{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_47143/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_47143","id":"gutenberg_47143","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47143","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: History - Religious","Category: Poetry","Category: Religion/Spirituality","English poetry -- 18th century","English poetry -- 19th century"],"text":"THE POETICAL WORKS\n OF\n WILLIAM WORDSWORTH\n\n VOL. VII\n\n [Illustration: William Wordsworth\n after B. R. Haydon]\n\n\n\n\n THE POETICAL WORKS\n OF\n WILLIAM WORDSWORTH\n\n\n EDITED BY\n WILLIAM KNIGHT\n\n VOL. VII\n\n [Illustration: _Dove Cottage Grasmere_]\n\n London\n MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.\n NEW YORK: MACMILLAN & CO.\n 1896\n\n _All rights reserved_\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n 1821-2\n\n PAGE\n\n Ecclesiastical Sonnets. In Series--\n\n Part I.--From the Introduction of Christianity into\n Britain, to the Consummation of the Papal Dominion--\n\n I. Introduction 4\n\n II. Conjectures 5\n\n III. Trepidation of the Druids 6\n\n IV. Druidical Excommunication 7\n\n V. Uncertainty 7\n\n VI. Persecution 8\n\n VII. Recovery 9\n\n VIII. Temptations from Roman Refinements 10\n\n IX. Dissensions 10\n\n X. Struggle of the Britons against the Barbarians 11\n\n XI. Saxon Conquest 12\n\n XII. Monastery of Old Bangor 13\n\n XIII. Casual Incitement 14\n\n XIV. Glad Tidings 15\n\n XV. Paulinus 15\n\n XVI. Persuasion 16\n\n XVII. Conversion 17\n\n XVIII. Apology 18\n\n XIX. Primitive Saxon Clergy 19\n\n XX. Other Influences 19\n\n XXI. Seclusion 20\n\n XXII. Continued 21\n\n XXIII. Reproof 21\n\n XXIV. Saxon Monasteries, and Lights and Shades of the\n Religion 22\n\n XXV. Missions and Travels 23\n\n XXVI. Alfred 24\n\n XXVII. His Descendants 25\n\n XXVIII. Influence Abused 26\n\n XXIX. Danish Conquests 27\n\n XXX. Canute 27\n\n XXXI. The Norman Conquest 28\n\n XXXII. \"Coldly we spake. The Saxons, overpowered\" 29\n\n XXXIII. The Council of Clermont 30\n\n XXXIV. Crusades 31\n\n XXXV. Richard I 31\n\n XXXVI. An Interdict 32\n\n XXXVII. Papal Abuses 33\n\n XXXVIII. Scene in Venice 34\n\n XXXIX. Papal Dominion 34\n\n\n Part II.--To the Close of the Troubles in the Reign of Charles I--\n\n I. \"How soon--alas! did Man, created pure\" 33\n\n II. \"From false assumption rose, and fondly hail'd\" 36\n\n III. Cistertian Monastery 37\n\n IV. \"Deplorable his lot who tills the ground\" 38\n\n V. Monks and Schoolmen 39\n\n VI. Other Benefits 40\n\n VII. Continued 40\n\n VIII. Crusaders 41\n\n IX. \"As faith thus sanctified the warrior's crest\" 42\n\n X. \"Where long and deeply hath been fixed the root\" 43\n\n XI. Transubstantiation 44\n\n XII. The Vaudois 44\n\n XIII. \"Praised be the Rivers, from their mountain springs\" 45\n\n XIV. Waldenses 46\n\n XV. Archbishop Chichely to Henry V. 47\n\n XVI. Wars of York and Lancaster 48\n\n XVII. Wicliffe 49\n\n XVIII. Corruptions of the Higher Clergy 49\n\n XIX. Abuse of Monastic Power 50\n\n XX. Monastic Voluptuousness 51\n\n XXI. Dissolution of the Monasteries 52\n\n XXII. The Same Subject 52\n\n XXIII. Continued 53\n\n XXIV. Saints 54\n\n XXV. The Virgin 54\n\n XXVI. Apology 55\n\n XXVII. Imaginative Regrets 56\n\n XXVIII. Reflections 57\n\n XXIX. Translation of the Bible 58\n\n XXX. The Point at Issue 58\n\n XXXI. Edward VI 59\n\n XXXII. Edward signing the Warrant for the Execution of Joan\n of Kent 60\n\n XXXIII. Revival of Popery 61\n\n XXXIV. Latimer and Ridley 61\n\n XXXV. Cranmer 62\n\n XXXVI. General View of the Troubles of the Reformation 64\n\n XXXVII. English Reformers in Exile 64\n\n XXXVIII. Elizabeth 65\n\n XXXIX. Eminent Reformers 66\n\n XL. The Same 67\n\n XLI. Distractions 68\n\n XLII. Gunpowder Plot 69\n\n XLIII. Illustration. The Jung-frau and the Fall of\n the Rhine near Schaffhausen 70\n\n XLIV. Troubles of Charles the First 71\n\n XLV. Laud 71\n\n XLVI. Afflictions of England 72\n\n\n Part III.--From the Restoration to the Present Times--\n\n I. \"I saw the figure of a lovely Maid\" 74\n\n II. Patriotic Sympathies 74\n\n III. Charles the Second 75\n\n IV. Latitudinarianism 76\n\n V. Walton's Book of Lives 77\n\n VI. Clerical Integrity 78\n\n VII. Persecution of the Scottish Covenanters 79\n\n VIII. Acquittal of the Bishops 79\n\n IX. William the Third 80\n\n X. Obligations of Civil to Religious Liberty 81\n\n XI. Sacheverel 82\n\n XII. \"Down a swift Stream, thus far, a bold design\" 83\n\n XIII. Aspects of Christianity in America.--1. The Pilgrim\n Fathers 84\n\n XIV. 2. Continued 85\n\n XV. 3. Concluded.--American Episcopacy 85\n\n XVI. \"Bishops and Priests, bless\u00e8d are ye, if deep\" 86\n\n XVII. Places of Worship 87\n\n XVIII. Pastoral Character 87\n\n XIX. The Liturgy 88\n\n XX. Baptism 89\n\n XXI. Sponsors 90\n\n XXII. Catechising 91\n\n XXIII. Confirmation 92\n\n XXIV. Confirmation Continued 92\n\n XXV. Sacrament 93\n\n XXVI. The Marriage Ceremony 94\n\n XXVII. Thanksgiving after Childbirth 95\n\n XXVIII. Visitation of the Sick 96\n\n XXIX. The Commination Service 96\n\n XXX. Forms of Prayer at Sea 97\n\n XXXI. Funeral Service 97\n\n XXXII. Rural Ceremony 98\n\n XXXIII. Regrets 99\n\n XXXIV. Mutability 100\n\n XXXV. Old Abbeys 100\n\n XXXVI. Emigrant French Clergy 101\n\n XXXVII. Congratulation 102\n\n XXXVIII. New Churches 102\n\n XXIX. Church to be erected 103\n\n XL. Continued 104\n\n XLI. New Churchyard 104\n\n XLII. Cathedrals, etc. 105\n\n XLIII. Inside of King's College Chapel, Cambridge 106\n\n XLIV. The Same 106\n\n XLV. Continued 107\n\n XLVI. Ejaculation 107\n\n XLVII. Conclusion 108\n\n To the Lady Fleming, on seeing the Foundation preparing\n for the Erection of Rydal Chapel, Westmoreland 109\n\n On the Same Occasion 114\n\n\n 1823\n\n Memory 117\n\n \"Not Love, not War, nor the tumultuous swell\" 118\n\n \"A volant Tribe of Bards on earth are found\" 119\n\n\n 1824\n\n To ---- 121\n\n To ---- 122\n\n \"How rich that forehead's calm expanse!\" 123\n\n To ---- 124\n\n A Flower Garden, at Coleorton Hall, Leicestershire 125\n\n To the Lady E. B. and the Hon. Miss P. 128\n\n To the Torrent at the Devil's Bridge, North Wales, 1824 129\n\n Composed among the Ruins of a Castle in North Wales 131\n\n Elegiac Stanzas 132\n\n Cenotaph 135\n\n\n 1825\n\n The Pillar of Trajan 137\n\n The Contrast: The Parrot and the Wren 141\n\n To a Skylark 143\n\n\n 1826\n\n \"Ere with cold beads of midnight dew\" 145\n\n Ode composed on May Morning 146\n\n To May 148\n\n \"Once I could hail (howe'er serene the sky)\" 152\n\n \"The massy Ways, carried across these heights\" 154\n\n Farewell Lines 155\n\n\n 1827\n\n On seeing a Needlecase in the Form of a Harp 157\n\n Miscellaneous Sonnets--\n\n Dedication 159\n\n To ---- 159\n\n \"Her only pilot the soft breeze, the boat\" 160\n\n \"Why, Minstrel, these untuneful murmurings\" 161\n\n To S. H. 162\n\n Decay of Piety 163\n\n \"Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned\" 163\n\n \"Fair Prime of life! were it enough to gild\" 164\n\n Retirement 165\n\n \"There is a pleasure in poetic pains\" 166\n\n Recollection of the Portrait of King Henry Eighth,\n Trinity Lodge, Cambridge 166\n\n \"When Philoctetes in the Lemnian isle\" 167\n\n \"While Anna's peers and early playmates tread\" 168\n\n To the Cuckoo 169\n\n The Infant M---- M---- 170\n\n To Rotha Q---- 171\n\n To ----, in her Seventieth Year 172\n\n \"In my mind's eye a Temple, like a cloud\" 173\n\n \"Go back to antique ages, if thine eyes\" 174\n\n \"If thou indeed derive thy light from Heaven\" 174\n\n In the Woods of Rydal 176\n\n Conclusion. To ---- 177\n\n\n 1828\n\n A Morning Exercise 178\n\n The Triad 181\n\n The Wishing-Gate 189\n\n The Wishing-Gate Destroyed 192\n\n A Jewish Family 195\n\n Incident at Brug\u00e8s 198\n\n A Grave-Stone upon the Floor in the Cloisters of Worcester\n Cathedral 201\n\n The Gleaner 202\n\n On the Power of Sound 203\n\n\n 1829\n\n Gold and Silver Fishes in a Vase 214\n\n Liberty. (Sequel to the above) 216\n\n Humanity 222\n\n \"This Lawn, a carpet all alive\" 227\n\n Thoughts on the Seasons 229\n\n A Tradition of Oker Hill in Darley Dale, Derbyshire 230\n\n Filial Piety 231\n\n\n 1830\n\n The Armenian Lady's Love 232\n\n The Russian Fugitive 239\n\n The Egyptian Maid; or, The Romance of the Water Lily 252\n\n The Poet and the Caged Turtledove 265\n\n Presentiments 266\n\n \"In these fair vales hath many a Tree\" 269\n\n Elegiac Musings 269\n\n \"Chatsworth! thy stately mansion, and the pride\" 272\n\n\n 1831\n\n The Primrose of the Rock 274\n\n To B. R. Haydon, on seeing his Picture of Napoleon\n Bonaparte on the Island of St. Helena 276\n\n Yarrow Revisited, and Other Poems--\n\n I. \"The gallant Youth, who may have gained\" 280\n\n II. On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott from\n Abbotsford, for Naples 284\n\n III. A Place of Burial in the South of Scotland 285\n\n IV. On the Sight of a Manse in the South of Scotland 286\n\n V. Composed in Roslin Chapel, during a Storm 287\n\n VI. The Trosachs 288\n\n VII. \"The pibroch's note, discountenanced or mute\" 290\n\n VIII. Composed after reading a Newspaper of the Day 290\n\n IX. Composed in the Glen of Loch Etive 291\n\n X. Eagles 292\n\n XI. In the Sound of Mull 293\n\n XII. Suggested at Tyndrum in a Storm 294\n\n XIII. The Earl of Breadalbane's Ruined Mansion, and\n Family Burial-Place, near Killin 295\n\n XIV. \"Rest and be Thankful!\" 295\n\n XV. Highland Hut 296\n\n XVI. The Brownie 297\n\n XVII. To the Planet Venus, an Evening Star 299\n\n XVIII. Bothwell Castle 299\n\n XIX. Picture of Daniel in the Lions' Den, at Hamilton\n Palace 301\n\n XX. The Avon 303\n\n XXI. Suggested by a View from an Eminence in Inglewood\n Forest 304\n\n XXII. Hart's-Horn Tree, near Penrith 305\n\n XXIII. Fancy and Tradition 306\n\n XXIV. Countess' Pillar 307\n\n XXV. Roman Antiquities 308\n\n XXVI. Apology for the Foregoing Poems 309\n\n XXVII. The Highland Broach 310\n\n\n 1832\n\n Devotional Incitements 314\n\n \"Calm is the fragrant air, and loth to lose\" 317\n\n To the Author's Portrait 318\n\n Rural Illusions 319\n\n Loving and Liking 320\n\n Upon the late General Fast 323\n\n\n 1833\n\n A Wren's Nest 325\n\n To ----, upon the Birth of her First-born Child, March 1833 328\n\n The Warning. A Sequel to the Foregoing 330\n\n \"If this great world of joy and pain\" 336\n\n On a High Part of the Coast of Cumberland 337\n\n (By the Sea-Side) 338\n\n Composed by the Sea-Shore 340\n\n Poems, composed or suggested during a Tour in the\n Summer of 1833--\n\n I. \"Adieu, Rydalian Laurels! that have grown\" 342\n\n II. \"Why should the Enthusiast, journeying through this\n Isle\" 343\n\n III. \"They called Thee Merry England, in old time\" 343\n\n IV. To the River Greta, near Keswick 344\n\n V. To the River Derwent 345\n\n VI. In Sight of the Town of Cockermouth 346\n\n VII. Address from the Spirit of Cockermouth Castle 347\n\n VIII. Nun's Well, Brigham 347\n\n IX. To a Friend 348\n\n X. Mary Queen of Scots 349\n\n XI. Stanzas suggested in a Steam-Boat off Saint Bees'\n Heads, on the Coast of Cumberland 351\n\n XII. In the Channel, between the Coast of Cumberland\n and the Isle of Man 358\n\n XIII. At Sea off the Isle of Man 359\n\n XIV. \"Desire we past illusions to recal?\" 360\n\n XV. On entering Douglas Bay, Isle of Man 360\n\n XVI. By the Sea-Shore, Isle of Man 361\n\n XVII. Isle of Man 362\n\n XVIII. Isle of Man 363\n\n XIX. By a Retired Mariner 364\n\n XX. At Bala-Sala, Isle of Man 365\n\n XXI. Tynwald Hill 366\n\n XXII. \"Despond who will--_I_ heard a Voice exclaim\" 368\n\n XXIII. In the Frith of Clyde, Ailsa Crag, during an\n Eclipse of the Sun, July 17 369\n\n XXIV. On the Frith of Clyde 370\n\n XXV. On revisiting Dunolly Castle 371\n\n XXVI. The Dunolly Eagle 372\n\n XXVII. Written in a Blank Leaf of Macpherson's Ossian 373\n\n XXVIII. Cave of Staffa 376\n\n XXIX. Cave of Staffa. (After the Crowd had departed) 377\n\n XXX. Cave of Staffa 377\n\n XXXI. Flowers on the Top of the Pillars at the Entrance of\n the Cave 378\n\n XXXII. Iona 379\n\n XXXIII. Iona. (Upon Landing) 380\n\n XXXIV. The Black Stones of Iona 381\n\n XXXV. \"Homeward we turn. Isle of Columba's Cell\" 382\n\n XXXVI. Greenock 383\n\n XXXVII. \"'There!' said a Stripling, pointing with meet pride\" 383\n\n XXXVIII. The River Eden, Cumberland 385\n\n XXXIX. Monument of Mrs. Howard, in Wetheral\n Church, near Corby, on the Banks of the\n Eden 386\n\n XL. Suggested by the Foregoing 387\n\n XLI. Nunnery 388\n\n XLII. Steamboats, Viaducts, and Railways 389\n\n XLIII. The Monument, commonly called Long Meg\n and her Daughters, near the River Eden 390\n\n XLIV. Lowther 391\n\n XLV. To the Earl of Lonsdale 392\n\n XLVI. The Somnambulist 393\n\n XLVII. To Cordelia M---- 400\n\n XLVIII. \"Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes\" 401\n\n\n 1834\n\n \"Not in the lucid intervals of life\" 402\n\n By the Side of Rydal Mere 403\n\n \"Soft as a cloud is yon blue Ridge--the Mere\" 405\n\n \"The leaves that rustled on this oak-crowned hill\" 406\n\n The Labourer's Noon-Day Hymn 408\n\n The Redbreast 410\n\n ADDENDA 415\n\n\n\n\nWORDSWORTH'S POETICAL WORKS\n\n1821-2\n\n\nThe only poems belonging to the years 1821-2 were the \"Ecclesiastical\nSonnets,\" originally called \"Ecclesiastical Sketches.\" These were\nwritten at intervals, from 1821 onwards, but the great majority belong\nto 1821. They were first published in 1822, in three parts; 102 Sonnets\nin all. Ten were added in the edition of 1827, several others in the\nyears 1835 and 1836, and fourteen in 1845,--the final edition of 1850\ncontaining 132.\n\nAfter Wordsworth's return from the Continent in 1820, he visited\nthe Beaumonts at Coleorton, and as Sir George was then about to\nbuild a new Church on his property, conversation turned frequently\nto ecclesiastical topics, and gave rise to the idea of embodying\nthe History of the Church of England in a series of \"Ecclesiastical\nSketches\" in verse. The Sonnets Nos. XXXIX., XL., and XLI., in the\nthird series, entitled, _Church to be erected_, and _New Churchyard_,\nare probably those to which Wordsworth refers as written first, in\nmemory of his morning walk with Sir George Beaumont to fix the site\nof the Church: but it was the discussions which were being carried on\nin the British Parliament and elsewhere, in 1821, on the subject of\nCatholic Disabilities, that led him to enlarge his idea, and project a\nseries of Sonnets dealing with the whole course of the Ecclesiastical\nHistory of his country. His brother Christopher--while Dean and Rector\nof Bocking, and domestic chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury--had\npublished, in 1809, six volumes of _Ecclesiastical Biography; or,\nthe Lives of Eminent Men connected with the History of Religion in\nEngland_. Southey's _Book of the Church_,--to which Wordsworth refers\nin the Fenwick note prefixed to his _Sonnets_--was not published till\n1823; and Wordsworth says, in a note to the edition of 1822, that his\nown work was far advanced before he was aware that Southey had taken up\nthe subject. As several of the Sonnets, however, are well illustrated\nby passages in Southey's book, I have given a number of extracts from\nthe latter work in the editorial notes.\n\nSouthey, writing to C. H. Townshend, on 6th May 1821, says: \"Wordsworth\nwas with me lately. His thoughts and mine have for some time\nunconsciously been travelling in the same direction; for while I have\nbeen sketching a brief history of the English Church, and the systems\nwhich it has subdued or struggled with, he has been pursuing precisely\nthe same subject in a series of sonnets, to which my volume will serve\nfor a commentary, as completely as if it had been written with that\nintent.\" (See _Life and Correspondence of R. Southey_, vol. v. p. 65.)\n\nWordsworth's own notes appended to the Sonnets, and others which are\nadded, will show his indebtedness to such writers as Bede, Strype,\nFoxe, Walton, Whitaker, and Sharon Turner. The subjects of the sonnets\non the \"Aspects of Christianity in America\" were suggested to him\nby Bishop Doane and Professor Henry Reed; and others in the series,\ndealing with offices of the English Liturgy, were also suggested by Mr.\nReed.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS[1]\n\nIN SERIES\n\n\n Composed 1821.--Published 1822\n\n[My purpose in writing this Series was, as much as possible, to confine\nmy view to the introduction, progress, and operation of the Church in\nEngland, both previous and subsequent to the Reformation. The Sonnets\nwere written long before ecclesiastical history and points of doctrine\nhad excited the interest with which they have been recently enquired\ninto and discussed. The former particular is mentioned as an excuse for\nmy having fallen into error in respect to an incident which had been\nselected as setting forth the height to which the power of the Popedom\nover temporal sovereignty had attained, and the arrogance with which it\nwas displayed. I allude to the last Sonnet but one in the first series,\nwhere Pope Alexander the Third at Venice is described as setting his\nfoot on the neck of the Emperor Barbarossa. Though this is related\nas a fact in history, I am told it is a mere legend of no authority.\nSubstitute for it an undeniable truth not less fitted for my purpose,\nnamely the penance inflicted by Gregory the Seventh upon the Emperor\nHenry the Fourth.\n\nBefore I conclude my notice of these Sonnets, let me observe that the\nopinion I pronounced in favour of Laud (long before the Oxford Tract\nMovement) and which had brought censure upon me from several quarters,\nis not in the least changed. Omitting here to examine into his conduct\nin respect to the persecuting spirit with which he has been charged, I\nam persuaded that most of his aims to restore ritual practices which\nhad been abandoned were good and wise, whatever errors he might commit\nin the manner he sometimes attempted to enforce them. I further believe\nthat, had not he, and others who shared his opinions and felt as he\ndid, stood up in opposition to the reformers of that period, it is\nquestionable whether the Church would ever have recovered its lost\nground and become the blessing it now is, and will, I trust, become in\na still greater degree, both to those of its communion and to those who\nunfortunately are separated from it.--I. F.]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] During the month of December, 1820, I accompanied a much-beloved\nand honoured Friend[2] in a walk through different parts of his estate,\nwith a view to fix upon the site of a new Church which he intended to\nerect. It was one of the most beautiful mornings of a mild season,--our\nfeelings were in harmony with the cherishing[3] influences of the\nscene; and such being our purpose, we were naturally led to look back\nupon past events with wonder and gratitude, and on the future with\nhope. Not long afterwards, some of the Sonnets which will be found\ntowards the close of this series were produced as a private memorial of\nthat morning's occupation.\n\nThe Catholic Question, which was agitated in Parliament about that\ntime, kept my thoughts in the same course; and it struck me that\ncertain points in the Ecclesiastical History of our Country might\nadvantageously be presented to view in verse. Accordingly, I took up\nthe subject, and what I now offer to the reader was the result.\n\nWhen this work was far advanced, I was agreeably surprised to find that\nmy friend, Mr. Southey, had been engaged with similar views in writing\na concise History of the Church _in_ England. If our Productions, thus\nunintentionally coinciding, shall be found to illustrate each other, it\nwill prove a high gratification to me, which I am sure my friend will\nparticipate.\n\n W. WORDSWORTH.\n\n RYDAL MOUNT, _January 24, 1822_.\n\nFor the convenience of passing from one point of the subject to another\nwithout shocks of abruptness, this work has taken the shape of a\nseries of Sonnets: but the Reader, it is to be hoped, will find that\nthe pictures are often so closely connected as to have jointly the\neffect of passages of a poem in a form of stanza to which there is no\nobjection but one that bears upon the Poet only--its difficulty.--W. W.\n1822.\n\n[2] Sir George Beaumont.--ED.\n\n[3] This occurs in all the editions. It maybe a misprint for\n\"cheering.\"--ED.\n\n\n\n\nPART I\n\nFROM THE INTRODUCTION OF CHRISTIANITY INTO BRITAIN, TO THE CONSUMMATION\nOF THE PAPAL DOMINION\n\n\n A verse may catch a wandering Soul, that flies\n Profounder Tracts, and by a blest surprise\n Convert delight into a Sacrifice.[4]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[4] Compare, in George Herbert's \"The Temple,\" _The Church Porch_, i.\n1--\n\n A verse may find him, who a Sermon flies,\n And turn delight into a Sacrifice.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\n I, who accompanied with faithful pace[5]\n Cerulean Duddon from its[6] cloud-fed spring,[7]\n And loved with spirit ruled by his to sing\n Of mountain-quiet and boon nature's grace;[8]\n I, who essayed the nobler Stream to trace 5\n Of Liberty,[9] and smote the plausive string\n Till the checked torrent, proudly triumphing,\n Won for herself a lasting resting-place;[10]\n Now seek upon the heights of Time the source\n Of a HOLY RIVER,[11]on whose banks are found 10\n Sweet pastoral flowers, and laurels that have crowned\n Full oft the unworthy brow of lawless force;\n And,[12] for delight of him who tracks its course,[13]\n Immortal amaranth and palms abound.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[5] 1827.\n\n I, who descended with glad step to chase 1822.\n\n[6] 1850.\n\n ... his ... 1822.\n\nThe text of 1857 (edited by Mr. Carter) returned to that of 1822.\n\n[7] See \"The River Duddon, a Series of Sonnets\" (vol. vi. p. 225).--ED.\n\n[8] 1827.\n\n And of my wild Companion dared to sing,\n In verse that moved with strictly-measured pace; 1822.\n\n[9] See the series of \"Poems dedicated to National Independence and\nLiberty.\"--ED.\n\n[10] 1827.\n\n ... Torrent, fiercely combating,\n In victory found her natural resting-place; 1822.\n\n[11] Compare the last sonnet of this Series (Part III. XLVII., p.\n108).--ED.\n\n[12] 1837.\n\n Where, ... 1822.\n\n[13] It may not be unworthy of note that in the first edition of this\nsonnet Wordsworth made the stream of the Duddon masculine, that of\nLiberty feminine, and that of the Church neuter.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nCONJECTURES\n\n\n If there be prophets on whose spirits rest\n Past things, revealed like future, they can tell\n What Powers, presiding o'er the sacred well\n Of Christian Faith, this savage Island blessed\n With its first bounty. Wandering through the west,\n Did holy Paul[14] a while in Britain dwell, 6\n And call the Fountain forth by miracle,\n And with dread signs the nascent Stream invest?\n Or He, whose bonds dropped off, whose prison doors\n Flew open, by an Angel's voice unbarred?[15] 10\n Or some of humbler name, to these wild shores\n Storm-driven; who, having seen the cup of woe\n Pass from their Master, sojourned here to guard\n The precious Current they had taught to flow?\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[14] Stillingfleet adduces many arguments in support of this opinion,\nbut they are unconvincing. The latter part of this Sonnet refers to a\nfavourite notion of Roman Catholic writers, that Joseph of Arimathea\nand his companions brought Christianity into Britain, and built a rude\nchurch at Glastonbury; alluded to hereafter, in a passage upon the\ndissolution of monasteries.--W. W. 1822.\n\n[15] St. Peter.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nTREPIDATION OF THE DRUIDS\n\n\n Screams round the Arch-druid's brow the seamew[16]--white\n As Menai's foam; and toward the mystic ring\n Where Augurs stand, the Future questioning,\n Slowly the cormorant aims her heavy flight,\n Portending ruin to each baleful rite, 5\n That, in the lapse, of ages,[17] hath crept o'er\n Diluvian truths, and patriarchal lore.\n Haughty the Bard: can these meek doctrines blight\n His transports? wither his heroic strains?\n But all shall be fulfilled;--the Julian spear 10\n A way first opened;[18] and, with Roman chains,\n The tidings come of Jesus crucified;\n They come--they spread--the weak, the suffering, hear;\n Receive the faith, and in the hope abide.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[16] This water-fowl was, among the Druids, an emblem of those\ntraditions connected with the deluge that made an important part of\ntheir mysteries. The Cormorant was a bird of bad omen.--W. W. 1822.\n\n[17] 1827.\n\n ... seasons ... 1822.\n\n[18] The reference is to the conquest of Britain by Julius C\u00e6sar.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nDRUIDICAL EXCOMMUNICATION\n\n\n Mercy and Love have met thee on thy road,\n Thou wretched Outcast, from the gift of fire\n And food cut off by sacerdotal ire,\n From every sympathy that Man bestowed!\n Yet shall it claim our reverence, that to God, 5\n Ancient of days! that to the eternal Sire,\n These jealous Ministers of law aspire,\n As to the one sole fount whence wisdom flowed,\n Justice, and order. Tremblingly escaped,\n As if with prescience of the coming storm, 10\n _That_ intimation when the stars were shaped;\n And still, 'mid yon thick woods, the primal truth\n Glimmers through many a superstitious form[19]\n That fills the Soul with unavailing ruth.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[19] 1827.\n\n And yon thick woods maintain the primal truth,\n Debased by many a superstitious form, 1822.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nUNCERTAINTY\n\n\n Darkness surrounds us: seeking, we are lost\n On Snowdon's wilds, amid Brigantian coves,[20]\n Or where the solitary shepherd roves\n Along the plain of Sarum, by the ghost\n Of Time and shadows of Tradition, crost;[21] 5\n\n And where the boatman of the Western Isles\n Slackens his course--to mark those holy piles\n Which yet survive on bleak Iona's coast.[22]\n Nor these, nor monuments of eldest name,[23]\n Nor Taliesin's unforgotten lays,[24] 10\n Nor characters of Greek or Roman fame,\n To an unquestionable Source have led;\n Enough--if eyes, that sought the fountain-head\n In vain, upon the growing Rill may gaze.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[20] The reference is to Yorkshire. The Brigantes inhabited England\nfrom sea to sea, from Cumberland to Durham, but more especially\nYorkshire. See Tacitus, _Annals_, book xii. 32; Ptolemy, _Geographia_,\n27, 1; Camden, _Britannia_, 556-648.--ED.\n\n[21] 1827.\n\n Of silently departed ages crossed; 1822.\n\n[22] Compare the four sonnets on Iona, in the \"Poems composed or\nsuggested during a Tour in the Summer of 1833.\"--ED.\n\n[23] 1841.\n\n ... fame, 1822.\n\n[24] See note [40], p. 13.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nPERSECUTION\n\n\n Lament! for Diocletian's fiery sword\n Works busy as the lightning; but instinct\n With malice ne'er to deadliest weapon linked,\n Which God's ethereal store-houses afford:\n Against the Followers of the incarnate Lord 5\n It rages;--some are smitten in the field--\n Some pierced to the heart through the ineffectual shield[25]\n Of sacred home;--with pomp are others gored\n And dreadful respite. Thus was Alban tried,[26]\n\n England's first Martyr, whom no threats could shake;\n Self-offered victim, for his friend he died, 11\n And for the faith; nor shall his name forsake\n That Hill, whose flowery platform seems to rise\n By Nature decked for holiest sacrifice.[27]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[25] 1840.\n\n Some pierced beneath the unavailing shield 1822.\n\n ... ineffectual 1827.\n\n[26] \"The first man who laid down his life in Britain for the Christian\nfaith was Saint Alban.... During the tenth, and most rigorous of the\npersecutions, a Christian priest, flying from his persecutors, came\nto the City of Verulamium, and took shelter in Alban's house: he, not\nbeing of the faith himself, concealed him for pure compassion; but when\nhe observed the devotion of his guest, how fervent it was, and how\nfirm, his heart was touched.... When the persecutors came to search the\nhouse, Alban, putting on the hair-cassock of his teacher, delivered\nhimself into their hands, as if he had been the fugitive, and was\ncarried before the heathen governor.... Because he refused to betray\nhis guest or offer sacrifices to the Roman gods, he was scourged, and\nthen led to execution upon the spot where the abbey now stands, which\nin after times was erected to his memory, and still bears his name.\nThat spot was then a beautiful meadow upon a little rising ground,\n'seeming,' says the venerable Bede, 'a fit theatre for the martyr's\ntriumph.'\" (Southey's _Book of the Church_, vol. i.--pp. 13-14.)--ED.\n\n[27] This hill at St. Albans must have been an object of great interest\nto the imagination of the venerable Bede, who thus describes it,\nwith a delicate feeling, delightful to meet with in that rude age,\ntraces of which are frequent in his works:--\"Variis herbarum floribus\ndepictus imo usquequaque vestitus, in quo nihil repente arduum, nihil\npr\u00e6ceps, nihil abruptum, quem lateribus longe lateque deductum in modum\n\u00e6quoris natura complanat, dignum videlicet eum pro insita sibi specie\nvenustatis jam olim reddens, qui beati martyris cruore dicaretur.\"--W.\nW. 1822.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nRECOVERY\n\n\n As, when a storm hath ceased, the birds regain\n Their cheerfulness, and busily retrim\n Their nests, or chant a gratulating hymn\n To the blue ether and bespangled plain;\n Even so, in many a re-constructed fane, 5\n Have the survivors of this Storm renewed\n Their holy rites with vocal gratitude:\n And solemn ceremonials they ordain\n To celebrate their great deliverance;\n Most feelingly instructed 'mid their fear-- 10\n That persecution, blind with rage extreme,\n May not the less, through Heaven's mild countenance,\n Even in her own despite, both feed and cheer;\n For all things are less dreadful than they seem.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nTEMPTATIONS FROM ROMAN REFINEMENTS\n\n\n Watch, and be firm! for, soul-subduing vice,\n Heart-killing luxury, on your steps await.\n Fair houses, baths, and banquets delicate,\n And temples flashing, bright as polar ice,\n Their radiance through the woods--may yet suffice 5\n To sap your hardy virtue, and abate\n Your love of Him upon whose forehead sate\n The crown of thorns; whose life-blood flowed, the price\n Of your redemption. Shun the insidious arts\n That Rome provides, less dreading from her frown 10\n Than from her wily praise, her peaceful gown,\n Language, and letters;--these, though fondly viewed\n As humanising graces, are but parts\n And instruments of deadliest servitude!\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nDISSENSIONS\n\n\n That heresies should strike (if truth be scanned\n Presumptuously) their roots both wide and deep,\n Is natural as dreams to feverish sleep.\n Lo! Discord at the altar dares to stand[28]\n Uplifting toward[29] high Heaven her fiery brand, 5\n A cherished Priestess of the new-baptized!\n But chastisement shall follow peace despised.\n The Pictish cloud darkens the enervate land\n By Rome abandoned; vain are suppliant cries,\n And prayers that would undo her forced farewell; 10\n For she returns not.--Awed by her own knell,\n She casts the Britons upon strange Allies,\n Soon to become more dreaded enemies\n Than heartless misery called them to repel.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[28] Arianism had spread into Britain, and British Bishops were\nsummoned to councils held concerning it, at Sardica, A.D. 347, and at\nAriminum, A.D. 360. See Fuller's _Church History_, p. 25; and Churton's\n_Early English Church_, p. 9.--ED.\n\n[29] 1827.\n\n Lifting towards ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nSTRUGGLE OF THE BRITONS AGAINST THE BARBARIANS\n\n Rise!--they _have_ risen: of brave Aneurin ask[30]\n How they have scourged old foes, perfidious friends:\n The Spirit of Caractacus descends\n Upon the Patriots, animates their task;[31]\n Amazement runs before the towering casque 5\n Of Arthur, bearing through the stormy field\n The Virgin sculptured on his Christian shield:--\n Stretched in the sunny light of victory bask\n The Host that followed Urien[32] as he strode\n O'er heaps of slain;--from Cambrian wood and moss 10\n Druids descend, auxiliars of the Cross;\n Bards, nursed on blue Plinlimmon's still abode,[33]\n Rush on the fight, to harps preferring swords,\n And everlasting deeds to burning words!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[30] Aneurin was the bard who--in the poem named the\n_Gododin_--celebrated the struggle between the Cymri and the Teutons\nin the middle of the sixth century, which ended in the great battle of\nCatterick, or Cattreath, in Yorkshire. Aneurin was himself chieftain as\nwell as bard.--ED.\n\n[31] 1837.\n\n The spirit of Caractacus defends\n The Patriots, animates their glorious task;-- 1822.\n\n[32] Urien was chief of the Cymri, and led them in the great conflict\nof the sixth century against the Angles.--ED.\n\n[33] Such as Aneurin, Taliesin, Llywarch Hen, and Merlin.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nSAXON CONQUEST\n\n\n Nor wants the cause the panic-striking aid\n Of hallelujahs[34] tost from hill to hill--\n For instant victory. But Heaven's high will\n Permits a second and a darker shade\n Of Pagan night. Afflicted and dismayed, 5\n The Relics of the sword flee to the mountains:\n O wretched Land! whose tears have flowed like fountains;\n Whose arts and honours in the dust are laid\n By men yet scarcely conscious of a care\n For other monuments than those of Earth;[35] 10\n Who, as the fields[36] and woods have given them birth,\n Will[37] build their savage fortunes only there;\n Content, if foss, and barrow, and the girth\n Of long-drawn rampart, witness what they were.[38]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[34] Alluding to the victory gained under Germanus. See Bede.--W. W.\n1822.\n\nThe Saxons and Picts threatening the Britons, the latter asked the\nassistance of Germanus. The following is Bede's account:--\"Germanus\nbearing in his hands the standard, instructed his men all in a loud\nvoice to repeat his words, and the enemy advancing securely, as\nthinking to take them by surprise, the priests three times cried\nHallelujah. A universal shout of the same word followed, and the hills\nresounding the echo on all sides, the enemy was struck with dread....\nThey fled in disorder, casting away their arms.\" (Bede, _Ecclesiastica\nHistoria gentis Anglorum_, book i. chap. xx.)--ED.\n\n[35] The last six lines of this Sonnet are chiefly from the prose\nof Daniel; and here I will state (though to the Readers whom this\nPoem will chiefly interest it is unnecessary) that my obligations to\nother prose writers are frequent,--obligations which, even if I had\nnot a pleasure in courting, it would have been presumptuous to shun,\nin treating an historical subject. I must, however, particularise\nFuller, to whom I am indebted in the Sonnet upon Wicliffe and in other\ninstances. And upon the acquittal of the Seven Bishops I have done\nlittle more than versify a lively description of that event in the MS.\nMemoirs of the first Lord Lonsdale.--W. W. 1822.\n\n[36] 1827.\n\n Intent, as fields ... 1822.\n\n[37] 1827.\n\n To ... 1822.\n\n[38] 1827.\n\n Witness the foss, the barrow, and the girth\n Of many a long-drawn rampart, green and bare! 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nMONASTERY OF OLD BANGOR[39]\n\n\n _The oppression of the tumult--wrath and scorn--_\n _The tribulation--and the gleaming blades_--\n Such is the impetuous spirit that pervades\n The song of Taliesin;[40]--Ours shall mourn\n The _unarmed_ Host who by their prayers would turn 5\n The sword from Bangor's walls, and guard the store\n Of Aboriginal and Roman lore,\n And Christian monuments, that now must burn\n To senseless ashes. Mark! how all things swerve\n From their known course, or vanish like a dream;[41] 10\n Another language spreads from coast to coast;\n Only perchance some melancholy Stream[42]\n And some indignant Hills old names preserve,[43]\n When laws, and creeds, and people all are lost!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[39] \"Ethelforth reached the convent of Bangor, he perceived the Monks,\ntwelve hundred in number, offering prayers for the success of their\ncountrymen: 'If they are praying against us,' he exclaimed, 'they\nare fighting against us'; and he ordered them to be first attacked:\nthey were destroyed; and, appalled by their fate, the courage of\nBrocmail wavered, and he fled from the field in dismay. Thus abandoned\nby their leader, his army soon gave way, and Ethelforth obtained a\ndecisive conquest. Ancient Bangor itself soon fell into his hands, and\nwas demolished; the noble monastery was levelled to the ground; its\nlibrary, which is mentioned as a large one, the collection of ages, the\nrepository of the most precious monuments of the ancient Britons, was\nconsumed; half ruined walls, gates, and rubbish were all that remained\nof the magnificent edifice.\" (See Turner's valuable history of the\nAnglo-Saxons.)\n\nThe account Bede gives of this remarkable event, suggests a most\nstriking warning against National and Religious prejudices.--W. W.\n1822. Appendix note.\n\n[40] Taliesin was present at the battle which preceded this\ndesolation.--W. W. 1822.\n\nTaliesin was chief bard and retainer in the Hall of Urien, the great\nNorth England Cymric chief. He sang of Urien's and his son Owain's\nvictories, in the middle of the sixth century. See Pitseus, _Relationes\nHistoricae de rebus Anglicis_, 1619, vol. i. p. 95, _De Thelesino_.\nSee also Sharon Turner's _History of the Anglo-Saxons_ (vol. i. book\niii. chap, iv.).--ED.\n\n[41] 1827.\n\n ... or pass away like steam; 1822.\n\n[42] _e.g._ in the Lake District, the Greta, Derwent, etc.--ED.\n\n[43] _e.g._ in the Lake District, Stone Arthur, Blencathara, and\nCatbells.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\nCASUAL INCITEMENT\n\n\n A bright-haired company of youthful slaves,\n Beautiful strangers, stand within the pale\n Of a sad market, ranged for public sale,\n Where Tiber's stream the immortal[44] City laves:\n ANGLI by name; and not an ANGEL waves 5\n His wing who could seem lovelier to man's eye[45]\n Than they appear to holy Gregory;\n Who, having learnt that name, salvation craves\n For Them, and for their Land. The earnest Sire,\n His questions urging, feels, in slender ties 10\n Of chiming sound, commanding sympathies;\n DE-IRIANS--he would save them from God's IRE;\n Subjects of Saxon \u00c6LLA--they shall sing\n Glad HALLE-lujahs to the eternal King![46]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[44] 1827.\n\n ... glorious ... 1822.\n\n[45] 1837.\n\n His wing who seemeth lovelier in Heaven's eye 1822.\n\n[46] The story is told of Gregory who was afterwards Pope, and is known\nas Gregory the Great, that \"he was one day led into the market-place at\nRome to look at a large importation from, abroad. Among other things\nthere were some boys exposed for sale like cattle. He was struck by the\nappearance of the boys, their fine clear skins, their flaxen or golden\nhair, and their ingenuous countenances; so that he asked from what\ncountry they came; and when he was told from the island of\nBritain, ... and were Angles, he played upon the word and said, 'Well\nmay they be so called, for they are like Angels.' ... Then demanding\nfrom what province they were brought, the answer was 'from Deira'; and\nin the same humour he observed that rightly might this also be said,\nfor _de Dei ira_, from the wrath of God were they to be delivered. And\nwhen he was told that their King was \u00c6lla, he replied that Hallelujahs\nought to be sung in his dominions. This trifling sprung from serious\nthought. From that day the conversion of the Anglo-Saxons became a\nfavourite object with Gregory.\" (Southey's _Book of the Church_, vol.\ni. pp. 22, 23.)--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\nGLAD TIDINGS\n\n\n For ever hallowed be this morning fair,\n Blest be the unconscious shore on which ye tread,\n And blest the silver Cross, which ye, instead\n Of martial banner, in procession bear;\n The Cross preceding Him who floats in air, 5\n The pictured Saviour!--By Augustin led,\n They come--and onward travel without dread,\n Chanting in barbarous ears a tuneful prayer--\n Sung for themselves, and those whom they would free!\n Rich conquest waits them:--the tempestuous sea 10\n Of Ignorance, that ran so rough and high\n And heeded not the voice of clashing swords,\n These good men humble by a few bare words,\n And calm with fear of God's divinity.[47]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[47] Augustin was prior of St. Gregory's Monastery, dedicated to St.\nAndrew in Rome, and was sent by Gregory in the year 597 with several\nother monks into Britain. Ethelbert was then king of Kent, and, as they\nlanded on the Isle of Thanet, he ordered them to stay there. According\nto Bede, \"Some days after, the king came into the island and ordered\nAugustin and his companions to be brought into his presence.... They\ncame ... bearing a silver cross for their banner, and an image of\nour Lord and Saviour painted on a board; and singing the litany they\noffered up their prayers to the Lord for the eternal salvation both\nof themselves and of those to whom they were come.\" (_Ecclesiastica\nHistoria gentis Anglorum_, book i. chap, xxv.)--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nPAULINUS\n\n\n But, to remote Northumbria's royal Hall,\n Where thoughtful Edwin, tutored in the school\n Of sorrow, still maintains a heathen rule,\n _Who_ comes with functions apostolical?\n Mark him,[48] of shoulders curved, and stature tall, 5\n Black hair, and vivid eye, and meagre cheek,\n His prominent feature like an eagle's beak;\n A Man whose aspect doth at once appal\n And strike with reverence. The Monarch leans\n Toward the pure truths[49] this Delegate propounds, 10\n Repeatedly his own deep mind he sounds\n With careful hesitation,--then convenes\n A synod of his Councillors:--give ear,\n And what a pensive Sage doth utter, hear![50]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[48] The person of Paulinus is thus described by Bede, from the memory\nof an eye-witness:--\"Long\u00e6 statur\u00e6, paululum incurvus, nigro capillo,\nfacie macilenta, naso adunco, pertenui, venerabilis simul et terribilis\naspectu.\"--W. W. 1822.\n\n[49] 1832.\n\n Towards the Truths.... 1822.\n\n[50] Paulinus won over Edwin, king of the Northumbrians, to the\nChristian faith, and baptized him \"with his people,\" A.D. 627. (See\n_The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle_.)--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nPERSUASION\n\n\n \"Man's life is like a Sparrow,[51] mighty King!\n \"That--while at banquet with your Chiefs you sit\n \"Housed near a blazing fire--is seen to flit\n \"Safe from the wintry tempest. Fluttering,[52]\n \"Here did it enter; there, on hasty wing, 5\n \"Flies out, and passes on from cold to cold;\n \"But whence it came we know not, nor behold\n \"Whither it goes. Even such, that transient Thing,\n \"The human Soul; not utterly unknown\n \"While in the Body lodged, her warm abode; 10\n \"But from what world She came, what woe or weal\n \"On her departure waits, no tongue hath shown;\n \"This mystery if the Stranger can reveal,\n \"His be a welcome cordially bestowed!\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[51] See the original of this speech in Bede.--The Conversion of Edwin,\nas related by him, is highly interesting--and the breaking up of this\nCouncil accompanied with an event so striking and characteristic, that\nI am tempted to give it at length in a translation. \"Who, exclaimed\nthe King, when the Council was ended, shall first desecrate the\naltars and the temples? I, answered the Chief Priest: for who more\nfit than myself, through the wisdom which the true God hath given me,\nto destroy, for the good example of others, what in foolishness I\nworshipped? Immediately, casting away vain superstition, he besought\nthe King to grant him what the laws did not allow to a priest, arms\nand a courser (equum emissarium); which mounting, and furnished with a\nsword and lance, he proceeded to destroy the Idols. The crowd, seeing\nthis, thought him mad--he however, halted not, but, approaching, he\nprofaned the temple, casting it against the lance which he had held in\nhis hand, and, exulting in acknowledgement of the worship of the true\nGod, he ordered his companions to pull down the temple, with all its\nenclosures. The place is shown where those idols formerly stood, not\nfar from York, at the source of the river Derwent, and is at this day\ncalled Gormund Gaham [W. W. 1822], ubi pontifex ille, inspirante Deo\nvero, polluit ac destruxit eas, _quas ipse sacraverat aras_.\" The last\nexpression is a pleasing proof that the venerable monk of Wearmouth was\nfamiliar with the poetry of Virgil.--W. W. 1832.\n\nThe following is Bede's account of the speech of \"another of the\nking's chief men\":--\"The present life of man, O king, seems to me in\ncomparison of that time which is unknown to us, like to the swift\nflight of a sparrow through the room wherein you sit, at supper in\nwinter, with your commanders and ministers, and a good fire in the\nmidst, whilst the storms of rain and snow prevail abroad. The sparrow,\nI say--flying in at one door, and immediately out at another--whilst\nhe is within, is safe from the misty storm; but, after a short space\nof fair weather, he immediately vanishes out of your sight into the\ndark winter from which he had emerged. So this life of man appears for\na short space, but of what went before, and of what is to follow, we\nare utterly ignorant. If therefore this new doctrine contains something\nmore certain, it seems justly to deserve to be followed.\"--ED.\n\n[52] 1837.\n\n \"That, stealing in while by the fire you sit\n \"Housed with rejoicing Friends, is seen to flit\n \"Safe from the storm, in comfort tarrying.\" 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nCONVERSION[53]\n\n\n Prompt transformation works the novel Lore;\n The Council closed, the Priest in full career\n Rides forth, an arm\u00e8d man, and hurls a spear\n To desecrate the Fane which heretofore\n He served in folly. Woden falls, and Thor 5\n Is overturned: the mace, in battle heaved\n (So might they dream) till victory was achieved,\n Drops, and the God himself is seen no more.\n Temple and Altar sink, to hide their shame\n Amid oblivious weeds, \"_O come to me, 10_\n _Ye heavy laden!_\" such the inviting voice\n Heard near fresh streams;[54] and thousands, who rejoice\n In the new Rite--the pledge of sanctity,\n Shall, by regenerate life, the promise claim.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[53] See Wordsworth's note to Sonnet XVI.--ED.\n\n[54] The early propagators of Christianity were accustomed to preach\nnear rivers, for the convenience of baptism.--W. W. 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nAPOLOGY\n\n\n Nor scorn the aid which Fancy oft doth lend\n The Soul's eternal interests to promote:\n Death, darkness, danger, are our natural lot;\n And evil Spirits _may_ our walk attend\n For aught the wisest know or comprehend; 5\n Then be _good_ Spirits free[55] to breathe a note\n Of elevation; let their odours float\n Around these Converts; and their glories blend,\n The midnight stars outshining,[56] or the blaze\n Of the noon-day. Nor doubt that golden cords 10\n Of good works, mingling with the visions, raise\n The Soul to purer worlds: and _who_ the line\n Shall draw, the limits of the power define,\n That even imperfect faith to man affords?\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[55] 1827.\n\n Then let the _good_ be free ... 1822.\n\n[56] 1837.\n\n Outshining nightly tapers, ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXIX\n\nPRIMITIVE SAXON CLERGY[57]\n\n\n How beautiful your presence, how benign,\n Servants of God! who not a thought will share\n With the vain world; who, outwardly as bare\n As winter trees, yield no fallacious sign\n That the firm soul is clothed with fruit divine! 5\n Such Priest, when service worthy of his care\n Has called him forth to breathe the common air,\n Might seem a saintly Image from its shrine\n Descended:--happy are the eyes that meet\n The Apparition; evil thoughts are stayed 10\n At his approach, and low-bowed necks entreat\n A benediction from his voice or hand;\n Whence grace, through which the heart can understand,\n And vows, that bind the will, in silence made.\n\n\n\n\nXX\n\nOTHER INFLUENCES\n\n\n Ah, when the Body,[58] round which in love we clung,\n Is chilled by death, does mutual service fail?\n Is tender pity then of no avail?\n Are intercessions of the fervent tongue\n A waste of hope?--From this sad source have sprung\n Rites that console the Spirit, under grief 6\n Which ill can brook more rational relief:\n Hence, prayers are shaped amiss, and dirges sung\n For Souls[59] whose doom is fixed! The way is smooth\n For Power that travels with the human heart: 10\n Confession ministers the pang to soothe\n In him who at the ghost of guilt doth start.\n Ye holy Men, so earnest in your care,\n Of your own mighty instruments beware!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[57] Having spoken of the zeal, disinterestedness, and temperance of\nthe clergy of those times, Bede thus proceeds:--\"Unde et in magna\nerat veneratione tempore illo religionis habitus, ita ut ubicunque\nclericus aliquis aut monachus adveniret, gaudenter ab omnibus tanquam\nDei famulus exciperetur. Etiam si in itinere pergens inveniretur,\naccurrebant, et flexa cervice, vel manu signari, vel ore illius se\nbenedici, gaudebant. Verbis quoque horum exhortatonis diligenter\nauditum praebebant\" (Lib. iii. cap. 26.)--W. W. 1822.\n\n[58] 1837.\n\n ... Frame,.... 1822\n\n[59] 1832.\n\n For those ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXI[60]\n\nSECLUSION\n\n\n Lance, shield, and sword relinquished--at his side\n A bead-roll, in his hand a clasp\u00e8d book,\n Or staff more harmless than a shepherd's crook,\n The war-worn Chieftain quits the world--to hide\n His thin autumnal locks where Monks abide 5\n In cloistered privacy. But not to dwell\n In soft repose he comes. Within his cell,\n Round the decaying trunk of human pride,\n At morn, and eve, and midnight's silent hour,\n Do penitential cogitations cling; 10\n Like ivy, round some ancient elm, they twine\n In grisly folds and strictures serpentine;[61]\n Yet, while they strangle, a fair growth they bring,[62]\n For recompense--their own perennial bower.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[60] This, and the two following sonnets, were published in _Time's\nTelescope_, July 2, 1823.--ED.\n\n[61] The \"ancient elm,\" with ivy twisting round it \"in grisly folds\nand strictures serpentine,\" which suggested these lines, grew in Rydal\nPark, near the path to the upper waterfall.--ED.\n\n[62] 1837.\n\n ... strangle without mercy, bring 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXII\n\nCONTINUED\n\n\n Methinks that to some vacant hermitage\n _My_ feet would rather turn--to some dry nook\n Scooped out of living rock, and near a brook\n Hurled down a mountain-cove from stage to stage,\n Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage 5\n In the soft heaven of a translucent pool;\n Thence creeping under sylvan[63] arches cool,\n Fit haunt of shapes whose glorious equipage\n Would elevate[64] my dreams.[65] A beechen bowl,\n A maple dish, my furniture should be; 10\n Crisp, yellow leaves my bed; the hooting owl\n My night-watch: nor should e'er the crested fowl\n From thorp or vill his matins sound for me,\n Tired of the world and all its industry.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[63] 1837.\n\n ... forest ... 1822.\n\n[64] 1827.\n\n Perchance would throng ... 1822.\n\n[65] There are several natural \"hermitages,\" such as this, near the\nRydal beck.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII\n\nREPROOF\n\n\n But what if One, through grove or flowery meed,\n Indulging thus at will the creeping feet\n Of a voluptuous indolence, should meet\n Thy hovering Shade, O[66] venerable Bede!\n The saint, the scholar, from a circle freed 5\n Of toil stupendous, in a hallowed seat\n Of learning, where thou heard'st[67] the billows beat\n On a wild coast, rough monitors to feed\n Perpetual industry.[68] Sublime Recluse!\n The recreant soul, that dares to shun the debt 10\n Imposed on human kind, must first forget\n Thy diligence, thy unrelaxing use\n Of a long life; and, in the hour of death,\n The last dear service of thy passing breath![69]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[66] 1827.\n\n The hovering Shade of ... 1822.\n\n[67] 1827.\n\n ... he heard ... 1822.\n\n[68] Bede spent the most of his life in the seclusion of the monastery\nof Jarrow, near the mouth of the Tyne; the wild coast referred to in\nthe Sonnet being the coast of Northumberland.--ED.\n\n[69] He expired in the act of concluding a translation of St. John's\nGospel.--W. W. 1822.\n\nHe expired dictating the last words of a translation of St. John's\nGospel.--W. W. 1827.\n\n\n\n\nXXIV\n\nSAXON MONASTERIES, AND LIGHTS AND SHADES OF THE RELIGION\n\n\n By such examples moved to unbought pains,\n The people work like congregated bees;[70]\n Eager to build the quiet Fortresses\n Where Piety, as they believe, obtains\n From Heaven a _general_ blessing; timely rains 5\n Or needful sunshine; prosperous enterprise,\n Justice and peace:--bold faith! yet also rise\n The sacred Structures for less doubtful gains.[71]\n The Sensual think with reverence of the palms\n Which the chaste Votaries seek, beyond the grave;\n If penance be redeemable, thence alms 11\n Flow to the poor, and freedom to the slave;\n And if full oft the Sanctuary save\n Lives black with guilt, ferocity it calms.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[70] See, in Turner's _History_, vol. iii. p. 528, the account of\nthe erection of Ramsey Monastery. Penances were removable by the\nperformance of acts of charity and benevolence.--W. W. 1822.\n\n\"Wherever monasteries were founded, marshes were drained, or woods\ncleared, and wastes brought into cultivation; the means of subsistence\nwere increased by improved agriculture, and by improved horticulture\nnew comforts were added to life. The humblest as well as the\nhighest pursuits were followed in these great and most beneficial\nestablishments. While part of the members were studying the most\ninscrutable points of theology, ... others were employed in teaching\nbabes and children the rudiments of useful knowledge; others as\ncopyists, limners, carvers, workers in wood, and in stone, and in\nmetal, and in trades and manufactures of every kind which the community\nrequired.\" (Southey's _Book of the Church_, vol. i. chap. iv. pp. 61,\n62.)--ED.\n\n[71] 1832.\n\n And peace, and equity.--Bold faith! yet rise\n The sacred Towers for universal gains. 1822.\n\n And peace, and equity.--Bold faith! yet rise\n The sacred Structures for less doubtful gains. 1827.\n\n\n\n\nXXV\n\nMISSIONS AND TRAVELS\n\n\n Not sedentary all: there are who roam\n To scatter seeds of life on barbarous shores;\n Or quit with zealous step their knee-worn floors\n To seek the general mart of Christendom;\n Whence they, like richly-laden merchants, come 5\n To their belov\u00e8d cells:--or shall we say\n That, like the Red-cross Knight, they urge their way,\n To lead in memorable triumph home\n Truth, their immortal Una? Babylon,\n Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, 10\n Nor leaves her Speech one word to aid the sigh[72]\n That would lament her;--Memphis, Tyre, are gone\n With all their Arts,--but classic lore glides on\n By these Religious saved for all posterity.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[72] 1827.\n\n ... speech wherewith to clothe a sigh 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXVI\n\nALFRED\n\n\n Behold a pupil of the monkish gown,\n The pious ALFRED, King to Justice dear!\n Lord of the harp and liberating spear;[73]\n Mirror of Princes![74] Indigent Renown\n Might range the starry ether for a crown 5\n Equal to _his_ deserts, who, like the year,\n Pours forth his bounty, like the day doth cheer,\n And awes like night with mercy-tempered frown.\n Ease from this noble miser of his time\n No moment steals; pain narrows not his cares.[75] 10\n Though small his kingdom as a spark or gem,\n Of Alfred boasts remote Jerusalem,[76]\n And Christian India, through her wide-spread clime,\n In sacred converse gifts with Alfred shares.[77][78]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[73] \"The memory of the life and doings of the noblest of English\nrulers has come down to us living and distinct through the mist of\nexaggeration and legend that gathered round it.... He lived solely\nfor the good of his people. He is the first instance in the history\nof Christendom of the Christian king, of a ruler who put aside every\npersonal aim or ambition to devote himself to the welfare of those whom\nhe ruled. So long as he lived he strove 'to live worthily'; but in his\nmouth a life of worthiness meant a life of justice, temperance, and\nself-sacrifice. Ardent warrior as he was, with a disorganised England\nbefore him, he set aside at thirty-one the dream of conquest to leave\nbehind him the memory, not of victories, but of 'good works,' of daily\ntoils by which he secured peace, good government, education for his\npeople.... The spirit of adventure that made him in youth the first\nhuntsman of his day took later and graver form in an activity that\nfound time amidst the cares of state for the daily duties of religion,\nfor converse with strangers, for study and translation, for learning\npoems by heart, for planning buildings and instructing craftsmen\nin gold work, for teaching even falconers and dog-keepers their\nbusiness.... He himself superintended a school for the young nobles of\nthe court.\" (Green's _Short History of the English People_, chap. i.\nsec. 5.)--ED.\n\n[74] Compare Voltaire, _Essai sur les Moeurs_, chap. xxvi.; and\nHerder's _Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit_. Werke\n(1820), vol. vi. p. 153.--ED.\n\n[75] Through the whole of his life, Alfred was subject to grievous\nmaladies.--W. W. 1822.\n\n\"Although disease succeeded disease, and haunted him with tormenting\nagony, nothing could suppress his unwearied and inextinguishable\ngenius.\" (Sharon Turner's _History of the Anglo-Saxons_, vol. i. book\niv. chap. v. p. 503.)--ED.\n\n[76] \"His mind was far from being prisoned within his own island. He\nsent a Norwegian shipmaster to explore the White Sea.... Envoys bore\nhis presents to the Christians of India and Jerusalem, and an annual\nmission carried Peter's-pence to Rome.\" (Green's _Short History of the\nEnglish People_, i. 5.)--ED.\n\n[77] 1827.\n\n And Christian India gifts with Alfred shares\n By sacred converse link'd with India's clime. 1822\n\n[78] \"With Alfred\" is in all the editions. The late Bishop of St.\nAndrews, Charles Wordsworth, suggested that \"of Alfred\" or \"from\nAlfred\" would be a better reading.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXVII\n\nHIS DESCENDANTS\n\n\n When thy great soul was freed from mortal chains,\n Darling of England! many a bitter shower\n Fell on thy tomb; but emulative power\n Flowed in thy line through undegenerate veins.[79]\n The Race of Alfred covet[80] glorious pains[81] 5\n When dangers threaten, dangers ever new!\n Black tempests bursting, blacker still in view!\n But manly sovereignty its hold retains;\n The root sincere, the branches bold to strive\n With the fierce tempest, while,[82] within the round 10\n Of their protection, gentle virtues thrive;\n As oft, 'mid some green plot of open ground,\n Wide as the oak extends its dewy gloom,\n The fostered hyacinths spread their purple bloom.[83]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[79] 1837.\n\n Can aught survive to linger in the veins\n Of kindred bodies--an essential power\n That may not vanish in one fatal hour,\n And wholly cast away terrestrial chains? 1822.\n\n[80] 1832.\n\n ... covets ... 1822.\n\n[81] In Eadward the elder, his son; Eadmund I., his grandson; Eadward\n(the Martyr), grandson of Eadmund I.; and Eadward (the Confessor),\nnephew to the Martyr.--ED.\n\n[82] 1827.\n\n ... to thrive\n With the fierce storm; meanwhile, ... 1822.\n\n[83] As, pre-eminently, in the wood by the road, half-way from Rydal to\nAmbleside.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXVIII\n\nINFLUENCE ABUSED\n\n\n Urged by Ambition, who with subtlest skill\n Changes her means, the Enthusiast as a dupe\n Shall soar, and as a hypocrite can stoop,\n And turn the instruments of good to ill,\n Moulding the credulous people to his will. 5\n Such DUNSTAN:--from its Benedictine coop\n Issues the master Mind,[84] at whose fell swoop\n The chaste affections tremble to fulfil\n Their purposes. Behold, pre-signified,\n The Might of spiritual sway! his thoughts, his dreams,\n Do in the supernatural world abide: 11\n So vaunt a throng of Followers, filled with pride\n In what they see of virtues pushed to extremes,[85]\n And sorceries of talent misapplied.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[84] Dunstan was made Abbot of Glastonbury by Eadmund, and there he\nintroduced the Benedictine rule, being the first Benedictine Abbot in\nEngland. His aim was a remodelling of the Anglo-Saxon Church, \"for\nwhich,\" says Southey, \"he was qualified by his rank, his connections,\nhis influence at court, his great and versatile talents, and more\nthan all, it must be added, by his daring ambition, which scrupled at\nnothing for the furtherance of its purpose.\" (_Book of the Church_, i.\n6.) \"Dunstan stands first in the line of ecclesiastical statesmen, who\ncounted among them Lanfranc and Wolsey, and ended in Laud.\" \"Raised to\nthe See of Canterbury, he wielded for sixteen years, as the minister of\nEadgar, the secular and ecclesiastical powers of the realm.\" (Green, i.\n6.) In the effort to retain the ascendency he had won, he lent himself,\nhowever, to superstition and to fraud, to craft and mean device. He was\na type of the ecclesiastical sorcerer.--ED.\n\n[85] 1837.\n\n In shows of virtue pushed to its extremes, 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXIX\n\nDANISH CONQUESTS\n\n\n Woe to the Crown that doth the Cowl obey![86]\n Dissension, checking[87] arms that would restrain\n The incessant Rovers of the northern main,[88]\n Helps to restore and spread a Pagan sway:[89]\n But Gospel-truth is potent to allay 5\n Fierceness and rage; and soon the cruel Dane\n Feels, through the influence of her gentle reign,\n His native superstitions melt away.\n Thus, often, when thick gloom the east o'ershrouds,\n The full-orbed Moon, slow-climbing, doth appear 10\n Silently to consume the heavy clouds;\n _How_ no one can resolve; but every eye\n Around her sees, while air is hushed, a clear\n And widening circuit of ethereal sky.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[86] The violent measures carried on under the influence of _Dunstan_,\nfor strengthening the Benedictine Order, were a leading cause of the\nsecond series of Danish invasions. See Turner.--W. W. 1822.\n\n[87] 1837.\n\n Dissention checks the ... 1822.\n\n[88] _e.g._ Anlaef, Haco, Svein. (See Turner's _History of the_\n_Anglo-Saxons_, book ii. chaps. iii., viii., ix.)--ED.\n\n[89] 1837.\n\n And widely spreads once more a Pagan sway; 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXX\n\nCANUTE\n\n\n A pleasant music floats along the Mere,\n From Monks in Ely chanting service high,\n While-as Can\u00f9te the King is rowing by:\n \"My Oarsmen,\" quoth the mighty King, \"draw near,\n \"That we the sweet song of the Monks may hear!\"[90]\n He listens (all past conquests and all schemes 6\n Of future vanishing like empty dreams)\n Heart-touched, and haply not without a tear.\n The Royal Minstrel, ere the choir is still,[91]\n While his free Barge skims the smooth flood along,\n Gives to that rapture an accordant Rhyme.[92][93] 11\n O suffering Earth! be thankful; sternest clime\n And rudest age are subject to the thrill\n Of heaven-descended Piety and Song.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[90] A monk of Ely, who wrote a History of the Church (circa 1166),\nrecords a fragment of song, said to have been composed by Canute when\non his way to a church festival. He told his rowers to proceed slowly,\nand near the shore, that he might hear the chanting of the Psalter by\nthe monks, and he then composed a song himself.\n\n Merie sangen the Muneches binnen Ely,\n Tha Cnut ching reu therby:\n Roweth cnites ner the land\n And here ye thes Muneches sang.--ED.\n\n[91] 1827.\n\n ... was still, 1822.\n\n[92] 1827.\n\n ... a memorial Rhyme. 1822.\n\n[93] Which is still extant.--W. W. 1822. See last note.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXXI\n\nTHE NORMAN CONQUEST\n\n\n The woman-hearted Confessor prepares[94]\n The evanescence of the Saxon line.\n Hark! 'tis the tolling Curfew!--the stars shine;[95]\n But of the lights that cherish household cares\n And festive gladness, burns not one that dares 5\n To twinkle after that dull stroke of thine,\n Emblem and instrument, from Thames to Tyne,\n Of force that daunts, and cunning that ensnares!\n Yet as the terrors of the lordly bell,\n That quench, from hut to palace, lamps and fires,[96] 10\n Touch not the tapers of the sacred quires;\n Even so a thraldom, studious to expel\n Old laws, and ancient customs to derange,\n To Creed or Ritual brings no fatal change.[97]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[94] Edward the Confessor (1042-1066).--\"There was something shadowlike\nin the thin form, the delicate complexion, the transparent womanly\nhands, that contrasted with the blue eyes and golden hair of his race;\nand it is almost as a shadow that he glides over the political stage.\nThe work of government was done by sterner hands.\" (Green's _Short\nHistory of the English People_, chap. ii. sec. 2.)--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXXII\n\n\"COLDLY WE SPAKE. THE SAXONS, OVERPOWERED\"\n\n\n Published 1837\n\n Coldly we spake. The Saxons, overpowered\n By wrong triumphant through its own excess,\n From fields laid waste, from house and home devoured\n By flames, look up to heaven and crave redress\n From God's eternal justice. Pitiless 5\n Though men be, there are angels that can feel\n For wounds that death alone has power to heal,\n For penitent guilt, and innocent distress.\n And has a Champion risen in arms to try\n His Country's virtue, fought, and breathes no more; 10\n Him in their hearts the people canonize;\n And far above the mine's most precious ore\n The least small pittance of bare mould they prize\n Scooped from the sacred earth where his dear relics lie.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[95] 1827.\n\n Hark! 'tis the Curfew's knell! the stars may shine; 1822.\n\n[96] The introduction of the curfew-bell (_couvre-feu_, cover fire)\ninto England is ascribed to the Conqueror, but the custom was common in\nEurope long before his time.--ED.\n\n[97] 1837.\n\n Brings to Religion no injurious change. 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIII\n\nTHE COUNCIL OF CLERMONT\n\n\n \"And shall,\" the Pontiff asks, \"profaneness flow\n From Nazareth--source of Christian piety,\n From Bethlehem, from the Mounts of Agony\n And glorified Ascension? Warriors, go,\n With prayers and blessings we your path will sow; 5\n Like Moses hold our hands erect, till ye\n Have chased far off by righteous victory\n These sons of Amalek, or laid them low!\"--\n \"GOD WILLETH IT,\" the whole assembly cry;\n Shout which the enraptured multitude astounds![98] 10\n The Council-roof and Clermont's towers reply;--\n \"God willeth it,\" from hill to hill rebounds,\n And, in awe-stricken[99] Countries far and nigh,\n Through \"Nature's hollow arch\"[100] that voice resounds.[101][102]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[98] 1827.\n\n ... astounded. 1822.\n\n[99] 1827.\n\n ... rebounded;\n Sacred resolve, in ... 1822.\n\n[100] Compare Fuller's _Holy War_, I. 8.--ED.\n\n[101] 1837.\n\n ... that night, resounded! 1822.\n\n ... the voice resounds. 1827.\n\n[102] The decision of this Council was believed to be instantly known\nin remote parts of Europe.--W. W. 1822.\n\nThere were several Councils of Clermont, the chief of them being that\nof 1095, at which the Crusade was definitely planned. Pope Urban\nII. addressed the Council in such a way that at the close the whole\nmultitude exclaimed simultaneously _Deus Vult_; and this phrase became\nthe war-cry of the Crusade.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIV\n\nCRUSADES\n\n\n The turbaned Race are poured in thickening swarms\n Along the west; though driven from Aquitaine,\n The Crescent glitters on the towers of Spain;\n And soft Italia feels renewed alarms;\n The scimitar, that yields not to the charms 5\n Of ease, the narrow Bosphorus will disdain;\n Nor long (that crossed) would Grecian hills detain\n Their tents, and check the current of their arms.\n Then blame not those who, by the mightiest lever\n Known to the moral world, Imagination, 10\n Upheave, so seems it, from her natural station\n All Christendom:--they sweep along (was never\n So huge a host!)[103]--to tear from the Unbeliever\n The precious Tomb, their haven of salvation.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[103] Ten successive armies, amounting to nearly 950,000 men, took\npart in the first Crusade. \"The most distant islands and savage\ncountries,\" says William of Malmesbury, \"were inspired with this ardent\npassion\"--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXXV\n\nRICHARD I\n\n\n Redoubted King, of courage leonine,\n I mark thee, Richard! urgent to equip\n Thy warlike person with the staff and scrip;\n I watch thee sailing o'er the midland brine;\n In conquered Cyprus see thy Bride decline 5\n Her blushing cheek, love-vows[104] upon her lip,\n And see love-emblems streaming from thy ship,\n As thence she holds her way to Palestine.[105]\n My Song, a fearless homager, would attend\n Thy thundering battle-axe as it cleaves the press 10\n Of war, but duty summons her away\n To tell--how, finding in the rash distress\n Of those Enthusiasts a subservient friend,\n To[106] giddier heights hath clomb the Papal sway.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[104] 1827.\n\n ... Love's vow ... 1822.\n\n[105] Richard I. (Coeur de Lion), one of the two leaders in the third\nCrusade, after conquering Cyprus--on his way to Palestine--while\nin that island married Berengaria, daughter of Sanchez, King of\nNavarre.--ED.\n\n[106] 1837.\n\n Of those enthusiast powers a constant Friend,\n Through ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVI\n\nAN INTERDICT[107]\n\n\n Realms quake by turns: proud Arbitress of grace,\n The Church, by mandate shadowing forth the power\n She arrogates o'er heaven's eternal door,\n Closes the gates of every sacred place.\n Straight from the sun and tainted air's embrace 5\n All sacred things are covered: cheerful morn\n Grows sad as night--no seemly garb is worn,\n Nor is a face allowed to meet a face\n With natural smiles[108] of greeting. Bells are dumb;\n Ditches are graves--funereal rites denied; 10\n And in the church-yard he must take his bride\n Who dares be wedded! Fancies thickly come\n Into the pensive heart ill fortified,\n And comfortless despairs the soul benumb.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[107] At the command of Pope Innocent III., the Bishops of London, Ely,\nand Worcester were charged to lay England under an interdict. They did\nso, in defiance of King John, and left England. Southey's description\nof the result maybe compared with this sonnet. \"All the rites of a\nChurch whose policy it was to blend its institutions with the whole\nbusiness of private life were suddenly suspended: no bell heard, no\ntaper lighted, no service performed, no church open; only baptism was\npermitted, and confession and sacrament for the dying. The dead were\neither interred in unhallowed ground, without the presence of a priest,\nor any religious ceremony, ... or they were kept unburied.... Some\nlittle mitigation was allowed, lest human nature should have rebelled\nagainst so intolerable a tyranny. The people, therefore, were called\nto prayers and sermon on the Sunday, in the churchyards, and marriages\nwere performed at the church door.\" (Southey's _Book of the Church_,\nvol. i. chap. ix. pp. 261, 262.)--ED.\n\n[108] 1845.\n\n ... smile ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVII\n\nPAPAL ABUSES\n\n\n As with the Stream our voyage we pursue,\n The gross materials of this world present\n A marvellous study of wild accident;[109]\n Uncouth proximities of old and new;\n And bold transfigurations, more untrue 5\n (As might be deemed) to disciplined intent\n Than aught the sky's fantastic element,\n When most fantastic, offers to the view.\n Saw we not Henry scourged at Becket's shrine?[110]\n Lo! John self-stripped of his insignia:--crown, 10\n Sceptre and mantle, sword and ring, laid down\n At a proud Legate's feet![111] The spears that line\n Baronial halls, the opprobrious insult feel;\n And angry Ocean roars a vain appeal.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[109] Compare Aubrey de Vere's _Thomas \u00e0 Becket_.--ED.\n\n[110] After Becket's murder and canonisation Henry II., from political\nmotives, did penance publicly at his shrine. Clad in a coarse garment,\nhe walked three miles barefoot to Canterbury, and at the shrine\nsubmitted to the discipline of the Church. Four bishops, abbots, and\neighty clergy were present, each with a knotted cord, and inflicted 380\nlashes. Bleeding he threw sackcloth over his shoulders, and continued\ntill midnight kneeling at prayer, then visited all the altars,\nand returned fainting to Becket's shrine, where he remained till\nmorning.--ED.\n\n[111] On the festival of the Ascension, John \"laid his crown at\nPandulph's feet, and signed an instrument by which, for the remission\nof his sins, and those of his family, he surrendered the kingdoms\nof England and Ireland to the Pope, to hold them thenceforth under\nhim, and the Roman see.\" Pandulph \"kept the crown five days before he\nrestored it to John.\" (Southey, _Book of the Church_, vol. i. p.\n218.)--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVIII\n\nSCENE IN VENICE\n\n\n Black Demons hovering o'er his mitred head,\n To C\u00e6sar's Successor the Pontiff spake;[112]\n \"Ere I absolve thee, stoop! that on thy neck\n Levelled with earth this foot of mine may tread.\"\n Then he, who to the altar had been led, 5\n He, whose strong arm the Orient could not check,\n He, who had held the Soldan[113] at his beck,\n Stooped, of all glory disinherited,\n And even the common dignity of man!--\n Amazement strikes the crowd: while many turn 10\n Their eyes away in sorrow, others burn\n With scorn, invoking a vindictive ban\n From outraged Nature; but the sense of most\n In abject sympathy with power is lost.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[112] The reference is to the legend of Pope Alexander III. and\nFrederick Barbarossa. See the Fenwick note prefixed to these\nsonnets.--ED.\n\n[113] Soldan, or Sultan, \"Soldanus quasi solus dominus.\"--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIX\n\nPAPAL DOMINION\n\n\n Unless to Peter's Chair the viewless wind[114]\n Must come and ask permission when to blow,\n What further empire would it have? for now\n A ghostly Domination, unconfined\n As that by dreaming Bards to Love assigned, 5\n Sits there in sober truth--to raise the low,\n Perplex the wise, the strong to overthrow;\n Through earth and heaven to bind and to unbind!--\n Resist--the thunder quails thee!--crouch--rebuff\n Shall be thy recompense! from land to land 10\n The ancient thrones of Christendom are stuff\n For occupation of a magic wand,\n And 'tis the Pope that wields it:--whether rough\n Or smooth his front, our world is in his hand![115]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[114] Compare _Measure for Measure_, act III. scene i. l. 124.--ED.\n\n[115] According to the canons of the Church, the Pope was above all\nkings, \"He was king of kings and lord of lords, although he subscribed\nhimself the servant of servants.\" He might dethrone kings, and tax\nnations, or destroy empires, as he pleased. All power had been\ncommitted to him, and any secular law that was opposed to a papal\ndecree was, _ipso facto_, null and void.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\nTO THE CLOSE OF THE TROUBLES IN THE REIGN OF CHARLES I.\n\n\n\n\nI\n\n\"HOW SOON--ALAS! DID MAN, CREATED PURE\"\n\n\n Published 1845\n\n How soon--alas! did Man, created pure--\n By Angels guarded, deviate from the line\n Prescribed to duty:--woeful forfeiture[116]\n He made by wilful breach of law divine.\n With like perverseness did the Church abjure 5\n Obedience to her Lord, and haste to twine,[117]\n 'Mid Heaven-born flowers that shall for aye endure,\n Weeds on whose front the world had fixed her sign.\n O Man,--if with thy trials thus it fares,\n If good can smooth the way to evil choice, 10\n From all rash censure be the mind kept free;\n He only judges right who weighs, compares,\n And, in the sternest sentence which his voice\n Pronounces, ne'er abandons Charity.[118]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[116] 1845.\n\n Even when the state of man seems most secure\n And tempted least to deviate from the line\n Of simple duty, woeful forfeiture C.\n\n How difficult for man to keep the line\n Prescribed by duty! Happy once and pure C.\n\n[117] 1845.\n\n Though Angels watched lest man should from the line\n Of duty sever, blest though he was, and pure\n In thought and deed, a woeful forfeiture\n He made by wilful breach of law divine,\n The church of Christ how prompt was she to abjure\n Allegiance to her Lord how prone to twine C.\n\n[118] 1845.\n\n {The visible church how prone was she to abjure}\n {Allegiance to Christ's Kingdom and entwine}\n With glorious flowers that shall for aye endure\n Weeds on whose front the world had fixed her sign.\n False man--if with thy trials thus it fared--\n If good can smooth the way to evil choice,\n From hasty answer be our minds kept free;\n He only judges right who weighs, compares,\n And, in the sternest sentence that his voice\n May utter, ne'er abandons charity. C.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\"FROM FALSE ASSUMPTION ROSE, AND FONDLY HAIL'D\"\n\n\n Published 1845\n\n From false assumption rose, and fondly hail'd\n By superstition, spread the Papal power;\n Yet do not deem the Autocracy prevail'd\n Thus only, even in error's darkest hour.\n She daunts, forth-thundering from her spiritual tower\n Brute rapine, or with gentle lure she tames. 6\n Justice and Peace through Her uphold their claims;\n And Chastity finds many a sheltering bower.\n Realm there is none that if controul'd or sway'd\n By her commands partakes not, in degree, 10\n Of good, o'er manners arts and arms, diffused:\n Yes, to thy domination, Roman See,\n Tho' miserably, oft monstrously, abused\n By blind ambition, be this tribute paid.[119]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[119] The following version of this sonnet is from a MS. copy of it in\nWordsworth's own handwriting.--ED.\n\n On false assumption, though the Papal Power\n Rests, and spreads wide, beduped, by ignorance hailed,\n A darker empire must have else prevailed,\n For deeds of mischief strengthening every hour.\n Behold how thundering from her spiritual tower\n She daunts brute rapine, cruelty she tames.\n Justice and charity through her assert their claims,\n And chastity finds many a sheltering bower.\n Realm is there none that, if controlled or swayed\n By her commands, partakes not in degree\n Of good, on manners arts and arms diffused:\n To mock thy exaltation, Roman See,\n And to the Autocracy, howe'er abused\n Through blind ambition, be this tribute paid.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nCISTERTIAN MONASTERY[120]\n\n\n \"_Here Man more purely lives, less oft doth fall,_\n _More promptly rises, walks with stricter heed,[121]_\n _More safely rests, dies happier, is freed_\n _Earlier from cleansing fires, and gains withal_\n _A brighter crown._\"[122]--On yon Cistertian wall 5\n _That_ confident assurance may be read;\n And, to like shelter, from the world have fled\n Increasing multitudes. The potent call\n Doubtless shall cheat full oft the heart's desires:[123]\n Yet, while the rugged Age on pliant knee 10\n Vows to rapt Fancy humble fealty,\n A gentler life spreads round the holy spires;\n Where'er they rise, the sylvan waste retires,\n And a\u00ebry harvests crown the fertile lea.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[120] The Cistertian order was named after the monastery of Cit\u00e9aux\nor Cistercium, near Dijon, founded in 1098 by the Benedictine abbot,\nRobert of Mol\u00eame.--ED.\n\n[121] 1837.\n\n ... with nicer heed, 1822.\n\n[122] \"Bonum est nos hic esse, quia homo vivit purius, cadit rarius,\nsurgit velocius, incedit cautius, quiescit securius, moritur felicius,\npurgatur citius, praemiatur copiosius.\"--Bernard. \"This sentence,\" says\nDr. Whitaker, \"is usually inscribed on some conspicuous part of the\nCistertian houses.\"--W. W. 1822.\n\n[123] 1827.\n\n ... desire; 1822.\n\n\n\n\nIV[124]\n\n\"DEPLORABLE HIS LOT WHO TILLS THE GROUND\"\n\n\n Published 1835\n\n Deplorable his lot who tills the ground,\n His whole life long tills it, with heartless toil\n Of villain-service, passing with the soil\n To each new Master, like a steer or hound,\n Or like a rooted tree, or stone earth-bound; 5\n But mark how gladly, through their own domains,\n The Monks relax or break these iron chains;\n While Mercy, uttering, through their voice, a sound\n Echoed in Heaven, cries out, \"Ye Chiefs, abate\n These legalized oppressions! Man--whose name 10\n And nature God disdained not; Man--whose soul\n Christ died for--cannot forfeit his high claim\n To live and move exempt from all controul\n Which fellow-feeling doth not mitigate!\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[124] The following note, referring to Sonnets IV., XII., and XIII.,\nappears in the volume of 1835--entitled _Yarrow Revisited, and other\nPoems_--immediately after the poem _St. Bees_--\n\n\"The three following Sonnets are an intended addition to the\n'Ecclesiastical Sketches,' the first to stand second; and the two that\nsucceed, seventh and eighth, in the second part of the Series. (See the\nAuthor's Poems.) They are placed here as having some connection with\nthe foregoing Poem.\"--ED.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nMONKS AND SCHOOLMEN\n\n\n Record we too, with just and faithful pen,\n That many hooded Cenobites[125] there are,\n Who in their private cells have yet a care\n Of public quiet; unambitious Men,\n Counsellors for the world, of piercing ken; 5\n Whose fervent exhortations from afar\n Move Princes to their duty, peace or war;[126]\n And oft-times in the most forbidding den\n Of solitude, with love of science strong,\n How patiently the yoke of thought they bear! 10\n How subtly glide its finest threads along!\n Spirits that crowd the intellectual sphere[127]\n With mazy boundaries, as the astronomer\n With orb and cycle girds the starry throng.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[125] Cenobites (#koinobioi#), monks who live in common, as\ndistinguished from hermits or anchorites, who live alone.--ED.\n\n[126] \"Counts, kings, bishops,\" says F.D. Maurice, \"in the fulness of\ntheir wealth and barbaric splendour, may be bowing before a monk, who\nwrites them letters from a cell in which he is living upon vegetables\nand water.\" (_Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy_ (Edition 1873), vol.\ni., Medi\u00e6val Philosophy, chap. iv. p. 534.)--ED.\n\n[127] _e.g._ Anselm (1033-1109); Albertus Magnus (1193-1280); Thomas\nAquinas (1226-1274); Duns Scotus (1265-1308).--ED.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nOTHER BENEFITS\n\n\n And, not in vain embodied to the sight,\n Religion finds even in the stern retreat\n Of feudal sway her own appropriate seat;[128]\n From the collegiate pomps on Windsor's height\n Down to the humbler[129] altar, which the Knight 5\n And his Retainers of the embattled hall\n Seek in domestic oratory small,\n For prayer in stillness, or the chanted rite;\n Then chiefly dear, when foes are planted round,\n Who teach the intrepid guardians of the place-- 10\n Hourly exposed to death, with famine worn,\n And suffering under many a perilous wound--[130]\n How sad would be their durance, if forlorn\n Of offices dispensing heavenly grace!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[128] St. George's Chapel, Windsor, begun by Henry III. and finished\nby Edward III., rebuilt by Henry VII., and enlarged by Cardinal\nWolsey.--ED.\n\n[129] 1837.\n\n ... humble ... 1822.\n\n[130] 1827.\n\n ... doubtful wound, 1822.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nCONTINUED\n\n\n And what melodious sounds at times prevail!\n And, ever and anon, how bright a gleam\n Pours on the surface of the turbid Stream!\n What heartfelt fragrance mingles with the gale\n That swells the bosom of our passing sail! 5\n For where, but on _this_ River's margin, blow\n Those flowers of chivalry, to bind the brow\n Of hardihood with wreaths that shall not fail?--\n Fair Court of Edward! wonder of the world![131]\n I see a matchless blazonry unfurled 10\n Of wisdom, magnanimity, and love;\n And meekness tempering honourable pride;\n The lamb is couching by the lion's side,\n And near the flame-eyed eagle sits the dove.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[131] Edward the Third (1336-1360). See _The Wonderful Deeds of Edward_\n_the Third_, by Robert of Avesbury; and Longman's _History of Edward\nthe Third_.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nCRUSADERS\n\n\n Furl we the sails, and pass with tardy oars\n Through these bright regions, casting many a glance\n Upon the dream-like issues--the romance[132]\n Of many-coloured life that[133] Fortune pours\n Round the Crusaders, till on distant shores 5\n Their labours end; or they return to lie,\n The vow performed, in cross-legged effigy,\n Devoutly stretched upon their chancel floors.\n Am I deceived? Or is their requiem chanted\n By voices never mute when Heaven unties 10\n Her inmost, softest, tenderest harmonies;\n Requiem which Earth takes up with voice undaunted,\n When she would tell how Brave, and Good, and Wise,[134]\n For their high guerdon not in vain have panted!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[132] 1845.\n\n Nor can Imagination quit the shores\n Of these bright scenes without a farewell glance\n Given to those dream-like Issues--that Romance 1822.\n\n Given to the dream-like Issues--that Romance 1837.\n\n[133] 1837.\n\n ... which ... 1822.\n\n[134] 1837.\n\n ... Good, and Brave, and Wise, 1822\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\n\"AS FAITH THUS SANCTIFIED THE WARRIOR'S CREST\"\n\n\n Composed 1842.--Published 1845\n\n As faith thus sanctified the warrior's crest\n While from the Papal Unity there came,\n What feebler means had fail'd to give, one aim\n Diffused thro' all the regions of the West;\n So does her Unity its power attest 5\n By works of Art, that shed, on the outward frame\n Of worship, glory and grace, which who shall blame\n That ever looked to heaven for final rest?\n Hail countless Temples! that so well befit\n Your ministry; that, as ye rise and take 10\n Form spirit and character from holy writ,\n Give to devotion, wheresoe'er awake,\n Pinions of high and higher sweep, and make\n The unconverted soul with awe submit.[135]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[135] In a letter to Professor Henry Reed, Philadelphia, September\n4, 1842, Wordsworth writes: \"To the second part of the Series\" (the\n\"Ecclesiastical Sonnets\") \"I have also added two, in order to do more\njustice to the Papal Church for the services which she did actually\nrender to Christianity and humanity in the Middle Ages.\"--ED.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\n\"WHERE LONG AND DEEPLY HATH BEEN FIXED THE ROOT\"\n\n\n Composed 1842.--Published 1845\n\n Where long and deeply hath been fixed the root\n In the blest soil of gospel truth, the Tree,\n (Blighted or scathed tho' many branches be,\n Put forth to wither, many a hopeful shoot)\n Can never cease to bear celestial fruit. 5\n Witness the Church that oft-times, with effect\n Dear to the saints, strives earnestly to eject[136]\n Her bane, her vital energies recruit.\n Lamenting, do not hopelessly repine\n When such good work is doomed to be undone,[137] 10\n The conquests lost that were so hardly won:--\n All promises vouchsafed by Heaven will shine[138]\n In light confirmed while years their course shall run,\n Confirmed alike in[139] progress and decline.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[136] 1845.\n\n Blighted and scathed tho' many branches be,\n Can never cease to bear and ripen fruit\n Worthy of Heaven. This law is absolute.\n Behold the Church that often with effect\n Dear to the Saints doth labouring to eject C.\n\n[137] 1845.\n\n {The Church not seldom surely with effect}\n {Dear to the Saints doth labour to eject}\n Her bane, her vital energy recruit.\n So Providence ordains and why repine\n If this good work is doomed to be undone, C.\n\n[138] 1845.\n\n Trust that the promises vouchsafed will shine C.\n\n[139] 1845.\n\n ... thro' ... C.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nTRANSUBSTANTIATION\n\n\n Enough! for see, with dim association\n The tapers burn; the odorous incense feeds\n A greedy flame; the pompous mass proceeds;\n The Priest bestows the appointed consecration;\n And, while the HOST is raised, its elevation 5\n An awe and supernatural horror breeds;\n And all the people bow their heads, like reeds\n To a soft breeze, in lowly adoration.\n This Valdo brooks[140] not.[141] On the banks of Rhone\n He taught, till persecution chased him thence, 10\n To adore the Invisible, and Him alone.\n Nor are[142] his Followers loth to seek defence,\n 'Mid woods and wilds, on Nature's craggy throne,\n From rites that trample upon soul and sense.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[140] 1837.\n\n ... brook'd ... 1822.\n\n[141] Peter Waldo (or Valdo), a rich merchant of Lyons (1160 or 1170),\nbecoming religious, dedicated himself to poverty and almsgiving.\nDisciples gathered round him; and they were called the poor men of\nLyons--a modest, frugal, and industrious order. They were reformers\nbefore the Reformation. Peter Waldo exposed the corruption of the\nclergy, had the four gospels translated for the people, and maintained\nthe rights of the laity to read them to the masses. He was condemned by\nthe Lateran Council in 1179.--ED.\n\n[142] 1837.\n\n ... were ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nTHE VAUDOIS\n\n\n Published 1835\n\n But whence came they who for the Saviour Lord\n Have long borne witness as the Scriptures teach?--\n Ages ere Valdo raised his voice to preach\n In Gallic ears the unadulterate Word,\n Their fugitive Progenitors explored 5\n Subalpine vales, in quest of safe retreats\n Where that pure Church survives, though summer heats\n Open a passage to the Romish sword,\n Far as it dares to follow. Herbs self-sown,\n And fruitage gathered from the chesnut wood, 10\n Nourish the sufferers then; and mists, that brood\n O'er chasms with new-fallen obstacles bestrown,\n Protect them; and the eternal snow that daunts\n Aliens, is God's good winter for their haunts.\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\n\"PRAISED BE THE RIVERS, FROM THEIR MOUNTAIN SPRINGS\"\n\n\n Published 1835\n\n Praised be the Rivers, from their mountain springs\n Shouting to Freedom, \"Plant thy banners here!\"[143]\n To harassed Piety, \"Dismiss thy fear,\n \"And in our caverns smooth thy ruffled wings!\"\n Nor be unthanked their final lingerings-- 5\n Silent, but not to high-souled Passion's ear--\n 'Mid reedy fens wide-spread and marshes drear,\n Their own creation. Such glad welcomings\n As Po was heard to give where Venice rose\n Hailed from aloft those Heirs of truth divine[144] 10\n Who near his fountains sought obscure repose,\n Yet came[145] prepared as glorious lights to shine,\n Should that be needed for their sacred Charge;\n Blest Prisoners They, whose spirits were[146] at large!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[143] See the story of the rebuilding of Rome after its plunder by the\nGauls.--ED.\n\n[144] 1837.\n\n ... their tardiest lingerings\n 'Mid reedy fens wide-spread and marshes drear,\n Their own creation, till their long career\n End in the sea engulphed. Such welcomings\n As came from mighty Po when Venice rose,\n Greeted those simple Heirs of truth divine 1835.\n\n[145] 1837.\n\n Yet were ... 1835.\n\n[146] 1840.\n\n ... are ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\nWALDENSES[147]\n\n\n Those had given[148] earliest notice, as the lark\n Springs from the ground the morn to gratulate;\n Or[149] rather rose the day to antedate,\n By striking out a solitary spark, 4\n When all the world with midnight gloom was dark.--\n Then followed the Waldensian bands, whom Hate[150]\n In vain endeavours[151] to exterminate,\n Whom[152] Obloquy pursues with hideous bark:[153]\n But they desist not;--and the sacred fire,[154]\n Rekindled thus, from dens and savage woods 10\n Moves, handed on with never-ceasing care,\n Through courts, through camps, o'er limitary floods;\n Nor lacks this sea-girt Isle a timely share\n Of the new Flame, not suffered to expire.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[147] The followers of Peter Waldo afterwards became a separate\ncommunity, and multiplied in the valleys of Dauphin\u00e9 and Piedmont. They\nsuffered persecutions in 1332, 1400, and 1478, but these only drove\nthem into fresh districts in Europe. Francis I. of France ordered them\nto be extirpated from Piedmont in 1541, and many were massacred. In\n1560 the Duke of Savoy renewed the persecution at the instance of the\nPapal See. Charles Emmanuel II., in 1655, continued it.--ED.\n\n[148] 1845.\n\n These who gave ... 1822.\n\n These had given ... 1840.\n\n[149] 1840.\n\n Who ... 1822.\n\n[150] 1845.\n\n These Harbingers of good, whom bitter hate 1822.\n\n At length come those Waldensian bands, whom Hate 1840.\n\n[151] 1840.\n\n ... endeavoured ... 1822\n\n[152] 1840.\n\n Fell ... 1822\n\n[153] The list of foul names bestowed upon those poor creatures is long\nand curious:--and, as is, alas! too natural, most of the opprobrious\nappellations are drawn from circumstances into which they were forced\nby their persecutors, who even consolidated their miseries into one\nreproachful term, calling them Patarenians, or Paturins, from _pati_,\nto suffer.\n\n Dwellers with wolves, she names them, for the pine\n And green oak are their covert; as the gloom\n Of night oft foils their enemy's design,\n She calls them Riders on the flying broom;\n Sorcerers, whose frame and aspect have become\n One and the same through practices malign.--W. W. 1822.\n\n[154] 1827.\n\n Meanwhile the unextinguishable fire, 1822\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nARCHBISHOP CHICHELY TO HENRY V.\n\n\n \"What beast in wilderness or cultured field\n \"The lively beauty of the leopard shows?\n \"What flower in meadow-ground or garden grows\n \"That to the towering lily doth not yield?\n \"Let both meet only on thy royal shield! 5\n \"Go forth, great King! claim what thy birth bestows;\n \"Conquer the Gallic lily which thy foes\n \"Dare to usurp;--thou hast a sword to wield,\n \"And Heaven will crown the right.\"--The mitred Sire\n Thus spake--and lo! a Fleet, for Gaul addrest, 10\n Ploughs her bold course across the wondering seas;[155]\n For, sooth to say, ambition, in the breast\n Of youthful heroes, is no sullen fire,\n But one that leaps to meet the fanning breeze.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[155] Henry Chichele, Archbishop of Canterbury in 1414, persuaded Henry\nV. to carry on war with France, and helped to raise money for the\npurpose. Henry crossed to Harfleur, Chichele accompanying him, with an\narmy of 30,000, and won the battle of Agincourt.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nWARS OF YORK AND LANCASTER\n\n\n Thus is the storm abated by the craft\n Of a shrewd Counsellor, eager to protect\n The Church, whose power hath recently been checked,\n Whose monstrous riches threatened. So the shaft\n Of victory mounts high, and blood is quaffed 5\n In fields that rival Cressy and Poictiers--[156]\n Pride to be washed away by bitter tears!\n For deep as Hell itself, the avenging draught[157]\n Of civil slaughter. Yet, while temporal power\n Is by these shocks exhausted, spiritual truth 10\n Maintains the else endangered gift of life;\n Proceeds from infancy to lusty youth;\n And, under cover of this[158] woeful strife,\n Gathers unblighted strength from hour to hour.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[156] _e.g._ the battles of St. Albans, Wakefield, Mortimer's Cross,\nTowton, Barnet, Tewkesbury, Bosworth.--ED.\n\n[157] 1827.\n\n But mark the dire effect in coming years!\n Deep, deep as hell itself, the future draught 1822.\n\n[158] 1827.\n\n ... that ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nWICLIFFE\n\n\n Once more the Church is seized with sudden fear,\n And at her call is Wicliffe disinhumed:\n Yea, his dry bones to ashes are consumed\n And flung into the brook that travels near; 4\n Forthwith, that ancient Voice which Streams can hear\n Thus speaks (that Voice which walks upon the wind,\n Though seldom heard by busy human kind)--\n \"As thou these ashes, little Brook! wilt bear\n \"Into the Avon, Avon to the tide\n \"Of Severn, Severn to the narrow seas, 10\n \"Into main Ocean they, this deed accurst\n \"An emblem yields to friends and enemies\n \"How the bold Teacher's Doctrine, sanctified\n \"By truth, shall spread, throughout the world dispersed.\"[159]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[159] The Council of Constance condemned Wicliffe as a heretic,\nand issued an order that his remains should be exhumed, and burnt.\n\"Accordingly, by order of the Bishop of Lincoln, as Diocesan of\nLutterworth, his grave, which was in the chancel of the church, was\nopened, forty years after his death; the bones were taken out and burnt\nto ashes, and the ashes thrown into a neighbouring brook called the\nSwift.\" (Southey's _Book of the Church_, vol. i. p. 384.) \"Thus this\nbrook,\" says Fuller, \"hath conveyed his ashes into Avon, Avon into\nSevern, Severn into the narrow seas, they into the main ocean; and\nthus the ashes of Wicliffe are the emblem of his doctrine, which now\nis dispersed all the world over.\" (_The Church History of Britain\nfrom the Birth of Christ until the year MDCXLVIII. endeavoured_, book\niv. p. 424.) In the note to the 11th Sonnet of Part I., Wordsworth\nacknowledges his obligations to Fuller in connection with this Sonnet\non Wicliffe.\n\nSee Charles Lamb's comment on this passage of Fuller's, Prose Works\n(1876), vol. iv. p. 277.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nCORRUPTIONS OF THE HIGHER CLERGY\n\n\n \"Woe to you, Prelates! rioting in ease\n \"And cumbrous wealth--the shame of your estate;\n \"You, on whose progress dazzling trains await\n \"Of pompous horses; whom vain titles please;\n \"Who will be served by others on their knees, 5\n \"Yet will yourselves to God no service pay;\n \"Pastors who neither take nor point the way\n \"To Heaven; for, either lost in vanities\n \"Ye have no skill to teach, or if ye know\n \"And speak the word ----\" Alas! of fearful things\n 'Tis the most fearful when the people's eye 11\n Abuse hath cleared from vain imaginings;\n And taught the general voice to prophesy\n Of Justice armed, and Pride to be laid low.\n\n\n\n\nXIX\n\nABUSE OF MONASTIC POWER\n\n\n And what is Penance with her knotted thong;\n Mortification with the shirt of hair,\n Wan cheek, and knees ind\u00farated with prayer,\n Vigils, and fastings rigorous as long;\n If cloistered Avarice scruple not to wrong 5\n The pious, humble, useful Secular,[160]\n And rob[161] the people of his daily care,\n Scorning that world whose blindness makes her strong?\n Inversion strange! that, unto One who lives[162]\n For self, and struggles with himself alone, 10\n The amplest share of heavenly favour gives;\n That to a Monk allots, both in the esteem\n Of God and man, place higher than to him[163]\n Who on the good of others builds his own!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[160] The _secular_ clergy are the priests of the Roman church, who\nbelong to no special religious order, but have the charge of parishes,\nand so live in the world (_seculum_). The _regular_ clergy are the\nmonks belonging to one or other of the monastic orders, and are subject\nto its rules (_regul\u00e6_).--ED.\n\n[161] 1827.\n\n And robs ... 1822.\n\n[162] 1827.\n\n Scorning their wants because her arm is strong?\n Inversion strange! that to a Monk, who lives 1822.\n\n[163] 1845.\n\n And hath allotted, in the world's esteem,\n To such a higher station than to him 1822.\n\n That to a Monk allots, in the esteem\n Of God and Man, place higher than to him 1827.\n\n\n\n\nXX\n\nMONASTIC VOLUPTUOUSNESS\n\n\n Yet more,--round many a Convent's blazing fire\n Unhallowed threads of revelry are spun;\n There Venus sits disguis\u00e8d like a Nun,--\n While Bacchus, clothed in semblance of a Friar,\n Pours out his choicest beverage high and higher 5\n Sparkling, until it cannot choose but run\n Over the bowl, whose silver lip hath won\n An instant kiss of masterful desire--\n To stay the precious waste. Through every brain\n The domination of the sprightly juice 10\n Spreads high conceits to madding Fancy dear,[164]\n Till the arched roof, with resolute abuse\n Of its grave echoes, swells a choral strain,\n Whose votive burthen is--\"OUR KINGDOM 'S HERE!\"[165]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[164] 1832.\n\n In every brain\n Spreads the dominion of the sprightly juice,\n Through the wide world to madding Fancy dear, 1822.\n\n[165] See Wordsworth's note to the next Sonnet.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXI\n\nDISSOLUTION OF THE MONASTERIES\n\n\n Threats come which no submission may assuage,\n No sacrifice avert, no power dispute;\n The tapers shall be quenched, the belfries mute,\n And,'mid their choirs unroofed by selfish rage,\n The warbling wren shall find a leafy cage; 5\n The gadding bramble hang her purple fruit;\n And the green lizard and the gilded newt\n Lead unmolested lives, and die of age.[166]\n The owl of evening and the woodland fox\n For their abode the shrines of Waltham choose:[167] 10\n Proud Glastonbury can no more refuse\n To stoop her head before these desperate shocks--\n She whose high pomp displaced, as story tells,\n Arimathean Joseph's wattled cells.[168]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[166] These two lines are adopted from a MS., written about the year\n1770, which accidentally fell into my possession. The close of the\npreceding Sonnet on monastic voluptuousness is taken from the same\nsource, as is the verse, \"Where Venus sits,\" etc. [W. W. 1822], and\nthe line, \"Once ye were holy, ye are holy still,\" in a subsequent\nSonnet.--W. W. 1837.\n\n[167] Waltham Abbey is in Essex, on the Lea.--ED.\n\n[168] Alluding to the Roman legend that Joseph of Arimathea brought\nChristianity into Britain, and built Glastonbury Church. See Part I.\nSonnet II. (p. 5) and note [14].--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXII\n\nTHE SAME SUBJECT\n\n\n The lovely Nun (submissive, but more meek\n Through saintly habit than from effort due\n To unrelenting mandates that pursue\n With equal wrath the steps of strong and weak)\n Goes forth--unveiling timidly a cheek[169] 5\n Suffused with blushes of celestial hue,\n While through the Convent's[170] gate to open view\n Softly she glides, another home to seek.\n Not Iris, issuing from her cloudy shrine,\n An Apparition more divinely bright! 10\n Not more attractive to the dazzled sight\n Those watery glories, on the stormy brine\n Poured forth, while summer suns at distance shine,\n And the green vales lie hushed in sober light!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[169] 1837.\n\n ... her cheek 1822.\n\n[170] 1837.\n\n ... Convent ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII\n\nCONTINUED\n\n\n Yet many a Novice of the cloistral shade,\n And many chained by vows, with eager glee[171]\n The warrant hail, exulting to be free;\n Like ships before whose keels, full long embayed\n In polar ice, propitious winds have made 5\n Unlooked-for outlet to an open sea,\n Their liquid world, for bold discovery,\n In all her quarters temptingly displayed!\n Hope guides the young; but when the old must pass\n The threshold, whither shall they turn to find 10\n The hospitality--the alms (alas!\n Alms may be needed) which that House bestowed?\n Can they, in faith and worship, train the mind\n To keep this new and questionable road?\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[171] 1840.\n\n Yet some, Noviciates of the cloistral shade,\n Or chained by vows, with undissembled glee 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXIV\n\nSAINTS\n\n\n Ye, too, must fly before a chasing hand,\n Angels and Saints, in every hamlet mourned!\n Ah! if the old idolatry be spurned,\n Let not your radiant Shapes desert the Land:\n Her adoration was not your demand, 5\n The fond heart proffered it--the servile heart;\n And therefore are ye summoned to depart,\n Michael, and thou, St. George, whose flaming brand[172]\n The Dragon quelled; and valiant Margaret[173]\n Whose rival sword a like Opponent slew: 10\n And rapt Cecilia, seraph-haunted Queen[174]\n Of harmony; and weeping Magdalene,\n Who in the penitential desert met\n Gales sweet as those that over Eden blew!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[172] St. George, patron Saint of England, supposed to have suffered\nA.D. 284. The Greek Church honours him as \"the great martyr.\"--ED.\n\n[173] St. Margaret, supposed to have suffered martyrdom at Antioch,\nA.D. 275.--ED.\n\n[174] St. Cecilia, patron Saint of Music, has been enrolled as a martyr\nby the Latin Church from the fifth century.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXV\n\nTHE VIRGIN[175]\n\n\n Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncrost\n With the least shade of thought to sin allied;\n Woman! above all women glorified,\n Our tainted nature's solitary boast;\n Purer than foam on central ocean tost; 5\n Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn\n With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon\n Before her wane begins on heaven's blue coast;\n Thy Image falls to earth. Yet some, I ween,\n Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend, 10\n As to a visible Power, in which did blend\n All that was mixed and reconciled in Thee\n Of mother's love with maiden purity,\n Of high with low, celestial with terrene![176]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[175] Compare the _Stanzas suggested in a Steam-boat off Saint Bees'\nHead_, (l. 114); also the following sonnet by the late John Nichol,\nProfessor of English Literature in the University of Glasgow. (See _The\nDeath of Themistocles, and other Poems_, p. 189.)\n\n AVE MARIA\n\n Ave Maria! on a thousand thrones\n Raised by the weary hearts that beat to thee,\n As 'neath the softer light the throbbing sea,\n Thy name a spell of peace, in lingering tones\n Is whispered through the world: thy truth condones\n The feebler faith of worshippers that flee,\n Lost in the sovereign awe, to bend the knee\n By pictured holiness or breathing stones.\n Mother of Christ! whom ages old adorn,\n And hundred climes, by gentle thought and deed,\n Forgive the sacrilege, the brandished scorn\n Of the grim guardians of a narrow creed,\n Who fence their folds from Love's serener law,\n And \"grate on scrannel pipes of wretched straw.\"--ED.\n\n[176] This sonnet was published in _Time's Telescope_, July 2, 1823, p.\n136.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXVI\n\nAPOLOGY\n\n\n Not utterly unworthy to endure\n Was the supremacy of crafty Rome;[177]\n Age after age to the arch of Christendom\n A\u00ebrial keystone haughtily secure;\n Supremacy from Heaven transmitted pure, 5\n As many hold; and, therefore, to the tomb\n Pass, some through fire--and by the scaffold some--\n Like saintly Fisher,[178] and unbending More.[179]\n \"Lightly for both the bosom's lord did sit\n Upon his throne;\"[180] unsoftened, undismayed 10\n By aught that mingled with the tragic scene\n Of pity or fear; and More's gay genius played\n With the inoffensive sword of native wit,\n Than the bare axe more luminous and keen.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[177] \"To the second part of the same series\" (the \"Ecclesiastical\nSonnets\") \"I have added two, in order to do more justice to the Papal\nChurch for the services which she did actually render to Christianity\nand Humanity in the Middle Ages.\"--W. W. (in a letter to Professor\nReed, Sept. 4, 1842).--ED.\n\n[178] John Fisher, born in 1469, became Bishop of Rochester in 1504,\nwas one of the first in England to write against Luther, opposed the\ndivorce of Henry VIII., was sent to the Tower in 1534, and his see\ndeclared void, was made a Cardinal by the Pope while in prison, and\nbeheaded on Tower Hill, 1535.--ED.\n\n[179] Sir Thomas More, the author of _Utopia_, born in 1478, was\nSpeaker of the House of Commons in 1523, and succeeded Wolsey as Lord\nChancellor in 1529. Disapproving of the king's divorce, he resigned\noffice, was committed to the Tower for refusing to take the oath of\nsupremacy, found guilty of treason, and beheaded in 1535.--ED.\n\n[180] See _Romeo and Juliet_, act V. scene i. l. 3--\n\n My bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXVII\n\nIMAGINATIVE REGRETS\n\n\n Deep is the lamentation! Not alone\n From Sages justly honoured by mankind;\n But from the ghostly tenants of the wind,\n Demons and Spirits, many a dolorous groan\n Issues for that dominion overthrown: 5\n Proud Tiber grieves, and far-off Ganges, blind\n As his own worshippers: and Nile, reclined\n Upon his monstrous urn, the farewell moan\n Renews.[181] Through every forest, cave, and den,\n Where frauds were hatched of old, hath sorrow past--\n Hangs o'er the Arabian Prophet's native Waste,[182] 11\n Where once his airy helpers[183] schemed and planned\n 'Mid spectral[184] lakes bemocking thirsty men,[185]\n And stalking pillars built of fiery sand.[186]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[181] Compare the echo of the Lady's voice in the lines _To Joanna_, in\nthe \"Poems on the Naming of Places\" (vol. ii. p. 157).--ED.\n\n[182] The desert around Mecca.--ED.\n\n[183] Mahomet affirmed that he had constant visits from angels; and\nthat the angel Gabriel dictated to him the Koran.--ED.\n\n[184] 1837.\n\n 'Mid phantom ... 1822.\n\n[185] The mirage.--ED.\n\n[186] Pillars of sand raised by whirlwinds in the desert, which\ncorrespond to waterspouts at sea.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXVIII\n\nREFLECTIONS\n\n\n Grant, that by this unsparing hurricane\n Green leaves with yellow mixed are torn away,\n And goodly fruitage with the mother spray;\n 'Twere madness--wished we, therefore, to detain,\n With hands stretched forth in[187] mollified disdain, 5\n The \"trumpery\" that ascends in bare display--\n Bulls, pardons, relics, cowls black, white, and grey--[188]\n Upwhirled, and flying o'er the ethereal plain\n Fast bound for Limbo Lake.[189] And yet not choice\n But habit rules the unreflecting herd, 10\n And airy bonds are hardest to disown;\n Hence, with the spiritual sovereignty transferred\n Unto itself, the Crown assumes a voice\n Of reckless mastery, hitherto unknown.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[187] 1827.\n\n With farewell sighs of 1822.\n\n[188] See _Paradise Lost_, book iii. ll. 474, 475--\n\n Eremites and Friars,\n White, black, and grey, with all their trumperie.--ED.\n\n[189] Hades.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXIX\n\nTRANSLATION OF THE BIBLE\n\n\n But, to outweigh all harm, the sacred Book,\n In dusty sequestration wrapt too long,\n Assumes the accents of our native tongue;\n And he who guides the plough, or wields the crook,\n With understanding spirit now may look 5\n Upon her records, listen to her song,\n And sift her laws--much wondering that the wrong,\n Which Faith has suffered, Heaven could calmly brook\n Transcendent Boon! noblest that earthly King\n Ever bestowed to equalize and bless 10\n Under the weight of mortal wretchedness!\n But passions spread like plagues, and thousands wild\n With bigotry shall tread the Offering\n Beneath their feet, detested and defiled.[190]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[190] As was the case during the French Revolution.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXX\n\nTHE POINT AT ISSUE\n\n\n Published 1827\n\n For what contend the wise?--for nothing less\n Than that the Soul, freed from the bonds of Sense,\n And to her God restored by evidence[191]\n Of things not seen, drawn forth from their recess,\n Root there, and not in forms, her holiness;-- 5\n For[192] Faith, which to the Patriarchs did dispense\n Sure guidance, ere a ceremonial fence\n Was needful round men thirsting to transgress;--\n For[193] Faith, more perfect still, with which the Lord\n Of all, himself a Spirit, in the youth 10\n Of Christian aspiration, deigned to fill\n The temples of their hearts who, with his word\n Informed, were resolute to do his will,\n And worship him in spirit and in truth.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[191] 1832.\n\n Than that pure Faith dissolve the bonds of Sense;\n The Soul restored to God by evidence 1827.\n\n[192] 1832.\n\n _That_ ... 1827.\n\n[193] 1832.\n\n That ... 1827.\n\n\n\n\nXXXI\n\nEDWARD VI\n\n\n \"Sweet is the holiness of Youth\"--so felt\n Time-honoured Chaucer speaking through that Lay[194]\n By which the Prioress beguiled the way,[195]\n And many a Pilgrim's rugged heart did melt.\n Hadst thou, loved Bard! whose spirit often dwelt 5\n In the clear land of vision, but foreseen\n King, child, and seraph,[196] blended in the mien\n Of pious Edward kneeling as he knelt\n In meek and simple infancy, what joy\n For universal Christendom had thrilled 10\n Thy heart! what hopes inspired thy genius, skilled\n (O great Precursor, genuine morning Star)\n The lucid shafts of reason to employ,\n Piercing the Papal darkness from afar!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[194] 1845.\n\n ... Chaucer when he framed the lay 1822.\n\n ... Chaucer when he framed that Lay 1837.\n\n[195] The quotation is not from _The Prioress's Tale_ of Chaucer, but\nfrom Wordsworth's own _Selections from Chaucer modernized_, stanza ix.\nWordsworth adds an idea, not found in the original, and to make room\nfor it, he extends the stanza from seven to eight lines.--ED.\n\n[196] King Edward VI. ascended the throne in 1547, at the age of ten,\nand reigned for six years.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXXII\n\nEDWARD SIGNING THE WARRANT FOR THE EXECUTION OF JOAN OF KENT\n\n\n The tears of man in various measure gush\n From various sources; gently overflow\n From blissful transport some--from clefts of woe\n Some with ungovernable impulse rush;\n And some, co\u00ebval with the earliest blush 5\n Of infant passion, scarcely dare to show\n Their pearly lustre--coming but to go;\n And some break forth when others' sorrows crush\n The sympathising heart. Nor these, nor yet\n The noblest drops to admiration known, 10\n To gratitude, to injuries forgiven--\n Claim Heaven's regard like waters that have wet\n The innocent eyes of youthful Monarchs driven\n To pen the mandates, nature doth disown.[197]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[197] Joan Bocher, of Kent, a woman of good birth, friend of Ann Askew\nat Court, was accused, and condemned to die for maintaining that\nChrist was human only in appearance. Cranmer, by order of the Council,\nobtained from Edward a warrant for her execution. Edward, who was then\nin his thirteenth year, signed it, telling Cranmer that he must be\nanswerable for the deed.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIII\n\nREVIVAL OF POPERY\n\n\n Published 1827\n\n The saintly Youth has ceased to rule, discrowned[198]\n By unrelenting Death.[199] O People keen\n For change, to whom the new looks always green!\n Rejoicing did they cast upon the ground[200]\n Their Gods of wood and stone; and, at the sound 5\n Of counter-proclamation, now are seen,\n (Proud triumph is it for a sullen Queen!)\n Lifting them up, the worship to confound\n Of the Most High. Again do they invoke\n The Creature, to the Creature glory give; 10\n Again with frankincense the altars smoke\n Like those the Heathen served; and mass is sung;\n And prayer, man's rational prerogative,\n Runs through blind channels of an unknown tongue.[201]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[198] 1832.\n\n Melts into silent shades the Youth, discrowned 1827.\n\n[199] Edward died in 1553, aged sixteen.--ED.\n\n[200] 1832.\n\n They cast, they cast with joy upon the ground 1827.\n\n[201] On the death of Edward and the accession of Mary Tudor, the Roman\nCatholic worship was restored, all the statutes of Edward VI. with\nregard to religion being repealed by Parliament.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIV\n\nLATIMER AND RIDLEY\n\n\n Published 1827\n\n How fast the Marian death-list is unrolled!\n See Latimer and Ridley in the might\n Of Faith stand coupled for a common flight![202]\n One (like those prophets whom God sent of old)\n Transfigured,[203] from this kindling hath foretold 5\n A torch of inextinguishable light;\n The Other gains a confidence as bold;\n And thus they foil their enemy's despite.\n The penal instruments, the shows of crime,\n Are glorified while this once-mitred pair 10\n Of saintly Friends the \"murtherer's chain partake,\n Corded, and burning at the social stake:\"\n Earth never witnessed object more sublime\n In constancy, in fellowship more fair!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[202] Hugh Latimer, Bishop of Worcester, and Nicholas Ridley, Bishop of\nWinchester, were sent to the Tower, and subsequently burnt together at\nOxford in the front of Balliol College, October 16, 1555.--ED.\n\n[203] M. Latimer suffered his keeper very quietly to pull off his\nhose, and his other array, which to looke unto was very simple: and\nbeing stripped into his shrowd, he seemed as comely a person to them\nthat were present, as one should lightly see: and whereas in his\nclothes hee appeared a withered and crooked sillie (weak) olde man,\nhe now stood bolt upright, as comely a father as one might lightly\nbehold.... Then they brought a faggotte, kindled with fire, and laid\nthe same downe at doctor Ridley's feete. To whome M. Latimer spake in\nthis manner, \"Bee of good comfort, master Ridley, and play the man:\nwee shall this day light such a candle by God's grace in England, as I\ntrust shall never bee put out.\" (_Fox's Acts_, _etc._)\n\nSimilar alterations in the outward figure and deportment of persons\nbrought to like trial were not uncommon. See note to the above passage\nin Dr. Wordsworth's _Ecclesiastical Biography_, for an example in an\nhumble Welsh fisherman.--W. W. 1827. (_Ecclesiastical Biography_, vol.\niii. pp. 287, 288.)--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXXV\n\nCRANMER[204]\n\n\n Outstretching flame-ward his upbraided hand[205]\n (O God of mercy, may no earthly Seat\n Of judgment such presumptuous doom repeat!)\n Amid the shuddering throng doth Cranmer stand;\n Firm as the stake to which with iron band 5\n His frame is tied; firm from the naked feet\n To the bare head. The victory is complete;[206]\n The shrouded Body to the Soul's command\n Answers[207] with more than Indian fortitude,\n Through all her nerves with finer sense endued, 10\n Till breath departs in blissful aspiration:\n Then, 'mid the ghastly ruins of the fire,\n Behold the unalterable heart entire,\n Emblem of faith untouched, miraculous attestation![208][209]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[204] Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, and leader in the\necclesiastical affairs of England during the latter part of Henry\nVIII. and Edward VI.'s reign, was, on the accession of Mary Tudor,\ncommitted to the Tower, tried on charges of heresy, and condemned. He\nrecanted his opinions, but was nevertheless condemned to die. He then\nrecanted his recantation. \"They brought him to the spot where Latimer\nand Ridley had suffered. After a short prayer, he put off his clothes\nwith a cheerful countenance and a willing mind. His feet were bare;\nhis head appeared perfectly bald. Called to abide by his recantation,\nhe stretched forth his right arm, and replied, 'This is the hand that\nwrote it, and therefore it shall suffer punishment first.' Firm to\nhis purpose, as soon as the flame rose, he held his hand out to meet\nit, and retained it there steadfastly, so that all the people saw\nit sensibly burning before the fire reached any other part of his\nbody; and after he repeated with a loud and firm voice, 'This hand\nhath offended, this unworthy right hand.' Never did martyr endure the\nfire with more invincible resolution; no cry was heard from him, save\nthe exclamation of the protomartyr Stephen, 'Lord Jesus, receive my\nspirit!' The fire did its work soon--and his heart was found unconsumed\namid the ashes.\" (Southey's _Book of the Church_, vol. ii. pp. 240,\n241.)--ED.\n\n[205] 1827.\n\n ... upbraiding ... 1822.\n\n[206] 1837.\n\n ... head, the victory complete; 1822.\n\n[207] 1837.\n\n Answering ... 1822.\n\n[208] 1827.\n\n Now wrapt in flames--and now in smoke embowered--\n 'Till self-reproach and panting aspirations\n Are, with the heart that held them, all devoured;\n The Spirit set free, and crown'd with joyful acclamations! 1822.\n\n[209] For the belief in this fact, see the contemporary Historians.--W.\nW. 1827.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVI\n\nGENERAL VIEW OF THE TROUBLES OF THE REFORMATION\n\n\n Aid, glorious Martyrs, from your fields of light,\n Our mortal ken! Inspire a perfect trust\n (While we look round) that Heaven's decrees are just:\n Which few can hold committed to a fight\n That shows, ev'n on its better side, the might 5\n Of proud Self-will, Rapacity, and Lust,\n 'Mid clouds enveloped of polemic dust,\n Which showers of blood seem rather to incite\n Than to allay. Anathemas are hurled\n From both sides; veteran thunders (the brute test 10\n Of truth) are met by fulminations new--\n Tartarean flags are caught at, and unfurled--\n Friends strike at friends--the flying shall pursue--\n And Victory sickens, ignorant where to rest!\n\n\n\n\nXXXVII\n\nENGLISH REFORMERS IN EXILE[210]\n\n\n Scattering, like birds escaped the fowler's net,\n Some seek with timely flight a foreign strand;\n Most happy, re-assembled in a land\n By dauntless Luther freed, could they forget\n Their Country's woes. But scarcely have they met, 5\n Partners in faith, and brothers in distress,\n Free to pour forth their common thankfulness,\n Ere hope declines:--their union is beset\n With speculative notions[211] rashly sown, 9\n Whence thickly-sprouting growth of poisonous weeds;\n Their forms are broken staves; their passions, steeds\n That master them. How enviably blest\n Is he who can, by help of grace, enthrone\n The peace of God within his single breast!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[210] During Mary's reign, fully 800 of the English clergy and laity\nsought refuge on the Continent, and they were hospitably received in\nSwitzerland, the Low Countries, and along the Rhine. Some of the best\nknown were Coverdale, Sandys, Jewel, Knox, Whittingham, and Foxe. They\nlived in Basle, Zurich, Geneva, Strasburg, Worms, and Frankfort; and\nit was in the latter town that the dissensions prevailed, referred to\nin the sonnet. These were unfolded in a Tract entitled _The Troubles\nof Frankfort_. The chief point in dispute was the use of the English\n_Book of Common Prayer_. Knox and Whittingham, under the guidance of\nCalvin, wished a modification of this book. The dispute ended in the\nFrankfort magistrates requesting Knox to leave the city. He retired to\nGeneva. On the accession of Elizabeth, the Frankfort exiles returned to\nEngland.--ED.\n\n[211] 1827.\n\n With prurient speculations ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVIII\n\nELIZABETH\n\n\n Hail, Virgin Queen! o'er many an envious bar\n Triumphant, snatched from many a treacherous wile!\n All hail, sage Lady, whom a grateful Isle\n Hath blest, respiring from that dismal war\n Stilled by thy voice! But quickly from afar 5\n Defiance breathes with more malignant aim;\n And alien storms with home-bred ferments claim\n Portentous fellowship.[212] Her silver car,\n By sleepless prudence[213] ruled, glides slowly on;\n Unhurt by violence, from menaced taint 10\n Emerging pure, and seemingly more bright:\n Ah! wherefore yields it to a foul constraint[214]\n Black as the clouds its beams dispersed, while shone,\n By men and angels blest, the glorious light?[215]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[212] Alluding doubtless to the foreign conspiracies against Elizabeth,\nthe intrigues of Mary Queen of Scots, the Pope's excommunication,\nand conspiracies in the North of England, etc. See _The White Doe of\nRylstone_.--ED.\n\n[213] 1827.\n\n Meanwhile, by prudence ... 1822.\n\n[214] An allusion probably to the Court of High Commission, and perhaps\nalso to the execution of the Scottish Queen.--ED.\n\n[215] 1845.\n\n For, wheresoe'er she moves, the clouds anon\n Disperse; or--under a Divine constraint--\n Reflect some portion of her glorious light! 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIX\n\nEMINENT REFORMERS\n\n\n Methinks that I could trip o'er heaviest soil,\n Light as a buoyant bark from wave to wave,\n Were mine the trusty staff that JEWEL gave\n To youthful HOOKER, in familiar style\n The gift exalting, and with playful smile:[216] 5\n For thus equipped, and bearing on his head\n The Donor's farewell blessing, can[217] he dread\n Tempest, or length of way, or weight of toil?--\n More sweet than odours caught by him who sails\n Near spicy shores of Araby the blest, 10\n A thousand times more exquisitely sweet,\n The freight of holy feeling which we meet,\n In thoughtful moments, wafted by the gales\n From fields where good men walk, or bowers wherein they rest.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[216] \"On foot they[218] went, and took Salisbury in their way,\npurposely to see the good Bishop, who made Mr. Hooker sit at his own\ntable; which Mr. Hooker boasted of with much joy and gratitude when he\nsaw his mother and friends; and at the Bishop's parting with him, the\nBishop gave him good counsel and his benediction, but forgot to give\nhim money; which when the Bishop had considered, he sent a servant in\nall haste to call Richard back to him, and at Richard's return, the\nBishop said to him, 'Richard, I sent for you back to lend you a horse\nwhich hath carried me many a mile, and I thank God with much ease,'\nand presently delivered into his hand a walking-staff, with which he\nprofessed he had travelled through many parts of Germany; and he said,\n'Richard, I do not give, but lend you my horse; be sure you be honest,\nand bring my horse back to me, at your return this way to Oxford. And I\ndo now give you ten groats to bear your charges to Exeter; and here is\nten groats more, which I charge you to deliver to your mother, and tell\nher I send her a Bishop's benediction with it, and beg the continuance\nof her prayers for me. And if you bring my horse back to me, I will\ngive you ten groats more to carry you on foot to the college; and\nso God bless you, good Richard.'\" (See Walton's _Life of Richard\nHooker_.)--W. W. 1822.\n\n[217] 1827.\n\n ... could ... 1822.\n\n[218] _i.e._ Richard Hooker and a College companion.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXL\n\nTHE SAME\n\n\n Holy and heavenly Spirits as they are,\n Spotless in life, and eloquent as wise,\n With what entire affection do they prize[219]\n Their Church reformed![220] labouring with earnest care\n To baffle all that may[221] her strength impair; 5\n That Church, the unperverted Gospel's seat;\n In their afflictions a divine retreat;\n Source of their liveliest hope, and tenderest prayer!--\n The truth exploring with an equal mind,\n In doctrine and communion they have sought[222] 10\n Firmly between the two extremes to steer;\n But theirs the wise man's ordinary lot,\n To trace right courses for the stubborn blind,\n And prophesy to ears that will not hear.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[219] The reading, \"Their new-born Church,\" printed in all editions\nof the poems from 1822 till 1842, had been objected to by several\ncorrespondents; and out of deference to their suggestions it was\naltered to \"Their Church reformed\": but Wordsworth wrote to his\nnephew and biographer, November 12, 1846, \"I don't like the term\n_reformed_; if taken in its literal sense as a _transformation_,\nit is very objectionable\" (see _Memoirs_, vol. ii. p. 113), and in\nthe \"postscript\" _to Yarrow Revisited_, _etc._, he says, \"The great\nReligious Reformation of the sixteenth century did not profess to be a\nnew construction, but a restoration of something fallen into decay, or\nput out of sight.\"--ED.\n\n[220] 1845.\n\n ... did they prize\n Their new-born Church!... 1822.\n\n ... do they prize\n Their new-born Church!... 1827.\n\n[221] 1827.\n\n ... might ... 1822.\n\n[222] 1827.\n\n In polity and discipline they sought 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXLI\n\nDISTRACTIONS\n\n\n Men, who have ceased to reverence, soon defy\n Their forefathers; lo! sects are formed, and split\n With morbid restlessness;[223]--the ecstatic fit\n Spreads wide; though special mysteries multiply,\n _The Saints must govern_ is their common cry; 5\n And so they labour, deeming Holy Writ\n Disgraced by aught that seems content to sit\n Beneath the roof of settled Modesty.\n The Romanist exults; fresh hope he draws\n From the confusion, craftily incites 10\n The overweening, personates the mad--[224]\n To heap disgust upon the worthier Cause:\n Totters the Throne;[225] the new-born Church[226] is sad\n For every wave against her peace unites.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[223] The first nonconforming sect in England originated in 1556.\nIt broke off from the Church, on a question of vestments. The chief\ndivisions of English Nonconformity in the latter half of the sixteenth\ncentury were (1) the _Brunists_, or _Barronists_. The disciples of\nBrun quarrelled and divided amongst themselves. (2) The _Familists_,\nan offshoot of the Dutch Anabaptists, a mystic sect which quarrelled\nwith the Puritans. (3) The _Anabaptists_, who were not only religious\nsectaries, but who differed with the Church on sundry social and civil\nmatters. \"They denied the sanctity of an oath, the binding power\nof laws, the right of the magistrate to punish, and the rights of\nproperty.\" (Perry's _History of the English Church_, p. 315.) See also\nHooker's Preface to his _Ecclesiastical Polity_, c. viii. 6-12; and the\n\"Life of Sir Matthew Hale,\" _Eccl. Biog._ iv. 533, on the \"indigested\nenthusiastical scheme called _The Kingdom of Christ_, or _of his\nSaints_.\"--ED.\n\n[224] A common device in religious and political conflicts. See\n_Strype_, in support of this instance.--W. W. 1822.\n\nProbably the reference is to the case of Cussin, a Dominican Friar. He\npretended to be a Puritan minister; and, in his devotions, assumed the\nairs of madness. See in Strype's _The Life and Acts of Matthew Parker,_\n_Archbishop of Canterbury_, vol. i. chaps, xiii. and xvi.--ED.\n\n[225] 1827.\n\n The Throne is plagued; ... 1822.\n\n[226] See the note to the previous sonnet, No. XL.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXLII\n\nGUNPOWDER PLOT[227]\n\n\n Fear hath a hundred eyes that all agree\n To plague her beating heart; and there is one\n (Nor idlest that!) which holds communion\n With things that were not, yet were _meant_ to be.\n Aghast within its gloomy cavity 5\n That eye (which sees as if fulfilled and done\n Crimes that might stop the motion of the sun)\n Beholds the horrible catastrophe\n Of an assembled Senate unredeemed\n From subterraneous Treason's darkling power: 10\n Merciless act of sorrow infinite!\n Worse than the product of that dismal night,\n When gushing, copious as a thunder-shower,\n The blood of Huguenots through Paris streamed.[228]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[227] Originated by Robert Catesby, the intention being to destroy\nKing, Lords, and Commons, by an explosion at Westminster, when James I.\nwent in person to open Parliament on the 5th November 1605.--ED.\n\n[228] The massacre of St. Bartholomew, which occurred on August 24,\n1572.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXLIII\n\nILLUSTRATION\n\nTHE JUNG-FRAU AND THE FALL OF THE RHINE NEAR SCHAFFHAUSEN\n\n\n The Virgin Mountain,[229] wearing like a Queen\n A brilliant crown of everlasting snow,\n Sheds ruin from her sides; and men below\n Wonder that aught of aspect so serene\n Can link with desolation. Smooth and green,\n And seeming, at a little distance, slow,\n The waters of the Rhine; but on they go\n Fretting and whitening, keener and more keen;\n Till madness seizes on the whole wide Flood,\n Turned to a fearful Thing whose nostrils breathe 10\n Blasts of tempestuous smoke--wherewith he tries\n To hide himself, but only magnifies;\n And doth in more conspicuous torment writhe,\n Deafening the region in his ireful mood.[230]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[229] The Jung-frau.--W. W. 1822.\n\n[230] This Sonnet was included among the \"Memorials of a Tour on the\nContinent\" (1822), and the following note was added:--\"This Sonnet\nbelongs to another publication, but from its fitness for this place\nis inserted here also, '_Voil\u00e0 un \u00e9nfer d'eau_,' cried out a German\nFriend of Ramond, falling on his knees on the scaffold in front of this\nWaterfall. See Ramond's Translation of Coxe.\"--W. W.\n\nThe following extracts from Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal of the\nContinental Tour in 1820 illustrate it. \"Aug. 9.--I am seated before\n_Jung-frau_, in the green vale of Interlaken, 'green to the very\ndoor,' with rich shade of walnut trees, the river behind the house....\nMountains and that majestic _Virgin_ closing up all.... By looking\nacross into a nook at the entrance of the Vale of Lauterbrunnen,\nJung-frau presses forward and seems to preside over and give a\ncharacter to the whole of the vale that belongs only to this one\nspot,\" ... \"Aug. 10th.-- ... Reached Grindelwald, by the pass close\nto Jung-frau (at least separated from it by a deep cleft only), which\nsent forth its avalanches,--one grand beyond all description. It was an\nawful and a solemn sound.\" ... \"Aug. 1st.-- ... Nothing could exceed\nmy delight when, through an opening between buildings at the skirts of\nthe town, we _unexpectedly_ hailed our old and side-by-side companion,\nthe Rhine, now roaring like a lion, along his rocky channel. Never\nbeheld so soft, so lovely a green, as is here given to the waters of\nthis lordly river; and then, how they glittered and heaved to meet the\nsunshine.\"--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXLIV\n\nTROUBLES OF CHARLES THE FIRST\n\n\n Even such the contrast that, where'er we move,[231]\n To the mind's eye[232] Religion doth present;\n Now with her own deep quietness content;\n Then, like the mountain, thundering from above\n Against the ancient pine-trees of the grove 5\n And the Land's humblest comforts. Now her mood\n Recals the transformation of the flood,\n Whose rage the gentle skies in vain reprove,\n Earth cannot check. O terrible excess\n Of headstrong will! Can this be Piety? 10\n No--some fierce Maniac hath usurped her name;\n And scourges England struggling to be free:\n Her peace destroyed! her hopes a wilderness!\n Her blessings cursed--her glory turned to shame!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[231] 1832.\n\n Such contrast, in whatever track we move, 1822.\n\n Such is the contrast, which, where'er we move, 1827.\n\n[232] Compare _Hamlet_, act I. scene i. l. 112.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXLV\n\nLAUD[233]\n\n\n Prejudged by foes determined not to spare,[234]\n An old weak Man for vengeance thrown aside,\n Laud,[235] \"in the painful art of dying\" tried,\n (Like a poor bird entangled in a snare\n Whose heart still flutters, though his wings forbear 5\n To stir in useless struggle) hath relied\n On hope that conscious innocence supplied,[236]\n And in his prison breathes[237] celestial air.\n Why tarries then thy chariot?[238] Wherefore stay,\n O Death! the ensanguined yet triumphant wheels, 10\n Which thou prepar'st, full often, to convey\n (What time a State with madding faction reels)\n The Saint or Patriot to the world that heals\n All wounds, all perturbations doth allay?\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[233] See the Fenwick note preceding the Series.--ED.\n\nIn this age a word cannot be said in praise of Laud, or even in\ncompassion for his fate, without incurring a charge of bigotry; but\nfearless of such imputation, I concur with Hume, \"that it is sufficient\nfor his vindication to observe that his errors were the most excusable\nof all those which prevailed during that zealous period.\" A key to the\nright understanding of those parts of his conduct that brought the most\nodium upon him in his own time, may be found in the following passage\nof his speech before the bar of the House of Peers:--\"Ever since I came\nin place, I have laboured nothing more than that the external publick\nworship of God, so much slighted in divers parts of this kingdom, might\nbe preserved, and that with as much decency and uniformity as might\nbe. For I evidently saw that the public neglect of God's service in\nthe outward face of it, and the nasty lying of many places dedicated\nto that service, _had almost cast a damp upon the true and inward\nworship of God, which while we live in the body, needs external\nhelps, and all little enough to keep it in any vigour_.\"--W. W. 1827.\n\n[234] 1827.\n\n Pursued by Hate, debarred from friendly care; 1822.\n\n[235] 1827.\n\n Long ... 1822.\n\n[236] 1827.\n\n ... Laud relied\n Upon the strength which Innocence supplied, 1822.\n\n[237] 1827.\n\n ... breathed ... 1822.\n\n[238] In his address, before his execution, Archbishop Laud said, \"I am\nnot in love with this passage through the Red Sea, and I have prayed\n_ut transiret calix iste_, but if not, God's will be done.\"--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXLVI\n\nAFFLICTIONS OF ENGLAND\n\n\n Harp! could'st thou venture, on thy boldest string,\n The faintest note to echo which the blast\n Caught from the hand of Moses as it pass'd\n O'er Sinai's top, or from the Shepherd-king,\n Early awake, by Siloa's brook, to sing 5\n Of dread Jehovah; then, should wood and waste\n Hear also of that name, and mercy cast\n Off to the mountains, like a covering\n Of which the Lord was weary. Weep, oh! weep,\n Weep with the good,[239] beholding King and Priest 10\n Despised by that stern God to whom they raise\n Their suppliant hands; but holy is the feast\n He keepeth; like the firmament his ways:\n His statutes like the chambers of the deep.[240]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[239] 1827.\n\n As good men wept, ... 1822.\n\n[240] See Psalm xxxvi. 5, 6.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nPART III\n\nFROM THE RESTORATION TO THE PRESENT TIMES\n\n\n[When I came to this part of the series I had the dream described in\nthis Sonnet.[241] The figure was that of my daughter, and the whole\npassed exactly as here represented. The Sonnet was composed on the\nmiddle road leading from Grasmere to Ambleside: it was begun as I left\nthe last house of the vale, and finished, word for word as it now\nstands, before I came in view of Rydal. I wish I could say the same of\nthe five or six hundred I have written: most of them were frequently\nretouched in the course of composition, and, not a few, laboriously.\n\nI have only further to observe that the intended Church which\nprompted these Sonnets was erected on Coleorton Moor towards the\ncentre of a very populous parish between three and four miles from\nAshby-de-la-Zouch, on the road to Loughborough, and has proved, I\nbelieve, a great benefit to the neighbourhood.--I.F.]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[241] The first of Part III. p. 74.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nI\n\n\"I SAW THE FIGURE OF A LOVELY MAID\"\n\n\n I saw the figure of a lovely Maid\n Seated alone beneath a darksome tree,\n Whose fondly-overhanging canopy\n Set off her brightness with a pleasing shade.\n No Spirit was she; _that_[242] my heart betrayed, 5\n For she was one I loved exceedingly;\n But while I gazed in tender reverie\n (Or was it sleep that with my Fancy played?)\n The bright corporeal presence--form and face--\n Remaining still distinct grew thin and rare, 10\n Like sunny mist;--at length the golden hair,\n Shape, limbs, and heavenly features, keeping pace\n Each with the other in a lingering race\n Of dissolution, melted into air.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[242] 1837.\n\n Substance she seem'd (and _that_ ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nPATRIOTIC SYMPATHIES\n\n\n Last night, without a voice, that Vision spake\n Fear to my Soul, and sadness which might seem[243]\n Wholly[244] dissevered from our present theme;\n Yet, my belov\u00e8d Country! I partake[245]\n Of kindred agitations for thy sake; 5\n Thou, too, dost visit oft[246] my midnight dream;\n Thy[247] glory meets me with the earliest beam\n Of light, which tells that Morning is awake.\n If aught impair thy[248] beauty or destroy,\n Or but forebode destruction, I deplore 10\n With filial love the sad vicissitude;\n If thou hast[249] fallen, and righteous Heaven restore\n The prostrate, then my spring-time is renewed,\n And sorrow bartered for exceeding joy.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[243] 1845.\n\n ... this Vision spake\n Fear to my Spirit--passion that might seem 1822.\n\n ... this Vision spake\n Fear to my Soul, and sadness that might seem 1837.\n\n[244] 1827.\n\n To lie ... 1822.\n\n[245] 1832.\n\n Yet do I love my Country--and partake 1822.\n\n[246] 1832.\n\n ... for her sake;\n She visits oftentimes ... 1822.\n\n[247] 1832.\n\n Her ... 1822.\n\n[248] 1832.\n\n ... her ... 1822.\n\n[249] 1832.\n\n If she hath ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nCHARLES THE SECOND\n\n\n Who comes--with rapture greeted, and caress'd\n With frantic love--his kingdom to regain?[250]\n Him Virtue's Nurse, Adversity, in vain\n Received, and fostered in her iron breast:\n For all she taught of hardiest and of best, 5\n Or would have taught, by discipline of pain\n And long privation, now dissolves amain,\n Or is remembered only to give zest\n To wantonness--Away, Circean revels![251]\n But for what gain? if England soon must sink 10\n Into a gulf which all distinction levels--\n That bigotry may swallow the good name,[252][253]\n And, with that draught, the life-blood: misery, shame,\n By Poets loathed; from which Historians shrink!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[250] \"No event ever marked a deeper or a more lasting change in the\ntemper of the English people, than the entry of Charles the Second into\nWhitehall. With it modern England begins.\" (Green's _Short History of\nthe English People_, chap. ix. sec. 1.)--ED.\n\n[251] \"The Restoration brought Charles to Whitehall; and in an instant\nthe whole face of England was changed. All that was noblest and best in\nPuritanism was whirled away.\" (Green, chap. ix. sec. I.) The excesses\nof every kind that came in with the Restoration were notorious.--ED.\n\n[252] 1837.\n\n Already stands our Country on the brink\n Of bigot rage, that all distinction levels\n Of truth and falsehood, swallowing the good name, 1822.\n\n[253] In 1672 the Duke of York was publicly received into the Church of\nRome.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nLATITUDINARIANISM\n\n\n Yet Truth is keenly sought for, and the wind\n Charged with rich words poured out in thought's defence;\n Whether the Church inspire that eloquence,[254]\n Or a Platonic Piety confined\n To the sole temple of the inward mind;[255] 5\n And One there is who builds immortal lays,\n Though doomed to tread in solitary ways,[256]\n Darkness before and danger's voice behind;\n Yet not alone, nor helpless to repel\n Sad thoughts; for from above the starry sphere 10\n Come secrets, whispered nightly to his ear;\n And the pure spirit of celestial light\n Shines through his soul--\"that he may see and tell\n Of things invisible to mortal sight.\"[257]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[254] As in the case of John Hales of Eton, William Chillingworth, who\nwrote _The Religion of Protestants_, and Jeremy Taylor, author of _The_\n_Liberty of Prophesying_.--ED.\n\n[255] The Cambridge Platonists, Ralph Cudworth, John Smith, and Henry\nMore, are referred to.--ED.\n\n[256] Milton.--ED.\n\n[257] Compare _Paradise Lost_, book iii. ll. 54, 55.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nWALTON'S BOOK OF LIVES[258]\n\n\n There are no colours in the fairest sky\n So fair as these. The feather, whence the pen\n Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men,\n Dropped from an Angel's wing.[259] With moistened eye\n We read of faith and purest charity 5\n In Statesman, Priest, and humble Citizen:\n O could we copy their mild virtues, then\n What joy to live, what blessedness to die!\n Methinks their very names shine still and bright;\n Apart--like glow-worms on a summer night; 10\n Or lonely tapers when from far they fling\n A guiding ray;[260] or seen--like stars on high,\n Satellites burning in a lucid ring\n Around meek Walton's heavenly memory.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[258] Izaak Walton, author of _The Complete Angler_, wrote also _The\nLives of_ John Donne, Sir Henry Wotton, Richard Hooker, George Herbert,\nand Robert Sanderson.--ED.\n\n[259] With those lines of Wordsworth compare the following: a Sonnet\naddressed \"to the King of Scots,\" in Henry Constable's _Diana_,\npublished in 1594--\n\n The pen wherewith thou dost so heavenly singe,\n Made of a quill pluck't from an Angell's winge.\n\nA sonnet by Dorothy Berry, prefixed to Diana Primrose's _Chain of\nPearl, a memorial of the peerless graces, etc., of Queen Elizabeth_,\nLondon, 1639--\n\n Whose noble praise\n Deserves a quill pluck't from an angel's wing.\n\nAlso John Evelyn, in his _Life of Mrs. Godolphin_, \"It would become the\npen of an angel's wing to describe the life of a saint,\" etc.--ED.\n\n[260] 1827.\n\n ... glow-worms in the woods of spring,\n Or lonely tapers shooting far a light\n That guides and cheers,-- ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nCLERICAL INTEGRITY\n\n\n Nor shall the eternal roll of praise reject\n Those Unconforming; whom one rigorous day\n Drives from their Cures, a voluntary prey\n To poverty, and grief, and disrespect,[261]\n And some to want--as if by tempests wrecked[262] 5\n On a wild coast; how destitute! did They\n Feel not that Conscience never can betray,\n That peace of mind is Virtue's sure effect.\n Their altars they forego, their homes they quit,\n Fields which they love, and paths they daily trod, 10\n And cast the future upon Providence;\n As men the dictate of whose inward sense\n Outweighs the world; whom self-deceiving wit\n Lures not from what they deem the cause of God.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[261] By the Act of Uniformity (1662), nearly 2000 Presbyterian and\nIndependent Ministers, who had been admitted to benefices in the Church\nof England during the Puritan Ascendency, were ejected from their\nlivings.--ED.\n\n[262] 1827.\n\n ... tempest wreck'd 1822.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nPERSECUTION OF THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS\n\n\n Published 1827\n\n When Alpine Vales threw forth a suppliant cry,\n The majesty of England interposed[263]\n And the sword stopped; the bleeding wounds were closed;\n And Faith preserved her ancient purity.\n How little boots that precedent of good, 5\n Scorned or forgotten, Thou canst testify,\n For England's shame, O Sister Realm! from wood,\n Mountain, and moor, and crowded street, where lie[264]\n The headless martyrs of the Covenant,\n Slain by Compatriot-protestants that draw 10\n From councils senseless as intolerant\n Their warrant. Bodies fall by wild sword-law;\n But who would force the Soul, tilts with a straw\n Against a Champion cased in adamant.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[263] See Milton's Sonnet XVIII., _On the late Massacre in Piedmont_,\nbeginning--\n\n Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, ...\n\nThis was in 1655. In the following year Cromwell, to whom the\npersecuted Vaudois subjects of the Duke of Savoy had appealed,\ninterposed in their behalf. Nearly \u00a340,000 were collected in England\nfor their relief.--ED.\n\n[264] Compare _The Excursion_, book i. 11. 175, 176.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nACQUITTAL OF THE BISHOPS[265]\n\n\n A voice, from long-expecting[266] thousands sent,\n Shatters the air, and troubles tower and spire;\n For Justice hath absolved the innocent,\n And Tyranny is balked of her desire:\n Up, down, the busy Thames--rapid as fire 5\n Coursing a train of gunpowder--it went,\n And transport finds in every street a vent,\n Till the whole City rings like one vast quire.\n The Fathers urge the People to be still, 9\n With outstretched hands and earnest speech[267]--in vain!\n Yea, many, haply wont to entertain\n Small reverence for the mitre's offices,\n And to Religion's self no friendly will,\n A Prelate's blessing ask on bended knees.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[265] The Bishops who protested against James II.'s Declaration of\nIndulgence and refused to read it. He ordered the Ecclesiastical\nCommissioners, to deprive them of their Sees, and the Bishops were sent\nto the Tower. \"They passed to their prison amidst the shouts of a great\nmultitude, the sentinels knelt for their blessing as they entered the\ngates, and the soldiers of the garrison drank their healths.... The\nBishops appeared as criminals at the bar of the King's Bench. The jury\nhad been packed, the judges were mere tools of the Crown, but judges\nand jury were alike overawed by the indignation of the people at large.\nNo sooner had the foreman of the jury uttered the words 'Not guilty,'\nthan a roar of applause burst from the crowd, and horsemen spurred\nalong every road to carry over the country the news of the acquittal.\"\n(Green.) See Wordsworth's note to the eleventh sonnet in Part I. (p.\n12.)--ED.\n\n[266] 1827.\n\n ... long-expectant ... 1822.\n\n[267] 1827.\n\n ... voice ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nWILLIAM THE THIRD\n\n\n Calm as an under-current, strong to draw\n Millions of waves into itself, and run,\n From sea to sea, impervious to the sun\n And ploughing storm, the spirit of Nassau[268]\n (Swerves not, how blest if by religious awe[269] 5\n Swayed, and thereby enabled to contend\n With the wide world's commotions) from its end\n Swerves not--diverted by a casual law.\n Had mortal action e'er a nobler scope?\n The Hero comes to liberate, not defy; 10\n And, while he marches on with stedfast hope,[270]\n Conqueror beloved! expected anxiously!\n The vacillating Bondman of the Pope[271]\n Shrinks from the verdict of his stedfast eye.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[268] William III. of Nassau, Prince of Orange, was invited over to\nEngland by the nobles and commons who were disaffected towards James\nII., and landed at Torbay in November 1688.--ED.\n\n[269] 1845.\n\n (By constant impulse of religious awe ... 1822.\n\n[270] 1845.\n\n ... righteous hope, 1822.\n\n[271] King James II., who fled to France in December 1688.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nOBLIGATIONS OF CIVIL TO RELIGIOUS LIBERTY\n\n\n Ungrateful Country, if thou e'er forget\n The sons who for thy civil rights have bled!\n How, like a Roman, Sidney bowed his head,[272]\n And Russell's milder blood the scaffold wet;[273]\n But these had fallen for profitless regret 5\n Had not thy holy Church her champions bred,\n And claims from other worlds inspirited\n The star of Liberty to rise. Nor yet\n (Grave this within thy heart!) if spiritual things\n Be lost, through apathy, or scorn, or fear, 10\n Shalt thou thy humbler franchises support,\n However hardly won or justly dear:\n What came from heaven to heaven by nature clings,\n And, if dissevered thence, its course is short.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[272] Algernon Sidney, second son of the Earl of Leicester, equally\nopposed to the tyranny of Charles and of Cromwell, was implicated\nin the Rye House Plot, arraigned before the chief-justice Jeffries,\ncondemned illegally, and executed at Tower Hill in December 1683.--ED.\n\n[273] Lord William Russell, third son of the Duke of Bedford, member\nof the House of Commons like Sidney, and like him implicated in\nthe Rye House Plot, condemned at the Old Bailey, and beheaded at\nLincoln's-Inn-Fields in July 1683.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nSACHEVEREL[274]\n\n\n Published 1827\n\n A sudden conflict rises from the swell\n Of a proud slavery met by tenets strained\n In Liberty's behalf. Fears, true or feigned,\n Spread through all ranks; and lo! the Sentinel\n Who loudest rang his pulpit 'larum bell 5\n Stands at the Bar, absolved by female eyes\n Mingling their glances with grave flatteries[275]\n Lavished on _Him_--that England may rebel\n Against her ancient virtue. HIGH and LOW,\n Watch-words of Party, on all tongues are rife; 10\n As if a Church, though sprung from heaven, must owe\n To opposites and fierce extremes her life,--\n Not to the golden mean, and quiet flow\n Of truths that soften hatred, temper strife.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[274] Henry Sacheverel, a high-church clergyman, preached two sermons\nin 1709, one at Derby, and the other in St. Paul's, London, in which\nhe attacked the principles of the Revolution Settlement, taught the\ndoctrine of non-resistance, and decried the Act of Toleration. He was\nimpeached by the Commons, and tried before the House of Lords in 1710,\nwas found guilty, and suspended from office for three years. This made\nhim for the time the most popular man in England; and the general\nelection which followed was fatal to the Government which condemned\nhim. He was a weak and a vain man, who attained to notoriety without\nfame.--ED.\n\n[275] 1832.\n\n ... Light with graver flatteries, 1827.\n\n\n\n\nXII[276]\n\n\"DOWN A SWIFT STREAM, THUS FAR, A BOLD DESIGN\"\n\n\n Published 1827\n\n Down a swift Stream, thus far, a bold design\n Have we pursued, with livelier stir of heart\n Than his who sees, borne forward by the Rhine,\n The living landscapes greet him, and depart;\n Sees spires fast sinking--up again to start! 5\n And strives the towers to number, that recline\n O'er the dark steeps, or on the horizon line\n Striding with shattered crests his[277] eye athwart.\n So have we hurried on with troubled pleasure:\n Henceforth, as on the bosom of a stream 10\n That slackens, and spreads wide a watery gleam,\n We, nothing loth a lingering course to measure,\n May gather up our thoughts, and mark at leisure\n How widely spread the interests of our theme.[278]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[276] Compare the extracts from Mary and Dorothy Wordsworth's Journals\nin the \"Memorials of a Tour on the Continent\" (vol. vi. p. 300).--ED.\n\n[277] 1845.\n\n ... the ... 1827.\n\n[278] 1845.\n\n Features that else had vanished like a dream. 1827.\n\n ... sound at leisure\n The depths, and mark the compass of our theme. C.\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\nASPECTS OF CHRISTIANITY IN AMERICA[279]\n\nI. THE PILGRIM FATHERS[280]\n\n\n Published 1845\n\n Well worthy to be magnified are they\n Who, with sad hearts, of friends and country took\n A last farewell, their loved abodes forsook,\n And hallowed ground in which their fathers lay;\n Then to the new-found World explored their way, 5\n That so a Church, unforced, uncalled to brook\n Ritual restraints, within some sheltering nook\n Her Lord might worship and his word obey\n In freedom. Men they were who could not bend;\n Blest Pilgrims, surely, as they took for guide 10\n A will by sovereign Conscience sanctified;\n Blest while their Spirits from the woods ascend\n Along a Galaxy that knows no end,\n But in His glory who for Sinners died.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[279] In a letter to Professor Henry Reed, dated March 1, 1842,\nWordsworth wrote:--\"I have sent you three sonnets upon certain 'Aspects\nof Christianity in America,' having, as you will see, a reference to\nthe subject upon which you wished me to write. I wish they had been\nmore worthy of the subject: I hope, however, you will not disapprove of\nthe connection which I have thought myself warranted in tracing between\nthe Puritan fugitives and Episcopacy.\"--ED.\n\n[280] American episcopacy, in union with the church in England,\nstrictly belongs to the general subject; and I here make my\nacknowledgments to my American friends, Bishop Doane, and Mr. Henry\nReed of Philadelphia, for having suggested to me the propriety\nof adverting to it, and pointed out the virtues and intellectual\nqualities of Bishop White, which so eminently fitted him for the great\nwork he undertook. Bishop White was consecrated at Lambeth, Feb.\n4, 1787, by Archbishop Moore; and before his long life was closed,\ntwenty-six bishops had been consecrated in America, by himself. For\nhis character and opinions, see his own numerous Works, and a \"Sermon\nin commemoration of him, by George Washington Doane, Bishop of New\nJersey.\"--W. W. 1845.\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\nII. CONTINUED\n\n\n Published 1845\n\n From Rite and Ordinance abused they fled\n To Wilds where both were utterly unknown;\n But not to them had Providence foreshown\n What benefits are missed, what evils bred,\n In worship neither raised nor limited 5\n Save by Self-will. Lo! from that distant shore,\n For Rite and Ordinance, Piety is led\n Back to the Land those Pilgrims left of yore,\n Led by her own free choice.[281] So Truth and Love\n By Conscience governed do their steps retrace.-- 10\n Fathers! your Virtues, such the power of grace,\n Their spirit, in your Children, thus approve.\n Transcendent over time, unbound by place,\n Concord and Charity in circles move.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[281] The Book of Common Prayer of the American Episcopal Church was\navowedly derived from that of England, and substantially agrees with\nit.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nIII. CONCLUDED.--AMERICAN EPISCOPACY\n\n\n Published 1845\n\n Patriots informed with Apostolic light\n Were they, who, when their Country had been freed,\n Bowing with reverence to the ancient creed,\n Fixed on the frame of England's Church their sight,[282]\n And strove in filial love to reunite 5\n What force had severed. Thence they fetched the seed\n Of Christian unity, and won a meed\n Of praise from Heaven. To Thee, O saintly WHITE,[283]\n Patriarch of a wide-spreading family,\n Remotest lands and unborn times shall turn, 10\n Whether they would restore or build--to Thee,\n As one who rightly taught how zeal should burn,\n As one who drew from out Faith's holiest urn\n The purest stream of patient Energy.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[282] \"I hope you will not disapprove of the connection which I have\nthought myself warranted in tracing between the Puritan fugitives and\nEpiscopacy.\" (Wordsworth to Henry Reed, March 1, 1842.)--ED.\n\n[283] Dr. Seabury was consecrated Bishop of Connecticut by Scottish\nBishops at Aberdeen, in November 1784. Dr. White was consecrated Bishop\nof Pennsylvania, and Dr. Provoost, Bishop of New York, at Lambeth, in\nFebruary 1787. It was Wordsworth's intention, in 1841, to add a sonnet\nto his \"Ecclesiastical Series\" \"On the union of the two Episcopal\nChurches of England and America.\"--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\n\"BISHOPS AND PRIESTS, BLESS\u00c8D ARE YE, IF DEEP\"\n\n\n Published 1845\n\n Bishops and Priests, bless\u00e8d are ye, if deep\n (As yours above all offices is high)\n Deep in your hearts the sense of duty lie;\n Charged as ye are by Christ to feed and keep\n From wolves your portion of his chosen sheep:\n Labouring as ever in your Master's sight,\n Making your hardest task your best delight,\n What perfect glory ye in Heaven shall reap!--\n But, in the solemn Office which ye sought\n And undertook premonished, if unsound 10\n Your practice prove, faithless though but in thought,\n Bishops and Priests, think what a gulf profound\n Awaits you then, if they were rightly taught\n Who framed the Ordinance by your lives disowned!\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nPLACES OF WORSHIP\n\n\n As star that shines dependent upon star\n Is to the sky while we look up in love;\n As to the deep fair ships which though they move\n Seem fixed, to eyes that watch them from afar;\n As to the sandy desert fountains are, 5\n With palm-groves shaded at wide intervals,\n Whose fruit around the sun-burnt Native falls\n Of roving tired or desultory war--\n Such to this British Isle her christian Fanes,\n Each linked to each for kindred services; 10\n Her Spires, her Steeple-towers with glittering vanes[284]\n Far-kenned, her Chapels lurking among trees,\n Where a few villagers on bended knees\n Find solace which a busy world disdains.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[284] Compare _The Excursion_, book vi. ll. 17-29 (vol. v. p. 236).--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nPASTORAL CHARACTER\n\n\n A GENIAL hearth, a hospitable board,\n And a refined rusticity, belong[285]\n To the neat mansion, where, his flock among,\n The learned Pastor dwells, their watchful Lord.[286]\n Though meek and patient as a sheath\u00e8d sword; 5\n Though pride's least lurking thought appear a wrong\n To human kind; though peace be on his tongue,\n Gentleness in his heart--can earth afford\n Such genuine state, pre-eminence so free,\n As when, arrayed in Christ's authority, 10\n He from the pulpit lifts his awful hand;\n Conjures, implores, and labours all he can\n For re-subjecting to divine command\n The stubborn spirit of rebellious man?\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[285] Among the benefits arising, as Mr. Coleridge has well observed,\nfrom a Church establishment of endowments corresponding with the wealth\nof the country to which it belongs, may be reckoned as eminently\nimportant, the examples of civility and refinement which the Clergy\nstationed at intervals, afford to the whole people. The established\nclergy in many parts of England have long been, as they continue to\nbe, the principal bulwark against barbarism, and the link which unites\nthe sequestered peasantry with the intellectual advancement of the\nage. Nor is it below the dignity of the subject to observe, that their\ntaste, as acting upon rural residences and scenery, often furnishes\nmodels which country gentlemen, who are more at liberty to follow the\ncaprices of fashion, might profit by. The precincts of an old residence\nmust be treated by ecclesiastics with respect, both from prudence and\nnecessity. I remember being much pleased, some years ago, at Rose\nCastle, the rural seat of the See of Carlisle, with a style of garden\nand architecture which, if the place had belonged to a wealthy layman,\nwould no doubt have been swept away. A parsonage-house generally stands\nnot far from the church; this proximity imposes favourable restraints,\nand sometimes suggests an affecting union of the accommodations and\nelegancies of life with the outward signs of piety and mortality. With\npleasure I recall to mind a happy instance of this in the residence\nof an old and much-valued Friend in Oxfordshire. The house and church\nstand parallel to each other, at a small distance; a circular lawn or\nrather grass-plot, spreads between them; shrubs and trees curve from\neach side of the dwelling, veiling, but not hiding, the church. From\nthe front of this dwelling, no part of the burial-ground is seen;\nbut as you wind by the side of the shrubs towards the steeple-end\nof the church, the eye catches a single, small, low, monumental\nheadstone, moss-grown, sinking into, and gently inclining towards the\nearth. Advance, and the churchyard, populous and gay with glittering\ntombstones, opens upon the view. This humble, and beautiful parsonage\ncalled forth a tribute which will not be out of its place here.--W. W.\n1822.\n\nHe then quotes the seventh of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets,\" Part III.\n(see vol. vi. p. 217).--ED.\n\n[286] Compare the sonnet, _On the sight of a Manse in the South of\nScotland_, belonging to the Tour in the year 1831.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXIX\n\nTHE LITURGY\n\n\n Yes, if the intensities of hope and fear\n Attract us still, and passionate exercise\n Of lofty thoughts, the way before us lies\n Distinct with signs, through which in set career,[287]\n As through a zodiac, moves the ritual year[288] 5\n Of England's Church; stupendous mysteries!\n Which whoso travels in her bosom eyes,\n As he approaches them, with solemn cheer.\n Upon that circle traced from sacred story\n We only dare to cast a transient glance, 10\n Trusting in hope that Others may advance\n With mind intent upon the King of Glory,[289]\n From his mild advent till his countenance\n Shall dissipate the seas and mountains hoary.[290]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[287] 1837\n\n ... fixed career, 1822.\n\n[288] Compare _The Christian Year_, by Keble, _passim_.--ED.\n\n[289] 1845.\n\n Enough for us to cast a transient glance\n The circle through; relinquishing its story\n For those whom Heaven hath fitted to advance\n And, harp in hand, rehearse the King of Glory-- 1822.\n\n Enough for us to cast no careless glance\n Upon that circle, leaving Christian story\n To those ... has ... C.\n\n (Or)\n\n Here let us cast a more than Transient glance,\n And harp in hand endeavour to advance,\n With mind intent ... C.\n\n[290] See _The Revelation of St. John_, chapter xx. v. II.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXX\n\nBAPTISM\n\n\n Published 1827\n\n Dear[291] be the Church, that, watching o'er the needs\n Of Infancy, provides a timely shower\n Whose virtue changes to a Christian Flower\n A Growth from sinful Nature's bed of weeds!--[292]\n Fitliest beneath the sacred roof proceeds 5\n The ministration; while parental Love\n Looks on, and Grace descendeth from above\n As the high service pledges now, now pleads.\n There, should vain thoughts outspread their wings and fly\n To meet the coming hours of festal mirth, 10\n The tombs--which hear and answer that brief cry,\n The Infant's notice of his second birth--\n Recal the wandering Soul to sympathy\n With what man hopes from Heaven, yet fears from Earth.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[291] 1845.\n\n Blest ... 1827.\n\n[292] 1832.\n\n The sinful product of a bed of Weeds! 1827.\n\n\n\n\nXXI\n\nSPONSORS\n\n\n Published 1832\n\n Father! to God himself we cannot give\n A holier name! then lightly do not bear\n Both names conjoined, but of thy spiritual care\n Be duly mindful: still more sensitive\n Do Thou, in truth a second Mother, strive[293] 5\n Against disheartening custom, that by Thee\n Watched, and with love and pious industry[294]\n Tended at need, the adopted Plant may thrive\n For everlasting bloom. Benign and pure[295]\n This Ordinance, whether loss it would supply, 10\n Prevent omission, help deficiency,\n Or seek to make assurance doubly sure.[296][297]\n Shame if the consecrated Vow be found\n An idle form, the Word an empty sound![298][299]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[293] 1832.\n\n ... yet more sensitive,\n More faithful, thou, a second Mother, MS.\n\n W. W., Dec. 7, 1827.\n\n[294] 1832.\n\n Watched at all seasons, and with industry MS.\n\n W. W., Dec. 7, 1827.\n\n[295] 1832.\n\n ... Benign must be. MS.\n\n W. W., Dec. 7, 1827.\n\n[296] Compare _Macbeth_, act IV. scene i. l. 83.--ED.\n\n[297] 1832.\n\n ... \"Assurance doubly sure.\" MS.\n\n W. W., Dec. 7, 1827.\n\n[298] 1832.\n\n ... the Name an empty sound. MS.\n\n W. W., Dec. 7, 1827.\n\n[299] This Sonnet was sent by Wordsworth in holograph MS. to Orton Hall\nin the form indicated in the footnotes, dated Dec. 7, 1827.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXII\n\nCATECHISING\n\n\n From Little down to Least, in due degree,\n Around the Pastor, each in new-wrought vest,\n Each with a vernal posy at his breast,\n We stood, a trembling, earnest Company!\n With low soft murmur, like a distant bee, 5\n Some spake, by thought-perplexing fears betrayed;\n And some a bold unerring answer made:\n How fluttered then thy anxious heart for me,\n Belov\u00e8d Mother! Thou whose happy hand\n Had bound the flowers I wore, with faithful tie:[300] 10\n Sweet flowers! at whose inaudible command\n Her countenance, phantom-like, doth re-appear:\n O lost too early for the frequent tear,\n And ill requited by this heartfelt sigh!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[300] See Wordsworth's reference to his Mother in his\n_Autobiographical Memoranda_.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII\n\nCONFIRMATION\n\n\n Published 1827\n\n The Young-ones gathered in from hill and dale,\n With holiday delight on every brow:\n 'Tis passed away; far other thoughts prevail;\n For they are taking the baptismal Vow\n Upon their conscious selves; their own lips speak 5\n The solemn promise. Strongest sinews fail,\n And many a blooming, many a lovely, cheek\n Under the holy fear of God turns pale;\n While on each head his lawn-robed servant lays\n An apostolic hand, and with prayer seals 10\n The Covenant. The Omnipotent will raise\n Their feeble Souls; and bear with _his_ regrets,\n Who, looking round the fair assemblage, feels\n That ere the Sun goes down their childhood sets.\n\n\n\n\nXXIV\n\nCONFIRMATION CONTINUED\n\n\n I saw a Mother's eye intensely bent\n Upon a Maiden trembling as she knelt;\n In and for whom the pious Mother felt\n Things that we judge of by a light too faint:\n Tell, if ye may, some star-crowned Muse, or Saint! 5\n Tell what rushed in, from what she was relieved--\n Then, when her Child the hallowing touch received,\n And such vibration through[301] the Mother went\n That tears burst forth amain. Did gleams appear?\n Opened a vision of that blissful place 10\n Where dwells a Sister-child? And was power given\n Part of her lost One's glory back to trace\n Even to this Rite? For thus _She_ knelt, and, ere\n The summer-leaf had faded, passed to Heaven.[302]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[301] 1837.\n\n ... to ... 1827.\n\n[302] Compare the tribute to a Daughter, who died within the year after\nher confirmation, in _A Presbyterian Clergyman looking for the Church_,\nby the Rev. Flavel S. Mines, p. 95.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXV\n\nSACRAMENT\n\n\n Published 1827\n\n By chain yet stronger must the Soul be tied:\n One duty more, last stage of[303] this ascent,\n Brings to thy food, mysterious[304] Sacrament!\n The Offspring, haply at the Parent's side;\n But not till They, with all that do abide 5\n In Heaven, have lifted up their hearts to laud\n And magnify the glorious name of God,\n Fountain of Grace, whose Son for sinners died.\n Ye, who have duly weighed the summons, pause\n No longer; ye,[305] whom to the saving rite 10\n The Altar calls; come early under laws\n That can secure for you a path of light\n Through gloomiest shade; put on (nor dread its weight)\n Armour divine, and conquer in your cause!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[303] 1827.\n\n ... to ... Coleorton MS.\n\n[304] 1845.\n\n ... memorial ... 1827.\n\n[305] 1845.\n\n Here must my Song in timid reverence pause:\n But shrink not ye ... 1827.\n\n\n\n\nXXVI\n\nTHE MARRIAGE CEREMONY[306]\n\n\n Composed 1842.--Published 1845\n\n The Vested Priest before the Altar stands;\n Approach, come gladly, ye prepared, in sight\n Of God and chosen friends, your troth to plight\n With the symbolic ring, and willing hands[307]\n Solemnly joined. Now sanctify the bands, 5\n O Father!--to the Espoused thy blessing give,\n That mutually assisted they may live\n Obedient, as here taught, to thy commands.\n So prays the Church, to consecrate a Vow\n \"The which would endless matrimony make\";[308] 10\n Union that shadows forth and doth partake\n A mystery potent human love to endow\n With heavenly, each more prized for the other's sake;\n Weep not, meek Bride! uplift thy timid brow.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[306] In a letter to Professor Henry Reed, dated \"Rydal Mount, Sept. 4,\n1842,\" Wordsworth says: \"A few days ago, after a very long interval, I\nreturned to poetical composition; and my first employment was to write\na couple of Sonnets upon subjects recommended by you to take place in\nthe Ecclesiastical Series. They are upon the Marriage Ceremony and the\nFuneral Service. I have, about the same time, added two others, both\nupon subjects taken from the Services of our Liturgy.\"--ED.\n\n[307] 1842.\n\n Together they kneel down who come in sight\n Of God and chosen friends their troth to plight.\n This have they done, by words, and prayers, and hands c.\n\n\n\n\nXXVII\n\nTHANKSGIVING AFTER CHILDBIRTH\n\n\n Composed 1842.--Published 1845\n\n Woman! the Power who left his throne on high,\n And deigned to wear the robe of flesh we wear,\n The Power that thro' the straits of Infancy\n Did pass dependent on maternal care,\n His own humanity with Thee will share, 5\n Pleased with the thanks that in his People's eye\n Thou offerest up for safe Delivery\n From Childbirth's perilous throes. And should the Heir\n Of thy fond hopes hereafter walk inclined\n To courses fit to make a mother rue 10\n That ever he was born, a glance of mind\n Cast upon this observance may renew\n A better will; and, in the imagined view\n Of thee thus kneeling, safety he may find.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[308] Compare Spenser's _Epithalamion_, stanza xl. ll. 216, 217--\n\n The sacred ceremonies these partake,\n The which do endlesse matrimony make;\n\nAlso, Southey's _All for Love, or a sinner well saved_, Part IV. stanza\n46--\n\n While they the sacred rites partake\n Which endless matrimony make.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXVIII\n\nVISITATION OF THE SICK\n\n\n Composed 1842.--Published 1845\n\n The Sabbath bells renew the inviting peal;\n Glad music! yet there be that, worn with pain\n And sickness, listen where they long have lain,\n In sadness listen. With maternal zeal\n Inspired, the Church sends ministers to kneel 5\n Beside the afflicted; to sustain with prayer,\n And soothe the heart confession hath laid bare--\n That pardon, from God's throne, may set its seal\n On a true Penitent. When breath departs\n From one disburthened so, so comforted, 10\n His Spirit Angels greet; and ours be hope\n That, if the Sufferer rise from his sick-bed,\n Hence he will gain a firmer mind, to cope\n With a bad world, and foil the Tempter's arts.\n\n\n\n\nXXIX\n\nTHE COMMINATION SERVICE\n\n\n Published 1845\n\n Shun not this rite, neglected, yea abhorred,\n By some of unreflecting mind, as calling\n Man to curse man, (thought monstrous and appalling.)\n Go thou and hear the threatenings of the _Lord_;[309]\n Listening within his Temple see his sword 5\n Unsheathed in wrath to strike the offender's head,\n Thy own, if sorrow for thy sin be dead,\n Guilt unrepented, pardon unimplored.\n Two aspects bears Truth needful for salvation;\n Who knows not _that_?--yet would this delicate age 10\n Look only on the Gospel's brighter page:\n Let light and dark duly our thoughts employ;\n So shall the fearful words of Commination\n Yield timely fruit of peace and love and joy.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[309] 1845.\n\n ... as dealing\n With human curses, banish the false feeling.\n Go thou ... terrors ... C.\n\n\n\n\nXXX\n\nFORMS OF PRAYER AT SEA\n\n\n Published 1845\n\n To kneeling Worshippers no earthly floor\n Gives holier invitation than the deck\n Of a storm-shattered Vessel saved from Wreck\n (When all that Man could do avail'd no more)\n By him who raised the Tempest and restrains: 5\n Happy the crew who this have felt, and pour\n Forth for his mercy, as the Church ordains,\n Solemn thanksgiving. Nor will _they_ implore\n In vain who, for a rightful cause, give breath\n To words the Church prescribes aiding the lip 10\n For the heart's sake, ere ship with hostile ship\n Encounters, armed for work of pain and death.\n Suppliants! the God to whom your cause ye trust\n Will listen, and ye know that He is just.\n\n\n\n\nXXXI\n\nFUNERAL SERVICE\n\n\n Composed 1842.--Published 1845\n\n From the Baptismal hour, thro' weal and woe,\n The Church extends her care to thought and deed;\n Nor quits the Body when the Soul is freed,\n The mortal weight cast off to be laid low.\n Blest Rite for him who hears in faith, \"I know 5\n That my Redeemer liveth,\"--hears each word\n That follows--striking on some kindred chord\n Deep in the thankful heart;--yet tears will flow.\n Man is as grass that springeth up at morn,\n Grows green, and is cut down and withereth 10\n Ere nightfall--truth that well may claim a sigh,\n Its natural echo; but hope comes reborn\n At JESU'S bidding. We rejoice: \"O Death\n Where is thy Sting?--O Grave where is thy Victory?\"\n\n\n\n\nXXXII\n\nRURAL CEREMONY[310]\n\n\n Closing the sacred Book[311] which long has fed\n Our meditations,[312] give we to a day\n Of annual[313] joy one tributary lay;\n This[314] day, when, forth by rustic music led,\n The village Children, while the sky is red 5\n With evening lights, advance in long array\n Through the still church-yard, each with garland gay,\n That, carried sceptre-like, o'ertops the head\n Of the proud Bearer. To the wide church-door,\n Charged with these offerings which their fathers bore 10\n For decoration in the Papal time,\n The innocent Procession softly moves:--\n The spirit of Laud is pleased in heaven's pure clime,\n And Hooker's voice the spectacle approves!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[310] This is still continued in many churches in Westmoreland.\nIt takes place in the month of July, when the floor of the\nstalls is strewn with fresh rushes; and hence it is called the\n\"Rush-bearing.\"--W. W. 1822.\n\n[311] 1822.\n\n ... precious Book ... C.\n\n[312] 1845.\n\n With smiles each happy face was overspread,\n That trial ended ... 1822.\n\n Content with calmer scenes around us spread\n And humbler objects, ... 1827.\n\n[313] 1827.\n\n Of festal ... 1822.\n\n[314] 1827.\n\n That ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIII\n\nREGRETS\n\n\n Would that our scrupulous Sires had dared to leave\n Less scanty measure of those graceful rites\n And usages, whose due return invites\n A stir of mind too natural to deceive;\n Giving to[315] Memory help when she would weave 5\n A crown for Hope!--I dread the boasted lights\n That all too often are but fiery blights,\n Killing the bud o'er which in vain we grieve.\n Go, seek, when Christmas snows discomfort bring,\n The counter Spirit found in some gay church 10\n Green with fresh holly, every pew a perch\n In which the linnet or the thrush might sing,\n Merry and loud and safe from prying search,\n Strains offered only to the genial Spring.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[315] 1845.\n\n Giving the ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIV\n\nMUTABILITY\n\n\n From low to high doth dissolution climb,\n And sink[316] from high to low, along a scale\n Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail;\n A musical but melancholy chime,\n Which they can hear who meddle not with crime, 5\n Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care.\n Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear\n The longest date do melt like frosty rime,\n That in the morning whitened hill and plain\n And is no more; drop like the tower sublime 10\n Of yesterday, which royally did wear\n His[317] crown of weeds, but could not even sustain\n Some casual shout that broke the silent air,\n Or the unimaginable touch of Time.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[316] 1840.\n\n And sinks ... 1822.\n\n[317] 1837.\n\n Its ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXXV\n\nOLD ABBEYS\n\n\n Monastic Domes! following my downward way,\n Untouched by due regret I marked your fall!\n Now, ruin, beauty, ancient stillness, all\n Dispose to judgments temperate as we lay\n On our past selves in life's declining day: 5\n For as, by discipline of Time made wise,\n We learn to tolerate the infirmities\n And faults of others--gently as he may,[318]\n So with[319] our own the mild Instructor deals\n Teaching us to forget them or forgive.[320] 10\n Perversely curious, then, for hidden ill\n Why should we break Time's charitable seals?\n Once ye were holy, ye are holy still;\n Your spirit freely let me drink, and live!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[318] 1822.\n\n ...--so, where'er he may 1837.\n\n The edition of 1845 returns to the text of 1822.\n\n[319] 1837.\n\n Towards ... 1822.\n\n[320] This is borrowed from an affecting passage in Mr. George Dyer's\nHistory of Cambridge.--W. W. 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVI\n\nEMIGRANT FRENCH CLERGY\n\n\n Published 1827\n\n Even while I speak, the sacred roofs of France\n Are shattered into dust; and self-exiled\n From altars threatened, levelled, or defiled,\n Wander the Ministers of God, as chance\n Opens a way for life, or consonance 5\n Of faith invites. More welcome to no land\n The fugitives than to the British strand,\n Where priest and layman with the vigilance\n Of true compassion greet them. Creed and test\n Vanish before the unreserved embrace 10\n Of catholic humanity:--distrest\n They came,--and, while the moral tempest roars\n Throughout the Country they have left, our shores\n Give to their Faith a fearless[321] resting-place.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[321] 1837.\n\n ... dreadless ... 1827.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVII\n\nCONGRATULATION\n\n\n Thus all things lead to Charity, secured\n By THEM who blessed the soft and happy gale\n That landward urged the great Deliverer's sail,[322]\n Till in the sunny bay his fleet was moored!\n Propitious hour! had we, like them, endured 5\n Sore stress of apprehension,[323] with a mind\n Sickened by injuries, dreading worse designed,\n From month to month trembling and unassured,\n How had we then rejoiced! But we have felt,\n As a loved substance, their futurity: 10\n Good, which they dared not hope for, we have seen;\n A State whose generous will through earth is dealt;\n A State--which, balancing herself between\n Licence and slavish order, dares be free.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[322] The Statesmen of the Revolution, who hailed the arrival of\nWilliam of Orange from Holland.--ED.\n\n[323] See Burnet, who is unusually animated on this subject; the east\nwind, so anxiously expected and prayed for, was called the \"Protestant\nwind.\"--W. W. 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVIII\n\nNEW CHURCHES\n\n\n But liberty, and triumphs on the Main,\n And laurelled armies, not to be withstood--\n What serve they? if, on transitory good\n Intent, and sedulous of abject gain,\n The State (ah, surely not preserved in vain!) 5\n Forbear to shape due channels which the Flood\n Of sacred truth may enter--till it brood\n O'er the wide realm, as o'er the Egyptian plain\n The all-sustaining Nile. No more--the time\n Is conscious of her want; through England's bounds,\n In rival haste, the wished-for Temples rise![324] 11\n I hear their sabbath bells' harmonious chime\n Float on the breeze--the heavenliest of all sounds\n That vale or hill[325] prolongs or multiplies!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[324] In 1818, under the ministry of Lord Liverpool, \u00a31,000,000 was\nvoted by Parliament to build new churches in England.--ED.\n\n[325] 1837.\n\n That hill or vale ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIX\n\nCHURCH TO BE ERECTED[326]\n\n\n Be this the chosen site; the virgin sod,\n Moistened from age to age by dewy eve,\n Shall disappear, and grateful earth receive\n The corner-stone from hands that build to God.\n Yon reverend hawthorns, hardened to the rod 5\n Of winter storms, yet budding cheerfully;\n Those forest oaks of Druid memory,\n Shall long survive, to shelter the Abode\n Of genuine Faith. Where, haply, 'mid this band\n Of daisies, shepherds sate of yore and wove 10\n May-garlands, there let[327] the holy altar stand\n For kneeling adoration;--while--above,\n Broods, visibly portrayed, the mystic Dove,\n That shall protect from blasphemy the Land.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[326] This, and the two following sonnets, were probably the first\ncomposed of these \"Ecclesiastical Sketches.\" The \"church to be erected\"\nwas a new one built on Coleorton Moor by Sir George Beaumont. (See\nPrefatory note to the series, p. 1.)--ED.\n\n[327] 1840.\n\n May-garlands, let ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXL\n\nCONTINUED\n\n\n Mine ear has rung, my spirit[328] sunk subdued,\n Sharing the strong emotion of the crowd,\n When each pale brow to dread hosannas bowed\n While clouds of incense mounting veiled the rood,\n That glimmered like a pine-tree dimly viewed 5\n Through Alpine vapours. Such appalling rite\n Our Church prepares not, trusting to the might\n Of simple truth with grace divine imbued;\n Yet will we not conceal the precious Cross,\n Like men ashamed:[329] the Sun with his first smile\n Shall greet that symbol crowning the low Pile: 11\n And the fresh air of incense-breathing morn[330]\n Shall wooingly embrace it; and green moss\n Creep round its arms through centuries unborn.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[328] 1827.\n\n ... spirits ... 1822.\n\n[329] The Lutherans have retained the Cross within their churches: it\nis to be regretted that we have not done the same.--W. W. 1822.\n\nIt has always been retained _without_, and is now scarcely less common\n_within_ the churches of England. Did the poet confound the Cross with\nthe Crucifix?--ED.\n\n[330] Compare Gray's _Elegy_, stanza v.--\n\n The breezy call of incense-breathing morn.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXLI\n\nNEW CHURCH-YARD\n\n\n The encircling ground, in native turf arrayed,\n Is now by solemn consecration given\n To social interests, and to favouring Heaven,\n And where the rugged colts their gambols played,\n And wild deer bounded through the forest glade, 5\n Unchecked as when by merry Outlaw driven,\n Shall hymns of praise resound at morn and even;\n And soon, full soon, the lonely Sexton's spade\n Shall wound the tender sod. Encincture small,\n But infinite its grasp of weal and woe![331] 10\n Hopes, fears, in never-ending ebb and flow;--\n The spousal trembling, and the \"dust to dust,\"\n The prayers, the contrite struggle, and the trust\n That to the Almighty Father looks through all.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[331] 1837.\n\n ... its grasp of joy and woe! 1822.\n ... in grasp of weal and woe! 1832.\n\n\n\n\nXLII\n\nCATHEDRALS, ETC.\n\n\n Open your gates, ye everlasting Piles!\n Types of the spiritual Church which God hath reared;\n Not loth we quit the newly-hallowed sward\n And humble altar, 'mid your sumptuous aisles\n To kneel, or thrid your intricate defiles, 5\n Or down the nave to pace in motion slow;\n Watching, with upward eye,[332] the tall tower grow\n And mount, at every step, with living wiles\n Instinct--to rouse the heart and lead the will\n By a bright ladder to the world above. 10\n Open your gates, ye Monuments of love\n Divine! thou Lincoln, on thy sovereign hill!\n Thou, stately York! and Ye, whose splendours cheer\n Isis and Cam, to patient Science dear![333]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[332] 1827.\n\n ... eyes, ... 1822.\n\n[333] This Sonnet was published in _Time's Telescope_, September 1823,\np. 260.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXLIII\n\nINSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE\n\n\n Tax not the royal Saint[334] with vain expense,\n With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned--\n Albeit labouring for a scanty band\n Of white-robed Scholars only--this immense\n And glorious Work of fine intelligence! 5\n Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore\n Of nicely-calculated less or more;\n So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense\n These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof\n Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, 10\n Where light and shade repose, where music dwells\n Lingering--and wandering on as loth to die;\n Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof\n That they were born for immortality.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[334] King Henry VI., who founded King's College, Cambridge.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXLIV\n\nTHE SAME\n\n\n What awful p\u00e9rspective! while from our sight\n With gradual stealth the lateral windows hide\n Their Portraitures, their stone-work glimmers, dyed\n In[335] the soft chequerings of a sleepy light.\n Martyr, or King, or sainted Eremite, 5\n Whoe'er ye be, that thus, yourselves unseen,\n Imbue your prison-bars with solemn sheen,\n Shine on, until ye fade with coming Night!--\n But, from the arms of silence--list! O list!\n The music bursteth into second life; 5\n The notes luxuriate, every stone is kissed\n By sound, or ghost of sound, in mazy strife;\n Heart-thrilling strains, that cast, before the eye\n Of the devout, a veil of ecstasy!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[335] 1827.\n\n Their portraiture the lateral windows hide,\n Glimmers their corresponding stone-work, dyed\n With ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXLV\n\nCONTINUED\n\n\n They dreamt not of a perishable home\n Who thus could build.[336] Be mine, in hours of fear\n Or grovelling thought, to seek a refuge here;\n Or through the aisles of Westminster to roam;\n Where bubbles burst, and folly's dancing foam 5\n Melts, if it cross the threshold; where the wreath\n Of awe-struck wisdom droops: or let my path\n Lead to that younger Pile, whose sky-like dome[337]\n Hath typified by reach of daring art\n Infinity's embrace; whose guardian crest, 10\n The silent Cross, among the stars shall spread\n As now, when She hath also seen her breast\n Filled with mementos, satiate with its part\n Of grateful England's overflowing Dead.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[336] Compare _The Excursion_, book v. l. 145--\n\n Not raised in nice proportions was the pile;\n But large and massy; for duration built.\n\n[337] St. Paul's Cathedral, designed by Sir Christopher Wren\n(1675-1710).--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXLVI\n\nEJACULATION\n\n\n Glory to God! and to the Power who came\n In filial duty, clothed with love divine,\n That made his human tabernacle shine\n Like Ocean burning with purpureal flame;\n Or like the Alpine Mount, that takes its name 5\n From roseate hues,[338] far kenned at morn and even,\n In hours of peace, or when the storm is driven\n Along the nether region's rugged frame!\n Earth prompts--Heaven urges; let us seek the light,\n Studious of that pure intercourse begun 10\n When first our infant brows their lustre won;\n So, like the Mountain, may we grow more bright\n From unimpeded commerce with the Sun,\n At the approach of all-involving night.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[338] Some say that Monte Rosa takes its name from a belt of rock at\nits summit--a very unpoetical and scarcely a probable supposition.--W.\nW. 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXLVII\n\nCONCLUSION\n\n\n Why sleeps the future, as a snake enrolled,\n Coil within coil, at noon-tide? For the WORD\n Yields, if with unpresumptuous faith explored,\n Power at whose touch the sluggard shall unfold\n His drowsy rings. Look forth!--that Stream behold,\n THAT STREAM upon whose bosom we have passed 6\n Floating at ease while nations have effaced\n Nations, and Death has gathered to his fold\n Long lines of mighty Kings--look forth, my Soul!\n (Nor in this[339] vision be thou slow to trust) 10\n The living Waters, less and less by guilt\n Stained and polluted, brighten as they roll,\n Till they have reached the eternal City--built\n For the perfected Spirits of the just!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[339] 1827.\n\n ... that ... 1822.\n\n\n\n\nTO THE LADY FLEMING,[340]\n\nON SEEING THE FOUNDATION PREPARING FOR THE ERECTION OF RYDAL\nCHAPEL,[341] WESTMORELAND\n\n\n Composed 1822.--Published 1827\n\n[After thanking Lady Fleming in prose for the service she had done\nto her neighbourhood by erecting this Chapel, I have nothing to say\nbeyond the expression of regret that the architect did not furnish an\nelevation better suited to the site in a narrow mountain-pass, and,\nwhat is of more consequence, better constructed in the interior for\nthe purposes of worship. It has no chancel; the altar is unbecomingly\nconfined; the pews are so narrow as to preclude the possibility of\nkneeling with comfort; there is no vestry; and what ought to have been\nfirst mentioned, the font, instead of standing at its proper place\nat the entrance, is thrust into the farther end of a pew. When these\ndefects shall be pointed out to the munificent Patroness, they will, it\nis hoped, be corrected.--I. F.[342]]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection,\" from the edition of\n1827 to that of 1843; but transferred, in 1845, to the \"Miscellaneous\nPoems.\" From 1827 to 1836 the title was \"To the Lady ----, on\nseeing the foundation preparing for the erection of ---- Chapel,\nWestmoreland.\"--ED.\n\n I\n\n Blest is this Isle--our native Land;\n Where battlement and moated gate\n Are objects only for the hand\n Of hoary Time to decorate;\n Where shady hamlet, town that breathes 5\n Its busy smoke in social wreaths,\n No rampart's stern defence require,\n Nought but the heaven-directed spire,\n And[343] steeple tower (with pealing bells\n Far-heard)--our only citadels. 10\n\n II\n\n O Lady! from a noble line\n Of chieftains sprung,[344] who stoutly bore\n The spear, yet gave to works divine\n A bounteous help in days of yore,\n (As records mouldering in the Dell 15\n Of Nightshade[345] haply yet may tell;)\n Thee kindred aspirations moved\n To build, within a vale beloved,\n For Him upon whose high behests\n All peace depends, all safety rests. 20\n\n III[346]\n\n How fondly will the woods embrace\n This daughter of thy pious care,\n Lifting her[347] front with modest grace\n To make a fair recess more fair;\n And to exalt the passing hour; 25\n Or soothe it with a healing power\n Drawn from the Sacrifice fulfilled,\n Before this rugged soil was tilled,\n Or human habitation rose\n To interrupt the deep repose![348] 30\n\n IV\n\n Well may the villagers rejoice!\n Nor heat, nor cold, nor weary ways,\n Will be[349] a hindrance to the voice\n That would unite in prayer and praise;\n More duly shall wild wandering Youth 35\n Receive the curb of sacred truth,\n Shall tottering Age, bent earthward, hear\n The Promise, with uplifted ear;[350]\n And all shall welcome the new ray\n Imparted to their sabbath-day. 40\n\n V\n\n Nor deem the Poet's hope misplaced,\n His fancy cheated--that can see\n A shade upon the future cast,\n Of time's pathetic sanctity;\n Can hear the monitory clock 45\n Sound o'er the lake with gentle shock[351]\n At evening,[352] when the ground beneath\n Is ruffled o'er with cells of death;\n Where happy generations lie,\n Here tutored for eternity. 50\n\n VI\n\n Lives there a man whose sole delights\n Are trivial pomp and city noise,\n Hardening a heart that loathes or slights\n What every natural heart enjoys?\n Who never caught a noon-tide dream 55\n From murmur of a running stream;\n Could strip, for aught the prospect yields\n To him, their verdure from the fields;\n And take the radiance from the clouds\n In which the sun his setting shrouds.[353] 60\n\n VII\n\n A soul so pitiably forlorn,\n If such do on this earth abide,\n May season apathy with scorn,\n May turn indifference to pride;\n And still be not unblest--compared 65\n With him who grovels, self-debarred[354]\n From all that lies within the scope\n Of holy faith and christian hope;\n Or, shipwreck'd, kindles on the coast\n False fires, that others may be lost.[355] 70\n\n VIII\n\n Alas! that such perverted zeal\n Should spread on Britain's favoured ground![356]\n That public order, private weal,\n Should e'er have felt or feared a wound\n From champions of the desperate law 75\n Which from their own blind hearts they draw;[357]\n Who tempt their reason to deny\n God, whom their passions dare defy,[358]\n And boast that they alone are free\n Who reach this dire extremity! 80\n\n IX\n\n But turn we from these \"bold bad\" men;[359]\n The way, mild Lady! that hath led\n Down to their \"dark opprobrious den,\"[360]\n Is all too rough for Thee to tread.\n Softly as morning vapours glide 85\n Down Rydal-cove from Fairfield's side,[361]\n Should move the tenor of _his_ song\n Who means to charity no wrong;\n Whose offering gladly would accord\n With this day's work, in thought and word. 90\n\n X\n\n Heaven prosper it! may peace, and love,\n And hope, and consolation, fall,\n Through its meek influence, from above,\n And penetrate the hearts of all;\n All who, around the hallowed Fane, 95\n Shall sojourn in this fair domain;\n Grateful to Thee, while service pure,\n And ancient ordinance, shall endure,\n For opportunity bestowed\n To kneel together, and adore their God![362] 100\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[340] 1840.\n\n To the Lady ---- ... 1827.\n\n[341] 1840.\n\n Of ---- Chapel ... 1827.\n\n[342] Rydal Chapel remained in the state mentioned in the Fenwick note\ntill the year 1884.--ED.\n\n[343] 1827.\n\n Or ... MS. sent to Lady Beaumont.\n\n[344] The Fleming family is descended from Sir Michael le Fleming,\na relative of Baldwin, Earl of Flanders, brother-in-law to William\nthe Conqueror. This Sir Michael le Fleming, who came over with the\nConqueror, was sent into Cumberland against the Scots, and was\nrewarded for his services by the gift of several manors in _Copeland_,\nCumberland.--ED.\n\n[345] Bekangs Ghyll--or the dell of Nightshade--in which stands St.\nMary's Abbey in Low Furness.--W. W. 1827.\n\n[346] In the edition of 1827, stanzas iii. and iv. are numbered iv. and\niii. respectively.--ED.\n\n[347] 1832.\n\n Even Strangers, slackening here their pace,\n Shall hail this work of pious care,\n Lifting its ... 1827.\n\n[348] Compare _Glen-Almain_ (vol. ii. p. 394)--\n\n A convent, even a hermit's cell,\n Would break the silence of this Dell.--ED.\n\n[349] 1827.\n\n Nor storms henceforth, nor weary ways,\n Shall be ...\n\n MS. sent to Lord Lonsdale.\n\n[350] 1827.\n\n The Aged shall be free to hear\n The Promise, caught with steadfast ear.\n\n MS. sent to Lord Lonsdale.\n\n[351] 1832.\n\n Not yet the corner stone is laid\n With solemn rite; but Fancy sees\n The tower time-stricken, and in shade\n Embosomed of coeval trees;\n Hears, o'er the lake, the warning clock\n As it shall sound with gentle shock 1827.\n\n[352] Compare the last stanza of _The Wishing Gate_.--ED.\n\n[353] Compare the _Ode, Intimations of Immortality_, stanza xi.--ED.\n\n[354] 1827.\n\n With one who fosters disregard\n\n MS. sent to Lady Beaumont.\n\n[355] 1827.\n\n Yea, strives for others to bedim\n The glorious Light too pure for him. 1832.\n\n The text of 1845 returns to that of 1827.\n\n[356] 1827.\n\n ... happy ground.\n\n MS. to Lady Beaumont.\n\n[357] 1827.\n\n From Scoffers leagued in desperate plot\n To make their own the general lot;\n\n MS. to Lady Beaumont.\n\n[358] 1827.\n\n ... do defy,\n\n MS. to Lady Beaumont.\n\n[359] See _The Fa\u00ebrie Queene_, book I. canto i. stanza 37. Also\nShakespeare's _Henry VIII._, act II. scene ii. l. 44.--ED.\n\n[360] See _Paradise Lost_, book ii. l. 58.--ED.\n\n[361] 1832.\n\n Through Rydal Cove from Fairfield's side,\n\n MS. to Lady Beaumont.\n\n Through Mosedale-Cove from Carrock's side, 1827.\n\n[362] Dorothy Wordsworth wrote to Henry Crabb Robinson (December 21,\n1822), \"William has just written a poem upon the Foundation of a\nChurch, which Lady Fleming is about to erect at Rydal. It is about 80\nlines. I like it much.\" This letter was obviously written before the\npoem reached its final form.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nON THE SAME OCCASION\n\n\n Composed 1822.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection\" from the edition of 1827\nto that of 1843. In 1835 transferred to the \"Miscellaneous Poems.\"--ED.\n\n Oh! gather whencesoe'er ye safely may\n The help which slackening Piety requires;\n Nor deem that he perforce must go astray\n Who treads upon the footmarks of his sires.\n\nOur churches, invariably perhaps, stand east and west, but _why_ is by\nfew persons _exactly_ known; nor, that the degree of deviation from\n_due_ east often noticeable in the ancient ones was determined, in each\nparticular case, by the point in the horizon, at which the sun rose\nupon the day of the saint to whom the church was dedicated.[363] These\nobservances of our ancestors, and the causes of them, are the subject\nof the following stanzas.\n\n When in the antique age of bow and spear\n And feudal rapine clothed with iron mail,\n Came ministers of peace, intent to rear\n The Mother Church in yon sequestered vale;[364]\n\n Then, to her Patron Saint a previous rite 5\n Resounded with deep swell and solemn close,\n Through unremitting vigils of the night,\n Till from his couch the wished-for Sun uprose.\n\n He rose, and straight--as by divine command,\n They, who had waited for that sign to trace 10\n Their work's foundation, gave with careful hand\n To the high altar its determined place;\n\n Mindful of Him who in the Orient born\n There lived, and on the cross his life resigned,\n And who, from out the regions of the morn, 15\n Issuing in pomp, shall come to judge mankind.\n\n So taught _their_ creed;--nor failed the eastern sky,\n 'Mid these more awful feelings, to infuse\n The sweet and natural hopes that shall not die,\n Long as the sun his gladsome course renews. 20\n\n For us hath such prelusive vigil ceased;\n Yet still we plant, like men of elder days,\n Our christian altar faithful to the east,\n Whence the tall window drinks the morning rays;\n\n That obvious emblem giving to the eye 25\n Of meek devotion, which erewhile it gave,\n That symbol of the day-spring from on high,\n Triumphant o'er the darkness of the grave.[365]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[363] St. Oswald's Day is the 8th of August in the Calendar.--ED.\n\n[364] Doubtless Grasmere Church (itself originally a chapelry under\nKendal), the advowson of which was sold in 1573 to the Le Flemings of\nRydal. The date of the foundation is prehistoric. There is a thirteenth\ncentury window in it, but the tower is older. The church is dedicated\nto St. Oswald, King of Northumbria.--ED.\n\n[365] Compare _Ode, Intimations of Immortality_, l. 117--\n\n In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n1823\n\n\nOnly one poem and two sonnets were written in 1823.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nMEMORY\n\n\n Composed 1823.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.\" See the Fenwick note to\nthe lines _Written in a Blank Leaf of Macpherson's Ossian_ (p. 373\nof this volume), where Wordsworth says that the poem was \"suggested\nfrom apprehensions of the fate of his friend, H. C.\" (Hartley\nColeridge).--ED.\n\n A pen--to register; a key--\n That winds through secret wards;\n Are well assigned to Memory\n By allegoric Bards.\n\n As aptly, also, might be given 5\n A Pencil to her hand;\n That, softening objects, sometimes even\n Outstrips the heart's demand;\n\n That smooths foregone distress, the lines\n Of lingering care subdues, 10\n Long-vanished happiness refines,\n And clothes in brighter hues;\n\n Yet, like a tool of Fancy, works\n Those Spectres to dilate\n That startle Conscience, as she lurks 15\n Within her lonely seat.\n\n O! that our lives, which flee so fast,\n In purity were such,\n That not an image of the past\n Should fear that pencil's touch! 20\n\n Retirement then might hourly look\n Upon a soothing scene,\n Age steal to his allotted nook\n Contented and serene;\n\n With heart as calm as lakes that sleep, 25\n In frosty moonlight glistening;\n Or mountain rivers, where they creep\n Along a channel smooth and deep,\n To their own far-off murmurs listening.\n\n\n\n\n\"NOT LOVE, NOT WAR, NOR THE TUMULTUOUS SWELL\"\n\n\n Composed 1823.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n Not Love, not[366] War, nor the tumultuous swell\n Of civil conflict, nor the wrecks of change,\n Nor[367] Duty struggling with afflictions strange--\n Not these _alone_ inspire the tuneful shell;\n But where untroubled peace and concord dwell, 5\n There also is the Muse not loth to range,\n Watching the twilight smoke of cot or grange,[368]\n Skyward ascending from a woody dell.[369][370]\n Meek aspirations please her, lone endeavour,\n And sage content, and placid melancholy; 10\n She loves to gaze upon a crystal river--\n Diaphanous because it travels slowly;[371]\n Soft is the music that would charm for ever;[372]\n The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[366] 1832.\n\n ... nor ... 1823.\n\n[367] 1827.\n\n And ... 1823.[373]\n\n[368] 1837.\n\n Watching the blue smoke of the elmy grange, 1823.\n\n[369] 1837.\n\n ... from the twilight dell, 1823.\n\n[370] Compare _Tintern Abbey_, II. 17, 18.--ED.\n\n[371] _e. g._ The Rothay, or the Duddon.--ED.\n\n[372] 1827.\n\n ... please for ever, 1823.\n\n[373] See the same reading in _The Poetical Album_, 1829, vol. i. p.\n43, edited by Alaric Watts.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"A VOLANT TRIBE OF BARDS ON EARTH ARE FOUND\"\n\n\n Composed 1823.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n A volant Tribe of Bards on earth are found,\n Who, while the flattering Zephyrs round them play,\n On \"coignes of vantage\"[374] hang their nests of clay;\n How quickly from that aery hold unbound,\n Dust for oblivion! To the solid ground 5\n Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye;\n Convinced that there, there only, she can lay\n Secure foundations. As the year runs round,\n Apart she toils within the chosen ring;\n While the stars shine,[375] or while day's purple eye 10\n Is gently closing with the flowers of spring;\n Where even the motion of an Angel's wing\n Would interrupt the intense tranquillity\n Of silent hills, and more than silent sky.[376]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[374] _Macbeth_, act I. scene vi. l. 7.--ED.\n\n[375] 1827.\n\n ... nests of clay,\n Work cunningly devised, and seeming sound;\n But quickly from its airy hold unbound\n By its own weight, or washed, or blown away\n With silent imperceptible decay.\n If man must build, admit him to thy ground,\n O Truth! to work within the eternal ring,\n Where the stars shine, ... 1823.\n\n[376] Compare Alexander Hume's _Day's Estival_ (1599). This and the\npreceding sonnet were first published in 1823 in _A Collection of\nPoems, chiefly manuscript, and from living authors, edited for the\nbenefit of a Friend_, by Joanna Baillie. The collection includes Sir\nWalter Scott's _Macduff's Cross_, and Southey's _The Cataract of\nLodore_.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n1824\n\n\nThe poems written in 1824 were few. They include two addressed to\nMrs. Wordsworth, two or three composed at Coleorton, and a couple of\nmemorial sonnets suggested during a tour in North Wales.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTO ----\n\n\n Composed 1824.--Published 1827\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. On Mrs. Wordsworth.--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems founded on the Affections.\"--ED.\n\n Let other bards of angels sing,\n Bright suns without a spot;\n But thou art no such perfect thing:\n Rejoice that thou art not!\n [377]\n\n Heed not tho' none should call thee fair;[378] 5\n So, Mary, let it be\n If nought in loveliness compare\n With what thou art to me.\n\n True beauty dwells in deep retreats,\n Whose veil is unremoved 10\n Till heart with heart in concord beats,\n And the lover is beloved.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[377]\n\n Such if thou wert in all men's view,\n A universal show,\n What would my Fancy have to do,\n My Feelings to bestow?\n\n A second (additional) stanza in the editions of 1827-43.\n\n[378] 1832.\n\n The world denies that Thou art fair; 1827.\n\n\n\n\nTO ----\n\n\n Composed 1824.--Published 1827\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. To Mrs. W.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems founded on the Affections.\"--ED.\n\n O dearer far than light and life are dear,\n Full oft our human foresight I deplore;\n Trembling, through my unworthiness, with fear\n That friends, by death disjoined, may meet no more!\n\n Misgivings, hard to vanquish or control, 5\n Mix with the day, and cross the hour of rest;\n While all the future, for thy purer soul,\n With \"sober certainties\" of love is blest.[379]\n\n That sigh of thine,[380] not meant for human ear,\n Tells[381] that these words thy humbleness offend; 10\n Yet bear me up[382]--else faltering in the rear\n Of a steep march: support[383] me to the end.\n\n Peace settles where the intellect is meek,\n And Love is dutiful in thought and deed;\n Through Thee communion with that Love I seek: 15\n The faith Heaven strengthens where _he_ moulds the Creed.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[379] See _Comus_, l. 263.--ED.\n\n[380] 1836.\n\n If a faint sigh, ... 1827.\n\n[381] 1836.\n\n Tell ... 1827.\n\n[382] 1836.\n\n Cherish me still-- ... 1827.\n\n[383] 1836.\n\n ... uphold ... 1827.\n\n\n\n\n\"HOW RICH THAT FOREHEAD'S CALM EXPANSE!\"\n\n\n Composed 1824.--Published 1827\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. Mrs. Wordsworth's impression is that the Poem\nwas written at Coleorton: it was certainly suggested by a Print at\nColeorton Hall.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems founded on the Affections.\"--ED.\n\n How rich that forehead's calm expanse!\n How bright that heaven-directed glance!\n --Waft her to glory, wing\u00e8d Powers,\n Ere sorrow be renewed,\n And intercourse with mortal hours 5\n Bring back a humbler mood!\n So looked Cecilia when she drew\n An Angel from his station;[384]\n So looked; not ceasing to pursue\n Her tuneful adoration! 10\n\n But hand and voice alike are still;\n No sound _here_ sweeps away the will\n That gave it birth: in service meek\n One upright arm sustains the cheek,\n And one across the bosom lies-- 15\n That rose, and now forgets to rise,\n Subdued by breathless harmonies\n Of meditative feeling;\n Mute strains from worlds beyond the skies,\n Through the pure light of female eyes, 20\n Their sanctity revealing!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[384] Compare Dryden's _Alexander's Feast_, an Ode in honour of St.\nCecilia's Day--\n\n _Timotheus._ He raised a mortal to the skies.\n\n _Cecilia._ She drew an angel down.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTO ----\n\n\n Composed 1824.--Published 1827\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. Prompted by the undue importance attached to\npersonal beauty by some dear friends of mine.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems founded on the Affections.\"--ED.\n\n Look at the fate of summer flowers,\n Which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song;[385]\n And, grieved for their brief date, confess that ours,\n Measured by what we are and ought to be,\n Measured by all that, trembling, we foresee, 5\n Is not so long!\n\n If human Life do pass away,\n Perishing yet more swiftly than the flower,\n If we are creatures of a _winter's_ day;[386]\n What space hath Virgin's beauty to disclose 10\n Her sweets, and triumph o'er the breathing rose?\n Not even an hour!\n\n The deepest grove whose foliage hid\n The happiest lovers Arcady might boast\n Could not the entrance of this thought forbid: 15\n O be thou wise as they, soul-gifted Maid!\n Nor rate too high what must so quickly fade,\n So soon be lost.\n\n Then shall love teach some virtuous Youth\n \"To draw, out of the object of his eyes,\"[387] 20\n The while[388] on thee they gaze in simple truth,\n Hues more exalted, \"a refin\u00e8d Form,\"\n That dreads not age, nor suffers from the worm,\n And never dies.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[385] Compare Robert Herrick's poem _To Daffodils_--\n\n Fair daffodils, we weep to see\n You haste away so soon;\n As yet the early rising sun\n Has not attain'd his noon.\n Stay, stay,\n Until the hasting day\n Has run\n But to the even-song, etc.\n\nSee also his poem _To Blossoms_.--ED.\n\n[386] 1836.\n\n Whose frail existence is but of a day; 1827.\n\n[387] Compare Lyly's _Endymion_, v. 3--\n\n To have him in the object of mine eyes.--ED.\n\n[388] 1836.\n\n The whilst ... 1827.\n\n\n\n\nA FLOWER GARDEN,\n\nAT COLEORTON HALL, LEICESTERSHIRE[389]\n\n\n Composed 1824.--Published 1827\n\n[Planned by my friend, Lady Beaumont, in connection with the garden at\nColeorton.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of the Fancy.\"--ED.\n\n Tell me, ye Zephyrs! that unfold,\n While fluttering o'er this gay Recess,[390]\n Pinions that fanned the teeming mould\n Of Eden's blissful wilderness,\n Did only softly-stealing hours 5\n There close the peaceful lives of flowers?\n\n Say, when the _moving_ creatures saw\n All kinds commingled without fear,\n Prevailed a like indulgent law\n For the still growths that prosper here? 10\n Did wanton fawn and kid forbear\n The half-blown rose, the lily spare?\n\n Or peeped they often from their beds\n And prematurely disappeared,\n Devoured like pleasure ere it spreads 15\n A bosom to the sun endeared?\n If such their harsh untimely doom,\n It falls not _here_ on bud or bloom.\n\n All summer-long the happy Eve\n Of this fair Spot her flowers may bind, 20\n Nor e'er, with ruffled fancy, grieve,\n From the next glance she casts, to find\n That love for little things by Fate\n Is rendered vain as love for great.\n\n Yet, where the guardian fence is wound, 25\n So subtly are our eyes beguiled\n We see not nor suspect a bound,[391]\n No more than in some forest wild;\n The sight is free as air--or crost[392]\n Only by art in nature lost. 30\n\n And, though[393] the jealous turf refuse\n By random footsteps to be prest,\n And feed[394] on never-sullied dews,\n _Ye_, gentle breezes from the west,\n With all the ministers of hope 35\n Are tempted to this sunny slope!\n\n And hither throngs of birds resort;\n Some, inmates lodged in shady nests,\n Some, perched on stems of stately port\n That nod to welcome transient guests; 40\n While hare and leveret, seen at play,\n _Appear_ not more shut out than they.\n\n Apt emblem (for reproof of pride)\n This delicate Enclosure shows\n Of modest kindness, that would hide 45\n The firm protection she bestows;\n Of manners, like its viewless fence,\n Ensuring peace to innocence.\n\n Thus spake the moral Muse--her wing\n Abruptly spreading to depart, 50\n She left that[395] farewell offering,\n Memento for some docile heart;\n That may respect the good old age\n When Fancy was Truth's willing Page;\n And Truth would skim the flowery glade, 55\n Though entering but as Fancy's Shade.\n\nIn a letter from Mrs. Wordsworth to Lady Beaumont, dated \"Rydal Mount,\nFeb. 28\" (1824), the following occurs:--\n\n\"This garden is made out of Lady Caroline Price's, and your own,\ncombining the recommendations of both. Like you, I enjoy the beauty of\nflowers, but do not carry my admiration so far as my sister, not to\nfeel how very troublesome they are. I have more pleasure in clearing\naway thickets, and making such arrangements as produced the Winter\nGarden, and those sweet glades behind Coleorton Church.\"--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[389] 1836.\n\nA FLOWER GARDEN. 1827.\n\n[390] The flower garden was constructed below the terrace to the east\nof the Hall.--ED.\n\n[391] 1836.\n\n So subtly is the eye beguiled\n It sees not nor suspects a Bound, 1827.\n\n MS. sent by Mrs. Wordsworth to Lady Beaumont.\n\n[392] 1836.\n\n Free as the light in semblance--crost. 1827.\n\n MS. sent by Mrs. Wordsworth to Lady Beaumont.\n\n[393] 1827.\n\n What though ...\n\n MS. sent by Mrs. Wordsworth to Lady Beaumont.\n\n[394] 1836.\n\n And feeds ... 1827.\n\n[395] 1827.\n\n ... this ...\n\n MS. sent by Mrs. Wordsworth to Lady Beaumont.\n\n\n\n\nTO THE LADY E. B. AND THE HON. MISS P.\n\n\n Composed in the Grounds of Plass Newidd,[396] near\n Llangollen, 1824.\n\n Composed 1824.--Published 1827\n\n[In this Vale of Meditation my friend Jones resided, having been\nallowed by his diocesan to fix himself there without resigning his\nLiving in Oxfordshire. He was with my wife and daughter and me when\nwe visited these celebrated ladies who had retired, as one may say,\ninto notice in this vale. Their cottage lay directly in the road\nbetween London and Dublin, and they were of course visited by their\nIrish friends as well as innumerable strangers. They took much delight\nin passing jokes on our friend Jones's plumpness, ruddy cheeks and\nsmiling countenance, as little suited to a hermit living in the Vale\nof Meditation. We all thought there was ample room for retort on his\npart, so curious was the appearance of these ladies, so elaborately\nsentimental about themselves and their _Caro Albergo_ as they named it\nin an inscription on a tree that stood opposite, the endearing epithet\nbeing preceded by the word Ecco! calling upon the saunterer to look\nabout him. So oddly was one of these ladies attired that we took her,\nat a little distance, for a Roman Catholic priest, with a crucifix and\nrelics hung at his neck. They were without caps, their hair bushy and\nwhite as snow, which contributed to the mistake.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n A STREAM, to mingle with your favourite Dee,\n Along the VALE OF MEDITATION[397] flows;\n So styled by those fierce Britons, pleased to see\n In Nature's face the expression of repose;\n Or haply there some pious hermit chose 5\n To live and die, the peace of heaven his aim;\n To whom the wild sequestered region owes,\n At this late day, its sanctifying name.\n GLYN CAFAILLGAROCH, in the Cambrian tongue,\n In ours, the VALE OF FRIENDSHIP, let _this_ spot 10\n Be named; where, faithful to a low-roofed Cot,\n On Deva's banks, ye have abode so long;\n Sisters in love, a love allowed to climb,\n Even on this earth, above the reach of Time!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[396] Plass Newidd is close to Llangollen, a small cottage a quarter\nof a mile to the south of the town. The ladies referred to in the\nFenwick note, Lady Eleanor Butler and the Hon. Miss Ponsonby, formed a\nromantic attachment; and, having an extreme love of independence, they\nwithdrew from society, and settled in this remote and secluded cottage.\nLady Butler died in 1829, aged ninety, and Miss Ponsonby in 1831, aged\nseventy-six, their faithful servant, Mary Caroll, having predeceased\nthem. The three are buried in the same grave in Llangollen Churchyard,\nand an inscription to the memory of each is carved on a triangular\npillar beside their tomb.\n\nIn a letter to Sir George Beaumont from Hindwell, Radnorshire,\nWordsworth gives an account of this tour in North Wales.... \"We\nturned from the high-road three or four miles to visit the 'Valley of\nMeditation' (Glyn Myvyr), where Mr. Jones has, at present, a curacy\nwith a comfortable parsonage. We slept at Corwen, and went down the Dee\nto Llangollen, which you and dear Lady B. know well. Called upon the\ncelebrated Recluses, who hoped that you and Lady B. had not forgotten\nthem.... Next day I sent them the following sonnet from Ruthin, which\nwas conceived, and in a great measure composed, in their grounds.\"\nCompare Sir Walter Scott's account of his visit to these Ladies in 1825\n(Lockhart's _Life of Scott_, vol. viii. pp. 48, 49).--ED.\n\n[397] Glyn Myvyr.--W. W. The word is misspelt in most of the\neditions.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTO THE TORRENT AT THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE,[398] NORTH WALES, 1824\n\n\n Composed 1824.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n How art thou named? In search of what strange land,\n From what huge height, descending? Can such force\n Of waters issue from a British source,[399]\n Or hath not Pindus fed thee,[400] where the band\n Of Patriots scoop their freedom out, with hand 5\n Desperate as thine? Or come the incessant shocks\n From that young Stream,[401] that smites the throbbing rocks\n Of Viamala? There I seem to stand,\n As in life's morn; permitted to behold,\n From the dread chasm, woods climbing above woods, 10\n In pomp that fades not; everlasting snows;\n And skies that ne'er relinquish their repose;\n Such power possess the family of floods\n Over the minds of Poets, young or old!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[398] The Devil's Bridge in North Wales is at Hafod, near Aberystwyth,\nin Cardiganshire. Like the Teufelsbr\u00fccke, on the road from G\u00f6schenen to\nAirola, over the St. Gotthard in Switzerland, which spans the Reuss,\nthe Devil's Bridge in Wales is double; _i.e._ an upper and an under\nbridge span the river Mynach. This _Pont-y-Mynach_ was built either by\nthe monks of Strata Florida, or by the Knights Hospitallers.\n\nIn the letter to Sir George Beaumont, referred to in a previous note,\nWordsworth writes: \"We went up the Rhydiol to the Devil's Bridge, where\nwe passed the following day in exploring these two rivers, and Hafod\nin the neighbourhood. I had seen these things long ago, but either my\nmemory or my powers of observation had not done them justice. It rained\nheavily in the night, and we saw the waterfalls in perfection. While\nDora was attempting to make a sketch from the chasm in the rain, I\ncomposed by her side the following address to the torrent,\n\n How art thou named? etc.\"--ED.\n\n[399] There are several consecutive falls on the river Mynach, at the\nDevil's Bridge, the longest being one of 114 feet, and the whole taken\ntogether amounting to 314 feet.--ED.\n\n[400] The lofty ridge of mountains in northern Greece between Thessaly\nand Epirus, which, like the Apennines in Italy, form the back-bone of\nthe country.--ED.\n\n[401] The Rhine. The Via Mala is the gorge between Thusis and Zillis,\nnear the source of the Rhine. Compare _Descriptive Sketches_ (vol. i.\np. 46)--\n\n Or, led where Via Mala's chasms confine\n The indignant waters of the infant Rhine.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nCOMPOSED AMONG THE RUINS OF A CASTLE IN NORTH WALES\n\n\n Composed 1824.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n Through shattered galleries, 'mid roofless halls,\n Wandering with timid footsteps[402] oft betrayed,\n The Stranger sighs, nor scruples to upbraid\n Old Time, though he, gentlest among the Thralls\n Of Destiny, upon these wounds hath laid 5\n His lenient touches, soft as light that falls,\n From the wan Moon, upon the towers and walls,\n Light deepening the profoundest sleep of shade.\n Relic of Kings! Wreck of forgotten wars,\n To winds abandoned and the prying stars, 10\n Time _loves_ Thee! at his call the Seasons twine\n Luxuriant wreaths around thy forehead hoar;\n And, though past pomp no changes can restore,\n A soothing recompense, his gift, is thine![403]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[402] 1837.\n\n ... footstep ... 1827.\n\n[403] Compare _The White Doe of Rylstone_, canto i. ll. 118, 119 (vol.\niv. p. 110)--\n\n Nature, softening and concealing,\n And busy with a hand of healing.\n\nThis was doubtless Carnarvon Castle, which Wordsworth visited in\nSeptember 1824, at the close of his three weeks' ramble in North Wales,\nof which he wrote to Sir George Beaumont, \"We employed several hours\nin exploring the interior of the noble castle, and looking at it from\ndifferent points of view in the neighbourhood.\"--ED.\n\n\n\n\nELEGIAC STANZAS\n\n\n (ADDRESSED TO SIR G.H.B. UPON THE DEATH OF\n HIS SISTER-IN-LAW)\n\n 1824[404]\n\n Composed 1824.--Published 1827\n\n[On Mrs. Fermor. This lady had been a widow long before I knew her. Her\nhusband was of the family of the lady celebrated in the _Rape of the\nLock_, and was, I believe, a Roman Catholic. The sorrow which his death\ncaused her was fearful in its character as described in this poem, but\nwas subdued in course of time by the strength of her religious faith.\nI have been for many weeks at a time, an inmate with her at Coleorton\nHall, as were also Mrs. Wordsworth and my sister. The truth in the\nsketch of her character here given was acknowledged with gratitude by\nher nearest relatives. She was eloquent in conversation, energetic upon\npublic matters, open in respect to those, but slow to communicate her\npersonal feelings; upon these she never touched in her intercourse with\nme, so that I could not regard myself as her confidential friend, and\nwas accordingly surprised when I learnt she had left me a legacy of\n\u00a3100, as a token of her esteem. See in further illustration the second\nstanza inscribed upon her cenotaph in Coleorton church.--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces.\" In 1827 the title was simply,\n_Elegiac Stanzas, 1824_, and the title of the group was then, and in\n1832, \"Epitaphs and Elegiac Poems.\"--ED.\n\n O for a dirge! But why complain?\n Ask rather a triumphal strain\n When FERMOR'S race is run;\n A garland of immortal boughs\n To twine[405] around the Christian's brows, 5\n Whose glorious work is done.\n\n We pay a high and holy debt;\n No tears of passionate regret\n Shall stain this votive lay;\n Ill-worthy, Beaumont! were the grief 10\n That flings itself on wild relief\n When Saints have passed away.\n\n Sad doom, at Sorrow's shrine to kneel,\n For ever covetous to feel,\n And impotent to bear! 15\n Such once was hers--to think and think\n On severed love, and only sink\n From anguish to despair!\n\n But nature to its inmost part\n Faith had[406] refined; and to her heart 20\n A peaceful cradle given:\n Calm as the dew-drop's, free to rest\n Within a breeze-fanned rose's breast\n Till it exhales to Heaven.\n\n Was ever Spirit that could bend: 25\n So graciously?[407]--that could descend,\n Another's need to suit,\n So promptly from her lofty throne?--\n In works of love, in these alone,\n How restless, how minute! 30\n\n Pale was her hue; yet mortal cheek[408]\n Ne'er kindled with a livelier streak\n When aught had suffered wrong,--\n When aught that breathes had felt a wound;\n Such look the Oppressor might confound, 35\n However proud and strong.\n\n But hushed be every thought that springs\n From out the bitterness of things;\n Her quiet is secure;\n No thorns can pierce her tender feet, 40\n Whose life was, like the violet, sweet,\n As climbing jasmine, pure--\n\n As snowdrop on an infant's grave,\n Or lily heaving with the wave\n That feeds it and defends; 45\n As Vesper, ere the star hath kissed\n The mountain top, or breathed the mist\n That from the vale ascends.\n\n Thou takest not away, O Death!\n Thou strikest[409]--absence perisheth, 50\n Indifference is no more;\n The future brightens on our sight;\n For on the past hath fallen a light\n That tempts us to adore.\n\nIn a letter from Mrs. Wordsworth to Lady Beaumont, dated \"Rydal Mount,\nFeb. 25, 1825,\" she says:--\n\n\"We are all much moved by the manner in which Miss Willes has received\nthe verses,--particularly Wm., who feels himself more than rewarded\nfor the _labour_ I cannot call it of the composition--for the tribute\nwas poured forth with a deep stream of fervour that was something\nbeyond labour, and it has required very little correction. In one\ninstance a single word in the '_Address to Sir George_' is changed\nsince we sent the copy, viz.: 'graciously' for 'courteously,' as being\na word of more dignity.\"\n\nThe following inscription was \"copied from the Churchyard of Claines,\nSept. 14, 1826,\" by Dorothy Wordsworth, in a MS. book, containing\nnumerous epitaphs on tombstones, and inscriptions on rural monuments in\nCathedrals and Churches, in various parts of the country.\n\n Sacred\n To the memory of Frances Fermor,\n Relict of Henry Fermor, Esqre.,\n Of Fritwell, in the County of Oxford,\n And eldest Daughter of the late\n John Willes, Esqre., of Astrop, in the county\n _Of Northamptonshire_, who departed this life,\n Dec. 5th, 1824, aged 68 years.\n I am the way, the truth, and\n The life. Whoso cometh to me\n I will in no wise cast out.--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[404] 1837.\n\n ELEGIAC STANZAS, 1824. 1827.\n\n[405] 1845.\n\n To bind ... 1827.\n\n[406] 1837.\n\n Had Faith ... 1827.\n\n[407] 1827.\n\n So courteously ...\n\n In a MS. copy sent to Coleorton.\n\n[408] 1827.\n\n Pale was her hue, but mortal cheek\n\n In MS. from Mrs. Wordsworth to Lady Beaumont.\n\n[409] 1840.\n\n Thou strik'st--and ... 1827.\n\n\n\n\nCENOTAPH\n\n\nIn affectionate remembrance of Frances Fermor, whose remains are\ndeposited in the church of Claines, near Worcester, this stone is\nerected by her sister, Dame Margaret, wife of Sir George Beaumont,\nBart., who, feeling not less than the love of a brother for the\ndeceased, commends this memorial to the care of his heirs and\nsuccessors in the possession of this place.\n\n Composed 1824.--Published 1842\n\n[See \"Elegiac Stanzas. (Addressed to Sir G.H.B., upon the death of his\nsister-in-law.)\"--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces.\"--ED.\n\n By vain affections unenthralled,\n Though resolute when duty called\n To meet the world's broad eye,\n Pure as the holiest cloistered nun\n That ever feared the tempting sun, 5\n Did Fermor live and die.\n\n This Tablet, hallowed by her name,[410]\n One heart-relieving tear may claim;\n But if the pensive gloom\n Of fond regret be still thy choice, 10\n Exalt thy spirit, hear the voice\n Of Jesus from her tomb!\n\n\"I AM THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE.\"\n\nIn the letter to Lady Beaumont, referred to in the notes, the title of\nthis poem is \"Inscription in the Church of Coleorton,\" and a footnote\nis added, \"Say, to the left of the vista, within the thicket, below the\nchurchyard wall.--M. W.\"\n\nMrs. Wordsworth also says, \"To fit the lines, intended for an urn, for\na Monument, W. has altered the closing stanza, which (though they are\nnot what he would have produced had he first cast them with a view to\nthe Church) he hopes you will not disapprove.\"--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[410] 1842.\n\n This cenotaph that bears her name,\n\n MS. Mrs. Wordsworth to Lady Beaumont.\n\n This sacred stone that bears her name,\n\n MS. Mrs. Wordsworth to Lady Beaumont.\n\n\n\n\n1825\n\n\nThree Poems were written in 1825, _The Pillar of Trajan_, _The\nContrast: The Parrot and the Wren_, and the lines _To a Skylark_.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PILLAR OF TRAJAN\n\n\n Composed 1825.--Published 1827\n\n[These verses perhaps had better be transferred to the class of\n\"Italian Poems.\" I had observed in the newspaper, that the Pillar\nof Trajan was given as a subject for a prize-poem in English verse.\nI had a wish perhaps that my son, who was then an undergraduate at\nOxford, should try his fortune, and I told him so; but he, not having\nbeen accustomed to write verse, wisely declined to enter on the task;\nwhereupon I showed him these lines as a proof of what might, without\ndifficulty, be done on such a subject.--I.F.]\n\nFrom 1827 to 1842 one of the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection\"; in\n1845 one of the \"Memorials of a Tour in Italy.\"--ED.\n\n Where towers are crushed, and unforbidden weeds\n O'er mutilated arches shed their seeds;\n And temples, doomed to milder change, unfold\n A new magnificence that vies with old;\n Firm in its pristine majesty hath stood 5\n A votive Column, spared by fire and flood:--\n And, though the passions of man's fretful race\n Have never ceased to eddy round its base,\n Not injured more by touch of meddling hands\n Than a lone obelisk, 'mid Nubian sands, 10\n Or aught in Syrian deserts left to save\n From death the memory of the good and brave.\n Historic figures round the shaft embost\n Ascend, with lineaments in air not lost:\n Still as he turns, the charmed spectator sees 15\n Group winding after group with dream-like ease;\n Triumphs in sunbright gratitude displayed,[411]\n Or softly stealing into modest shade.\n --So, pleased with purple clusters to entwine\n Some lofty elm-tree, mounts the daring vine; 20\n The woodbine so, with spiral grace, and breathes\n Wide-spreading odours from her flowery wreaths.\n\n Borne by the Muse from rills in shepherds' ears\n Murmuring but one smooth story for all years,\n I gladly commune with the mind and heart 25\n Of him who thus survives by classic art,\n His actions witness, venerate his mien,\n And study Trajan as by Pliny seen;\n Behold how fought the Chief whose conquering sword\n Stretched far as earth might own a single lord; 30\n In the delight of moral prudence schooled,\n How feelingly at home the Sovereign ruled;\n Best of the good--in pagan faith allied\n To more than Man, by virtue deified.\n\n Memorial Pillar! 'mid the wrecks of Time 35\n Preserve thy charge with confidence sublime--\n The exultations, pomps, and cares of Rome,\n Whence half the breathing world received its doom;\n Things that recoil from language; that, if shown\n By apter pencil, from the light had flown. 40\n A Pontiff, Trajan _here_ the Gods implores,\n _There_ greets an Embassy from Indian shores;\n Lo! he harangues his cohorts--_there_ the storm\n Of battle meets him in authentic form!\n Unharnessed, naked, troops of Moorish horse 45\n Sweep to the charge;[412] more high, the Dacian force,\n To hoof and finger mailed;[413]--yet, high or low,\n None bleed, and none lie prostrate but the foe;[414]\n In every Roman, through all turns of fate,\n Is Roman dignity inviolate; 50\n Spirit in him pre-eminent, who guides,[415]\n Supports, adorns, and over all presides;\n Distinguished only by inherent state\n From honoured Instruments that round him wait;[416]\n Rise as he may, his grandeur scorns the test 55\n Of outward symbol, nor will deign to rest\n On aught by which another is deprest.\n --Alas! that One thus disciplined could toil\n To enslave whole nations on their native soil;\n So emulous of Macedonian fame, 60\n That, when his age was measured with his aim,\n He drooped, 'mid else unclouded victories,\n And turned his eagles back with deep-drawn sighs.\n O weakness of the Great! O folly of the Wise!\n\n Where now the haughty Empire that was spread 65\n With such fond hope? her very speech is dead;\n Yet glorious Art the power of Time defies,\n And Trajan still, through various enterprise,\n Mounts, in this fine illusion, toward the skies:\n Still are we present with the imperial Chief, 70\n Nor cease to gaze upon the bold Relief\n Till Rome, to silent marble unconfined,\n Becomes with all her years a vision of the Mind.\n\nTrajan's Column was set up by the Senate and people of Rome, in honour\nof the Emperor, about A.D. 114. It is one of the most remarkable\npillars in the world; and still stands, little injured by time, in\nthe centre of the _Forum Trajanum_ (now a ruin); its height--132\nfeet--marking the height of the earth removed when the Forum was made.\nOn the pedestal bas-reliefs were carved in series showing the arms\nand armour of the Romans; and round the shaft of the column similar\nreliefs, exhibiting pictorially the whole story of the Decian campaign\nof the Emperor. These are of great value as illustrating the history\nof the period, the costume of the Roman soldiers and the barbarians. A\ncolossal statue of Trajan crowned the column; and, when it fell, Pope\nSixtus V. replaced it by a figure of St. Peter. It is referred to by\nPausanias (v. 12. 6), and by all the ancient topographers. See a minute\naccount of it, with excellent illustrations, in Hertzberg's _Geschichte\ndes R\u00f6mischen Kaiserreiches_, pp. 330-345 (Berlin: 1880); also\nM\u00fcller's _Denkm\u00e4ler der alten Kunst_, p. 51. The book, however, from\nwhich Wordsworth gained his information of this pillar was evidently\nJoseph Forsyth's _Remarks on Antiquities, Arts, and Letters, during\nan Excursion in Italy in 1802-3_ (London: 1813). It is thus that Dean\nMerivale speaks of it:--\n\n\"Amid this profusion of splendour\" (_i.e._ in the _Forum Trajanum_)\n\"the great object to which the eye was principally directed was the\ncolumn, which rose majestically in the centre of the forum to the\nheight of 126 feet, sculptured from the base of the shaft to the\nsummit with the story of the Decian wars, shining in every volute and\nmoulding, with gold and pigments, and crowned with the colossal effigy\nof the august conqueror.... The proportions of the Trajan column are\npeculiarly graceful; the compact masses of stone, nineteen in number,\nof which the whole shaft is composed, may lead us to admire the skill\nemployed in its construction; but the most interesting feature of\nthis historic monument is the spiral band of figures which throughout\nenriches it. To the subjects of Trajan himself, this record of his\nexploits in bold relief must have given a vivid and sufficient idea of\nthe people, the places, and the actions indicated; even to us, after\nso many centuries, they furnish a correct type of the arms, the arts,\nand the costume both of the Romans and barbarians which we should\nvainly seek for elsewhere. The Trajan column forms a notable chapter\nin the pictorial history of Rome.\" (_History of the Romans under the\nEmpire_, vol. viii. pp. 46, 47.)\n\nIn the Fenwick note, Wordsworth mentions that, what gave rise to this\npoem was, his observing in the newspapers that \"the Pillar of Trajan\"\nwas prescribed as a subject for a prize poem at Oxford. This determines\nthe date of composition. _The Pillar of Trajan_ was the Newdigate prize\npoem, won by W. W. Tireman, Wadham Coll., in 1826. We may therefore\nassume that the subject was proposed about the summer of 1825.--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[411] As Wordsworth says, in his note of 1827, \"See Forsyth,\" it may\nbe interesting to add Forsyth's account of the Pillar, in footnotes.\n\"Trajan's Column, considered as a long historical record to be read\nround and round a long convex surface, made perspective impossible.\nEvery perspective has one fixed point of view, but here are ten\nthousand. The eye, like the relievos of the column, must describe a\nspiral round them, widening over the whole piazza. Hence, to be legible\nthe figures must be lengthened as they rise. This licence is necessary\nhere; but in architecture it may be contested against Vitruvius\nhimself.\" (Forsyth's _Remarks on Antiquities, Arts, and Letters,\nduring an Excursion in Italy in 1802-3_, pp. 250, 251.)--ED.\n\n[412] \"In detailing the two wars, this column sets each nation in\ncontrast: here the Moorish horse, all naked and unharnessed\" (Forsyth's\n_Remarks_, _etc._, p. 251.)--ED.\n\n[413] See Forsyth.--W. W. 1827.\n\n\"There the Taranatians, in complete mail down to the fingers and the\nhoofs. It exhibits without embellishment all the tactics of that age,\nand forms grand commentary on Vegetius and Frontinus.\" (_Remarks_,\n_etc._, p. 252.)--ED.\n\n[414] \"How unlike the modern relievos, where dress appears in all its\ndistinctions, and prostration in all its angles! none kneel here but\npriests and captives; no Roman appears in a fallen state: none are\nwounded or slain but the foe.\n\n\"No monument gives the complete and real costume of its kind so\ncorrectly as this column.... On this column we can see parts of the\n_subarmalia_; we can see real drawers falling down to the officers'\nlegs; and some figures have _focalia_, like invalids, round the neck.\"\n(_Remarks_, _etc._, p. 251-2.)--ED.\n\n[415] \"This column is an immense field of antiquities, where the\nemperor appears in a hundred different points, as sovereign, as\ngeneral, as priest.\" (_Remarks_, _etc._, p. 251.)--ED.\n\n[416] \"His dignity he derives from himself or his duties; not from the\ntrappings of power, for he is dressed like any of his officers, not\nfrom the debasement of others, for the Romans stand bold and erect\nbefore him.\" (_Remarks_, _etc._, p. 251.)--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CONTRAST\n\nTHE PARROT AND THE WREN[417]\n\n\n Composed 1825.--Published 1827\n\n[The Parrot belonged to Mrs. Luff while living at Fox-Ghyll. The Wren\nwas one that haunted for many years the summerhouse between the two\nterraces at Rydal Mount.--I. F.]\n\n One of the \"Poems of the Fancy.\"--ED.\n\n I\n\n Within her gilded cage confined,\n I saw a dazzling Belle,\n A Parrot of that famous kind\n Whose name is NON-PAREIL.\n\n Like beads of glossy jet her eyes; 5\n And, smoothed by Nature's skill,\n With pearl or gleaming agate vies\n Her finely-curv\u00e8d bill.\n\n Her plumy mantle's living hues\n In mass opposed to mass, 10\n Outshine the splendour that imbues\n The robes of pictured glass.\n\n And, sooth to say, an apter Mate\n Did never tempt the choice\n Of feathered Thing most delicate 15\n In figure and in voice.\n\n But, exiled from Australian bowers,\n And singleness her lot,\n She trills her song with tutored powers,\n Or mocks each casual note. 20\n\n No more of pity for regrets\n With which she may have striven!\n Now but in wantonness she frets,\n Or spite, if cause be given;\n\n Arch, volatile, a sportive bird 25\n By social glee inspired;\n Ambitious to be seen or heard\n And pleased to be admired!\n\n II\n\n This Moss-Lined shed, green, soft, and dry,\n Harbours a self-contented Wren, 30\n Not shunning man's abode, though shy,\n Almost as thought itself, of human ken.\n\n Strange places, coverts unendeared,\n She never tried; the very nest\n In which this Child of Spring was reared, 35\n Is warmed, thro' winter, by her feathery breast.\n\n To the bleak winds she sometimes gives\n A slender unexpected strain;\n Proof that[418] the hermitess still lives,\n Though she appear not, and be sought in vain. 40\n\n Say, Dora! tell me, by yon placid moon,\n If called to choose between the favoured pair,\n Which would you be,--the bird of the saloon,\n By lady-fingers tended with nice care,\n Caressed, applauded, upon dainties fed, 45\n Or Nature's DARKLING of this mossy shed?\n\nThe \"moss-lined shed, green, soft, and dry,\" still remains at Rydal\nMount, as it was in the poet's time.--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[417] 1832.\n\n The Contrast. 1827.\n\n[418] 1836.\n\n That tells ... 1827.\n\n\n\n\nTO A SKY-LARK\n\n\n Composed 1825.--Published 1827\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount, where there are no skylarks, but the Poet is\neverywhere.--I. F.]\n\n One of the \"Poems of the Imagination.\"--ED.\n\n Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!\n Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?\n Or, while the[419] wings aspire, are heart and eye\n Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?\n Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, 5\n Those quivering wings composed, that music still!\n\n\n\n Leave to the nightingale her[421] shady wood;\n A privacy of glorious light is thine;\n Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood\n Of harmony, with instinct[422] more divine; 10\n Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;\n True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!\n\nCompare this with the earlier poem _To a Skylark_, written in 1805, and\nboth poems with Shelley's still finer lyric to the same bird, written\nin 1820. See also the _Morning Exercise_ (1828), stanzas v.-x. The\neighth stanza of that poem was, from 1827 to 1842, the second stanza\nof this one. The poem was published in the _Poetical Album_, for 1829,\nedited by Alaric Watts, vol. ii. p. 30.--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[419] 1827.\n\n ... thy ...\n\n _Poetical Album_, 1829.\n\n[420] The following second stanza occurs only in the editions 1827-43--\n\n To the last point of vision, and beyond,\n Mount, daring Warbler! that love-prompted strain,\n ('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond)\n Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain:\n Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing\n All independent of the leafy spring.\n\n[421] 1827.\n\n ... the ...\n\n _Poetical Album_, 1829.\n\n[422] 1832.\n\n ... rapture ... 1827.\n\n\n\n\n1826\n\n\nThe poems composed in 1826 were six. They include two referring to the\nmonth of May, and two descriptive of places near Rydal Mount.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"ERE WITH COLD BEADS OF MIDNIGHT DEW\"\n\n\n Composed 1826.--Published 1827\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. Suggested by the condition of a friend.--I. F.]\n\n One of the \"Poems founded on the Affections.\"--ED.\n\n Ere with cold beads of midnight dew\n Had mingled tears of thine,\n I grieved, fond Youth! that thou shouldst sue\n To haughty Geraldine.\n\n Immoveable by generous sighs, 5\n She glories in a train\n Who drag, beneath our native skies,\n An oriental chain.\n\n Pine not like them with arms across,\n Forgetting in thy care 10\n How the fast-rooted trees can toss\n Their branches in mid air.\n\n The humblest rivulet will take\n Its own wild liberties;\n And, every day, the imprisoned lake 15\n Is flowing in the breeze.\n\n Then, crouch no more on suppliant knee,\n But scorn with scorn outbrave;\n A Briton, even in love, should be\n A subject, not a slave! 20\n\n\n\n\nODE\n\nCOMPOSED ON MAY MORNING\n\n\n Composed 1826.--Published 1835\n\n[This and the following poem originated in the lines, \"How delicate\nthe leafy veil,\" etc. My daughter and I left Rydal Mount upon a tour\nthrough our mountains, with Mr. and Mrs. Carr,[423] in the month of\nMay, 1826, and as we were going up the Vale of Newlands I was struck\nwith the appearance of the little chapel gleaming through the veil\nof half-opened leaves; and the feeling which was then conveyed to my\nmind was expressed in the stanza referred to above. As in the case of\n_Liberty_ and _Humanity_, my first intention was to write only one\npoem, but subsequently I broke it into two, making additions to each\npart so as to produce a consistent and appropriate whole.--I. F.]\n\n In 1835, included in the Poems on _Yarrow Revisited_, etc. In\n 1837, one of the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.\"--ED.\n\n While from the purpling east departs\n The star that led the dawn,\n Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts,\n For May is on the lawn,[424]\n A quickening hope, a freshening glee, 5\n Foreran the expected Power,\n Whose first-drawn breath, from bush and tree,\n Shakes off that pearly shower.\n\n All Nature welcomes Her whose sway\n Tempers the year's extremes; 10\n Who scattereth lustres o'er noon-day,\n Like morning's dewy gleams;\n While mellow warble, sprightly trill,\n The tremulous heart excite;\n And hums the balmy air to still 15\n The balance of delight.\n\n Time was, blest Power! when youths and maids\n At peep of dawn would rise,\n And wander forth in forest glades\n Thy birth to solemnize. 20\n Though mute the song--to grace the rite\n Untouched the hawthorn bough,\n Thy Spirit triumphs o'er the slight;\n Man changes, but not Thou!\n\n Thy feathered Lieges bill and wings 25\n In love's disport employ;\n Warmed by thy influence, creeping things\n Awake to silent joy:\n Queen art thou still for each gay plant\n Where the slim wild deer roves; 30\n And served in depths where fishes haunt\n Their own mysterious groves.\n\n Cloud-piercing peak, and trackless heath,\n Instinctive homage pay;\n Nor wants the dim-lit cave a wreath 35\n To honour thee, sweet May!\n Where cities fanned by thy brisk airs\n Behold a smokeless sky,\n Their puniest flower-pot-nursling dares\n To open a bright eye. 40\n\n And if, on this thy natal morn,\n The pole, from which thy name\n Hath not departed, stands forlorn\n Of song and dance and game;\n Still from the village-green a vow 45\n Aspires to thee addrest,\n Wherever peace is on the brow,\n Or love within the breast.\n\n Yes! where Love nestles thou canst teach\n The soul to love the more; 50\n Hearts also shall thy lessons reach\n That never loved before.\n Stript is the haughty one of pride,\n The bashful freed from fear,\n While rising, like the ocean-tide, 55\n In flows the joyous year.\n\n Hush, feeble lyre! weak words refuse\n The service to prolong!\n To yon exulting thrush the Muse\n Entrusts the imperfect song; 60\n His voice shall chant, in accents clear,\n Throughout the live-long day,\n Till the first silver star appear,\n The sovereignty of May.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[423] Doubtless the Rev. Mr. Carr, of Bolton Abbey, and his wife.--ED.\n\n[424] Compare _Thoughts on the Seasons_, written in 1829.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTO MAY[425]\n\n\n Composed 1826-34.--Published 1835\n\nOne of the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.\"--ED.\n\n Though many suns have risen and set\n Since thou, blithe May, wert born,\n And Bards, who hailed thee, may forget\n Thy gifts, thy beauty scorn;\n There are who to a birthday strain 5\n Confine not harp and voice,\n But evermore throughout thy reign\n Are grateful and rejoice!\n\n Delicious odours! music sweet,\n Too sweet to pass away! 10\n Oh for a deathless song to meet\n The soul's desire--a lay\n That, when a thousand years are told,\n Should praise thee, genial Power!\n Through summer heat, autumnal cold, 15\n And winter's dreariest hour.\n\n Earth, sea, thy presence feel--nor less,\n If yon ethereal blue\n With its soft smile the truth express,\n The heavens have felt it too. 20\n The inmost heart of man if glad\n Partakes a livelier cheer;\n And eyes that cannot but be sad\n Let fall a brightened tear.\n\n Since thy return, through days and weeks 25\n Of hope that grew by stealth,\n How many wan and faded cheeks\n Have kindled into health!\n The Old, by thee revived, have said,\n \"Another year is ours;\" 30\n And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed,\n Have smiled upon thy flowers.\n\n Who tripping lisps a merry song\n Amid his playful peers?\n The tender Infant who was long 35\n A prisoner of fond fears;\n But now, when every sharp-edged blast\n Is quiet in its sheath,\n His Mother leaves him free to taste\n Earth's sweetness in thy breath. 40\n\n Thy help is with the weed that creeps\n Along the humblest ground;\n No cliff so bare but on its steeps\n Thy favours may be found;\n But most on some peculiar nook 45\n That our own hands have drest,\n Thou and thy train are proud to look,\n And seem to love it best.\n\n And yet how pleased we wander forth\n When May is whispering, \"Come! 50\n \"Choose from the bowers of virgin earth\n \"The happiest for your home;\n \"Heaven's bounteous love through me is spread\n \"From sunshine, clouds, winds, waves,\n \"Drops on the mouldering turret's head, 55\n \"And on your turf-clad graves!\"\n\n Such greeting heard, away with sighs\n For lilies that must fade,\n Or \"the rathe primrose as it dies\n Forsaken\"[426] in the shade! 60\n Vernal fruitions and desires\n Are linked in endless chase;\n While, as one kindly growth retires,\n Another takes its place.\n\n And what if thou, sweet May, hast known 65\n Mishap by worm and blight;\n If expectations newly blown\n Have perished in thy sight;\n If loves and joys, while up they sprung,\n Were caught as in a snare; 70\n Such is the lot of all the young,\n However bright and fair.\n\n Lo! Streams that April could not check\n Are patient of thy rule;\n Gurgling in foamy water-break, 75\n Loitering in glassy pool:\n By thee, thee only, could be sent\n Such gentle mists as glide,\n Curling with unconfirmed intent,\n On that green mountain's side. 80\n\n How delicate the leafy veil\n Through which yon house of God\n Gleams 'mid the peace of this deep dale[427]\n By few but shepherds trod!\n And lowly huts, near beaten ways, 85\n No sooner stand attired\n In thy fresh wreaths, than they for praise\n Peep forth, and are admired.\n\n Season of fancy and of hope,\n Permit not for one hour, 90\n A blossom from thy crown to drop,\n Nor add to it a flower!\n Keep, lovely May, as if by touch\n Of self-restraining art,\n This modest charm of not too much, 95\n Part seen, imagined part!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[425] Some of the stanzas of this poem were composed in Nov. 1830,\non the way from Rydal to Cambridge. See Wordsworth's letter to W. R.\nHamilton, Nov. 26, 1830.--ED.\n\n[426] Compare _Lycidas_, l. 142.--ED.\n\n[427] Newlands. See the Fenwick note, p. 146.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"ONCE I COULD HAIL (HOWE'ER SERENE THE SKY)\"\n\n\n Composed 1826.--Published 1827\n\n \"Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone\n Wi' the auld moone in hir arme.\"\n\n_Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence_, _Percy's Reliques_.--W. W.\n\n [\"No faculty yet given me to espy\n The dusky Shape within her arms imbound.\"\n\nAfterwards, when I could not avoid seeing it, I wondered at this, and\nthe more so because, like most children, I had been in the habit of\nwatching the moon through all her changes, and had often continued to\ngaze at it when at the full till half blinded.--I. F.]\n\n From 1827 to 1842, one of the \"Epitaphs and Elegiac Poems.\" In\n 1845 transferred to the \"Miscellaneous Poems.\"--ED.\n\n Once I could hail (howe'er serene the sky)\n The Moon re-entering her monthly round,\n No faculty yet given me to espy\n The dusky Shape within her arms imbound,\n That thin memento of effulgence lost 5\n Which some have named her Predecessor's ghost.\n\n Young, like the Crescent that above me shone,\n Nought I perceived within it dull or dim;\n All that appeared was suitable to One\n Whose fancy had a thousand fields to skim; 10\n To expectations spreading with wild growth,\n And hope that kept with me her plighted troth.\n\n I saw (ambition quickening at the view)\n A silver boat launched on a boundless flood;\n A pearly crest, like Dian's when it threw 15\n Its brightest splendour round a leafy wood;\n But not a hint from under-ground, no sign\n Fit for the glimmering brow of Proserpine.[428]\n\n Or was it Dian's self[428] that seemed to move\n Before me?--nothing blemished the fair sight; 20\n On her I looked whom jocund Fairies love,\n Cynthia,[428] who puts the _little_ stars to flight,\n And by that thinning magnifies the great,\n For exaltation of her sovereign state.\n\n And when I learned to mark the spectral Shape 25\n As each new Moon obeyed the call of Time,\n If gloom fell on me, swift was my escape;\n Such happy privilege hath life's gay Prime,\n To see or not to see, as best may please\n A buoyant Spirit, and a heart at ease. 30\n\n Now, dazzling Stranger! when thou meet'st my glance,\n Thy dark Associate ever I discern;\n Emblem of thoughts too eager to advance\n While I salute my joys, thoughts sad or stern;\n Shades of past bliss, or phantoms that, to gain 35\n Their fill of promised lustre, wait in vain.\n\n So changes mortal Life with fleeting years;\n A mournful change, should Reason fail to bring\n The timely insight that can temper fears,\n And from vicissitude remove its sting; 40\n While Faith aspires to seats in that domain\n Where joys are perfect--neither wax nor wane.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[428]\n\n Terret, lustrat, agit, Proserpina, Luna, Diana;\n Ima, suprema, feras, sceptro, fulgore, sagitta.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"THE MASSY WAYS, CARRIED ACROSS THESE HEIGHTS\"\n\n\n Composed 1826.--Published 1835[429]\n\n[The walk is what we call the _Far-terrace_, beyond the summerhouse\nat Rydal Mount. The lines were written when we were afraid of being\nobliged to quit the place to which we were so much attached.--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Inscriptions.\"--ED.\n\n The massy Ways, carried across these heights[430]\n By Roman perseverance,[431] are destroyed,\n Or hidden under ground, like sleeping worms.\n How venture then to hope that Time will spare[432]\n This humble Walk? Yet on the mountain's side 5\n A POET'S hand first shaped it; and the steps\n Of that same Bard--repeated to and fro\n At morn, at noon,[433] and under moonlight skies\n Through the vicissitudes of many a year--\n Forbade the weeds to creep o'er its grey line. 10\n No longer, scattering to the heedless winds\n The vocal raptures of fresh poesy,\n Shall he frequent these precincts; locked no more\n In earnest converse with beloved Friends,\n Here will he gather stores of ready bliss, 15\n As from the beds and borders of a garden\n Choice flowers are gathered! But, if Power may spring\n Out of a farewell yearning--favoured more\n Than kindred wishes mated suitably\n With vain regrets--the Exile would consign 20\n This Walk, his loved possession, to the care\n Of those pure Minds that reverence the Muse.[434]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[429] The title of these lines in the edition of 1835 was\n_Inscription_.--ED.\n\n[430] 1835.\n\n ... once carried o'er these hills MS.\n\n[431] Referring to the Roman Way, fragments of which are to be seen on\nHigh Street. Ambleside was a Roman station. \"At the upper corner of\nWindermere lieth the dead carcase of an ancient city, with great ruins\nof walls, and many heaps of rubbish, one from another, remaining of\nbuilding without the walls, yet to be seen. The fortress thereof was\nsomewhat long, fenced with a ditch and rampire, took up in length 132\nells, and breadth 80. That it had been the Romans' work is evident by\nthe British bricks, by the mortar tempered with little pieces of brick\namong it, by small earthen pots or pitchers, by small cruets or phials\nof glass, by pieces of Roman money oftentimes found, and by round\nstones as big as millstones or quernstones, of which laid and couched\ntogether they framed in old times their columns, and by the paved ways\nleading to it. Now the ancient name is gone, unless a man would guess\nat it, and think it were that Amboglana, whereof the book of notices\nmaketh mention, seeing at this day it is called Ambleside.\"--See\nCamden's _Britannia_, 645 (edition 1590).--ED.\n\n[432] 1835.\n\n ... to hope that private claims\n Will from the injuries of time protect MS.\n\n[433] 1835.\n\n ... and the foot\n Of that same Bard, by pacing to and fro\n At morn, and noon, ... MS.\n\n[434] 1835.\n\n ... its gray line.\n Murmuring his unambitious verse alone,\n Or in sweet converse with beloved Friends.\n No more must he frequent it. Yet might power\n Follow the yearnings of the spirit, he\n Reluctantly departing, would consign\n This walk, his heart's possession, to the care\n Of those pure Minds that reverence the Muse. MS.\n\n\n\n\nFAREWELL LINES[435]\n\n\n Composed 1826.--Published 1842\n\n[These lines were designed as a farewell to Charles Lamb and his\nsister, who had retired from the throngs of London to comparative\nsolitude in the village of Enfield--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems founded on the Affections.\"--ED.\n\n \"High bliss is only for a higher state,\"[436]\n But, surely, if severe afflictions borne\n With patience merit the reward of peace,\n Peace ye deserve; and may the solid good,\n Sought by a wise though late exchange, and here 5\n With bounteous hand beneath a cottage-roof\n To you accorded, never be withdrawn,\n Nor for the world's best promises renounced.\n Most soothing was it for a welcome Friend,\n Fresh from the crowded city, to behold 10\n That lonely union, privacy so deep,\n Such calm employments, such entire content.\n So when the rain is over, the storm laid,\n A pair of herons oft-times have I seen,\n Upon a rocky islet, side by side, 15\n Drying their feathers in the sun, at ease;\n And so, when night with grateful gloom had fallen,\n Two glow-worms in such nearness that they shared,\n As seemed, their soft self-satisfying light,\n Each with the other, on the dewy ground, 20\n Where He that made them blesses their repose.--\n When wandering among lakes and hills I note,\n Once more, those creatures thus by nature paired,\n And guarded in their tranquil state of life,\n Even, as your happy presence to my mind 25\n Their union brought, will they repay the debt,\n And send a thankful spirit back to you,\n With hope that we, dear Friends! shall meet again.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[435] As Charles Lamb retired to Enfield in 1826, these lines cannot\nhave been composed much later than that year, although they were\nnot published till 1842. Lamb wrote thus to Wordsworth on the 6th\nof April 1825: \"I came home FOR EVER on Tuesday in last week. The\nincomprehensibleness of my condition overwhelmed me. It was like\npassing from life into eternity. ... I wandered about, thinking I was\nhappy, but feeling I was not. But that tumultuousness is passing off,\nand I begin to understand the nature of the gift. Holidays, even the\nannual month, were always uneasy joys: their conscious fugitiveness;\nthe craving after making the most of them. Now, when all is holiday,\nthere are no holidays. I can sit at home, in rain or shine, without a\nrestless impulse for walkings. I am daily steadying, and shall soon\nfind it as natural to me to be my own master, as it has been irksome\nto have had a master. Mary wakes every morning with an obscure feeling\nthat some good has happened to us.\"--ED.\n\n[436] See Thomson's lines _To the Reverend Patrick Murdoch_, Rector of\nStradishall, in Suffolk, 1738, l. 10.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n1827\n\n\nThe poems composed in 1827 were for the most part sonnets. But several\nof those first published in 1827 evidently belong to an earlier year,\nthe date of which it is impossible to discover.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nON SEEING A NEEDLECASE IN THE FORM OF A HARP\n\n\n THE WORK OF E. M. S.[437]\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Poems of the Fancy.\"--ED.\n\n Frowns are on every Muse's face,\n Reproaches from their lips are sent,\n That mimicry should thus disgrace\n The noble Instrument.\n\n A very Harp in all but size! 5\n Needles for strings in apt gradation!\n Minerva's self would stigmatize\n The unclassic profanation.\n\n Even her _own_ needle that subdued\n Arachne's rival spirit,[438] 10\n Though wrought in Vulcan's happiest mood,\n Such honour[439] could not merit.\n\n And this, too, from the Laureate's Child,\n A living lord of melody!\n How will her Sire be reconciled 15\n To the refined indignity?\n\n I spake, when whispered a low voice,\n \"Bard! moderate your ire;\n Spirits of all degrees rejoice\n In presence of the lyre. 20\n\n The Minstrels of Pygmean bands,[440]\n Dwarf Genii, moonlight-loving Fays,\n Have shells to fit their tiny hands\n And suit their slender lays.\n\n Some, still more delicate of ear, 25\n Have lutes (believe my words)\n Whose framework is of gossamer,\n While sunbeams are the chords.\n\n Gay Sylphs[B] this miniature will court,\n Made vocal by their brushing wings, 30\n And sullen Gnomes[441] will learn to sport\n Around its polished strings;\n\n Whence strains to love-sick maiden dear,\n While in her lonely bower she tries\n To cheat the thought she cannot cheer, 35\n By fanciful embroideries.\n\n Trust, angry Bard! a knowing Sprite,\n Nor think the Harp her lot deplores;\n Though 'mid the stars the Lyre shine[442] bright,\n Love _stoops_ as fondly as he soars.\"[443] 40\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[437] Edith May Southey.--ED.\n\n[438] Arachne, daughter of a dyer of Colophon, skilful with her needle,\nchallenged Minerva to a trial of skill. Minerva defeated her, and\ncommitting suicide, she was changed by the goddess into a spider.--ED.\n\n[439] 1845.\n\n Like station ... 1827.\n\n[440] Pygm\u00e6i, the nation of Lilliputian dwarfs, fabled to dwell in\nIndia, or Ethiopia. (See Ovid, _Metamorphoses_, vi. 90; Aristotle, _De\nAnima_, viii. 12.)--ED.\n\n[441] According to medi\u00e6val belief, the Sylphs were elemental\nspirits of the air; the Gnomes the elemental spirits of the earth.\n\"The Gnomes or D\u00e6mons of Earth delight in mischief; but the Sylphs,\nwhose habitation is in the Air, are the best-condition'd creatures\nimaginable.\"--(See Pope, _Rape of the Lock_, Preface.)--ED.\n\n[442] 1832.\n\n ... shines ... 1827.\n\n[443] 1827.\n\n ... as she soars.\" MS.\n\n\n\n\nMISCELLANEOUS SONNETS\n\n\n\n\nDEDICATION\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\n[In the cottage, Town-end, Grasmere, one afternoon in 1801, my Sister\nread to me the Sonnets of Milton. I had long been well acquainted with\nthem, but I was particularly struck on that occasion by the dignified\nsimplicity and majestic harmony that runs through most of them,--in\ncharacter so totally different from the Italian, and still more so from\nShakespeare's fine Sonnets. I took fire, if I may be allowed to say\nso, and produced three Sonnets the same afternoon, the first I ever\nwrote except an irregular one at school. Of these three, the only one\nI distinctly remember is \"I grieved for Buonapart\u00e9.\" One was never\nwritten down: the third, which was, I believe, preserved, I cannot\nparticularise.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTO ----[444]\n\n\n Happy the feeling from the bosom thrown\n In perfect shape (whose beauty Time shall spare\n Though a breath made it) like a bubble blown\n For summer pastime into wanton air;\n Happy the thought best likened to a stone 5\n Of the sea-beach, when, polished with nice care,\n Veins it discovers exquisite and rare,\n Which for the loss of that moist gleam atone\n That tempted first to gather it. That here,\n O chief of Friends![445] such feelings I present, 10\n To thy regard, with thoughts so fortunate,\n Were a vain notion; but the hope is dear,[446]\n That thou, if not with partial joy elate,\n Wilt smile upon this gift with[447] more than mild content![448]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[444] This dedicatory sonnet may possibly have been inscribed to his\nsister, whose reading of Milton's sonnets in 1801 first led him (as the\nFenwick note tells us) to write sonnets.--ED.\n\n[445] See the note on the previous page.--ED.\n\n[446] 1837.\n\n ... gather it. O chief\n Of Friends! such feelings if I here present,\n Such thoughts, with others mixed less fortunate;\n Then smile into my heart a fond belief\n That Thou, ... 1827.\n\n[447] 1837.\n\n Receiv'st the gift for ... 1827.\n\n[448]\n\n \"_Something less than joy, but more than dull content._\"\n\n COUNTESS OF WINCHELSEA.--W. W. 1837.\n\n\n\n\n\"HER ONLY PILOT THE SOFT BREEZE, THE BOAT\"\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n Her only pilot the soft breeze, the boat\n Lingers, but Fancy is well satisfied;\n With keen-eyed Hope, with Memory, at her side,\n And the glad Muse at liberty to note\n All that to each is precious, as we float 5\n Gently along; regardless who shall chide\n If the heavens smile, and leave us free to glide,\n Happy Associates breathing air remote\n From trivial cares. But, Fancy and the Muse,\n Why have I crowded this small bark with you 10\n And others of your kind, ideal crew!\n While here sits One whose brightness owes its hues\n To flesh and blood; no Goddess from above,\n No fleeting Spirit, but my own true Love?[449]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[449] The reminiscence of a day spent on Grasmere Lake with Mrs.\nWordsworth.\n\nCompare Robert Browning's lines--\n\n No angel, but a dearer being\n All dipt in angel instincts.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"WHY, MINSTREL, THESE UNTUNEFUL MURMURINGS\"\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n \"Why, Minstrel, these untuneful murmurings--\n Dull, flagging notes that with each other jar?\"\n \"Think, gentle Lady, of a Harp so far\n From its own country, and forgive the strings.\"\n A simple answer! but even so forth springs, 5\n From the Castalian fountain of the heart,[450]\n The Poetry of Life, and all _that_ Art\n Divine of words quickening insensate things.\n From the submissive necks of guiltless men\n Stretched on the block, the glittering axe recoils; 10\n Sun, moon, and stars, all struggle in the toils\n Of mortal sympathy; what wonder then\n That[451] the poor Harp distempered music yields\n To its sad Lord, far from his native fields?\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[450] Castaly (Castalius fons), a fountain near Parnassus sacred to the\nMuses. See Virgil, _Georgics_, iii. 293.--ED.\n\n[451] 1837.\n\n If ... 1827.\n\n\n\n\nTO S. H.[452]\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n Excuse is needless when with love sincere\n Of occupation, not by fashion led,\n Thou turn'st the Wheel that slept with dust o'erspread;\n _My_ nerves from no such murmur shrink,--tho' near,\n Soft as the Dorhawk's to a distant ear, 5\n When twilight shades darken[453] the mountain's head.[454]\n Even She who toils to spin[455] our vital thread[456]\n Might smile on work, O Lady, once so dear[457]\n To household virtues. Venerable Art,\n Torn from the Poor![458] yet shall kind Heaven protect 10\n Its own; though Rulers, with undue respect,\n Trusting to crowded factory and mart[459]\n And[460] proud discoveries of the intellect,\n Heed not[461] the pillage of man's ancient heart.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[452] Sarah Hutchinson, Mrs. Wordsworth's sister.--ED.\n\n[453] 1837.\n\n ... bedim ... 1827.\n\n[454] Either Wansfell, or Loughrigg.--ED.\n\n[455] 1840.\n\n She who was feigned to spin ... 1827.\n\n She who even toils to spin ... C.\n\n[456] Lachesis, the second of the three Parc\u00e6, who was supposed to spin\nout the actions of our life.\n\n Clotho colum retinet, Lachesis net, et Atropos occat.--ED.\n\n[457] 1837.\n\n Might smile, O Lady! on a task once dear 1827.\n\n[458] Referring to the introduction of steam-looms, which displaced the\nhand-loom spinning of a previous generation.--ED.\n\n[459] Compare _The Excursion_, book viii. ll. 165-185.--ED.\n\n[460] 1837.\n\n ... yet will kind Heaven protect\n Its own, not left without a guiding chart,\n If Rulers, trusting with undue respect\n To ... 1827.\n\n[461] 1837.\n\n Sanction ... 1827.\n\n\n\n\nDECAY OF PIETY\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\n[Attendance at church on prayer-days, Wednesdays and Fridays and\nHolidays, received a shock at the Revolution. It is now, however,\nhappily reviving. The ancient people described in this Sonnet were\namong the last of that pious class. May we hope that the practice, now\nin some degree renewed, will continue to spread.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n Oft have I seen, ere Time had ploughed my cheek,\n Matrons and Sires--who, punctual to the call\n Of their loved Church, on fast or festival\n Through the long year the House of Prayer would seek:\n By Christmas snows, by visitation bleak 5\n Of Easter winds, unscared, from hut or hall\n They came to lowly bench or sculptured stall,\n But with one fervour of devotion meek.\n I see the places where they once were known,\n And ask, surrounded even by kneeling crowds, 10\n Is ancient Piety for ever flown?\n Alas! even then they seemed like fleecy clouds\n That, struggling through the western sky, have won\n Their pensive light from a departed sun!\n\n\n\n\n\"SCORN NOT THE SONNET; CRITIC, YOU HAVE FROWNED\"\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\n[Composed, almost extempore, in a short walk on the western side of\nRydal Lake.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,\n Mindless of its just honours; with this key\n Shakspeare unlocked his heart;[462] the melody\n Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;[463]\n A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;[464] 5\n With it Cam\u00f6ens soothed[465] an exile's grief;[466]\n The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf\n Amid the cypress with which Dante[467] crowned\n His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp,\n It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land 10\n To struggle through dark ways;[468] and, when a damp\n Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand\n The Thing became a trumpet;[469] whence he blew\n Soul-animating strains--alas, too few![470]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[462] Shakespeare's sonnets are autobiographical: compare Nos. 24, 30,\n39, 105, 116.--ED.\n\n[463] Petrarch's were all inspired by his devotion to Laura.--ED.\n\n[464] Tasso's works include two volumes of sonnets, first published in\n1581 and 1592.--ED.\n\n[465] 1837.\n\n Cam\u00f6ens soothed with it ... 1827.\n\n[466] For his satire _Disparates na India_, Cam\u00f6ens was banished to\nMacao in 1556, where he wrote the _Os Lusiadas_, also many sonnets and\nlyric poems.--ED.\n\n[467] Compare the _Vita Nuova_, _passim_.--ED.\n\n[468] Spenser wrote ninety-two sonnets. From the eightieth sonnet it\nwould seem that the writing of them was a relaxation, after the labour\nspent upon the _Fa\u00ebrie Queene_. It is to this sonnet that Wordsworth\nalludes.\n\n After so long a race as I have run\n Through Faery land, which these six books compile,\n Give leave to rest me, being half foredone,\n And gather to myself new breath awhile.--ED.\n\n[469] Milton's twenty-three sonnets were written partly in English,\npartly in Italian. Compare Wordsworth's sonnet, addressed to him in\n1802, beginning:--\n\n Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.--ED.\n\n[470] Compare the sonnet beginning--\n\n Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"FAIR PRIME OF LIFE! WERE IT ENOUGH TO GILD\"\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\n[Suggested by observation of the way in which a young friend, whom I do\nnot choose to name, misspent his time and misapplied his talents. He\ntook afterwards a better course, and became a useful member of society,\nrespected, I believe, wherever he has been known.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n Fair Prime of life! were it enough to gild\n With ready sunbeams every straggling shower;\n And, if an unexpected cloud should lower,\n Swiftly thereon a rainbow arch to build\n For Fancy's errands,--then, from fields half-tilled 5\n Gathering green weeds to mix with poppy flower,\n Thee might thy Minions crown, and chant thy power,\n Unpitied by the wise, all censure stilled.\n Ah! show that worthier honours are thy due;\n Fair Prime of life! arouse the deeper heart; 10\n Confirm the Spirit glorying to pursue\n Some path of steep ascent and lofty aim;\n And, if there be a joy that slights the claim\n Of grateful memory, bid that joy depart.\n\n\n\n\nRETIREMENT\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n If the whole weight of what we think and feel,\n Save only far as thought and feeling blend\n With action, were as nothing, patriot Friend!\n From thy remonstrance would be no appeal;\n But to promote and fortify the weal 5\n Of our own Being is her paramount end;\n A truth which they alone shall comprehend\n Who shun the mischief which they cannot heal.\n Peace in these feverish times is sovereign bliss:\n Here, with no thirst but what the stream can slake, 10\n And startled only by the rustling brake,\n Cool air I breathe; while the unincumbered Mind,\n By some weak aims at services assigned\n To gentle Natures, thanks not Heaven amiss.\n\n\n\n\n\"_THERE IS A PLEASURE IN POETIC PAINS_\"\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n _There is a pleasure in poetic pains_\n _Which only Poets know_;[471]--'twas rightly said;\n Whom could the Muses else allure to tread\n Their smoothest paths, to wear their lightest chains?\n When happiest Fancy has inspired the strains, 5\n How oft the malice of one luckless word\n Pursues the Enthusiast to the social board,\n Haunts him belated on the silent plains!\n Yet he repines not, if his thought stand clear,\n At last, of hindrance and obscurity, 10\n Fresh as the star that crowns the brow of morn;\n Bright, speckless, as a softly-moulded tear\n The moment it has left the virgin's eye,\n Or rain-drop lingering on the pointed thorn.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[471] See Cowper's _Task_, book ii. l. 285.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nRECOLLECTION OF THE PORTRAIT OF KING HENRY EIGHTH, TRINITY LODGE,\nCAMBRIDGE[472]\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n The imperial Stature, the colossal stride,\n Are yet before me; yet do I behold\n The broad full visage, chest of amplest mould,\n The vestments 'broidered with barbaric pride:\n And lo! a poniard, at the Monarch's side, 5\n Hangs ready to be grasped in sympathy\n With the keen threatenings of that fulgent eye,\n Below the white-rimmed bonnet, far-descried.\n Who trembles now at thy capricious mood?\n 'Mid those surrounding Worthies, haughty King, 10\n We rather think, with grateful mind sedate,\n How Providence educeth, from the spring\n Of lawless will, unlooked-for streams of good,\n Which neither force shall check nor time abate!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[472] Trinity College, Cambridge, was founded by King Henry VIII. in\n1546, on the site of King's Hall, founded by Edward III. in 1337. Two\nof the gateways of the latter remain, as parts of the great court of\nTrinity. Over one of these--the King's or entrance gate way--the statue\nof Henry VIII. is erected. The portrait, described in the sonnet, is in\nthe Hall of the College.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"WHEN PHILOCTETES IN THE LEMNIAN ISLE\"\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n When Philoctetes in the Lemnian isle[473]\n Like a Form sculptured on a monument\n Lay couched; on him or his dread bow unbent[474]\n Some wild Bird oft might settle and beguile\n The rigid features of a transient smile, 5\n Disperse the tear, or to the sigh give vent,\n Slackening the pains of ruthless banishment\n From his lov'd home, and from heroic toil.\n And trust[475] that spiritual Creatures round us move,\n Griefs to allay which[476] Reason cannot heal; 10\n Yea, veriest[477] reptiles have sufficed to prove\n To fettered wretchedness, that no Bastile[478]\n Is deep enough to exclude the light of love,\n Though man for brother man has ceased to feel.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[473] The original title of this sonnet in MS. was _Suggested by the\nsame Incident_ (referring to the previous sonnet); and its original\nform, with one line awanting, was as follows:--\n\n When Philoctetes, in the Lemnian Isle\n Reclined with shaggy forehead earthward bent,\n Lay silent like a weed-grown Monument,\n Such Friend, for such brief moment as a smile\n Asks to be born and die in, might beguile\n The wounded Chief of pining discontent\n From home affections, and heroic toil.\n Seen, or unseen, beneath us, or above,\n Are Powers that soften anguish, if not heal;\n And toads and spiders have sufficed to prove\n To fettered wretchedness that no Bastile\n Is deep enough to exclude the light of Love,\n Though man for Brother man have ceased to feel.\n\nPhiloctetes, one of the Argonauts, received from the dying Hercules his\narrows. Called by Menelaus to go with the Greeks to the Trojan war, he\nwas sent to the island of Lemnos, owing to a wound in his foot. There\nhe remained for ten years, till the oracle informed the Greeks that\nTroy could not be taken without the arrows of Hercules. The sonnet\nrefers to the legend of his life in Lemnos.--ED.\n\n[474] 1837.\n\n ... isle\n Lay couched; upon that breathless Monument,\n On him, or on his fearful bow unbent, 1827.\n\n[475] 1837.\n\n From home affections, and heroic toil.\n Nor doubt ... 1827.\n\n[476] 1837.\n\n ... that ... 1827.\n\n[477] 1837.\n\n And very ... 1827.\n\n[478] Compare the sonnet _To Toussaint l'Ouverture_ (vol. ii. p.\n339).--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"WHILE ANNA'S PEERS AND EARLY PLAYMATES TREAD\"\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\n[This is taken from the account given by Miss Jewsbury of the pleasure\nshe derived, when long confined to her bed by sickness, from the\ninanimate object on which this sonnet turns.--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n While Anna's peers[479] and early playmates tread,\n In freedom, mountain-turf and river's marge;[480]\n Or float with music in the festal barge;\n Rein the proud steed, or through the dance are led;\n Her doom it is[481] to press a weary bed-- 5\n Till oft her guardian Angel, to some charge\n More urgent called, will stretch his wings at large,\n And friends too rarely prop the languid head.\n Yet, helped by Genius--untired comforter,[482]\n The presence even of a stuffed Owl for her 10\n Can cheat the time; sending her fancy out\n To ivied castles and to moonlight skies,\n Though he can neither stir a plume, nor shout;\n Nor veil, with restless film, his staring eyes.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[479] Anna Jewsbury, afterwards Mrs. William Fletcher. Compare\n_Liberty_, in this volume, stanza 1, and the note (p. 222).--ED.\n\n[480] 1837.\n\n While they, her Playmates once, light-hearted tread\n The mountain turf and river's flowery marge; 1827.\n\n While they, who once were Anna's Playmates, tread\n The mountain turf and river's flowery marge; 1832.\n\n[481] 1832.\n\n Is Anna doomed ... 1827.\n\n[482] 1837.\n\n Yet Genius is no feeble comforter: 1827.\n\n\n\n\nTO THE CUCKOO\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n Not the whole warbling grove in concert heard\n When sunshine follows shower, the breast can thrill\n Like the first summons, Cuckoo! of thy bill,\n With its twin notes inseparably paired.[483]\n The captive 'mid damp vaults unsunned, unaired, 5\n Measuring the periods of his lonely doom,\n That cry can reach; and to the sick man's room\n Sends gladness, by no languid smile declared.\n The lordly eagle-race through hostile search\n May perish; time may come when never more 10\n The wilderness shall hear the lion roar;\n But, long as cock shall crow from household perch\n To rouse the dawn, soft gales shall speed thy wing,\n And thy erratic voice[484] be faithful to the Spring!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[483] Compare _To the Cuckoo_--1802 (vol. ii. p. 290)--\n\n Thy twofold shout I hear.\n\nAlso Robert Browning's _A Lovers' Quarrel_, stanza 18--\n\n ... that minor third\n There is none but the cuckoo knows.--ED.\n\n[484] Compare (vol. ii. p. 289)--\n\n O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird,\n Or but a wandering Voice?--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE INFANT M---- M----\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\n[The infant was Mary Monkhouse,[485] the only daughter of my friend and\ncousin, Thomas Monkhouse.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n Unquiet Childhood here by special grace\n Forgets her nature, opening like a flower\n That neither feeds nor wastes its vital power\n In painful struggles. Months each other chase,\n And nought untunes that Infant's voice; no trace[486] 5\n Of fretful temper sullies her pure cheek;[487]\n Prompt, lively, self-sufficing, yet so meek\n That one enrapt with gazing on her face\n (Which even the placid innocence of death\n Could scarcely make more placid, heaven more bright)\n Might learn to picture, for the eye of faith, 11\n The Virgin, as she shone with kindred light;\n A nursling couched upon her mother's knee,\n Beneath some shady palm of Galilee.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[485] Afterwards Mrs. Henry Dew of Whitney Rectory, Herefordshire.--ED.\n\n[486] 1837.\n\n ... a trace 1827.\n\n[487] 1837.\n\n ... sullies not her cheek; 1827.\n\n\n\n\nTO ROTHA Q----\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\n[Rotha, the daughter of my son-in-law, Mr. Quillinan.--I. F.]\n\n Rotha, my Spiritual Child! this head was grey\n When at the sacred font for thee I stood;\n Pledged till thou reach the verge of womanhood,\n And shalt become thy own sufficient stay:\n Too late, I feel, sweet Orphan, was the day 5\n For stedfast hope the contract to fulfil;\n Yet shall my blessing hover o'er thee still,\n Embodied in the music of this Lay,\n Breathed forth beside the peaceful mountain Stream[488]\n Whose murmur soothed thy languid Mother's ear 10\n After her throes, this Stream of name more dear\n Since thou dost bear it,--a memorial theme[489]\n For others; for thy future self, a spell\n To summon fancies out of Time's dark cell.[490]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[488] The river Rotha, which flows into Windermere from the lakes of\nGrasmere and Rydal.--ED.\n\n[489] 1827.\n\n ... whose name is thine to bear\n Hanging around thee a memorial theme MS.\n\n[490] Compare the poem on the Borrowdale _Yew Trees_.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTO ----, IN HER SEVENTIETH YEAR[491]\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\n[Lady Fitzgerald, as described to me by Lady Beaumont.--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n Such age how beautiful! O Lady bright,\n Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined\n By favouring Nature and a saintly Mind\n To something purer and more exquisite\n Than flesh and blood; whene'er thou meet'st my sight,\n When I behold thy blanched unwithered cheek, 6\n Thy temples fringed with locks of gleaming white,\n And head that droops because the soul is meek,\n Thee with the welcome Snowdrop I compare;\n That child of winter, prompting thoughts that climb 10\n From desolation toward[492] the genial prime;\n Or with the Moon conquering earth's misty air,\n And filling more and more with crystal light\n As pensive Evening deepens into night.[493]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[491] 1832.\n\n To ----, 1827.\n\n[492] 1832.\n\n ... tow'rds ... 1827.\n\n[493] Another version of this sonnet is given in a letter from Mrs.\nWordsworth to Lady Beaumont:--\n\n Lady, what delicate graces may unite\n In age--so often comfortless and bleak!\n Though from thy unenfeebled eye-balls break\n Those saintly emanations of delight,\n A snow-drop let me name thee; pure, chaste, white,\n Too pure for flesh and blood; with smooth, blanch'd cheek,\n And head that droops because the soul is meek,\n And not that Time presses with weary weight.\n Hope, Love, and Joy are with thee fresh as fair;\n A Child of Winter prompting thoughts that climb\n From desolation towards the genial prime:\n Or, like the moon, conquering the misty air\n And filling more and more with chrystal light,\n As pensive evening deepens into night.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"IN MY MIND'S EYE A TEMPLE, LIKE A CLOUD\"\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n In my mind's eye a Temple, like a cloud\n Slowly surmounting some invidious hill,\n Rose out of darkness: the bright Work stood still;\n And might of its own beauty have been proud,\n But it was fashioned and to God was vowed 5\n By Virtues that diffused, in every part,\n Spirit divine through forms of human art:\n Faith had her arch--her arch, when winds blow loud,\n Into the consciousness of safety thrilled;\n And Love her towers of dread foundation laid 10\n Under the grave of things; Hope had her spire\n Star-high, and pointing still to something higher;\n Trembling I gazed, but heard a voice--it said,\n \"Hell-gates are powerless Phantoms when _we_ build.\"\n\n\n\n\n\"GO BACK TO ANTIQUE AGES, IF THINE EYES\"\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty.\"--ED.\n\n Go back to antique ages, if thine eyes\n The genuine mien and character would trace\n Of the rash Spirit that still holds her place,\n Prompting the world's audacious vanities!\n Go back, and see[494] the Tower of Babel rise; 5\n The pyramid extend its monstrous base,\n For some Aspirant of our short-lived race,\n Anxious an aery name to immortalize.\n There, too, ere wiles and politic dispute\n Gave specious colouring to aim and act, 10\n See the first mighty Hunter leave the brute--\n To chase mankind, with men in armies packed\n For his field-pastime high and absolute,\n While, to dislodge his game, cities are sacked!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[494] 1837.\n\n See, at her call, ... 1827.\n\n\n\n\n\"IF THOU INDEED DERIVE THY LIGHT FROM HEAVEN\"\n\n\n Published 1827\n\n[These verses were written some time after we had become residents at\nRydal Mount, and I will take occasion from them to observe upon the\nbeauty of that situation, as being backed and flanked by lofty fells,\nwhich bring the heavenly bodies to touch, as it were, the earth upon\nthe mountain-tops, while the prospect in front lies open to a length\nof level valley, the extended lake, and a terminating ridge of low\nhills; so that it gives an opportunity to the inhabitants of the place\nof noticing the stars in both the positions here alluded to, namely, on\nthe tops of the mountains, and as winter-lamps at a distance among the\nleafless trees.--I. F.]\n\n If thou indeed derive thy light from Heaven,\n Then, to the measure of that heaven-born light,\n Shine, Poet![495] in thy place, and be content:--\n The stars pre-eminent in magnitude,\n And they that from the zenith dart their beams,[496] 5\n (Visible though they[497] be to half the earth,\n Though half a sphere be conscious of their brightness)\n Are[498] yet of no diviner origin,\n No purer essence, than the one that burns,\n Like an untended watch-fire, on the ridge 10\n Of some dark mountain; or than those which seem\n Humbly to hang, like twinkling winter lamps,\n Among the branches of the leafless trees;\n All are the undying offspring of one Sire:\n Then, to the measure of the light vouchsafed, 15\n Shine, Poet! in thy place, and be content.[499]\n\nThese lines, first published in 1827, found a place in the edition of\nthat year, amongst the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.\" In the\nedition of 1845 they appeared as a Preface to the entire volume of\nPoems.--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[495] 1837.\n\n ... from Heaven,\n Shine, Poet, ... 1827.\n\n[496] 1837.\n\n The Star that from the zenith darts its beams, 1827.\n\n[497] 1837.\n\n ... it ... 1827.\n\n[498] 1837.\n\n ... its brightness,\n Is ... 1827.\n\n[499] The last three lines were added in 1837.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nIN THE WOODS OF RYDAL[500]\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n Wild Redbreast![501] hadst them at Jemima's lip[502]\n Pecked, as at mine, thus boldly, Love might say[503]\n A half-blown rose had tempted thee to sip\n Its glistening dews: but hallowed is the clay\n Which the Muse warms; and I, whose head is grey,[504] 5\n Am not unworthy of thy fellowship;\n Nor could I let one thought--one motion--slip\n That might thy sylvan confidence betray.\n For are we not all His without whose care\n Vouchsafed no sparrow falleth to the ground?[505] 10\n Who gives his Angels wings to speed through air,\n And rolls the planets through the blue profound;\n Then peck or perch, fond Flutterer! nor forbear\n To trust a Poet in still musings bound.[506]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[500] The original title (in MS.) was \"To a Redbreast.\" _In the Woods\nof Rydal_ was added in 1836.--ED.\n\n[501] This Sonnet, as Poetry, explains itself, yet the scene of the\nincident having been a wild wood, it may be doubted, as a point of\nnatural history, whether the bird was aware that his attentions were\nbestowed upon a human, or even a living creature. But a Redbreast will\nperch upon the foot of a gardener at work, and alight on the handle of\nthe spade when his hand is half upon it,--this I have seen. And under\nmy own roof I have witnessed affecting instances of the creature's\nfriendly visits to the chambers of sick persons, as described in the\nverses to the Redbreast. One of these welcome intruders used frequently\nto roost upon a nail in the wall, from which a picture had hung, and\nwas ready, as morning came, to pipe his song in the hearing of the\nInvalid, who had been long confined to her room. These attachments to\na particular person, when marked and continued, used to be reckoned\nominous; but the superstition is passing away.--W. W. 1827.\n\n[502] Jemima Quillinan.--ED.\n\n[503] 1837.\n\n Strange visitation! at _Jemima's_ lip\n Thus hadst thou pecked, wild Redbreast! Love might say, 1827.\n\n[504] 1827.\n\n That the Muse warms; and I, though old and grey, MS.\n\n[505] Compare _The Ancient Mariner_, Part vii., stanza 23.--ED.\n\n[506] 1837.\n\n ... vision bound. 1827.\n\n\n\n\nCONCLUSION\n\nTO ----[507]\n\n\n Composed 1827.--Published 1827\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n If these brief Records, by the Muses' art\n Produced as lonely Nature or the strife\n That animates the scenes of public life[508]\n Inspired, may in thy leisure claim a part;\n And if these Transcripts of the private heart 5\n Have gained a sanction from thy falling tears;\n Then I repent not. But my soul hath fears\n Breathed from eternity; for as a dart\n Cleaves the blank air, Life flies: now every day\n Is but a glimmering spoke in the swift wheel 10\n Of the revolving week. Away, away,\n All fitful cares, all transitory zeal!\n So timely Grace the immortal wing may heal,\n And honour rest upon the senseless clay.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[507] I have been unable to discover to whom this _Conclusion_ was\naddressed. It may have been to his daughter.--ED.\n\n[508] This line alludes to Sonnets which will be found in another\nClass.--W. W. 1837.\n\nHe refers to the sonnets on Liberty, etc.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n1828\n\n\nThe poems belonging to 1828 include _A Morning Exercise_, _The Triad_,\ntwo on _The Wishing-Gate_, _The Gleaner_, a sonnet, two short pieces\nsuggested during the fortnight which Wordsworth spent on the Rhine with\nhis daughter and S. T. Coleridge in that year, and the ode on _The\nPower of Sound_.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nA MORNING EXERCISE\n\n\n Composed 1828.--Published 1832\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. I could wish the last five stanzas of this to\nbe read with the poem addressed to the skylark.--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of the Fancy.\"--ED.\n\n Fancy, who leads the pastimes of the glad,\n Full oft is pleased a wayward dart to throw;\n Sending sad shadows after things not sad,\n Peopling the harmless fields with signs of woe:\n Beneath her sway, a simple forest cry 5\n Becomes an echo of man's misery.\n\n Blithe ravens croak of death; and when the owl\n Tries his two voices for a favourite strain--\n _Tu-whit--Tu-whoo!_ the unsuspecting fowl\n Forebodes mishap or seems but to complain; 10\n Fancy, intent to harass and annoy,\n Can thus pervert the evidence of joy.\n\n Through border wilds where naked Indians stray,\n Myriads of notes attest her subtle skill;\n A feathered task-master cries, \"WORK AWAY!\" 15\n And, in thy iteration, \"WHIP POOR WILL!\"[509]\n Is heard the spirit of a toil-worn slave,\n Lashed out of life, not quiet in the grave.\n\n What wonder? at her bidding, ancient lays\n Steeped in dire grief the voice of Philomel; 20\n And that fleet messenger of summer days,\n The Swallow, twittered subject to like spell;\n But ne'er could Fancy bend the buoyant Lark\n To melancholy service--hark! O hark!\n\n The daisy sleeps upon the dewy lawn, 25\n Not lifting yet the head that evening bowed;\n But _He_ is risen, a later star of dawn,\n Glittering and twinkling near yon rosy cloud;\n Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark;\n The happiest bird that sprang out of the Ark! 30\n\n Hail, blest above all kinds!--Supremely skilled\n Restless with fixed to balance, high with low,\n Thou leav'st the halcyon free her hopes to build\n On such forbearance as the deep may show;\n Perpetual flight, unchecked by earthly ties, 35\n Leav'st to the wandering bird of paradise.\n\n Faithful, though swift as lightning, the meek dove;\n Yet more hath Nature reconciled in thee;\n So constant with thy downward eye of love,\n Yet, in a\u00ebrial singleness, so free;[510] 40\n So humble, yet so ready to rejoice\n In power of wing and never-wearied voice.[511]\n\n To the last point of vision, and beyond,\n Mount, daring warbler!--that love-prompted strain,\n ('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond) 45\n Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain:\n Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing\n All independent of the leafy spring.[512]\n\n How would it please old Ocean to partake,\n With sailors longing for a breeze in vain, 50\n The harmony thy notes most gladly make[513]\n Where earth resembles most his own domain![514]\n Urania's self[515] might welcome with pleased ear\n These matins mounting towards her native sphere.\n\n Chanter by heaven attracted, whom no bars 55\n To daylight known deter from that pursuit,\n 'Tis well that some sage instinct, when the stars\n Come forth at evening, keeps Thee still and mute;\n For not an eyelid could to sleep incline\n Wert thou among them, singing as they shine![516] 60\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[509] See Waterton's _Wanderings in South America_.--W. W. 1832.\n\nCompare the reference to the \"Melancholy Muccawiss\" in _The Excursion_,\nbook iii. l. 947 (vol. v. p. 140), and the note [dagger] in that page,\nwith the appendix note C, p. 393.--ED.\n\n[510] Compare the two last lines of the poem _To a Skylark_, 1825--\n\n Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;\n True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!--ED.\n\n[511] Compare in Shelley's _Ode to the Skylark_, stanza ii.--\n\n And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.--ED.\n\n[512] This stanza was included in the _Morning Exercise_, for the first\ntime, in 1845. It had been previously the second stanza of the poem _To\na Skylark_, composed in 1825, and first published in 1827.--ED.\n\n[513] 1836.\n\n The harmony that thou best lovest to make 1832.\n\n[514] 1836.\n\n ... his blank domain! 1832.\n\n[515] The muse who presided over astronomy.--ED.\n\n[516] Compare, in Addison's hymn in _The Spectator_, No. 465 (August\n23), stanza iii. l. 7--\n\n For ever singing as they shine.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TRIAD[517]\n\n\n Composed 1828.--Published 1829 (in _The Keepsake_)\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. The girls, Edith Southey, my daughter Dora,\nand Sara Coleridge.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of the Imagination.\"--ED.\n\n Show me the noblest Youth of present time,\n Whose trembling fancy would to love give birth;\n Some God or Hero, from the Olympian clime\n Returned, to seek a Consort upon earth;\n Or, in no doubtful prospect, let me see 5\n The brightest star of ages yet to be,\n And I will mate and match him blissfully.\n\n I will not fetch a Naiad from a flood\n Pure as herself--(song lacks not mightier power)\n Nor leaf-crowned Dryad from a pathless wood, 10\n Nor Sea-nymph glistening from her coral bower;\n Mere Mortals bodied forth in vision still,\n Shall with Mount Ida's triple lustre fill[518]\n The chaster coverts of a British hill.\n\n \"Appear!--obey my lyre's command! 15\n Come, like the Graces, hand in hand![519]\n For ye, though not by birth allied,\n Are Sisters in the bond of love;\n Nor shall the tongue of envious pride\n Presume those interweavings to reprove 20\n In you, which that fair progeny of Jove,\n Learned[520] from the tuneful spheres that glide\n In endless union, earth and sea above.\"\n --I sing[521] in vain;--the pines have hushed their waving:\n A peerless Youth expectant at my side, 25\n Breathless as they, with unabated craving\n Looks to the earth, and to the vacant air;\n And, with a wandering eye that seems to chide,\n Asks of the clouds what occupants they hide:--\n But why solicit more than sight could bear, 30\n By casting on a moment all we dare?\n Invoke we those bright Beings one by one;\n And what was boldly promised, truly shall be done.\n\n \"Fear not a constraining measure!\n --Yielding to this gentle spell,[522] 35\n Lucida![523] from domes of pleasure,\n Or from cottage-sprinkled dell,\n Come to regions solitary,\n Where the eagle builds her aery,\n Above the hermit's long-forsaken cell!\" 40\n --She comes!--behold\n That Figure, like a ship with snow-white sail![524]\n Nearer she draws; a breeze uplifts her veil;\n Upon her coming wait\n As pure a sunshine and as soft a gale 45\n As e'er, on herbage covering earthly mold,\n Tempted the bird of Juno[525] to unfold\n His richest splendour--when his veering gait\n And every motion of his starry train\n Seem governed by a strain 50\n Of music, audible to him alone.\n\n \"O Lady, worthy of earth's proudest throne!\n Nor less, by excellence of nature, fit\n Beside an unambitious hearth to sit\n Domestic queen, where grandeur is unknown; 55\n What living man could fear\n The worst of Fortune's malice, wert Thou near,\n Humbling that lily-stem, thy sceptre meek,\n That its fair flowers may from his cheek\n Brush the too happy tear?[526] 60\n ---- Queen, and handmaid lowly!\n Whose skill can speed the day with lively cares,\n And banish melancholy\n By all that mind invents or hand prepares;\n O Thou, against whose lip, without its smile 65\n And in its silence even, no heart is proof;\n Whose goodness, sinking deep, would reconcile\n The softest Nursling of a gorgeous palace\n To the bare life beneath the hawthorn-roof\n Of Sherwood's Archer,[527] or in caves of Wallace--\n Who that hath seen thy beauty could content 71\n His soul with but a _glimpse_ of heavenly day?\n Who that hath loved thee, but would lay\n His strong hand on the wind, if it were bent\n To take thee in thy majesty away? 75\n --Pass onward (even the glancing deer\n Till we depart intrude not here;)\n That mossy slope, o'er which the woodbine throws\n A canopy, is smoothed for thy repose!\"\n\n Glad moment is it[528] when the throng 80\n Of warblers in full concert strong\n Strive, and not vainly strive, to rout\n The lagging shower, and force coy Phoebus out,\n Met by the rainbow's form divine,\n Issuing from her cloudy shrine;-- 85\n So may the thrillings of the lyre\n Prevail to further our desire,\n While to these shades a sister Nymph I call.\n\n \"Come, if the notes thine ear may pierce,\n Come, youngest of the lovely Three,[529] 90\n Submissive to the might of verse\n And the dear voice of harmony,\n By none[530] more deeply felt than Thee!\"\n --I sang; and lo! from pastimes virginal\n She hastens to the tents 95\n Of nature, and the lonely elements.\n Air sparkles round her with a dazzling sheen;\n But[531] mark her glowing cheek, her vesture green!\n And, as if wishful to disarm\n Or to repay the potent Charm, 100\n She bears the string\u00e8d lute of old romance,\n That cheered the trellised arbour's privacy,\n And soothed war-wearied knights in raftered hall.\n How vivid, yet[532] how delicate, her glee!\n So tripped the Muse, inventress of the dance; 105\n So, truant in waste woods, the blithe Euphrosyne![533]\n\n But the ringlets of that head\n Why are they ungarlanded?\n Why bedeck her temples less\n Than the simplest shepherdess? 110\n Is it not a brow inviting\n Choicest flowers[534] that ever breathed,\n Which the myrtle would delight in\n With Idalian rose enwreathed?\n But her humility is well content 115\n With _one_ wild floweret (call it not forlorn)\n FLOWER OF THE WINDS,[535] beneath her bosom worn--\n Yet[536] more for love than ornament.\n\n Open, ye thickets! let her fly,\n Swift as a Thracian Nymph o'er field and height! 120\n For She, to all but those who love her, shy,\n Would gladly vanish from a Stranger's sight;\n Though where she is beloved and loves,\n Light as the wheeling butterfly she moves;\n Her happy spirit as a bird is free, 125\n That rifles blossoms on a tree,[537]\n Turning them inside out with arch audacity.\n Alas! how little can a moment show\n Of an eye where feeling plays\n In ten thousand dewy rays; 130\n A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!\n --She stops--is fastened to that rivulet's side;\n And there (while, with sedater mien,\n O'er timid waters that have scarcely left\n Their birth-place in the rocky cleft 135\n She bends) at leisure may be seen\n Features to old ideal grace allied,[538]\n Amid their smiles and dimples dignified--\n Fit countenance for the soul of primal truth;\n The bland composure of eternal youth! 140\n\n What more changeful than the sea?\n But over his great tides\n Fidelity presides;\n And this light-hearted Maiden constant is as he.\n High is her aim as heaven above, 145\n And wide as ether her good-will;\n And, like the lowly reed, her love\n Can drink its nurture from the scantiest rill:\n Insight as keen as frosty star\n Is to _her_ charity no bar, 150\n Nor interrupts her frolic graces\n When she is, far from these wild places,\n Encircled by familiar faces.\n\n O the charm that manners draw,\n Nature, from thy genuine law![539] 155\n If from what her hand would do,\n Her voice would utter, aught ensue\n Untoward[540] or unfit;\n She, in benign affections pure,\n In self-forgetfulness secure, 160\n Sheds round the transient harm or vague mischance\n A light unknown to tutored elegance:[541]\n Her's is not a cheek shame-stricken,\n But her blushes are joy-flushes;\n And the fault (if fault it be) 165\n Only ministers to quicken\n Laughter-loving gaiety,\n And kindle sportive wit---\n Leaving this Daughter of the mountains free[542]\n As if she knew that Oberon king of Faery[543] 170\n Had crossed her purpose with some quaint vagary,\n And heard his viewless bands\n Over their mirthful triumph clapping hands.\n\n \"Last of the Three, though eldest born,[544]\n Reveal thyself, like pensive Morn 175\n Touched by the skylark's earliest note,\n Ere humbler gladness be afloat.\n But whether in the semblance drest\n Of Dawn--or Eve, fair vision of the west,\n Come with each anxious hope subdued 180\n By woman's gentle fortitude,\n Each grief, through meekness, settling into rest.\n --Or I would hail thee when some high-wrought page\n Of a closed volume lingering in thy hand\n Has raised thy spirit to a peaceful stand 185\n Among the glories of a happier age.\"\n\n Her brow hath opened on me--see it there,\n Brightening the umbrage of her hair;\n So gleams the crescent moon, that loves\n To be descried through shady groves. 190\n Tenderest bloom is on her cheek;\n Wish not for a richer streak;\n Nor dread the depth of meditative eye;\n But let thy love, upon that azure field\n Of thoughtfulness and beauty, yield 195\n Its homage offered up in purity.\n What would'st thou more? In sunny glade,\n Or under leaves of thickest shade,\n Was such a stillness e'er diffused\n Since earth grew calm while angels mused? 200\n Softly she treads, as if her foot were loth\n To crush the mountain dew-drops--soon to melt\n On the flower's breast; as if she felt\n That flowers themselves, whate'er their hue,\n With all their fragrance, all their glistening, 205\n Call to the heart for inward listening--\n And though for bridal wreaths and tokens true\n Welcomed wisely; though a growth\n Which the careless shepherd sleeps on,\n As fitly spring from turf the mourner weeps on--\n And without wrong are cropped the marble tomb to strew. 211\n The Charm is over;[545] the mute Phantoms gone,\n Nor will return--but droop not, favoured Youth;\n The apparition that before thee shone\n Obeyed a summons covetous of truth. 215\n From these wild rocks thy footsteps I will guide\n To bowers in which thy fortune may be tried,\n And one of the bright Three become thy happy Bride.\n\nThe Triad was first published in _The Keepsake_, in 1829, and next in\nthe 1832 edition of the Poems. See the criticism passed upon it by one\nof the three described, viz., Sara Coleridge, in her _Memoirs_, vol.\nii. pp. 409-10. Of this poem Mr. Aubrey de Vere writes, \"perhaps the\nmost _accomplished_ of Wordsworth's works, and the most unlike his\nearlier manner.\"--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[517] This poem is called _The Promise_, in a letter written upon its\npublication in _The Keepsake_.--ED.\n\n[518] The Phrygian Ida was a many-branched range of mountains; two\nsubordinate ranges, parting from the principal summit, enclosed Troy\nas with a crescent. The Cretan Ida terminated in three snowy peaks.\nThere may be a reference to Skiddaw's triple summit in the \"British\nhill.\"--ED.\n\n[519] The Charites--Aglaia, Thalia, and Euphrosyne--were usually\nrepresented with hands joined, as a token of graciousness and\nfriendship.--ED.\n\n[520] 1836.\n\n And not the boldest tongue of envious pride\n In you those interweavings could reprove\n Which They, the progeny of Jove,\n Learnt ... 1829.\n\n[521] 1836.\n\n --I speak ... 1829.\n\n[522] 1836.\n\n ... this constraining measure!\n Drawn by a poetic spell, 1829.\n\n[523] Edith Southey.--ED.\n\n[524] 1845.\n\n ... with silver sail! 1832.\n\n[525] The peacock.--ED.\n\n[526] 1845.\n\n ... may brush from off his cheek\n The too, too happy tear! 1832.\n\n[527] Robin Hood.--ED.\n\n[528] The following version of ll. 80-101, is given in a MS. letter:--\n\n Like notes of birds that after showers\n In April concert try their powers,\n And with a tumult and a rout\n Of warbling, force coy Phoebus out;\n Or bid some dark cloud's bosom show\n That form divine, the many-coloured Bow.\n E'en so the thrillings of the Lyre\n Prevail to further our desire,\n While to these shades a Nymph I call.\n The youngest of the lovely three;\n With glowing cheeks from pastimes virginal\n Behold her hastening to the tents\n Of Nature, and the lonely elements!\n And as if wishful to disarm\n Or to repay the tuneful charm\n She bears the stringed lute of old Romance,--ED.\n\n[529] Dora Wordsworth.--ED.\n\n[530] 1836.\n\n ... a Nymph I call,\n The youngest of the lovely Three.--\n \"Come, if the notes thine ear may pierce,\n Submissive to the might of verse,\n By none ... 1820.\n\n[531] 1836.\n\n And ... 1829.\n\n[532] 1836.\n\n How light her air!... 1829.\n\n[533] Compare _L'Allegro_, ll. 11-13--\n\n Thou Goddess fair and free\n In heaven yclept Euphrosyne,\n And by men heart-easing Mirth.--ED.\n\n[534] 1832.\n\n Choicest flower ... 1829.\n\n[535] The wild anemone.--ED.\n\n[536] 1836.\n\n Yet is it ... 1829.\n\n[537] 1836.\n\n Though where she is beloved and loves, as free\n As bird that rifles blossoms on a tree, 1829.\n\n[538] According to Sara Coleridge this was an allusion to a likeness\nsupposed to have been found in the poet's daughter's countenance to the\nMemnon Head in the British Museum. See Sara Coleridge's _Memoirs_, vol.\nii. p. 410.--ED.\n\n[539] 1840.\n\n ... the genuine law. 1836.\n\n[540] 1845.\n\n ... there ensue\n Aught untoward ... 1832.\n\n[541] 1832.\n\n Nature, from thy perfect law!\n Through benign affections pure\n In the light of self secure,\n If from what her hand would do\n Or tongue utter, there ensue\n Aught untoward or unfit,\n Transient mischief, vague mischance\n Shunned by guarded elegance. 1829.\n\n[542] 1829.\n\n Only minister to quicken\n Sallies of instinctive wit;\n Unchecked in laughter-loving gaiety\n In all the motions of her spirit free. MS.\n\n[543] 1832.\n\n ... that Oberon the fairy 1829.\n\n[544] Sara Coleridge.--ED.\n\n[545] Compare in _The Wishing-Gate Destroyed_, stanza 4--\n\n ... the charm is fled.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WISHING-GATE\n\n\n Composed 1828.--Published 1829\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. See also _Wishing-gate Destroyed_.--I. F.]\n\nIn the vale of Grasmere, by the side of the old high-way leading to\nAmbleside, is a gate, which, time out of mind, has been called the\nWishing-gate, from a belief that wishes formed or indulged there have a\nfavourable issue.--W. W. 1828.[546]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of the Imagination.\"--ED.\n\n Hope rules a land for ever green:\n All powers that serve the bright-eyed Queen\n Are confident and gay;\n Clouds at her bidding disappear;\n Points she to aught?--the bliss draws near, 5\n And Fancy smooths the way.\n\n Not such the land of Wishes--there\n Dwell fruitless day-dreams, lawless prayer,\n And thoughts with things at strife;\n Yet how forlorn, should _ye_ depart, 10\n Ye superstitions of the _heart_,\n How poor, were human life!\n\n When magic lore abjured its might,\n Ye did not forfeit one dear right,\n One tender claim abate; 15\n Witness this symbol of your sway,\n Surviving near the public way,\n The rustic Wishing-gate!\n\n Inquire not if the faery race\n Shed kindly influence on the place, 20\n Ere northward they retired;\n If here a warrior left a spell,\n Panting for glory as he fell;\n Or here a saint expired.\n\n Enough that all around is fair, 25\n Composed with Nature's finest care,\n And in her fondest love--\n Peace to embosom and content--\n To overawe the turbulent,\n The selfish to reprove. 30\n\n Yea![547] even the Stranger from afar,\n Reclining on this moss-grown bar,\n Unknowing, and unknown,\n The infection of the ground partakes,\n Longing for his Belov'd--who makes 35\n All happiness her own.\n\n Then why should conscious Spirits fear\n The mystic stirrings that are here,\n The ancient faith disclaim?\n The local Genius ne'er befriends 40\n Desires whose course in folly ends,\n Whose just reward is shame.\n\n Smile if thou wilt, but not in scorn,\n If some, by ceaseless pains outworn,\n Here crave an easier lot; 45\n If some have thirsted to renew\n A broken vow, or bind a true,\n With firmer, holier knot.\n\n And not in vain, when thoughts are cast\n Upon the irrevocable past, 50\n Some Penitent sincere\n May for a worthier future sigh,\n While trickles from his downcast eye\n No unavailing tear.\n\n The Worldling, pining to be freed 55\n From turmoil, who would turn or speed\n The current of his fate,\n Might stop before this favoured scene,\n At Nature's call, nor blush to lean\n Upon the Wishing-gate. 60\n\n The Sage, who feels how blind, how weak\n Is man, though loth such help to _seek_,\n Yet, passing, here might pause,\n And thirst[548] for insight to allay\n Misgiving, while the crimson day 65\n In quietness withdraws;\n\n Or when the church-clock's knell profound[549]\n To Time's first step across the bound\n Of midnight makes reply;\n Time pressing on with starry crest, 70\n To filial sleep upon the breast\n Of dread eternity.\n\n_The Wishing-gate_ was first published in _The Keepsake_ in 1829, and\nnext in the 1832 edition of the Poems.--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[546] Having been told, upon what I thought good authority, that this\ngate had been destroyed, and the opening where it hung walled up, I\ngave vent immediately to my feelings in these stanzas. But going to the\nplace some time after, I found, with much delight, my old favourite\nunmolested.--W. W. 1832.\n\n\"The same triumphant power attributed to the Wishing-gate is fancifully\nattributed to an image of St. Bridget in the ruined Franciscan convent\nat Adare.\" (Mr. Aubrey de Vere.)\n\n[547] 1832.\n\n Yes! even ... 1829.\n\n[548] 1836.\n\n And yearn ... 1829.\n\n[549] Grasmere Church.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WISHING-GATE DESTROYED\n\n\n Composed 1828.--Published 1842\n\nOne of the \"Poems of the Imagination.\"--ED.\n\n 'Tis gone--with old belief and dream\n That round it clung, and tempting scheme\n Released from fear and doubt;\n And the bright landscape too must lie,\n By this blank wall, from every eye, 5\n Relentlessly shut out.\n\n Bear witness ye who seldom passed\n That opening--but a look ye cast\n Upon the lake below,\n What spirit-stirring power it gained 10\n From faith which here was entertained,\n Though reason might say no.\n\n Blest is that ground, where, o'er the springs\n Of history, Glory claps her wings,\n Fame sheds the exulting tear; 15\n Yet earth is wide, and many a nook\n Unheard of is, like this, a book\n For modest meanings dear.\n\n It was in sooth a happy thought\n That grafted, on so fair a spot, 20\n So confident a token\n Of coming good;--the charm is fled;\n Indulgent centuries spun a thread,\n Which one harsh day has broken.\n\n Alas! for him who gave the word; 25\n Could he no sympathy afford,\n Derived from earth or heaven,\n To hearts so oft by hope betrayed;\n Their very wishes wanted aid\n Which here was freely given? 30\n\n Where, for the love-lorn maiden's wound,\n Will now so readily be found\n A balm of expectation?\n Anxious for far-off children, where\n Shall mothers breathe a like sweet air 35\n Of home-felt consolation?\n And not unfelt will prove the loss\n 'Mid trivial care and petty cross\n And each day's shallow grief;\n Though the most easily beguiled 40\n Were oft among the first that smiled\n At their own fond belief.\n\n If still the reckless change we mourn,\n A reconciling thought may turn\n To harm that might lurk here, 45\n Ere judgment prompted from within\n Fit aims, with courage to begin,\n And strength to persevere.\n\n Not Fortune's slave is Man: our state\n Enjoins, while firm resolves await 50\n On wishes just and wise,\n That strenuous action follow both,\n And life be one perpetual growth\n Of heaven-ward enterprise.\n\n So taught, so trained, we boldly face 55\n All accidents of time and place;\n Whatever props may fail,\n Trust in that sovereign law can spread\n New glory o'er the mountain's head,\n Fresh beauty through the vale. 60\n\n That truth informing mind and heart,\n The simplest cottager may part,\n Ungrieved, with charm and spell;\n And yet, lost Wishing-gate, to thee\n The voice of grateful memory 65\n Shall bid a kind farewell!\n\nAgate--though not the \"moss-grown bar\" of 1828--still stands at the old\nplace, where Wordsworth tells us one had stood \"time out of mind;\" so\nthat a \"blank wall\" does not now shut out the \"bright landscape,\" at\nthe old, and classic, spot. Long may this gate stand, defying wind and\nweather!--ED.\n\n\n\n\nA JEWISH FAMILY\n\n\n (IN A SMALL VALLEY OPPOSITE ST. GOAR, UPON THE RHINE)\n\n Composed 1828.--Published 1835\n\n[Coleridge, my daughter, and I, in 1828, passed a fortnight upon the\nbanks of the Rhine, principally under the hospitable roof of Mr. Aders\nof Gotesburg, but two days of the time we spent at St. Goar in rambles\namong the neighbouring valleys. It was at St. Goar that I saw the\nJewish family here described. Though exceedingly poor, and in rags,\nthey were not less beautiful than I have endeavoured to make them\nappear. We had taken a little dinner with us in a basket, and invited\nthem to partake of it, which the mother refused to do, both for herself\nand children, saying it was with them a fast-day; adding, diffidently,\nthat whether such observances were right or wrong, she felt it her\nduty to keep them strictly. The Jews, who are numerous on this part\nof the Rhine, greatly surpass the German peasantry in the beauty of\ntheir features and in the intelligence of their countenances. But the\nlower classes of the German peasantry have, here at least, the air of\npeople grievously opprest. Nursing mothers, at the age of seven or\neight-and-twenty, often look haggard and far more decayed and withered\nthan women of Cumberland and Westmoreland twice their age. This comes\nfrom being under-fed and over-worked in their vineyards in a hot and\nglaring sun.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of the Imagination.\"--ED.\n\n Genius of Raphael! if thy wings\n Might bear thee to this glen,\n With faithful memory left of things[550]\n To pencil dear and pen,\n Thou would'st forego the neighbouring Rhine, 5\n And all his majesty--\n A studious forehead to incline\n O'er[551] this poor family.\n\n The Mother--her thou must have seen,\n In spirit, ere she came 10\n To dwell these rifted rocks between,\n Or found on earth a name;\n An image, too, of that sweet Boy,[552]\n Thy inspirations give--\n Of playfulness,[553] and love, and joy, 15\n Predestined here to live.\n\n Downcast, or shooting glances far,\n How beautiful his eyes,\n That blend the nature of the star\n With that of summer skies! 20\n I speak as if of sense beguiled;\n Uncounted months are gone,\n Yet am I with the Jewish Child,\n That exquisite Saint John.\n\n I see the dark-brown curls, the brow, 25\n The smooth transparent skin,\n Refined, as with intent to show\n The holiness within;[554]\n The grace of parting Infancy\n By blushes yet untamed; 30\n Age faithful to the mother's knee,\n Nor of her arms ashamed.\n\n Two lovely Sisters, still and sweet\n As flowers, stand side by side;\n Their soul-subduing looks[555] might cheat 35\n The Christian of his pride:\n Such beauty hath the Eternal poured\n Upon them not forlorn,[556]\n Though of a lineage once abhorred,\n Nor yet redeemed from scorn. 40\n\n Mysterious safeguard, that, in spite\n Of poverty and wrong,\n Doth here preserve a living light,\n From Hebrew fountains sprung;\n That gives this ragged group to cast 45\n Around the dell a gleam\n Of Palestine, of glory past,\n And proud Jerusalem!\n\nThe title given to this poem by Dorothy Wordsworth, in the letter\nto Lady Beaumont in which the different MS. readings occur, is \"A\nJewish Family, met with in a Dingle near the Rhine.\" During the\nContinental Tour of 1820,--in which Wordsworth was accompanied by\nhis wife and sister and other friends,--they went up the Rhine (see\nthe notes to the poems recording that Tour). An extract from Mrs.\nWordsworth's Journal, referring to the road from St. Goar to Bingen,\nmay illustrate this poem, written in 1828. \"From St. Goar to Bingen,\ncastles commanding innumerable small fortified villages. Nothing could\nexceed the delightful variety, and at first the postilions whisked us\ntoo fast through these scenes; and afterwards, the same variety so\noften repeated, we became quite exhausted, at least D. and I were;\nand, beautiful as the road continued to be, we could scarcely keep our\neyes open; but, on my being roused from one of these slumbers, no\neye wide-awake ever beheld such celestial pictures as gleamed before\nmine, like visions belonging to dreams. The castles seemed now almost\n_stationary_, a continued succession always in sight, rarely without\ntwo or three before us at once. There they rose from the craggy cliffs,\nout of the centre of the stately river, from a green island, or a\ncraggy rock, etc., etc.\"\n\nIn Dorothy Wordsworth's record of the same Tour, the following\noccurs:--\"July 24.--We looked down into one of the vales tributary to\nthe Rhine, which, in memory of the mountain recesses of Ullswater, I\nnamed Deep-dale, a green quiet place, spotted with villages and single\nhouses, and enlivened by a sinuous brook.\" ... \"A lovely dell runs\nbehind one of these hills. At its opening, where it pours out its\nstream into the Rhine, we espied a one-arched Borrowdale bridge; and,\nbehind the bridge, a village almost buried between the abruptly rising\nsteeps.\"--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[550] 1835.\n\n With memory left of shapes and things\n\n MS. written by Dorothy Wordsworth.\n\n[551] 1835.\n\n On ...\n\n MS. by Dorothy Wordsworth.\n\n[552] 1835.\n\n ... this sweet Boy,\n\n MS. by Dorothy Wordsworth.\n\n[553] 1835.\n\n In playfulness, ...\n\n MS. by Dorothy Wordsworth.\n\n[554] Compare _The Russian Fugitive_, ll. 1-4.--ED.\n\n[555] 1835.\n\n Fair Creatures, in this lone retreat\n By happy chance espied,\n Your soul-subduing looks ...\n\n MS. by Dorothy Wordsworth.\n\n[556] 1835.\n\n Upon you--not forlorn,\n\n MS. by Dorothy Wordsworth.\n\n\n\n\nINCIDENT AT BRUG\u00c8S\n\n\n Composed 1828.--Published 1835\n\n[This occurred at Brug\u00e8s in 1828. Mr. Coleridge, my daughter, and I\nmade a tour together in Flanders, upon the Rhine, and returned by\nHolland. Dora and I, while taking a walk along a retired part of the\ntown, heard the voice as here described, and were afterwards informed\nit was a convent in which were many English. We were both much touched,\nI might say affected, and Dora moved as appears in the verses.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Memorials of a Tour on the Continent.\"--ED.\n\n In Brug\u00e8s town is many a street\n Whence busy life hath fled;[557]\n Where, without hurry, noiseless feet,\n The grass-grown pavement tread.\n There heard we, halting in the shade 5\n Flung from a Convent-tower,\n A harp that tuneful prelude made\n To a voice of thrilling power.[558]\n\n The measure, simple truth to tell,\n Was fit for some gay throng; 10\n Though from the same grim turret fell\n The shadow and the song.\n When silent were both voice and chords,\n The strain seemed doubly dear,\n Yet sad as sweet,--for _English_ words 15\n Had fallen upon the ear.[559]\n\n It was a breezy hour of eve;\n And[560] pinnacle and spire\n Quivered and seemed almost to heave,\n Clothed with innocuous fire; 20\n But, where we stood, the setting sun\n Showed little of his state;\n And, if the glory reached the Nun,\n 'Twas through an iron grate.[561]\n\n Not always is the heart unwise,[562] 25\n Nor pity idly born,\n If even[563] a passing Stranger sighs\n For them who do not mourn.\n Sad is thy doom, self-solaced dove,\n Captive, whoe'er thou be![564] 30\n Oh! what is beauty, what is love,\n And opening life to thee?\n\n Such feeling pressed upon my soul,\n A feeling sanctified\n By one soft trickling tear that stole 35\n From the Maiden at my side;\n Less tribute could she pay than this,\n Borne gaily o'er the sea,\n Fresh from the beauty and the bliss\n Of English liberty? 40\n\nIn the final arrangement of the poems, this one was published amongst\nthe _Memorials of a Tour on the Continent_ (1820), where it followed\nthe two sonnets on Brug\u00e8s. The poems suggested by the shorter Tour of\n1828 are here published together, in their chronological order.\n\nIn an undated letter of Dorothy Wordsworth's to Lady Beaumont, before\ncopying out this poem and _A Jewish Family_, she says, \"The two\nfollowing poems were taken from incidents recorded in Dora's journal of\nher tour with her father and S. T. Coleridge. As I well recollect, she\nhas related the incidents very pleasingly, and I hope you will agree\nwith me in thinking that the poet has made good use of them.\"--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[557] 1835.\n\n ... is fled,\n\n MS. written by Dorothy Wordsworth.\n\n[558] 1835.\n\n To a voice like bird in bower.\n\n MS. by Dorothy Wordsworth.\n\n ... birds ...\n\n MS. by Mrs. Wordsworth.\n\n[559] 1835.\n\n Like them who _think_ they hear,\n We listened still; for _English_ words\n Had dropped upon the ear.\n\n MS. by Mrs. Wordsworth.\n\n The strain seemed doubly dear,\n Yea passing sweet--for English words\n Had dropt upon the ear.\n\n MS. by Dorothy Wordsworth.\n\n[560] 1835.\n\n When ...\n\n MS. by Dorothy Wordsworth.\n\n[561] Compare the Sonnet--\n\n It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,\n The holy time is quiet as a Nun.--ED.\n\n[562] 1835.\n\n The restless heart is not unwise,\n\n MS. by Dorothy Wordsworth.\n\n[563] 1835.\n\n When even ...\n\n MS. by Dorothy Wordsworth.\n\n[564] 1835.\n\n Sad is thy doom, imprisoned dove,\n Whoe'er thou mayest be.\n\n MS. by Dorothy Wordsworth.\n\n\n\n\nA GRAVE-STONE UPON THE FLOOR IN THE CLOISTERS OF WORCESTER CATHEDRAL\n\n\n Composed 1828.[565]--Published 1829 (in _The Keepsake_)\n\n[\"Miserrimus.\" Many conjectures have been formed as to the person who\nlies under this stone. Nothing appears to be known for a certainty.\nQuery--The Rev. Mr. Morris, a non-conformist, a sufferer for\nconscience-sake; a worthy man who, having been deprived of his benefice\nafter the accession of William III., lived to an old age in extreme\ndestitution, on the alms of charitable Jacobites.--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n \"_Miserrimus!_\" and neither name nor date,\n Prayer, text, or symbol, graven upon the stone;[566]\n Nought but that word assigned to the unknown,\n That solitary word--to separate\n From all, and cast a cloud around the fate 5\n Of him who lies beneath. Most wretched one,\n _Who_ chose his epitaph?--Himself alone\n Could thus have dared the grave to agitate,\n And claim, among the dead, this awful crown;\n Nor doubt that He marked also for his own 10\n Close to these cloistral steps a burial-place,\n That every foot might fall with heavier tread,\n Trampling upon his vileness. Stranger, pass\n Softly!--To save the contrite, Jesus bled.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[565] This, and the following sonnet on the tradition of Oker Hill,\nfirst published in _The Keepsake_ of 1829, appeared in the 1832 edition\nof the Poetical Works.--ED.\n\n[566] The stone is in the cloisters of Worcester Cathedral, at the\nnorth-west corner of the quadrangle, just below the doorway leading\ninto the nave of the cathedral. It is a small stone, two feet, by one\nand a half. The Reverend Thomas Maurice (or Morris)--a minor canon of\nWorcester, and vicar of Clains--refused to take the oath of allegiance\nat the Revolution Settlement, and was accordingly deprived of his\nbenefice. He lived to the age of 88, on the generosity of the richer\nnon-jurors, and died 1748. (See Murray's _Guide to Warwickshire_, and\nRichard King's _Handbook to the Cathedral of Worcester_.)--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GLEANER\n\n\n (SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE)\n\n Composed 1828.--Published 1829\n\n[This poem was first printed in the annual called _The Keepsake_. The\npainter's name I am not sure of, but I think it was Holmes.[567]--I.F.]\n\nIn 1832 one of the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.\" Transferred in\n1845 to \"Miscellaneous Poems.\"--ED.\n\n That happy gleam of vernal eyes,\n Those locks from summer's golden skies,\n That o'er thy brow are shed;\n That cheek--a kindling of the morn,\n That lip--a rose-bud from the thorn, 5\n I saw; and Fancy sped\n To scenes Arcadian, whispering, through soft air,\n Of bliss that grows without a care,\n And[568] happiness that never flies--\n (How can it where love never dies?) 10\n Whispering of promise,[569] where no blight\n Can reach the innocent delight;\n Where pity, to the mind conveyed\n In pleasure, is the darkest shade\n That Time, unwrinkled grandsire, flings 15\n From his smoothly gliding wings.\n\n What mortal form, what earthly face\n Inspired the pencil, lines to trace,\n And mingle colours, that should breed\n Such rapture, nor want power to feed; 20\n For had thy charge been idle flowers,\n Fair Damsel! o'er my captive mind,\n To truth and sober reason blind,\n 'Mid that soft air, those long-lost bowers,\n The sweet illusion might have hung, for hours. 25\n\n Thanks to this tell-tale sheaf of corn,\n That touchingly bespeaks thee born\n Life's daily tasks with them to share\n Who, whether from their lowly bed\n They rise, or rest the weary head, 30\n Ponder the blessing[570] they entreat\n From Heaven, and _feel_ what they repeat,\n While they give utterance to the prayer\n That asks for daily bread.\n\nThe year of the publication of this poem in _The Keepsake_ was 1829.\nIt then appeared under the title of _The Country Girl_, and it was\nafterwards included in the 1832 edition of the poems.--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[567] The painter was J. Holmes, and his picture was engraved by C.\nHeath.--ED.\n\n[568] 1837.\n\n Of ... 1829.\n\n[569] 1837.\n\n Of promise whispering, ... 1832.\n\n[570] 1832.\n\n Do _weigh_ the blessing ... 1829.\n\n\n\n\nON[571] THE POWER OF SOUND\n\n\n Composed December 1828.--Published 1835\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. I have often regretted that my tour in\nIreland, chiefly performed in the short days of October in a\ncarriage-and-four (I was with Mr. Marshall), supplied my memory with so\nfew images that were new, and with so little motive to write. The lines\nhowever in this poem, \"Thou too be heard, lone eagle!\" were suggested\nnear the Giants' Causeway, or rather at the promontory of Fairhead,\nwhere a pair of eagles wheeled above our heads and darted off as if to\nhide themselves in a blaze of sky made by the setting sun.--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of the Imagination.\"-ED.\n\n ARGUMENT\n\n _The Ear addressed, as occupied by a spiritual functionary,\n in communion with sounds, individual, or combined in\n studied harmony.--Sources and effects of those sounds\n (to the close of 6th Stanza).--The power of music,\n whence proceeding, exemplified in the idiot.--Origin\n of music, and its effect in early ages--how produced\n (to the middle of 10th Stanza).--The mind recalled to\n sounds acting casually and severally.--Wish uttered\n (11th Stanza) that these could be united into a\n scheme or system for moral interests and intellectual_\n _contemplation.--(Stanza 12th.) The Pythagorean theory_\n _of numbers and music, with their supposed power over the_\n _motions of the universe--imaginations consonant with such_\n _a theory.--Wish expressed (in 11th Stanza) realised, in_\n _some degree, by the representation of all sounds under\n the form of thanksgiving to the Creator.--(Last Stanza)\n the destruction of earth and the planetary system--the\n survival of audible harmony, and its support in the\n Divine Nature, as revealed in Holy Writ._\n\n I\n\n Thy functions are ethereal,\n As if within thee dwelt a glancing mind,\n Organ of vision! And a Spirit a\u00ebrial\n Informs the cell of Hearing, dark and blind;\n Intricate labyrinth, more dread for thought 5\n To enter than oracular cave;\n Strict passage, through which sighs are brought,\n And whispers for the heart, their slave;\n And shrieks, that revel in abuse\n Of shivering flesh; and warbled air, 10\n Whose piercing sweetness can unloose\n The chains of frenzy, or entice a smile\n Into the ambush of despair;\n Hosannas pealing down the long-drawn aisle,[572]\n And requiems answered by the pulse that beats 15\n Devoutly, in life's last retreats!\n\n II\n\n The headlong streams and fountains\n Serve Thee, invisible Spirit, with untired powers;\n Cheering the wakeful tent on Syrian mountains,\n They lull perchance ten thousand thousand flowers. 20\n _That_ roar, the prowling lion's _Here I am_,\n How fearful to the desert wide!\n That bleat, how tender! of the dam\n Calling a straggler to her side.\n Shout, cuckoo!--let the vernal soul 25\n Go with thee to the frozen zone;\n Toll from thy loftiest perch, lone bell-bird, toll!\n At the still hour to Mercy dear,\n Mercy from her twilight throne\n Listening to nun's faint throb of holy fear, 30\n To sailor's prayer breathed from a darkening sea,\n Or widow's cottage-lullaby.\n\n III\n\n Ye Voices, and ye Shadows\n And Images of voice--to hound and horn\n From rocky steep and rock-bestudded meadows 35\n Flung back, and, in the sky's blue caves, reborn--\n On with your pastime! till the church-tower bells\n A greeting give of measured glee;\n And milder echoes from their cells\n Repeat the bridal symphony. 40\n Then, or far earlier, let us rove\n Where mists are breaking up or gone,\n And from aloft look down into a cove\n Besprinkled with a careless quire,\n Happy milk-maids, one by one 45\n Scattering a ditty each to her desire,\n A liquid concert matchless by nice Art,\n A stream as if from one full heart.\n\n IV\n\n Blest be the song that brightens\n The blind man's gloom, exalts the veteran's mirth; 50\n Unscorned the peasant's whistling breath, that lightens\n His duteous toil of furrowing the green earth.\n For the tired slave, Song lifts the languid oar,\n And bids it aptly fall, with chime\n That beautifies the fairest shore, 55\n And mitigates the harshest clime.\n Yon pilgrims see--in lagging file\n They move; but soon the appointed way\n A choral _Ave Marie_ shall beguile,\n And to their hope the distant shrine 60\n Glisten with a livelier ray:\n Nor friendless he, the prisoner of the mine,\n Who from the well-spring of his own clear breast\n Can draw, and sing his griefs to rest.\n\n V\n\n When civic renovation 65\n Dawns on a kingdom, and for needful haste\n Best eloquence avails not, Inspiration\n Mounts with a tune, that travels like a blast\n Piping through cave and battlemented tower;\n Then starts the sluggard, pleased to meet 70\n That voice of Freedom, in its power\n Of promises, shrill, wild, and sweet!\n Who, from a martial _pageant_, spreads\n Incitements of a battle-day, 74\n Thrilling the unweaponed crowd with plumeless heads?--\n Even She whose Lydian airs inspire[573]\n Peaceful striving, gentle play\n Of timid hope and innocent desire\n Shot from the dancing Graces, as they move\n Fanned by the plausive wings of Love. 80\n\n VI\n\n How oft along thy mazes,\n Regent of sound, have dangerous Passions trod!\n O Thou, through whom the temple rings with praises,\n And blackening clouds in thunder speak of God,\n Betray not by the cozenage of sense[574] 85\n Thy votaries, wooingly resigned\n To a voluptuous influence\n That taints the purer, better, mind;\n But lead sick Fancy to a harp\n That hath in noble tasks been tried; 90\n And, if the virtuous feel a pang too sharp,\n Soothe it into patience,--stay\n The uplifted arm of Suicide;\n And let some mood of thine in firm array\n Knit every thought the impending issue needs, 95\n Ere martyr burns, or patriot bleeds!\n\n VII\n\n As Conscience, to the centre\n Of being, smites with irresistible pain\n So shall a solemn cadence, if it enter\n The mouldy vaults of the dull idiot's brain, 100\n Transmute him to a wretch from quiet hurled--\n Convulsed as by a jarring din;\n And then aghast, as at the world\n Of reason partially let in\n By concords winding with a sway 105\n Terrible for sense and soul!\n Or, awed he weeps, struggling to quell dismay.\n Point not these mysteries to an Art\n Lodged above the starry pole;\n Pure modulations flowing from the heart 110\n Of divine Love, where Wisdom, Beauty, Truth\n With Order dwell, in endless youth?\n\n VIII\n\n Oblivion may not cover\n All treasures hoarded by the miser, Time.\n Orphean Insight! truth's undaunted lover, 115\n To the first leagues of tutored passion climb,\n When Music deigned within this grosser sphere\n Her subtle essence to enfold,\n And voice and shell drew forth a tear\n Softer than Nature's self could mould. 120\n Yet _strenuous_ was the infant Age:\n Art, daring because souls could feel,\n Stirred nowhere but an urgent equipage\n Of rapt imagination sped her march\n Through the realms of woe and weal: 125\n Hell to the lyre bowed low; the upper arch\n Rejoiced that clamorous spell and magic verse\n Her wan disasters could disperse.[575]\n\n IX\n\n The GIFT to king Amphion\n That walled a city with its melody 130\n Was for belief no dream:[576]--thy skill, Arion!\n Could humanise the creatures of the sea,\n Where men were monsters.[577] A last grace he craves,\n Leave for one chant;--the dulcet sound\n Steals from the deck o'er willing waves, 135\n And listening dolphins gather round.[578]\n Self-cast, as with a desperate course,\n 'Mid that strange audience, he bestrides\n A proud One docile as a managed horse;\n And singing, while the accordant hand 140\n Sweeps his harp, the Master rides;\n So shall he touch at length a friendly strand,\n And he, with his preserver, shine star-bright\n In memory, through silent night.\n\n X\n\n The pipe of Pan, to shepherds 145\n Couched in the shadow of M\u00e6nalian pines,[579]\n Was passing sweet; the eyeballs of the leopards,\n That in high triumph drew the Lord of vines,\n How did they sparkle to the cymbal's clang!\n While Fauns and Satyrs beat the ground 150\n In cadence,[580]--and Silenus swang\n This way and that, with wild-flowers crowned.[581]\n To life, to _life_ give back thine ear:\n Ye who are longing to be rid\n Of fable, though to truth subservient, hear 155\n The little sprinkling of cold earth that fell\n Echoed from the coffin-lid;\n The convict's summons in the steeple's knell;\n \"The vain distress-gun,\"[582] from a leeward shore,\n Repeated-heard, and heard no more! 160\n\n XI\n\n For terror, joy, or pity,\n Vast is the compass and the swell of notes:\n From the babe's first cry to voice of regal city,\n Rolling a solemn sea-like bass, that floats\n Far as the woodlands--with the trill to blend 165\n Of that shy songstress,[583] whose love-tale\n Might tempt an angel to descend,\n While hovering o'er the moonlight vale.\n Ye wandering Utterances,[584] has earth no scheme,\n No scale of moral music--to unite 170\n Powers that survive but in the faintest dream[585]\n Of memory?-O that ye[586] might stoop to bear\n Chains, such precious chains of sight\n As laboured minstrelsies through ages wear!\n O for a balance fit the truth to tell 175\n Of the Unsubstantial, pondered well!\n\n XII\n\n By one pervading spirit\n Of tones and numbers all things are controlled,\n As sages taught, where faith was found to merit\n Initiation in that mystery old.[587][588] 180\n The heavens, whose aspect makes our minds as still\n As they themselves appear to be,\n Innumerable voices fill\n With everlasting harmony;\n The towering headlands, crowned with mist, 185\n Their feet among the billows, know\n That Ocean is a mighty harmonist;[589]\n Thy pinions, universal Air,\n Ever waving to and fro,\n Are delegates of harmony, and bear 190\n Strains that support the Seasons in their round;\n Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.\n\n XIII\n\n Break forth into thanksgiving,\n Ye banded instruments of wind and chords;\n Unite, to magnify the Ever-living,[590] 195\n Your inarticulate notes with the voice of words!\n Nor hushed be service from the lowing mead,\n Nor mute the forest hum of noon;\n Thou too be heard, lone eagle![591] freed\n From snowy peak and cloud, attune 200\n Thy hungry barkings to the hymn\n Of joy, that from her utmost walls\n The six-days' Work,[592] by flaming Seraphim\n Transmits to Heaven! As Deep to Deep\n Shouting through one valley calls, 205\n All worlds, all natures, mood and measure keep\n For praise and ceaseless gratulation, poured\n Into the ear of God, their Lord!\n\n XIV\n\n A Voice to Light gave Being;[593]\n To Time, and Man his earth-born chronicler; 210\n A Voice shall finish doubt and dim foreseeing,\n And sweep away life's visionary stir;\n The trumpet (we, intoxicate with pride,\n Arm at its blast for deadly wars)\n To archangelic lips applied, 215\n The grave shall open, quench the stars.[594]\n O Silence! are Man's noisy years\n No more than moments of thy life?[595]\n Is Harmony, blest queen of smiles and tears,\n With her smooth tones and discords just, 220\n Tempered into rapturous strife,\n Thy destined bond-slave? No! though earth be dust\n And vanish, though the heavens dissolve, her stay\n Is in the WORD, that shall not pass away.[596]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[571] 1836.\n\n STANZAS ON ... 1835.\n\n[572] Compare Gray's _Elegy_, l. 39.--ED.\n\n[573] Compare _L'Allegro_, II. 135-37--\n\n And ever, against eating cares,\n Lap me in soft Lydian airs,\n Married to immortal verse.\n\n ED.\n\n[574] The deception of the senses.--ED.\n\n[575] Orpheus, is search of his lost Eurydice, gained admittance with\nhis lyre to the infernal regions. Pluto was charmed with his music, the\nwheel of Ixion stopped, the stone of Sisyphus stood still, Tantalus\nforgot his thirst, and the Furies relented, while Pluto and Proserpine\nconsented to restore Eurydice. The sequel is well known.--ED.\n\n[576] The fable of Amphion moving stones and raising the walls of\nThebes by his melody is explained by supposing him gifted with an\neloquence and power of persuasion that roused the savage people to rise\nand build the town of Thebes.--ED.\n\n[577] The story of Arion, lyric poet and musician of Lesbos, was that\nhaving gone into Italy, settled there, and grown rich, he wished to\nrevisit his native country, taking some of his fortune with him. The\nsailors of the ship determined to murder him, and steal his treasure.\nHe asked, as a last favour, that he might play a tune on his lyre. As\nsoon as he began he attracted the creatures of the deep, and leaping\ninto the sea, one of the dolphins carried him, lyre in hand, to the\nshore.--ED.\n\n[578] Compare _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, act II. scene i. l. 150.--ED.\n\n[579] M\u00e6nalus, a mountain in Arcadia, sacred to Pan, covered with pine\ntrees, a favourite haunt of shepherds.--See Virgil, _Eclogues_, viii.\n24; _Georgics_, i. 17; Ovid, _Metamorphoses_, i. 216.--ED.\n\n[580] Compare Gray's _Progress of Poesy_, ll. 33-35.--ED.\n\n[581] In his expedition to the East, Bacchus was clothed in a panther's\nskin. He was accompanied by all the Satyrs, and by Silenus crowned with\nflowers and almost always intoxicated.--ED.\n\n[582] I have been unable to trace this quotation.--ED.\n\n[583] The nightingale.--ED.\n\n[584] Compare _To the Cuckoo_, vol. ii. p. 289--\n\n A wandering Voice.--ED.\n\n[585] 1836.\n\n O for some soul-affecting scheme\n Of _moral_ music, to unite\n Wanderers whose portion is the faintest dream 1835.\n\n[586] 1836\n\n ... they ... 1835.\n\n[587] 1835.\n\n There is a world of spirit,\n By tones and numbers guided and controlled;\n And glorious privilege have they who merit\n Initiation in that mystery old.\n\n MS. copy by Dorothy Wordsworth.\n\n[588] The fundamental idea, both in the intellectual and moral\nphilosophy of the Pythagoreans, was that of harmony or proportion.\nTheir natural science or cosmology was dominated by the same idea,\nthat as the world and all spheres within the universe were constructed\nsymmetrically, and moved around a central focus, the forms and the\nproportions of things were best expressed by number. All good was due\nto the principle of order; all evil to disorder. In accordance with the\nmathematical conception of the universe which ruled the Pythagoreans,\njustice was equality (#isot\u00eas#), that is to say it consisted in each\none receiving equally according to his deserts. Friendship too was\nequality of feeling and relationship; harmony being the radical idea,\nalike in the ethics and in the cosmology of the school.--ED.\n\n[589] Compare Keats, in a letter to his friend Bailey, in 1817: \"The\ngreat elements we know of are no mean comforters; the open sky sits\nupon our senses like a sapphire crown; the air is our robe of state;\nthe earth is our throne; and the sea a mighty minstrel playing before\nit.\"--ED.\n\n[590] Compare _The Excursion_, book iv. l. 1163 (vol. v. p. 188)--\n\n ... choral song, or burst\n Sublime of instrumental harmony,\n To glorify the Eternal!--ED.\n\n[591] See the Fenwick note prefixed to this poem.--ED.\n\n[592] Genesis i.--ED.\n\n[593] \"And God said, Let there be light, and there was light\" (Genesis\ni. 3).\n\n ED.\n\n[594] 1 Corinthians xv. 52.--ED.\n\n[595] Compare _Ode, Intimations of Immortality_, in stanza ix.--\n\n Our noisy years seem moments in the being\n Of the eternal Silence.--ED.\n\n[596] St. Luke xxi. 33.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n1829\n\n\nThe Poems of 1829 were few; and were, for the most part, suggested by\nincidents or occurrences at Rydal Mount.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nGOLD AND SILVER FISHES IN A VASE\n\n\n Composed 1829.--Published 1835\n\n[They were a present from Miss Jewsbury, of whom mention is made in\nthe note at the end of the next poem. The fish were healthy to all\nappearance in their confinement for a long time, but at last, for some\ncause we could not make out, they languished, and, one of them being\nall but dead, they were taken to the pool under the old pollard-oak.\nThe apparently dying one lay on its side unable to move. I used to\nwatch it, and about the tenth day it began to right itself, and in a\nfew days more was able to swim about with its companions. For many\nmonths they continued to prosper in their new place of abode; but one\nnight by an unusually great flood they were swept out of the pool, and\nperished to our great regret.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Poems.\"--ED.\n\n The soaring lark is blest as proud\n When at heaven's gate she sings;[597]\n The roving bee proclaims aloud\n Her flight by vocal wings;\n While Ye, in lasting durance pent, 5\n Your silent lives employ\n For something more than dull content,\n Though haply less than joy.[598]\n\n Yet might your glassy prison seem\n A place where joy is known, 10\n Where golden flash and silver gleam\n Have meanings of their own;\n While, high and low, and all about,\n Your motions, glittering Elves!\n Ye weave--no danger from without, 15\n And peace among yourselves.\n\n Type of a sunny human breast\n Is your transparent cell;\n Where Fear is but a transient guest,\n No sullen Humours dwell; 20\n Where, sensitive of every ray\n That smites this tiny sea,\n Your scaly panoplies repay\n The loan with usury.\n\n How beautiful!--Yet none knows why 25\n This ever-graceful change,\n Renewed--renewed incessantly--\n Within your quiet range.\n Is it that ye with conscious skill\n For mutual pleasure glide; 30\n And sometimes, not without your will,\n Are dwarfed, or magnified?\n\n Fays, Genii of gigantic size!\n And now, in twilight dim,\n Clustering like constellated eyes, 35\n In wings of Cherubim,\n When the fierce orbs abate their glare;--[599]\n Whate'er your forms express,\n Whate'er ye seem, whate'er ye are--\n All leads to gentleness. 40\n\n Cold though your nature be, 'tis pure;\n Your birthright is a fence\n From all that haughtier kinds endure\n Through tyranny of sense.\n Ah! not alone by colours bright 45\n Are Ye to heaven allied,\n When, like essential Forms of light,\n Ye mingle, or divide.\n\n For day-dreams soft as e'er beguiled\n Day-thoughts while limbs repose; 50\n For moonlight fascinations mild,\n Your gift, ere shutters close--\n Accept, mute Captives! thanks and praise;\n And may this tribute prove\n That gentle admirations raise 55\n Delight resembling love.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[597] Compare _Cymbeline_, act II. scene iii. l. 21.--ED.\n\n[598] See note [448] to p. 160.--ED.\n\n[599] 1837.\n\n When they abate their fiery glare: 1835.\n\n\n\n\nLIBERTY\n\n(SEQUEL TO THE ABOVE)[600]\n\n\n [ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND; THE GOLD AND SILVER FISHES HAVING BEEN\n REMOVED TO A POOL IN THE PLEASURE-GROUND OF RYDAL MOUNT.]\n\n Composed 1829.--Published 1835\n\n\"The liberty of a people consists in being governed by laws which they\nhave made for themselves, under whatever form it be of government. The\nliberty of a private man, in being master of his own time and actions,\nas far as may consist with the laws of God and of his country. Of this\nlatter we are here to discourse.\"--COWLEY.\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Poems.\"--ED.\n\n Those breathing Tokens of your kind regard,\n (Suspect not, Anna,[601] that their fate is hard;\n Not soon does aught to which mild fancies cling\n In lonely spots, become a slighted thing;)\n Those silent Inmates now no longer share, 5\n Nor do they need, our hospitable care,\n Removed in kindness from their glassy Cell\n To the fresh waters of a living Well--[602]\n An elfin pool so sheltered that its rest\n No winds disturb;[603] the mirror of whose breast 10\n Is smooth as clear, save where with dimples small[604]\n A fly may settle, or a blossom fall.[605]\n --_There_ swims, of blazing sun and beating shower\n Fearless (but how obscured!) the golden Power,\n That from his bauble prison used to cast 15\n Gleams by the richest jewel unsurpast;\n And near him, darkling like a sullen Gnome,\n The silver Tenant of the crystal dome;\n Dissevered both from all the mysteries\n Of hue and altering shape that charmed all eyes. 20\n Alas! they pined,[606] they languished while they shone;\n And, if not so, what matters beauty gone\n And admiration lost, by change of place\n That brings to the inward creature no disgrace?\n But if the change restore his birth-right, then, 25\n Whate'er the difference, boundless is the gain.\n Who can divine what impulses from God\n Reach the caged lark, within a town-abode,\n From his poor inch or two of daisied sod?\n O yield him back his privilege!--No sea 30\n Swells like the bosom of a man set free;\n A wilderness is rich with liberty.\n Roll on, ye spouting whales, who die or keep\n Your independence in the fathomless Deep!\n Spread, tiny nautilus, the living sail; 35\n Dive, at thy choice, or brave the freshening gale!\n If unreproved the ambitious eagle mount\n Sunward to seek the daylight in its fount,[607]\n Bays, gulfs, and ocean's Indian width, shall be,\n Till the world perishes, a field for thee! 40\n\n While musing here I sit in shadow cool,\n And watch these mute Companions, in the pool,\n (Among reflected boughs of leafy trees)\n By glimpses caught--disporting at their ease,\n Enlivened, braced, by hardy luxuries, 45\n I ask what warrant fixed them (like a spell\n Of witchcraft fixed them) in the crystal cell;\n To wheel with languid motion round and round,\n Beautiful, yet in mournful durance bound.\n Their peace, perhaps, our lightest footfall marred; 50\n On their quick sense our sweetest music jarred;\n And whither could they dart, if seized with fear?\n No sheltering stone, no tangled root was near.\n When fire or taper ceased to cheer the room,\n They wore away the night in starless gloom; 55\n And, when the sun first dawned upon the streams,\n How faint their portion of his vital beams!\n Thus, and unable to complain, they fared,\n While not one joy of ours by them was shared.\n\n Is there a cherished bird (I venture now 60\n To snatch a sprig from Chaucer's reverend brow)--[608]\n Is there a brilliant fondling of the cage,\n Though sure of plaudits on his costly stage,\n Though fed with dainties from the snow-white hand\n Of a kind mistress, fairest of the land, 65\n But gladly would escape; and, if need were,\n Scatter the colours from the plumes that bear\n The emancipated captive through blithe air\n Into strange woods, where he at large may live\n On best or worst which they and Nature give? 70\n The beetle loves his unpretending track,\n The snail the house he carries on his back;\n The far-fetched worm with pleasure would disown\n The bed we give him, though of softest down;\n A noble instinct; in all kinds the same, 75\n All ranks! What Sovereign, worthy of the name,\n If doomed to breathe against his lawful will\n An element that flatters him--to kill,\n But would rejoice to barter outward show\n For the least boon that freedom can bestow? 80\n\n But most the Bard is true to inborn right,\n Lark of the dawn, and Philomel of night,\n Exults in freedom, can with rapture vouch\n For the dear blessings of a lowly couch, 84\n A natural meal--days, months, from Nature's hand;\n Time, place, and business, all at his command!--\n Who bends to happier duties, who more wise\n Than the industrious Poet, taught to prize,\n Above all grandeur, a pure life uncrossed\n By cares in which simplicity is lost? 90\n That life--the flowery path that[609] winds by stealth--\n Which Horace needed for his spirit's health;[610]\n Sighed for, in heart and genius, overcome\n By noise and strife, and questions wearisome,\n And the vain splendours of Imperial Rome?--[611] 95\n Let easy mirth his social hours inspire,\n And fiction animate his sportive lyre,\n Attuned to verse that, crowning light Distress\n With garlands, cheats her into happiness;\n Give _me_ the humblest note of those sad strains 100\n Drawn forth by pressure of his gilded chains,\n As a chance-sunbeam from his memory fell\n Upon the Sabine farm he loved so well;[612]\n Or when the prattle of Blandusia's spring[613]\n Haunted his ear--he only listening-- 105\n He proud to please, above all rivals, fit\n To win the palm of gaiety and wit;\n He, doubt not, with involuntary dread,\n Shrinking from each new favour to be shed,\n By the world's Ruler, on his honoured head! 110\n\n In a deep vision's intellectual scene,\n Such earnest longings and regrets as keen\n Depressed the melancholy Cowley, laid\n Under a fancied yew-tree's luckless shade;\n A doleful bower for penitential song, 115\n Where Man and Muse complained of mutual wrong;\n While Cam's ideal current glided by,\n And antique towers nodded their foreheads high,\n Citadels dear to studious privacy.\n But Fortune, who had long been used to sport 120\n With this tried Servant of a thankless Court,\n Relenting met his wishes; and to you\n The remnant of his days at least was true;\n You, whom, though long deserted, he loved best;\n You, Muses, books, fields, liberty, and rest![614] 125\n\n Far[615] happier they who, fixing hope and aim\n On the humanities of peaceful fame,\n Enter betimes with more than martial fire\n The generous course, aspire, and still aspire;\n Upheld by warnings heeded not too late 130\n Stifle the contradictions of their fate,\n And to one purpose cleave, their Being's godlike mate!\n\n Thus, gifted Friend, but with the placid brow\n That woman ne'er should forfeit, keep _thy_ vow;\n With modest scorn reject whate'er would blind 135\n The ethereal eyesight, cramp the wing\u00e8d mind!\n Then, with a blessing granted from above\n To every act, word, thought, and look of love,\n Life's book for Thee may lie unclosed, till age\n Shall with a thankful tear bedrop its latest page.[616] 140\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[600] 1835.\n\n SEQUEL TO THE PRECEDING 1837.\n\n The text of 1857 returns to that of 1835.\n\n[601] See the Sonnet (p. 168) beginning--\n\n While Anna's peers and early playmates tread.\n\n ED.\n\n[602] See _The Fa\u00ebrie Queene_, book i. canto 2, stanza 43--\n\n Till we be bathed in a living well.\n\n ED.\n\n[603] This \"elfin pool,\" to which the gold and silver fishes were\nremoved, still exists beneath the pollard oak tree in \"Dora's\nField,\" at Rydal Mount. The field is now the property of Mr. Gordon\nWordsworth.--ED.\n\n[604] 1845.\n\n ... Well;\n That spreads into an elfin pool opaque\n Of which close boughs a glimmering mirror make,\n On whose smooth breast with dimples light and small 1835.\n\n[605] 1845.\n\n The fly may settle, leaf or blossom fall. 1835.\n The fly may settle, or the blossom fall. 1837.\n\n[606] 1845.\n\n They pined, perhaps, ... 1835.\n\n[607] See the reference to the Eagle in _The Power of Sound_ (p. 212),\nand in the \"Poems composed or suggested during a Tour in the Summer of\n1833,\" _The Dunolly Eagle_.--ED.\n\n[608] See, in \"The Canterbury Tales,\" _The Squire's Tale_, ll.\n598-611.--ED.\n\n[609] 1837.\n\n ... which ... 1835.\n\n[610] These last five lines are amongst the best instances of\nWordsworth's appreciation of one of his great predecessors. Compare the\nsecond of the two poems _September_ 1819.--ED.\n\n[611] \"The Sabine farm was situated in the valley of Ustica, thirty\nmiles from Rome and twelve miles from Tivoli. It possessed the\nattraction, no small one to Horace, of being very secluded: yet, at the\nsame time, within an easy distance of Rome. When his spirits wanted the\nstimulus of society or the bustle of the capital, which they often did,\nhis ambling mule would speedily convey him thither; and when jaded, on\nthe other hand, by the noise and racket and dissipations of Rome, he\ncould, in the same homely way, bury himself in a few hours among the\nhills, and there, under the shadow of his favourite Lucretilis, or by\nthe banks of the clear-flowing and ice-cold Digentia, either stretch\nhimself to dream upon the grass, lulled by the murmurs of the stream,\nor do a little farming in the way of clearing his fields of stones, or\nturning over a furrow here and there with the hoe.\" (See Sir Theodore\nMartin's _Horace_, p. 68.)--ED.\n\n[612] See Horace, _Odes_, II. 18--\n\n Satis beatus unicis Sabinis.\n With what I have completely blest,\n My happy little Sabine nest.--ED.\n\n[613] See _Odes_, III. 13.--ED.\n\n[614] Abraham Cowley (born 1618), educated at Westminster and Trinity\nCollege, Cambridge, a Royalist, and therefore expelled from Cambridge,\nsettled in St. John's College, Oxford, crossed over with the Queen\nMother to France for twelve years, returned at the Restoration, but was\nneglected at Court, and retired to a farm at Chertsey, on the Thames,\nwhere he lived for some years, \"the melancholy Cowley.\"--ED.\n\n[615] 1837.\n\n But ... 1835.\n\n[616] There is now, alas! no possibility of the anticipation, with\nwhich the above Epistle concludes, being realised: nor were the\nverses ever seen by the Individual for whom they were intended. She\naccompanied her husband, the Rev. Wm. Fletcher, to India, and died of\ncholera, at the age of thirty-two or thirty-three years, on her way\nfrom Shalapore to Bombay, deeply lamented by all who knew her.\n\nHer enthusiasm was ardent, her piety steadfast; and her great talents\nwould have enabled her to be eminently useful in the difficult path of\nlife to which she had been called. The opinion she entertained of her\nown performances, given to the world under her maiden name, Jewsbury,\nwas modest and humble, and, indeed, far below their merits; as is\noften the case with those who are making trial of their powers, with a\nhope to discover what they are best fitted for. In one quality, viz.,\nquickness in the motions of her mind, she had,[617] within the range of\nthe Author's acquaintance, no equal.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[617] 1837.\n\n She was in the author's estimation unequalled.--W. W. 1835.\n\n\n\n\nHUMANITY[618]\n\n\n Composed 1829.--Published 1835\n\n Not from his fellows only man may learn\n Rights to compare and duties to discern:\n All creatures and all objects, in degree,\n Are friends and patrons of humanity.--MS. 1835.\n\nThe Rocking-stones, alluded to in the beginning of the following\nverses, are supposed to have been used, by our British ancestors, both\nfor judicial and religious purposes. Such stones are not uncommonly\nfound, at this day, both in Great Britain and in Ireland.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[These verses and those entitled \"Liberty\" were composed as one piece,\nwhich Mrs. Wordsworth complained of as unwieldy and ill-proportioned;\nand accordingly it was divided into two, on her judicious\nrecommendation.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.\"--ED.\n\n\n What though the Accused, upon his own appeal\n To righteous Gods when man has ceased to feel,\n Or at a doubting Judge's stern command,\n Before the STONE OF POWER no longer stand--\n To take his sentence from the balanced Block, 5\n As, at his touch, it rocks, or seems to rock;[619]\n Though, in the depths of sunless groves, no more\n The Druid-priest the hallowed Oak adore;\n Yet, for the Initiate, rocks and whispering trees\n Do still perform mysterious offices! 10\n And functions dwell in beast and bird that sway\n The reasoning mind, or with the fancy play,\n Inviting, at all seasons, ears and eyes\n To watch for undelusive auguries:--[620]\n Not uninspired appear their simplest ways; 15\n Their voices mount symbolical of praise--\n To mix with hymns that Spirits make and hear;\n And to fallen man their innocence is dear.\n Enraptured Art draws from those sacred springs\n Streams that reflect the poetry of things! 20\n Where christian Martyrs stand in hues portrayed,\n That, might a wish avail, would never fade,\n Borne in their hands the lily and the palm\n Shed round the altar a celestial calm;\n There, too, behold the lamb and guileless dove 25\n Prest in the tenderness of virgin love\n To saintly bosoms!--Glorious in the blending\n Of right affections climbing or descending\n Along a scale of light and life, with cares\n Alternate; carrying holy thoughts and prayers 30\n Up to the sovereign seat of the Most High;\n Descending to the worm in charity;[621]\n Like those good Angels whom a dream of night\n Gave, in the field of Luz, to Jacob's sight[622]\n All, while _he_ slept, treading the pendent stairs 35\n Earthward or heavenward, radiant messengers,\n That, with a perfect will in one accord\n Of strict obedience, serve[623] the Almighty Lord;\n And with untired humility forbore\n To speed their errand by[624] the wings they wore. 40\n\n What a fair world were ours for verse to paint,\n If Power could live at ease with self-restraint!\n Opinion bow before the naked sense\n Of the great Vision,--faith in Providence;\n Merciful over all his creatures, just[625] 45\n To the least particle of sentient dust;[626]\n But,[627] fixing by immutable decrees,\n Seedtime and harvest for his purposes!\n Then would be closed the restless oblique eye\n That looks for evil like a treacherous spy; 50\n Disputes would then relax, like stormy winds\n That into breezes sink; impetuous minds\n By discipline endeavour to grow meek\n As Truth herself, whom they profess to seek.\n Then Genius, shunning fellowship with Pride, 55\n Would braid his golden locks at Wisdom's side;\n Love ebb and flow untroubled by caprice;\n And not alone _harsh_ tyranny would cease,\n But unoffending creatures find release\n From qualified oppression, whose defence 60\n Rests on a hollow plea of recompense;\n Thought-tempered wrongs, for each humane respect\n Oft worse to bear, or deadlier in effect.\n Witness those glances of indignant scorn\n From some high-minded Slave, impelled to spurn 65\n The kindness that would make him less forlorn;\n Or, if the soul to bondage be subdued,\n His look of pitiable gratitude!\n\n Alas for thee, bright Galaxy of Isles,\n Whose[628] day departs in pomp, returns with smiles--\n To greet the flowers and fruitage of a land, 71\n As the sun mounts, by sea-born breezes fanned;\n A land whose azure mountain-tops are seats\n For Gods in council, whose green vales, retreats\n Fit for the shades of heroes, mingling there 75\n To breathe Elysian peace in upper air.\n\n Though cold as winter, gloomy as the grave,\n Stone-walls a prisoner make, but not a slave.[629]\n Shall man assume a property in man?\n Lay on the moral will a withering ban? 80\n Shame that our laws at distance still protect[630]\n Enormities, which they at home reject!\n \"Slaves cannot breathe in England\"[631]--yet that boast\n Is but a mockery! when[632] from coast to coast,\n Though _fettered_ slave be none, her floors and soil 85\n Groan underneath a weight of slavish toil,\n For the poor Many, measured out by rules\n Fetched with cupidity from heartless schools,\n That to an Idol, falsely called[633] \"the Wealth\n Of Nations,\"[634] sacrifice a People's health, 90\n Body and mind and soul; a thirst so keen[635]\n Is ever urging on the vast machine\n Of sleepless Labour, 'mid whose dizzy wheels\n The Power least prized is that which thinks and feels.\n\n Then, for the pastimes of this delicate age, 95\n And all the heavy or light vassalage\n Which for their sakes we fasten, as may suit\n Our varying moods, on human kind or brute,\n 'Twere well in little, as in great, to pause,\n Lest Fancy trifle with eternal laws. 100\n Not from his fellows only man may learn\n Rights to compare and duties to discern!\n All creatures and all objects, in degree,\n Are friends and patrons of humanity.\n There are to whom the[636] garden, grove, and field, 105\n Perpetual lessons of forbearance yield;\n Who would not lightly violate the grace\n The lowliest flower possesses in its place;\n Nor shorten the sweet life, too fugitive, 109\n Which nothing less than Infinite Power could give.[637]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[618] 1837.\n\n HUMANITY.\n\n (WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1829.) 1835.\n\n[619] There are several, so-called, \"rocking-stones\" in Yorkshire and\nLancashire, in Derbyshire, in Cornwall, and in Wales. There are one or\ntwo in Scotland, and there used to be several in the Lake District.\nSome are natural; others artificial.--ED.\n\n[620] 1837.\n\n ... offices!\n And still in beast and bird a function dwells,\n That, while we look and listen, sometimes tells\n Upon the heart, in more authentic guise\n Than Oracles, or winged Auguries,\n Spake to the Science of the ancient wise. 1835.\n\n[621] The author is indebted, here, to a passage in one of Mr. Digby's\nvaluable works.--W. W. 1835.\n\nSee his _Of Bodies, and of man's Soul_.--ED.\n\n[622] Genesis xxviii. 12.--ED.\n\n[623] 1845.\n\n ... served ... 1835.\n\n[624] 1837.\n\n The ready service of ... 1835.\n\n[625] 1840.\n\n Merciful over all existence, just 1835.\n\n[626] 1837.\n\n Compassionate to all that suffer, just\n In the end to every creature born of dust. C.\n\n[627] 1840.\n\n And, ... 1835.\n\n[628] 1837.\n\n Where ... 1835.\n\n[629] Compare Richard Lovelace, _To Althea, from Prison_--\n\n Stone walls do not a prison make,\n Nor iron bars a cage.\n Minds innocent and quiet take\n That for a hermitage.--ED.\n\n[630] 1837.\n\n ... should protect 1835.\n\n[631] Compare Cowper's _Task_, book ii. l. 40.--ED.\n\n[632] 1837.\n\n ...--a proud boast!\n And yet a mockery! if, ... 1835.\n\n[633]\n\n That to a monstrous idol, called ... C.\n\n[634] Compare _The Prelude_, book xiii. ll. 77, 78--\n\n ... that idol proudly named\n \"The Wealth of Nations.\"--ED.\n\n[635]\n\n The weal of body and soul; so keen a thirst C.\n\n The weal of body, mind, and soul; so keen\n A thirst urging ... C.\n\n[636] 1837.\n\n ... eternal laws.\n There are to whom even ... 1835.\n\n[637] Compare the closing lines of the _Ode, Intimations of\nImmortality_--\n\n To me the meanest flower that blows can give\n Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"THIS LAWN, A CARPET ALL ALIVE\"\n\n\n Composed 1829.--Published 1835\n\n[This Lawn is the sloping one approaching the kitchen-garden, and\nwas made out of it. Hundreds of times have I watched the dancing of\nshadows amid a press of sunshine, and other beautiful appearances of\nlight and shade, flowers and shrubs. What a contrast between this\nand the cabbages and onions and carrots that used to grow there on\na piece of ugly-shaped unsightly ground! No reflection, however,\neither upon cabbages or onions; the latter we know were worshipped\nby the Egyptians, and he must have a poor eye for beauty who has\nnot observed how much of it there is in the form and colour which\ncabbages and plants of that genus exhibit through the various stages\nof their growth and decay. A richer display of colour in vegetable\nnature can scarcely be conceived than Coleridge, my sister, and I\nsaw in a bed of potato-plants in blossom near a hut upon the moor\nbetween Inversneyd and Loch Katrine.[638] These blossoms were of such\nextraordinary beauty and richness that no one could have passed them\nwithout notice. But the sense must be cultivated through the mind\nbefore we can perceive these inexhaustible treasures of Nature, for\nsuch they really are, without the least necessary reference to the\nutility of her productions, or even to the laws whereupon, as we learn\nby research, they are dependent. Some are of opinion that the habit of\nanalysing, decomposing, and anatomising, is inevitably unfavourable\nto the perception of beauty. People are led into this mistake by\noverlooking the fact that such processes being to a certain extent\nwithin the reach of a limited intellect, we are apt to ascribe to them\nthat insensibility of which they are in truth the effect and not the\ncause. Admiration and love, to which all knowledge truly vital must\ntend, are felt by men of real genius in proportion as their discoveries\nin natural Philosophy are enlarged; and the beauty in form of a plant\nor an animal is not made less but more apparent as a whole by more\naccurate insight into its constituent properties and powers. A _Savant_\nwho is not also a poet in soul and a religionist in heart is a feeble\nand unhappy creature.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.\"--ED.\n\n This Lawn, a carpet all alive\n With shadows flung from leaves--to strive\n In dance, amid a press\n Of sunshine, an apt emblem yields\n Of Worldlings revelling in the fields 5\n Of strenuous idleness;[639]\n\n Less quick the stir when tide and breeze\n Encounter, and to narrow seas\n Forbid a moment's rest;\n The medley less when boreal Lights 10\n Glance to and fro, like aery Sprites\n To feats of arms addrest!\n\n Yet, spite of all this eager strife,\n This ceaseless play, the genuine life\n That serves the stedfast hours, 15\n Is in the grass beneath, that grows\n Unheeded, and the mute repose\n Of sweetly-breathing flowers.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[638] In 1803, Miss Wordsworth thus records it:--\"We passed by\none patch of potatoes that a florist might have been proud of; no\ncarnation-bed ever looked more gay than this square plot of ground\non the waste common. The flowers were in very large bunches, and of\nan extraordinary size, and of every conceivable shade of colouring\nfrom snow-white to deep purple. It was pleasing in that place, where\nperhaps was never yet a flower cultivated by man for his own pleasure,\nto see these blossoms grow more gladly than elsewhere, making a summer\ngarden near the mountain dwellings.\" (_Recollections of a Tour made in\nScotland in 1803_, p. 85).--ED.\n\n[639] Compare _The Prelude_, book iv. l. 378.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTHOUGHTS[640] ON THE SEASONS\n\n\n Composed 1829.--Published 1835\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.\"--ED.\n\n Flattered with promise of escape\n From every hurtful blast,\n Spring takes, O sprightly May! thy shape,\n Her loveliest and her last.[641]\n\n Less fair is summer riding high 5\n In fierce solstitial power,\n Less fair than when a lenient sky\n Brings on her parting hour.\n\n When earth repays with golden sheaves\n The labours of the plough, 10\n And ripening fruits and forest leaves\n All brighten on the bough;\n\n What pensive beauty autumn shows,\n Before she hears the sound\n Of winter rushing in, to close 15\n The emblematic round!\n\n Such be our Spring, our Summer such;\n So may our Autumn blend\n With hoary Winter, and Life touch,\n Through heaven-born hope, her end! 20\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[640] 1850.\n\n THOUGHT ... 1835.\n\n The text of 1857 returns to that of 1835.\n\n[641] Compare _Ode, composed on May Morning_, 1826 (p. 146); also _To\nMay_, 1826 (p. 148).--ED.\n\n\n\n\nA TRADITION OF OKER HILL IN DARLEY DALE, DERBYSHIRE[642]\n\n\n Composed 1829.--Published 1829[643]\n\n[This pleasing tradition was told me by the coachman at whose side I\nsate while he drove down the dale, he pointing to the trees on the hill\nas he related the story.--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n 'Tis said that to the brow of yon fair hill\n Two Brothers clomb, and, turning face from face,\n Nor one look more exchanging, grief to still\n Or feed, each planted on that lofty place\n A chosen Tree;[644] then, eager to fulfil 5\n Their courses, like two new-born rivers, they\n In opposite directions urged their way\n Down from the far-seen mount. No blast might kill\n Or blight that fond memorial;--the trees grew,\n And now entwine their arms; but ne'er again 10\n Embraced those Brothers upon earth's wide plain;\n Nor aught of mutual joy or sorrow knew\n Until their spirits mingled in the sea\n That to itself takes all, Eternity.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[642] 1837.\n\n A TRADITION OF DARLEY DALE, DERBYSHIRE. 1832.\n\n[643] In _The Keepsake_.--ED.\n\n[644] Mr. T. W. Shore (Southampton), writes to me: \"The two trees\nreferred to by the poet are still on the hill, and called the\nShore Trees. The family of Shore is an ancient one in Derbyshire,\nextending back to the reign of Richard II. In the time of Charles I,\nseveral members of the family impoverished themselves in support of\nthe Royalist cause.... The trees on Oker Hill are supposed to have\nbeen planted by those who remembered the family misfortunes, or who\nsucceeded the family which took part in the 17th century struggle.\"--ED.\n\n\n\n\nFILIAL PIETY\n\n\n (ON THE WAYSIDE BETWEEN PRESTON AND LIVERPOOL)\n\n Composed 1829 (probably).--Published 1832\n\n[This was also communicated to me by a coachman in the same way.[645]\nIn the course of my many coach rambles and journeys, which, during the\nday-time always, and often in the night, were taken on the outside\nof the coach, I had good and frequent opportunities of learning the\ncharacteristics of this class of men. One remark I made that is worth\nrecording; that whenever I had occasion especially to notice their\nwell-ordered, respectful and kind behaviour to women, of whatever age,\nI found them, I may say almost always, to be married men.--I.F.]\n\nThis happened near Ormskirk. Thomas Scarisbrick was killed by a flash\nof lightning, whilst building a turf-stack in 1799. His son James\ncompleted the work, and kept it intact during his life-time. James\nwas buried April 21st, 1824. Wordsworth was therefore wrong as to the\n\"fifty winters.\"--ED.\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n Untouched through all severity of cold;\n Inviolate, whate'er the cottage hearth\n Might need for comfort, or for festal mirth;\n That Pile of Turf is half a century old:\n Yes, Traveller! fifty winters have been told 5\n Since suddenly the dart of death went forth\n 'Gainst him who raised it,--his last work on earth:\n Thence has it, with the Son, so strong a hold\n Upon his Father's memory, that his hands,\n Through reverence, touch it only to repair[646] 10\n Its waste.--Though crumbling with each breath of air,\n In annual renovation thus it stands--\n Rude Mausoleum! but wrens nestle there,\n And red-breasts warble when sweet sounds are rare.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[645] Compare the Fenwick note to _A Tradition of Oker Hill in Darley_\n_Dale, Derbyshire_, p. 230.--ED.\n\n[646] 1837.\n\n Thence by his Son more prized than aught which gold\n Could purchase--watched, preserved by his own hands,\n That, faithful to the Structure, still repair 1832.\n\n\n\n\n1830\n\n\nThe Poems written in 1830 include, _The Armenian Lady's Love_, _The\nRussian Fugitive_, _The Egyptian Maid_, the Elegiac Stanzas on Sir\nGeorge Beaumont, and several minor pieces.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ARMENIAN LADY'S LOVE\n\n\n Composed 1830.--Published 1835\n\nThe subject of the following poem is from the Orlandus of the author's\nfriend, Kenelm Henry Digby: and the liberty is taken of inscribing\nit to him as an acknowledgment, however unworthy, of pleasure\nand instruction derived from his numerous and valuable writings,\nillustrative of the piety and chivalry of the olden time.--W. W.\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems founded on the Affections.\"--ED.\n\n I\n\n You have heard \"a Spanish Lady\n How she wooed an English man;\"[647]\n Hear now of a fair Armenian,\n Daughter of the proud Sold\u00e0n;\n How she loved a Christian Slave, and told her pain 5\n By word, look, deed, with hope that he might love again.\n\n II\n\n \"Pluck that rose, it moves my liking,\"\n Said she, lifting up her veil;\n \"Pluck it for me, gentle gardener,\n Ere it wither and grow pale.\" 10\n \"Princess fair, I till the ground, but may not take\n From twig or bed an humbler flower, even for your sake!\"\n\n III\n\n \"Grieved am I, submissive Christian!\n To behold thy captive state;\n Women, in your land, may pity 15\n (May they not?) the unfortunate.\"\n \"Yes, kind Lady! otherwise man could not bear\n Life, which to every one that breathes is full of care.\"\n\n IV\n\n \"Worse than idle is compassion\n If it end in tears and sighs; 20\n Thee from bondage would I rescue\n And from vile indignities;\n Nurtured, as thy mien bespeaks, in high degree,\n Look up--and help a hand that longs to set thee free.\"\n\n V\n\n \"Lady! dread the wish, nor venture 25\n In such peril to engage;\n Think how it would stir against you\n Your most loving father's rage:\n Sad deliverance would it be, and yoked with shame,\n Should troubles overflow on her from whom it came.\" 30\n\n VI\n\n \"Generous Frank! the just in effort\n Are of inward peace secure:\n Hardships for the brave encountered,\n Even the feeblest may endure:\n If almighty grace through me thy chains unbind 35\n My father for slave's work may seek a slave in mind.\"\n\n VII\n\n \"Princess, at this burst of goodness,\n My long-frozen heart grows warm!\"\n \"Yet you make all courage fruitless,\n Me to save from chance of harm: 40\n Leading such companion I that gilded dome,\n Yon minarets, would gladly leave for his worst home.\"\n\n VIII\n\n \"Feeling tunes your voice, fair Princess!\n And your brow is free from scorn,\n Else these words would come like mockery, 45\n Sharper than the pointed thorn.\"\n \"Whence the undeserved mistrust? Too wide apart\n Our faith hath been,--O would that eyes could see the heart!\"\n\n IX\n\n \"Tempt me not, I pray; my doom is\n These base implements to wield; 50\n Rusty lance, I ne'er shall grasp thee,\n Ne'er assoil my cobwebb'd shield!\n Never see my native land, nor castle towers,\n Nor Her who thinking of me there counts widowed hours.\"\n\n X\n\n \"Prisoner! pardon youthful fancies; 55\n Wedded? If you _can_, say no!\n Blessed is and be your consort;\n Hopes I cherished--let them go!\n Handmaid's privilege would leave my purpose free,\n Without another link to my felicity.\" 60\n\n XI\n\n \"Wedded love with loyal Christians,\n Lady, is a mystery rare;\n Body, heart, and soul in union,\n Make one being of a pair.\"\n \"Humble love in me would look for no return, 65\n Soft as a guiding star that cheers, but cannot burn.\"\n\n XII\n\n \"Gracious Allah! by such title\n Do I dare to thank the God,\n Him who thus exalts thy spirit,\n Flower of an unchristian sod! 70\n Or hast thou put off wings which thou in heaven dost wear?\n What have I seen, and heard or dreamt? where am I? where?\"\n\n XIII\n\n Here broke off the dangerous converse:\n Less impassioned words might tell\n How the pair escaped together, 75\n Tears not wanting, nor a knell\n Of sorrow in her heart while through her father's door,\n And from her narrow world, she passed for evermore.\n\n XIV\n\n But affections higher, holier,\n Urged her steps; she shrunk from trust 80\n In a sensual creed that trampled\n Woman's birthright into dust.\n Little be the wonder then, the blame be none,\n If she, a timid Maid, hath put such boldness on.\n\n XV\n\n Judge both Fugitives with knowledge: 85\n In those old romantic days\n Mighty were the soul's commandments\n To support, restrain, or raise.\n Foes might hang upon their path, snakes rustle near,\n But nothing from their inward selves had they to fear. 90\n\n XVI\n\n Thought infirm ne'er came between them,\n Whether printing desert sands\n With accordant steps, or gathering\n Forest-fruit with social hands; 94\n Or whispering like two reeds that in the cold moonbeam\n Bend with the breeze their heads, beside a crystal stream.\n\n XVII\n\n On a friendly deck reposing\n They at length for Venice steer;\n There, when they had closed their voyage,\n One, who daily on the pier 100\n Watched for tidings from the East, beheld his Lord,\n Fell down and clasped his knees for joy, not uttering word.\n\n XVIII\n\n Mutual was the sudden transport;\n Breathless questions followed fast,\n Years contracting to a moment, 105\n Each word greedier than the last;\n \"Hie thee to the Countess, friend! return with speed,\n And of this Stranger speak by whom her lord was freed.\n\n XIX\n\n Say that I, who might have languished,\n Drooped and pined till life was spent, 110\n Now before the gates of Stolberg[648]\n My Deliverer would present\n For a crowning recompense, the precious grace\n Of her who in my heart still holds her ancient place.\n\n XX\n\n Make it known that my Companion 115\n Is of royal eastern blood,\n Thirsting after all perfection,\n Innocent, and meek, and good,\n Though with misbelievers bred; but that dark night\n Will holy Church disperse by beams of gospel-light.\" 120\n\n XXI\n\n Swiftly went that grey-haired Servant,\n Soon returned a trusty Page\n Charged with greetings, benedictions,\n Thanks and praises, each a gage\n For a sunny thought to cheer the Stranger's way, 125\n Her virtuous scruples to remove, her fears allay.\n\n XXII\n\n And how blest the Reunited,\n While beneath their castle-walls,\n Runs a deafening noise of welcome!--\n Blest, though every tear that falls 130\n Doth in its silence of past sorrow tell,\n And makes[649] a meeting seem most like a dear farewell.\n\n XXIII\n\n Through a haze of human nature,\n Glorified by heavenly light,\n Looked the beautiful Deliverer 135\n On that overpowering sight,\n While across her virgin cheek pure blushes strayed,\n For every tender sacrifice her heart had made.\n\n XXIV\n\n On the ground the weeping Countess\n Knelt, and kissed the Stranger's hand; 140\n Act of soul-devoted homage,\n Pledge of an eternal band:\n Nor did aught of future days that kiss belie,\n Which, with a generous shout, the crowd did ratify.\n\n XXV\n\n Constant to the fair Armenian, 145\n Gentle pleasures round her moved,\n Like a tutelary spirit\n Reverenced, like a sister, loved.\n Christian meekness smoothed for all the path of life, 149\n Who, loving most, should wiseliest love, their only strife.\n\n XXVI\n\n Mute memento of that union\n In a Saxon church survives,\n Where a cross-legged Knight lies sculptured\n As between two wedded Wives--\n Figures with armorial signs of race and birth, 155\n And the vain rank the pilgrims bore while yet on earth.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[647] See, in Percy's _Reliques_, that fine old ballad, \"The Spanish\nLady's Love;\" from which Poem the form of stanza, as suitable to\ndialogue, is adopted.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[648] A small town in Prussian-Saxony, the residence of the Counts of\nStolberg-Stolberg.--ED.\n\n[649] 1836.\n\n Fancy (while, to banners floating\n High on Stolberg's Castle walls,\n Deafening noise of welcome mounted,\n Trumpets, Drums, and Atabals,)\n The devout embraces still, while such tears fell\n As made ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE[650]\n\n\n Composed 1830.--Published 1835\n\n[Early in life this story had interested me, and I often thought it\nwould make a pleasing subject for an opera or musical drama.--I. F.]\n\nIn 1837 this poem was placed among those grouped as \"Yarrow revisited,\netc.\" In 1845 it was transferred to the \"Miscellaneous Poems.\"--ED.\n\n PART I\n\n Enough of rose-bud lips, and eyes\n Like harebells bathed in dew,\n Of cheek that with carnation vies,\n And veins of violet hue;[651]\n Earth wants not beauty that may scorn 5\n A likening to frail flowers;\n Yea, to the stars, if they were born[652]\n For seasons and for hours.\n\n Through Moscow's gates, with gold unbarred,[653]\n Stepped One at dead of night, 10\n Whom such high beauty could not guard\n From meditated blight;\n By stealth she passed, and fled as fast\n As doth the hunted fawn,\n Nor stopped, till in the dappling east 15\n Appeared unwelcome dawn.\n\n Seven days she lurked in brake and field,\n Seven nights her course renewed,\n Sustained by what her scrip might yield,\n Or berries of the wood; 20\n At length, in darkness travelling on,\n When lowly doors were shut,\n The haven of her hope she won,\n Her Foster-mother's hut.\n\n \"To put your love to dangerous proof 25\n I come,\" said she, \"from far;\n For I have left my Father's roof,\n In terror of the Czar.\"\n No answer did the Matron give,\n No second look she cast, 30\n But hung upon the Fugitive,[654]\n Embracing and embraced.\n\n She led the Lady[655] to a seat\n Beside the glimmering fire,\n Bathed duteously her wayworn feet, 35\n Prevented each desire:--\n The cricket chirped, the house-dog dozed,\n And on that simple bed,\n Where she in childhood had reposed,\n Now rests her weary head. 40\n\n When she, whose couch had been the sod,\n Whose curtain, pine or thorn,\n Had breathed a sigh of thanks to God,\n Who comforts the forlorn;\n While over her the Matron bent 45\n Sleep sealed her eyes, and stole\n Feeling from limbs with travel spent,\n And trouble from the soul.\n\n Refreshed, the Wanderer rose at morn,\n And soon again was dight 50\n In those unworthy vestments worn\n Through long and perilous flight;\n And \"O beloved Nurse,\" she said,\n \"My thanks with silent tears\n Have unto Heaven and You been paid: 55\n Now listen to my fears!\n\n \"Have you forgot\"--and here she smiled--\n \"The babbling flatteries\n You lavished on me when a child\n Disporting round your knees? 60\n I was your lambkin, and your bird,\n Your star, your gem, your flower;\n Light words, that were more lightly heard\n In many a cloudless hour!\n\n \"The blossom you so fondly praised 65\n Is come to bitter fruit;\n A mighty One upon me gazed;\n I spurned his lawless suit,\n And must be hidden from his wrath:[656]\n You, Foster-father dear, 70\n Will guide me in my forward path;\n I may not tarry here!\n\n \"I cannot bring to utter woe\n Your proved fidelity.\"----\n \"Dear Child, sweet Mistress, say not so! 75\n For you we both would die.\"\n \"Nay, nay, I come with semblance feigned\n And cheek embrowned by art;\n Yet, being inwardly unstained,\n With courage will depart.\" 80\n\n \"But whither would you, could you, flee?\n A poor Man's counsel take;\n The Holy Virgin gives to me\n A thought for your dear sake;\n Rest, shielded by our Lady's grace, 85\n And soon shall you be led\n Forth to a safe abiding-place,\n Where never foot doth tread.\"\n\n PART II\n\n The dwelling of this faithful pair\n In a straggling village stood,\n For One who breathed unquiet air\n A dangerous neighbourhood;\n But wide around lay forest ground 5\n With thickets rough and blind;\n And pine-trees made a heavy shade\n Impervious to the wind.\n\n And there, sequestered from the sight,\n Was spread a treacherous swamp, 10\n On which the noon-day sun shed light\n As from a lonely lamp;\n And midway in the unsafe morass,\n A single Island rose\n Of firm dry ground, with healthful grass 15\n Adorned, and shady boughs.\n\n The Woodman knew, for such the craft\n This Russian vassal plied,\n That never fowler's gun, nor shaft\n Of archer, there was tried; 20\n A sanctuary seemed the spot\n From all intrusion free;\n And there he planned an artful Cot\n For perfect secrecy.\n\n With earnest pains unchecked by dread 25\n Of Power's far-stretching hand,\n The bold good Man his labour sped\n At nature's pure command;\n Heart-soothed, and busy as a wren,\n While, in a hollow nook, 30\n She moulds her sight-eluding den\n Above a murmuring brook.\n\n His task accomplished to his mind,\n The twain ere break of day\n Creep forth, and through the forest wind 35\n Their solitary way;\n Few words they speak, nor dare to slack\n Their pace from mile to mile,\n Till they have crossed the quaking marsh,\n And reached the lonely Isle. 40\n\n The sun above the pine-trees showed\n A bright and cheerful face;\n And Ina looked for her abode,\n The promised hiding-place;\n She sought in vain, the Woodman smiled; 45\n No threshold could be seen,\n Nor roof, nor window;--all seemed wild\n As it had ever been.\n\n Advancing, you might guess an hour,\n The front with such nice care 50\n Is masked, \"if house it be or bower,\"\n But in they entered are;\n As shaggy as were wall and roof\n With branches intertwined,\n So smooth was all within, air-proof, 55\n And delicately lined:\n\n And hearth was there, and maple dish,\n And cups in seemly rows,\n And couch--all ready to a wish\n For nurture or repose; 60\n And Heaven doth to her virtue grant\n That there[657] she may abide\n In solitude, with every want\n By cautious love supplied.\n\n No queen, before a shouting crowd, 65\n Led on in bridal state,\n E'er struggled with a heart so proud,\n Entering her palace gate;\n Rejoiced to bid the world farewell,\n No saintly anchoress 70\n E'er took possession of her cell\n With deeper thankfulness.\n\n \"Father of all, upon thy care\n And mercy am I thrown;\n Be thou my safeguard!\"--such her prayer 75\n When she was left alone,\n Kneeling amid the wilderness\n When joy had passed away,\n And smiles, fond efforts of distress\n To hide what they betray![658] 80\n\n The prayer is heard, the Saints have seen,\n Diffused through form and face,\n Resolves devotedly serene;\n That monumental grace\n Of Faith, which doth[659] all passions tame 85\n That Reason _should_ control;\n And shows in the untrembling frame\n A statue of the soul.\n\n PART III\n\n Tis sung in ancient minstrelsy\n That Phoebus wont to wear\n The leaves of any pleasant tree\n Around his golden hair;[660]\n Till Daphne, desperate with pursuit 5\n Of his imperious love,\n At her own prayer transformed, took root,\n A laurel in the grove.\n\n Then did the Penitent adorn\n His brow with laurel green; 10\n And 'mid his bright locks never shorn\n No meaner leaf was seen;\n And poets sage, through every age,\n About their temples wound\n The bay; and conquerors thanked the Gods, 15\n With laurel chaplets crowned.\n\n Into the mists of fabling Time\n So far runs back the praise\n Of Beauty, that disdains to climb\n Along forbidden ways; 20\n That scorns temptation; power defies\n Where mutual love is not;\n And to the tomb for rescue flies\n When life would be a blot.\n\n To this fair Votaress, a fate 25\n More mild doth Heaven ordain\n Upon her Island desolate;\n And words, not breathed in vain,\n Might tell what intercourse she found,\n Her silence to endear; 30\n What birds she tamed, what flowers the ground\n Sent forth her peace to cheer.\n\n To one mute Presence, above all,\n Her soothed affections clung,\n A picture on the cabin wall 35\n By Russian usage hung--\n The Mother-maid,[661] whose countenance bright\n With love abridged the day;\n And, communed with by taper light,\n Chased spectral fears away. 40\n\n And oft, as either Guardian came,\n The joy in that retreat\n Might any common friendship shame,\n So high their hearts would beat;\n And to the lone Recluse, whate'er 45\n They brought, each visiting\n Was like the crowding of the year\n With a new burst of spring.\n\n But, when she of her Parents thought,\n The pang was hard to bear; 50\n And, if with all things not enwrought,\n That trouble still is near.\n Before her flight she had not dared\n Their constancy to prove,\n Too much the heroic Daughter feared 55\n The weakness of their love.\n\n Dark is the past to them, and dark\n The future still must be,\n Till pitying Saints conduct her bark\n Into a safer sea-- 60\n Or gentle Nature close her eyes,\n And set her Spirit free\n From the altar of this sacrifice,\n In vestal purity.\n\n Yet, when above the forest-glooms 65\n The white swans southward passed,\n High as the pitch of their swift plumes\n Her fancy rode the blast;\n And bore her toward the fields of France,\n Her Father's native land, 70\n To mingle in the rustic dance,\n The happiest of the band!\n\n Of those belov\u00e8d fields she oft\n Had heard her Father tell\n In phrase that now with echoes soft 75\n Haunted her lonely cell;\n She saw the hereditary bowers,\n She heard the ancestral stream;\n The Kremlin[662] and its haughty towers\n Forgotten like a dream! 80\n\n PART IV\n\n The ever-changing Moon had traced\n Twelve times her monthly round,\n When through the unfrequented Waste\n Was heard a startling sound;\n A shout thrice sent from one who chased 5\n At speed a wounded deer,\n Bounding through branches interlaced,\n And where the wood was clear.\n\n The fainting creature took the marsh,\n And toward the Island fled, 10\n While plovers screamed with tumult harsh\n Above his antlered head;\n This, Ina saw; and, pale with fear,\n Shrunk to her citadel;\n The desperate deer rushed on, and near 15\n The tangled covert fell.\n\n Across the marsh, the game in view,\n The Hunter followed fast,\n Nor paused, till o'er the stag he blew\n A death-proclaiming blast; 20\n Then, resting on her upright mind,\n Came forth the Maid--\"In me\n Behold,\" she said, \"a stricken Hind\n Pursued by destiny!\n\n \"From your deportment, Sir! I deem 25\n That you have worn a sword,\n And will not hold in light esteem\n A suffering woman's word;\n There is my covert, there perchance\n I might have lain concealed, 30\n My fortunes hid, my countenance\n Not even to you revealed.\n\n \"Tears might be shed, and I might pray,\n Crouching and terrified,\n That what has been unveiled to-day, 35\n You would in mystery hide;\n But I will not defile with dust\n The knee that bends to adore\n The God in heaven;--attend, be just;\n This ask I, and no more! 40\n\n \"I speak not of the winter's cold,\n For summer's heat exchanged,\n While I have lodged in this rough hold,\n From social life estranged;\n Nor yet of trouble and alarms: 45\n High Heaven is my defence;\n And every season has soft arms\n For injured Innocence.\n\n \"From Moscow to the Wilderness\n It was my choice to come, 50\n Lest virtue should be harbourless,\n And honour want a home;\n And happy were I, if the Czar\n Retain his lawless will,\n To end life here like this poor deer, 55\n Or a lamb on a green hill.\"\n\n \"Are you the Maid,\" the Stranger cried,\n \"From Gallic parents sprung,\n Whose vanishing was rumoured wide,\n Sad theme for every tongue; 60\n Who foiled an Emperor's eager quest?\n You, Lady, forced to wear\n These rude habiliments, and rest\n Your head in this dark lair!\"\n\n But wonder, pity, soon were quelled; 65\n And in her face and mien\n The soul's pure brightness he beheld\n Without a veil between:\n He loved, he hoped,--a holy flame\n Kindled 'mid rapturous tears; 70\n The passion of a moment came\n As on the wings of years.\n\n \"Such bounty is no gift of chance,\"\n Exclaimed he; \"righteous Heaven,\n Preparing your deliverance, 75\n To me the charge hath given.\n The Czar full oft in words and deeds\n Is stormy and self-willed;\n But, when the Lady Catherine pleads,\n His violence is stilled. 80\n\n \"Leave open to my wish the course,\n And I to her will go;\n From that humane and heavenly source,\n Good, only good, can flow.\"\n Faint sanction given, the Cavalier 85\n Was eager to depart,\n Though question followed question, dear\n To the Maiden's filial heart.[663]\n\n Light was his step,--his hopes, more light,\n Kept pace with his desires; 90\n And the fifth[664] morning gave him sight\n Of Moscow's glittering spires.\n He sued:--heart-smitten by the wrong,\n To the lorn Fugitive\n The Emperor sent a pledge as strong 95\n As sovereign power could give.\n\n O more than mighty change! If e'er\n Amazement rose to pain,\n And joy's excess[665] produced a fear\n Of something void and vain; 100\n 'Twas when the Parents, who had mourned\n So long the lost as dead,\n Beheld their only Child returned,\n The household floor to tread.\n\n Soon gratitude gave way to love 105\n Within the Maiden's breast:\n Delivered and Deliverer move\n In bridal garments drest;\n Meek Catherine had her own reward;\n The Czar bestowed a dower; 110\n And universal Moscow shared\n The triumph of that hour.\n\n Flowers strewed the ground; the nuptial feast\n Was held with costly state;\n And there, 'mid many a noble guest, 115\n The Foster-parents sate;\n Encouraged by the imperial eye,\n They shrank not into shade;\n Great was their bliss, the honour high\n To them and nature paid! 120\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[650] Peter Henry Bruce, having given in his entertaining Memoirs the\nsubstance of this Tale,[666] affirms that, besides the concurring\nreports of others, he had the story from the lady's own mouth.\n\nThe Lady Catherine, mentioned towards the close, is[667] the famous\nCatherine, then bearing that name as the acknowledged Wife of Peter the\nGreat.--W. W. 1835.\n\nThe title of this poem in the MS. copy by Mrs. Wordsworth is--\n\n INA,\n OR,\n THE LODGE IN THE FOREST,\n A Russian Tale.\n\n ED.\n\n[651] Compare S. T. Coleridge's verses, _To a Lady_--\n\n 'Tis not the lily-brow I prize,\n Nor roseate cheeks, nor sunny eyes,\n Enough of lilies and of roses!\n A thousand-fold more dear to me\n The gentle look that Love discloses,--\n The look that Love alone can see!\n\nAnd Keats' lines beginning--\n\n Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain.\n\nAlso Wordsworth's _Jewish Family_, II. 25-28.--ED.\n\n[652] 1835.\n\n Yea, to the stars themselves, if born C.\n\n[653] 1835.\n\n ... by gold unbarred,\n\n MS. copy by Mrs. Wordsworth.\n\n[654] 1837.\n\n She hung upon ... 1835.\n\n[655] 1837.\n\n She led her Lady ... 1835.\n\n[656] 1835.\n\n And I must hide me from his wrath.\n\n MS.\n\n[657] 1850.\n\n That here ... 1835.\n\n[658] 1835.\n\n And smiles, the sunshine of distress,\n That hide-yet more betray.\n\n MS.\n\n[659] 1835.\n\n ... serene;\n Exalting lowly grace,\n A Faith which does ...\n\n MS.\n\n[660] In the edition of 1835 the two preceding lines were placed within\nquotation marks, and the following added \"From Golding's Translation of\nOvid's _Metamorphoses_. See also his Dedicatory Epistle prefixed to the\nsame work.\"-ED.\n\n[661] \"Not a Russian house, Bruce tells us, was, at his time, without\na picture of the Virgin.\" (MS. note to a copy of this poem, in Mrs.\nWordsworth's handwriting.)--ED.\n\n[662] The Royal Palace at Moscow.--ED.\n\n[663] 1835.\n\n ... the Cavalier\n Recounted all he knew,\n The sufferer's filial heart to cheer;\n Then hastily withdrew.\n\n MS.\n\n[664] 1837.\n\n ... third ... 1835.\n\n[665] 1837.\n\n And over-joy ... 1835.\n\n[666] 1845.\n\n of the following Tale 1835.\n\n[667] 1837.\n\n was 1835.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EGYPTIAN MAID\n\nOR, THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY\n\n\n Composed 1830.--Published 1835\n\nFor the names and persons in the following poem, see the \"History of\nthe renowned Prince Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table\"; for\nthe rest the Author is answerable; only it may be proper to add, that\nthe Lotus, with the bust of the Goddess appearing to rise out of the\nfull-blown flower, was suggested by the beautiful work of ancient\nart, once included among the Townley Marbles, and now in the British\nMuseum.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[In addition to the short notice prefixed to this poem, it may be worth\nwhile here to say, that it rose out of a few words casually used in\nconversation by my nephew, Henry Hutchinson. He was describing with\ngreat spirit the appearance and movement of a vessel which he seemed\nto admire more than any other he had ever seen, and said her name was\nthe Water Lily. This plant has been my delight from my boyhood, as I\nhave seen it floating on the lake; and that conversation put me upon\nconstructing and composing the poem. Had I not heard those words, it\nwould never have been written. The form of the stanza is new, and is\nnothing but a repetition of the first five lines as they were thrown\noff, and is not perhaps well suited to narrative, and certainly would\nnot have been trusted to had I thought at the beginning that the poem\nwould have gone to such a length.--I. F.]\n\nIn the editions of 1835 and 1837 this poem was assigned a place of its\nown. In 1845 it was placed among the \"Memorials of a Tour in Italy,\n1837.\"--ED.\n\n While Merlin paced the Cornish sands,\n Forth-looking toward the rocks of Scilly,\n The pleased Enchanter was aware\n Of a bright Ship that seemed to hang in air,\n Yet was she work of mortal hands, 5\n And took from men her name--THE WATER LILY.\n\n Soft was the wind, that landward blew;\n And, as the Moon, o'er some dark hill ascendant,\n Grows from a little edge of light\n To a full orb, this Pinnace bright 10\n Became, as nearer to the coast she drew,\n More glorious, with spread sail and streaming pendant.\n\n Upon this wing\u00e8d Shape so fair\n Sage Merlin gazed with admiration:\n Her lineaments, thought he, surpass 15\n Aught that was ever shown in magic glass;\n Was ever built with patient care;\n Or, at a touch, produced by happiest transformation.[668]\n\n Now, though a Mechanist, whose skill\n Shames the degenerate grasp of modern science, 20\n Grave Merlin (and belike the more\n For practising occult and perilous lore)\n Was subject to a freakish will\n That sapped good thoughts, or scared them with defiance.\n\n Provoked to envious spleen, he cast 25\n An altered look upon the advancing Stranger\n Whom he had hailed with joy, and cried,\n \"My Art shall help to tame her pride--\"\n Anon the breeze became a blast,\n And the waves rose, and sky portended danger. 30\n\n With thrilling word, and potent sign\n Traced on the beach, his work the Sorcerer urges;\n The clouds in blacker clouds are lost,\n Like spiteful Fiends that vanish, crossed\n By Fiends of aspect more malign; 35\n And the winds roused the Deep with fiercer scourges.\n\n But worthy of the name she bore\n Was this Sea-flower, this buoyant Galley:\n Supreme in loveliness and grace\n Of motion, whether in the embrace 40\n Of trusty anchorage, or scudding o'er\n The main flood roughened into hill and valley.\n\n Behold, how wantonly she laves\n Her sides, the Wizard's craft confounding;\n Like something out of Ocean sprung 45\n To be for ever fresh and young,\n Breasts the sea-flashes, and huge waves\n Top-gallant high, rebounding and rebounding!\n\n But Ocean under magic heaves,\n And cannot spare the Thing he cherished: 50\n Ah! what avails that she was fair,\n Luminous, blithe, and debonair?\n The storm has stripped her of her leaves;\n The Lily floats no longer!--She hath perished.\n\n Grieve for her,--she deserves no less; 55\n So like, yet so unlike, a living Creature!\n No heart had she, no busy brain;\n Though loved, she could not love again;\n Though pitied, _feel_ her own distress;\n Nor aught that troubles us, the fools of Nature. 60\n\n Yet is there cause for gushing tears;\n So richly was this Galley laden,\n A fairer than herself she bore,\n And, in her struggles, cast ashore;\n A lovely One, who nothing hears 65\n Of wind or wave--a meek and guileless Maiden.\n\n Into a cave had Merlin fled\n From mischief, caused by spells himself had muttered;\n And while, repentant all too late,\n In moody posture there he sate, 70\n He heard a voice, and saw, with half-raised head,\n A Visitant by whom these words were uttered;\n\n \"On Christian service this frail Bark\n Sailed\" (hear me, Merlin!) \"under high protection,\n Though on her prow a sign of heathen power 75\n Was carved--a Goddess with a Lily flower,\n The old Egyptian's emblematic mark\n Of joy immortal and of pure affection.\n\n \"Her course was for the British strand;\n Her freight, it was a Damsel peerless; 80\n God reigns above, and Spirits strong\n May gather to avenge this wrong\n Done to the Princess, and her Land\n Which she in duty left, sad but not cheerless.[669]\n\n \"And to Caerleon's loftiest tower 85\n Soon will the Knights of Arthur's Table\n A cry of lamentation send;\n And all will weep who there attend,\n To grace that Stranger's bridal hour,\n For whom the sea was made unnavigable. 90\n\n \"Shame! should a Child of royal line\n Die through the blindness of thy malice?\"\n Thus to the Necromancer spake\n Nina, the Lady of the Lake,\n A gentle Sorceress, and benign, 95\n Who ne'er embittered any good man's chalice.\n\n \"What boots,\" continued she, \"to mourn?\n To expiate thy sin endeavour:\n From the bleak isle where she is laid,\n Fetched by our art, the Egyptian Maid 100\n May yet to Arthur's court be borne\n Cold as she is, ere life be fled for ever.\n\n \"My pearly Boat, a shining Light,\n That brought me down that sunless river,\n Will bear me on from wave to wave, 105\n And back with her to this sea-cave;--\n Then Merlin! for a rapid flight\n Through air, to thee my Charge will I deliver.\n\n \"The very swiftest of thy cars\n Must, when my part is done, be ready; 110\n Meanwhile, for further guidance, look\n Into thy own prophetic book;\n And, if that fail, consult the Stars\n To learn thy course; farewell! be prompt and steady.\"\n\n This scarcely spoken, she again 115\n Was seated in her gleaming shallop,\n That, o'er the yet-distempered Deep,\n Pursued its way with bird-like sweep,\n Or like a steed, without a rein,\n Urged o'er the wilderness in sportive gallop. 120\n\n Soon did the gentle Nina reach\n That Isle without a house or haven;\n Landing, she found not what she sought,\n Nor saw of wreck or ruin aught\n But a carved Lotus cast upon the beach[670] 125\n By the fierce waves, a flower in marble graven.\n\n Sad relique, but how fair the while!\n For gently each from each retreating\n With backward curve, the leaves revealed\n The bosom half, and half concealed, 130\n Of a Divinity, that seemed to smile\n On Nina, as she passed, with hopeful greeting.\n\n No quest was hers of vague desire,\n Of tortured hope and purpose shaken;\n Following the margin of a bay, 135\n She spied the lonely Cast-away,\n Unmarred, unstripped of her attire,\n But with closed eyes,--of breath and bloom forsaken.\n\n Then Nina, stooping down, embraced,\n With tenderness and mild emotion, 140\n The Damsel, in that trance embound;\n And, while she raised her from the ground,\n And in the pearly shallop placed,\n Sleep fell upon the air, and stilled the ocean.\n\n The turmoil hushed, celestial springs 145\n Of music opened, and there came a blending\n Of fragrance, underived from earth,\n With gleams that owed not to the sun their birth,\n And that soft rustling of invisible wings[671]\n Which Angels make, on works of love descending. 150\n\n And Nina heard a sweeter voice\n Than if the Goddess of the flower had spoken:\n \"Thou hast achieved, fair Dame! what none\n Less pure in spirit could have done;\n Go, in thy enterprise rejoice! 155\n Air, earth, sea, sky, and heaven, success betoken.\"\n\n So cheered, she left that Island bleak,\n A bare rock of the Scilly cluster,\n And, as they traversed the smooth brine,\n The self-illumined Brigantine 160\n Shed, on the Slumberer's cold wan cheek\n And pallid brow, a melancholy lustre.\n\n Fleet was their course, and when they came\n To the dim cavern, whence the river\n Issued into the salt-sea flood, 165\n Merlin, as fixed in thought he stood,\n Was thus accosted by the Dame;\n \"Behold to thee my Charge I now deliver!\n\n But where attends thy chariot--where?\"--\n Quoth Merlin, \"Even as I was bidden, 170\n So have I done; as trusty as thy barge\n My vehicle shall prove--O precious Charge!\n If this be sleep, how soft! if death, how fair!\n Much have my books disclosed, but the end is hidden.\"\n\n He spake; and gliding into view 175\n Forth from the grotto's dimmest chamber\n Came two mute Swans, whose plumes of dusky white\n Changed, as the pair approached the light,\n Drawing an ebon car, their hue\n (Like clouds of sunset) into lucid amber. 180\n\n Once more did gentle Nina lift\n The Princess, passive to all changes:\n The car received her:--then up-went\n Into the ethereal element\n The Birds with progress smooth and swift 185\n As thought, when through bright regions memory ranges.\n\n Sage Merlin, at the Slumberer's side,\n Instructs the Swans their way to measure;\n And soon Caerleon's towers appeared,\n And notes of minstrelsy were heard 190\n From rich pavilions spreading wide,\n For some high day of long-expected pleasure.\n\n Awe-stricken stood both Knights and Dames\n Ere on firm ground the car alighted;\n Eftsoons astonishment was past, 195\n For in that face they saw the last\n Last lingering look of clay, that tames\n All pride; by which all happiness is blighted.\n\n Said Merlin, \"Mighty King, fair Lords,\n Away with feast and tilt and tourney! 200\n Ye saw, throughout this royal House,\n Ye heard, a rocking marvellous\n Of turrets, and a clash of swords\n Self-shaken, as I closed my airy journey.\n\n \"Lo! by a destiny well known 205\n To mortals, joy is turned to sorrow;\n This is the wished-for Bride, the Maid\n Of Egypt, from a rock conveyed\n Where she by shipwreck had been thrown;\n Ill sight! but grief may vanish ere the morrow.\" 210\n\n \"Though vast thy power, thy words are weak,\"\n Exclaimed the King, \"a mockery hateful;\n Dutiful Child, her lot how hard!\n Is this her piety's reward?\n Those watery locks, that bloodless cheek! 215\n O winds without remorse! O shore ungrateful!\n\n \"Rich robes are fretted by the moth;\n Towers, temples, fall by stroke of thunder;\n Will that, or deeper thoughts, abate\n A Father's sorrow for her fate? 220\n He will repent him of his troth;\n His brain will burn, his stout heart split asunder.\n\n \"Alas! and I have caused this woe;\n For, when my prowess from invading Neighbours\n Had freed his Realm, he plighted word 225\n That he would turn to Christ our Lord,\n And his dear Daughter on a Knight bestow\n Whom I should choose for love and matchless labours.\n\n \"Her birth was heathen; but a fence\n Of holy Angels round her hovered: 230\n A Lady added to my court\n So fair, of such divine report\n And worship, seemed a recompense\n For fifty kingdoms by my sword recovered.\n\n \"Ask not for whom, O Champions true! 235\n She was reserved by me her life's betrayer;\n She who was meant to be a bride\n Is now a corse: then put aside\n Vain thoughts, and speed ye, with observance due\n Of Christian rites, in Christian ground to lay her.\" 240\n\n \"The tomb,\" said Merlin, \"may not close\n Upon her yet, earth hide her beauty;\n Not froward to thy sovereign will\n Esteem me, Liege! if I, whose skill\n Wafted her hither, interpose 245\n To check this pious haste of erring duty.\n\n \"My books command me to lay bare\n The secret thou art bent on keeping:\n Here must a high attest be given, 249\n _What_ Bridegroom was for her ordained by Heaven:\n And in my glass significants there are\n Of things that may to gladness turn this weeping.\n\n \"For this, approaching, One by One,\n Thy Knights must touch the cold hand of the Virgin;\n So, for the favoured One, the Flower may bloom 255\n Once more: but, if unchangeable her doom,\n If life departed be for ever gone,\n Some blest assurance, from this cloud emerging,\n\n \"May teach him to bewail his loss;\n Not with a grief that, like a vapour, rises 260\n And melts; but grief devout that shall endure,\n And a perpetual growth secure\n Of purposes which no false thought shall cross,\n A harvest of high hopes and noble enterprises.\"\n\n \"So be it,\" said the King;--\"anon, 265\n Here, where the Princess lies, begin the trial;\n Knights each in order as ye stand\n Step forth.\"--To touch the pallid hand\n Sir Agravaine advanced; no sign he won\n From Heaven or earth;--Sir Kaye had like denial. 270\n\n Abashed, Sir Dinas turned away;\n Even for Sir Percival was no disclosure;\n Though he, devoutest of all Champions, ere\n He reached that ebon car, the bier\n Whereon diffused like snow the Damsel lay, 275\n Full thrice had crossed himself in meek composure.\n\n Imagine (but ye Saints! who can?)\n How in still air the balance trembled--\n The wishes, peradventure the despites\n That overcame some not ungenerous Knights; 280\n And all the thoughts that lengthened out a span\n Of time to Lords and Ladies thus assembled.\n\n What patient confidence was here!\n And there how many bosoms panted!\n While drawing toward the car Sir Gawaine, mailed 285\n For tournament, his beaver vailed,\n And softly touched; but, to his princely cheer\n And high expectancy, no sign was granted.\n\n Next, disencumbered of his harp,\n Sir Tristram, dear to thousands as a brother, 290\n Came to the proof, nor grieved that there ensued\n No change;--the fair Izonda he had wooed\n With love too true, a love with pangs too sharp,\n From hope too distant, not to dread another.\n\n Not so Sir Launcelot; from Heaven's grace 295\n A sign he craved, tired slave of vain contrition;\n The royal Guinever looked passing glad.\n When his touch failed.--Next came Sir Galahad;\n He paused, and stood entranced by that still face\n Whose features he had seen in noontide vision. 300\n\n For late, as near a murmuring stream\n He rested 'mid an arbour green and shady,\n Nina, the good Enchantress, shed\n A light around his mossy bed;\n And, at her call, a waking dream 305\n Prefigured to his sense the Egyptian Lady.\n\n Now, while his bright-haired front he bowed,\n And stood, far-kenned by mantle furred with ermine,\n As o'er the insensate Body hung\n The enrapt, the beautiful, the young, 310\n Belief sank deep into the crowd\n That he the solemn issue would determine.\n\n Nor deem it strange; the Youth had worn\n That very mantle on a day of glory,\n The day when he achieved that matchless feat, 315\n The marvel of the PERILOUS SEAT,\n Which whosoe'er approached of strength was shorn,\n Though King or Knight the most renowned in story.\n\n He touched with hesitating hand--\n And lo! those Birds, far-famed through Love's dominions, 320\n The Swans, in triumph clap their wings;\n And their necks play, involved in rings,\n Like sinless snakes in Eden's happy land;--\n \"Mine is she,\" cried the Knight;--again they clapped their pinions.\n\n \"Mine was she--mine she is, though dead, 325\n And to her name my soul shall cleave in sorrow;\"\n Whereat, a tender twilight streak\n Of colour dawned upon the Damsel's cheek;\n And her lips, quickening with uncertain red,\n Seemed from each other a faint warmth to borrow. 330\n\n Deep was the awe, the rapture high,\n Of love emboldened, hope with dread entwining,\n When, to the mouth, relenting Death\n Allowed a soft and flower-like breath,\n Precursor to a timid sigh, 335\n To lifted eyelids, and a doubtful shining.\n\n In silence did King Arthur gaze\n Upon the signs that pass away or tarry;\n In silence watched the gentle strife\n Of Nature leading back to life; 340\n Then eased his soul at length by praise\n Of God, and Heaven's pure Queen--the blissful Mary.\n\n Then said he, \"Take her to thy heart,\n Sir Galahad! a treasure, that God giveth,\n Bound by indissoluble ties to thee 345\n Through mortal change and immortality;\n Be happy and unenvied, thou who art\n A goodly Knight that hath no peer that liveth!\"\n\n Not long the Nuptials were delayed;\n And sage tradition still rehearses 350\n The pomp, the glory of that hour\n When toward the altar from her bower\n King Arthur led the Egyptian Maid,\n And Angels carolled these far-echoed verses;--\n\n Who shrinks not from alliance 355\n Of evil with good Powers,\n To God proclaims defiance,\n And mocks whom he adores.\n\n A Ship to Christ devoted\n From the Land of Nile did go; 360\n Alas! the bright Ship floated,\n An Idol at her prow.\n\n By magic domination,\n The Heaven-permitted vent\n Of purblind mortal passion, 365\n Was wrought her punishment.\n\n The Flower, the Form within it,\n What served they in her need?\n Her port she could not win it,\n Nor from mishap be freed. 370\n\n The tempest overcame her,\n And she was seen no more;\n But gently, gently blame her--\n She cast a Pearl ashore.\n\n The Maid to Jesu hearkened, 375\n And kept to him her faith,\n Till sense in death was darkened,\n Or sleep akin to death.\n\n But Angels round her pillow\n Kept watch, a viewless band; 380\n And, billow favouring billow,\n She reached the destined strand.\n\n Blest Pair! whate'er befal you,\n Your faith in Him approve\n Who from frail earth can call you 385\n To bowers of endless love!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[668] 1837.\n\n ... set forth with wondrous transformation. 1835.\n\n[669] 1837.\n\n ... though sad not cheerless. 1835.\n\n[670] 1837.\n\n ... shore 1835.\n\n[671] Compare _Paradise Lost_, book i. l. 768.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE POET AND THE CAGED TURTLEDOVE[672]\n\n\n Composed 1830.--Published 1835\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. This dove was one of a pair that had been\ngiven to my daughter by our excellent friend, Miss Jewsbury,[673]\nwho went to India with her husband, Mr. Fletcher, where she died of\ncholera. The dove survived its mate many years, and was killed, to\nour great sorrow, by a neighbour's cat that got in at the window\nand dragged it partly out of the cage. These verses were composed\nextempore, to the letter, in the Terrace Summer-house before spoken of.\nIt was the habit of the bird to begin cooing and murmuring whenever it\nheard me making my verses.--I.F.]\n\n One of the \"Poems of the Fancy.\"--ED.\n\n As often as I murmur here\n My half-formed melodies,\n Straight from her osier mansion near,\n The Turtledove replies:\n Though silent as a leaf before, 5\n The captive promptly coos;\n Is it to teach her own soft lore,\n Or second my weak Muse?\n\n I rather think, the gentle Dove\n Is murmuring a reproof, 10\n Displeased that I from lays of love\n Have dared to keep aloof;\n That I, a Bard of hill and dale,\n Have carolled, fancy free,[674]\n As if nor dove nor nightingale, 15\n Had heart or voice for me.\n\n If such thy meaning, O forbear,\n Sweet Bird! to do me wrong;\n Love, blessed Love, is every where\n The spirit of my song: 20\n 'Mid grove, and by the calm fireside,\n Love animates my lyre--\n That coo again!--'tis not to chide,\n I feel, but to inspire.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[672] In a MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont I find the poem entitled\n\"Twenty minutes Exercise on the Terrace last night, but Scene within\ndoors.\"--ED.\n\n[673] Compare the Sonnet beginning--\n\n While Anna's peers and early playmates tread (p. 168.)--ED.\n\n[674] Compare _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, act II. scene i. l. 164.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nPRESENTIMENTS\n\n\n Composed 1830.--Published 1835\n\n [Written at Rydal Mount.--I. F.]\n\n One of the \"Poems of the Imagination.\"--ED.\n\n Presentiments! they judge not right\n Who deem that ye from open light\n Retire in fear of shame;\n All _heaven-born_ Instincts shun the touch\n Of vulgar sense,--and, being such, 5\n Such privilege ye claim.\n\n The tear whose source I could not guess,\n The deep sigh that seemed fatherless,\n Were mine in early days;\n And now, unforced by time to part 10\n With fancy, I obey my heart,\n And venture on your praise.\n\n What though some busy foes to good,\n Too potent over nerve and blood,\n Lurk near you--and combine 15\n To taint the health which ye infuse;\n This hides not from the moral Muse\n Your origin divine.\n\n How oft from you, derided Powers!\n Comes Faith that in auspicious hours 20\n Builds castles, not of air:\n Bodings unsanctioned by the will\n Flow from your visionary skill,\n And teach us to beware.\n\n The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, 25\n That no philosophy can lift,\n Shall vanish, if ye please,\n Like morning mist: and, where it lay,\n The spirits at your bidding play\n In gaiety and ease. 30\n\n Star-guided contemplations move\n Through space, though calm, not raised above\n Prognostics that ye rule;\n The naked Indian of the wild,\n And haply, too, the cradled Child, 35\n Are pupils of your school.\n\n But who can fathom your intents,\n Number their signs or instruments?\n A rainbow, a sunbeam,\n A subtle smell that Spring unbinds, 40\n Dead pause abrupt of midnight winds,\n An echo, or a dream.[675]\n\n The laughter of the Christmas hearth\n With sighs of self-exhausted mirth\n Ye feelingly reprove; 45\n And daily, in the conscious breast,\n Your visitations are a test\n And exercise of love.\n\n When some great change gives boundless scope\n To an exulting Nation's hope, 50\n Oft, startled and made wise\n By your low-breathed interpretings,\n The simply-meek foretaste the springs\n Of bitter contraries.\n\n Ye daunt the proud array of war, 55\n Pervade the lonely ocean far\n As sail hath been unfurled;\n For dancers in the festive hall\n What ghastly partners hath your call\n Fetched from the shadowy world. 60\n\n 'Tis said, that warnings ye dispense,\n Emboldened by a keener sense;\n That men have lived for whom,\n With dread precision, ye made clear\n The hour that in a distant year 65\n Should knell them to the tomb.\n\n Unwelcome insight! Yet there are\n Blest times when mystery is laid bare,\n Truth shows a glorious face,\n While on that isthmus which commands 70\n The councils of both worlds, she stands,\n Sage Spirits! by your grace.\n\n God, who instructs the brutes to scent\n All changes of the element,\n Whose wisdom fixed the scale 75\n Of natures, for our wants provides\n By higher, sometimes humbler, guides,\n When lights of reason fail.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[675] Compare Robert Browning's _Bishop Blougram's Apology_, ll.\n191-197--\n\n ... there's a sunset-touch,\n A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death,\n A chorus-ending from Euripides,--.\n And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears\n As old and new at once as Nature's self,\n To rap and knock and enter in our soul,\n Take hands and dance there, a fantastic ring, etc.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"IN THESE FAIR VALES HATH MANY A TREE\"\n\n\n Composed 1830.--Published 1835\n\n[Engraven, during my absence in Italy, upon a brass plate inserted in\nthe Stone.--I. F.]\n\nThis poem was classed among the \"Inscriptions.\" In 1835 its title was\n_Inscription intended for a Stone in the grounds of Rydal Mount_.\nIn 1845, and afterwards, the first line of the poem was its only\ntitle.--ED.\n\n In these fair vales hath many a Tree\n At Wordsworth's suit been spared;\n And from the builder's hand this Stone,\n For some rude beauty of its own,\n Was rescued by the Bard: 5\n So let it rest; and time will come\n When here the tender-hearted\n May heave a gentle sigh for him,\n As one of the departed.\n\nThe inscription is still preserved on the \"brass plate inserted in the\nstone,\" within the grounds at Rydal Mount.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nELEGIAC MUSINGS\n\n\n IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON HALL, THE SEAT\n OF THE LATE[676] SIR G.H. BEAUMONT, BART.\n\n Composed 1830.--Published 1835\n\nIn these grounds stands the Parish Church, wherein is a mural monument\nbearing an inscription which,[677] in deference to the earnest request\nof the deceased, is confined to name, dates, and these words:--\"Enter\nnot into judgment with thy servant, O Lord!\"--W. W.\n\n[These verses were in part composed on horseback during a storm, while\nI was on my way from Colcorton to Cambridge: they are alluded to\nelsewhere.[678]--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces.\"--ED.\n\n With copious eulogy in prose or rhyme[679]\n Graven on the tomb we struggle against Time,\n Alas, how feebly! but our feelings rise\n And still we struggle when a good man dies:\n Such offering BEAUMONT dreaded and forbade, 5\n A spirit meek in self-abasement clad.\n Yet _here_ at least, though few have numbered days\n That shunned so modestly the light of praise,\n His graceful manners, and the temperate ray\n Of that arch fancy which would round him play, 10\n Brightening a converse never known to swerve\n From courtesy and delicate reserve;\n That sense, the bland philosophy of life,\n Which checked discussion ere it warmed to strife;\n Those rare accomplishments,[680] and varied powers, 15\n Might have their record among sylvan bowers.\n Oh, fled for ever! vanished like a blast\n That shook the leaves in myriads as it passed;--\n Gone from this world of earth, air, sea, and sky,\n From all its spirit-moving imagery, 20\n Intensely studied with a painter's eye,\n A poet's heart; and, for congenial view,\n Portrayed with happiest pencil, not untrue\n To common recognitions while the line\n Flowed in a course of sympathy divine;-- 25\n Oh! severed, too abruptly, from delights\n That all the seasons shared with equal rights;--\n Rapt in the grace of undismantled age,\n From soul-felt music, and the treasured page\n Lit by that evening lamp which loved to shed 30\n Its mellow lustre round thy honoured head;\n While Friends beheld thee give with eye, voice, mien,\n More than theatric force to Shakspeare's scene;--[681]\n If thou hast heard me--if thy Spirit know 34\n Aught of these powers and whence their pleasures flow;\n If things in our remembrance held so dear,\n And thoughts and projects fondly cherished here,\n To thy exalted nature only seem\n Time's vanities, light fragments of earth's dream--\n Rebuke us not![682]--The mandate is obeyed 40\n That said, \"Let praise be mute where I am laid;\"\n The holier deprecation, given in trust\n To the cold marble, waits upon thy dust;\n Yet have we found how slowly genuine grief\n From _silent_ admiration wins relief. 45\n Too long abashed thy Name is like a rose\n That doth \"within itself its sweetness close;\"[683]\n A drooping daisy changed into a cup\n In which her bright-eyed beauty is shut up.\n Within these groves, where still are flitting by 50\n Shades of the Past, oft noticed with a sigh,\n Shall stand a votive Tablet,[684] haply free,\n When towers and temples fall, to speak of Thee!\n If sculptured emblems of our mortal doom\n Recal not there the wisdom of the Tomb, 55\n Green ivy risen from out the cheerful earth,\n Will[685] fringe the lettered stone; and herbs spring forth,\n Whose fragrance, by soft dews and rain unbound,\n Shall penetrate the heart without a wound;\n While truth and love their purposes fulfil, 60\n Commemorating genius, talent, skill,\n That could not lie concealed where Thou wert known;\n Thy virtues _He_ must judge, and He alone,\n The God upon whose mercy they are thrown.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[676] Sir George Beaumont died on 7th February 1827.--ED.\n\n[677] 1837.\n\n upon which, 1835.\n\n[678] See the Fenwick note to the next poem.--ED.\n\n[679] 1837.\n\n ... and rhyme 1835.\n\n[680] 1837.\n\n Those fine accomplishments 1835.\n\n[681] Sir George Beaumont used frequently to read Shakspeare aloud to\nhis household and friends at Coleorton.--ED.\n\n[682] 1837.\n\n ... Shakespeare's scene--\n Rebuke us not!-- 1835.\n\n[683] See, in Constable's \"England's Helicon,\" Dametus' song to his\nDiaphenia, stanza 2--\n\n Diaphenia like the spreading roses\n That in thy sweets all sweet encloses.\n\nAlso in Fairfax's translation of Tasso's _Godfrey of Bullogne; or the_\n_Recovery of Jerusalem_, book ii. stanza 18--\n\n A veil obscured the sunshine of her eyes,\n The rose within herself her sweetness closed.--ED.\n\n[684] This \"votive Tablet\" may still be seen, with its \"green ivy,\"\n\"fringing the lettered stone.\" Compare the Sonnet _To the Author's\nPortrait_, p. 318.--ED.\n\n[685] 1827.\n\n Shall ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\n\"CHATSWORTH! THY STATELY MANSION, AND THE PRIDE\"\n\n\n Composed 1830.--Published 1835.\n\n[I have reason to remember the day that gave rise to this Sonnet, the\n6th of November, 1830. Having undertaken, a great feat for me, to ride\nmy daughter's pony from Westmoreland to Cambridge, that she might have\nthe use of it while on a visit to her uncle at Trinity Lodge, on my way\nfrom Bakewell to Matlock I turned aside to Chatsworth, and had scarcely\ngratified my curiosity by the sight of that celebrated place before\nthere came on a severe storm of wind and rain which continued till I\nreached Derby, both man and pony in a pitiable plight. For myself,\nI went to bed at noon-day. In the course of that journey I had to\nencounter a storm worse if possible, in which the pony could (or would)\nonly make his way slantwise.\n\nI mention this merely to add that notwithstanding this battering I\ncomposed, on horseback, the lines to the memory of Sir George Beaumont,\nsuggested during my recent visit to Coleorton.--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n Chatsworth! thy stately mansion, and the pride\n Of thy domain, strange contrast do present\n To house and home in many a craggy rent\n Of the wild Peak; where new-born waters glide\n Through fields whose thrifty occupants abide 5\n As in a dear and chosen banishment,\n With every semblance of entire content;\n So kind is simple Nature, fairly tried!\n Yet He whose heart in childhood gave her troth\n To pastoral dales, thin-set with modest farms, 10\n May learn, if judgment strengthen with his growth,\n That, not for Fancy only, pomp hath charms;\n And, strenuous to protect from lawless harms\n The extremes of favoured life, may honour both.\n\n\n\n\n1831\n\n\nThe Poems of 1831 included _The Primrose of the Rock_, a few Sonnets,\nand _Yarrow Revisited, and other Poems, composed during a tour in\nScotland, and on the English Border, in the Autumn of 1831_.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK\n\n\n Composed 1831.--Published 1835\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. The Rock stands on the right hand a little way\nleading up the middle road from Rydal to Grasmere. We have been in the\nhabit of calling it the glow-worm rock from the number of glow-worms we\nhave often seen hanging on it as described. The tuft of primrose has, I\nfear, been washed away by the heavy rains.--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of the Imagination.\"--ED.\n\n A rock there is whose homely front[686]\n The passing traveller slights;\n Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps,\n Like stars, at various heights;\n And one coy Primrose to that Rock 5\n The vernal breeze invites.\n\n What hideous warfare hath been waged,\n What kingdoms overthrown,\n Since first I spied that Primrose-tuft\n And marked it for my own;[687] 10\n A lasting link in Nature's chain\n From highest heaven let down!\n\n The flowers, still faithful to the stems,\n Their fellowship renew;\n The stems are faithful to the root, 15\n That worketh out of view;\n And to the rock the root adheres\n In every fibre true.\n\n Close clings to earth the living rock,\n Though threatening still to fall; 20\n The earth is constant to her sphere;\n And God upholds them all:\n So blooms this lonely Plant, nor dreads\n Her annual funeral.\n\n * * * * *\n\n Here closed the meditative strain; 25\n But air breathed soft that day,\n The hoary mountain-heights were cheered,\n The sunny vale looked gay;\n And to the Primrose of the Rock\n I gave this after-lay. 30\n\n I sang--Let myriads of bright flowers,\n Like Thee, in field and grove\n Revive unenvied;--mightier far,\n Than tremblings that reprove\n Our vernal tendencies to hope, 35\n Is[688] God's redeeming love;\n\n That love which changed--for wan disease,\n For sorrow that had bent\n O'er hopeless dust, for withered age--\n Their moral element, 40\n And turned the thistles of a curse\n To types beneficent.\n\n Sin-blighted though we are, we too,\n The reasoning Sons of Men,\n From one oblivious winter called 45\n Shall rise, and breathe again;\n And in eternal summer lose\n Our threescore years and ten.\n\n To humbleness of heart descends\n This prescience from on high, 50\n The faith that elevates the just,\n Before and when they die;\n And makes each soul a separate heaven,\n A court for Deity.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[686] 1835.\n\n ... lonely front 1836.\n The edition of 1841 returns to the text of 1835.\n\n[687] In Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal the following\noccurs:--April 24, 1802.--\"We walked in the evening to Rydal. Coleridge\nand I lingered behind. We all stood to look at Glow-worm Rock--a\nprimrose that grew there, and just looked out on the road from its own\nsheltered bower.\"\n\nThe Primrose had disappeared when the Fenwick note was dictated, and\nGlow-worms have now almost deserted the district; but the _Rock_ is\nunmistakable, and it is one of the most interesting spots connected\nwith Wordsworth in the Lake District.--ED.\n\n[688] 1836.\n\n In ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nTO B. R. HAYDON, ON SEEING HIS PICTURE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE ON THE\nISLAND OF ST. HELENA\n\n\n Composed 1831.--Published 1832\n\n[This Sonnet, though said to be written on seeing the Portrait of\nNapoleon, was, in fact, composed some time after, extempore, in the\nwood at Rydal Mount.--I.F.]\n\n Haydon! let worthier judges praise the skill\n Here by thy pencil shown in truth of lines\n And charm of colours; _I_ applaud those signs\n Of thought, that give the true poetic thrill;\n That unencumbered whole of blank and still, 5\n Sky without cloud--ocean without a wave;\n And the one Man that laboured to enslave\n The World, sole-standing high on the bare hill--\n Back turned, arms folded, the unapparent face\n Tinged, we may fancy, in this dreary place 10\n With light reflected from the invisible sun\n Set, like his fortunes; but not set for aye\n Like them. The unguilty Power pursues his way,\n And before _him_ doth dawn perpetual run.[689]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[689] Haydon, as he tells us in his Autobiography, received a\ncommission from Sir Robert Peel, in December 1830, \"to paint Napoleon\nmusing, the size of life.\" He finished it in June 1831, and thus\ndescribed it himself:--\n\n\"Napoleon was peculiarly alive to poetical association as produced\nby scenery or sound; village bells with their echoing ding, dong,\ndang, now bursting full on the ear, now dying in the wind, affected\nhim as they affect everybody alive to natural impressions, and on the\neve of all his great battles you find him stealing away in the dead\nof the night, between the two hosts, and indulging in every species\nof poetical reverie. It was impossible to think of such a genius in\ncaptivity, without mysterious associations of the sky, the sea, the\nrock, and the solitude with which he was enveloped. I never imagined\nhim but as if musing at dawn, or melancholy at sunset, listening at\nmidnight to the beating and roaring of the Atlantic, or meditating as\nthe stars gazed and the moon shone on him; in short Napoleon never\nappeared to me but at those seasons of silence and twilight, when\nnature seems to sympathise with the fallen, and when if there be\nmoments in this turbulent earth fit for celestial intercourse, one\nmust imagine these would be the times immortal spirits might select\nto descend within the sphere of mortality, to soothe and comfort, to\ninspire and support the afflicted.\n\n\"Under such impressions the present picture was produced.... I imagined\nhim standing on the brow of an impending cliff, and musing on his past\nfortunes, ... sea-birds screaming at his feet, ... the sun just\ndown, ... the sails of his guard-ship glittering on the horizon,\nand the Atlantic, calm, silent, awfully deep, and endlessly\nextensive.\"--_Life of Benjamin Robert Haydon_, vol. ii. pp. 301, 302.\n\nThis picture, one of the noblest which Haydon painted, is still at\nDrayton Manor.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nYARROW REVISITED, AND OTHER POEMS\n\n\n COMPOSED (TWO EXCEPTED) DURING A TOUR IN SCOTLAND, AND ON THE\n ENGLISH BORDER, IN THE AUTUMN OF 1831.\n\n Composed 1831.--Published 1835\n\n[In the autumn of 1831, my daughter and I set off from Rydal to visit\nSir Walter Scott before his departure for Italy. This journey had been\ndelayed by an inflammation in my eyes till we found that the time\nappointed for his leaving home would be too near for him to receive\nus without considerable inconvenience. Nevertheless we proceeded and\nreached Abbotsford on Monday. I was then scarcely able to lift up my\neyes to the light. How sadly changed did I find him from the man I\nhad seen so healthy, gay, and hopeful, a few years before, when he\nsaid at the inn at Paterdale, in my presence, his daughter Anne also\nbeing there, with Mr. Lockhart, my own wife and daughter, and Mr.\nQuillinan,--\"I mean to live till I am _eighty_, and I shall write as\nlong as I live.\" But to return to Abbotsford: the inmates and guests we\nfound there were Sir Walter, Major Scott, Anne Scott, and Mr. and Mrs.\nLockhart, Mr. Liddell, his Lady and Brother, and Mr. Allan the painter,\nand Mr. Laidlaw, a very old friend of Sir Walter's. One of Burns's\nsons, an officer in the Indian service, had left the house a day or two\nbefore, and had kindly expressed his regret that he could not wait my\narrival, a regret that I may truly say was mutual. In the evening, Mr.\nand Mrs. Liddell sang, and Mrs. Lockhart chanted old ballads to her\nharp; and Mr. Allan, hanging over the back of a chair, told and acted\nold stories in a humorous way. With this exhibition and his daughter's\nsinging, Sir Walter was much amused, as indeed were we all as far as\ncircumstances would allow. But what is most worthy of mention is the\nadmirable demeanour of Major Scott during the following evening when\nthe Liddells were gone and only ourselves and Mr. Allan were present.\nHe had much to suffer from the sight of his father's infirmities and\nfrom the great change that was about to take place at the residence\nhe had built, and where he had long lived in so much prosperity and\nhappiness. But what struck me most was the patient kindness with which\nhe supported himself under the many fretful expressions that his sister\nAnne addressed to him or uttered in his hearing. She, poor thing, as\nmistress of that house, had been subject, after her mother's death, to\na heavier load of care and responsibility and greater sacrifices of\ntime than one of such a constitution of body and mind was able to bear.\nOf this, Dora and I were made so sensible, that, as soon as we had\ncrossed the Tweed on our departure, we gave vent at the same moment to\nour apprehensions that her brain would fail and she would go out of her\nmind, or that she would sink under the trials she had passed and those\nwhich awaited her. On Tuesday morning Sir Walter Scott accompanied us\nand most of the party to Newark Castle on the Yarrow. When we alighted\nfrom the carriages he walked pretty stoutly, and had great pleasure in\nrevisiting those his favourite haunts. Of that excursion the verses\n_Yarrow Revisited_ are a memorial. Notwithstanding the romance that\npervades Sir Walter's works and attaches to many of his habits, there\nis too much pressure of fact for these verses to harmonise as much as\nI could wish with other poems. On our return in the afternoon we had\nto cross the Tweed directly opposite Abbotsford. The wheels of our\ncarriage grated upon the pebbles in the bed of the stream that there\nflows somewhat rapidly: a rich but sad light of rather a purple than\na golden hue was spread over the Eildon Hills at that moment; and,\nthinking it probable that it might be the last time Sir Walter would\ncross the stream, I was not a little moved, and expressed some of my\nfeelings in the Sonnet beginning--\"A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping\nrain.\" At noon on Thursday we left Abbotsford, and in the morning of\nthat day Sir Walter and I had a serious conversation _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_,\nwhen he spoke with gratitude of the happy life which upon the whole he\nhad led. He had written in my daughter's Album, before he came into the\nbreakfast-room that morning, a few stanzas addressed to her, and, while\nputting the book into her hand, in his own study, standing by his desk,\nhe said to her in my presence--\"I should not have done anything of this\nkind but for your father's sake: they are probably the last verses I\nshall ever write.\" They show how much his mind was impaired, not by\nthe strain of thought but by the execution, some of the lines being\nimperfect, and one stanza wanting corresponding rhymes: one letter, the\ninitial S, had been omitted in the spelling of his own name. In this\ninterview also it was that, upon my expressing a hope of his health\nbeing benefited by the climate of the country to which he was going,\nand by the interest he would take in the classic remembrances of Italy,\nhe made use of the quotation from _Yarrow Unvisited_ as recorded by me\nin the _Musings of Aquapendente_ six years afterwards. Mr. Lockhart has\nmentioned in his life of him what I heard from several quarters while\nabroad, both at Rome and elsewhere, that little seemed to interest him\nbut what he could collect or hear of the fugitive Stuarts and their\nadherents who had followed them into exile. Both the _Yarrow Revisited_\nand the \"Sonnet\" were sent him before his departure from England. Some\nfurther particulars of the conversations which occurred during this\nvisit I should have set down had they not been already accurately\nrecorded by Mr. Lockhart. I first became acquainted with this great and\namiable man--Sir Walter Scott--in the year 1803, when my sister and I,\nmaking a tour in Scotland, were hospitably received by him in Lasswade\nupon the banks of the Esk, where he was then living. We saw a good deal\nof him in the course of the following week; the particulars are given\nin my sister's Journal of that tour.--I.F.]\n\n TO\n\nSAMUEL ROGERS, Esq.\n\nAS A TESTIMONY OF FRIENDSHIP, AND ACKNOWLEDGMENT\nOF INTELLECTUAL OBLIGATIONS, THESE MEMORIALS\n ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.\n\n RYDAL MOUNT, _Dec._ 11, 1834.\n\n\n\n\nI\n\n\"THE GALLANT YOUTH, WHO MAY HAVE GAINED\"\n\n\n[The following Stanzas are a memorial of a day passed with Sir Walter\nScott, and other Friends visiting the Banks of the Yarrow under his\nguidance, immediately before his departure from Abbotsford, for Naples.\n\nThe title _Yarrow Revisited_ will stand in no need of explanation, for\nReaders acquainted with the Author's previous poems, suggested by that\ncelebrated Stream.--I.F.]\n\n The gallant Youth, who may have gained,\n Or seeks, a \"winsome Marrow,\"\n Was but an Infant in the lap\n When first I looked on Yarrow;\n Once more, by Newark's Castle-gate 5\n Long left without a warder,\n I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee,\n Great Minstrel of the Border![690]\n\n Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day,\n Their dignity installing 10\n In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves\n Were on the bough, or falling;\n But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed--\n The forest to embolden;\n Reddened the fiery hues, and shot 15\n Transparence through the golden.\n\n For busy thoughts the Stream flowed on\n In foamy agitation;\n And slept in many a crystal pool\n For quiet contemplation:[691] 20\n No public and no private care\n The freeborn mind enthralling,\n We made a day of happy hours,\n Our happy days recalling.\n\n Brisk Youth appeared, the Morn of youth, 25\n With freaks of graceful folly,--\n Life's temperate Noon, her sober Eve,\n Her Night not melancholy;\n Past, present, future, all appeared\n In harmony united, 30\n Like guests that meet, and some from far,\n By cordial love invited.\n\n And if, as Yarrow, through the woods\n And down the meadow ranging,\n Did meet us with unaltered face, 35\n Though we were changed and changing;\n If, _then_, some natural shadows spread\n Our inward prospect over,\n The soul's deep valley was not slow\n Its brightness to recover. 40\n\n Eternal blessings on the Muse,\n And her divine employment!\n The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons\n For hope and calm enjoyment;\n Albeit sickness, lingering yet, 45\n Has o'er their pillow brooded;\n And Care waylays[692] their steps--a Sprite\n Not easily eluded.\n\n For thee, O SCOTT! compelled to change\n Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot 50\n For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes;\n And leave thy Tweed and Tiviot\n For mild Sorento's breezy waves;\n May classic Fancy, linking\n With native Fancy her fresh aid, 55\n Preserve thy heart from sinking!\n\n O! while they minister to thee,\n Each vying with the other,\n May Health return to mellow Age,\n With Strength, her venturous brother; 60\n And Tiber, and each brook and rill\n Renowned in song and story,\n With unimagined beauty shine,\n Nor lose one ray of glory!\n\n For Thou, upon a hundred streams, 65\n By tales of love and sorrow,\n Of faithful love, undaunted truth,\n Hast shed the power of Yarrow;\n And streams unknown, hills yet unseen,\n Wherever they[693] invite Thee, 70\n At parent Nature's grateful call,\n With gladness must requite Thee.\n\n A gracious welcome shall be thine,\n Such looks of love and honour\n As thy own Yarrow gave to me 75\n When first I gazed upon her;\n Beheld what I had feared to see,\n Unwilling to surrender\n Dreams treasured up from early days,\n The holy and the tender. 80\n\n And what, for this frail world, were all\n That mortals do or suffer,\n Did no responsive harp, no pen,\n Memorial tribute offer?\n Yea, what were mighty Nature's self? 85\n Her features, could they win us,\n Unhelped by the poetic voice\n That hourly speaks within us?\n\n Nor deem that localised Romance\n Plays false with our affections; 90\n Unsanctifies our tears--made sport\n For fanciful dejections:\n Ah, no! the visions of the past\n Sustain the heart in feeling\n Life as she is--our changeful Life, 95\n With friends and kindred dealing.\n\n Bear witness, Ye, whose thoughts that day\n In Yarrow's groves were centred;\n Who through the silent portal arch\n Of mouldering Newark enter'd; 100\n And clomb the winding stair that once\n Too timidly was mounted\n By the \"last Minstrel,\" (not the last!)\n Ere he his Tale recounted.\n\n Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream! 105\n Fulfil thy pensive duty,\n Well pleased that future Bards should chant\n For simple hearts thy beauty;\n To dream-light dear while yet unseen,\n Dear to the common sunshine, 110\n And dearer still, as now I feel,\n To memory's shadowy moonshine!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[690] Wordsworth arrived at Abbotsford with his daughter to say\nfarewell to Scott on the 21st September 1831. \"On the 22nd,\" says Mr.\nLockhart, \"these two great poets, who had through life loved each other\nwell, and in spite of very different theories as to art, appreciated\neach other's genius more justly than infirm spirits ever did either of\nthem, spent the morning together in a visit to Newark. Hence the last\nof the three poems by which Wordsworth has connected his name to all\ntime with the most romantic of Scottish streams.\"--_Memoirs of the Life\nof Sir Walter Scott_, vol. x. ch. lxxx. p. 104.\n\nCompare the note to _Musings near Aquapendente_, in the Poems of the\nItalian Tour of 1837.--ED.\n\n[691] Compare Tennyson's _Brook_, and Burns's _Epistle to William\nSimpson, Ochiltree_, stanza 15.--ED.\n\n[692] 1837.\n\n ... waylay ... 1835.\n\n[693] 1837.\n\n Where'er thy path ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT FROM ABBOTSFORD, FOR NAPLES\n\n\n A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,\n Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light\n Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height:\n Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain\n For kindred Power departing from their sight; 5\n While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain,\n Saddens his voice again, and yet again.\n Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might\n Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes;\n Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue 10\n Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows,\n Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true,\n Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea,\n Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope!\n\nWith the closing lines of this sonnet addressed to the \"winds of\nocean,\" and Sir Walter's departure for Naples, compare Horace's ode to\nthe Ship carrying Virgil to Athens (_Odes_, I. 3).\n\nOn the 19th October 1833, Henry Crabb Robinson wrote thus to his\nfriend Masquerier--\"It is, I think, the most perfect sonnet in the\nlanguage. Every word is a gem, from the 'pathetic light' in the second\nto the 'soft Parthenope' in the last line. It is composed with that\ndeep feeling and perfection of style united that bespeak the master.\"\n(_Diary, Reminiscences, etc._, vol. iii. p. 32.)\n\nThe sonnet was sent to Alaric Watts for his _Souvenir_ in 1832.\nWordsworth wrote, \"I enclose a sonnet for your next volume if you\nchoose to insert it. It would have appeared with more advantage in this\nyear's, but was not written in time. It is proper that I should mention\nit has been sent to Sir Walter Scott, and one or two of my other\nfriends.\" (See _Alaric Watts, a Narrative of his Life_, vol. ii. p.\n190.)--ED.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nA PLACE OF BURIAL IN THE SOUTH OF SCOTLAND\n\n\n[Similar places for burial are not unfrequent in Scotland. The one that\nsuggested this sonnet lies on the banks of a small stream called the\nWauchope that flows into the Esk near Langholme. Mickle, who, as it\nappears from his poem on Sir Martin, was not without genuine poetic\nfeelings, was born and passed his boyhood in this neighbourhood, under\nhis father who was a minister of the Scotch Kirk. The Esk, both above\nand below Langholme, flows through a beautiful country, and the two\nstreams of the Wauchope and the Ewes, which join it near that place,\nare such as a pastoral poet would delight in.--I.F.]\n\n Part fenced by man, part by a rugged steep\n That curbs a foaming brook, a Grave-yard lies;\n The hare's best couching-place for fearless sleep;\n Which moonlit elves, far seen by credulous eyes,\n Enter in dance. Of church, or sabbath ties, 5\n No vestige now remains; yet thither creep\n Bereft Ones, and in lowly anguish weep\n Their prayers out to the wind and naked skies.\n Proud tomb is none; but rudely-sculptured knights,\n By humble choice of plain old times, are seen 10\n Level with earth, among the hillocks green:\n Union not sad, when sunny daybreak smites\n The spangled turf, and neighbouring thickets ring\n With _jubilate_ from the choirs of spring!\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nON THE SIGHT OF A MANSE IN THE SOUTH OF SCOTLAND\n\n\n[The Manses in Scotland and the gardens and grounds about them have\nseldom that attractive appearance which is common about our English\nparsonages, even when the clergyman's income falls below the average\nof the Scotch minister's. This is not merely owing to the one country\nbeing poor in comparison with the other, but arises rather out of\nthe equality of their benefices, so that no one has enough to spare\nfor decorations that might serve as an example for others; whereas,\nwith us, the taste of the richer incumbent extends its influence more\nor less to the poorest. After all, in these observations the surface\nonly of the matter is touched. I once heard a conversation in which\nthe Roman Catholic Religion was decried on account of its abuses.\n\"You cannot deny, however,\" said a lady of the party, repeating\nan expression used by Charles II., \"that it is the religion of a\ngentleman.\" It may be left to the Scotch themselves to determine\nhow far this observation applies to their Kirk, while it cannot be\ndenied, if it is wanting in that characteristic quality, the aspect\nof common life, so far as concerns its beauty, must suffer. Sincere\nchristian piety may be thought not to stand in need of refinement or\nstudied ornament; but assuredly it is ever ready to adopt them, when\nthey fall within its notice, as means allow; and this observation\napplies not only to manners, but to everything a christian (truly so\nin spirit) cultivates and gathers round him, however humble his social\ncondition.--I.F.]\n\n Say, ye far-travelled clouds, far-seeing hills--\n Among the happiest-looking homes of men\n Scatter'd all Britain over, through deep glen,\n On airy upland, and by forest rills,\n And o'er wide plains cheered by the lark that trills 5\n His sky-born warblings[694]--does aught meet your ken\n More fit to animate the Poet's pen,\n Aught that more surely by its aspect fills\n Pure minds with sinless envy, than the Abode\n Of the good Priest: who, faithful through all hours 10\n To his high charge, and truly serving God,\n Has yet a heart and hand for trees and flowers,\n Enjoys the walks his predecessors trod,\n Nor covets lineal rights in lands and towers.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[694] 1845.\n\n And o'er wide plains whereon the sky distils\n Her lark's loved warblings; ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nCOMPOSED IN ROSLIN CHAPEL, DURING A STORM\n\n\n[We were detained by incessant rain and storm at the small inn near\nRoslin Chapel, and I passed a great part of the day pacing to and fro\nin this beautiful structure, which, though not used for public service,\nis not allowed to go to ruin. Here, this sonnet was composed. If it\nhas at all done justice to the feeling which the place and the storm\nraging without inspired, I was as a prisoner. A painter delineating the\ninterior of the chapel and its minute features under such circumstances\nwould have, no doubt, found his time agreeably shortened. But the\nmovements of the mind must be more free while dealing with words than\nwith lines and colours; such at least was then and has been on many\nother occasions my belief, and, as it is allotted to few to follow\nboth arts with success, I am grateful to my own calling for this and\na thousand other recommendations which are denied to that of the\npainter.--I. F.]\n\n The wind is now thy organist;--a clank\n (We know not whence) ministers for a bell\n To mark some change of service. As the swell\n Of music reached its height, and even when sank\n The notes, in prelude, ROSLIN! to a blank 5\n Of silence, how it thrilled thy sumptuous roof,\n Pillars, and arches,--not in vain time-proof,\n Though Christian rites be wanting! From what bank\n Came those live herbs? by what hand were they sown\n Where dew falls not, where rain-drops seem unknown? 10\n Yet in the Temple they a friendly niche\n Share with their sculptured fellows, that, green-grown,\n Copy their beauty more and more, and preach,\n Though mute, of all things blending into one.[695]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[695] \"I cannot agree with you in admiring the cathedral of Melrose\nmore than the chapel at Roslin. As far as it goes, as a whole, the\nchapel at Roslin appeared to me to be _perfection_, most beautiful in\nform, and of entire simplicity.\" (Dorothy Wordsworth to Mrs. Marshall,\nSept. 1807.)--ED.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nTHE TROSACHS\n\n\n[As recorded in my sister's Journal, I had first seen the Trosachs in\nher and Coleridge's company. The sentiment that runs through this\nSonnet was natural to the season in which I again saw this beautiful\nspot; but this and some other Sonnets that follow were coloured by the\nremembrance of my recent visit to Sir Walter Scott, and the melancholy\nerrand on which he was going.--I. F.]\n\n There's not a nook within this solemn Pass,\n But were an apt confessional for One\n Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone,\n That Life is but a tale of morning grass\n Withered at eve.[696] From scenes of art which chase[697]\n That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes 6\n Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities,\n Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass\n Untouched, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest,[698]\n If from a golden perch of aspen spray 10\n (October's workmanship to rival May)\n The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast\n That[699] moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay,\n Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[696] Compare _The Excursion_, book iii. 11. 468-474.--ED.\n\n[697] 1837.\n\n ... that chase 1835.\n\n[698] A supposed reading of this line printed, but placed by Wordsworth\namongst the _errata_ of the edition of 1835, may be quoted, as it has\ngiven rise to some controversy. In that edition the phrase was \"Thrice\nhappy Guest.\" In a copy of the same edition of 1835, which Wordsworth\npresented to the Rev. T.C. Judkin, he crossed out the G and wrote in\nQ in pencil. It was a point on which the late Matthew Arnold was much\ninterested; and although he retained, in his Selections, the reading\nfinally sanctioned by the poet, he thought, as many others have done,\nthat a good deal might be said in favour of the other reading.--ED.\n\n[699] 1837.\n\n This ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\n\"THE PIBROCH'S NOTE, DISCOUNTENANCED OR MUTE\"\n\n\n The pibroch's note, discountenanced or mute;\n The Roman kilt, degraded to a toy\n Of quaint apparel for a half-spoilt boy;\n The target mouldering like ungathered fruit;\n The smoking steam-boat eager in pursuit, 5\n As eagerly pursued; the umbrella spread\n To weather-fend the Celtic herdsman's head--\n All speak of manners withering to the root,\n And of[700] old honours, too, and passions high:\n Then may we ask, though pleased that thought should range 10\n Among the conquests of civility,\n Survives imagination--to the change\n Superior? Help to virtue does she give?[701]\n If not, O Mortals, better cease to live!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[700] 1845.\n\n And some ... 1835.\n\n[701] 1845.\n\n ... it give? 1835.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nCOMPOSED AFTER READING A NEWSPAPER OF THE DAY[702]\n\n\n \"People! your chains are severing link by link;\n Soon shall the Rich be levelled down--the Poor\n Meet them half-way.\" Vain boast! for These, the more\n They thus would rise, must low and lower sink\n Till, by repentance stung, they fear to think; 5\n While all lie prostrate, save the tyrant few\n Bent in quick turns each other to undo,\n And mix the poison they themselves must drink.\n Mistrust thyself, vain Country! cease to cry,\n \"Knowledge will save me from the threatened woe.\"\n For, if than other rash ones more thou know, 11\n Yet on presumptuous wing as far would fly\n Above thy knowledge as they dared to go,\n Thou wilt provoke a heavier penalty.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[702] This Sonnet ought to have followed No. vii. in the series of\n1831, but was omitted by mistake.--W. W. 1835.\n\nAs the above note indicates Wordsworth's own wish as to where\nthis sonnet should be placed, and approximately gives the date of\ncomposition, it is placed as No. VIII. in the sonnets of 1831. In later\neditions, Wordsworth placed it as the first in the series of \"Sonnets\ndedicated to Liberty and Order.\" The original title was _Sonnet,\ncomposed after reading a Newspaper of the Day_.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nCOMPOSED IN THE GLEN OF LOCH ETIVE\n\n\n[\"That make the Patriot spirit.\" It was mortifying to have frequent\noccasions to observe the bitter hatred of the lower orders of the\nHighlanders to their superiors; love of country seemed to have passed\ninto its opposite. Emigration was the only relief looked to with\nhope.[703]--I. F.]\n\n \"This Land of Rainbows spanning glens whose walls,\n Rock-built, are hung with rainbow-coloured mists--\n Of far-stretched Meres whose salt flood never rests--\n Of tuneful Caves and playful Waterfalls--\n Of Mountains varying momently their crests-- 5\n Proud be this Land! whose poorest huts are halls\n Where Fancy entertains becoming guests;\n While native song the heroic Past recals.\"\n Thus, in the net of her own wishes caught,\n The Muse exclaimed; but Story now must hide 10\n Her trophies, Fancy crouch; the course of pride\n Has been diverted, other lessons taught,\n That make the Patriot-spirit bow her head\n Where the all-conquering Roman feared to tread.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[703] This Fenwick note is significant. These things repeat themselves,\nand are as true in 1896, as they were in 1831.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nEAGLES\n\n\n COMPOSED AT DUNOLLIE CASTLE IN THE BAY OF OBAN\n\n[\"The last I saw was on the wing,\" off the promontory of Fairhead,\ncounty of Antrim. I mention this because, though my tour in Ireland\nwith Mr. Marshall and his son was made many years ago, this allusion\nto the eagle is the only image supplied by it to the poetry I have\nsince written. We travelled through that country in October, and to\nthe shortness of the days and the speed with which we travelled (in a\ncarriage and four) may be ascribed this want of notices, in my verse,\nof a country so interesting. The deficiency I am somewhat ashamed\nof, and it is the more remarkable as contrasted with my Scotch and\nContinental tours, of which are to be found in these volumes so many\nmemorials.--I. F.]\n\n Dishonoured Rock and Ruin! that, by law\n Tyrannic, keep the Bird of Jove embarred\n Like a lone criminal whose life is spared.\n Vexed is he, and screams loud. The last I saw\n Was on the wing; stooping, he struck with awe 5\n Man, bird, and beast; then, with a consort paired,[704]\n From a bold headland, their loved aery's guard,\n Flew high[705] above Atlantic waves, to draw\n Light from the fountain of the setting sun.\n Such was this Prisoner once; and, when his plumes\n The sea-blast ruffles as the storm comes on, 11\n Then, for a moment, he, in spirit, resumes[706]\n His rank 'mong freeborn creatures that live free,\n His power, his beauty, and his majesty.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[704] 1835.\n\n Was on the wing, and struck my soul with awe,\n Now wheeling low, then with a consort paired,\n\n MS. copy sent to Sir William Rowan Hamilton.\n\n[705] 1835.\n\n Flying ...\n\n MS. to Sir W. R. Hamilton.\n\n[706] 1845.\n\n In spirit, for a moment, he resumes\n\n MS. to Sir W. R. Hamilton, and 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nIN THE SOUND OF MULL\n\n\n[Touring late in the season in Scotland is an uncertain speculation.\nWe were detained a week by rain at Bunaw on Loch Etive in a vain hope\nthat the weather would clear up and allow me to show my daughter the\nbeauties at Glencoe. Two days we were at the Isle of Mull, on a visit\nto Major Campbell; but it rained incessantly, and we were obliged\nto give up our intention of going to Staffa. The rain pursued us to\nTyndrum, where the Twelfth Sonnet was composed in a storm.--I. F.]\n\n Tradition, be thou mute! Oblivion, throw\n Thy veil in mercy o'er the records, hung\n Round strath and mountain, stamped by the ancient tongue\n On rock and ruin darkening as we go,--\n Spots where a word, ghost-like, survives to show 5\n What crimes from hate, or desperate love, have sprung;\n From honour misconceived, or fancied wrong,\n What feuds, not quenched but fed by mutual woe.\n Yet, though a wild vindictive Race, untamed\n By civil arts and labours of the pen, 10\n Could gentleness be scorned by those[707] fierce Men,\n Who, to spread wide the reverence they claimed[708]\n For patriarchal occupations, named\n Yon towering Peaks, \"Shepherds of Etive Glen?\"[709]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[707] 1837.\n\n ... these ... 1835.\n\n[708] 1837.\n\n ... reverence that they claimed. 1835.\n\n[709] In Gaelic, _Buachaill Etive_.--W. W. 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nSUGGESTED AT TYNDRUM IN A STORM[710]\n\n\n Enough of garlands, of the Arcadian crook,\n And all that Greece and Italy have sung\n Of Swains reposing myrtle groves among!\n _Ours_ couch on naked rocks,--will cross a brook\n Swoln with chill rains, nor ever cast a look 5\n This way or that, or give it even a thought\n More than by smoothest pathway may be brought\n Into a vacant mind. Can written book\n Teach what _they_ learn? Up, hardy Mountaineer!\n And guide the Bard, ambitious to be One 10\n Of Nature's privy council, as thou art,\n On cloud-sequestered heights, that see and hear\n To what dread Powers[711] He delegates his part\n On earth, who works in the heaven of heavens, alone.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[710] 1837.\n\nIn 1835 the title was _At Tyndrum_.\n\n[711] 1837.\n\n ... Power ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\nTHE EARL OF BREADALBANE'S RUINED MANSION, AND FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE, NEAR\nKILLIN\n\n\n Well sang the Bard who called the grave, in strains\n Thoughtful and sad, the \"narrow house.\"[712] No style\n Of fond sepulchral flattery can beguile\n Grief of her sting; nor cheat, where he detains\n The sleeping dust, stern Death. How reconcile 5\n With truth, or with each other, decked remains\n Of a once warm Abode, and that _new_ Pile,\n For the departed, built with curious pains\n And mausolean pomp?[713] Yet here they stand\n Together,--'mid trim walks and artful bowers, 10\n To be looked down upon by ancient hills,\n That, for the living and the dead, demand\n And prompt a harmony of genuine powers;\n Concord that elevates the mind, and stills.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[712] This phrase is used by James Graham, in _The Poor Man's Funeral_;\nby Southey, in _Joan of Arc_ (book viii.); by Ossian (frequently); and\nby Burns, in his _Lament of Mary Queen of Scots_ (l. 53). Wordsworth\nprobably refers to Burns.--ED.\n\n[713] Finlarig, near Killin, is the burial-place of the Breadalbane\nfamily. \"The modern mausoleum occupies a solitary position in the\nvicinity of the old ruins.\"--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\n\"REST AND BE THANKFUL!\"\n\n\n AT THE HEAD OF GLENCROE\n\n Doubling and doubling with laborious walk,\n Who, that has gained at length the wished-for Height,\n This brief this simple way-side Call can slight,\n And rests not thankful? Whether cheered by talk\n With some loved friend, or by the unseen hawk 5\n Whistling to clouds and sky-born streams, that shine\n At the sun's outbreak, as with light divine,\n Ere they descend to nourish root and stalk\n Of valley flowers. Nor, while the limbs repose,\n Will we forget that, as the fowl can keep 10\n Absolute stillness, poised aloft in air,\n And fishes front, unmoved, the torrent's sweep,--\n So may the Soul, through powers that Faith bestows,\n Win rest, and ease, and peace, with bliss that Angels share.\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nHIGHLAND HUT\n\n\n See what gay wild flowers deck this earth-built Cot,\n Whose smoke, forth-issuing whence and how it may,\n Shines in the greeting of the sun's first ray\n Like wreaths of vapour without stain or blot.\n The limpid mountain rill avoids it not; 5\n And why shouldst thou?--If rightly trained and bred,\n Humanity is humble, finds no spot\n Which her Heaven-guided feet refuse to tread.\n The walls are cracked, sunk is the flowery roof,\n Undressed the pathway leading to the door; 10\n But love, as Nature loves, the lonely Poor;\n Search, for their worth, some gentle heart wrong-proof,\n Meek, patient, kind, and, were its trials fewer,\n Belike less happy.--Stand no more aloof![714]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[714] This sonnet describes the _exterior_ of a Highland hut, as\noften seen under morning or evening sunshine. To the authoress of the\n_Address to the Wind_, and other poems, in these volumes, who was my\nfellow-traveller in this tour, I am indebted for the following extract\nfrom her journal, which[715] accurately describes, under particular\ncircumstances, the beautiful appearance of the _interior_ of one of\nthese rude habitations.\n\n\"On our return from the Trosachs the evening began to darken, and it\nrained so heavily that we were completely wet before we had come two\nmiles, and it was dark when we landed with our boatman, at his hut upon\nthe banks of Loch Katrine. I was faint from cold: the good woman had\nprovided, according to her promise, a better fire than we had found in\nthe morning; and, indeed, when I sat down in the chimney-corner of her\nsmoky biggin, I thought I had never felt more comfortable in my life:\na pan of coffee was boiling for us, and, having put our clothes in the\nway of drying, we all sat down thankful for a shelter. We could not\nprevail upon our boatman, the master of the house, to draw near the\nfire, though he was cold and wet, or to suffer his wife to get him dry\nclothes till she had served us, which she did most willingly, though\nnot very expeditiously.\n\n\"A Cumberland man of the same rank would not have had such a notion of\nwhat was fit and right in his own house, or, if he had, one would have\naccused him of servility; but in the Highlander it only seemed like\npoliteness (however erroneous and painful to us), naturally growing\nout of the dependence of the inferiors of the clan upon their laird;\nhe did not, however, refuse to let his wife bring out the whisky\nbottle for his refreshment, at our request. 'She keeps a dram,' as the\nphrase is: indeed, I believe there is scarcely a lonely house by the\nway-side, in Scotland, where travellers may not be accommodated with\na dram. We asked for sugar, butter, barley-bread, and milk; and, with\na smile and a stare more of kindness than wonder, she replied, 'Ye'll\nget that,' bringing each article separately. We caroused our cups of\ncoffee, laughing like children at the strange atmosphere in which we\nwere: the smoke came in gusts, and spread along the walls; and above\nour heads in the chimney (where the hens were _roosting_) it appeared\nlike clouds[716] in the sky. We laughed and laughed again, in spite of\nthe smarting of our eyes, yet had a quieter pleasure in observing the\nbeauty of the beams and rafters gleaming between the clouds of smoke:\nthey had been crusted over, and varnished by many winters, till, where\nthe firelight fell upon them, they had become as glossy as black rocks,\non a sunny day, cased in ice. When we had eaten our supper we sat about\nhalf an hour, and I think I never felt so deeply the blessing of a\nhospitable welcome and a warm fire. The man of the house repeated from\ntime to time that we should often tell of this night when we got to\nour homes, and interposed praises of his own lake, which he had more\nthan once, when we were returning in the boat, ventured to say was\n'bonnier than Loch Lomond.' Our companion from the Trosachs, who, it\nappeared, was an Edinburgh drawing-master going, during the vacation,\non a pedestrian tour to John o' Groat's house, was to sleep in the barn\nwith my fellow-travellers, where the man said he had plenty of dry hay.\nI do not believe that the hay of the Highlands is ever very dry, but\nthis year it had a better chance than usual: wet or dry, however, the\nnext morning they said they had slept comfortably. When I went to bed,\nthe mistress, desiring me to '_go ben_,' attended me with a candle, and\nassured me that the bed was dry, though not 'sic as I had been used\nto.' It was of chaff; there were two others in the room, a cupboard and\ntwo chests, upon one of which stood milk in wooden vessels, covered\nover. The walls of the house were of stone unplastered: it consisted of\nthree apartments, the cowhouse at one end, the kitchen or house in the\nmiddle, and the spence at the other end; the rooms were divided, not up\nto the rigging, but only to the beginning of the roof, so that there\nwas a free passage for light and smoke from one end of the house to the\nother. I went to bed some time before the rest of the family; the door\nwas shut between us, and they had a bright fire, which I could not see,\nbut the light it sent up amongst[717] the varnished rafters and beams,\nwhich crossed each other in almost as intricate and fantastic a manner\nas I have seen the under-boughs of a large beech tree withered by the\ndepth of shade above, produced the most beautiful effect that can be\nconceived. It was like what I should suppose an under-ground cave or\ntemple to be, with a dripping or moist roof, and the moonlight entering\nin upon it by some means or other: and yet the colours were more like\nthose of melted gems. I lay looking up till the light of the fire\nfaded away, and the man and his wife and child had crept into their\nbed at the other end of the room: I did not sleep much, but passed a\ncomfortable night; for my bed, though hard, was warm and clean: the\nunusualness of my situation prevented me from sleeping. I could hear\nthe waves beat against the shore of the lake: a little rill close to\nthe door made a much louder noise, and, when I sat up in my bed, I\ncould see the lake through an open window-place at the bed's head. Add\nto this, it rained all night. I was less occupied by remembrance of the\nTrosachs, beautiful as they were, than the vision of the Highland hut,\nwhich I could not get out of my head; I thought of the Faery-land of\nSpenser, and what I had read in romance at other times; and then what a\nfeast it would be for a London Pantomime-maker could he but transplant\nit to Drury-lane, with all its beautiful colours!\"--MS. W. W. 1835.\n\n[715] 1837.\n\n ... sunshine. The reader may not be displeased with\n the following extract from the journal of a Lady, my\n fellow-traveller in Scotland in the autumn of 1803, which ...\n 1835.\n\n[716] 1837.\n\n roosting) like clouds 1835.\n\n[717] 1845.\n\n among 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nTHE BROWNIE\n\n\nUpon a small island not far from the head of Loch Lomond, are some\nremains of an ancient building, which was for several years the abode\nof a solitary Individual, one of the last survivors of the clan of\nMacfarlane, once powerful in that neighbourhood. Passing along the\nshore opposite this island in the year 1814, the Author learned these\nparticulars, and that this person then living there had acquired the\nappellation of \"The Brownie.\" See _The Brownie's Cell_ (vol. vi. p.\n16), to which the following[718] is a sequel.--W. W.\n\n \"How disappeared he?\" Ask the newt and toad;\n Ask of his fellow men, and they will tell\n How he was found, cold as an icicle,\n Under an arch of that forlorn abode;\n Where he, unpropp'd, and by the gathering flood 5\n Of years hemm'd round, had dwelt, prepared to try\n Privation's worst extremities, and die\n With no one near save the omnipresent God.\n Verily so to live was an awful choice--\n A choice that wears the aspect of a doom; 10\n But in the mould of mercy all is cast\n For Souls familiar with the eternal Voice;\n And this forgotten Taper to the last\n Drove from itself, we trust, all frightful gloom.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[718] 1837.\n\n following Sonnet is 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nTO THE PLANET VENUS, AN EVENING STAR\n\n\n COMPOSED AT LOCH LOMOND\n\n Though joy attend Thee orient at the birth\n Of dawn, it cheers the lofty spirit most\n To watch thy course when Day-light, fled from earth,\n In the grey sky hath left his lingering Ghost,\n Perplexed as if between a splendour lost 5\n And splendour slowly mustering. Since the Sun,\n The absolute, the world-absorbing One,\n Relinquished half his empire to the host\n Emboldened by thy guidance, holy Star,\n Holy as princely, who that looks on thee 10\n Touching, as now, in thy humility\n The mountain borders of this seat of care,\n Can question that thy countenance is bright,\n Celestial Power, as much with love as light?\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nBOTHWELL CASTLE\n\n\n (PASSED UNSEEN, ON ACCOUNT OF STORMY WEATHER)\n\n[In my Sister's Journal is an account of Bothwell Castle as it\nappeared to us at that time.--I.F.]\n\n Immured in Bothwell's Towers, at times the Brave\n (So beautiful is Clyde) forgot to mourn\n The liberty they lost at Bannockburn.\n Once on those steeps _I_ roamed[719] at large, and have\n In mind the landscape, as if still in sight; 5\n The river glides, the woods before me wave;\n Then why repine that now in vain I crave[720]\n Needless renewal of an old delight?\n Better to thank a dear and long-past day\n For joy its sunny hours were free to give 10\n Than blame the present, that our wish hath crost.\n Memory, like sleep, hath powers which dreams obey,\n Dreams, vivid dreams, that are not fugitive:\n How little that she cherishes is lost!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[719] The following is from the same MS., and gives an account of the\nvisit to Bothwell Castle here alluded to:--\n\n\"It was exceedingly delightful to enter thus unexpectedly upon such\na beautiful region. The castle stands nobly, overlooking the Clyde.\nWhen we came up to it, I was hurt to see that flower-borders had\ntaken place of the natural overgrowings of the ruin, the scattered\nstones and wild plants. It is a large and grand pile of red freestone,\nharmonising perfectly with the rocks of the river, from which, no\ndoubt, it has been hewn. When I was a little accustomed to the\nunnaturalness of a modern garden, I could not help admiring the\nexcessive beauty and luxuriance of some of the plants, particularly the\npurple-flowered clematis, and a broad-leafed creeping plant without\nflowers, which scrambled up the castle wall, along with the ivy, and\nspread its vine-like branches so lavishly that it seemed to be in\nits natural situation, and one could not help thinking that, though\nnot self-planted among the ruins of this country, it must somewhere\nhave its native abode in such places. If Bothwell Castle had not been\nclose to the Douglas mansion, we should have been disgusted with\nthe possessor's miserable conception of _adorning_ such a venerable\nruin; but it is so very near to the house, that of necessity the\npleasure-grounds must have extended beyond it, and perhaps the neatness\nof a shaven lawn and the complete desolation natural to a ruin might\nhave made an unpleasing contrast; and, besides being within the\nprecincts of the pleasure-grounds, and so very near to the dwelling\nof a noble family, it has forfeited, in some degree, its independent\nmajesty, and becomes a tributary to the mansion: its solitude being\ninterrupted, it has no longer the command over the mind in sending it\nback into past times, or excluding the ordinary feelings which we bear\nabout us in daily life. We had then only to regret that the castle\nand the house were so near to each other; and it was impossible _not_\nto regret it; for the ruin presides in state over the river, far from\ncity or town, as if it might have a peculiar privilege to preserve its\nmemorials of past ages, and maintain its own character for centuries\nto come. We sat upon a bench under the high trees, and had beautiful\nviews of the different reaches of the river, above and below. On the\nopposite bank, which is finely wooded with elms and other trees, are\nthe remains of a priory built upon a rock; and rock and ruin are so\nblended, that it is impossible to separate the one from the other.\nNothing can be more beautiful than the little remnant of this holy\nplace: elm trees (for we were near enough to distinguish them by their\nbranches) grow out of the walls, and overshadow a small, but very\nelegant window. It can scarcely be conceived what a grace the castle\nand priory impart to each other; and the river Clyde flows on, smooth\nand unruffled below, seeming to my thoughts more in harmony with the\nsober and stately images of former times, than if it had roared over\na rocky channel, forcing its sound upon the ear. It blended gently\nwith the warbling of the smaller birds, and the chattering of the\nlarger ones, that had made their nests in the ruins. In this fortress\nthe chief of the English nobility were confined after the battle of\nBannockburn. If a man _is_ to be a prisoner, he scarcely could have a\nmore pleasant place to solace his captivity; but I thought that, for\nclose confinement, I should prefer the banks of a lake, or the seaside.\nThe greatest charm of a brook or river is in the liberty to pursue it\nthrough its windings: you can then take it in whatever mood you like;\nsilent or noisy, sportive or quiet. The beauties of a brook or river\nmust be sought, and the pleasure is in going in search of them; those\nof a lake or of the sea come to you of themselves. These rude warriors\ncared little, perhaps, about either; and yet, if one may judge from\nthe writings of Chaucer, and from the old romances, more interesting\npassions were connected with natural objects in the days of chivalry\nthan now; though going in search of scenery, as it is called, had\nnot then been thought of. I had previously heard nothing of Bothwell\nCastle, at least nothing that I remembered; therefore, perhaps, my\npleasure was greater, compared with what I received elsewhere, than\nothers might feel.\"--MS. Journal.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[720] 1837.\n\n But, by occasion tempted, now I crave 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXIX\n\nPICTURE OF DANIEL IN THE LIONS' DEN, AT HAMILTON PALACE\n\n\n Amid a fertile region green with wood\n And fresh with rivers, well did[721] it become\n The ducal Owner, in his palace-home\n To naturalise this tawny Lion brood;\n Children of Art, that claim strange brotherhood 5\n (Couched in their den) with those that roam at large\n Over the burning wilderness, and charge\n The wind with terror while they roar for food.\n Satiate are _these_; and stilled to eye and ear;\n Hence, while we gaze,[722] a more enduring fear! 10\n Yet is the Prophet calm, nor would the cave\n Daunt him--if his Companions, now be-drowsed\n Outstretched[723] and listless, were by hunger roused:\n Man placed him here, and God, he knows, can save.\n\nHenry Crabb Robinson gives an account of this picture in his _Diary,\netc._ (vol. ii. pp. 214, 215):--\n\n\"On September the 29th, from Lanark I visited the Duke of Hamilton's\npalace, and had unusual pleasure in the paintings to be seen there.\nI venture to copy my remarks on the famous Rubens' 'Daniel in the\nLions' Den:'--'The variety of character in the lions is admirable.\nHere is indignation at the unintelligible power which restrains them;\nthere reverence towards the being whom they dare not touch. One of\nthem is consoled by the contemplation of the last skull he has been\npicking; one is anticipating his next meal; two are debating the\nsubject together. But the Prophet, with a face resembling Curran's\n(foreshortened so as to lose its best expression), has all the muscles\nof his countenance strained from extreme terror. He is without joy or\nhope; and though his doom is postponed, he has no faith in the miracle\nwhich is to reward his integrity. It is a painting rather to astonish\nthan delight.'\"\n\nIn a footnote Robinson adds, \"Daniel's head is thrown back, and he\nlooks upwards with an earnest expression and clasped hands, as if\nvehemently supplicating. The picture formerly belonged to King Charles\nI. It was at that time entered as follows in the Catalogue of the Royal\nPictures:--'A piece of Daniel in the Lions' Den with lions about him,\ngiven by the deceased Lord Dorchester to the king, being so big as the\nlife. Done by Sir Peter Paul Rubens.' Dr. Waagen very justly observes\nthat, upon the whole, the figure of Daniel is only an accessory\nemployed by the great master to introduce, in the most perfect form,\nnine figures of lions and lionesses the size of life. Rubens, in a\nletter to Sir Dudley Carleton (who presented the picture to the king),\ndated April 28th, 1618, expressly states that it was wholly his own\nworkmanship. The price was six hundred florins. Engraved in mezzotint\nby W. Ward, 1789.\"\n\nThis famous picture, after having been in the possession of the\nDuke of Hamilton, was sold--in 1882--to Mr. Denison, Yorkshire. The\nfollowing is from the catalogue of the Hamilton Palace sale:--\n\nRUBENS--DANIEL IN THE DEN OF LIONS.--The prophet is represented sitting\nnaked in the middle of the den, his hands clasped, and his countenance\ndirected upward with an expression of earnest prayer. Nine lions are\nprowling around him. Engraved by Blooteling, Van der Leuw, and Lamb,\nand in mezzotint by J. Ward. There is also an etching of it by Street,\nextremely rare. This is one of the few great pictures by Rubens which\nwe know with certainty to have been entirely executed by his own\nhand. Rubens says this explicitly in an Italian letter to Sir Dudley\nCarleton, which Mr. Carpenter has printed in his _Pictorial Notices_,\np. 140. This picture was presented by Sir Dudley Carleton to Charles\nI., and is inserted in the printed catalogue of his collection at page\n87.\n\n \"No. 14.\n\n[Sidenote: Done by Sir Peter Paul Rubens.]\n\n Item.--A piece of Daniel in the lions' den, with lions about\n him. Given by the deceased Lord Dorchester to the king, so\n big as the life, in a black gilded frame.\"\n\nIt was sold to Mr. Denison for \u00a35145.--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[721] 1840.\n\n ... doth ... 1835.\n\n[722] 1845.\n\n But _these_ are satiate, and a stillness drear\n Calls into life ... 1835.\n\n Satiate are _these_; and still--to eye and ear;\n Hence, while we gaze, ... 1837.\n\n[723] 1837.\n\n Yawning ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXX\n\nTHE AVON\n\n\n (A FEEDER OF THE ANNAN)\n\n[\"Yet is it one that other rivulets bear.\" There is the Shakespeare\nAvon, the Bristol Avon; the one that flows by Salisbury, and a small\nriver in Wales, I believe, bear the name; Avon being in the ancient\ntongue the general name for river.--I. F.]\n\n Avon--a precious, an immortal name!\n Yet is it one that other rivulets bear\n Like this unheard-of, and their channels wear\n Like this contented, though unknown to Fame:\n For great and sacred is the modest claim 5\n Of Streams to Nature's love, where'er they flow;\n And ne'er did Genius slight them, as they go,\n Tree, flower, and green herb, feeding without blame.\n But Praise can waste her voice on work of tears,\n Anguish, and death: full oft where innocent blood 10\n Has mixed its current with the limpid flood,\n Her heaven-offending trophies Glory rears:\n Never for like distinction may the good\n Shrink from _thy_ name, pure Rill, with unpleased ears.\n\n\n\n\nXXI\n\nSUGGESTED BY A VIEW FROM AN EMINENCE IN INGLEWOOD FOREST\n\n\n[The extensive forest of Inglewood has been enclosed within my memory.\nI was well acquainted with it in its ancient state. The Hart's-horn\ntree mentioned in the next Sonnet was one of its remarkable objects, as\nwell as another tree that grew upon an eminence not far from Penrith:\nit was single and conspicuous; and being of a round shape, though it\nwas universally known to be a Sycamore, it was always called the \"Round\nThorn,\" so difficult is it to chain fancy down to fact.--I.F.]\n\n The forest huge of ancient Caledon\n Is but a name, no[724] more is Inglewood,\n That swept from hill to hill, from flood to flood:\n On her last thorn the nightly moon has shone;\n Yet still, though unappropriate Wild be none, 5\n Fair parks spread wide where Adam Bell might deign\n With Clym o' the Clough, were they alive again,\n To kill for merry feast their venison.\n Nor wants the holy Abbot's gliding Shade\n His church with monumental wreck bestrown; 10\n The feudal Warrior-chief, a Ghost unlaid,\n Hath still his castle, though a skeleton,\n That he may watch by night, and lessons con\n Of power that perishes, and rights that fade.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[724] 1845.\n\n ... nor ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXXII\n\nHART'S-HORN TREE, NEAR PENRITH[725]\n\n\n Here stood an Oak, that long had borne affixed\n To his huge trunk, or, with more subtle art,\n Among its withering topmost branches mixed,\n The palmy antlers of a hunted Hart,\n Whom the Dog Hercules pursued--his part 5\n Each desperately sustaining, till at last\n Both sank and died, the life-veins of the chased\n And chaser bursting here with one dire smart.\n Mutual the victory, mutual the defeat!\n High was the trophy hung with pitiless pride; 10\n Say, rather, with that generous sympathy\n That wants not, even in rudest breasts, a seat;\n And, for this feeling's sake, let no one chide\n Verse that would guard thy memory, HART'S-HORN TREE![726]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[725] This tree has perished, but its site is still well known. Compare\nthe note to _Roman Antiquities_, p. 308.--ED.\n\n[726] \"In the time of the first Robert de Clifford, in the year 1333 or\n1334, Edward Baliol king of Scotland came into Westmoreland, and stayed\nsome time with the said Robert at his castles of Appleby, Brougham, and\nPendragon. And during that time they ran a stag by a single greyhound\nout of Whinfell Park, to Redkirk, in Scotland,[727] and back again\nto this place; where, being both spent, the stag leaped over the\npales, but died on the other side; and the greyhound, attempting to\nleap, fell, and died on the contrary side. In memory of this fact the\nstag's horns were nailed upon a tree just by, and (the dog being named\nHercules) this rhythm was made upon them:\n\n Hercules kill'd Hart a greese,\n And Hart a greese kill'd Hercules.\n\nThe tree to this day bears the name of Hart's-horn Tree. The horns in\nprocess of time were almost grown over by the growth of the tree, and\nanother pair was put up in their place.\"--Nicholson and Burn's _History\nof Westmoreland and Cumberland_.\n\nThe tree has now disappeared, but I well remember its[728] imposing\nappearance as it stood, in a decayed state, by the side of the high\nroad leading from Penrith to Appleby. This whole neighbourhood abounds\nin interesting traditions and vestiges of antiquity, viz., Julian's\nBower; Brougham and Penrith Castles; Penrith Beacon, and the curious\nremains in Penrith Churchyard; Arthur's Round Table,[729] and, close\nby, Maybrough; the excavation, called the Giant's Cave, on the banks\nof the Emont; Long Meg and her Daughters, near Eden, etc., etc.--W. W.\n1835.\n\n[727] \"So say the Countess's Memoirs; but they probably mistake Redkirk\nfor Ninekirks in this parish. A runnel, called Hart-horn Sike, in\nWhinfell Park, is mentioned in the partition of the Veteripont estate,\nbetween Isabella and Idonea.\"--Burn's _History of Westmoreland and\nCumberland_.--ED.\n\n[728] 1845.\n\n but the author of these poems well remembers its ... 1835.\n\n[729] 1845.\n\n Table; the Excavation ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII\n\nFANCY AND TRADITION\n\n\n The Lovers took within this ancient grove\n Their last embrace; beside those crystal springs[730]\n The Hermit saw the Angel spread his wings\n For instant flight; the Sage in yon alcove[731]\n Sate musing; on that hill the Bard would rove, 5\n Not mute, where now the linnet only sings:\n Thus every where to truth Tradition clings,[732]\n Or Fancy localises Powers we love.\n Were only History[733] licensed to take note\n Of things gone by, her meagre monuments 10\n Would ill suffice for persons and events:\n There is an ampler page for man to quote,\n A readier book of manifold contents,\n Studied alike in palace and in cot.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[730] 1835.\n\n There fell the Hero in this ancient grove\n The lovers pledged their faith beside these springs.\n\n MS.\n\n[731] 1835.\n\n ... this alcove\n\n MS.\n\n[732] 1835.\n\n Thus to the truth Tradition fondly clings\n\n MS.\n\n[733] 1835.\n\n Were History only ...\n\n MS.\n\n\n\n\nXXIV\n\nCOUNTESS' PILLAR[734]\n\n\nOn the roadside between Penrith and Appleby, there stands a pillar with\nthe following inscription:--\n\n\"This Pillar was erected, anno 1656, By ye Rt honoble Anne Countess\nDowager of Pembrock etc., Daughter and sole heire of ye Rt honoble\nGeorge Earl of Cumberland, etc., for a memorial of her last parting\nin this place with her good and pious mother, ye Rt honoble Margaret,\nCountess Dowagr of Cumberland ye 2d of April 1616. In memory whereof\nshe also left an annuity of four pounds to be distributed to ye poor\nwithin this parish of Brougham every 2d day of April for ever, upon ye\nstone table here hard by. Laus Deo!\"--W. W.\n\n[Suggested by the recollection of Julian's Bower and other traditions\nconnected with this ancient forest.--I.F.]\n\n While the Poor gather round, till the end of time\n May this bright flower of Charity display\n Its bloom, unfolding at the appointed day;\n Flower than the loveliest of the vernal prime\n Lovelier--transplanted from heaven's purest clime! 5\n \"Charity never faileth:\" on that creed,\n More than on written testament or deed,\n The pious Lady built with hope sublime.\n Alms on this stone to be dealt out, _for ever_!\n \"LAUS DEO.\" Many a Stranger passing by 10\n Has with that Parting mixed a filial sigh,\n Blest its humane Memorial's fond endeavour;\n And, fastening on those lines an eye tear-glazed,\n Has ended, though no Clerk, with \"God be praised!\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[734] The Countess' Pillar is an octagonal one, on the high road from\nPenrith, a couple of miles out of the town on the Appleby road, a\nquarter of a mile from Brougham Castle, and over eleven miles from\nAppleby. It is somewhat weather-worn, but is preserved with care. On\nthe north side of the pillar are the Pembroke Arms, and the date 1654.\nThe inscription is in a copper plate, sunk in the stone. I have copied\nthe \"inscription\" from the pillar itself, and have corrected, in what\nis given above, some errata in the poet's transcript of it.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXV\n\nROMAN ANTIQUITIES\n\n\n [FROM THE ROMAN STATION AT OLD PENRITH]\n\n How profitless the relics that we cull,\n Troubling the last holds of ambitious Rome,\n Unless they chasten fancies that presume\n Too high, or idle agitations lull!\n Of the world's flatteries if the brain be full, 5\n To have no seat for thought were better doom,\n Like this old helmet, or the eyeless skull\n Of him who gloried in its nodding plume.\n Heaven out of view, our wishes what are they?\n Our fond regrets tenacious[735] in their grasp? 10\n The Sage's theory? the Poet's lay?--\n Mere Fibulae without a robe to clasp;\n Obsolete lamps, whose light no time recals;\n Urns without ashes, tearless lacrymals!\n\nI am indebted to Dr. Taylor of Penrith for the following note in\nreference to these \"Roman Antiquities\" at Old Penrith:--\"I have great\npleasure in giving you what information I can, concerning the Roman\nStation of Old Penrith. It is called 'Petriana' by Camden, but most\narchaeologists now allocate it in the '2nd Iter,' as the Station\n'Voreda'--on the road between York and Carlisle. This road passes over\nStanemoor, by Bowes, Brough, Kirkbythore, Brougham, and Plumpton Wall\n(or Voreda), to Lugovallum or Carlisle. The Roman Camps are visible\nat all these places, and the old Roman road is recognisable in many\nparts. This Old Penrith, Plumpton Wall, or Voreda, is a camp of the\nthird class. At a time, probably about the period which Wordsworth\nalludes to, several Roman stones and altars were dug up at Voreda, and\nare now deposited in Lowther Castle. Wordsworth had relations living in\nPenrith, whom he used to visit occasionally, and it is probable that\nafter a visit to Voreda, which is about six miles from here, he wrote\nthe Sonnet alluded to. The 'Hart-horn Tree' referred to in the 'Legend\nof the Hunt of the Stag' stood in the park of Whinfell, in the parish\nof Brougham, but has disappeared for many years.\"--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[735] 1837.\n\n ... insatiate ... 1835.\n Our fond regrets, all that our hopes would grasp C.\n\n\n\n\nXXVI\n\nAPOLOGY[736]\n\nFOR THE FOREGOING POEMS\n\n\n No more: the end is sudden and abrupt,\n Abrupt--as without preconceived design\n Was the beginning; yet the several Lays\n Have moved in order, to each other bound\n By a continuous and acknowledged tie 5\n Though unapparent--like those Shapes distinct\n That yet survive ensculptured on the walls\n Of palaces, or temples,[737] 'mid the wreck\n Of famed Persepolis;[738] each following each,\n As might beseem a stately embassy,\n In set array; these bearing in their hands\n Ensign of civil power, weapon of war,\n Or gift to be presented at the throne\n Of the Great King; and others, as they go\n In priestly vest, with holy offerings charged, 15\n Or leading victims drest for sacrifice.\n Nor will the Power we serve, that sacred Power,\n The Spirit of humanity, disdain\n A[739] ministration humble but sincere,\n That from a threshold loved by every Muse 20\n Its impulse took--that sorrow-stricken door,\n Whence, as a current from its fountain-head,\n Our thoughts have issued, and our feelings flowed,\n Receiving, willingly or not, fresh strength\n From kindred sources; while around us sighed 25\n (Life's three first seasons having passed away)\n Leaf-scattering winds; and hoar-frost sprinklings fell\n (Foretaste of winter) on the moorland heights;\n And every day brought with it tidings new\n Of rash change, ominous for the public weal. 30\n Hence, if dejection has[740] too oft encroached\n Upon that sweet and tender melancholy\n Which may itself be cherished and caressed\n More than enough; a fault so natural\n (Even with the young, the hopeful, or the gay) 35\n For prompt forgiveness will not sue in vain.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[736] In the edition of 1835 the title was _Apology_.\n\n[737] 1845.\n\n Of Palace, or of Temple, ... 1835.\n\n[738] Compare _Processions in the Vale of Chamouny_, in the \"Memorials\nof a Tour on the Continent,\" 1820, vol. vi. p. 363.--ED.\n\n[739] 1837.\n\n Nor will the Muse condemn, or treat with scorn\n Our ... 1835.\n\n[740] 1837.\n\n ... have ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXXVII\n\nTHE HIGHLAND BROACH\n\n\nThe exact resemblance which the old Broach (still in use, though rarely\nmet with, among the Highlanders) bears to the Roman Fibula must\nstrike every one, and concurs, with the plaid and kilt, to recall to\nmind the communication which the ancient Romans had with this remote\ncountry.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[On ascending a hill that leads from Loch Awe towards Inverary, I fell\ninto conversation with a woman of the humbler class who wore one of\nthose Highland Broaches. I talked with her about it; and upon parting\nwith her, when I said with a kindness I truly felt--\"May that Broach\ncontinue in your family through many generations to come, as you have\nalready possessed it\"--she thanked me most becomingly and seemed not a\nlittle moved.--I.F.]\n\n If to Tradition faith be due\n And echoes from old verse speak true\n Ere the meek Saint, Columba, bore\n Glad tidings to Iona's shore,\n No common light of nature blessed 5\n The mountain region of the west,\n A land where gentle manners ruled\n O'er men in dauntless virtues schooled,\n That raised, for centuries, a bar\n Impervious to the tide of war: 10\n Yet peaceful Arts did entrance gain\n Where haughty Force had striven in vain;\n And, 'mid the works of skilful hands,\n By wanderers brought from foreign lands\n And various climes, was not unknown 15\n The clasp that fixed the Roman Gown;\n The Fibula, whose shape, I ween,\n Still in the Highland Broach is seen,\n The silver Broach of massy frame,\n Worn at the breast of some grave Dame 20\n On road or path, or at the door\n Of fern-thatched hut on heathy moor:\n But delicate of yore its mould,\n And the material finest gold;\n As might beseem the fairest Fair, 25\n Whether she graced a royal chair,\n Or shed, within a vaulted hall,\n No fancied lustre on the wall\n Where shields of mighty heroes hung,\n While Fingal heard what Ossian sung. 30\n\n The heroic Age expired--it slept\n Deep in its tomb:--the bramble crept\n O'er Fingal's hearth; the grassy sod\n Grew on the floors his sons had trod:\n Malvina! where art thou? Their state 35\n The noblest-born must abdicate;\n The fairest, while with fire and sword\n Come Spoilers--horde impelling horde,\n Must walk the sorrowing mountains, drest\n By ruder hands in homelier vest. 40\n Yet still the female bosom lent,\n And loved to borrow, ornament;\n Still was its inner world a place\n Reached by the dews of heavenly grace;\n Still pity to this last retreat 45\n Clove fondly; to his favourite seat\n Love wound his way by soft approach,\n Beneath a massier Highland Broach.\n\n When alternations came of rage\n Yet fiercer, in a darker age; 50\n And feuds, where, clan encountering clan,\n The weaker perished to a man;\n For maid and mother, when despair\n Might else have triumphed, baffling prayer,\n One small possession lacked not power, 55\n Provided in a calmer hour,\n To meet such need as might befal--\n Roof, raiment, bread, or burial:\n For woman, even of tears bereft,\n The hidden silver Broach was left. 60\n\n As generations come and go\n Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow;\n Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away,\n And feeble, of themselves, decay;\n What poor abodes the heir-loom hide, 65\n In which the castle once took pride!\n Tokens, once kept as boasted wealth,\n If saved at all, are saved by stealth.\n Lo! ships, from seas by nature barred,\n Mount along ways by man prepared; 70\n And in far-stretching vales, whose streams\n Seek other seas, their canvas gleams.\n Lo! busy towns spring up, on coasts\n Thronged yesterday by airy ghosts;\n Soon, like a lingering star forlorn 75\n Among the novelties of morn,\n While young delights on old encroach,\n Will vanish the last Highland Broach.\n\n But when, from out their viewless bed,\n Like vapours, years have rolled and spread; 80\n And this poor verse, and worthier lays,\n Shall yield no light of love or praise;\n Then, by the spade, or cleaving plough,\n Or torrent from the mountain's brow,\n Or whirlwind, reckless what his might 85\n Entombs, or forces into light;\n Blind Chance, a volunteer ally,\n That oft befriends Antiquity,\n And clears Oblivion from reproach,\n May render back the Highland Broach.[741] 90\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[741] How much the Broach is sometimes prized by persons in humble\nstations may be gathered from an occurrence mentioned to me by a\nfemale friend. She had had an opportunity of benefiting a poor old\nwoman in her own hut, who, wishing to make a return, said to her\ndaughter in Erse, in a tone of plaintive earnestness, \"I would give\nanything I have, but I _hope_ she does not wish for my Broach!\" and,\nuttering these words, she put her hand upon the Broach which fastened\nher kerchief, and which, she imagined, had attracted the eye of her\nbenefactress.--W. W. 1835.\n\n\n\n\n1832\n\n\nThe poems written in 1832 were few. They include _Devotional\nIncitements_, an _Evening Voluntary_, _Rural Illusions_, and a few\nsonnets.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nDEVOTIONAL INCITEMENTS\n\n\n Composed 1832.--Published 1835\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of the Imagination.\"--ED.\n\n \"Not to the earth confined,\n Ascend to heaven.\"[742]\n\n Where will they stop, those breathing Powers,\n The Spirits of the new-born flowers?\n They wander with the breeze, they wind\n Where'er the streams a passage find;\n Up from their native ground they rise 5\n In mute a\u00ebrial harmonies;[743]\n From humble violet--modest thyme--\n Exhaled, the essential odours climb,\n As if no space below the sky\n Their subtle flight could satisfy: 10\n Heaven will not tax our thoughts with pride\n If like ambition be _their_ guide.\n\n Roused by this kindliest of May-showers,\n The spirit-quickener of the flowers,\n That with moist virtue softly cleaves 15\n The buds, and freshens the young leaves,\n The birds pour forth their souls in notes\n Of rapture from a thousand throats--\n Here checked by too impetuous haste,\n While there the music runs to waste, 20\n With bounty more and more enlarged,\n Till the whole air is overcharged;\n Give ear, O Man! to their appeal\n And thirst for no inferior zeal,\n Thou, who canst _think_, as well as feel. 25\n\n Mount from the earth; aspire! aspire!\n So pleads the town's cathedral quire,\n In strains that from their solemn height\n Sink, to attain a loftier flight;\n While incense from the altar breathes 30\n Rich fragrance in embodied wreaths;\n Or, flung from swinging censer, shrouds\n The taper-lights, and curls in clouds\n Around angelic Forms, the still\n Creation of the painter's skill, 35\n That on the service wait concealed\n One moment, and the next revealed.\n --Cast off your bonds, awake, arise,\n And for no transient ecstasies!\n What else can mean the visual plea 40\n Of still or moving imagery--\n The iterated summons loud,\n Not wasted on the attendant crowd,\n Nor wholly lost upon the throng\n Hurrying the busy streets along? 45\n Alas! the sanctities combined\n By art to unsensualise the mind,\n Decay and languish; or, as creeds\n And humours change, are spurned like weeds:\n The priests are from their altars thrust; 50\n Temples are levelled with the dust;\n And solemn rites and awful forms\n Founder amid fanatic storms.[744][745]\n Yet evermore, through years renewed\n In undisturbed vicissitude 55\n Of seasons balancing their flight\n On the swift wings of day and night,\n Kind Nature keeps a heavenly door\n Wide open for the scattered Poor.\n Where flower-breathed incense to the skies 60\n Is wafted in mute harmonies;\n And ground fresh-cloven by the plough\n Is fragrant with a humbler vow;\n Where birds and brooks from leafy dells\n Chime forth unwearied canticles, 65\n And vapours magnify and spread\n The glory of the sun's bright head--\n Still constant in her worship, still\n Conforming to the eternal Will,[746]\n Whether men sow or reap the fields, 70\n Divine monition[747] Nature yields,\n That not by bread alone we live,\n Or what a hand of flesh can give;\n That every day should leave some part\n Free for a sabbath of the heart: 75\n So shall the seventh be truly blest,\n From morn to eve, with hallowed rest.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[742] See _Paradise Lost_, book v. ll. 78-80--\n\n Not to Earth confined,\n But sometimes in the Air, as we; sometimes\n Ascend to heaven.\n\n ED.\n\n[743] Compare, in Bacon's _Essays_, No. 46, 'Of Gardens,' \"The _Breath_\nof Flowers is farre Sweeter in the Aire, when it comes and goes, like\nthe Warbling of Musick.\"--ED.\n\n[744] 1836.\n\n The solemn rites, the awful forms,\n Founder amid fanatic storms;\n The priests are from their altars thrust,\n The temples levelled with the dust: 1835.\n\n[745] Compare a passage in Daniel's _Musopilus_, beginning--\n\n Sacred Religion! mother of form and fear!\n How gorgeously sometimes dost thou sit decked!--ED.\n\n[746] 1836.\n\n ... almighty Will, 1835.\n\n[747] 1845.\n\n Her admonitions Nature yields; 1835.\n Divine admonishment She yields, 1836.\n\n\n\n\n\"CALM IS THE FRAGRANT AIR, AND LOTH TO LOSE\"\n\n\n Composed 1832.--Published 1835\n\nOne of the \"Evening Voluntaries.\"--ED.\n\n Calm is the fragrant air, and loth to lose\n Day's grateful warmth, tho' moist with falling dews.\n Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none;\n Look up a second time, and, one by one,\n You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, 5\n And wonder how they could elude the sight!\n The birds, of late so noisy in their bowers,\n Warbled a while with faint and fainter powers,\n But now are silent as the dim-seen flowers:\n Nor does the village Church-clock's iron tone 10\n The time's and season's influence disown;\n Nine beats distinctly to each other bound\n In drowsy sequence--how unlike the sound\n That, in rough winter, oft inflicts a fear\n On fireside listeners, doubting what they hear! 15\n The shepherd, bent on rising with the sun,\n Had closed his door before the day was done,\n And now with thankful heart to bed doth creep,\n And joins[748] his little children in their sleep.\n The bat, lured forth where trees the lane o'ershade, 20\n Flits and reflits along the close arcade;\n The busy[749] dor-hawk chases the white moth\n With burring note, which Industry and Sloth\n Might both be pleased with, for it suits them both.\n A stream is heard--I see it not, but know 25\n By its soft music whence the waters flow:\n Wheels[750] and the tread of hoofs are heard no more;\n One boat there was, but it will touch the shore\n With the next dipping of its slackened oar;\n Faint sound, that, for the gayest of the gay, 30\n Might give to serious thought a moment's sway,\n As a last token of man's toilsome day!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[748] 1837.\n\n And join ... 1835.\n\n[749] 1837.\n\n Far-heard the ... 1835.\n\n[750] 1837.\n\n ... both.\n Wheels ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nTO THE AUTHOR'S PORTRAIT\n\n\nPainted at Rydal Mount, by W. Pickersgill, Esq., for St. John's\nCollege, Cambridge.--ED.\n\n Composed 1832.--Published 1835\n\n[The last six lines of this Sonnet are not written for poetical effect,\nbut as a matter of fact, which, in more than one instance, could not\nescape my notice in the servants of the house.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Miscellaneous Sonnets.\"--ED.\n\n Go, faithful Portrait! and where long hath knelt\n Margaret, the saintly Foundress, take thy place;\n And, if Time spare the colours[751] for the grace\n Which to the work surpassing skill hath dealt,\n Thou, on thy rock reclined, though kingdoms melt 5\n And states be torn up by the roots,[752] wilt seem\n To breathe in rural peace, to hear the stream,[753]\n And[754] think and feel as once the Poet felt.\n Whate'er thy fate, those features have not grown\n Unrecognised through many a household tear[755] 10\n More prompt, more glad, to fall than drops of dew\n By morning shed around a flower half-blown;\n Tears of delight, that testified how true\n To life thou art, and, in thy truth, how dear!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[751] The colour has already faded somewhat. The portrait is reproduced\nin volume vi. of this edition.--ED.\n\n[752] Compare _Elegiac Musings_, p. 269.--ED.\n\n[753] 1835.\n\n Before the breath of change unchanged wilt seem,\n Green Hills in sight, and listening to the stream,\n\n MS.\n\n[754] 1837.\n\n To ... 1835.\n\n[755] 1835.\n\n ... falling tear\n\n MS.\n\n ... starting tear\n\n MS.\n\n\n\n\nRURAL ILLUSIONS\n\n\n Composed 1832.--Published 1835\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. Observed a hundred times in the grounds\nthere.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of the Fancy.\"--ED.\n\n Sylph was it? or a Bird more bright\n Than those of fabulous stock?\n A second darted by;--and lo!\n Another of the flock,\n Through sunshine flitting from the bough 5\n To nestle in the rock.\n Transient deception! a gay freak\n Of April's mimicries!\n Those brilliant strangers, hailed with joy\n Among the budding trees, 10\n Proved last year's leaves, pushed from the spray\n To frolic on the breeze.\n\n Maternal Flora! show thy face,\n And let thy hand be seen,\n Thy hand here sprinkling tiny flowers,[756] 15\n That, as they touch the green,\n Take root (so seems it) and look up\n In honour of their Queen.\n Yet, sooth, those little starry specks,\n That not in vain aspired 20\n To be confounded with live growths,\n Most dainty, most admired,\n Were only blossoms dropped from twigs\n Of their own offspring tired.\n\n Not such the World's illusive shows; 25\n _Her_ wingless flutterings,\n Her blossoms which, though shed, outbrave\n The floweret as it springs,\n For the undeceived, smile as they may,\n Are melancholy things: 30\n But gentle Nature plays her part\n With ever-varying wiles,\n And transient feignings with plain truth\n So well she reconciles,\n That those fond Idlers most are pleased 35\n Whom oftenest she beguiles.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[756] 1836.\n\n Which sprinkles here these tiny flowers, 1835.\n\n\n\n\nLOVING AND LIKING\n\n\n IRREGULAR VERSES\n ADDRESSED TO A CHILD\n\n (BY MY SISTER)[757]\n\n Composed 1832.--Published 1835.\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. It arose, I believe, out of a casual\nexpression of one of Mr. Swinburne's children.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems founded on the Affections.\"--ED.\n\n There's more in words than I can teach:\n Yet listen, Child!--I would not preach;\n But only give some plain directions\n To guide your speech and your affections.\n Say not you _love_ a roasted fowl, 5\n But you may love a screaming owl,\n And, if you can, the unwieldy toad\n That crawls from his secure abode\n Within the mossy garden wall\n When evening dews begin to fall. 10\n Oh mark the beauty of his eye:\n What wonders in that circle lie!\n So clear, so bright, our fathers said\n He wears a jewel in his head!\n And when, upon some showery day, 15\n Into a path or public way\n A frog leaps out from bordering grass,\n Startling the timid as they pass,\n Do you observe him, and endeavour\n To take the intruder into favour; 20\n Learning from him to find a reason\n For a light heart in a dull season.\n And you may love him in the pool,\n That is for him a happy school,\n In which he swims as taught by nature, 25\n Fit[758] pattern for a human creature,\n Glancing amid the water bright,\n And sending upward sparkling light.\n\n Nor blush if o'er your heart be stealing\n A love for things that have no feeling: 30\n The spring's first rose by you espied,\n May fill your breast with joyful pride;\n And you may love the strawberry-flower,\n And love the strawberry in its bower;\n But when the fruit, so often praised 35\n For beauty, to your lip is raised,\n Say not you _love_ the delicate treat,\n But _like_ it, enjoy it, and thankfully eat.\n\n Long may you love your pensioner mouse,\n Though one of a tribe that torment the house: 40\n Nor dislike for her cruel sport the cat,\n Deadly foe both of[759] mouse and rat;\n Remember she follows the law of her kind,\n And Instinct is neither wayward nor blind.\n Then think of her beautiful gliding form, 45\n Her tread that would scarcely[760] crush a worm,\n And her soothing song by the winter fire,\n Soft as the dying throb of the lyre.\n\n I would not circumscribe your love:\n It may soar with the eagle and brood with the dove, 50\n May pierce the earth with the patient mole,\n Or track the hedgehog to his hole.\n Loving and liking are the solace of life,\n Rock the cradle of joy, smooth the death-bed of strife.[761]\n You love your father and your mother, 55\n Your grown-up and your baby-brother;\n You love your sister, and your friends,\n And countless blessings which God sends:\n And while these right affections play,\n You _live_ each moment of your day; 60\n They lead you on to full content,\n And likings fresh and innocent,\n That store the mind, the memory feed,\n And prompt to many a gentle deed:\n But _likings_ come, and pass away; 65\n 'Tis _love_ that remains till our latest day:\n Our heavenward guide is holy love,\n And will[762] be our bliss with saints above.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[757] 1845.\n\nIn the former editions of the author's \"Miscellaneous Poems\" are three\npieces addressed to Children:--the following, a few lines excepted, is\nby the same Writer; and as it belongs to the same unassuming class of\ncompositions, she has been prevailed upon to consent to its publication.\n\n W. W. 1835.\n\nBy the author of the Poem, \"Address to a child, during a boisterous\nwinter evening.\"\n\n W. W. 1836.\n\n[758] 1845.\n\n A ... 1835.\n\n[759] 1845.\n\n That deadly foe of both ... 1835.\n\n That deadly foe both of ... 1836.\n\n[760] 1836.\n\n ... not ... 1835.\n\n[761] 1840.\n\n They foster all joy, and extinguish all strife. 1835.\n\n[762] 1845.\n\n And it will ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nUPON THE LATE GENERAL FAST[763]\n\n\n MARCH, 1832\n\n Composed 1832.--Published 1832\n\nOne of the \"Sonnets dedicated to Liberty and Order.\"--ED.\n\n Reluctant call it was; the rite delayed;\n And in the Senate some there were who doffed\n The last of their humanity, and scoffed\n At providential judgments,[764] undismayed\n By their own daring. But the People prayed 5\n As with one voice; their flinty heart grew soft\n With penitential sorrow, and aloft\n Their spirit mounted, crying, \"God us aid!\"\n Oh that with aspirations more intense,\n Chastised by self-abasement more profound, 10\n This People, once[765] so happy, so renowned\n For liberty, would seek from God defence\n Against far heavier ill, the pestilence[766]\n Of revolution, impiously unbound!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[763] 1837.\n\nThe title in 1832 was SONNET ON THE LATE GENERAL FAST, MARCH 21, 1832.\n\n[764] 1840.\n\n ... judgment, ... 1832.\n\n[765] 1837.\n\n Oh that with soul-aspirings more intense\n And heart-humiliations more profound\n This People, long ... 1832.\n\n[766] The fast was appointed because of an outbreak of cholera in\nEngland.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n1833\n\n\nThe most important of the poems written in 1833 were the Memorials\nof the Tour undertaken during the summer of that year. They refer to\nseveral Cumbrian localities, to the Isle of Man, to the Clyde, the\nWestern Islands of Scotland, and again to Cumberland.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nA WREN'S NEST\n\n\n Composed 1833.--Published 1835\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. This nest was built, as described, in a\ntree that grows near the pool in Dora's field, next the Rydal Mount\ngarden.[767]--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of the Fancy.\"--ED.\n\n Among the dwellings framed by birds\n In field or forest with nice care,\n Is none that with the little Wren's\n In snugness may compare.\n\n No door the tenement requires, 5\n And seldom needs a laboured roof;\n Yet is it to the fiercest sun\n Impervious, and storm-proof.\n\n So warm, so beautiful withal,\n In perfect fitness for its aim, 10\n That to the Kind by special grace\n Their instinct surely came.\n\n And when for their abodes they seek\n An opportune recess,\n The hermit has no finer eye 15\n For shadowy quietness.\n\n These find, 'mid ivied abbey-walls,\n A canopy in some still nook;\n Others are pent-housed by a brae\n That overhangs a brook. 20\n\n There to the brooding bird her mate\n Warbles by fits his low clear song;\n And by the busy streamlet both\n Are sung to all day long.\n\n Or in sequestered lanes they build, 25\n Where, till the flitting bird's return,\n Her eggs within the nest repose,\n Like relics in an urn.\n\n But still, where general choice is good,\n There is a better and a best; 30\n And, among fairest objects, some\n Are fairer than the rest;\n\n This, one of those small builders proved\n In a green covert, where, from out\n The forehead of a pollard oak, 35\n The leafy antlers sprout;\n\n For She who planned the mossy lodge,\n Mistrusting her evasive skill,\n Had to a Primrose looked for aid\n Her wishes to fulfil. 40\n\n High on the trunk's projecting brow\n And fixed an infant's span above\n The budding flowers, peeped forth the nest,\n The prettiest of the grove!\n\n The treasure proudly did I show 45\n To some whose minds without disdain\n Can turn to little things; but once\n Looked up for it in vain:\n\n 'Tis gone--a ruthless spoiler's prey,\n Who heeds not beauty, love, or song, 50\n 'Tis gone! (so seemed it) and we grieved\n Indignant at the wrong.\n\n Just three days after, passing by\n In clearer light the moss-built cell\n I saw, espied its shaded mouth; 55\n And felt that all was well.\n\n The Primrose for a veil had spread\n The largest of her upright leaves;\n And thus, for purposes benign,\n A simple flower deceives. 60\n\n Concealed from friends who might disturb\n Thy quiet with no ill intent,\n Secure from evil eyes and hands\n On barbarous plunder bent,\n\n Rest, Mother-bird! and when thy young 65\n Take flight, and thou art free to roam,\n When withered is the guardian Flower,\n And empty thy late home,\n\n Think how ye prospered, thou and thine,\n Amid the unviolated grove 70\n Housed near the growing Primrose-tuft\n In foresight, or in love.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[767] Wrens still build (1896) in the same pollard oak tree, which\nsurvives in \"Dora's Field\"; and primroses grow beneath it.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTO ----\n\nUPON THE BIRTH OF HER FIRST-BORN CHILD, MARCH, 1833\n\n\n \"Tum porro puer, ut s\u00e6vis projectus ab undis\n Navita, nudus humi jacet,\" etc.--LUCRETIUS.[768]\n\n Composed March 1833.--Published 1835\n\n[Written at Moresby near Whitehaven, when I was on a visit to my\nson, then incumbent of that small living. While I am dictating these\nnotes to my friend, Miss Fenwick, January 24, 1843, the child upon\nwhose birth these verses were written is under my roof, and is of a\ndisposition so promising that the wishes and prayers and prophecies\nwhich I then breathed forth in verse are, through God's mercy, likely\nto be realised.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.\"--ED.\n\n Like a shipwreck'd Sailor tost\n By rough waves on a perilous coast,\n Lies the Babe, in helplessness\n And in tenderest nakedness,\n Flung by labouring nature forth 5\n Upon the mercies of the earth.\n Can its eyes beseech?--no more\n Than the hands are free to implore:\n Voice but serves for one brief cry;\n Plaint was it? or prophecy 10\n Of sorrow that will surely come?\n Omen of man's grievous doom!\n\n But, O Mother! by the close\n Duly granted to thy throes;\n By the silent thanks, now tending 15\n Incense-like to Heaven, descending\n Now to mingle and to move\n With the gush of earthly love,\n As a debt to that frail Creature,\n Instrument of struggling Nature 20\n For the blissful calm, the peace\n Known but to this _one_ release--\n Can the pitying spirit doubt\n That for human-kind springs out\n From the penalty a sense 25\n Of more than mortal recompense?\n\n As a floating summer cloud,\n Though of gorgeous drapery proud,\n To the sun-burnt traveller,\n Or the stooping labourer, 30\n Oft-times makes its bounty known\n By its shadow round him thrown;\n So, by chequerings of sad cheer,\n Heavenly Guardians, brooding near,\n Of their presence tell--too bright 35\n Haply for corporeal sight!\n Ministers of grace divine\n Feelingly their brows incline\n O'er this seeming Castaway\n Breathing, in the light of day, 40\n Something like the faintest breath\n That has power to baffle death--\n Beautiful, while very weakness\n Captivates like passive meekness.\n\n And, sweet Mother! under warrant 45\n Of the universal Parent,\n Who repays in season due\n Them who have, like thee, been true\n To the filial chain let down\n From his everlasting throne,[769] 50\n Angels hovering round thy couch,\n With their softest whispers vouch,\n That--whatever griefs may fret,\n Cares entangle, sins beset,\n This thy First-born, and with tears 55\n Stain her cheek in future years--\n Heavenly succour, not denied\n To the babe, whate'er betide,\n Will to the woman be supplied!\n\n Mother! blest be thy calm ease; 60\n Blest the starry promises,--\n And the firmament benign\n Hallowed be it, where they shine!\n Yes, for them whose souls have scope\n Ample for a wing\u00e8d hope, 65\n And can earthward bend an ear\n For needful listening, pledge is here,\n That, if thy new-born Charge shall tread\n In thy footsteps, and be led\n By that other Guide, whose light 70\n Of manly virtues, mildly bright,\n Gave him first the wished-for part\n In thy gentle virgin heart;\n Then, amid the storms of life\n Presignified by that dread strife 75\n Whence ye have escaped together,\n She may look for serene weather;\n In all trials sure to find\n Comfort for a faithful mind;\n Kindlier issues, holier rest, 80\n Than even now await her prest,\n Conscious Nursling, to thy breast!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[768] See _De Rerum Naturae_, lib. v. ll. 222-3.--ED.\n\n[769] Compare _The Primrose of the Rock_, ll. 11-12.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WARNING\n\nA SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING\n\n\n Composed March 1833.--Published 1835\n\n[These lines were composed during the fever spread through the nation\nby the Reform Bill. As the motives which led to this measure, and the\ngood or evil which has attended or has risen from it, will be duly\nappreciated by future historians, there is no call for dwelling on\nthe subject in this place. I will content myself with saying that\nthe then condition of the people's mind is not, in these verses,\nexaggerated.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.\"--ED.\n\n List, the winds of March are blowing;\n Her ground-flowers shrink, afraid of showing\n Their meek heads to the nipping air,\n Which ye feel not, happy pair!\n Sunk into a kindly sleep. 5\n We, meanwhile, our hope will keep;\n And if Time leagued with adverse Change\n (Too busy fear!) shall cross its range,\n Whatsoever check they bring,\n Anxious duty hindering, 10\n To like hope[770] our prayers will cling.\n\n Thus, while the ruminating spirit feeds\n Upon the events of home[771] as life proceeds,\n Affections pure and holy in their source\n Gain a fresh impulse, run a livelier course; 15\n Hopes that within the Father's heart prevail,\n Are in the experienced Grandsire's slow to fail;\n And if the harp pleased his gay youth, it rings\n To his grave touch with no unready strings,\n While thoughts press on, and feelings overflow, 20\n And quick words round him fall like flakes of snow.[772]\n\n Thanks to the Powers that yet maintain their sway,\n And have renewed the tributary Lay.\n Truths of the heart flock in with eager pace,\n And FANCY greets them with a fond embrace; 25\n Swift as the rising sun his beams extends\n She shoots the tidings forth to distant friends;\n Their gifts she hails (deemed precious, as they prove\n For the unconscious Babe so prompt a love!)--[773]\n But from this peaceful centre of delight 30\n Vague sympathies have urged her to take flight:\n Rapt[774] into upper regions, like the bee\n That sucks from mountain heath her honey fee;\n Or, like the warbling lark intent to shroud\n His head in sunbeams or a bowery cloud, 35\n She soars--and here and there her pinions rest\n On proud towers, like this humble cottage, blest\n With a new visitant, an infant guest--\n Towers where red streamers flout the breezy sky\n In pomp foreseen by her creative eye, 40\n When feasts shall crowd the hall, and steeple bells\n Glad proclamation make, and heights and dells\n Catch the blithe music as it sinks and swells,[775]\n And harboured ships, whose pride is on the sea,\n Shall hoist their topmost flags in sign of glee, 45\n Honouring the hope of noble ancestry.\n\n But who (though neither reckoning ills assigned\n By Nature, nor reviewing in the mind\n The track that was, and is, and must be, worn\n With weary feet by all of woman born)-- 50\n Shall _now_ by such a gift with joy be moved,\n Nor feel the fulness of that joy reproved?\n Not He, whose last faint memory will command\n The truth that Britain was his native land;[776]\n Whose infant soul was tutored to confide 55\n In the cleansed faith for which her martyrs died;\n Whose boyish ear the voice of her renown\n With rapture thrilled; whose Youth revered the crown\n Of Saxon liberty that Alfred wore,[777]\n Alfred, dear Babe, thy great Progenitor! 60\n --Not He, who from her mellowed practice drew\n His social sense of just, and fair, and true;\n And saw, thereafter, on the soil of France\n Rash Polity begin her maniac dance,[778]\n Foundations broken up, the deeps run wild, 65\n Nor grieved to see (himself not unbeguiled)--\n Woke from the dream, the dreamer to upbraid,\n And learn how sanguine expectations fade\n When novel trusts by folly are betrayed,--\n To see Presumption, turning pale, refrain 70\n From further havoc, but repent in vain,--\n Good aims lie down, and perish in the road\n Where guilt had urged them on with ceaseless goad.\n Proofs thickening round her that on public ends\n Domestic virtue vitally depends, 75\n That civic strife can turn the happiest hearth\n Into a grievous sore of self-tormenting earth.[779]\n\n Can such a One, dear Babe! though glad and proud\n To welcome thee, repel the fears that crowd\n Into his English breast, and spare to quake 80\n Less for his own than[780] for thy innocent sake?\n Too late--or, should the providence of God\n Lead, through dark[781] ways by sin and sorrow trod,\n Justice and peace to a secure abode,\n Too soon--thou com'st into this breathing world; 85\n Ensigns of mimic outrage are unfurled.\n Who shall preserve or prop the tottering Realm?\n What hand suffice to govern the state-helm?\n If, in the aims of men, the surest test\n Of good or bad (whate'er be sought for or profest) 90\n Lie in the means required, or ways ordained,\n For compassing the end, else never gained;\n Yet governors and govern'd both are blind\n To this plain truth, or fling it to the wind;\n If to expedience principle must bow; 95\n Past, future, shrinking up beneath the incumbent Now;\n If cowardly concession still must feed\n The thirst for power in men who ne'er concede;\n Nor turn aside, unless to shape a way\n For domination at some riper day; 100\n If[782] generous Loyalty must stand in awe\n Of subtle Treason, in[783] his mask of law,\n Or with bravado insolent and hard,\n Provoking punishment, to win reward;\n If office help the factious to conspire, 105\n And they who _should_ extinguish, fan the fire--\n Then, will the sceptre be a straw, the crown\n Sit loosely, like the thistle's crest of down;\n To be blown off at will, by Power that spares it\n In cunning patience, from the head that wears it. 110\n\n Lost people, trained to theoretic feud!\n Lost above all, ye labouring multitude!\n Bewildered whether ye, by slanderous tongues\n Deceived, mistake calamities for wrongs;\n And over fancied usurpations brood, 115\n Oft snapping at revenge in sullen mood;\n Or, from long stress of real injuries fly\n To desperation for a remedy;\n In bursts of outrage spread your judgments wide,\n And to your wrath cry out, \"Be thou our guide;\" 120\n Or, bound by oaths, come forth to tread earth's floor\n In marshalled thousands, darkening street and moor\n With the worst shape mock-patience ever wore;\n Or, to the giddy top of self-esteem\n By Flatterers carried, mount into a dream 125\n Of boundless suffrage, at whose sage behest\n Justice shall rule, disorder be supprest,\n And every man sit down as Plenty's Guest!\n --O for a bridle bitted with remorse\n To stop your Loaders in their headstrong course![784] 130\n Oh may the Almighty scatter with his grace\n These mists, and lead you to a safer place,\n By paths no human wisdom can foretrace!\n May He pour round you, from worlds far above\n Man's feverish passions, his pure light of love, 135\n That quietly restores the natural mien\n To hope, and makes truth willing to be seen!\n _Else_ shall your blood-stained hands in frenzy reap\n Fields gaily sown when promises were cheap.--\n Why is the Past belied with wicked art, 140\n The Future made to play so false a part,\n Among a people famed for strength of mind,\n Foremost in freedom, noblest of mankind?\n We act as if we joyed in the sad tune\n Storms make in rising, valued in the moon 145\n Nought but her changes. Thus, ungrateful Nation!\n If thou persist, and, scorning moderation,\n Spread for thyself the snares of tribulation,\n Whom, then, shall meekness guard? What saving skill\n Lie in forbearance, strength in standing still? 150\n --Soon shall the widow (for the speed of Time\n Nought equals when the hours are winged with crime)\n Widow, or wife, implore on tremulous knee,\n From him who judged her lord, a like decree;\n The skies will weep o'er old men desolate: 155\n Ye little-ones! Earth shudders at your fate,\n Outcasts and homeless orphans----\n\n But turn, my Soul, and from the sleeping pair\n Learn thou the beauty of omniscient care!\n Be strong in faith, bid anxious thoughts lie still; 160\n Seek for the good and cherish it--the ill\n Oppose, or bear with a submissive will.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[770] 1835.\n\n To that hope ... C.\n\n[771] 1837.\n\n Upon each home-event ... 1835.\n\n[772] \"_The Warning_ was composed on horseback when I was riding from\nMoresby in a snow-storm.\"--(W. W. to his nephew, the late Bishop of\nLincoln.)\n\n[773] 1840.\n\n ... Babe an unbelated love!) 1835.\n\n ... so prompt to love.) C.\n\n[774] 1837.\n\n ... flight.\n She rivals the fleet Swallow, making rings\n In the smooth lake where'er he dips his wings:\n --Rapt ... 1835.\n\n[775] 1837.\n\n ... or swells; 1835.\n\n[776] Compare _The Lay of the Last Minstrel_, canto vi. ll. 1-3.--ED.\n\n[777] Compare \"Ecclesiastical Sonnets,\" Part I. XXVI., XXVII.--ED.\n\n[778] At the Revolution, 1792.--ED.\n\n[779] 1840.\n\n Till undiscriminating Ruin swept\n The Land, and Wrong perpetual vigils kept;\n With proof before her that on public ends\n Domestic virtue vitally depends. 1835.\n\n And civic strife, by hourly calling forth\n Mutual despite, can turn the happiest hearth\n Into a rankling sore of self-tormented earth. C.\n\n[780] 1840.\n\n Not for his own, but ... 1835.\n\n[781] 1840.\n\n ... blind ... 1835.\n\n[782] 1837.\n\n ... concede;\n If ... 1835.\n\n[783] 1837.\n\n ... with ... 1835.\n\n[784] See the Fenwick note prefixed to the poem.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"IF THIS GREAT WORLD OF JOY AND PAIN\"\n\n\n Composed 1833.--Published 1835\n\nOne of the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.\"--ED.\n\n If this great world of joy and pain\n Revolve in one sure track;\n If freedom, set, will rise again,\n And virtue, flown, come back;\n Woe to the purblind crew who fill 5\n The heart with each day's care;\n Nor gain, from past or future, skill\n To bear, and to forbear!\n\n\n\n\nON A HIGH PART OF THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND[785]\n\n\nEaster Sunday, April 7\n\nTHE AUTHOR'S SIXTY-THIRD BIRTH-DAY\n\n Composed 1833.--Published 1835\n\n[The lines were composed on the road between Moresby and Whitehaven\nwhile I was on a visit to my son, then rector of the former place.\nThis succession of Voluntaries, with the exception of the 8th and\n9th, originated in the concluding lines of the last paragraph of this\npoem. With this coast I have been familiar from my earliest childhood,\nand remember being struck for the first time by the town and port of\nWhitehaven and the white waves breaking against its quays and piers,\nas the whole came into view from the top of the high ground down which\nthe road (it has since been altered) then descended abruptly. My\nsister, when she first heard the voice of the sea from this point, and\nbeheld the scene before her, burst into tears. Our family then lived at\nCockermouth, and this fact was often mentioned among us as indicating\nthe sensibility for which she was so remarkable.--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Evening Voluntaries.\"--ED.\n\n The Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire,\n Flung back from distant climes a streaming fire,\n Whose blaze is now subdued to tender gleams,\n Prelude of night's approach with soothing dreams.\n Look round;--of all the clouds not one is moving; 5\n 'Tis the still hour of thinking, feeling, loving.\n Silent, and stedfast as the vaulted sky,\n The boundless plain of waters seems to lie:--\n Comes that low sound from breezes rustling o'er\n The grass-crowned headland that conceals the shore?\n No; 'tis the earth-voice of the mighty sea, 11\n Whispering how meek and gentle he _can_ be![786]\n\n Thou Power supreme! who, arming to rebuke\n Offenders, dost put off the gracious look,\n And clothe thyself with terrors like the flood 15\n Of ocean roused into his fiercest mood,\n Whatever discipline thy Will ordain\n For the brief course that must for me remain;\n Teach me with quick-eared spirit to rejoice\n In admonitions of thy softest voice! 20\n Whate'er the path these mortal feet may trace,\n Breathe through my soul the blessing of thy grace,\n Glad, through a perfect love, a faith sincere\n Drawn from the wisdom that begins with fear,\n Glad to expand; and, for a season, free 25\n From finite cares, to rest absorbed in Thee!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[785] 1837.\n\nIn 1835 the title was \"The Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire.\"\n\n[786] Compare the _Elegiac Stanzas, suggested by a Picture of Peele\nCastle, in a Storm_ (1805), vol. iii. p. 54; also the sonnet (written\nin 1807), \"_Two Voices are there; one is of the sea_,\" vol. iv.\np. 61, and the second sonnet on the _Cave of Staffa_, in the poems\ndescriptive of the tour in Scotland in 1833.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n(BY THE SEA-SIDE)\n\n\n Composed 1833.--Published 1835\n\nOne of the \"Evening Voluntaries.\"--ED.\n\n The sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest;\n And the wild storm hath somewhere found a nest;\n Air slumbers--wave with wave no longer strives,\n Only a heaving of the deep survives,[787]\n A tell-tale motion! soon will it be laid, 5\n And by the tide alone the water swayed.\n Stealthy withdrawings, interminglings mild\n Of light with shade in beauty reconciled--\n Such is the prospect far as sight can range,\n The soothing recompense, the welcome change. 10\n Where now the ships that drove before the blast,\n Threatened by angry breakers as they passed;\n And by a train of flying clouds bemocked;\n Or, in the hollow surge, at anchor rocked\n As on a bed of death? Some lodge in peace, 15\n Saved by His care who bade the tempest cease;\n And some, too heedless of past danger, court\n Fresh gales to waft them to the far-off port;\n But near, or hanging sea and sky between,\n Not one of all those wing\u00e8d powers is seen, 20\n Seen in her course, nor 'mid this quiet heard;\n Yet oh! how gladly would the air be stirred\n By some acknowledgment of thanks and praise,\n Soft in its temper as those vesper lays\n Sung to the Virgin while accordant oars 25\n Urge the slow bark along Calabrian shores;\n A sea-born service through the mountains felt\n Till into one loved vision all things melt:\n Or like those hymns that soothe with graver sound\n The gulfy coast of Norway iron-bound; 30\n And, from the wide and open Baltic, rise\n With punctual care, Lutherian harmonies.\n Hush, not a voice is here! but why repine,\n Now when the star of eve comes forth to shine\n On British waters with that look benign?[788] 35\n Ye mariners, that plough your onward way,\n Or in the haven rest, or sheltering bay,\n May silent thanks at least to God be given\n With a full heart; \"our thoughts are _heard_ in heaven!\"[789]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[787] Compare the previous poem.--ED.\n\n[788] Compare Robert Browning's _Home-thoughts from the Sea_--\n\n While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.--ED.\n\n[789] See Young's _Night Thoughts_, book ii. l. 95.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nCOMPOSED BY THE SEA-SHORE\n\n\n Composed 1834.--Published 1845\n\n[These lines were suggested during my residence under my son's roof at\nMoresby, on the coast near Whitehaven, at the time when I was composing\nthose verses among the \"Evening Voluntaries\" that have reference to\nthe sea. It was in that neighbourhood I first became acquainted with\nthe ocean and its appearances and movements. My infancy and early\nchildhood were passed at Cockermouth, about eight miles from the coast,\nand I well remember that mysterious awe with which I used to listen\nto anything said about storms and shipwrecks. Sea-shells of many\ndescriptions were common in the town; and I was not a little surprised\nwhen I heard that Mr. Landor[790] had denounced me as a plagiarist from\nhimself for having described a boy applying a sea-shell to his ear and\nlistening to it for intimations of what was going on in its native\nelement. This I had done myself scores of times, and it was a belief\namong us that we could know from the sound whether the tide was ebbing\nor flowing.--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Evening Voluntaries.\"--ED.\n\n What mischief cleaves to unsubdued regret,\n How fancy sickens by vague hopes beset;\n How baffled projects on the spirit prey,\n And fruitless wishes eat the heart away,\n The Sailor knows; he best, whose lot is cast 5\n On the relentless sea that holds him fast\n On chance dependent, and the fickle star\n Of power, through long and melancholy war.\n O sad it is, in sight of foreign shores,\n Daily to think on old familiar doors, 10\n Hearths loved in childhood, and ancestral floors;\n Or, tossed about along a waste of foam,\n To ruminate on that delightful home,\n Which with the dear Betroth\u00e8d _was_ to come;\n Or came and was and is, yet meets the eye 15\n Never but in the world of memory;\n Or in a dream recalled, whose smoothest range\n Is crossed by knowledge, or by dread, of change,\n And if not so, whose perfect joy makes sleep\n A thing too bright for breathing man to keep. 20\n Hail to the virtues which that perilous life\n Extracts from Nature's elemental strife;\n And welcome glory won in battles fought\n As bravely as the foe was keenly sought.\n But to each gallant Captain and his crew 25\n A less imperious sympathy is due,\n Such as my verse now yields, while moonbeams play\n On the mute sea in this unruffled bay;\n Such as will promptly flow from every breast,\n Where good men, disappointed in the quest 30\n Of wealth and power and honours, long for rest;\n Or, having known the splendours of success,\n Sigh for the obscurities of happiness.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[790] The passage in Landor's _Gebir_, book i., is quoted in a note to\nthe fourth book of _The Excursion_ (see vol. v. p. 188).--ED.\n\n\n\n\nPOEMS,[791]\n\nCOMPOSED OR SUGGESTED DURING A TOUR, IN THE SUMMER OF 1833\n\n\n Composed 1833.--Published 1835\n\nHaving been prevented by the lateness of the season, in 1831, from\nvisiting Staffa and Iona, the author made these the principal objects\nof a short tour in the summer of 1833, of which the following series\nof poems is a Memorial. The course pursued was down the Cumberland\nriver Derwent, and to Whitehaven; thence (by the Isle of Man, where a\nfew days were passed) up the Frith of Clyde to Greenock, then to Oban,\nStaffa, Iona; and back towards England by Loch Awe, Inverary, Loch\nGoilhead, Greenock, and through parts of Renfrewshire, Ayrshire, and\nDumfries-shire to Carlisle, and thence up the river Eden, and homewards\nby Ullswater.--W. W.\n\n[My companions were H. C. Robinson and my son John.--I. F.]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[791] 1845.\n\nThe Title in the 1835 edition was Sonnets composed or suggested during\na tour in Scotland, in the Summer of 1833.\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nADIEU, RYDALIAN LAURELS! THAT HAVE GROWN\n\n\n Adieu, Rydalian Laurels! that have grown\n And spread as if ye knew that days might come\n When ye would shelter in a happy home,\n On this fair Mount, a Poet of your own,\n One who ne'er ventured for a Delphic crown 5\n To sue the God; but, haunting your green shade[792]\n All seasons through, is humbly pleased to braid[793]\n Ground-flowers, beneath your guardianship, self-sown.[794]\n Farewell! no Minstrels now with harp new-strung\n For summer wandering quit their household bowers;\n Yet not for this wants Poesy a tongue 11\n To cheer the Itinerant on whom she pours\n Her spirit, while he crosses lonely moors,\n Or musing sits forsaken halls among.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[792] 1835.\n\n One who to win your emblematic crown\n Aspires not, but frequenting your green shade\n\n MS.\n\n Who dares not sue the God for your bright crown\n Of deathless leaves, but haunting your green shade\n\n MS.\n\n[793] 1835.\n\n ... delights fresh wreaths to braid.\n\n MS.\n\n[794] The yellow flowering poppy and the wild geranium. Compare the\npoem _Poor Robin_, March 1840.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\"WHY SHOULD THE ENTHUSIAST, JOURNEYING THROUGH THIS ISLE\"\n\n\n Why should the Enthusiast, journeying through this Isle,\n Repine as if his hour were come too late?\n Not unprotected in her mouldering state,\n Antiquity salutes him with a smile,\n 'Mid fruitful fields that ring with jocund toil, 5\n And pleasure-grounds where Taste, refined Co-mate\n Of Truth and Beauty, strives to imitate,\n Far as she may, primeval Nature's style.\n Fair Land! by Time's parental love made free,\n By Social Order's watchful arms embraced; 10\n With unexampled union meet in thee,\n For eye and mind, the present and the past;\n With golden prospect for futurity,\n If that be reverenced which ought to last.[795]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[795] 1845.\n\n If what is rightly reverenced may last. 1835.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\"THEY CALLED THEE MERRY ENGLAND, IN OLD TIME\"\n\n\n They called Thee MERRY ENGLAND, in old time;\n A happy people won for thee that name\n With envy heard in many a distant clime;\n And, spite of change, for me thou keep'st the same\n Endearing title, a responsive chime 5\n To the heart's fond belief; though some there are\n Whose sterner judgments deem that world a snare\n For inattentive Fancy, like the lime\n Which foolish birds are caught with. Can, I ask,\n This face of rural beauty be a mask 10\n For discontent, and poverty, and crime;\n These spreading towns a cloak for lawless will?\n Forbid it, Heaven!-and[796] MERRY ENGLAND still\n Shall[797] be thy rightful name, in prose and rhyme!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[796] 1837.\n\n ... that ... 1835.\n\n[797] 1837.\n\n May.... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nTO THE RIVER GRETA, NEAR KESWICK\n\n\n Greta, what fearful listening! when huge stones\n Rumble along thy bed, block after block:\n Or, whirling with reiterated shock,\n Combat, while darkness aggravates the groans:\n But if thou (like Cocytus from the moans[798] 5\n Heard on his rueful margin[799]) thence wert named\n The Mourner, thy true nature was defamed,\n And the habitual murmur that atones\n For thy worst rage, forgotten. Oft as Spring\n Decks, on thy sinuous banks, her thousand thrones, 10\n Seats of glad instinct and love's carolling,\n The concert, for the happy, then may vie\n With liveliest peals of birth-day harmony:\n To a grieved heart, the notes are benisons.\n\nCompare _The Prelude_, book i. l. 269 (vol. iii. p. 140):--\n\n \"Was it for this\n That one, the fairest of all rivers, loved\n To blend his murmurs with my nurse's song,\n And, from his alder shades and rocky falls,\n And from his fords and shallows, sent a voice\n That flowed along my dreams?\n\n * * * * *\n\n Make ceaseless music that composed my thoughts\n To more than infant softness.\"\n\n ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[798] Many years ago, when I was at Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire, the\nhostess of the inn, proud of her skill in etymology, said, that \"the\nname of the river was taken from the _bridge_, the form of which, as\nevery one must notice, exactly resembled a great A.\" Dr. Whitaker has\nderived it from the word of common occurrence in the North of England,\n\"_to greet_;\" signifying to lament aloud, mostly with weeping: a\nconjecture rendered more probable from the stony and rocky channel\nof both the Cumberland and Yorkshire rivers. The Cumberland Greta,\nthough it does not, among the country people, take up _that_ name till\nwithin three miles of its disappearance in the River Derwent, may be\nconsidered as having its source in the mountain cove of Wythburn, and\nflowing through Thirlmere, the beautiful features of which lake are\nknown only to those who, travelling between Grasmere and Keswick, have\nquitted the main road in the vale of Wythburn, and, crossing over to\nthe opposite side of the lake, have proceeded with it on the right hand.\n\nThe channel of the Greta, immediately above Keswick, has, for the\npurposes of building, been in a great measure cleared of the immense\nstones which, by their concussion in high floods, produced the loud and\nawful noises described in the sonnet.\n\n\"The scenery upon this river,\" says Mr. Southey in his Colloquies,\n\"where it passes under the woody side of Latrigg, is of the finest and\nmost rememberable kind:--\n\n ---- 'ambiguo lapsu refluitque fluitque,\n Occurrensque sibi venturas aspicit undas.'\"\n\n W. W. 1835.\n\n[799] The Cocytus was a tributary of the Acheron, in Epirus, but was\nsupposed to have some connection with the underworld, doubtless, as\nWordsworth puts it,\n\n from the moans\n Heard on his rueful margin.\n\nCompare Homer, _Odyssey_ x. 513, and Virgil, _Aenid_ vi. 295.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nTO THE RIVER DERWENT[800]\n\n\n Among the mountains were we nursed, loved Stream!\n Thou near the eagle's nest[801]--within brief sail,\n I, of his bold wing floating on the gale,\n Where thy deep voice could lull me! Faint the beam\n Of human life when first allowed to gleam 5\n On mortal notice.--Glory of the vale,\n Such thy meek outset, with a crown, though frail,\n Kept in perpetual verdure by the steam\n Of thy soft breath!--Less vivid wreath entwined\n Nem\u00e6an victor's brow;[802] less bright was worn, 10\n Meed of some Roman chief--in triumph borne\n With captives chained; and shedding from his car\n The sunset splendours of a finished war\n Upon the proud enslavers of mankind!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[800] This sonnet has already appeared in several editions of the\nauthor's poems; but he is tempted to reprint it in this place, as a\nnatural introduction to the two that follow it.--W. W. 1835.\n\nIt was first published in 1819.--ED.\n\n[801] The river Derwent rises in Langstrath valley, Borrowdale, in\nwhich is Eagle Crag, so named from its having been the haunt of a bird\nthat is now extinct in Cumberland.--ED.\n\n[802] The Nem\u00e6an games were celebrated every third or fifth year at\nNem\u00e6a in Argolis. The victor was crowned with a wreath of olive.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nIN SIGHT OF THE TOWN OF COCKERMOUTH\n\n\n (Where the Author was born, and his Father's remains are laid.)\n\n A point of life between my Parents' dust,\n And yours, my buried Little-ones![803] am I;\n And to those graves looking habitually\n In kindred quiet I repose my trust.\n Death to the innocent is more than just, 5\n And, to the sinner, mercifully bent;\n So may I hope, if truly I repent\n And meekly bear the ills which bear I must:\n And You, my Offspring! that do still remain,\n Yet may outstrip me in the appointed race, 10\n If e'er, through fault of mine, in mutual pain\n We breathed together for a moment's space,\n The wrong, by love provoked, let love arraign,\n And only love keep in your hearts a place.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[803] His children, Catherine and Thomas, who died in infancy at the\nParsonage, Grasmere, and were buried in Grasmere Churchyard.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nADDRESS FROM THE SPIRIT OF COCKERMOUTH CASTLE\n\n\n \"Thou look'st upon me, and dost fondly think,\n Poet! that, stricken as both are by years,\n We, differing once so much, are now Compeers,\n Prepared, when each has stood his time, to sink\n Into the dust. Erewhile a sterner link 5\n United us; when thou, in boyish play,\n Entering my dungeon, didst become a prey\n To soul-appalling darkness. Not a blink\n Of light was there;--and thus did I, thy Tutor,\n Make thy young thoughts acquainted with the grave;\n While thou wert chasing the wing'd butterfly 11\n Through my green courts;[804] or climbing, a bold suitor\n Up to the flowers whose golden progeny\n Still round my shattered brow in beauty wave.\"[805]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[804] Compare _To a Butterfly_ (1802), vol. ii. p. 284--\n\n Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,\n The time, when, in our childish plays,\n My sister Emmeline and I\n Together chased the butterfly!\n\n ED.\n\n[805] Compare _The Prelude_, book i. ll. 283-85--\n\n The shadow of those towers\n That yet survive, a shattered monument\n Of feudal sway.\n\nCompare also the sonnet _At Furness Abbey_, written in 1844.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nNUN'S WELL, BRIGHAM\n\n\n[So named from the religious House that stood close by. I have rather\nan odd anecdote to relate of the Nun's Well. One day the landlady of a\npublic-house, a field's length from the well, on the roadside, said to\nme--\"You have been to see the Nun's Well, Sir?\" \"The Nun's Well! what\nis that?\" said the Postman, who in his royal livery stopt his mail-car\nat the door. The landlady and I explained to him what the name meant,\nand what sort of people the nuns were. A countryman who was standing\nby, rather tipsy, stammered out--\"Aye, those nuns were good people;\nthey are gone; but we shall soon have them back again.\" The Reform\nmania was just then at its height.--I.F.]\n\n The cattle crowding round this beverage clear\n To slake their thirst, with reckless hoofs have trod\n The encircling turf into a barren clod;\n Through which the waters creep, then disappear,\n Born to be lost in Derwent flowing near; 5\n Yet, o'er the brink, and round the lime-stone cell\n Of the pure spring (they call it the \"Nun's Well,\"\n Name that first struck by chance my startled ear)\n A tender Spirit broods--the pensive Shade\n Of ritual honours to this Fountain paid 10\n By hooded Votaresses[806] with saintly cheer;[807]\n Albeit oft the Virgin-mother mild\n Looked down with pity upon eyes beguiled\n Into the shedding of \"too soft a tear.\"[808]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[806] 1837.\n\n ... Votaries ... 1835.\n\n[807] Attached to the church of Brigham was formerly a chantry, which\nheld a moiety of the manor; and in the decayed parsonage some vestiges\nof monastic architecture are still to be seen.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[808] See Pope's _Elo\u00efsa to Abelard_, l. 224.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nTO A FRIEND[809]\n\n\n (ON THE BANKS OF THE DERWENT)\n\n[My son John, who was then building a parsonage on his small living at\nBrigham.--I.F.]\n\n Pastor and Patriot!--at whose bidding rise\n These modest walls, amid a flock that need,\n For one who comes to watch them and to feed,\n A fixed Abode--keep down presageful sighs.[810]\n Threats, which the unthinking only can despise, 5\n Perplex the Church; but be thou firm,--be true\n To thy first hope, and this good work pursue,\n Poor as thou art. A welcome sacrifice\n Dost Thou prepare, whose sign will be the smoke[811]\n Of thy new hearth; and sooner shall its wreaths, 10\n Mounting while earth her morning incense breathes,\n From wandering fiends of air receive a yoke,\n And straightway cease to aspire, than God disdain\n This humble tribute as ill-timed or vain.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[809] John Wordsworth, the poet's son, the subject of this sonnet, was\nincumbent of Moresby, near Whitehaven, before he went to Brigham. See\nthe Fenwick note to the lines, _Composed by the Sea-shore_, p. 340. In\n1833 Wordsworth wrote to Lady Beaumont:--\n\n\"Were you ever told that my son is building a parsonage-house upon a\nsmall living, to which he was lately presented by the Earl of Lonsdale.\nThe situation is beautiful, commanding the windings of the Derwent\nboth above and below the site of the house; the mountain Skiddaw\nterminating the view one way, at a distance of six miles, and the ruins\nof Cockermouth Castle appearing nearly in the centre of the same view.\nIn consequence of some discouraging thoughts expressed by my son when\nhe had entered upon this undertaking, I addressed to him the following\nSonnet, which you may perhaps read with some interest at the present\ncrisis.\"--ED.\n\n[810] 1835.\n\n ... foreboding sighs.\n\n MS. Letter to Lady Beaumont.\n\n[811] 1835.\n\n To Him who dwells in Heaven will be the smoke\n\n MS. Letter to Lady Beaumont.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nMARY QUEEN OF SCOTS\n\n\n (LANDING AT THE MOUTH OF THE DERWENT,\n WORKINGTON)[812]\n\n[I will mention for the sake of the friend who is writing down these\nnotes, that it was among the fine Scotch firs near Ambleside, and\nparticularly those near Green Bank, that I have over and over again\npaused at the sight of this image. Long may they stand to afford a like\ngratification to others!--This wish is not uncalled for, several of\ntheir brethren having already disappeared.--I. F.]\n\n Dear to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed,\n The Queen drew back the wimple that she wore;\n And to the throng, that on the Cumbrian shore\n Her landing hailed, how touchingly she bowed![813]\n And like a Star (that, from a heavy cloud[814] 5\n Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts,[815]\n When a soft summer gale at evening parts\n The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud)\n She smiled;[816] but Time, the old Saturnian seer,\n Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand, 10\n With step prelusive to a long array\n Of woes and degradations hand in hand--\n Weeping captivity, and shuddering fear\n Stilled by the ensanguined block of Fotheringay![817]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[812] \"The fears and impatience of Mary were so great,\" says Robertson,\n\"that she got into a fisher-boat, and with about twenty attendants\nlanded at Workington, in Cumberland; and thence she was conducted with\nmany marks of respect to Carlisle.\" The apartment in which the Queen\nhad slept at Workington Hall (where she was received by Sir Henry\nCurwen as became her rank and misfortunes) was long preserved, out of\nrespect to her memory, as she had left it; and one cannot but regret\nthat some necessary alterations in the mansion could not be effected\nwithout its destruction.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[813] 1837.\n\n And to the throng how touchingly she bowed\n That hailed her landing on the Cumbrian shore; 1835.\n\n[814] 1840.\n\n Bright as a star (that, from a sombre cloud 1835.\n\n[815] 1835.\n\n High poised in air of pine-tree foliage, darts, MS.\n\n[816] Compare _The Triad_, ll. 189, 190 (p. 188)--\n\n So gleams the crescent moon, that loves\n To be descried through shady groves.--ED.\n\n[817] 1835.\n\n Thenceforth he saw a long and long array\n Of miserable seasons hand in hand--\n Weeping, captivity, and pallid fear,\n And last, the ensanguined block of Fotheringay.\n\n MS.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nSTANZAS SUGGESTED IN A STEAM-BOAT OFF SAINT BEES' HEADS, ON THE COAST\nOF CUMBERLAND[818]\n\n\n If Life were slumber on a bed of down,\n Toil unimposed, vicissitude unknown,\n Sad were our lot: no hunter of the hare\n Exults like him whose javelin from the lair\n Has roused the lion; no one plucks the rose, 5\n Whose proffered beauty in safe shelter blows\n 'Mid a trim garden's summer luxuries,\n With joy like his who climbs, on hands and knees,\n For some rare plant, yon Headland of St. Bees.\n\n This independence upon oar and sail, 10\n This new indifference to breeze or gale,\n This straight-lined progress, furrowing a flat lea,\n And regular as if locked in certainty--\n Depress the hours. Up, Spirit of the storm!\n That Courage may find something to perform; 15\n That Fortitude, whose blood disdains to freeze\n At Danger's bidding, may confront the seas,\n Firm as the towering Headlands of St. Bees.\n\n Dread cliff of Baruth! _that_ wild wish may sleep,\n Bold as if men and creatures of the Deep 20\n Breathed the same element; too many wrecks\n Have struck thy sides, too many ghastly decks\n Hast thou looked down upon, that such a thought\n Should here be welcome, and in verse enwrought:\n With thy stern aspect better far agrees 25\n Utterance of thanks that we have past with ease,\n As millions thus shall do, the Headlands of St. Bees.\n\n Yet, while each useful Art augments her store,\n What boots the gain if Nature should lose more?\n And Wisdom, as she holds[819] a Christian place 30\n In man's intelligence sublimed by grace?\n When Bega sought of yore the Cumbrian coast,[820]\n Tempestuous winds her holy errand cross'd:\n She[821] knelt in prayer--the waves their wrath appease;\n And, from her vow well weighed in Heaven's decrees,\n Rose, where she touched the strand, the Chantry of St. Bees. 36\n\n \"Cruel of heart were they, bloody of hand,\"\n Who in these Wilds then struggled for command;[822]\n The strong were merciless, without hope the weak;\n Till this bright Stranger came, fair as day-break, 40\n And as a cresset true that darts its length\n Of beamy lustre from a tower of strength;\n Guiding the mariner through troubled seas,\n And cheering oft his peaceful reveries,\n Like the fixed Light that crowns yon Headland of St. Bees. 45\n\n To aid the Votaress, miracles believed\n Wrought in men's minds, like miracles achieved;\n So piety took root; and Song might tell\n What humanising virtues near her cell[823]\n Sprang up, and spread their fragrance wide around;\n How savage bosoms melted at the sound 51\n Of gospel-truth enchained in harmonies\n Wafted o'er waves, or creeping through close trees,\n From her religious Mansion of St. Bees.\n\n When her sweet Voice, that instrument of love, 55\n Was glorified, and took its place, above\n The silent stars, among the angelic quire,\n Her chantry blazed with sacrilegious fire,\n And perished utterly; but her good deeds\n Had sown the spot, that witnessed them, with seeds 60\n Which lay in earth expectant, till a breeze\n With quickening impulse answered their mute pleas,\n And lo! a _statelier_ pile, the Abbey of St. Bees.[824]\n\n There are[825] the naked clothed, the hungry fed;\n And Charity extendeth[826] to the dead, 65\n Her intercessions made for the soul's rest\n Of tardy penitents; or for the best\n Among the good (when love might else have slept,\n Sickened, or died) in pious memory kept.\n Thanks to the austere and simple Devotees, 70\n Who, to that service bound by venial fees,\n Keep watch before the altars of St. Bees.\n\n Are[827] not, in sooth, their Requiems sacred ties[828]\n Woven out of passion's sharpest agonies,\n Subdued, composed, and formalized by art, 75\n To fix a wiser sorrow in the heart?\n The prayer for them whose hour is past away\n Says[829] to the Living, profit while ye may!\n A little part, and that the worst, he sees\n Who thinks that priestly cunning holds the keys 80\n That best unlock the secrets of St. Bees.\n\n Conscience, the timid being's inmost light,\n Hope of the dawn and solace of the night,\n Cheers these Recluses with a steady ray\n In many an hour when judgment goes astray. 85\n Ah! scorn not hastily their rule who try\n Earth to despise, and flesh to mortify;\n Consume with zeal, in wing\u00e8d ecstasies\n Of prayer and praise forget their rosaries,\n Nor hear the loudest surges of St. Bees. 90\n\n Yet none so prompt to succour and protect\n The forlorn traveller, or sailor wrecked\n On the bare coast; nor do they grudge the boon\n Which staff and cockle hat and sandal shoon\n Claim for the pilgrim: and, though chidings sharp 95\n May sometimes greet the strolling minstrel's harp,\n It is not then when, swept with sportive ease,\n It charms a feast-day throng of all degrees,\n Brightening the archway of revered St. Bees.\n\n How did the cliffs and echoing hills rejoice 100\n What time the Benedictine Brethren's voice,\n Imploring, or commanding with meet pride,\n Summoned the Chiefs to lay their feuds aside,\n And under one blest ensign serve the Lord\n In Palestine. Advance, indignant Sword! 105\n Flaming till thou from Panym hands release\n That Tomb, dread centre of all sanctities\n Nursed in the quiet Abbey of St. Bees.\n\n But look we now to them whose minds from far[830]\n Follow the fortunes which they may not share. 110\n While in Judea Fancy loves to roam,\n She helps to make a Holy-land at home:\n The Star of Bethlehem from its sphere invites\n To sound the crystal depth of maiden rights;[831]\n And wedded Life, through scriptural mysteries, 115\n Heavenward ascends with all her charities,\n Taught by the hooded Celibates of St. Bees.\n\n Nor be it e'er forgotten how by skill\n Of cloistered Architects, free their souls to fill\n With love of God, throughout the Land were raised 120\n Churches, on whose symbolic beauty gazed\n Peasant and mail-clad Chief with pious awe;\n As at this day men seeing what they saw,\n Or the bare wreck of faith's solemnities,\n Aspire to more than earthly destinies; 125\n Witness yon Pile that greets us from St. Bees.[832]\n\n Yet more; around those Churches, gathered Towns[833]\n Safe from the feudal Castle's haughty frowns;\n Peaceful abodes, where Justice might uphold\n Her scales with even hand, and culture mould 130\n The heart to pity, train the mind in care\n For rules of life, sound as the Time could bear.\n Nor dost thou fail, thro' abject love of ease,\n Or hindrance raised by sordid purposes,\n To bear thy part in this good work, St. Bees.[834] 135\n\n Who with the ploughshare clove the barren moors,\n And to green meadows changed the swampy shores?\n Thinned the rank woods; and for the cheerful grange\n Made room where wolf and boar were used to range?\n Who taught, and showed by deeds, that gentler chains 140\n Should bind the vassal to his lord's domains?\n The thoughtful Monks, intent their God to please,\n For Christ's dear sake, by human sympathies\n Poured from the bosom of thy Church, St. Bees!\n\n But all availed not; by a mandate given 145\n Through lawless will the Brotherhood was driven\n Forth from their cells; their ancient House laid low\n In Reformation's sweeping overthrow.\n But now once more the local Heart revives,\n The inextinguishable Spirit strives. 150\n Oh may that Power who hushed the stormy seas,\n And cleared a way for the first Votaries,\n Prosper the new-born College of St. Bees![835]\n\n Alas! the Genius of our age, from Schools\n Less humble, draws her lessons, aims, and rules. 153\n To Prowess guided by her insight keen\n Matter and Spirit are as one Machine;\n Boastful Idolatress of formal skill\n She in her own would merge the eternal will:[836]\n Better,[837] if Reason's triumphs match with these, 160\n Her flight before the bold credulities\n That furthered the first teaching of St. Bees.[838]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[818] St. Bees' Heads, anciently called the Cliff of Baruth, are a\nconspicuous sea-mark for all vessels sailing in the N.E. parts of\nthe Irish Sea. In a bay, one side of which is formed by the southern\nheadland, stands the village of St. Bees; a place distinguished, from\nvery early times, for its religious and scholastic foundations.\n\n\"St. Bees,\" say Nicholson and Burns, \"had its name from Bega, an holy\nwoman from Ireland, who is said to have founded here, about the year of\nour Lord 650, a small monastery, where afterwards a church was built in\nmemory of her.\n\n\"The aforesaid religious house, being destroyed by the Danes, was\nrestored by William de Meschiens, son of Ranulph, and brother of\nRanulph de Meschiens, first Earl of Cumberland after the Conquest; and\nmade a cell of a prior and six Benedictine monks to the Abbey of St.\nMary at York.\"\n\nSeveral traditions of miracles, connected with the foundation of\nthe first of these religious houses, survive among the people of\nthe neighbourhood; one of which is alluded to in these Stanzas;\nand another, of a somewhat bolder and more peculiar character, has\nfurnished the subject of a spirited poem by the Rev. R. Parkinson,\nM.A., late Divinity Lecturer of St. Bees' College, and now Fellow of\nthe Collegiate Church of Manchester.\n\nAfter the dissolution of the monasteries, Archbishop Grindal founded\na free school at St. Bees, from which the counties of Cumberland and\nWestmoreland have derived great benefit; and recently, under the\npatronage of the Earl of Lonsdale, a college has been established\nthere for the education of ministers for the English Church. The old\nConventual Church has been repaired under the superintendence of the\nRev. Dr. Ainger, the Head of the College; and is well worthy of being\nvisited by any strangers who might be led to the neighbourhood of this\ncelebrated spot.\n\nThe form of stanza in this Poem, and something in the style of\nversification, are adopted from the _St. Monica_, a poem of much\nbeauty upon a monastic subject, by Charlotte Smith: a lady to whom\nEnglish verse is under greater obligations than are likely to be\neither acknowledged or remembered. She wrote little, and that little\nunambitiously, but with true feeling for rural nature,[839] at a time\nwhen nature was not much regarded by English Poets; for in point of\ntime her earlier writings preceded, I believe, those of Cowper and\nBurns.[840]--W. W. 1835.\n\n[819] 1845.\n\n And Wisdom, that once held ... 1835.\n\n[820] See the note, p. 351.--ED.\n\n[821] 1837.\n\n ... cross'd;\n As high and higher heaved the billows, faith\n Grew with them, mightier than the powers of death.\n She ... 1835.\n\n[822] The Danes, and the Cymric aborigines.--ED.\n\n[823] 1837.\n\n ... round her Cell 1835.\n\n[824] See the extract from Nicholson and Burn's _History of\nCumberland_, in Wordsworth's note, p. 351.--ED.\n\n[825] 1837.\n\n There were ... 1835.\n\n[826] 1837.\n\n ... extended ... 1835.\n\n[827] 1837.\n\n Were ... 1835.\n\n[828] I am aware that I am here treading upon tender ground; but to\nthe intelligent reader I feel that[841] no apology is due. The prayers\nof survivors, during passionate grief for the recent loss of relatives\nand friends, as the object of those prayers could no longer be the\nsuffering body of the dying, would naturally be ejaculated for the\nsouls of the departed; the barriers between the two worlds dissolving\nbefore the power of love and faith. The ministers of religion, from\ntheir habitual attendance upon sick-beds, would be daily witnesses of\nthese benign results; and hence would be strongly tempted to aim at\ngiving to them permanence, by embodying them in rites and ceremonies,\nrecurring at stated periods. All this, as it was in course of nature,\nso was it blameless, and even praiseworthy; since some of its effects,\nin that rude state of society, could not but be salutary. No reflecting\nperson, however, can view[842] without sorrow the abuses which rose out\nof thus formalizing sublime instincts, and disinterested movements of\npassion, and perverting them into means of gratifying the ambition and\nrapacity of the priesthood. But, while we deplore and are indignant at\nthese abuses, it would be a great mistake if we imputed the origin of\nthe offices to prospective selfishness on the part of the monks and\nclergy: _they_ were at first sincere in their sympathy, and in their\ndegree dupes rather of their own creed, than artful and designing\nmen. Charity is, upon the whole, the safest guide that we can take\nin judging our fellow-men, whether of past ages, or of the present\ntime.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[829] 1837.\n\n ... was past away\n Said ... 1835.\n\n[830] 1837.\n\n On, Champions, on!--But mark! the passing Day\n Submits her intercourse to milder sway,\n With high and low whose busy thoughts from far 1835.\n\n[831] Compare _The Virgin_, in the \"Ecclesiastical Sonnets,\" Part II.\nxxv.--ED.\n\n[832] 1845.\n\n As through the land we seeing what they saw,\n Or the bare wreck of faith's solemnities,\n May lift {the} hearts {to} blissful destinies;\n {our} {for}\n {Witness the remnant of thy Church, St. Bees.\n {Witness your works, good coenobites of St. Bees. C.\n (or)\n As on this day we seeing what they saw,\n Uplift our hearts for heavenly destinies\n In field or town, 'mid mountain fastnesses,\n Or on wave-beaten shores like thine, St. Bees. C.\n\n[833] See \"The English Town\" in Green's _Short History of the English_\n_People_, ch. iv. sec. 4.--ED.\n\n[834] This stanza and the preceding one were added in 1845.--ED.\n\n[835] This College was founded for the education of clerks in holy\norders who did not mean to proceed to Oxford or Cambridge.--ED.\n\n[836] 1835.\n\n ... our age, her rules\n From schools that scorning faith in things unseen,\n Most confident when most they overween,\n Would merge, idolaters of formal skill\n In their own system God's eternal will. C.\n\n ... aims and rules\n Would merge, Idolaters of formal skill\n In her own system God's eternal will. C.\n\n[837] 1837.\n\n ... will:\n Expert to move in paths that Newton trod,\n From Newton's Universe would banish God.\n Better, ... 1835.\n\n[838] See _The Excursion_, seventh part; and \"Ecclesiastical Sonnets,\"\nsecond part, near the beginning.--W. W. 1850.\n\nThe passages referred to are the following: _The Excursion_, book vii.\nl. 1008, etc. (vol. v. p. 324), beginning--\n\n The courteous Knight,\n\nand alluding to Sir Alfred Irthing; and in the \"Ecclesiastical\nSonnets,\" Part II. III., IV., V., _Cistercian Monastery_, and _Monks\nand Schoolmen_.--ED.\n\n[839] 1837.\n\n but with true feeling for nature. 1835.\n\n[840] From \"at a time\" to \"Burns\" was added in 1837.\n\n[841] 1845.\n\n The Author is aware that he is here ... reader he feels that 1835.\n\n[842] 1837.\n\n praiseworthy; but no reflecting person can view 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nIN THE CHANNEL, BETWEEN THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND AND THE ISLE OF MAN\n\n\n Ranging the heights of Scawfell or Black-Comb,[843]\n In his lone course the Shepherd oft will pause,\n And strive to fathom the mysterious laws\n By which the clouds, arrayed in light or gloom,\n On Mona settle, and the shapes assume 5\n Of all her peaks and ridges.[844] What he draws\n From sense, faith, reason, fancy, of the cause,\n He will take with him to the silent tomb.\n Or, by his fire, a child upon his knee,\n Haply the untaught Philosopher may speak 10\n Of the strange sight, nor hide his theory\n That satisfies the simple and the meek,\n Blest in their pious ignorance, though weak\n To cope with Sages undevoutly free.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[843] 1837.\n\n ... Black-coom, 1835.\n\n[844] Compare the _View from the top of Black Comb_ (vol. iv. p. 279);\nalso the Inscription, _Written with a Slate Pencil on a Stone, on the\nSide of the Mountain of Black Comb_ (vol. iv. p. 281).\n\nThe atmospheric phenomena referred to in the sonnet are frequently seen\nfrom the Cumberland hills, overspreading the peaks and ridges of the\nIsle of Man; and a similar appearance is often visible on the Cumbrian\nhills, as seen from Mona.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\nAT SEA OFF THE ISLE OF MAN\n\n\n Bold words affirmed, in days when faith was strong\n And doubts and scruples seldom teazed the brain,\n That[845] no adventurer's bark had power to gain\n These shores if he approached them bent on wrong;\n For, suddenly up-conjured from the Main, 5\n Mists rose to hide the Land--that search, though long\n And eager, might be still pursued in vain.\n O Fancy, what an age was _that_ for song!\n That age, when not by _laws_ inanimate,\n As men believed, the waters were impelled, 10\n The air controlled, the stars their courses held;\n But element and orb on _acts_ did wait\n Of _Powers_ endued with visible form, instinct\n With will, and to their work by passion linked.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[845] 1837.\n\n ... strong,\n That ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\n\"DESIRE WE PAST ILLUSIONS TO RECAL\"\n\n\n Desire we past illusions to recal?\n To reinstate wild Fancy, would we hide\n Truth whose thick veil Science has drawn aside?\n No,--let this Age, high as she may, instal\n In her esteem the thirst that wrought man's fall, 5\n The universe is infinitely wide;\n And conquering Reason, if self-glorified,\n Can nowhere move uncrossed by some new wall\n Or gulf of mystery, which thou alone,\n Imaginative Faith! canst overleap, 10\n In progress toward the fount of Love,--the throne\n Of Power whose ministers the[846] records keep\n Of periods fixed, and laws established, less\n Flesh to exalt than prove its nothingness.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[846] 1837.\n\n Of Power, whose ministering Spirits ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nON ENTERING DOUGLAS BAY, ISLE OF MAN\n\n\n\"Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori.\"[847]\n\n The feudal Keep, the bastions of Cohorn,[848]\n Even when they rose to check or to repel\n Tides of aggressive war, oft served as well\n Greedy ambition, armed to treat with scorn\n Just limits; but yon Tower, whose smiles adorn 5\n This perilous bay, stands clear of all offence;\n Blest work it is of love and innocence,\n A Tower of refuge built for the else forlorn.[849]\n Spare it, ye waves, and lift the mariner,\n Struggling for life, into its saving arms! 10\n Spare, too, the human helpers! Do they stir\n 'Mid your fierce shock like men afraid to die?\n No; their dread service nerves the heart it warms,\n And they are led by noble HILLARY.[850]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[847] See Horace, _Odes_, book iv. ode viii. l. 28.--ED.\n\n[848] Baron Menno van Cohorn (or Coehoorn) was a Dutch military\nengineer of genius (1641-1704). His fame rests on discoveries\nconnected with the effect of projectiles on fortifications. His\npractical successes against the French, under Vauban, were great;\nand the fortifications he designed and constructed, of which that\nof Bergen-op-Zoom was the chief, give him a place in the history\nof military science, greater than that derived from his writings.\nHe devised a kind of small mortar or howitzer, for use in siege\noperations, which is named after him a Cohorn.--ED.\n\n[849] 1845.\n\n A Tower of refuge to the else forlorn. 1835.\n\n A Tower of refuge built for the forlorn. C.\n\n[850] The TOWER OF REFUGE, an ornament to Douglas Bay, was erected\nchiefly through the humanity and zeal of Sir William Hillary; and he\nalso was the founder of the lifeboat establishment, at that place; by\nwhich, under his superintendence, and often by his exertions at the\nimminent hazard of his own life, many seamen and passengers have been\nsaved.--W. W. 1835.\n\nIn Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal of a visit to the Isle of Man in 1826,\nthe following occurs:--\"Monday, 3rd July.--Sir William Hillary saved a\nboy's life to-day in harbour. He raised a regiment for government, and\nchose his own reward, viz., a Baronetcy! and now lives here on \u00a3300 per\nannum, etc. etc.\"--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nBY THE SEA-SHORE, ISLE OF MAN\n\n\n Why stand we gazing on the sparkling Brine,\n With wonder smit by its transparency,\n And all-enraptured with its purity?--\n Because the unstained, the clear, the crystalline,\n Have ever in them something of benign; 5\n Whether in gem, in water, or in sky,\n A sleeping infant's brow, or wakeful eye\n Of a young maiden, only not divine.\n Scarcely the hand forbears to dip its palm\n For beverage drawn as from a mountain-well. 10\n Temptation centres in the liquid Calm;\n Our daily raiment seems no obstacle\n To instantaneous plunging in, deep Sea!\n And revelling[851] in long embrace with thee.[852]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[851] 1835.\n\n And wantoning ...\n\n MS.\n\n[852] The sea-water on the coast of the Isle of Man is singularly pure\nand beautiful.--W. W. 1837.\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nISLE OF MAN\n\n\n[My son William[853] is here the person alluded to as saving the\nlife of the youth, and the circumstances were as mentioned in the\nSonnet.--I. F.]\n\n A youth too certain of his power to wade\n On the smooth bottom of this clear bright sea,[854]\n To sight so shallow, with a bather's glee,\n Leapt from this rock, and but for timely aid\n He, by the alluring element betrayed, 5\n Had perished. Then might Sea-nymphs (and with sighs\n Of self-reproach) have chanted elegies[855]\n Bewailing his sad fate, when he was laid[856]\n In peaceful earth: for, doubtless, he was frank,\n Utterly in himself devoid of guile; 10\n Knew not the double-dealing of a smile;\n Nor aught that makes men's promises a blank,\n Or deadly snare: and He survives to bless\n The Power that saved him in his strange distress.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[853] But it was his son John, and not William, who accompanied the\npoet in this Tour. See the first Fenwick note (p. 342).--ED.\n\n[854] 1835.\n\n ... that his feet could wade\n At will the flow of this pellucid sea,\n\n MS.\n\n On the smooth bottom of this clear blue sea,\n\n MS.\n\n[855] Compare Ariel's Song in _The Tempest_, act I. scene ii.--\n\n Nothing of him that doth fade,\n But doth suffer a sea-change\n Into something rich and strange.\n Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell.--ED.\n\n[856] 1837.\n\n Leapt from this rock, and surely, had not aid\n Been near, must soon have breathed out life, betrayed\n By fondly trusting to an element\n Fair, and to others more than innocent;\n Then had sea-nymphs sung dirges for him laid 1835.\n\n Here ...\n\n MS.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nISLE OF MAN[857]\n\n\n Did[858] pangs of grief for lenient time too keen,\n Grief that devouring waves had caused--or guilt[859]\n Which they had witnessed, sway[860] the man who built\n This Homestead, placed where nothing could be seen,\n Nought heard, of ocean troubled or serene? 5\n A tired Ship-soldier[861] on paternal land,\n That o'er the channel holds august command,\n The dwelling raised,--a veteran Marine![862]\n He, in disgust, turned from the neighbouring sea[863]\n To shun the memory of a listless life 10\n That hung between two callings. May no strife\n More hurtful here beset him, doomed though free,\n Self-doomed, to worse inaction, till his eye\n Shrink from the daily sight of earth and sky!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[857] 1837.\n\n The Retired Marine Officer, Isle of Man. 1835.\n\n[858] 1837.\n\n Not ... 1835.\n\n[859] 1837.\n\n ... nor guilt 1835.\n\n[860] 1837.\n\n ... swayed ... 1835.\n\n[861] 1835.\n\n No--a Ship-soldier ... 1837.\n\n[862] Henry Hutchinson. See the Fenwick note to the next sonnet.--ED.\n\n[863] 1835.\n\n The dwelling raised. Fantastic slave of spleen\n He sought by shunning thus the neighbouring sea,\n Refuge from memory of a listless life C.\n\n The habitation raised, a slave of spleen, C.\n\n The weary man turned from the neighbouring sea\n\n MS.\n\n\n\n\nXIX\n\nBY A RETIRED MARINER[864]\n\n\n (A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR)\n\n[Mrs. Wordsworth's Brother, Henry.[865]--I. F.]\n\n From early youth I ploughed the restless Main,\n My mind as restless and as apt to change;\n Through every clime and ocean did I range,\n In hope at length a competence to gain;\n For poor to Sea I went, and poor I still remain. 5\n Year after year I strove, but strove in vain,\n And hardships manifold did I endure,\n For Fortune on me never deign'd to smile;\n Yet I at last a resting-place have found,\n With just enough life's comforts to procure, 10\n In a snug Cove on this our favoured Isle,\n A peaceful spot where Nature's gifts abound;\n Then sure I have no reason to complain,\n Though poor to Sea I went, and poor I still remain.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[864] This unpretending Sonnet is by a gentleman nearly connected with\nme, and I hope, as it falls so easily into its place, that both the\nwriter and the reader will excuse its appearance here.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[865] Mr. Henry Hutchinson, Mrs. Wordsworth's brother, was--the Bishop\nof Lincoln tells us--\"a person of great originality and vigour of mind,\na very enterprising sailor, and a writer of verses distinguished by no\nordinary merit.\"--See the _Memoirs of Wordsworth_, vol. ii. p. 246.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXX\n\nAT BALA-SALA, ISLE OF MAN\n\n\n (SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY A FRIEND)\n\n[Supposed to be written by a friend (Mr. Cookson), who died there a few\nyears after.[866]--I. F.]\n\n Broken in fortune, but in mind entire\n And sound in principle, I seek repose\n Where ancient trees this convent-pile enclose,[867]\n In ruin beautiful. When vain desire\n Intrudes on peace, I pray the eternal Sire 5\n To cast a soul-subduing shade on me,\n A grey-haired, pensive, thankful Refugee;\n A shade--but with some sparks of heavenly fire\n Once to these cells vouchsafed.[868] And when I note\n The old Tower's brow yellowed as with the beams 10\n Of sunset ever there,[869] albeit streams[870]\n Of stormy weather-stains that semblance wrought,\n I thank the silent Monitor, and say\n \"Shine so, my aged brow, at all hours of the day!\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[866] Henry Crabb Robinson--the Wordsworths' companion in the tour,\nwrote in his Journal, 14th July: \"At Ballasalla called on Mr. and Mrs.\nCookson, esteemed friends of the W.'s, whom adversity had driven to\nthis asylum.\"--ED.\n\n[867] Rushen Abbey.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[868] 1835.\n\n ... with such sparks of holy fire\n As once were cherished here....\n\n MS.\n\n[869] The \"old Tower\" is that of Rushen Abbey, close to Bala-Sala, the\nlatest dissolved monastery in the British Isles. Little of it survives;\nonly the tower, refectory, and dormitory. The tower is still yellowed\nwith lichen stains. The following occurs in one of Mr. H. C. Robinson's\nletters on the Italian Tour of 1837:--\"This reminds me that I was once\nprivy to the conception of a Sonnet with a distinctness which did not\nonce occur on the longer Italian journey. This was when I accompanied\nhim into the Isle of Man. We had been drinking tea with Mr. and Mrs.\nCookson, and left them when the weather was dull. Very soon after\nleaving them we passed the Church Tower of Bala-Sala. The upper part of\nthe tower had a sort of frieze of yellow lichens. Mr. W. Pointed it out\nto me, and said, 'It's a Perpetual sunshine.' I thought no more of it\ntill I had read the beautiful sonnet,\n\n 'Broken in fortune, but in mind entire.'\"--ED.\n\n[870] 1835.\n\n .... and know that streams\n\n MS.\n\n\n\n\nXXI\n\nTYNWALD HILL\n\n\n[Mr. Robinson and I walked the greater part of the way from Castle-town\nto Piel, and stopped some time at Tynwald Hill. One of my companions\nwas an elderly man who, in a muddy way (for he was tipsy), explained\nand answered, as far as he could, my enquiries about this place and\nthe ceremonies held here. I found more agreeable company in some\nlittle children; one of them, upon my request, recited the Lord's\nPrayer to me, and I helped her to a clearer understanding of it as\nwell as I could; but I was not at all satisfied with my own part; hers\nwas much better done, and I am persuaded that, like other children,\nshe knew more about it than she was able to express, especially to a\nstranger.--I. F.]\n\n Once on the top of Tynwald's formal mound\n (Still marked with green turf circles narrowing[871]\n Stage above stage)[872] would sit this Island's King,\n The laws to promulgate, enrobed and crowned;\n While, compassing the little mount around,[873] 5\n Degrees and Orders stood, each under each:\n Now, like to things within fate's easiest reach,[874]\n The power is merged, the pomp a grave has found.\n Off with yon cloud,[875] old Snafell![876] that thine eye\n Over three Realms may take its widest range; 10\n And let, for them, thy fountains utter strange\n Voices, thy winds break forth in prophecy,\n If the whole State must suffer mortal change,\n Like Mona's miniature of sovereignty.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[871] The ground at Tynwald Hill (as it is called) remains unchanged.\nHere, on a small plot of ground, the whole Manx people meet annually\non Midsummer Day, July 5th, to appoint officers and enact new laws.\nThe first historical notice of these meetings is in 1417. The name\nTynwald is derived from the Scandinavian _thing_, \"court of justice,\"\nand _wald_, \"fenced.\" The mound is only 12 feet high, rising by four\ncircular platforms, each 3 feet higher than the one below it. The\ncircumference at the base is 240 feet, and at the top 18 feet. It used\nonce to be walled round, and had two gates. The approach now is by\ntwenty-one steps cut in the turf.\n\nIn his _Diary_, _etc._, Robinson wrote of Tynwald--\"It brought\nto my mind a similar monument of simple manners at Sarnen in\nSwitzerland.\"--ED.\n\n[872] 1835.\n\n Once on the top of Tynwald Hill (a Mound\n\n MS.\n\n Time was when on the top of yon small mound\n (Still marked with circles duly narrowing\n Each above each) ...\n\n MS.\n\n[873] 1835.\n\n Would sit by solemn usage robed and crowned,\n While compassing the grassy mount around,\n\n MS.\n\n Sate 'mid the assembled people robed and crowned,\n\n MS.\n\n[874] 1835.\n\n Now like a thing within Fate's easiest reach,\n\n MS.\n\n[875] 1835.\n\n Off with those clouds, ...\n\n MS.\n\n[876] The summit of this mountain is well chosen by Cowley as the\nscene of the \"Vision,\" in which the spectral angel discourses with\nhim concerning the government of Oliver Cromwell. \"I found myself,\"\nsays he, \"on the top of that famous hill in the Island Mona, which\nhas the prospect of three great, and not long since most happy,\nkingdoms. As soon as ever I looked upon them, they called forth the\nsad representation of all the sins and all the miseries that had\noverwhelmed them these twenty years.\" It is not to be denied that\nthe changes now in progress, and the passions, and the way in which\nthey work, strikingly resemble those which led to the disasters the\nphilosophic writer so feelingly bewails. God grant that the resemblance\nmay not become still more striking as months and years advance!--W. W.\n1835.\n\nThe top of Snaefell (which Wordsworth names \"Snafell\"), the highest\nmountain in the Isle of Man, whence England, Scotland, and Ireland are\nto be seen, as mentioned in the Sonnet, is not visible from Tynwald\nHill.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXII\n\n\"DESPOND WHO WILL--_I_ HEARD A VOICE EXCLAIM\"\n\n\n Despond who will--_I_ heard a voice exclaim,\n \"Though fierce the assault, and shatter'd the defence,[877]\n It cannot be that Britain's social frame,\n The glorious work of time and providence,\n Before a flying season's rash pretence,[878] 5\n Should fall; that She, whose virtue put to shame,\n When Europe prostrate lay, the Conqueror's aim,\n Should perish, self-subverted. Black and dense\n The cloud is; but brings _that_ a day of doom\n To Liberty? Her sun is up the while,[879] 10\n That orb whose beams round Saxon Alfred shone:\n Then laugh, ye innocent Vales! ye Streams, sweep on,\n Nor let one billow of our heaven-blest Isle[880]\n Toss in the fanning wind a humbler plume.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[877] 1835.\n\n Clear voices from pure worlds of hope exclaim\n \"Tho' fierce the assault, and shattered the defence,\"\n\n MS.\n\n[878] 1835.\n\n Before a season's calculating sense,\n\n MS.\n\n[879] 1835.\n\n ... The sun is up ...\n\n MS.\n\n[880] 1835.\n\n ... of this heaven-blest Isle\n\n MS.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII\n\nIN THE FRITH OF CLYDE, AILSA CRAG[881]\n\nDURING AN ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, JULY 17\n\n\n[The morning of the eclipse was exquisitely beautiful while we passed\nthe Crag as described in the Sonnet. On the deck of the steam-boat were\nseveral persons of the poor and labouring class, and I could not but be\nstruck by their cheerful talk with each other, while not one of them\nseemed to notice the magnificent objects with which we were surrounded;\nand even the phenomenon of the eclipse attracted but little of their\nattention. Was it right not to regret this? They appeared to me,\nhowever, so much alive in their own minds to their own concerns that I\ncould not look upon it as a misfortune that they had little perception\nfor such pleasures as cannot be cultivated without ease and leisure.\nYet, if one surveys life in all its duties and relations, such ease and\nleisure will not be found so enviable a privilege as it may at first\nappear. Natural Philosophy, Painting, and Poetry, and refined taste are\nno doubt great acquisitions to society; but among those who dedicate\nthemselves to such pursuits, it is to be feared that few are as happy,\nand as consistent in the management of their lives, as the class of\npersons who at that time led me into this course of reflection. I\ndo not mean by this to be understood to derogate from intellectual\npursuits, for that would be monstrous: I say it in deep gratitude for\nthis compensation to those whose cares are limited to the necessities\nof daily life. Among them, self-tormentors, so numerous in the higher\nclasses of society, are rare.--I. F.]\n\n Since risen from ocean, ocean to defy,\n Appeared the Crag of Ailsa, ne'er did morn\n With gleaming lights more gracefully adorn\n His sides, or wreathe with mist his forehead high:\n Now, faintly darkening with the sun's eclipse,[882] 5\n Still is he seen, in lone sublimity,\n Towering above the sea and little ships;\n For dwarfs the tallest seem while sailing by,\n Each for her haven; with her freight of Care,\n Pleasure, or Grief, and Toil that seldom looks 10\n Into the secret of to-morrow's fare;\n Though poor, yet rich, without the wealth of books,\n Or aught that watchful Love to Nature owes\n For her mute Powers, fix'd Forms, or[883] transient Shows.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[881] 1845.\n\n IN THE FRITH OF CLYDE, AILSA CRAG.\n (July 17, 1833) 1835.\n\n IN THE FRITH OF CLYDE, AILSA CRAG.\n (July 17) 1837.\n\n[882] Compare _The Eclipse of the Sun_, 1820, in the \"Memorials of a\nTour on the Continent, 1820\" (vol. vi. p. 345).--ED.\n\n[883] 1837.\n\n ... and ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXXIV\n\nON THE FRITH OF CLYDE\n\n\n (IN A STEAM-BOAT)\n\n[The mountain outline on the north of this island, as seen from the\nFrith of Clyde,[884] is much the finest I have ever noticed in Scotland\nor elsewhere--I.F.]\n\n Arran! a single-crested Teneriffe,\n A St. Helena next--in shape and hue,\n Varying her crowded peaks and ridges blue;\n Who but must covet a cloud-seat, or skiff\n Built for the air, or winged Hippogriff? 5\n That he might fly, where no one could pursue,\n From this dull Monster and her sooty crew;\n And, as[885] a God, light on thy topmost cliff.\n Impotent wish! which reason would despise\n If the mind knew no union of extremes, 10\n No natural bond between the boldest schemes\n Ambition frames, and heart-humilities.[886]\n Beneath stern mountains many a soft vale lies,\n And lofty springs give birth to lowly streams.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[884] He doubtless refers to the view of Goatfell and Kaim-na-Calliach,\nwith Loch Ranza in front.--ED.\n\n[885] 1837.\n\n And, like ... 1835.\n\n[886] Compare _The Triad_, II. 145-148--\n\n High is her aim as heaven above,\n And wide as ether her good-will;\n And, like the lowly reed, her love\n Can drink its nurture from the scantiest rill.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXV\n\nON REVISITING DUNOLLY CASTLE\n\n\n(See former series, \"Yarrow Revisited,\" etc., p. 278.)\n\n The captive Bird was gone;--to cliff or moor\n Perchance had flown, delivered by the storm;\n Or he had pined, and sunk to feed the worm:\n Him found we not: but, climbing a tall tower,\n There saw, impaved with rude fidelity 5\n Of art mosaic, in a roofless floor,[887]\n An Eagle with stretched wings, but beamless eye--\n An Eagle that could neither wail nor soar.\n Effigy[888] of the Vanished[889]--(shall I dare\n To call thee so?) or symbol of fierce deeds 10\n And of the towering courage which past times\n Rejoiced in--take, whate'er thou be, a share,[890]\n Not undeserved, of the memorial rhymes\n That animate my way where'er it leads!\n\nLieutenant-Colonel M'Dougal of Dunollie wrote to me (October 1883) that\n\"the mosaic picture of an eagle--if it may be called so--still exists,\nthough it is rather a rude work of art. I believe it was executed by\na gardener, who was here about the time of Wordsworth's visit. It was\nmade of small stones, and is now a good deal overgrown with weeds,\nmoss, etc., as the second story of the old ruin is open to the weather.\nAn eagle was for many years kept in a cage, made against a wall of\nthe ruin, and this no doubt was the cause of the rude picture being\nmade.\"--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[887] 1835.\n\n Espied an old mosaic effigy\n Set in a roofless chamber's pavement floor,\n\n MS.\n\n[888] 1837.\n\n Shade of the poor Departed ... MS.\n\n Effigies of the Vanished ... 1835.\n\n[889] This ingenious piece of workmanship, as I afterwards learned, had\nbeen executed for their own amusement by some labourers employed about\nthe place.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[890] 1837.\n\n ... or symbol of past times,\n That towering courage, and the savage deeds\n Those times were proud of, take Thou too a share, 1835.\n\n Their towering courage, and the savage deeds\n Which they were proud of, ...\n\n MS.\n\n\n\n\nXXVI\n\nTHE DUNOLLY EAGLE\n\n\n Not to the clouds, not to the cliff, he flew;\n But when a storm, on sea or mountain bred,\n Came and delivered him, alone he sped\n Into the castle-dungeon's darkest mew.\n Now, near his master's house in open view 5\n He dwells, and hears indignant tempests howl,\n Kennelled and chained. Ye tame domestic fowl,[891]\n Beware of him! Thou, saucy cockatoo,\n Look to thy plumage and thy life!--The roe,\n Fleet as the west wind, is for _him_ no quarry; 10\n Balanced in ether he will never tarry,\n Eyeing the sea's blue depths. Poor Bird! even so\n Doth man of brother man a creature make\n That clings to slavery for its own sad sake.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[891] 1835.\n\n ... villatic Fowl,\n\n MS.\n\n\n\n\nXXVII\n\nWRITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF MACPHERSON'S OSSIAN[892]\n\n\n Composed 1824.--Published 1827\n\n[The verses,\n\n or strayed\n From hope and promise, self-betrayed,\n\nwere, I am sorry to say, suggested from apprehensions of the fate of\nmy friend, H.C.,[893] the subject of the verses addressed to _H.C.\nwhen six years old_. The piece to \"Memory\" arose out of similar\nfeelings.[894]--I. F.]\n\n Oft have I caught, upon a fitful breeze,[895]\n Fragments of far-off melodies,\n With ear not coveting the whole,\n A part so charmed the pensive soul:\n While a dark storm before my sight 5\n Was yielding, on a mountain height\n Loose vapours have I watched, that won\n Prismatic colours from the sun;\n Nor felt a wish that heaven would show\n The image of its perfect bow. 10\n What need, then, of these finished Strains?\n Away with counterfeit Remains!\n An abbey in its lone recess,\n A temple of the wilderness,\n Wrecks though they be, announce with feeling 15\n The majesty of honest dealing.\n Spirit of Ossian! if imbound\n In language thou may'st yet be found,\n If aught (intrusted to the pen\n Or floating on the tongues of men, 20\n Albeit shattered and impaired)\n Subsist thy dignity to guard,\n In concert with memorial claim\n Of old grey stone, and high-born name\n That cleaves to rock or pillared cave 25\n Where moans the blast, or beats the wave,\n Let Truth, stern arbitress of all,\n Interpret that Original,\n And for presumptuous wrongs atone;--\n Authentic words be given, or none! 30\n\n Time is not blind;--yet He, who spares\n Pyramid pointing to the stars,\n Hath preyed with ruthless appetite\n On all that marked the primal flight\n Of the poetic ecstasy 35\n Into the land of mystery.\n No tongue is able to rehearse\n One measure, Orpheus! of thy verse;[896]\n Mus\u00e6us, stationed with his lyre\n Supreme among the Elysian quire, 40\n Is, for the dwellers upon earth\n Mute as a lark ere morning's birth,[897]\n Why grieve for these, though past away\n The music, and extinct the lay?\n When thousands, by severer doom, 45\n Full early to the silent tomb\n Have sunk, at Nature's call; or strayed\n From hope and promise, self-betrayed;\n The garland withering on their brows;\n Stung with remorse for broken vows; 50\n Frantic--else how might they rejoice?\n And friendless, by their own sad choice!\n\n Hail, Bards of mightier grasp! on you\n I chiefly call, the chosen Few,\n Who cast-not off the acknowledged guide, 55\n Who faltered not, nor turned aside;\n Whose lofty genius could survive\n Privation, under sorrow thrive;\n In whom the fiery Muse revered\n The symbol of a snow-white beard, 60\n Bedewed with meditative tears\n Dropped from the lenient cloud of years.\n\n Brothers in soul! though distant times\n Produced you nursed in various climes,\n Ye, when the orb of life had waned, 65\n A plenitude of love retained:\n Hence, while in you each sad regret\n By corresponding hope was met,\n Ye lingered among human kind,\n Sweet voices for the passing wind; 70\n Departing sunbeams, loth to stop,\n Though smiling on the last hill top![898]\n Such to the tender-hearted maid\n Even ere her joys begin to fade;\n Such, haply, to the rugged chief 75\n By fortune crushed, or tamed by grief;\n Appears, on Morven's lonely shore,\n Dim-gleaming through imperfect lore,\n The Son of Fingal; such was blind\n M\u00e6onides of ampler mind;[899] 80\n Such Milton, to the fountain head\n Of glory by Urania led!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[892] This poem was first published among the _Poems of Sentiment and_\n_Reflection_ in the edition of 1827. In the edition of 1836 Wordsworth\ngave 1824 as the year of its composition. It is here printed in the\nseries to which it was finally assigned, although slightly out of its\nchronological place.--ED.\n\n[893] Hartley Coleridge.--ED.\n\n[894] See p. 117.--ED.\n\n[895] 1832.\n\n ... caught from fitful breeze 1827.\n\n[896] The genuine Orphic Literature included some Hymns, a Theogony,\nOracles, Songs, and Sacred Legends, #hieroi logoi#: but none have\ncome down to modern times. The _Orphica_ which have survived are\nspurious.--ED.\n\n[897] None of the fragments attributed to Mus\u00e6us by the ancients--the\n#Chr\u00easmoi#, #Hypoth\u00eakai#, #Theogonia#, etc.--have survived.--ED.\n\n[898] Compare vol. ii. p. 163--\n\n There is an Eminence,--of these our hills\n The last that parleys with the setting sun.--ED.\n\n[899] Homer; so called from the fact that M\u00e6onia in Lydia was, by some,\nclaimed as his birth-place.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXVIII\n\nCAVE OF STAFFA[900]\n\n\n We saw, but surely, in the motley crowd,\n Not one of us has felt the far-famed sight;\n How _could_ we feel it? each the other's blight,\n Hurried and hurrying, volatile and loud.\n O for those motions only that invite 5\n The Ghost of Fingal to his tuneful Cave\n By the breeze entered, and wave after wave\n Softly embosoming the timid light!\n And by _one_ Votary who at will might stand\n Gazing, and take into his mind and heart, 10\n With undistracted reverence, the effect\n Of those proportions where the almighty hand\n That made the worlds, the sovereign Architect,\n Has deigned to work as if with human Art![901]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[900] The reader may be tempted to exclaim, \"How came this and the two\nfollowing sonnets to be written, after the dissatisfaction expressed in\nthe preceding one?\" In fact, at the risk of incurring the reasonable\ndispleasure of the master of the steam-boat, I returned[902] to the\ncave, and explored it under circumstances more favourable to those\nimaginative impressions which it is so wonderfully fitted to make upon\nthe mind.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[901] Staffa, or the island of Staves, as some derive the name.--ED.\n\n[902] 1845.\n\n the Author returned 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXXIX\n\nCAVE OF STAFFA\n\n(AFTER THE CROWD HAD DEPARTED)[903]\n\n\n Thanks for the lessons of this Spot--fit school\n For the presumptuous thoughts that would assign\n Mechanic laws to agency divine;\n And, measuring heaven by earth, would overrule\n Infinite Power. The pillared vestibule, 5\n Expanding yet precise, the roof embowed,[904]\n Might seem designed to humble man, when proud\n Of his best workmanship by plan and tool.\n Down-bearing with his whole Atlantic weight\n Of tide and tempest on the Structure's base, 10\n And flashing to that Structure's topmost height,[905]\n Ocean has proved its strength, and of its grace\n In calms is conscious,[906] finding for his freight\n Of softest music some responsive place.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[903] 1845.\n\n CAVE OF STAFFA. 1835.\n\n[904] Note the topographical accuracy of this description.--ED.\n\n[905] 1837.\n\n And flashing upwards to its topmost height, 1835.\n\n[906] Compare, _On a high part of the Coast of Cumberland_, p. 338--\n\n No; 'tis the earth-voice of the mighty sea,\n Whispering how meek and gentle he _can_ be!--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXX\n\nCAVE OF STAFFA\n\n\n Ye shadowy Beings, that have rights and claims\n In every cell of Fingal's mystic Grot,\n Where are ye? Driven or venturing to the spot,\n Our fathers glimpses caught of your thin Frames,\n And, by your mien and bearing, knew your names; 5\n And they could hear _his_ ghostly song who trod\n Earth, till the flesh lay on him like a load,\n While he struck his desolate harp without hopes or aims.\n Vanished ye are, but subject to recal;\n Why keep _we_ else the instincts whose dread law 10\n Ruled here of yore, till what men felt they saw,\n Not by black arts but magic natural!\n If eyes be still sworn vassals of belief,\n Yon light shapes forth a Bard, that shade a Chief.\n\n\n\n\nXXXI\n\nFLOWERS ON THE TOP OF THE PILLARS AT THE ENTRANCE OF THE CAVE\n\n\n Hope smiled when your nativity was cast,\n Children of Summer![907] Ye fresh Flowers that brave\n What Summer here escapes not, the fierce wave,\n And whole artillery of the western blast,\n Battering the Temple's front, its long-drawn nave 5\n Smiting, as if each moment were their last.\n But ye, bright Flowers, on frieze and architrave\n Survive,[908] and once again the Pile stands fast;\n Calm as the Universe, from specular towers\n Of heaven contemplated by Spirits pure 10\n With mute astonishment, it stands sustained\n Through every part in symmetry, to endure,[909]\n Unhurt, the assault of Time with all his hours,\n As the supreme Artificer ordained.[910]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[907] Upon the head of the columns which form the front of the cave,\nrests a body of decomposed basaltic matter, which was richly decorated\nwith that large bright flower, the ox-eyed daisy. I had[911] noticed\nthe same flower growing with profusion among the bold rocks on the\nwestern coast of the Isle of Man; making a brilliant contrast with\ntheir black and gloomy surfaces.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[908] They still survive, and flourish above the pillars.--ED.\n\n[909] 1840 and C.\n\n Suns and their systems, diverse yet sustained\n In symmetry, and fashioned to endure, 1835.\n\n[910] 1835.\n\n As the Supreme Geometer ordained.\n\n MS.\n\n[911] 1845.\n\n The author had 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXXXII\n\nIONA\n\n\n On to Iona!--What can she afford\n To _us_ save matter for a thoughtful sigh,\n Heaved over ruin with stability\n In urgent contrast? To diffuse the WORD\n (Thy Paramount, mighty Nature! and Time's Lord)\n Her Temples rose,[912] 'mid pagan gloom; but why, 6\n Even for a moment, has our verse deplored\n Their wrongs, since they fulfilled their destiny?\n And when, subjected to a common doom\n Of mutability, those far-famed Piles 10\n Shall disappear from both the sister Isles,\n Iona's Saints, forgetting not past days,\n Garlands shall wear of amaranthine bloom,\n While heaven's vast sea of voices chants their praise.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[912] St. Columba took up his residence at Iona, in 563.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIII\n\nIONA\n\n(UPON LANDING)\n\n\n How sad a welcome! To each voyager[913]\n Some ragged child holds up for sale a store[914]\n Of wave-worn pebbles, pleading on the shore[915]\n Where once came monk and nun with gentle stir,\n Blessings to give, news ask, or suit prefer. 5\n Yet is[916] yon neat trim church[917] a grateful speck\n Of novelty amid the sacred wreck\n Strewn far and wide. Think, proud Philosopher![918]\n Fallen though she be, this Glory of the west,[919]\n Still on her sons, the beams of mercy shine; 10\n And \"hopes, perhaps more heavenly bright than thine,\n A grace by thee unsought and unpossest,\n A faith more fixed, a rapture more divine,\n Shall gild their passage to eternal rest.\"[920]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[913] 1837.\n\n With earnest look, to every voyager, 1835.\n\n[914] 1837.\n\n ... his store 1835.\n\n[915] 1835.\n\n With outstretched hands, round every voyager\n Press ragged children, each to supplicate\n A price for wave-worn pebbles on his plate,\n\n MS.\n\n[916] 1837.\n\n But see ... 1835.\n\n[917] This refers to the modern parish Church on the Island, not to St.\nOran's Chapel, or the Cathedral Church of St. Mary.--ED.\n\n[918] 1837.\n\n ... this sacred wreck--\n Nay spare thy scorn, haughty Philosopher! 1835.\n\n[919] 1835.\n\n Fallen as she is, this Glory of the West,\n\n MS.\n\n[920] The four last lines of this sonnet are adopted from a well-known\nsonnet of Russel, as conveying my feeling[921] better than any words of\nmy own[922] could do.--W. W. 1835.\n\nThese \"last four lines\" are taken from sonnet No. x. of _Sonnets and_\n_Miscellaneous Poems_, by the late Thomas Russel, Fellow of New College\nOxford, printed for D. Price and J. Cooke, 1789. The Rev. Thomas\nRussell, author of these _Sonnets_, was born 1762, died 1788. He was\na Wykehamist, and is referred to in a letter by Wordsworth to Dyce in\n1833.--ED.\n\n[921] 1845\n\n the author's feeling 1835.\n\n[922] 1845\n\n his own 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIV\n\nTHE BLACK STONES OF IONA\n\n\n[See Martin's Voyage among the Western Isles.[923]]\n\n Here on their knees men swore; the stones were black,[924]\n Black in the people's minds and words,[925] yet they\n Were at that time, as now, in colour grey.\n But what is colour, if upon the rack\n Of conscience souls are placed by deeds that lack 5\n Concord with oaths? What differ night and day\n Then, when before the Perjured on his way\n Hell opens, and the heavens in vengeance crack\n Above his head uplifted in vain prayer\n To Saint, or Fiend,[926] or to the Godhead whom 10\n He had insulted--Peasant, King, or Thane?\n Fly where the culprit may, guilt meets a doom;\n And, from invisible worlds at need laid bare,\n Come links for social order's awful chain.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[923] _Description of the Western Islands of Scotland; including an\naccount of the Manners, Customs, Religion, Language, Dress, etc., of\nthe Inhabitants_, by M. Martin, 1703.--ED.\n\n[924] In Johnson's _Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland_ the\nfollowing occurs in the section on \"Icolmkill:\"--\"The place is said\nto be known where the Black Stones lie concealed, on which the old\nHighland chiefs, when they made contracts and alliances, used to take\nthe oath, which was considered more sacred than any other obligation,\nand which could not be violated without the blackest infamy. In these\ndays of violence and rapine, it was of great importance to impose\nupon savage minds the sanctity of an oath, by some particular and\nextraordinary circumstances--they would not have recourse to the Black\nStones upon small or common occasions; and when they had established\ntheir faith by this tremendous sanction, inconstancy and treachery were\nno longer feared.\"--ED.\n\n[925] 1835.\n\n Here on their knees, they swore, the stones were black,\n Black in men's minds and words, ...\n\n MS.\n\n[926] 1835.\n\n To saints, to fiends, ...\n\n MS.\n\n\n\n\nXXXV\n\n\"HOMEWARD WE TURN. ISLE OF COLUMBA'S CELL\"\n\n\n Homeward we turn. Isle of Columba's Cell,\n Where Christian piety's soul-cheering spark\n (Kindled from Heaven between the light and dark\n Of time) shone like the morning-star, farewell!--\n And fare thee well, to Fancy visible, 5\n Remote St. Kilda, lone and loved sea-mark[927]\n For many a voyage made in her swift bark,[928]\n When with more hues than in the rainbow dwell\n Thou a mysterious intercourse dost hold,\n Extracting from clear skies and air serene, 10\n And out of sun-bright waves, a lucid veil,\n That thickens, spreads, and, mingling fold with fold,\n Makes known, when thou no longer canst be seen,\n Thy whereabout, to warn the approaching sail.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[927] St. Kilda is sixty miles to the north-west of Harris, in the\nOuter Hebrides.--ED.\n\n[928] 1837.\n\n ... farewell!--\n Remote St. Kilda, art thou visible?\n No--but farewell to thee, beloved sea-mark\n From many a voyage made in Fancy's bark, 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVI\n\nGREENOCK\n\n\n Per me si va nella Citt\u00e0 dolente.[929]\n\n _We_ have not passed into a doleful City,\n We who were led to-day down a grim dell,\n By some too boldly named \"the Jaws of Hell:\"[930]\n Where be the wretched ones, the sights for pity?\n These crowded streets resound no plaintive ditty:-- 5\n As from the hive where bees in summer dwell,\n Sorrow seems here excluded; and that knell,\n It neither damps the gay, nor checks the witty.\n Alas! too busy Rival of old Tyre,[931]\n Whose merchants Princes were, whose decks were thrones;\n Soon may the punctual sea in vain respire 11\n To serve thy need, in union with that Clyde\n Whose nursling current brawls o'er mossy stones,[932]\n The poor, the lonely, herdsman's joy and pride.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[929] See Dante, _Inferno_, iii. I.--ED.\n\n[930] They came down from Inveraray to Loch Goil by Hell's Glen.--ED.\n\n[931] 1837.\n\n Too busy Mart! thus fared it with old Tyre, 1835.\n\n[932] Above Elvanfoot, near the watershed, at \"Summit\" on the\nCaledonian Railway line, where the Clyde rises.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVII\n\n\"THERE!\" SAID A STRIPLING, POINTING WITH MEET PRIDE\n\n\n[Mosgiel was thus pointed out to me by a young man on the top of the\ncoach on my way from Glasgow to Kilmarnock. It is remarkable that,\nthough Burns lived some time here, and during much the most productive\nperiod of his poetical life, he nowhere adverts to the splendid\nprospects stretching towards the sea and bounded by the peaks of Arran\non one part, which in clear weather he must have had daily before\nhis eyes. In one of his poetical effusions he speaks of describing\n\"fair Nature's face\" as a privilege on which he sets a high value;\nnevertheless, natural appearances rarely take a lead in his poetry. It\nis as a human being, eminently sensitive and intelligent, and not as a\npoet, clad in his priestly robes and carrying the ensigns of sacerdotal\noffice, that he interests and affects us. Whether he speaks of rivers,\nhills and woods, it is not so much on account of the properties with\nwhich they are absolutely endowed, as relatively to local patriotic\nremembrances and associations, or as they ministered to personal\nfeelings, especially those of love, whether happy or otherwise;--yet\nit is not always so. Soon after we had passed Mosgiel Farm we crossed\nthe Ayr, murmuring and winding through a narrow woody hollow. His\nline--\"Auld hermit Ayr strays through his woods\"--came at once to my\nmind with Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, and Doon,--Ayrshire streams over which he\nbreathes a sigh as being unnamed in song; and surely his own attempts\nto make them known were as successful as his heart could desire.--I. F.]\n\n \"There!\" said a Stripling, pointing with meet pride\n Towards a low roof with green trees half concealed,\n \"Is Mosgiel Farm; and that's the very field\n Where Burns ploughed up the Daisy.\"[933] Far and wide\n A plain below stretched seaward, while, descried 5\n Above sea-clouds, the Peaks of Arran rose;\n And, by that simple notice, the repose\n Of earth, sky, sea, and air, was vivified.\n Beneath \"the random _bield_ of clod or stone\"\n Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower 10\n Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour\n Have passed away; less happy than the One\n That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to prove\n The tender charm of poetry and love.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[933] See Burns's poem _To a Mountain Daisy_, or as it was originally\ncalled, _The Gowan_.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVIII\n\nTHE RIVER EDEN, CUMBERLAND\n\n\n [\"Nature gives thee flowers\n That have no rivals among British bowers.\"\n\nThis can scarcely be true to the letter; but, without stretching the\npoint at all, I can say that the soil and air appear more congenial\nwith many upon the banks of this river than I have observed in any\nother parts of Great Britain.--I. F.]\n\n Eden! till now thy beauty had I viewed\n By glimpses only, and confess with shame\n That verse of mine, whate'er its varying mood,\n Repeats but once the sound of thy sweet name:[934]\n Yet fetched from Paradise[935] that honour came, 5\n Rightfully borne; for Nature gives thee flowers\n That have no rivals among British bowers;\n And thy bold rocks are worthy of their fame.[936]\n Measuring thy course, fair Stream! at length I pay[937]\n To my life's neighbour dues of neighbourhood; 10\n But I have traced thee on thy winding way[938]\n With pleasure sometimes by this thought restrained\n For things far off we toil, while many a good[939]\n Not sought, because too near, is never gained.[940]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[934] 1835.\n\n Full long thy beauty, Eden, had I viewed,\n By glimpses only ...\n\n MS.\n\n Eden! the Muse has wronged thee, be the shame\n Frankly acknowledged, in no careless mood\n Of memory, my verse have I reviewed\n And met but once the sound of thy sweet name:\n\n MS.\n\n[935] It is to be feared that there is more of the poet than the sound\netymologist in this derivation of the Eden. On the western coast of\nCumberland is a rivulet which enters the sea at Moresby, known also\nin the neighbourhood by the name of Eden. May not the latter syllable\ncome from the word Dean, _a valley_? Langdale, near Ambleside, is by\nthe inhabitants called Langden. The former syllable occurs in the name\nEmont, a principal feeder of the Eden; and the stream which flows,\nwhen the tide is out, over Cartmel Sands, is called the Ea--French,\neau--Latin, aqua.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[936] Especially on the upper reaches of the river, as seen from the\nMidland Railway line beyond Appleby.--ED.\n\n[937] 1835.\n\n Bright are the hours that prompt me now to pay\n\n MS.\n\n[938] 1835.\n\n Thee have I traced along thy winding way\n\n MS.\n\n[939] 1845.\n\n ... by the thought restrained\n That things far off are toiled for, while a good 1835.\n\n That for things far off we toil, while many a good 1840.\n\n[940] 1840.\n\n ... is seldom gained 1835 and\n\n MS.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIX\n\nMONUMENT OF MRS. HOWARD\n\n(by Nollekens)\n\nIN WETHERAL CHURCH, NEAR COREY, ON THE BANKS OF THE EDEN\n\n\n[Before this monument was put up in the Church at Wetheral, I saw it\nin the sculptor's studio. Nollekens, who, by-the-bye, was a strange\nand grotesque figure that interfered much with one's admiration of his\nworks, showed me at the same time the various models in clay which\nhe had made, one after another, of the Mother and her Infant: the\nimprovement on each was surprising; and how so much grace, beauty, and\ntenderness had come out of such a head I was sadly puzzled to conceive.\nUpon a window-seat in his parlour lay two casts of faces, one of the\nDuchess of Devonshire, so noted in her day; and the other of Mr.\nPitt, taken after his death, a ghastly resemblance, as these things\nalways are, even when taken from the living subject, and more ghastly\nin this instance from the peculiarity of the features. The heedless\nand apparently neglectful manner in which the faces of these two\npersons were left--the one so distinguished in London society, and the\nother upon whose counsels and public conduct, during a most momentous\nperiod, depended the fate of this great Empire and perhaps of all\nEurope--afforded a lesson to which the dullest of casual visitors could\nscarcely be insensible. It touched me the more because I had so often\nseen Mr. Pitt upon his own ground at Cambridge and upon the floor of\nthe House of Commons.--I. F.]\n\n Stretched on the dying Mother's lap, lies dead\n Her new-born Babe; dire ending[941] of bright hope!\n But Sculpture here, with the divinest scope\n Of luminous faith, heavenward hath raised that head\n So patiently; and through one hand has spread 5\n A touch so tender for the insensate Child--\n (Earth's lingering love to parting reconciled,\n Brief parting, for the spirit is all but fled)--\n That we, who contemplate the turns of life\n Through this still medium, are consoled and cheered;\n Feel with the Mother, think the severed Wife 11\n Is less to be lamented than revered;\n And own that Art, triumphant over strife\n And pain, hath powers to Eternity endeared.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[941] 1845.\n\n ... issue ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXL\n\nSUGGESTED BY THE FOREGOING[942]\n\n\n Tranquillity! the sovereign aim wert thou\n In heathen schools of philosophic lore;[943]\n Heart-stricken by stern destiny of yore\n The Tragic Muse thee served with thoughtful vow;\n And what of hope Elysium could allow 5\n Was fondly seized by Sculpture, to restore\n Peace to the Mourner. But when He who wore[944]\n The crown of thorns around his bleeding brow\n Warmed our sad being with celestial light,[945]\n _Then_ Arts which still had drawn a softening grace 10\n From shadowy fountains of the Infinite,\n Communed with that Idea face to face:\n And move around it now as planets run,\n Each in its orbit round the central Sun.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[942] In the edition of 1835 there is no title to this sonnet.\n\n[943] #Ataraxia#, was the aim of Stoic, Epicurean, and Sceptic\nalike.--ED.\n\n[944] 1840.\n\n Peace to the Mourner's soul; but He who wore 1835.\n\n[945] 1840.\n\n ... with his glorious light: 1835.\n\n Round our sad being shed celestial light, C.\n\n\n\n\nXLI\n\nNUNNERY[946]\n\n\n[I became acquainted with the walks of Nunnery when a boy: they are\nwithin easy reach of a day's pleasant excursion from the town of\nPenrith, where I used to pass my summer holidays under the roof of my\nmaternal Grandfather. The place is well worth visiting; though, within\nthese few years, its privacy, and therefore the pleasure which the\nscene is so well fitted to give, has been injuriously affected by walks\ncut in the rocks on that side the stream which had been left in its\nnatural state.--I. F.]\n\n The floods are roused, and will not soon be weary;\n Down from the Pennine Alps[947] how fiercely sweeps\n Croglin, the stately Eden's tributary![948]\n He raves, or through some moody passage creeps\n Plotting new mischief--out again he leaps 5\n Into broad light, and sends, through regions airy,[949]\n That voice which soothed the Nuns while on the steeps\n They knelt in prayer, or sang to blissful Mary.[950]\n That union ceased: then, cleaving easy walks\n Through crags, and smoothing paths beset with danger,\n Came studious Taste; and many a pensive stranger 11\n Dreams on the banks, and to the river talks.\n What change shall happen next to Nunnery Dell?[951]\n Canal, and Viaduct, and Railway, tell![952]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[946] Nunnery; so named from the House for Benedictine Nuns established\nby William Rufus.--ED.\n\n[947] The chain of Crossfell[953]--W. W. 1835.\n\n[948] The two streams of the Croglin and the Eden unite in the grounds\nof Nunnery.--ED.\n\n[949] 1835.\n\n Seeking in vain broad light, and regions aery.\n\n MS.\n\n[950] 1835.\n\n But with that voice which once high on his steeps\n Mingled with vespers, sung to blissful Mary--\n\n MS.\n\n[951] 1835.\n\n ... to Croglin Dell?\n\n MS.\n\n[952] At Corby, a few miles below Nunnery, the Eden is crossed by a\nmagnificent viaduct; and another of these works is thrown over a deep\nglen or ravine at a very short distance from the main stream.--W. W.\n1835.\n\n[953] 1845.\n\n which parts Cumberland and Westmoreland from Northumberland\n and Durham. 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXLII\n\nSTEAMBOATS, VIADUCTS, AND RAILWAYS\n\n\n Motions and Means, on land and sea[954] at war\n With old poetic feeling, not for this,\n Shall ye, by Poets even, be judged amiss!\n Nor shall your presence, howsoe'er it mar\n The loveliness of Nature, prove a bar 5\n To the Mind's gaining that prophetic sense\n Of future change, that point of vision, whence\n May be discovered what in soul ye are.\n In spite of all that beauty may disown\n In your harsh features, Nature doth embrace 10\n Her lawful offspring in Man's art; and Time,\n Pleased with your triumphs o'er his brother Space,\n Accepts from your bold hands the proffered crown\n Of hope, and smiles on you with cheer sublime.[955]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[954] 1835.\n\n ... on sea or land ...\n\n Version in _The Morning Post_.\n\n[955] Compare the Sonnet _On the Projected Kendal and Windermere\nRailway_, written in 1844.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXLIII\n\nTHE MONUMENT COMMONLY CALLED LONG MEG AND HER DAUGHTERS, NEAR THE RIVER\nEDEN[956]\n\n\n Composed, _probably_, in 1821.--Published 1822\n\n A weight of awe, not easy to be borne,\n Fell suddenly upon my Spirit--cast\n From the dread bosom of the unknown past,\n When first I saw that family forlorn.[957]\n Speak Thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn[958]\n The power of years--pre-eminent, and placed 6\n Apart, to overlook the circle vast--\n Speak, Giant-mother! tell it to the Morn\n While she dispels the cumbrous shades of Night;\n Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud; 10\n At whose behest uprose on British ground\n That Sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round\n Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite\n The inviolable God, that tames the proud![959][960]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[956] It first appeared in _A Description of the Scenery of the Lakes\nin the North of England_, third edition, 1822.--ED.\n\n[957] 1837.\n\n ....that Sisterhood forlorn. 1822.\n\n[958] 1837.\n\n And him, whose strength and stature seems to scorn 1822.\n\n[959] The daughters of Long Meg, placed in a perfect circle eighty\nyards in diameter, are seventy-two in number above ground; a little way\nout of the circle stands Long Meg herself, a single stone, eighteen\nfeet high. When I first saw this monument, as I came upon it by\nsurprise, I might over-rate its importance as an object; but, though it\nwill not bear a comparison with Stonehenge, I must say, I have not seen\nany other relique of those dark ages, which can pretend to rival it in\nsingularity and dignity of appearance.--W. W. 1837.\n\nThe text of this note, in the edition of 1822, is slightly\ndifferent.--ED.\n\nIn a letter to Sir George Beaumont, January 6, 1821, Wordsworth wrote,\n\"My road brought me suddenly and unexpectedly upon that ancient\nmonument, called by the country people Long Meg and her Daughters.\nEverybody has heard of it, and so had I from very early childhood; but\nhad never seen it before. Next to Stonehenge it is beyond dispute the\nmost noble relic of the kind that this or probably any other country\ncontains. Long Meg is a single block of unhewn stone, eighteen feet\nhigh, at a small distance from a vast circle of other stones, some of\nthem of huge size, though curtailed of their stature, by their own\nincessant pressure upon it.\" Compare a note in Wordsworth's _Guide to\nthe Scenery of the Lakes_, section 2.--ED.\n\n[960] 1837.\n\n When, how, and wherefore, rose on British ground\n That wondrous Monument, whose mystic round\n Forth shadows, some have deemed, to mortal sight\n The inviolable God that tames the proud! 1822.\n\n\n\n\nXLIV\n\nLOWTHER[961]\n\n\n[\"Cathedral pomp.\" It may be questioned whether this union was in the\ncontemplation of the artist when he planned the edifice. However this\nmight be, a poet may be excused for taking the view of the subject\npresented in this Sonnet.--I. F.]\n\n Lowther! in thy majestic Pile are seen[962]\n Cathedral pomp and grace, in apt accord[963]\n With the baronial castle's sterner mien;[964]\n Union significant of God adored,\n And charters won and guarded by the sword 5\n Of ancient honour; whence that goodly state\n Of polity which wise men venerate,[965]\n And will maintain, if God his help afford.\n Hourly the democratic torrent swells;[966]\n For airy promises and hopes suborned 10\n The strength of backward-looking thoughts is scorned.\n Fall if ye must, ye Towers and Pinnacles,\n With what ye symbolise; authentic Story\n Will say, Ye disappeared with England's Glory!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[961] There was no title in the edition of 1835.\n\n[962] 1835.\n\n ... in thy magnificence are seen\n\n MS.\n\n[963] 1835.\n\n Shapes of cathedral pomp that well accord\n\n MS.\n\n[964] The present Castle was begun in 1808. It is in the style of the\n13th and 14th century structures. The arched corridors surrounding the\nstaircase--which is sixty feet square and ninety feet high--may justify\nthe description in the sonnet. These stone corridors open on each side,\nthrough the centre of the castle. Compare the reference to Lowther in\nBarren's _Travels in China_, p. 134, in the course of his description\nof \"Gehol's matchless gardens,\" referred to in _The Prelude_, book\nviii. (vol. iii. p. 274.)--ED.\n\n[965] The Lowther family have been, for generations, the\nrepresentatives of the Conservative cause in Cumberland.--ED.\n\n[966] 1835.\n\n But high the democratic torrent swells.\n\n MS.\n\n\n\n\nXLV\n\nTO THE EARL OF LONSDALE\n\n\n\"Magistratus indicat virum.\"\n\n Lonsdale! it were unworthy of a Guest,\n Whose heart with gratitude to thee inclines,\n If he should speak, by fancy touched, of signs\n On thy Abode harmoniously imprest,\n Yet be unmoved with wishes to attest 5\n How in thy mind and moral frame agree\n Fortitude, and that Christian Charity\n Which, filling, consecrates the human breast.\n And if the Motto on thy 'scutcheon teach\n With truth, \"THE MAGISTRACY SHOWS THE MAN;\"\n _That_ searching test thy public course has stood;[967] 11\n As will be owned alike by bad and good,\n Soon as the measuring of life's little span\n Shall place thy virtues out of Envy's reach.[968]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[967] 1835.\n\n Lonsdale! it were unworthy of a Guest,\n One chiefly well aware how much he owes\n To thy regard, to speak in verse or prose\n Of types and signs harmoniously imprest\n On thy Abode, neglecting to attest\n That in thy Mansion's Lord as well agree\n Meekness and strength and Christian charity,\n That filling, consecrates the human breast.\n And if, as thy armorial bearings teach,\n \"The Magistracy indicates the Man,\"\n That test thy life triumphantly has stood;\n\n MS.\n\n[968] This sonnet was written immediately after certain trials, which\ntook place at the Cumberland Assizes, when the Earl of Lonsdale, in\nconsequence of repeated and long-continued attacks upon his character,\nthrough the local press, had thought it right to prosecute the\nconductors and proprietors of three several journals. A verdict of\nlibel was given in one case; and, in the others, the prosecutions were\nwithdrawn, upon the individuals retracting and disavowing the charges,\nexpressing regret that they had been made, and promising to abstain\nfrom the like in future.--W. W. 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXLVI\n\nTHE SOMNAMBULIST[969]\n\n\n[This poem might be dedicated to my friends, Sir G. Beaumont and Mr.\nRogers jointly. While we were making an excursion together in this\npart of the Lake District we heard that Mr. Glover, the artist, while\nlodging at Lyulph's Tower, had been disturbed by a loud shriek, and\nupon rising he had learnt that it had come from a young woman in the\nhouse who was in the habit of walking in her sleep. In that state she\nhad gone down stairs, and, while attempting to open the outer door,\neither from some difficulty or the effect of the cold stone upon her\nfeet, had uttered the cry which alarmed him. It seemed to us all that\nthis might serve as a hint for a poem, and the story here told was\nconstructed and soon after put into verse by me as it now stands.--I.\nF.]\n\n List, ye who pass by Lyulph's Tower[970][971]\n At eve; how softly then\n Doth Aira-force, that torrent hoarse,\n Speak from the woody glen![972]\n Fit music for a solemn vale! 5\n And holier seems the ground[973]\n To him who catches[974] on the gale\n The spirit of a mournful tale,\n Embodied in the sound.\n\n Not far from that fair site whereon 10\n The Pleasure-house is reared,\n As story says, in antique days\n A stern-brow'd house appeared;\n Foil to a Jewel rich in light\n There set, and guarded well; 15\n Cage for a Bird of plumage bright,\n Sweet-voiced, nor wishing for a flight\n Beyond her native dell.\n\n To win this bright Bird from her cage,\n To make this Gem their own, 20\n Came Barons bold, with store of gold,\n And Knights of high renown;\n But one She prized, and only one;\n Sir Eglamore was he;\n Full happy season, when was known, 25\n Ye Dales and Hills! to you alone\n Their mutual loyalty--[975]\n\n Known chiefly, Aira! to thy glen,\n Thy brook, and bowers of holly;\n Where Passion caught what Nature taught, 30\n That all but love is folly;\n Where Fact with Fancy stooped to play;\n Doubt came not, nor regret--\n To trouble hours that winged their way,\n As if through an immortal day 35\n Whose sun could never set.\n\n But in old times[976] Love dwelt not long\n Sequester'd with repose;\n Best throve the fire of chaste desire,\n Fanned by the breath of foes. 40\n \"A conquering lance is beauty's test,\n And proves the Lover true;\"\n So spake Sir Eglamore, and pressed\n The drooping Emma[977] to his breast,\n And looked a blind adieu. 45\n\n They parted.--Well with him it fared\n Through wide-spread regions errant;\n A knight of proof in love's behoof,\n The thirst of fame his warrant:\n And She her happiness[978] can build 50\n On woman's quiet hours;\n Though faint, compared with spear and shield,\n The solace beads and masses yield,\n And needlework and flowers.\n\n Yet blest was Emma[979] when she heard 55\n Her Champion's praise recounted;\n Though brain would swim, and eyes grow dim,\n And high her blushes mounted;\n Or when a bold heroic lay\n She warbled from full heart; 60\n Delightful blossoms for the _May_\n Of absence! but they will not stay,\n Born only to depart.\n\n Hope wanes with her, while lustre fills\n Whatever path he chooses; 65\n As if his orb, that owns no curb,\n Received the light hers loses.\n He comes not back; an ampler space\n Requires for nobler deeds;\n He ranges on from place to place, 70\n Till of his doings is no trace,\n But what her fancy breeds.\n\n His fame may spread, but in the past\n Her spirit finds its centre;\n Clear sight She has of what he was, 75\n And that would now content her.\n \"Still is he my devoted Knight?\"\n The tear in answer flows;\n Month falls on month with heavier weight;\n Day sickens round her, and the night 80\n Is empty of repose.\n\n In sleep She sometimes walked abroad,\n Deep sighs with quick words blending,\n Like that pale Queen whose hands are seen\n With fancied spots contending;[980] 85\n But _she_ is innocent of blood,--\n The moon is not more pure\n That shines aloft, while through the wood\n She thrids her way, the sounding Flood\n Her melancholy lure! 90\n\n While 'mid the fern-brake sleeps the doe,\n And owls alone are waking,\n In white arrayed, glides on the Maid\n The downward pathway taking,\n That leads her to the torrent's side 95\n And to a holly bower;\n By whom on this still night descried?\n By whom in that lone place espied?\n By thee, Sir Eglamore![981]\n\n A wandering Ghost, so thinks the Knight, 100\n His coming step has thwarted,\n Beneath the boughs that heard their vows,\n Within whose shade they parted.\n Hush, hush, the busy Sleeper see!\n Perplexed her fingers seem, 105\n As if they from the holly tree\n Green twigs would pluck, as rapidly\n Flung from her to the stream.\n\n What means the Spectre? Why intent\n To violate the Tree, 110\n Thought Eglamore, by which I swore\n Unfading constancy?\n Here am I, and to-morrow's sun,\n To her I left, shall prove\n That bliss is ne'er so surely won 115\n As when a circuit has been run\n Of valour, truth, and love.\n\n So from the spot whereon he stood,\n He moved with stealthy pace;\n And, drawing nigh, with his living eye,[982] 120\n He recognised the face;\n And whispers caught, and speeches small,\n Some to the green-leaved tree,\n Some muttered to the torrent-fall;--\n \"Roar on, and bring him with thy call; 125\n I heard, and so may He!\"\n\n Soul-shattered was the Knight, nor knew\n If Emma's Ghost[983] it were,\n Or boding Shade, or if the Maid\n Her very self stood there. 130\n He touched; what followed who shall tell?\n The soft touch snapped the thread\n Of slumber--shrieking back she fell,\n And the Stream whirled her down the dell\n Along its foaming bed. 135\n\n In plunged the Knight!--when on firm ground\n The rescued Maiden lay,\n Her eyes grew bright with blissful light,\n Confusion passed away;\n She heard, ere to the throne of grace 140\n Her faithful Spirit flew,\n His voice--beheld his speaking face;\n And, dying, from his own embrace,\n She felt that he was true.\n\n So was he reconciled to life: 145\n Brief words may speak the rest;[984]\n Within the dell he built a cell,\n And there was Sorrow's guest;\n In hermits' weeds repose he found,\n From vain temptations[985] free;[986] 150\n Beside the torrent dwelling--bound\n By one deep heart-controlling sound,\n And awed to piety.\n\n Wild stream of Aira, hold thy course,\n Nor fear memorial lays, 155\n Where clouds that spread in solemn shade,\n Are edged with golden rays!\n Dear art thou to the light of heaven,\n Though minister of sorrow;\n Sweet is thy voice at pensive even; 160\n And thou, in lovers' hearts forgiven,\n Shalt take thy place with Yarrow!\n\nThis poem was translated into Latin verse by the poet's son, and\npublished in the second edition of _Yarrow Revisited, and other\nPoems_, 1835.--ED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[969] The original title of the Poem (in MS.) was\n\n _Aira Force,_\n _or_\n _Sir Eglamore and Elva._\n\nThere were no changes of text in the published editions of this poem.\nThe various readings given are from MS. copies of the poem, in Mrs.\nWordsworth's handwriting.--ED.\n\n[970] 1835.\n\n 'Tis sweet to stand by Lyulph's Tower\n\n MS.\n\n[971] A pleasure-house built by the late Duke of Norfolk upon the\nbanks of Ullswater. FORCE is the word used in the Lake District for\nWaterfall.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[972] Compare _Airey-Force Valley_--\n\n the brook itself,\n Old as the hills that feed it from afar,\n Doth rather deepen than disturb the calm, etc.--ED.\n\n[973] 1835.\n\n To rudest shepherd of the vale\n The spot seems holy ground;\n\n MS.\n\n[974] 1835.\n\n For he can catch....\n\n MS.\n\n[975] 1835.\n\n Their true love's sanctity--\n\n MS.\n\n[976] 1835.\n\n But in that age ...\n\n MS.\n\n[977] 1835.\n\n ... Elva ...\n\n MS.\n\n[978] 1835.\n\n She, too, a happiness ...\n\n MS.\n\n[979] 1835.\n\n ... Elva ...\n\n MS.\n\n[980] See _Macbeth_, act IV. scene V.--ED.\n\n[981] 1835.\n\n The knight, Sir Eglamore.\n\n MS.\n\n[982] 1835.\n\n ... with living eye,\n\n MS.\n\n[983] 1835.\n\n If Elva's Ghost ...\n\n MS.\n\n[984] 1835.\n\n In plunged the Knight--he strove in vain.\n Brief words may speak the rest;\n\n MS.\n\n[985] 1835.\n\n ... temptation ...\n\n MS.\n\n[986] Compare the _Ode to Duty_, vol. iii. p. 37:--\n\n From vain temptations dost set free--ED.\n\n\n\n\nXLVII\n\nTO CORDELIA M----[987]\n\n\n HALLSTEADS, ULLSWATER\n\n Not in the mines beyond the western main,\n You say, Cordelia,[988] was the metal sought,\n Which a fine skill, of Indian growth, has wrought\n Into this flexible yet faithful Chain;\n Nor is it silver of romantic Spain 5\n But from our loved Helvellyn's[989] depths was brought,\n Our own domestic mountain. Thing and thought\n Mix strangely; trifles light, and partly vain,\n Can prop, as you have learnt, our nobler being:\n Yes, Lady, while about your neck is wound 10\n (Your casual glance oft meeting) this bright cord,\n What witchery, for pure gifts of inward seeing,\n Lurks in it, Memory's Helper, Fancy's Lord,\n For precious tremblings in your bosom found!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[987] Cordelia Marshall.--ED.\n\n[988] 1845.\n\n You tell me, Delia!... 1835.\n\n[989] 1845.\n\n You say but from Helvellyn's ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nXLVIII\n\n\"MOST SWEET IT IS WITH UNUPLIFTED EYES\"[990]\n\n\n Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes\n To pace the ground, if path be there or none,\n While a fair region round the traveller lies[991]\n Which he forbears again to look upon;\n Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, 5\n The work of Fancy, or some happy tone\n Of meditation, slipping in between\n The beauty coming and the beauty gone.[992]\n If Thought and Love desert us, from that day\n Let us break off all commerce with the Muse: 10\n With Thought and Love companions of our way,\n Whate'er the senses take or may refuse,\n The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews\n Of inspiration on the humblest lay.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[990] The title to this sonnet, in the editions previous to 1845, was\n_Conclusion_.\n\n[991] 1835.\n\n While round the conscious traveller beauty lies\n\n MS.\n\n[992] 1835.\n\n Pleased rather with that soothing after-tone\n Whose seat is in the mind, occasion's Queen!\n Else Nature's noblest objects were I ween\n A yoke endured, a penance undergone.\n\n MS.\n\n\n\n\n1834\n\n\nThe Poems of 1834 include four of the _Evening Voluntaries_, _The\nLabourer's Noon-day Hymn_, and the stanzas to _The Redbreast_.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"NOT IN THE LUCID INTERVALS OF LIFE\"\n\n\n Composed 1834.--Published 1835\n\n[The lines following \"nor do words\" were written with Lord Byron's\ncharacter as a poet before me, and that of others his contemporaries\nwho wrote under like influences.--I. F.]\n\n One of the \"Evening Voluntaries.\"--ED.\n\n Not in the lucid intervals of life\n That come but as a curse to party-strife;\n Not in some hour when Pleasure with a sigh\n Of languor puts his rosy garland by;\n Not in the breathing-times of that poor slave 5\n Who daily piles up wealth in Mammon's cave--\n Is Nature felt, or can be; nor do words,\n Which practised talent[993] readily affords,\n Prove that her hand has touched responsive chords;\n Nor has her gentle beauty power to move 10\n With genuine rapture and with fervent love\n The soul of Genius, if he dare[994] to take\n Life's rule from passion craved for passion's sake;\n Untaught that meekness is the cherished bent\n Of all the truly great and all the innocent. 15\n\n But who _is_ innocent? By grace divine,\n Not otherwise, O Nature! we are thine,\n Through good and evil thine, in just degree\n Of rational and manly sympathy. 19\n To all that Earth from pensive hearts is stealing,\n And Heaven is now to gladdened eyes revealing,\n Add every charm the Universe can show\n Through every change its aspects undergo--\n Care may be respited, but not repealed;\n No perfect cure grows on that bounded field. 25\n Vain is the pleasure, a false calm the peace,\n If He, through whom alone our conflicts cease,\n Our virtuous hopes without relapse advance,\n Come not to speed the Soul's deliverance;\n To the distempered Intellect refuse 30\n His gracious help, or give what we abuse.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[993] See the Fenwick note.--ED.\n\n[994] 1837.\n\n ... dares ... 1835.\n\n\n\n\nBY THE SIDE OF RYDAL MERE\n\n\n Composed 1834.--Published 1835\n\nOne of the \"Evening Voluntaries.\"--ED.\n\n The linnet's warble, sinking towards a close,\n Hints to the thrush 'tis time for their repose;\n The shrill-voiced thrush is heedless, and again\n The monitor revives his own sweet strain;\n But both will soon be mastered, and the copse 5\n Be left as silent as the mountain-tops,\n Ere some commanding star[995] dismiss to rest\n The throng of rooks, that now, from twig or nest,\n (After a steady flight on home-bound wings,\n And a last game of mazy hoverings 10\n Around their ancient grove) with cawing noise\n Disturb the liquid music's equipoise.\n\n O Nightingale! Who ever heard thy song\n Might here be moved, till Fancy grows so strong\n That listening sense is pardonably cheated 15\n Where wood or stream by thee was never greeted.[996]\n Surely, from fairest spots of favoured lands,\n Were not some gifts withheld by jealous hands,\n This hour of deepening darkness here would be\n As a fresh morning for new harmony; 20\n And lays as prompt would hail the dawn of Night:\n A _dawn_ she has both beautiful and bright,\n When the East kindles with the full moon's light;[997]\n Not like the rising sun's impatient glow\n Dazzling the mountains, but an overflow 25\n Of solemn splendour, in mutation slow.\n\n Wanderer by spring with gradual progress led,\n For sway profoundly felt as widely spread;\n To king, to peasant, to rough sailor, dear,\n And to the soldier's trumpet-wearied ear; 30\n How welcome wouldst thou be to this green Vale\n Fairer than Tempe![998] Yet, sweet Nightingale!\n From the warm breeze that bears thee on, alight\n At will, and stay thy migratory flight;\n Build, at thy choice, or sing, by pool or fount, 35\n Who shall complain, or call thee to account?\n The wisest, happiest, of our kind are they\n That ever walk content with Nature's way,\n God's goodness--measuring bounty as it may;\n For whom the gravest thought of what they miss, 40\n Chastening the fulness of a present bliss,\n Is with that wholesome office satisfied,\n While unrepining sadness is allied\n In thankful bosoms to a modest pride.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[995] Compare the _Lines, composed at Grasmere_ in 1806 (vol iv. p.\n48), when Mr. Fox's death was hourly expected--\n\n Yon star upon the mountain-top\n Is listening quietly.--ED.\n\n[996] The nightingale is not usually heard in England farther north\nthan the valley of the Trent.\n\nCompare _The Excursion_, book iv. l. 1167 (vol. v. p. 188); also the\nlines (vol. iv, p. 67) beginning--\n\n O Nightingale! thou surely art\n A creature of a \"fiery heart.\"--ED.\n\n[997] 1837.\n\n ... moon's light.\n Wanderer by ... 1835.\n\n[998] The Thessalian valley, five miles long, from Olympus to Ossa,\nthrough which the Peneus makes its way to the \u00c6gean sea.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"SOFT AS A CLOUD IS YON BLUE RIDGE--THE MERE\"\n\n\n Composed 1834.--Published 1835\n\nOne of the \"Evening Voluntaries.\"--ED.\n\n Soft as a cloud is yon blue Ridge--the Mere[999]\n Seems firm as solid crystal, breathless, clear,\n And motionless; and, to the gazer's eye,\n Deeper than ocean, in the immensity\n Of its vague mountains and unreal sky! 5\n But, from the process in that still retreat,\n Turn to minuter changes at our feet;\n Observe how dewy Twilight has withdrawn\n The crowd of daisies from the shaven lawn,\n And has restored to view its tender green, 10\n That, while the sun rode high, was lost beneath their dazzling sheen.\n --An emblem this of what the sober Hour\n Can do for minds disposed to feel its power!\n Thus oft, when we in vain have wish'd away\n The petty pleasures of the garish day, 15\n Meek eve shuts up the whole usurping host\n (Unbashful dwarfs each glittering at his post)\n And leaves the disencumbered spirit free\n To reassume a staid simplicity.\n\n 'Tis well--but what are helps of time and place, 20\n When wisdom stands in need of nature's grace;\n Why do good thoughts, invoked or not, descend,\n Like Angels from their bowers, our virtues to befriend;\n If yet To-morrow, unbelied, may say,\n \"I come to open out, for fresh display, 25\n The elastic vanities of yesterday?\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[999] The \"mere\" was probably Rydal, and the \"ridge\" that of Silver\nHow.--ED.\n\n\n\n\n\"THE LEAVES THAT RUSTLED ON THIS OAK-CROWNED HILL\"\n\n\n Composed 1834.--Published 1835\n\n[Composed by the side of Grasmere lake. The mountains that enclose\nthe vale, especially towards Easdale, are most favorable to the\nreverberation of sound. There is a passage in _The Excursion_ towards\nthe close of the fourth book, where the voice of the raven in flight is\ntraced through the modifications it undergoes, as I have often heard it\nin that vale and others of this district.[1000]\n\n \"Often, at the hour\n When issue forth the first pale stars, is heard,\n Within the circuit of this fabric huge,\n One voice--the solitary raven.\"--I. F.]\n\nOne of the \"Evening Voluntaries.\"--ED.\n\n The leaves that rustled on this oak-crowned hill,\n And sky that danced among those leaves, are still;\n Rest smooths the way for sleep; in field and bower\n Soft shades and dews have shed their blended power\n On drooping eyelid and the closing flower; 5\n Sound is there none at which the faintest heart\n Might leap, the weakest nerve of superstition start;\n Save when the Owlet's unexpected scream\n Pierces the ethereal vault; and ('mid the gleam\n Of unsubstantial imagery, the dream, 10\n From the hushed vale's realities, transferred\n To the still lake) the imaginative Bird\n Seems, 'mid inverted mountains, not unheard.\n\n Grave Creature!--whether, while the moon shines bright\n On thy wings opened wide for smoothest flight, 15\n Thou art discovered in a roofless tower,\n Rising from what may once have been a lady's bower;\n Or spied where thou sitt'st moping in thy mew\n At the dim centre of a churchyard yew;\n Or, from a rifted crag or ivy tod 20\n Deep in a forest, thy secure abode,\n Thou giv'st, for pastime's sake, by shriek or shout,\n A puzzling notice of thy whereabout--\n May the night never come, nor[1001] day be seen,\n When I shall scorn thy voice or mock thy mien! 25\n\n In classic ages men perceived a soul\n Of sapience in thy aspect, headless Owl!\n Thee Athens reverenced in the studious grove;[1002]\n And, near the golden sceptre grasped by Jove,\n His Eagle's favourite perch, while round him sate 30\n The Gods revolving the decrees of Fate,\n Thou, too, wert present at Minerva's side:\n Hark to that second larum!--far and wide\n The elements have heard, and rock and cave replied.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1000] See also the extract from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, in the\nnote to _The Excursion_ (vol. v. p. 189).--ED.\n\n[1001] 1837.\n\n ... the ... 1835.\n\n[1002] The owl became the emblem of Athens--and was associated with\nMinerva--because the birds abounded there.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LABOURER'S NOON-DAY HYMN\n\n\n Composed 1834.--Published 1835\n\n[Bishop Ken's Morning and Evening Hymns are, as they deserve to be,\nfamiliarly known. Many other hymns have also been written on the\nsame subject; but, not being aware of any designed for noon-day,\nI was induced to compose these verses. Often one has occasion to\nobserve cottage children carrying, in their baskets, dinner to their\nFathers engaged with their daily labours in the fields and woods.\nHow gratifying would it be to me could I be assured that any portion\nof these stanzas had been sung by such a domestic concert under such\ncircumstances. A friend of mine has told me that she introduced this\nHymn into a village-school which she superintended, and the stanzas\nin succession furnished her with texts to comment upon in a way which\nwithout difficulty was made intelligible to the children, and in which\nthey obviously took delight, and they were taught to sing it to the\ntune of the old 100th Psalm.--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.\"--ED.\n\n Up to the throne of God is borne\n The voice of praise at early morn,\n And he accepts the punctual hymn\n Sung as the light of day grows dim.\n\n Nor will he turn his ear aside 5\n From holy offerings at noontide.\n Then here reposing let us raise\n A song of gratitude and praise.\n\n What though our burthen be not light,\n We need not toil from morn to night; 10\n The respite of the mid-day hour\n Is in the thankful Creature's power.\n\n Blest are the moments, doubly blest,\n That, drawn from this one hour of rest,\n Are with a ready heart bestowed 15\n Upon the service of our God!\n\n Each field is then a hallowed spot,[1003]\n An altar is in each man's cot,\n A church in every grove that spreads\n Its living roof above our heads. 20\n\n Look up to Heaven! the industrious Sun\n Already half his race hath run;\n _He_ cannot halt nor go astray,\n But our immortal Spirits may.\n\n Lord! since his rising in the East, 25\n If we have faltered or transgressed,\n Guide, from thy love's abundant source,\n What yet remains of this day's course:\n\n Help with thy grace, through life's short day,\n Our upward and our downward way; 30\n And glorify for us the west,\n When we shall sink to final rest.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1003] 1845.\n\n Why should we crave a hallowed spot? 1835.\n\n\n\n\nTHE REDBREAST\n\n\n (SUGGESTED IN A WESTMORELAND COTTAGE)\n\n Composed 1834.--Published 1835\n\n[Written at Rydal Mount. All our cats having been banished the house,\nit was soon frequented by redbreasts. Two or three of them, when the\nwindow was open, would come in, particularly when Mrs. Wordsworth was\nbreakfasting alone, and hop about the table picking up the crumbs. My\nsister being then confined to her room by sickness, as, dear creature,\nshe still is, had one that, without being caged, took up its abode with\nher, and at night used to perch upon a nail from which a picture had\nhung. It used to sing and fan her face with its wings in a manner that\nwas very touching.--I.F.]\n\nOne of the \"Poems founded on the Affections.\"--ED.\n\n Driven in by Autumn's sharpening air\n From half-stripped woods and pastures bare,\n Brisk Robin seeks a kindlier home:\n Not like a beggar is he come,\n But enters as a looked-for guest, 5\n Confiding in his ruddy breast,\n As if it were a natural shield\n Charged with a blazon on the field,\n Due to that good and pious deed\n Of which we in the Ballad read. 10\n But pensive fancies putting by,\n And wild-wood sorrows, speedily\n He plays the expert ventriloquist;\n And, caught by glimpses now--now missed,\n Puzzles the listener with a doubt 15\n If the soft voice he throws about\n Comes from within doors or without!\n Was ever such a sweet confusion,\n Sustained by delicate illusion?\n He's at your elbow--to your feeling 20\n The notes are from the floor or ceiling;\n And there's a riddle to be guessed,\n 'Till you have marked his heaving chest,\n And busy throat whose sink and swell,[1004]\n Betray the Elf that loves to dwell 25\n In Robin's bosom, as a chosen cell.\n\n Heart-pleased we smile upon the Bird\n If seen, and with like pleasure stirred\n Commend him, when he's only heard.\n But small and fugitive our gain 30\n Compared with _hers_[1005] who long hath lain,\n With languid limbs and patient head\n Reposing on a lone sick-bed;\n Where now, she[1006] daily hears a strain\n That cheats her[1007] of too busy cares, 35\n Eases her pain, and helps her prayers.[1008]\n And who but this dear Bird beguiled\n The fever of that pale-faced Child;\n Now cooling, with his passing wing,\n Her forehead, like a breeze of Spring: 40\n Recalling now, with descant soft\n Shed round her pillow from aloft,\n Sweet thoughts of angels hovering nigh,\n And the invisible sympathy\n Of \"Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John, 45\n Blessing the bed she lies upon?\"[1009]\n And sometimes, just as listening ends\n In slumber, with the cadence blends\n A dream of that low-warbled hymn\n Which old folk, fondly pleased to trim 50\n Lamps of faith, now burning dim,\n Say that the Cherubs carved in stone,\n When clouds gave way at dead of night\n And the ancient church was filled with light,[1010]\n Used to sing in heavenly tone, 55\n Above and round the sacred places\n They guard, with winged baby-faces.\n\n Thrice happy Creature! in all lands\n Nurtured by hospitable hands:\n Free entrance to this cot has he, 60\n Entrance and exit both _yet_ free;\n And, when the keen unruffled weather\n That thus brings man and bird together,\n Shall with its pleasantness be past,\n And casement closed and door made fast, 65\n To keep at bay the howling blast,\n _He_ needs not fear the season's rage,\n For the whole house is Robin's cage.\n Whether the bird flit here or there,\n O'er table _lilt_, or perch on chair, 70\n Though some may frown and make a stir,\n To scare him as a trespasser,\n And he belike will flinch or start,\n Good friends he has to take his part;\n One chiefly, who with voice and look 75\n Pleads for him from the chimney-nook,\n Where sits the Dame, and wears away\n Her long and vacant holiday;\n With images about her heart,\n Reflected from the years gone by, 80\n On human nature's second infancy.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1004] 1836.\n\n ... breast,\n Where tiny sinking, and faint swell, 1835.\n\n[1005] 1845.\n\n ... _his_ ... 1835.\n\n[1006] 1845.\n\n ... he ... 1835.\n\n[1007] 1845.\n\n ... him ... 1835.\n\n[1008] 1845.\n\n Eases his pain, and helps his prayers. 1835.\n\n[1009] The words--\n\n \"Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John,\n Bless the bed that I lie on,\"\n\nare part of a child's prayer, still in general use through the northern\ncounties.--W. W. 1835.\n\n[1010] 1836.\n\n And the moon filled the church with light, 1835.\n\n\n\n\nADDENDA\n\n\n(1) p. 35. _How soon--alas! etc._\n\n The following version is written in the late Lord Coleridge's\n copy of the Poems:--\n\n Alas! full soon did man created pure,\n By Angels guarded, deviate from the line\n Of innocence, and woeful forfeiture\n Incur by wilful breach of law divine.\n Even so Christ's church, how prone was she to appear\n Obedient to her Lord, how prompt to twine\n 'Mid glorious flowers that shall for aye endure,\n Weeds on whose front the world hath fixed her sign.\n So Man, if with thy trials thus it fares,\n And good can smooth the way to evil choice,\n From hasty censure be the mind kept free.\n He only judges right who weighs, compares,\n And in the sternest sentence, which his voice\n May utter, ne'er abandons Charity.\n\n C.\n\n(2) p. 83. _Down a swift stream, etc._, l. 14--\n\n The manifold aspects of our sacred theme.\n\n C.\n\n(3) p. 86. _Bishops and Priests_, _etc._, l. 1--\n\n ... how blessed ...\n\n C.\n\n(4) p. 160, footnote [448]--\n\n The extract is from _The Shepherd and the Calm_, p. 113, in\n _Miscellany Poems on Several Occasions, written by a Lady,\n Anne Finch, Countesse of W._, 1713.\n\n(5) p. 306. _Fancy and Tradition_, l. 4--\n\n Ere he took flight; the Sage in this alcove\n\n MS.\n\n(6) p. 307. _Fancy and Tradition_, l. 12--\n\n There is an ampler page from which to quote,\n\n MS.\n\n(7) p. 342. _Adieu, Rydalian Laurels_, _etc._, l. 2--\n\n As if not ignorant that days would come\n\n MS.\n\n(8) p. 358. _Stanzas suggested in a Steam-boat_, ll. 156-9--\n\n Would merge, Idolatress of formal skill,\n In her own systems, God's eternal will,\n To her, despising faith in things unseen,\n Matter and spirit are in one machine.\n\n C.\n\n END OF VOL. VII\n\n _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_.\n\n\n\n\n Transcriber's Notes:\n\n\n Simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors were\n corrected.\n\n Punctuation normalized.\n\n Anachronistic and non-standard spellings retained as printed.\n\n Italics markup is enclosed in _underscores_.\n\n Greek text is transliterated and enclosed in #number symbols#.\n\n Dagger symbol is denoted as [dagger].","title":"The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth \u2014 Volume 7 (of 8)","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":104324}