation
applies not only to manners, but to everything a christian (truly so
in spirit) cultivates and gathers round him, however humble his social
condition.--I.F.]
Say, ye far-travelled clouds, far-seeing hills--
Among the happiest-looking homes of men
Scatter'd all Britain over, through deep glen,
On airy upland, and by forest rills,
And o'er wide plains cheered by the lark that trills 5
His sky-born warblings[694]--does aught meet your ken
More fit to animate the Poet's pen,
Aught that more surely by its aspect fills
Pure minds with sinless envy, than the Abode
Of the good Priest: who, faithful through all hours 10
To his high charge, and truly serving God,
Has yet a heart and hand for trees and flowers,
Enjoys the walks his predecessors trod,
Nor covets lineal rights in lands and towers.
FOOTNOTES:
[694] 1845.
And o'er wide plains whereon the sky distils
Her lark's loved warblings; ... 1835.
V
COMPOSED IN ROSLIN CHAPEL, DURING A STORM
[We were detained by incessant rain and storm at the small inn near
Roslin Chapel, and I passed a great part of the day pacing to and fro
in this beautiful structure, which, though not used for public service,
is not allowed to go to ruin. Here, this sonnet was composed. If it
has at all done justice to the feeling which the place and the storm
raging without inspired, I was as a prisoner. A painter delineating the
interior of the chapel and its minute features under such circumstances
would have, no doubt, found his time agreeably shortened. But the
movements of the mind must be more free while dealing with words than
with lines and colours; such at least was then and has been on many
other occasions my belief, and, as it is allotted to few to follow
both arts with success, I am grateful to my own calling for this and
a thousand other recommendations which are denied to that of the
painter.--I. F.]
The wind is now thy organist;--a clank
(We know not whence) ministers for a bell
To mark some change of service. As the swell
Of music reached its height, and even when sank
The notes, in prelude, ROSLIN! to a blank 5
Of silence, how it thrilled thy sumptuous roof,
Pillars, and arches,--not in vain time-proof,
Though Christian rites be wanting! From what bank
Came those live herbs? by what hand were they sown
Where dew falls not, where rain-drops seem unknown? 10
Yet in the Temple they a friendly niche
Share with their sculptured fellows, that, green-grown,
Copy their beauty more and more, and preach,
Though mute, of all things blending into one.[695]
FOOTNOTES:
[695] "I cannot agree with you in admiring the cathedral of Melrose
more than the chapel at Roslin. As far as it goes, as a whole, the
chapel at Roslin appeared to me to be _perfection_, most beautiful in
form, and of entire simplicity." (Dorothy Wordsworth to Mrs. Marshall,
Sept. 1807.)--ED.
VI
THE TROSACHS
[As recorded in my sister's Journal, I had first seen the Trosachs in
her and Coleridge's company. The sentiment that runs through this
Sonnet was natural to the season in which I again saw this beautiful
spot; but this and some other Sonnets that follow were coloured by the
remembrance of my recent visit to Sir Walter Scott, and the melancholy
errand on which he was going.--I. F.]
There's not a nook within this solemn Pass,
But were an apt confessional for One
Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone,
That Life is but a tale of morning grass
Withered at eve.[696] From scenes of art which chase[697]
That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes 6
Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities,
Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass
Untouched, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest,[698]
If from a golden perch of aspen spray 10
(October's workmanship to rival May)
The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast
That[699] moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay,
Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest!
FOOTNOTES:
[696] Compare _The Excursion_, book iii. 11. 468-474.--ED.
[697] 1837.
... that chase 1835.
[698] A supposed reading of this line printed, but placed by Wordsworth
amongst the _errata_ of the edition of 1835, may be quoted, as it has
given rise to some controversy. In that edition the phrase was "Thrice
happy Guest." In a copy of the same edition of 1835, which Wordsworth
presented to the Rev. T.C. Judkin, he crossed out the G and wrote in
Q in pencil. It was a point on which the late Matthew Arnold was much
interested; and although he retained, in his Selections, the reading
finally sanctioned by the poet, he thought, as many others have done,
that a good deal might be said in favour of the other reading.--ED.
[699] 1837.
This ... 1835.
VII
"THE PIBROCH'S NOTE, DISCOUNTENANCED OR MUTE"
The pibroch's note, discountenanced or mute;
The Roman kilt, degraded to a toy
Of quaint apparel for a half-spoilt boy;
The target mouldering like ungathered fruit;
The smoking steam-boat eager in pursuit, 5
As eagerly pursued; the umbrella spread
To weather-fend the Celtic herdsman's head--
All speak of manners withering to the root,
And of[700] old honours, too, and passions high:
Then may we ask, though pleased that thought should range 10
Among the conquests of civility,
Survives imagination--to the change
Superior? Help to virtue does she give?[701]
If not, O Mortals, better cease to live!
FOOTNOTES:
[700] 1845.
And some ... 1835.
[701] 1845.
... it give? 1835.
VIII
COMPOSED AFTER READING A NEWSPAPER OF THE DAY[702]
"People! your chains are severing link by link;
Soon shall the Rich be levelled down--the Poor
Meet them half-way." Vain boast! for These, the more
They thus would rise, must low and lower sink
Till, by repentance stung, they fear to think; 5
While all lie prostrate, save the tyrant few
Bent in quick turns each other to undo,
And mix the poison they themselves must drink.
Mistrust thyself, vain Country! cease to cry,
"Knowledge will save me from the threatened woe."
For, if than other rash ones more thou know, 11
Yet on presumptuous wing as far would fly
Above thy knowledge as they dared to go,
Thou wilt provoke a heavier penalty.
FOOTNOTES:
[702] This Sonnet ought to have followed No. vii. in the series of
1831, but was omitted by mistake.--W. W. 1835.
As the above note indicates Wordsworth's own wish as to where
this sonnet should be placed, and approximately gives the date of
composition, it is placed as No. VIII. in the sonnets of 1831. In later
editions, Wordsworth placed it as the first in the series of "Sonnets
dedicated to Liberty and Order." The original title was _Sonnet,
composed after reading a Newspaper of the Day_.--ED.
IX
COMPOSED IN THE GLEN OF LOCH ETIVE
["That make the Patriot spirit." It was mortifying to have frequent
occasions to observe the bitter hatred of the lower orders of the
Highlanders to their superiors; love of country seemed to have passed
into its opposite. Emigration was the only relief looked to with
hope.[703]--I. F.]
"This Land of Rainbows spanning glens whose walls,
Rock-built, are hung with rainbow-coloured mists--
Of far-stretched Meres whose salt flood never rests--
Of tuneful Caves and playful Waterfalls--
Of Mountains varying momently their crests-- 5
Proud be this Land! whose poorest huts are halls
Where Fancy entertains becoming guests;
While native song the heroic Past recals."
Thus, in the net of her own wishes caught,
The Muse exclaimed; but Story now must hide 10
Her trophies, Fancy crouch; the course of pride
Has been diverted, other lessons taught,
That make the Patriot-spirit bow her head
Where the all-conquering Roman feared to tread.
FOOTNOTES:
[703] This Fenwick note is significant. These things repeat themselves,
and are as true in 1896, as they were in 1831.--ED.
X
EAGLES
COMPOSED AT DUNOLLIE CASTLE IN THE BAY OF OBAN
["The last I saw was on the wing," off the promontory of Fairhead,
county of Antrim. I mention this because, though my tour in Ireland
with Mr. Marshall and his son was made many years ago, this allusion
to the eagle is the only image supplied by it to the poetry I have
since written. We travelled through that country in October, and to
the shortness of the days and the speed with which we travelled (in a
carriage and four) may be ascribed this want of notices, in my verse,
of a country so interesting. The deficiency I am somewhat ashamed
of, and it is the more remarkable as contrasted with my Scotch and
Continental tours, of which are to be found in these volumes so many
memorials.--I. F.]
Dishonoured Rock and Ruin! that, by law
Tyrannic, keep the Bird of Jove embarred
Like a lone criminal whose life is spared.
Vexed is he, and screams loud. The last I saw
Was on the wing; stooping, he struck with awe 5
Man, bird, and beast; then, with a consort paired,[704]
From a bold headland, their loved aery's guard,
Flew high[705] above Atlantic waves, to draw
Light from the fountain of the setting sun.
Such was this Prisoner once; and, when his plumes
The sea-blast ruffles as the storm comes on, 11
Then, for a moment, he, in spirit, resumes[706]
His rank 'mong freeborn creatures that live free,
His power, his beauty, and his majesty.
FOOTNOTES:
[704] 1835.
Was on the wing, and struck my soul with awe,
Now wheeling low, then with a consort paired,
MS. copy sent to Sir William Rowan Hamilton.
[705] 1835.
Flying ...
MS. to Sir W. R. Hamilton.
[706] 1845.
In spirit, for a moment, he resumes
MS. to Sir W. R. Hamilton, and 1835.
XI
IN THE SOUND OF MULL
[Touring late in the season in Scotland is an uncertain speculation.
We were detained a week by rain at Bunaw on Loch Etive in a vain hope
that the weather would clear up and allow me to show my daughter the
beauties at Glencoe. Two days we were at the Isle of Mull, on a visit
to Major Campbell; but it rained incessantly, and we were obliged
to give up our intention of going to Staffa. The rain pursued us to
Tyndrum, where the Twelfth Sonnet was composed in a storm.--I. F.]
Tradition, be thou mute! Oblivion, throw
Thy veil in mercy o'er the records, hung
Round strath and mountain, stamped by the ancient tongue
On rock and ruin darkening as we go,--
Spots where a word, ghost-like, survives to show 5
What crimes from hate, or desperate love, have sprung;
From honour misconceived, or fancied wrong,
What feuds, not quenched but fed by mutual woe.
Yet, though a wild vindictive Race, untamed
By civil arts and labours of the pen, 10
Could gentleness be scorned by those[707] fierce Men,
Who, to spread wide the reverence they claimed[708]
For patriarchal occupations, named
Yon towering Peaks, "Shepherds of Etive Glen?"[709]
FOOTNOTES:
[707] 1837.
... these ... 1835.
[708] 1837.
... reverence that they claimed. 1835.
[709] In Gaelic, _Buachaill Etive_.--W. W. 1835.
XII
SUGGESTED AT TYNDRUM IN A STORM[710]
Enough of garlands, of the Arcadian crook,
And all that Greece and Italy have sung
Of Swains reposing myrtle groves among!
_Ours_ couch on naked rocks,--will cross a brook
Swoln with chill rains, nor ever cast a look 5
This way or that, or give it even a thought
More than by smoothest pathway may be brought
Into a vacant mind. Can written book
Teach what _they_ learn? Up, hardy Mountaineer!
And guide the Bard, ambitious to be One 10
Of Nature's privy council, as thou art,
On cloud-sequestered heights, that see and hear
To what dread Powers[711] He delegates his part
On earth, who works in the heaven of heavens, alone.
FOOTNOTES:
[710] 1837.
In 1835 the title was _At Tyndrum_.
[711] 1837.
... Power ... 1835.
XIII
THE EARL OF BREADALBANE'S RUINED MANSION, AND FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE, NEAR
KILLIN
Well sang the Bard who called the grave, in strains
Thoughtful and sad, the "narrow house."[712] No style
Of fond sepulchral flattery can beguile
Grief of her sting; nor cheat, where he detains
The sleeping dust, stern Death. How reconcile 5
With truth, or with each other, decked remains
Of a once warm Abode, and that _new_ Pile,
For the departed, built with curious pains
And mausolean pomp?[713] Yet here they stand
Together,--'mid trim walks and artful bowers, 10
To be looked down upon by ancient hills,
That, for the living and the dead, demand
And prompt a harmony of genuine powers;
Concord that elevates the mind, and stills.
FOOTNOTES:
[712] This phrase is used by James Graham, in _The Poor Man's Funeral_;
by Southey, in _Joan of Arc_ (book viii.); by Ossian (frequently); and
by Burns, in his _Lament of Mary Queen of Scots_ (l. 53). Wordsworth
probably refers to Burns.--ED.
[713] Finlarig, near Killin, is the burial-place of the Breadalbane
family. "The modern mausoleum occupies a solitary position in the
vicinity of the old ruins."--ED.
XIV
"REST AND BE THANKFUL!"
AT THE HEAD OF GLENCROE
Doubling and doubling with laborious walk,
Who, that has gained at length the wished-for Height,
This brief this simple way-side Call can slight,
And rests not thankful? Whether cheered by talk
With some loved friend, or by the unseen hawk 5
Whistling to clouds and sky-born streams, that shine
At the sun's outbreak, as with light divine,
Ere they descend to nourish root and stalk
Of valley flowers. Nor, while the limbs repose,
Will we forget that, as the fowl can keep 10
Absolute stillness, poised aloft in air,
And fishes front, unmoved, the torrent's sweep,--
So may the Soul, through powers that Faith bestows,
Win rest, and ease, and peace, with bliss that Angels share.
XV
HIGHLAND HUT
See what gay wild flowers deck this earth-built Cot,
Whose smoke, forth-issuing whence and how it may,
Shines in the greeting of the sun's first ray
Like wreaths of vapour without stain or blot.
The limpid mountain rill avoids it not; 5
And why shouldst thou?--If rightly trained and bred,
Humanity is humble, finds no spot
Which her Heaven-guided feet refuse to tread.
The walls are cracked, sunk is the flowery roof,
Undressed the pathway leading to the door; 10
But love, as Nature loves, the lonely Poor;
Search, for their worth, some gentle heart wrong-proof,
Meek, patient, kind, and, were its trials fewer,
Belike less happy.--Stand no more aloof![714]
FOOTNOTES:
[714] This sonnet describes the _exterior_ of a Highland hut, as
often seen under morning or evening sunshine. To the authoress of the
_Address to the Wind_, and other poems, in these volumes, who was my
fellow-traveller in this tour, I am indebted for the following extract
from her journal, which[715] accurately describes, under particular
circumstances, the beautiful appearance of the _interior_ of one of
these rude habitations.
"On our return from the Trosachs the evening began to darken, and it
rained so heavily that we were completely wet before we had come two
miles, and it was dark when we landed with our boatman, at his hut upon
the banks of Loch Katrine. I was faint from cold: the good woman had
provided, according to her promise, a better fire than we had found in
the morning; and, indeed, when I sat down in the chimney-corner of her
smoky biggin, I thought I had never felt more comfortable in my life:
a pan of coffee was boiling for us, and, having put our clothes in the
way of drying, we all sat down thankful for a shelter. We could not
prevail upon our boatman, the master of the house, to draw near the
fire, though he was cold and wet, or to suffer his wife to get him dry
clothes till she had served us, which she did most willingly, though
not very expeditiously.
"A Cumberland man of the same rank would not have had such a notion of
what was fit and right in his own house, or, if he had, one would have
accused him of servility; but in the Highlander it only seemed like
politeness (however erroneous and painful to us), naturally growing
out of the dependence of the inferiors of the clan upon their laird;
he did not, however, refuse to let his wife bring out the whisky
bottle for his refreshment, at our request. 'She keeps a dram,' as the
phrase is: indeed, I believe there is scarcely a lonely house by the
way-side, in Scotland, where travellers may not be accommodated with
a dram. We asked for sugar, butter, barley-bread, and milk; and, with
a smile and a stare more of kindness than wonder, she replied, 'Ye'll
get that,' bringing each article separately. We caroused our cups of
coffee, laughing like children at the strange atmosphere in which we
were: the smoke came in gusts, and spread along the walls; and above
our heads in the chimney (where the hens were _roosting_) it appeared
like clouds[716] in the sky. We laughed and laughed again, in spite of
the smarting of our eyes, yet had a quieter pleasure in observing the
beauty of the beams and rafters gleaming between the clouds of smoke:
they had been crusted over, and varnished by many winters, till, where
the firelight fell upon them, they had become as glossy as black rocks,
on a sunny day, cased in ice. When we had eaten our supper we sat about
half an hour, and I think I never felt so deeply the blessing of a
hospitable welcome and a warm fire. The man of the house repeated from
time to time that we should often tell of this night when we got to
our homes, and interposed praises of his own lake, which he had more
than once, when we were returning in the boat, ventured to say was
'bonnier than Loch Lomond.' Our companion from the Trosachs, who, it
appeared, was an Edinburgh drawing-master going, during the vacation,
on a pedestrian tour to John o' Groat's house, was to sleep in the barn
with my fellow-travellers, where the man said he had plenty of dry hay.
I do not believe that the hay of the Highlands is ever very dry, but
this year it had a better chance than usual: wet or dry, however, the
next morning they said they had slept comfortably. When I went to bed,
the mistress, desiring me to '_go ben_,' attended me with a candle, and
assured me that the bed was dry, though not 'sic as I had been used
to.' It was of chaff; there were two others in the room, a cupboard and
two chests, upon one of which stood milk in wooden vessels, covered
over. The walls of the house were of stone unplastered: it consisted of
three apartments, the cowhouse at one end, the kitchen or house in the
middle, and the spence at the other end; the rooms were divided, not up
to the rigging, but only to the beginning of the roof, so that there
was a free passage for light and smoke from one end of the house to the
other. I went to bed some time before the rest of the family; the door
was shut between us, and they had a bright fire, which I could not see,
but the light it sent up amongst[717] the varnished rafters and beams,
which crossed each other in almost as intricate and fantastic a manner
as I have seen the under-boughs of a large beech tree withered by the
depth of shade above, produced the most beautiful effect that can be
conceived. It was like what I should suppose an under-ground cave or
temple to be, with a dripping or moist roof, and the moonlight entering
in upon it by some means or other: and yet the colours were more like
those of melted gems. I lay looking up till the light of the fire
faded away, and the man and his wife and child had crept into their
bed at the other end of the room: I did not sleep much, but passed a
comfortable night; for my bed, though hard, was warm and clean: the
unusualness of my situation prevented me from sleeping. I could hear
the waves beat against the shore of the lake: a little rill close to
the door made a much louder noise, and, when I sat up in my bed, I
could see the lake through an open window-place at the bed's head. Add
to this, it rained all night. I was less occupied by remembrance of the
Trosachs, beautiful as they were, than the vision of the Highland hut,
which I could not get out of my head; I thought of the Faery-land of
Spenser, and what I had read in romance at other times; and then what a
feast it would be for a London Pantomime-maker could he but transplant
it to Drury-lane, with all its beautiful colours!"--MS. W. W. 1835.
[715] 1837.
... sunshine. The reader may not be displeased with
the following extract from the journal of a Lady, my
fellow-traveller in Scotland in the autumn of 1803, which ...
1835.
[716] 1837.
roosting) like clouds 1835.
[717] 1845.
among 1835.
XVI
THE BROWNIE
Upon a small island not far from the head of Loch Lomond, are some
remains of an ancient building, which was for several years the abode
of a solitary Individual, one of the last survivors of the clan of
Macfarlane, once powerful in that neighbourhood. Passing along the
shore opposite this island in the year 1814, the Author learned these
particulars, and that this person then living there had acquired the
appellation of "The Brownie." See _The Brownie's Cell_ (vol. vi. p.
16), to which the following[718] is a sequel.--W. W.
"How disappeared he?" Ask the newt and toad;
Ask of his fellow men, and they will tell
How he was found, cold as an icicle,
Under an arch of that forlorn abode;
Where he, unpropp'd, and by the gathering flood 5
Of years hemm'd round, had dwelt, prepared to try
Privation's worst extremities, and die
With no one near save the omnipresent God.
Verily so to live was an awful choice--
A choice that wears the aspect of a doom; 10
But in the mould of mercy all is cast
For Souls familiar with the eternal Voice;
And this forgotten Taper to the last
Drove from itself, we trust, all frightful gloom.
FOOTNOTES:
[718] 1837.
following Sonnet is 1835.
XVII
TO THE PLANET VENUS, AN EVENING STAR
COMPOSED AT LOCH LOMOND
Though joy attend Thee orient at the birth
Of dawn, it cheers the lofty spirit most
To watch thy course when Day-light, fled from earth,
In the grey sky hath left his lingering Ghost,
Perplexed as if between a splendour lost 5
And splendour slowly mustering. Since the Sun,
The absolute, the world-absorbing One,
Relinquished half his empire to the host
Emboldened by thy guidance, holy Star,
Holy as princely, who that looks on thee 10
Touching, as now, in thy humility
The mountain borders of this seat of care,
Can question that thy countenance is bright,
Celestial Power, as much with love as light?
XVIII
BOTHWELL CASTLE
(PASSED UNSEEN, ON ACCOUNT OF STORMY WEATHER)
[In my Sister's Journal is an account of Bothwell Castle as it
appeared to us at that time.--I.F.]
Immured in Bothwell's Towers, at times the Brave
(So beautiful is Clyde) forgot to mourn
The liberty they lost at Bannockburn.
Once on those steeps _I_ roamed[719] at large, and have
In mind the landscape, as if still in sight; 5
The river glides, the woods before me wave;
Then why repine that now in vain I crave[720]
Needless renewal of an old delight?
Better to thank a dear and long-past day
For joy its sunny hours were free to give 10
Than blame the present, that our wish hath crost.
Memory, like sleep, hath powers which dreams obey,
Dreams, vivid dreams, that are not fugitive:
How little that she cherishes is lost!
FOOTNOTES:
[719] The following is from the same MS., and gives an account of the
visit to Bothwell Castle here alluded to:--
"It was exceedingly delightful to enter thus unexpectedly upon such
a beautiful region. The castle stands nobly, overlooking the Clyde.
When we came up to it, I was hurt to see that flower-borders had
taken place of the natural overgrowings of the ruin, the scattered
stones and wild plants. It is a large and grand pile of red freestone,
harmonising perfectly with the rocks of the river, from which, no
doubt, it has been hewn. When I was a little accustomed to the
unnaturalness of a modern garden, I could not help admiring the
excessive beauty and luxuriance of some of the plants, particularly the
purple-flowered clematis, and a broad-leafed creeping plant without
flowers, which scrambled up the castle wall, along with the ivy, and
spread its vine-like branches so lavishly that it seemed to be in
its natural situation, and one could not help thinking that, though
not self-planted among the ruins of this country, it must somewhere
have its native abode in such places. If Bothwell Castle had not been
close to the Douglas mansion, we should have been disgusted with
the possessor's miserable conception of _adorning_ such a venerable
ruin; but it is so very near to the house, that of necessity the
pleasure-grounds must have extended beyond it, and perhaps the neatness
of a shaven lawn and the complete desolation natural to a ruin might
have made an unpleasing contrast; and, besides being within the
precincts of the pleasure-grounds, and so very near to the dwelling
of a noble family, it has forfeited, in some degree, its independent
majesty, and becomes a tributary to the mansion: its solitude being
interrupted, it has no longer the command over the mind in sending it
back into past times, or excluding the ordinary feelings which we bear
about us in daily life. We had then only to regret that the castle
and the house were so near to each other; and it was impossible _not_
to regret it; for the ruin presides in state over the river, far from
city or town, as if it might have a peculiar privilege to preserve its
memorials of past ages, and maintain its own character for centuries
to come. We sat upon a bench under the high trees, and had beautiful
views of the different reaches of the river, above and below. On the
opposite bank, which is finely wooded with elms and other trees, are
the remains of a priory built upon a rock; and rock and ruin are so
blended, that it is impossible to separate the one from the other.
Nothing can be more beautiful than the little remnant of this holy
place: elm trees (for we were near enough to distinguish them by their
branches) grow out of the walls, and overshadow a small, but very
elegant window. It can scarcely be conceived what a grace the castle
and priory impart to each other; and the river Clyde flows on, smooth
and unruffled below, seeming to my thoughts more in harmony with the
sober and stately images of former times, than if it had roared over
a rocky channel, forcing its sound upon the ear. It blended gently
with the warbling of the smaller birds, and the chattering of the
larger ones, that had made their nests in the ruins. In this fortress
the chief of the English nobility were confined after the battle of
Bannockburn. If a man _is_ to be a prisoner, he scarcely could have a
more pleasant place to solace his captivity; but I thought that, for
close confinement, I should prefer the banks of a lake, or the seaside.
The greatest charm of a brook or river is in the liberty to pursue it
through its windings: you can then take it in whatever mood you like;
silent or noisy, sportive or quiet. The beauties of a brook or river
must be sought, and the pleasure is in going in search of them; those
of a lake or of the sea come to you of themselves. These rude warriors
cared little, perhaps, about either; and yet, if one may judge from
the writings of Chaucer, and from the old romances, more interesting
passions were connected with natural objects in the days of chivalry
than now; though going in search of scenery, as it is called, had
not then been thought of. I had previously heard nothing of Bothwell
Castle, at least nothing that I remembered; therefore, perhaps, my
pleasure was greater, compared with what I received elsewhere, than
others might feel."--MS. Journal.--W. W. 1835.
[720] 1837.
But, by occasion tempted, now I crave 1835.
XIX
PICTURE OF DANIEL IN THE LIONS' DEN, AT HAMILTON PALACE
Amid a fertile region green with wood
And fresh with rivers, well did[721] it become
The ducal Owner, in his palace-home
To naturalise this tawny Lion brood;
Children of Art, that claim strange brotherhood 5
(Couched in their den) with those that roam at large
Over the burning wilderness, and charge
The wind with terror while they roar for food.
Satiate are _these_; and stilled to eye and ear;
Hence, while we gaze,[722] a more enduring fear! 10
Yet is the Prophet calm, nor would the cave
Daunt him--if his Companions, now be-drowsed
Outstretched[723] and listless, were by hunger roused:
Man placed him here, and God, he knows, can save.
Henry Crabb Robinson gives an account of this picture in his _Diary,
etc._ (vol. ii. pp. 214, 215):--
"On September the 29th, from Lanark I visited the Duke of Hamilton's
palace, and had unusual pleasure in the paintings to be seen there.
I venture to copy my remarks on the famous Rubens' 'Daniel in the
Lions' Den:'--'The variety of character in the lions is admirable.
Here is indignation at the unintelligible power which restrains them;
there reverence towards the being whom they dare not touch. One of
them is consoled by the contemplation of the last skull he has been
picking; one is anticipating his next meal; two are debating the
subject together. But the Prophet, with a face resembling Curran's
(foreshortened so as to lose its best expression), has all the muscles
of his countenance strained from extreme terror. He is without joy or
hope; and though his doom is postponed, he has no faith in the miracle
which is to reward his integrity. It is a painting rather to astonish
than delight.'"
In a footnote Robinson adds, "Daniel's head is thrown back, and he
looks upwards with an earnest expression and clasped hands, as if
vehemently supplicating. The picture formerly belonged to King Charles
I. It was at that time entered as follows in the Catalogue of the Royal
Pictures:--'A piece of Daniel in the Lions' Den with lions about him,
given by the deceased Lord Dorchester to the king, being so big as the
life. Done by Sir Peter Paul Rubens.' Dr. Waagen very justly observes
that, upon the whole, the figure of Daniel is only an accessory
employed by the great master to introduce, in the most perfect form,
nine figures of lions and lionesses the size of life. Rubens, in a
letter to Sir Dudley Carleton (who presented the picture to the king),
dated April 28th, 1618, expressly states that it was wholly his own
workmanship. The price was six hundred florins. Engraved in mezzotint
by W. Ward, 1789."
This famous picture, after having been in the possession of the
Duke of Hamilton, was sold--in 1882--to Mr. Denison, Yorkshire. The
following is from the catalogue of the Hamilton Palace sale:--
RUBENS--DANIEL IN THE DEN OF LIONS.--The prophet is represented sitting
naked in the middle of the den, his hands clasped, and his countenance
directed upward with an expression of earnest prayer. Nine lions are
prowling around him. Engraved by Blooteling, Van der Leuw, and Lamb,
and in mezzotint by J. Ward. There is also an etching of it by Street,
extremely rare. This is one of the few great pictures by Rubens which
we know with certainty to have been entirely executed by his own
hand. Rubens says this explicitly in an Italian letter to Sir Dudley
Carleton, which Mr. Carpenter has printed in his _Pictorial Notices_,
p. 140. This picture was presented by Sir Dudley Carleton to Charles
I., and is inserted in the printed catalogue of his collection at page
87.
"No. 14.
[Sidenote: Done by Sir Peter Paul Rubens.]
Item.--A piece of Daniel in the lions' den, with lions about
him. Given by the deceased Lord Dorchester to the king, so
big as the life, in a black gilded frame."
It was sold to Mr. Denison for £5145.--ED.
FOOTNOTES:
[721] 1840.
... doth ... 1835.
[722] 1845.
But _these_ are satiate, and a stillness drear
Calls into life ... 1835.
Satiate are _these_; and still--to eye and ear;
Hence, while we gaze, ... 1837.
[723] 1837.
Yawning ... 1835.
XX
THE AVON
(A FEEDER OF THE ANNAN)
["Yet is it one that other rivulets bear." There is the Shakespeare
Avon, the Bristol Avon; the one that flows by Salisbury, and a small
river in Wales, I believe, bear the name; Avon being in the ancient
tongue the general name for river.--I. F.]
Avon--a precious, an immortal name!
Yet is it one that other rivulets bear
Like this unheard-of, and their channels wear
Like this contented, though unknown to Fame:
For great and sacred is the modest claim 5
Of Streams to Nature's love, where'er they flow;
And ne'er did Genius slight them, as they go,
Tree, flower, and green herb, feeding without blame.
But Praise can waste her voice on work of tears,
Anguish, and death: full oft where innocent blood 10
Has mixed its current with the limpid flood,
Her heaven-offending trophies Glory rears:
Never for like distinction may the good
Shrink from _thy_ name, pure Rill, with unpleased ears.
XXI
SUGGESTED BY A VIEW FROM AN EMINENCE IN INGLEWOOD FOREST
[The extensive forest of Inglewood has been enclosed within my memory.
I was well acquainted with it in its ancient state. The Hart's-horn
tree mentioned in the next Sonnet was one of its remarkable objects, as
well as another tree that grew upon an eminence not far from Penrith:
it was single and conspicuous; and being of a round shape, though it
was universally known to be a Sycamore, it was always called the "Round
Thorn," so difficult is it to chain fancy down to fact.--I.F.]
The forest huge of ancient Caledon
Is but a name, no[724] more is Inglewood,
That swept from hill to hill, from flood to flood:
On her last thorn the nightly moon has shone;
Yet still, though unappropriate Wild be none, 5
Fair parks spread wide where Adam Bell might deign
With Clym o' the Clough, were they alive again,
To kill for merry feast their venison.
Nor wants the holy Abbot's gliding Shade
His church with monumental wreck bestrown; 10
The feudal Warrior-chief, a Ghost unlaid,
Hath still his castle, though a skeleton,
That he may watch by night, and lessons con
Of power that perishes, and rights that fade.
FOOTNOTES:
[724] 1845.
... nor ... 1835.
XXII
HART'S-HORN TREE, NEAR PENRITH[725]
Here stood an Oak, that long had borne affixed
To his huge trunk, or, with more subtle art,
Among its withering topmost branches mixed,
The palmy antlers of a hunted Hart,
Whom the Dog Hercules pursued--his part 5
Each desperately sustaining, till at last
Both sank and died, the life-veins of the chased
And chaser bursting here with one dire smart.
Mutual the victory, mutual the defeat!
High was the trophy hung with pitiless pride; 10
Say, rather, with that generous sympathy
That wants not, even in rudest breasts, a seat;
And, for this feeling's sake, let no one chide
Verse that would guard thy memory, HART'S-HORN TREE![726]
FOOTNOTES:
[725] This tree has perished, but its site is still well known. Compare
the note to _Roman Antiquities_, p. 308.--ED.
[726] "In the time of the first Robert de Clifford, in the year 1333 or
1334, Edward Baliol king of Scotland came into Westmoreland, and stayed
some time with the said Robert at his castles of Appleby, Brougham, and
Pendragon. And during that time they ran a stag by a single greyhound
out of Whinfell Park, to Redkirk, in Scotland,[727] and back again
to this place; where, being both spent, the stag leaped over the
pales, but died on the other side; and the greyhound, attempting to
leap, fell, and died on the contrary side. In memory of this fact the
stag's horns were nailed upon a tree just by, and (the dog being named
Hercules) this rhythm was made upon them:
Hercules kill'd Hart a greese,
And Hart a greese kill'd Hercules.
The tree to this day bears the name of Hart's-horn Tree. The horns in
process of time were almost grown over by the growth of the tree, and
another pair was put up in their place."--Nicholson and Burn's _History
of Westmoreland and Cumberland_.