Chapter XII: Conclusion (2)

[Footnote GU: The last sentence first appeared in the edition of 1837.--ED.]

[Footnote GV: To pay, or be distrained upon, for the accustomed annual interest due from them, among others.--W. W. 1820.]

[Footnote GW: Mr. Walker's charity being of that kind which "seeketh not her own," he would rather forego his rights than distrain for dues which the parties liable refused to pay as a point of conscience.--W. W. 1827.]

[Footnote GX: See _King Henry VIII._, act III. scene 2, ll. 384, 385.--ED.]

[Footnote GY: The paragraphs from "With pleasure" (p. 282) to "to the grave" (p. 283) were first printed in the edition of 1832.--ED.]

MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT

1820

Composed 1821-2.--Published 1822

[I set out in company with my wife and sister, and Mr. and Mrs. Monkhouse, then just married, and Miss Horrocks. These two ladies, sisters, we left at Berne, while Mr. Monkhouse took the opportunity of making an excursion with us among the Alps as far as Milan. Mr. H. C. Robinson joined us at Lucerne, and when this ramble was completed we rejoined at Geneva the two ladies we had left at Berne and proceeded to Paris, where Mr. Monkhouse and H. C. R. left us, and where we spent five weeks, of which there is not a record in these poems.--I. F.]

See Dorothy Wordsworth's itinerary (Note A) of this tour, and Henry Crabb Robinson's account of it in his _Diary and Correspondence_, vol. ii. pp. 166-192 (Note B to this volume).--ED.

DEDICATION

(SENT WITH THESE POEMS, IN MS., TO ----)[467]

Dear Fellow-travellers![GZ] think not that the Muse,
To You presenting these memorial Lays,
Can hope the general eye thereon would gaze,[468]
As on a mirror that gives back the hues
Of living Nature; no--though free to choose 5
The greenest bowers, the most inviting ways,
The fairest landscapes and the brightest days--
Her skill she tried with less ambitious views.[469]
For You she wrought: Ye only can supply
The life, the truth, the beauty: she confides 10
In that enjoyment which with You abides,
Trusts to your love and vivid memory;
Thus far contented, that for You her verse
Shall lack not power the "meeting soul to pierce!"[HA]

W. WORDSWORTH.

RYDAL MOUNT, _Nov._ 1821[470]

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 467: Not in the editions of 1822-1832.]

[Footnote 468: 1837.

Presents to notice these memorial Lays,
Hoping the general eye thereon will gaze, 1822.
]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote GZ: The Fellow-travellers were Mrs. Wordsworth, Dorothy Wordsworth, Mr. and Mrs. Monkhouse, Miss Horrocks, and Henry Crabb Robinson.--ED.]

I

FISH-WOMEN--ON LANDING AT CALAIS

'Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold
The likeness of whate'er on land is seen;
But, if the Nereid Sisters and their Queen,[HB]
Above whose heads the tide so long hath rolled,
The Dames resemble whom we here behold, 5
How fearful were it down through opening waves[471]
To sink, and meet them in their fretted caves,
Withered, grotesque, immeasurably old,
And shrill and fierce in accent!--Fear it not:
For they Earth's fairest daughters do excel;[472] 10
Pure undecaying[473] beauty is their lot;
Their voices into liquid music swell,
Thrilling each pearly cleft and sparry grot,
The undisturbed abodes where Sea-nymphs dwell!

"If in this Sonnet I should seem to have borne a little too hard upon the personal appearance of the worthy Poissardes of Calais, let me take shelter under the authority of my lamented friend, the late Sir George Beaumont. He, a most accurate observer, used to say of them, that their features and countenances seemed to have conformed to those of the creatures they dealt in; at all events the resemblance was striking."--W. W. 1822.

In Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal of this Tour on the Continent,--which, in a letter to her daughter Dorothy (dated 20th February 1821), she calls "hasty notes made by snatches during our journey,"--the following occurs:--"Passing through the gates of the city, we had before us a line of white-capped Fish-women, with thin brown faces. The fish very foul, yet at dinner the same sort proved excellent."

In Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal of the same Tour, the following occurs:--"Tuesday, 11th July. Calais.--With one consent we stopped to gaze at a group--rather a _line_ of women and girls, seated beside dirty fish baskets under the old gate-way and ramparts--their white night caps, brown and puckered faces, bright eyes, etc. etc., very striking. The arrangements--how unlike those of a fish-market in the South of England!...

"Every one is struck with the excessive ugliness (if I may apply the word to any _human_ creatures) of the fish-women of Calais, and _that_ no one can forget."--ED.

Henry Crabb Robinson wrote of this sonnet:--"Of the sonnets there is one remarkable and _unique_; the humour and naïveté, and the exquisitely refined sentiment of the Calais fish-women, are a combination of excellencies quite novel." (_Diary, etc._, vol. ii. p. 224.)--ED.

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 469: 1827.

She felt too deeply what her skill must lose. 1822.
]

[Footnote 470: 1837.

Rydal Mount, January 1822. 1822.
]

[Footnote 471: 1837.

How terrible beneath the opening waves 1822.
]

[Footnote 472: 1822.

In grace Earth's fairest Daughters they excel; 1837.

The text of 1840 returns to that of 1822.
]

[Footnote 473: 1827.

Pure unmolested ... 1822.
]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote HA: Compare _L'Allegro_, l. 138.--ED.]

[Footnote HB: Amphitrite, herself a daughter of Nereus, was married to Posidon, and was therefore Queen of the Sea. The name Amphitrite is probably derived from the noise of waters pouring through the rifts of rocks, and there may be an allusion to this in the concluding lines of the sonnet.--ED.]

II

BRUGÈS

Brugès I saw attired with golden light
(Streamed from the west) as with a robe of power:
The splendour fled; and now the sunless hour,
That, slowly making way for peaceful night,[474]
Best suits with fallen grandeur, to my sight 5
Offers the beauty, the magnificence,[475]
And sober graces,[476] left her for defence
Against the injuries of time, the spite
Of fortune, and the desolating storms
Of future war. Advance not--spare to hide, 10
O gentle Power of darkness! these mild hues;
Obscure not yet these silent avenues
Of stateliest architecture, where the Forms
Of nun-like females, with soft motion, glide!

This is not the first poetical tribute which in our times has been paid to this beautiful City. Mr. Southey, in the _Poet's Pilgrimage_, speaks of it in lines which I cannot deny myself the pleasure of connecting with my own.

"Time hath not wronged her, nor hath Ruin sought
Rudely her splendid Structures to destroy,
Save in those recent days, with evil fraught,
When Mutability, in drunken joy
Triumphant, and from all restraint released,
Let loose her fierce and many-headed beast.

"But for the scars in that unhappy rage
Inflicted, firm she stands and undecayed;
Like our first Sires, a beautiful old age
Is hers in venerable years arrayed;
And yet, to her, benignant stars may bring,
What fate denies to man,--a second spring.

"When I may read of tilts in days of old,
And tourneys graced by Chieftains of renown,
Fair dames, grave citizens, and warriors bold,
If fancy would pourtray some stately town,
Which for such pomp fit theatre should be,
Fair Bruges, I shall then remember thee."

W. W. 1822.

"In this city are many vestiges of the splendour of the Burgundian Dukedom, and the long black mantle universally worn by the females is probably a remnant of the old Spanish connection, which, if I do not much deceive myself, is traceable in the grave deportment of its inhabitants. Bruges is comparatively little disturbed by that curious contest, or rather conflict, of Flemish with French propensities in matters of taste, so conspicuous through other parts of Flanders. The hotel to which we drove at Ghent furnished an odd instance. In the passages were paintings and statues, after the antique, of Hebe and Apollo; and in the garden, a little pond, about a yard and a half in diameter, with a weeping willow bending over it, and under the shade of that tree, in the centre of the pond a wooden painted statue of a Dutch or Flemish boor, looking ineffably tender upon his mistress, and embracing her. A living duck, tethered at the feet of the sculptured lovers, alternately tormented a miserable eel and itself with endeavours to escape from its bonds and prison. Had we chanced to espy the hostess of the hotel in this quaint rural retreat, the exhibition would have been complete. She was a true Flemish figure, in the dress of the days of Holbein; her symbol of office, a weighty bunch of keys, pendent from her portly waist. In Brussels, the modern taste in costume, architecture, etc., has got the mastery; in Ghent there is a struggle: but in Bruges old images are still paramount, and an air of monastic life among the quiet goings-on of a thinly-peopled city is inexpressibly soothing; a pensive grace seems to be cast over all, even the very children." (Extract from Journal.)--W. W. 1822.

From Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal:--"Thursday, 13th July....--Bruges. What a place. D. and I walked out as soon as we could after our arrival.... Went into the old church. The nuns, the different worshippers, the pictures, the place, the quiet stately streets, grand buildings, graceful nun-like women in their long cloaks, treading with swan-like motions those silent avenues of majestic architecture, I must leave to D. to describe. My own mind was uplifted by a sort of devotional elevation as if striving to fit itself to become worthy of what these temples would lead to."

"... Friday, 14th.--At Bruges all is silence, grace, and unmixed dignity.... You felt a sort of veneration for everything you looked upon. Nothing of this here" [_i.e._ at Ghent]; "yet what a splendid place! The evening too suited its character, for the sun went down in brightness. Yesterday was not a sunny day, and Bruges wanted no sunshine, its own outline in the gloom of evening needed no golden lustre. Yet _this_ William witnessed, when D. and I were not with him, the great Tower of the Market House bathed in gold!"

The following is from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal:--"Thursday, 13th July. Dunkirk.--We entered Bruges by a long gently-winding street, and were so animated with pleasure in our hasty course that it seemed we too soon reached the inn. W. and Mr. M. walked out immediately, eager to view the city in the warm light of the setting sun....

"Continued to walk through the silent town till ten o'clock--no carts--no chaises--a cloistral silence felt in every corner and every open space, yet the large square was scattered over with groups of people; or passengers walking to and fro, no lights in the houses!"--ED.

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 474: 1837.

'Tis passed away;--and now the sunless hour,
That slowly introducing peaceful night 1822.

'Tis past; and now the grave and sunless hour,
That, slowly making way for peaceful night, 1832.
]

[Footnote 475: 1827.

Offers her beauty, her magnificence, 1822.
]

[Footnote 476: 1827.

And all the graces ... 1822.
]

III

BRUGÈS

The Spirit of Antiquity--enshrined
In sumptuous buildings, vocal in sweet song,
In picture, speaking with heroic tongue,[477]
And with devout solemnities entwined--
Mounts to[478] the seat of grace within the mind: 5
Hence Forms that glide[479] with swan-like ease along,
Hence motions, even amid the vulgar throng,
To an harmonious decency confined:
As if the streets were consecrated ground,
The city one vast temple, dedicate 10
To mutual respect in thought and deed;
To leisure, to forbearances sedate;
To social cares from jarring passions freed;
A deeper[480] peace than that in deserts found!

See the note to the last sonnet. The following is from Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal:--"Friday, 14th. Bruges.--Rose at five o'clock, paced the town again, and visited, but with disturbed mind (for I had left William in bed hurting himself with a sonnet), the churches of St. Salvador and Notre Dame.... I joined W. in our carriage, and have here written down the sonnet, Jones' Parsonage, so I hope he will be at rest."

The following is from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal:--"Friday, 14th July. Bruges.--The morning was bright, sunshine and shade falling upon the lines of houses, and the out-juttings of the more noble buildings. In the bright light of morning the same tender melancholy was over the city as in the sober time of twilight, yet with intervening images of rural life. A few peasants were now entering the town, and the rattling of a rustic cart, prettily laden with vegetables fresh from the soil, gave a gentle stirring to the fancy. Early as it was, people of all ages were abroad chiefly on their way to the churches: the figure, gait, and motions of the women in harmony with the collegiate air of the streets, and the processions and solemnities of Catholic worship. Such figures might have walked through these streets, two hundred years ago; streets bearing no stamp of progress or of decay. One might fancy that as the city had been built so it had remained. We first went to the Church of St. Salvador, a venerable Gothic edifice. Within the Church, our walk between the lofty pillars was very solemn. We saw in perspective the marble floor scattered over, at irregular distances, with people of all ages--standing, or upon their knees, silent, yet making such motions as the order of their devotions prescribed, crossing themselves, beating their breasts, or telling their beads. Such the general appearance of the worshippers: but the gestures of some were more impassioned....

"We spent some time in admiring the beauty of the choir, and every other part of this noble building, adorned as it is with statues; and pictures not in the paltry style of the Churches at Calais and Fernes; but works of art that would be interesting _anywhere_, and are much more so in these sacred places, where the wretched and the happy, the poor and the rich are alike invited to cast away worldly feelings, and may be elevated by the representations of Scripture history, or of the sufferings and glory of martyrs and saints."

In the final arrangement of his poems, Wordsworth placed the one entitled _Incident at Brugès_--which belonged to the year 1828--after the two sonnets on Brugès in these "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent in 1820." In the present edition the former poem is restored to its chronological place (see vol. vii.), where it is associated with _A Jewish Family_. As a consequence the numbering of the poems differs slightly from that which Wordsworth finally adopted.--ED.

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 477: 1827.

And Tales transmitted through the popular tongue, 1822.
]

[Footnote 478: 1837.

Strikes at ... 1822.

Strikes to ... 1827.
]

[Footnote 479: 1827.

... slide ... 1822.
]

[Footnote 480: 1837.

A nobler ... 1822.
]

IV

AFTER VISITING THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

A wingèd Goddess--clothed in vesture wrought
Of rainbow colours; One whose port was bold,
Whose overburthened hand could scarcely hold
The glittering crowns and garlands which it brought--
Hovered in air above the far-famed Spot. 5
She vanished; leaving prospect blank and cold
Of wind-swept corn that wide around us rolled
In dreary billows, wood, and meagre cot,
And monuments that soon must disappear:
Yet a dread local recompense we found; 10
While glory seemed betrayed, while patriot-zeal
Sank in our hearts, we felt as men _should_ feel[481]
With such vast hoards of hidden carnage near,
And horror breathing from the silent ground!

"Namur, Tuesday 18th.--Our ride yesterday, except for the intervention of Waterloo, and its interests, which were so melancholy that I do not like to touch upon them, was a dull one, though the road was pleasant through the forest of Soignies. Waterloo, its pretty chapel, the walls within covered with monuments, recording the fall of many of our brave countrymen, and some few others as brave, La Haye Sainte, La Belle Alliance, Quatre Bras. Dined at Genappe; two bullet shots in the wainscot of the room, which, during the battle, had been heaped with dead and dying." (From Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Monday, 17th July, Brussels.--I could understand little till we got to the field of battle, where we stood upon an elevation; and thence, looking round upon every memorable spot, by help of gesture and action, and the sounds 'les Anglois, les Francois,' etc. etc., I gathered up a small portion of the story, helped out by a few monuments erected to the memory of the slain; but all round, there was no other visible record of slaughter: the wide fields were covered with luxuriant crops, just as they had been before the battles, except that now the corn was nearly ripe, and _then_ it was green. We stood upon grass, and corn fields where _heaps_ of our countrymen lay buried beneath our feet. There was little to be seen, but much to be felt; sorrow and sadness, and even something like horror breathed out of the ground as we stood upon it!" (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.) Compare the two sonnets _Occasioned by the Battle of Waterloo, February, 1816_, also the _Thanksgiving Ode_.--ED.

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 481: 1827.

She vanished--All was joyless, blank, and cold;
But if from wind-swept fields of corn that roll'd
In dreary billows, from the meagre cot,
And monuments that soon may disappear,
Meanings we craved which could not there be found;
If the wide prospect seemed an envious seal
Of great exploits; we felt as Men _should_ feel, 1822.
]

V

BETWEEN[482] NAMUR AND LIEGE

[The scenery on the Meuse pleases me more, upon the whole, than that of the Rhine, though the river itself is much inferior in grandeur. The rocks, both in form and colour, especially between Namur and Liege, surpass any upon the Rhine, though they are in several places disfigured by quarries, whence stones were taken for the new fortifications. This is much to be regretted, for they are useless, and the scars will remain perhaps for thousands of years. A like injury to a still greater degree has been inflicted, in my memory, upon the beautiful rocks of Clifton, on the banks of the Avon. There is probably in existence a very long letter of mine to Sir Uvedale Price, in which was given a description of the landscapes on the Meuse as compared with those on the Rhine.

Details in the spirit of these sonnets are given both in Mrs. Wordsworth's Journals and my Sister's, and the reperusal of them has strengthened a wish long entertained that somebody would put together, as in one work, the notices contained in them, omitting particulars that were written down merely to aid our memory, and bringing the whole into as small a compass as is consistent with the general interests belonging to the scenes, circumstances, and objects touched on by each writer.--I. F.]

What lovelier home could gentle Fancy choose?
Is this the stream, whose cities, heights, and plains,
War's favourite play-ground, are with crimson stains
Familiar, as the Morn with pearly dews?
The Morn, that now, along the silver MEUSE, 5
Spreading her peaceful ensigns, calls the swains
To tend their silent boats and ringing wains,
Or strip the bough whose mellow fruit bestrews
The ripening corn beneath it. As mine eyes
Turn from the fortified and threatening hill, 10
How sweet the prospect of yon watery glade,
With its grey rocks clustering in pensive shade--
That, shaped like old monastic turrets, rise
From the smooth meadow-ground, serene and still!

The following extract from Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal illustrates this sonnet, and explains the Fenwick note. The "long entertained" "wish" of the poet, expressed in that note, has never yet been accomplished. It may be realised in one of the volumes which follow, in this edition.

"July 18. Departure from _Namur_, road out of the town beautiful, wide, disk-like valley, gardens, groves, town standing upon its two rivers. Ramparts towering above, very impressive to cast the eyes back upon. Market people flocking in in groups, variety of dresses, of all gay colours. Flowers seem to be the delight of the peasantry. They are worn in their hats, upon their breasts, carried in the mouth when their hands are at work sometimes, or stuck behind the ear. Road excellent all the way down the Meuse. Villages in all situations,--among the rocks, now one peeps out of a recess, again another upon a knoll with its spire rising from among trees. More and more beautiful as you proceed down the river--rocks on the banks of the most fantastic forms, something like those on the Wye. Sometimes the valley reminded us of the trough of the Clyde. _Huy._ Church handsome, the high tower struck by lightning fourteen years ago; new fortifications, most picturesque and romantic situation. Crossed the Meuse here, charming view from the bridge.... Road very delightful, rocks, woods, chateau, convent, vineyards, hanging gardens, orchards with profusion of fruit, shrubs, and flowers, and corn lands, all in the most luxuriant state. So beautiful a day's journey I never before travelled."

The following is from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.:--"Tuesday, July 18. Namur.--Having traversed the Vale, we travel downwards, with the stately, though muddy, river to our left--pass under limestone rocks resembling abbeys or castles--the opening prospect still presenting something new. Backwards, a noble view of the vale, terminated by the city and fortifications of Namur at the distance of, perhaps, two miles or more--our last farewell view! Still, as we go on, the rocks change their shapes, in prospect far off; or as we roll swiftly away beneath them. Villages not to be numbered by the hasty traveller, rise up, with spires and towers; cottages embowered in gardens and orchards, and sometimes an old chateau or modern villa. All these (in succession or together) vary the scene, while, the abundance of flowers, fruit, vegetables, and corn, interbedded and intermingled, give an image of plenty and happy industry."--ED.

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 482: 1837.

SCENERY BETWEEN ... 1822.
]

VI

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE

Was it to disenchant, and to undo,
That we approached the Seat of Charlemaine?
To sweep from many an old romantic strain
That faith which no devotion may renew!
Why does this puny Church present to view 5
Her[483] feeble columns? and that scanty chair!
This sword that one of our weak times might wear!
Objects of false pretence, or meanly true!
If from a traveller's fortune I might claim
A palpable memorial of that day, 10
Then would I seek the Pyrenean Breach
That[484] ROLAND clove with huge two-handed sway,[HC]
And to the enormous labour left his name,
Where unremitting frosts the rocky crescent bleach.

_Where unremitting frosts the rocky crescent bleach._

"Let a wall of rocks be imagined from three to six hundred feet in height, and rising between France and Spain, so as physically to separate the two kingdoms--let us fancy this wall curved like a crescent with its convexity towards France. Lastly, let us suppose, that in the very middle of the wall a breach of 300 feet wide has been beaten down by the famous _Roland_, and we may have a good idea of what the mountaineers call the 'BRECHE DE ROLEND.'" (_Raymond's Pyrenees._)--W. W. 1822.

"Thursday, 20th July.--... Descend towards the town of Aix-la-Chapelle, a chapel on the opposite side of the vale upon a high knoll, overlooking the spires and towers.... Wm., T. M., and myself walked to the chapel we had seen on the heights, said to be built by Charlemagne: a very interesting view of the town, and over a large space of the country beyond, and _into_ the country looking the other way. Wm. went higher to a monument recording that Buonaparte visited the spot with one attendant. We were too late to be satisfied here, the darkness only allowing us to form a notion of the outline, and to catch here and there a spire or a tower in the distance. The chapel here alluded to was not larger in appearance than the tiny rocky edifice at Buttermere. A Christ under the branches of a spreading oak, brought to my mind by contrast, a gay image of a brightly painted fox, on a sign board, among the branches of a flowing chestnut tree, which William and I saw gleaming in the setting sun, when walking through the village of Souldren." (From Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Thursday, 20th July. Aix-la-Chapelle.--I went to the Cathedral, a curious Building where are to be seen the chair of Charlemagne, on which the Emperors were formerly crowned, some marble pillars much older than _his_ time; and many pictures; but I could not stay to examine any of these curiosities, and gladly made my way alone back to the inn to rest there. The market-place is a fine old square; but at Aix-la-Chapelle there is always a mighty preponderance of poverty and dulness, except in a few of the showiest of the streets, and even there, a flashy meanness, a slight patchery of things falling to pieces is everywhere visible." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)--ED.

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 483: 1837.

Its ... 1822.
]

[Footnote 484: 1837.

Which ... 1822.
]

[Footnote HC: Compare _Paradise Lost_, book vi. l. 251--

With huge two-handed sway.

ED.
]

VII

IN THE CATHEDRAL AT COLOGNE

O for the help of Angels to complete
This Temple[HD]--Angels governed by a plan
Thus far pursued (how gloriously!) by Man,[485]
Studious that _He_ might not disdain the seat
Who dwells in heaven! But that aspiring heat 5
Hath failed; and now, ye Powers! whose gorgeous wings
And splendid aspect yon emblazonings
But faintly picture, 'twere an office meet
For you, on these unfinished shafts to try
The midnight virtues of your harmony:-- 10
This vast design might tempt you to repeat
Strains[486] that call forth upon empyreal ground
Immortal Fabrics, rising to the sound
Of penetrating harps and voices sweet!

"Friday, July 21. Cologne.--... The Cathedral, a most magnificent edifice. Tower unfinished (this I perceived, but took it for a ruin at ten miles distance), built 700 years ago. The outside reminds you of Westminster Abbey in parts; and, had the Projector's wish been fulfilled, within and without, this would have been a much more sumptuous pile. It affectingly called to my mind William's lines--

Things incomplete and purposes betrayed
Make sadder transits o'er truth's mystic glass,
Than noblest objects utterly decayed.[HE]

Within the fluted Pillars are very grand; the dimensions, 180 German feet high, 700 long, and 500 broad. A curious old picture, 450 years old. Subject, the 3 Kings of Cologne in the centre (for it was divided into three parts, and kept shut up to protect it), and on the sides Ursula and the 11,000 virgins, by Ralfe; mounted 250 steps to the top of the unfinished Tower, and had a fine prospect of the river winding its way towards Dusseldorf.... The cathedral--that august and solemnly _impressive_ Temple.... William in his musing way...." (From Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Friday, 21st July. Cologne.--I cannot attempt to describe the Cathedral; nor indeed could any skill of mine do justice to that august pile, even if I might have lingered half a day among its walls. At our entrance, the evening sunshine rested upon portions of some of the hundred massy columns; while the shade and gloom, spread through the edifice, were deepened by those brilliant touches of golden light. Some of the painted windows were beautified by the melting together and the intermingling of colours, reflected upon the stone-work, colours and shapes, to the eye as unsubstantial as light itself, and visionary as the rainbow. The choir is hung with tapestry, designed by Rubens. It does, I think, to an unlearned eye somewhat resemble Henry the Seventh's chapel at Westminster, but is much loftier and larger. The long lancet-shaped painted windows are beautiful. The pillars and arches through the aisles of this Cathedral are of grey stone, sober, solemn, of great size, yet exquisitely proportioned; and no paltry images or tinselled altars disturb the one impression of awful magnificence, an impression received at once, and not to be overcome by regrets, that _only_ the _Choir_ and side aisles are finished. The nave, at half its destined height, is covered with a ceiling of boards. The exterior of this stupendous edifice is of massy, though most _beautiful_, architecture. Some of the lighter wreaths of stone-work (if great things may be compared with small) made me think of the Chapel of Roslin in its sequestered dell, where the adder's tongue and fern are mingled with green-grown flowers, and leaves of stone that neither fall nor fade. Flowers and bushes here grow out of the gigantic ruins--yet _ruins_ they are not; for as the Builder's hand left the unfinished work, so it appears to have remained in firmness and strength unshakable, while Nature has made her own of ornaments framed in imitation of her works, having overspread them with her colouring, and blended them with the treasures of her lonely places." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)--ED.

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 485: 1837.

How gloriously pursued by daring Man, 1822.

]

[Footnote 486: 1827.

Charms ... 1822.
]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote HD: The cathedral of Cologne was completed on October 15, 1880.--ED.]

[Footnote HE: The reference is to the sonnet on _Malham Cove_ (see p. 185), and the Fenwick note to _The Excursion_.--ED.]

VIII

IN A CARRIAGE, UPON THE BANKS OF THE RHINE

Amid this dance of objects sadness steals
O'er the defrauded heart--while sweeping by,
As in a fit of Thespian jollity,[HF]
Beneath her vine-leaf crown the green Earth reels:
Backward, in rapid evanescence, wheels 5
The venerable pageantry of Time,
Each beetling rampart, and each tower sublime,
And what the Dell unwillingly reveals
Of lurking cloistral arch, through trees espied
Near the bright River's edge. Yet why repine? 10
To muse, to creep, to halt at will, to gaze--
Such sweet way-faring--of life's spring the pride,
Her summer's faithful joy--_that_ still is mine,
And in fit measure cheers autumnal days.[487]

"Saturday 22nd.--We were anxious, at least Wm. was, to be in Switzerland, and we must follow our destiny. Leaving the rich plain, came to the fine range of mountains we saw yesterday, and to the side of the glorious river, by which we have since travelled. Magnificent heights on its banks. The most abrupt and fantastic outlines; Convents (what an exquisite one that first which pushed itself forward on the green shore, where the river bends in its course); Ruined Castles, looking at each other from aloft, or down upon the convents, lurk in the woody clefts; picturesque Villages with their spires, at every turn of this stately winding river; beautiful road following its windings; every variety of form given to the rocks; and affecting intimations brought to mind, by the frequent oratories and crosses, here neither tawdry nor obtrusive. After changing horses at _Remengen_, lost sight for a while of our noble companion, which soon reappeared stretching along a more widely-spread vale; the green hills softly retiring, vineyards climbing up their sides, and into every crevice; corn yellow-green, the different crops richly filling the centre of the vale; the fine road, bordered now by apple-trees laden with fruit, now open to the undivided plain. Again the hills approached, and never was beheld a grander display of Nature's works and of human Art, than continued in succession to feast our eyes and imaginations. D. noted the objects _individually_, in one of the most beautiful passages" (of her journal). (Mrs. Wordsworth.)

"Saturday, 22nd July. Cologne.--For some miles, the traveller goes through the magnificent plain, which from its great width appears almost circular. Though _unseen_ the river Rhine, we never can forget that it is there! When the vale becomes narrower, one of the most interesting and beautiful of prospects opens on the view from a gentle rising in the road. On an island stands a large grey convent, sadly pensive among its garden walls and embowering wood. The musket and cannon have spared that sanctuary, and we were told that, though the establishment is dissolved, a few of the nuns still remain there, attached to the spot; or probably having neither friends or other home to repair to. On the right bank of the river, opposite to us, is a bold precipice, bearing on its summit a ruined fortress which looks down upon the convent; and the warlike and religious Edifices are connected together by a chivalrous story of slighted or luckless love, which caused the withdrawing of a fair Damsel to the Island, where she founded the monastery. Another bold ruin stands upon an eminence adjoining, and all these monuments of former times combine with villages and churches, and dells (between the steeps) green or corn-clad, and with the majestic River (here spread out like a lake) to compose a most affectingly beautiful scene, whether viewed in prospect or in retrospect. Still we rolled along (ah! far too swiftly! and often did I wish that I were a youthful traveller on foot), still we rolled along, meeting the flowing River, smooth as glass, yet so rapid that the stream of motion is always perceptible, even from a great distance. The riches of this region are not easily fancied,--the pretty paths, the gardens among plots of vineyard and corn, cottages peeping from the shade, villages and spires, in never-ending variety." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)--ED.

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 487: 1837.

... Yet why repine?
Pedestrian liberty shall yet be mine
To muse, to creep, to halt at will, to gaze:
Freedom which youth with copious hand supplied,
May in fit measure bless my later days. 1822.
]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote HF: Thespis was the reputed inventor of tragedy, and he is said to have carried his rude stage and apparatus from village to village on waggons. Horace, _Ars Poetica_, 275.

Ignotum tragicae genus invenisse Camenae
Dicitur et plaustris vexisse poëmata Thespis
Quae canerent agerentque peruncti faecibus ora.

Thespis began the drama: rumour says
In travelling carts he carried round his plays,
When actors, smeared with lees, before the throng,
Performed their parts with gesture and with song!

(CONINGTON.)

These celebrations became identified with the nine Dionysiac festivals. See Virgil, _Georgics_ ii. 380.

There is a reference to the dignity of tragedy throughout the sonnet, and yet to the fact that it is a passing show.--ED.]

IX

HYMN,

FOR THE BOATMEN, AS THEY APPROACH THE RAPIDS UNDER THE CASTLE OF HEIDELBERG

Jesu! bless our slender Boat,
By the current swept along;
Loud its threatenings--let them not
Drown the music of a song
Breathed thy mercy to implore, 5
Where these troubled waters roar!

Saviour, for our warning, seen[488]
Bleeding on that precious Rood;
If, while through the meadows green
Gently wound the peaceful flood, 10
We forgot Thee, do not Thou
Disregard thy Suppliants now!

Hither, like yon ancient Tower
Watching o'er the River's bed,
Fling the shadow of thy power, 15
Else we sleep among the dead;
Thou who trod'st[489] the billowy sea,
Shield us in our jeopardy!

Guide our Bark among the waves;
Through the rocks our passage smooth; 20
Where the whirlpool frets and raves
Let thy love its anger soothe:
All our hope is placed in Thee;
_Miserere Domine!_[HG]

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 488: 1837.

Lord and Saviour! who art seen 1822.

Saviour, in thy image, seen 1827.
]

[Footnote 489: 1827.

Traveller on ... 1822.
]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote HG: _Miserere Domine._

See the beautiful Song in Mr. Coleridge's Tragedy, "THE REMORSE." Why is the Harp of Quantock silent?--W. W. 1822.

The following is the song, _Miserere Domine_, from Coleridge's _Remorse_, act III. scene i.:--

Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell,
Lest a blacker charm compel!
So shall the midnight breezes swell
With thy deep long-lingering knell.

And at evening evermore,
In a Chapel on the shore,
Shall the Chaunters sad and saintly,
Yellow tapers burning faintly,
Doleful Masses chaunt for thee,
_Miserere Domine!_

Hark! the cadence dies away
On the quiet moonlight sea:
The boatmen rest their oars and say,
_Miserere Domine!_

This song was set to music by Mr. Carnaby in 1802.--ED.

"26th July.--Reached Heidelberg.... We walked a while about the garden and ruins of the Castle. Looked down upon the grey-roofed Town, with its Cathedral running parallel with the river Neckar, over which, by a fine bridge, we had crossed on entering; boats shooting curiously over the rapids; vines, hanging gardens climbing up the hill, clothing the rocks, and creeping into their crevices, on every side of us, and up to the very point where we stood. The Town, with its squares and fountains, its narrow long streets, with arched gateways, towers, and spires, courts, and quaint flower gardens, fill the deep valley. The river disappears, winding away among the hills to the right. Before us it holds a direct course--through a widening tract of the same prolific country--to the Rhine, seen in the distance.... 27th... The passage through the bridge being somewhat dangerous, those who accompany the rafts, as they approach, fall down upon their knees to pray, then raise their voices and sing an appropriate anthem till the peril is past." (Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Friday, 28th July. Heidelberg.--The River flows beside it calmly (though with strong motion as all these large rivers do), but after that point, to the Bridge, the channel is rocky, and therefore the stream turbulent. While passing under the garden-wall, the peasant sailor, before he trusts his boat or timber-raft to the rocks and rapids, kneels down and prays for protection from danger, and a safe passage through the arches of the Bridge. An Image of Jesus on the cross is the visible object of his worship, which Mr. Pickford, when he rebuilt his garden-wall, replaced in its station, out of respect to the piety or superstition of past and present times. During the passage an appropriate hymn is chaunted--the thought touched our poet's fancy, and he has since composed the following verses for the Heidelberg boatmen." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)

In the edition of 1822 a sonnet followed this Hymn, entitled _The Jung-Frau--and the Rhine at Shauffhausen_. In the edition of 1827 it was transferred to the series of "Ecclesiastical Sonnets," under the title of its first line, "Down a swift Stream, thus far, a bold design," which place it retained in all subsequent editions (see Part III. No. xii.) The following note accompanied the sonnet in the edition of 1822:--"This Sonnet belongs to another publication, but from its fitness for this place is inserted here also.

'Voilà un énfer d'eau,' cried out a German Friend of Ramond, falling on his knees on the scaffold in front of this Waterfall. See Ramond's Translation of Coxe."--W. W.--ED.]

X

THE SOURCE OF THE DANUBE

Not, like his great Compeers, indignantly
Doth DANUBE spring to life![490] The wandering Stream
(Who loves the Cross, yet to the Crescent's gleam
Unfolds a willing breast)[HH] with infant glee
Slips from his prison walls: and Fancy, free 5
To follow in his track of silver light,
Mounts on rapt wing, and with a moment's flight
Hath reached the encincture of that gloomy sea[491][HI]
Whose waves the Orphean lyre[HJ] forbad to meet
In conflict; whose rough winds forgot their jars[492] 10
To waft the heroic progeny of Greece;
When the first Ship sailed for the Golden Fleece--
ARGO--exalted for that daring feat
To fix in heaven her shape distinct with stars.[493][HK]

_Not (like his great Compeers) indignantly
Doth Danube spring to light!_

Before this quarter of the Black Forest was inhabited, the source of the Danube might have suggested some of those sublime images which Armstrong has so finely described; at present the contrast is most striking. The Spring appears in a capacious Stone Basin upon the front of a Ducal palace, with a pleasure-ground opposite; then, passing under the pavement, takes the form of a little, clear, bright, black, vigorous rill, barely wide enough to tempt the agility of a child five years old to leap over it,--and, entering the Garden, it joins, after a course of a few hundred yards, a Stream much more considerable than itself. The _copiousness_ of the Spring at _Doneschingen_ must have procured for it the honour of being named the Source of the Danube.--W. W. 1822.

"Monday, 31st July.--... We drew towards the town of Villingen, a foreign-looking place standing in the descent, and lifting up its metallic dome-like spires, without the accompaniment of a single tree.... The Church with its two-fold spire glittered in the hot sunshine, like pewter in a melting state. Our guide had told us that near this place the Danube took its rise; but not so.... At _Doneschingen_ changed horses again. _Here_ we laved in the water which flowed from the source of the majestic Danube, a little, clear, bright, black rill, that issuing from a capacious stone fountain, into which it springs, crosses the road, and glides rapidly along the side of a beautiful pleasure-ground.... We washed, drank, and luxuriated in the cool and pure waters of this rill, unwilling to quit what we were not again to see--a reality very different from the stately Danube, so long an image to the imagination." (Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Tuesday, 1st August. Villingen.--The landlord seemed to entertain high ideas of this his native place--its modern improvements in gardens and its former grandeur--and told us that one of his servants should conduct us to the palace, the gardens, the baths, and last of all, though most the object of our curiosity, to the source of the DANUBE....

"But I seem to have forgotten the source of the Danube, which truly _was 'another'_[HL] Danube after we had seen it; or, more properly speaking, after we had seen the moor-land country surrounding the Town of Doneschingen, where we knew we should meet with the source of that famous river; and it is not only _there_ (in that Hollow wild without grandeur), but actually within the walls of the Duke's courts adjoining the trim flower garden. The bountiful spring is received by a large square stone basin, and thence flows through the gardens in a narrow stream like a vigorous mill-race. Had an active boy been by our side he would have over-leapt it. That streamlet, after the course of a few hundred yards, falls into the bed of the united rivers the P---- and the P---- which take their rise in the _moorish_ hills seen on the right in the road from Villingen, and which we looked upon from the gardens at the same time that we saw the new-born streamlet (called the source of the Danube) gush into their channel. I suppose it must be the remarkable strength of the spring which has caused it to be dignified with its title; for certainly those other two streams (united a little above the gardens) are the primary sources (of this branch at least) of the Danube." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)

What Dorothy Wordsworth mentions in reference to the Danube occurs in many other rivers; _e.g._ the source of the Clyde, in Scotland, is a tiny burn in Lanarkshire, which, after a short moorland course, falls (near Elvanfoot) into the large stream of the Daur--the latter having come down for many miles from the Lead Hills district. The P---- and P---- is probably a mistake for B---- and B----. The mountain torrent of the Bregé in the Schwartzwald is joined by the Bregach, and when the stream receives the waters from the spring in the Castle Garden of Doneschingen it becomes the Danube.--ED.

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 490: 1822.

But in the note to the poem the reading is "light."
]

[Footnote 491: 1840.

Reaches, with one brief moment's rapid flight,
The vast Encincture of that gloomy sea 1822.

]

[Footnote 492: 1827.

Whose rough winds Orpheus soothed; whose waves did greet
So skilfully that they forgot their jars-- 1822.

]

[Footnote 493: 1837.

Argo exalted by that daring feat
To a conspicuous height among the stars! 1822.

Argo, exalted for that daring feat
To bear in heaven a shape distinct with stars. 1827.
]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote HH: Referring to the circumstance that the Danube rises in a country where the Catholic religion prevails, and flows eastwards through lands where the faith of Islam is professed.--ED.]

[Footnote HI: The Black Sea. Orpheus accompanied the Argonauts in their expedition to Colchis. In the earlier form of the legend, this lyre subdued the winds and waves, and fixed the Symplegades firm in the sea, so that the Argo passed through unharmed. (See the legends in Ovid and Virgil, and in the _Argonautica_ of Apollonius Rhodius, 1. 23.)--ED.]

[Footnote HJ: See _Paradise Lost_, book iii. l. 17.--ED.]

[Footnote HK: According to the Greek astronomers, the lyre of Orpheus was placed by Zeus amongst the stars.--ED.]

[Footnote HL:

For when we're there, although 'tis fair,
'Twill be another Yarrow.

(See vol. ii. p. 413).--ED.]

XI

ON APPROACHING THE STAUBBACH, LAUTERBRUNNEN

Uttered by whom, or how inspired--designed
For what strange service, does this concert reach
Our ears, and near the dwellings of mankind!
'Mid fields familiarized to human speech?--
No Mermaids warble--to allay the wind 5
Driving some vessel toward a dangerous beach--
More thrilling melodies; Witch answering Witch,
To chaunt a love-spell, never intertwined[494]
Notes shrill and wild with art more musical:
Alas! that from the lips of abject Want 10
Or[495] Idleness in tatters mendicant
The strain should flow-free Fancy to enthral,[496]
And with regret and useless pity haunt
This bold, this bright,[497] this sky-born, WATERFALL!

The Staubbach is a narrow Stream, which, after a long course on the heights, comes to the sharp edge of a somewhat overhanging precipice, overleaps it with a bound, and, after a fall of 930 feet, forms again a rivulet. The vocal powers of these musical Beggars may seem to be exaggerated; but this wild and savage air was utterly unlike any sounds I had ever heard; the notes reached me from a distance, and on what occasion they were sung I could not guess, only they seemed to belong, in some way or other, to the Waterfall--and reminded me of religious services chaunted to Streams and Fountains in Pagan times.--W. W. 1822. Mr. Southey has thus accurately characterised the peculiarity of this music: "While we were at the Waterfall, some half-score peasants, chiefly women and girls, assembled just out of reach of the Spring, and set up--surely, the wildest chorus that ever was heard by human ears,--a song not of articulate sounds, but in which the voice was used as a mere instrument of music, more flexible than any which art could produce,--sweet, powerful, and thrilling beyond description." (See Notes to _A Tale of Paraguay_.)--W. W. 1837.

"Thursday, 10th Aug....--Walked to the Staubbach, the thin veil-like mist-besprinkled waterfall, that slips over the edge of an immensely high perpendicular rock--which, when we saw it by the morning light, was accompanied by a beautiful rainbow; spanning, like the arch of a bridge, the vapour at the base of the rock. Singing Girls. But I must not neglect to speak of the beauty of the _early_ morning, in the magnificent pass between Interlachen and Lauterbrunnen. The river from Jungfrau bounding down with great force, bringing a very cold air from the snowy regions. Cottages with their green summer plots climbing up in all directions, to the very skirts of these icy regions. Two that looked so beautiful in the sunshine. Women and children busy with their little lot of hay. Men mowing." (Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Thursday, 10th August. Interlachen.--The Staubbach is a narrow stream, which, after a long course on the heights, comes to the sharp edge of a somewhat overhanging precipice, overleaps it with a bound, and, after a fall of 930 feet, forms again a rivulet, that passing through a green sloping pasture crosses the road, and thence through the heaving grounds, takes its clear waters to the grey torrent of the Leutshen. When tracking with my young guide the rivulet to its momentary resting-place, a small basin at the foot of the cataract, two women appeared before me singing a shrill and savage air; the tones were startling, and in connection with their wild yet quiet figures strangely combined with the sounds of dashing water and the silent aspect of the huge crag that seemed to reach the sky! The morning sun falling on this side of the valley, a circular rainbow was seen when we were there, between the Fall and the Rock, the space being several yards, and you stand within that space in a bath of dew. I was close to the women when they began to sing, and hence, probably, it was that I perceived nothing of _sweetness_ in their tones. I cannot answer for the impression on the rest of the party except my brother, who being behind, heard the carol from a distance; and the description he gives of it is similar to Mr. Southey's in his Journal." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)--ED.

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 494: 1837.

Tracks let me follow far from human-kind
Which these illusive greetings may not reach;
Where only Nature tunes her voice to teach
Careless pursuits, and raptures unconfined.
No Mermaid warbles (to allay the wind
That drives some vessel tow'rds a dangerous beach)
More thrilling melodies! no caverned Witch
Chaunting a love-spell, ever intertwined 1822.

... tow'rd a dangerous beach) 1827.
]

[Footnote 495: 1837.

And ... 1822.
]

[Footnote 496: 1832.

They should proceed--enjoyment to enthral, 1822.

The strain should flow--enjoyment to enthral, 1827.
]

[Footnote 497: 1837.

... this pure, ... 1822.
]

XII

THE FALL OF THE AAR-HANDEC

From the fierce aspect of this River, throwing
His giant body o'er the steep rock's brink,
Back in astonishment and fear we shrink:
But, gradually a calmer look bestowing,
Flowers we espy beside the torrent growing; 5
Flowers that peep forth from many a cleft and chink,
And, from the whirlwind of his anger, drink
Hues ever fresh, in rocky fortress blowing:
They suck--from breath that, threatening to destroy,
Is more benignant than the dewy eve-- 10
Beauty, and life, and motions as of joy:
Nor doubt but HE to whom yon Pine-trees nod
Their heads in sign of worship,[HM] Nature's God,
These humbler adorations will receive.

"Saturday, Aug. 12.--It is now half-past twelve o'clock, and I am sitting upon a sort of myrtle bed under a pine grove among the rocks, down which the headlong Aar cleaves its way, having dined in the cabin at Handeck, in close neighbourhood with our steeds. All that we have hitherto seen seemed at the moment but a faint preparation for the delights of this day. The beautiful valley we left behind us, the groves, the forest of oak and pine, the glades, the one particularly in which we met that 'Hoifer,' as we called him, with his heron's crest proudly reared upon his head, a little page carrying his accoutrements. He with many others, but none like this Hero, there was repairing to shoot for a prize at Meyringen. Then, those lovely vales, that circular one, the pride of them all, which led us to the savage Pass and giant Pines, where lurks this King of Waterfalls. What delicious couches to rest upon. Here to linger out a long summer's day would be a luxury. A more sober passage home--our spirits a little, but very little, damped by the stretch of enjoyment." (Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Saturday, 12th August. Meyringen.--Crossed the stream, and _re_-crossed it, and from a stony hollow, uninhabited, came into the gloom of a pine forest, which led us, by a steep ascent, to the rocks surrounding the Fall of the Aar. Long before our approach, we heard the roaring, while that sound was deadened by the intermediate rocks and trees; but when standing on a bank, in front of the cataract, I could have believed at the first moment, that it was louder even than that of the Rhine at Schaffhausen. This impression, no doubt, was owing chiefly to its being confined within a narrow space. The pine-clad precipices, especially on the opposite side, are very lofty, rising from the rocks of the Pass, kept bare by continual wetting. The gloom of the forest-mountains, in harmony with the sombrous hue of the water, would, of itself, make this first view of this cataract much more impressive than that of the Reichenbach; but again we looked in vain--not for delicate passages in the stream;--those could not be thought of;--but for some of those minute graces, and those overgrowings that detain us in admiration beside our own pellucid waterfalls.[HN] There is a grey furnace-like smoke of water, and a desperate motion and ferment, that make the head dizzy and stun the ears." ... "We clambered upon other rocks; and, at leisure, noticed the variety of shrubby plants and flowers, which here (being higher than the stream) grew securely, nursed by perpetual dews. Luxuriant tufts of a very large sedum were lodged on the ledges, or hung from dark crevices; those tufts, in form and motion, as they waved and fluttered in the breeze of the cataract, resembling the plumes of a hearse, were an ornament well suited to the pine-clad steeps, and the heavenly beauty of the rainbow." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)--ED.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote HM: Compare Coleridge's _Hymn before Sunrise, in the Vale of Chamouni_.--ED.]

XIII

MEMORIAL,

NEAR THE OUTLET OF THE LAKE OF THUN

_"DEM
ANDENKEN
MEINES FREUNDES
ALOYS REDING
MDCCCXVIII"_

Aloys Reding, it will be remembered, was Captain-General of the Swiss forces, which, with a courage and perseverance worthy of the cause, opposed the flagitious and too successful attempt of Buonaparte to subjugate their country.--W. W. 1822.

Around a wild and woody hill
A gravelled pathway treading,
We reached a votive Stone that bears
The name of Aloys Reding.

Well judged the Friend who placed it there 5
For silence and protection;
And haply with a finer care
Of dutiful affection.