Chapter XV: Part IV (2)

A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,
Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light
Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height:
Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain
For kindred Power departing from their sight; 5
While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain,
Saddens his voice again, and yet again.
Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might
Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes;
Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue 10
Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows,
Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true,
Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea,
Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope!

With the closing lines of this sonnet addressed to the "winds of ocean," and Sir Walter's departure for Naples, compare Horace's ode to the Ship carrying Virgil to Athens (_Odes_, I. 3).

On the 19th October 1833, Henry Crabb Robinson wrote thus to his friend Masquerier--"It is, I think, the most perfect sonnet in the language. Every word is a gem, from the 'pathetic light' in the second to the 'soft Parthenope' in the last line. It is composed with that deep feeling and perfection of style united that bespeak the master." (_Diary, Reminiscences, etc._, vol. iii. p. 32.)

The sonnet was sent to Alaric Watts for his _Souvenir_ in 1832. Wordsworth wrote, "I enclose a sonnet for your next volume if you choose to insert it. It would have appeared with more advantage in this year's, but was not written in time. It is proper that I should mention it has been sent to Sir Walter Scott, and one or two of my other friends." (See _Alaric Watts, a Narrative of his Life_, vol. ii. p. 190.)--ED.

III

A PLACE OF BURIAL IN THE SOUTH OF SCOTLAND

[Similar places for burial are not unfrequent in Scotland. The one that suggested this sonnet lies on the banks of a small stream called the Wauchope that flows into the Esk near Langholme. Mickle, who, as it appears from his poem on Sir Martin, was not without genuine poetic feelings, was born and passed his boyhood in this neighbourhood, under his father who was a minister of the Scotch Kirk. The Esk, both above and below Langholme, flows through a beautiful country, and the two streams of the Wauchope and the Ewes, which join it near that place, are such as a pastoral poet would delight in.--I.F.]

Part fenced by man, part by a rugged steep
That curbs a foaming brook, a Grave-yard lies;
The hare's best couching-place for fearless sleep;
Which moonlit elves, far seen by credulous eyes,
Enter in dance. Of church, or sabbath ties, 5
No vestige now remains; yet thither creep
Bereft Ones, and in lowly anguish weep
Their prayers out to the wind and naked skies.
Proud tomb is none; but rudely-sculptured knights,
By humble choice of plain old times, are seen 10
Level with earth, among the hillocks green:
Union not sad, when sunny daybreak smites
The spangled turf, and neighbouring thickets ring
With _jubilate_ from the choirs of spring!

IV

ON THE SIGHT OF A MANSE IN THE SOUTH OF SCOTLAND

[The Manses in Scotland and the gardens and grounds about them have seldom that attractive appearance which is common about our English parsonages, even when the clergyman's income falls below the average of the Scotch minister's. This is not merely owing to the one country being poor in comparison with the other, but arises rather out of the equality of their benefices, so that no one has enough to spare for decorations that might serve as an example for others; whereas, with us, the taste of the richer incumbent extends its influence more or less to the poorest. After all, in these observations the surface only of the matter is touched. I once heard a conversation in which the Roman Catholic Religion was decried on account of its abuses. "You cannot deny, however," said a lady of the party, repeating an expression used by Charles II., "that it is the religion of a gentleman." It may be left to the Scotch themselves to determine how far this observation applies to their Kirk, while it cannot be denied, if it is wanting in that characteristic quality, the aspect of common life, so far as concerns its beauty, must suffer. Sincere christian piety may be thought not to stand in need of refinement or studied ornament; but assuredly it is ever ready to adopt them, when they fall within its notice, as means allow; and this observation applies not only to manners, but to everything a christian (truly so in spirit) cultivates and gathers round him, however humble his social condition.--I.F.]

Say, ye far-travelled clouds, far-seeing hills--
Among the happiest-looking homes of men
Scatter'd all Britain over, through deep glen,
On airy upland, and by forest rills,
And o'er wide plains cheered by the lark that trills 5
His sky-born warblings[694]--does aught meet your ken
More fit to animate the Poet's pen,
Aught that more surely by its aspect fills
Pure minds with sinless envy, than the Abode
Of the good Priest: who, faithful through all hours 10
To his high charge, and truly serving God,
Has yet a heart and hand for trees and flowers,
Enjoys the walks his predecessors trod,
Nor covets lineal rights in lands and towers.

FOOTNOTES:

[694] 1845.

And o'er wide plains whereon the sky distils
Her lark's loved warblings; ... 1835.

V

COMPOSED IN ROSLIN CHAPEL, DURING A STORM

[We were detained by incessant rain and storm at the small inn near Roslin Chapel, and I passed a great part of the day pacing to and fro in this beautiful structure, which, though not used for public service, is not allowed to go to ruin. Here, this sonnet was composed. If it has at all done justice to the feeling which the place and the storm raging without inspired, I was as a prisoner. A painter delineating the interior of the chapel and its minute features under such circumstances would have, no doubt, found his time agreeably shortened. But the movements of the mind must be more free while dealing with words than with lines and colours; such at least was then and has been on many other occasions my belief, and, as it is allotted to few to follow both arts with success, I am grateful to my own calling for this and a thousand other recommendations which are denied to that of the painter.--I. F.]

The wind is now thy organist;--a clank
(We know not whence) ministers for a bell
To mark some change of service. As the swell
Of music reached its height, and even when sank
The notes, in prelude, ROSLIN! to a blank 5
Of silence, how it thrilled thy sumptuous roof,
Pillars, and arches,--not in vain time-proof,
Though Christian rites be wanting! From what bank
Came those live herbs? by what hand were they sown
Where dew falls not, where rain-drops seem unknown? 10
Yet in the Temple they a friendly niche
Share with their sculptured fellows, that, green-grown,
Copy their beauty more and more, and preach,
Though mute, of all things blending into one.[695]

FOOTNOTES:

[695] "I cannot agree with you in admiring the cathedral of Melrose more than the chapel at Roslin. As far as it goes, as a whole, the chapel at Roslin appeared to me to be _perfection_, most beautiful in form, and of entire simplicity." (Dorothy Wordsworth to Mrs. Marshall, Sept. 1807.)--ED.

VI

THE TROSACHS

[As recorded in my sister's Journal, I had first seen the Trosachs in her and Coleridge's company. The sentiment that runs through this Sonnet was natural to the season in which I again saw this beautiful spot; but this and some other Sonnets that follow were coloured by the remembrance of my recent visit to Sir Walter Scott, and the melancholy errand on which he was going.--I. F.]

There's not a nook within this solemn Pass,
But were an apt confessional for One
Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone,
That Life is but a tale of morning grass
Withered at eve.[696] From scenes of art which chase[697]
That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes 6
Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities,
Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass
Untouched, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest,[698]
If from a golden perch of aspen spray 10
(October's workmanship to rival May)
The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast
That[699] moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay,
Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest!

FOOTNOTES:

[696] Compare _The Excursion_, book iii. 11. 468-474.--ED.

[697] 1837.

... that chase 1835.

[698] A supposed reading of this line printed, but placed by Wordsworth amongst the _errata_ of the edition of 1835, may be quoted, as it has given rise to some controversy. In that edition the phrase was "Thrice happy Guest." In a copy of the same edition of 1835, which Wordsworth presented to the Rev. T.C. Judkin, he crossed out the G and wrote in Q in pencil. It was a point on which the late Matthew Arnold was much interested; and although he retained, in his Selections, the reading finally sanctioned by the poet, he thought, as many others have done, that a good deal might be said in favour of the other reading.--ED.

[699] 1837.

This ... 1835.

VII

"THE PIBROCH'S NOTE, DISCOUNTENANCED OR MUTE"

The pibroch's note, discountenanced or mute;
The Roman kilt, degraded to a toy
Of quaint apparel for a half-spoilt boy;
The target mouldering like ungathered fruit;
The smoking steam-boat eager in pursuit, 5
As eagerly pursued; the umbrella spread
To weather-fend the Celtic herdsman's head--
All speak of manners withering to the root,
And of[700] old honours, too, and passions high:
Then may we ask, though pleased that thought should range 10
Among the conquests of civility,
Survives imagination--to the change
Superior? Help to virtue does she give?[701]
If not, O Mortals, better cease to live!

FOOTNOTES:

[700] 1845.

And some ... 1835.

[701] 1845.

... it give? 1835.

VIII

COMPOSED AFTER READING A NEWSPAPER OF THE DAY[702]

"People! your chains are severing link by link;
Soon shall the Rich be levelled down--the Poor
Meet them half-way." Vain boast! for These, the more
They thus would rise, must low and lower sink
Till, by repentance stung, they fear to think; 5
While all lie prostrate, save the tyrant few
Bent in quick turns each other to undo,
And mix the poison they themselves must drink.
Mistrust thyself, vain Country! cease to cry,
"Knowledge will save me from the threatened woe."
For, if than other rash ones more thou know, 11
Yet on presumptuous wing as far would fly
Above thy knowledge as they dared to go,
Thou wilt provoke a heavier penalty.

FOOTNOTES:

[702] This Sonnet ought to have followed No. vii. in the series of 1831, but was omitted by mistake.--W. W. 1835.

As the above note indicates Wordsworth's own wish as to where this sonnet should be placed, and approximately gives the date of composition, it is placed as No. VIII. in the sonnets of 1831. In later editions, Wordsworth placed it as the first in the series of "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty and Order." The original title was _Sonnet, composed after reading a Newspaper of the Day_.--ED.

IX

COMPOSED IN THE GLEN OF LOCH ETIVE

["That make the Patriot spirit." It was mortifying to have frequent occasions to observe the bitter hatred of the lower orders of the Highlanders to their superiors; love of country seemed to have passed into its opposite. Emigration was the only relief looked to with hope.[703]--I. F.]

"This Land of Rainbows spanning glens whose walls,
Rock-built, are hung with rainbow-coloured mists--
Of far-stretched Meres whose salt flood never rests--
Of tuneful Caves and playful Waterfalls--
Of Mountains varying momently their crests-- 5
Proud be this Land! whose poorest huts are halls
Where Fancy entertains becoming guests;
While native song the heroic Past recals."
Thus, in the net of her own wishes caught,
The Muse exclaimed; but Story now must hide 10
Her trophies, Fancy crouch; the course of pride
Has been diverted, other lessons taught,
That make the Patriot-spirit bow her head
Where the all-conquering Roman feared to tread.

FOOTNOTES:

[703] This Fenwick note is significant. These things repeat themselves, and are as true in 1896, as they were in 1831.--ED.

X

EAGLES

COMPOSED AT DUNOLLIE CASTLE IN THE BAY OF OBAN

["The last I saw was on the wing," off the promontory of Fairhead, county of Antrim. I mention this because, though my tour in Ireland with Mr. Marshall and his son was made many years ago, this allusion to the eagle is the only image supplied by it to the poetry I have since written. We travelled through that country in October, and to the shortness of the days and the speed with which we travelled (in a carriage and four) may be ascribed this want of notices, in my verse, of a country so interesting. The deficiency I am somewhat ashamed of, and it is the more remarkable as contrasted with my Scotch and Continental tours, of which are to be found in these volumes so many memorials.--I. F.]

Dishonoured Rock and Ruin! that, by law
Tyrannic, keep the Bird of Jove embarred
Like a lone criminal whose life is spared.
Vexed is he, and screams loud. The last I saw
Was on the wing; stooping, he struck with awe 5
Man, bird, and beast; then, with a consort paired,[704]
From a bold headland, their loved aery's guard,
Flew high[705] above Atlantic waves, to draw
Light from the fountain of the setting sun.
Such was this Prisoner once; and, when his plumes
The sea-blast ruffles as the storm comes on, 11
Then, for a moment, he, in spirit, resumes[706]
His rank 'mong freeborn creatures that live free,
His power, his beauty, and his majesty.

FOOTNOTES:

[704] 1835.

Was on the wing, and struck my soul with awe,
Now wheeling low, then with a consort paired,

MS. copy sent to Sir William Rowan Hamilton.

[705] 1835.

Flying ...

MS. to Sir W. R. Hamilton.

[706] 1845.

In spirit, for a moment, he resumes

MS. to Sir W. R. Hamilton, and 1835.

XI

IN THE SOUND OF MULL

[Touring late in the season in Scotland is an uncertain speculation. We were detained a week by rain at Bunaw on Loch Etive in a vain hope that the weather would clear up and allow me to show my daughter the beauties at Glencoe. Two days we were at the Isle of Mull, on a visit to Major Campbell; but it rained incessantly, and we were obliged to give up our intention of going to Staffa. The rain pursued us to Tyndrum, where the Twelfth Sonnet was composed in a storm.--I. F.]

Tradition, be thou mute! Oblivion, throw
Thy veil in mercy o'er the records, hung
Round strath and mountain, stamped by the ancient tongue
On rock and ruin darkening as we go,--
Spots where a word, ghost-like, survives to show 5
What crimes from hate, or desperate love, have sprung;
From honour misconceived, or fancied wrong,
What feuds, not quenched but fed by mutual woe.
Yet, though a wild vindictive Race, untamed
By civil arts and labours of the pen, 10
Could gentleness be scorned by those[707] fierce Men,
Who, to spread wide the reverence they claimed[708]
For patriarchal occupations, named
Yon towering Peaks, "Shepherds of Etive Glen?"[709]

FOOTNOTES:

[707] 1837.

... these ... 1835.

[708] 1837.

... reverence that they claimed. 1835.

[709] In Gaelic, _Buachaill Etive_.--W. W. 1835.

XII

SUGGESTED AT TYNDRUM IN A STORM[710]

Enough of garlands, of the Arcadian crook,
And all that Greece and Italy have sung
Of Swains reposing myrtle groves among!
_Ours_ couch on naked rocks,--will cross a brook
Swoln with chill rains, nor ever cast a look 5
This way or that, or give it even a thought
More than by smoothest pathway may be brought
Into a vacant mind. Can written book
Teach what _they_ learn? Up, hardy Mountaineer!
And guide the Bard, ambitious to be One 10
Of Nature's privy council, as thou art,
On cloud-sequestered heights, that see and hear
To what dread Powers[711] He delegates his part
On earth, who works in the heaven of heavens, alone.

FOOTNOTES:

[710] 1837.

In 1835 the title was _At Tyndrum_.

[711] 1837.

... Power ... 1835.

XIII

THE EARL OF BREADALBANE'S RUINED MANSION, AND FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE, NEAR KILLIN

Well sang the Bard who called the grave, in strains
Thoughtful and sad, the "narrow house."[712] No style
Of fond sepulchral flattery can beguile
Grief of her sting; nor cheat, where he detains
The sleeping dust, stern Death. How reconcile 5
With truth, or with each other, decked remains
Of a once warm Abode, and that _new_ Pile,
For the departed, built with curious pains
And mausolean pomp?[713] Yet here they stand
Together,--'mid trim walks and artful bowers, 10
To be looked down upon by ancient hills,
That, for the living and the dead, demand
And prompt a harmony of genuine powers;
Concord that elevates the mind, and stills.

FOOTNOTES:

[712] This phrase is used by James Graham, in _The Poor Man's Funeral_; by Southey, in _Joan of Arc_ (book viii.); by Ossian (frequently); and by Burns, in his _Lament of Mary Queen of Scots_ (l. 53). Wordsworth probably refers to Burns.--ED.

[713] Finlarig, near Killin, is the burial-place of the Breadalbane family. "The modern mausoleum occupies a solitary position in the vicinity of the old ruins."--ED.

XIV

"REST AND BE THANKFUL!"

AT THE HEAD OF GLENCROE

Doubling and doubling with laborious walk,
Who, that has gained at length the wished-for Height,
This brief this simple way-side Call can slight,
And rests not thankful? Whether cheered by talk
With some loved friend, or by the unseen hawk 5
Whistling to clouds and sky-born streams, that shine
At the sun's outbreak, as with light divine,
Ere they descend to nourish root and stalk
Of valley flowers. Nor, while the limbs repose,
Will we forget that, as the fowl can keep 10
Absolute stillness, poised aloft in air,
And fishes front, unmoved, the torrent's sweep,--
So may the Soul, through powers that Faith bestows,
Win rest, and ease, and peace, with bliss that Angels share.

XV

HIGHLAND HUT

See what gay wild flowers deck this earth-built Cot,
Whose smoke, forth-issuing whence and how it may,
Shines in the greeting of the sun's first ray
Like wreaths of vapour without stain or blot.
The limpid mountain rill avoids it not; 5
And why shouldst thou?--If rightly trained and bred,
Humanity is humble, finds no spot
Which her Heaven-guided feet refuse to tread.
The walls are cracked, sunk is the flowery roof,
Undressed the pathway leading to the door; 10
But love, as Nature loves, the lonely Poor;
Search, for their worth, some gentle heart wrong-proof,
Meek, patient, kind, and, were its trials fewer,
Belike less happy.--Stand no more aloof![714]

FOOTNOTES:

[714] This sonnet describes the _exterior_ of a Highland hut, as often seen under morning or evening sunshine. To the authoress of the _Address to the Wind_, and other poems, in these volumes, who was my fellow-traveller in this tour, I am indebted for the following extract from her journal, which[715] accurately describes, under particular circumstances, the beautiful appearance of the _interior_ of one of these rude habitations.

"On our return from the Trosachs the evening began to darken, and it rained so heavily that we were completely wet before we had come two miles, and it was dark when we landed with our boatman, at his hut upon the banks of Loch Katrine. I was faint from cold: the good woman had provided, according to her promise, a better fire than we had found in the morning; and, indeed, when I sat down in the chimney-corner of her smoky biggin, I thought I had never felt more comfortable in my life: a pan of coffee was boiling for us, and, having put our clothes in the way of drying, we all sat down thankful for a shelter. We could not prevail upon our boatman, the master of the house, to draw near the fire, though he was cold and wet, or to suffer his wife to get him dry clothes till she had served us, which she did most willingly, though not very expeditiously.

"A Cumberland man of the same rank would not have had such a notion of what was fit and right in his own house, or, if he had, one would have accused him of servility; but in the Highlander it only seemed like politeness (however erroneous and painful to us), naturally growing out of the dependence of the inferiors of the clan upon their laird; he did not, however, refuse to let his wife bring out the whisky bottle for his refreshment, at our request. 'She keeps a dram,' as the phrase is: indeed, I believe there is scarcely a lonely house by the way-side, in Scotland, where travellers may not be accommodated with a dram. We asked for sugar, butter, barley-bread, and milk; and, with a smile and a stare more of kindness than wonder, she replied, 'Ye'll get that,' bringing each article separately. We caroused our cups of coffee, laughing like children at the strange atmosphere in which we were: the smoke came in gusts, and spread along the walls; and above our heads in the chimney (where the hens were _roosting_) it appeared like clouds[716] in the sky. We laughed and laughed again, in spite of the smarting of our eyes, yet had a quieter pleasure in observing the beauty of the beams and rafters gleaming between the clouds of smoke: they had been crusted over, and varnished by many winters, till, where the firelight fell upon them, they had become as glossy as black rocks, on a sunny day, cased in ice. When we had eaten our supper we sat about half an hour, and I think I never felt so deeply the blessing of a hospitable welcome and a warm fire. The man of the house repeated from time to time that we should often tell of this night when we got to our homes, and interposed praises of his own lake, which he had more than once, when we were returning in the boat, ventured to say was 'bonnier than Loch Lomond.' Our companion from the Trosachs, who, it appeared, was an Edinburgh drawing-master going, during the vacation, on a pedestrian tour to John o' Groat's house, was to sleep in the barn with my fellow-travellers, where the man said he had plenty of dry hay. I do not believe that the hay of the Highlands is ever very dry, but this year it had a better chance than usual: wet or dry, however, the next morning they said they had slept comfortably. When I went to bed, the mistress, desiring me to '_go ben_,' attended me with a candle, and assured me that the bed was dry, though not 'sic as I had been used to.' It was of chaff; there were two others in the room, a cupboard and two chests, upon one of which stood milk in wooden vessels, covered over. The walls of the house were of stone unplastered: it consisted of three apartments, the cowhouse at one end, the kitchen or house in the middle, and the spence at the other end; the rooms were divided, not up to the rigging, but only to the beginning of the roof, so that there was a free passage for light and smoke from one end of the house to the other. I went to bed some time before the rest of the family; the door was shut between us, and they had a bright fire, which I could not see, but the light it sent up amongst[717] the varnished rafters and beams, which crossed each other in almost as intricate and fantastic a manner as I have seen the under-boughs of a large beech tree withered by the depth of shade above, produced the most beautiful effect that can be conceived. It was like what I should suppose an under-ground cave or temple to be, with a dripping or moist roof, and the moonlight entering in upon it by some means or other: and yet the colours were more like those of melted gems. I lay looking up till the light of the fire faded away, and the man and his wife and child had crept into their bed at the other end of the room: I did not sleep much, but passed a comfortable night; for my bed, though hard, was warm and clean: the unusualness of my situation prevented me from sleeping. I could hear the waves beat against the shore of the lake: a little rill close to the door made a much louder noise, and, when I sat up in my bed, I could see the lake through an open window-place at the bed's head. Add to this, it rained all night. I was less occupied by remembrance of the Trosachs, beautiful as they were, than the vision of the Highland hut, which I could not get out of my head; I thought of the Faery-land of Spenser, and what I had read in romance at other times; and then what a feast it would be for a London Pantomime-maker could he but transplant it to Drury-lane, with all its beautiful colours!"--MS. W. W. 1835.

[715] 1837.

... sunshine. The reader may not be displeased with
the following extract from the journal of a Lady, my
fellow-traveller in Scotland in the autumn of 1803, which ...
1835.

[716] 1837.

roosting) like clouds 1835.

[717] 1845.

among 1835.

XVI

THE BROWNIE

Upon a small island not far from the head of Loch Lomond, are some remains of an ancient building, which was for several years the abode of a solitary Individual, one of the last survivors of the clan of Macfarlane, once powerful in that neighbourhood. Passing along the shore opposite this island in the year 1814, the Author learned these particulars, and that this person then living there had acquired the appellation of "The Brownie." See _The Brownie's Cell_ (vol. vi. p. 16), to which the following[718] is a sequel.--W. W.

"How disappeared he?" Ask the newt and toad;
Ask of his fellow men, and they will tell
How he was found, cold as an icicle,
Under an arch of that forlorn abode;
Where he, unpropp'd, and by the gathering flood 5
Of years hemm'd round, had dwelt, prepared to try
Privation's worst extremities, and die
With no one near save the omnipresent God.
Verily so to live was an awful choice--
A choice that wears the aspect of a doom; 10
But in the mould of mercy all is cast
For Souls familiar with the eternal Voice;
And this forgotten Taper to the last
Drove from itself, we trust, all frightful gloom.

FOOTNOTES:

[718] 1837.

following Sonnet is 1835.

XVII

TO THE PLANET VENUS, AN EVENING STAR

COMPOSED AT LOCH LOMOND

Though joy attend Thee orient at the birth
Of dawn, it cheers the lofty spirit most
To watch thy course when Day-light, fled from earth,
In the grey sky hath left his lingering Ghost,
Perplexed as if between a splendour lost 5
And splendour slowly mustering. Since the Sun,
The absolute, the world-absorbing One,
Relinquished half his empire to the host
Emboldened by thy guidance, holy Star,
Holy as princely, who that looks on thee 10
Touching, as now, in thy humility
The mountain borders of this seat of care,
Can question that thy countenance is bright,
Celestial Power, as much with love as light?

XVIII

BOTHWELL CASTLE

(PASSED UNSEEN, ON ACCOUNT OF STORMY WEATHER)

[In my Sister's Journal is an account of Bothwell Castle as it appeared to us at that time.--I.F.]

Immured in Bothwell's Towers, at times the Brave
(So beautiful is Clyde) forgot to mourn
The liberty they lost at Bannockburn.
Once on those steeps _I_ roamed[719] at large, and have
In mind the landscape, as if still in sight; 5
The river glides, the woods before me wave;
Then why repine that now in vain I crave[720]
Needless renewal of an old delight?
Better to thank a dear and long-past day
For joy its sunny hours were free to give 10
Than blame the present, that our wish hath crost.
Memory, like sleep, hath powers which dreams obey,
Dreams, vivid dreams, that are not fugitive:
How little that she cherishes is lost!

FOOTNOTES:

[719] The following is from the same MS., and gives an account of the visit to Bothwell Castle here alluded to:--

"It was exceedingly delightful to enter thus unexpectedly upon such a beautiful region. The castle stands nobly, overlooking the Clyde. When we came up to it, I was hurt to see that flower-borders had taken place of the natural overgrowings of the ruin, the scattered stones and wild plants. It is a large and grand pile of red freestone, harmonising perfectly with the rocks of the river, from which, no doubt, it has been hewn. When I was a little accustomed to the unnaturalness of a modern garden, I could not help admiring the excessive beauty and luxuriance of some of the plants, particularly the purple-flowered clematis, and a broad-leafed creeping plant without flowers, which scrambled up the castle wall, along with the ivy, and spread its vine-like branches so lavishly that it seemed to be in its natural situation, and one could not help thinking that, though not self-planted among the ruins of this country, it must somewhere have its native abode in such places. If Bothwell Castle had not been close to the Douglas mansion, we should have been disgusted with the possessor's miserable conception of _adorning_ such a venerable ruin; but it is so very near to the house, that of necessity the pleasure-grounds must have extended beyond it, and perhaps the neatness of a shaven lawn and the complete desolation natural to a ruin might have made an unpleasing contrast; and, besides being within the precincts of the pleasure-grounds, and so very near to the dwelling of a noble family, it has forfeited, in some degree, its independent majesty, and becomes a tributary to the mansion: its solitude being interrupted, it has no longer the command over the mind in sending it back into past times, or excluding the ordinary feelings which we bear about us in daily life. We had then only to regret that the castle and the house were so near to each other; and it was impossible _not_ to regret it; for the ruin presides in state over the river, far from city or town, as if it might have a peculiar privilege to preserve its memorials of past ages, and maintain its own character for centuries to come. We sat upon a bench under the high trees, and had beautiful views of the different reaches of the river, above and below. On the opposite bank, which is finely wooded with elms and other trees, are the remains of a priory built upon a rock; and rock and ruin are so blended, that it is impossible to separate the one from the other. Nothing can be more beautiful than the little remnant of this holy place: elm trees (for we were near enough to distinguish them by their branches) grow out of the walls, and overshadow a small, but very elegant window. It can scarcely be conceived what a grace the castle and priory impart to each other; and the river Clyde flows on, smooth and unruffled below, seeming to my thoughts more in harmony with the sober and stately images of former times, than if it had roared over a rocky channel, forcing its sound upon the ear. It blended gently with the warbling of the smaller birds, and the chattering of the larger ones, that had made their nests in the ruins. In this fortress the chief of the English nobility were confined after the battle of Bannockburn. If a man _is_ to be a prisoner, he scarcely could have a more pleasant place to solace his captivity; but I thought that, for close confinement, I should prefer the banks of a lake, or the seaside. The greatest charm of a brook or river is in the liberty to pursue it through its windings: you can then take it in whatever mood you like; silent or noisy, sportive or quiet. The beauties of a brook or river must be sought, and the pleasure is in going in search of them; those of a lake or of the sea come to you of themselves. These rude warriors cared little, perhaps, about either; and yet, if one may judge from the writings of Chaucer, and from the old romances, more interesting passions were connected with natural objects in the days of chivalry than now; though going in search of scenery, as it is called, had not then been thought of. I had previously heard nothing of Bothwell Castle, at least nothing that I remembered; therefore, perhaps, my pleasure was greater, compared with what I received elsewhere, than others might feel."--MS. Journal.--W. W. 1835.

[720] 1837.

But, by occasion tempted, now I crave 1835.

XIX

PICTURE OF DANIEL IN THE LIONS' DEN, AT HAMILTON PALACE

Amid a fertile region green with wood
And fresh with rivers, well did[721] it become
The ducal Owner, in his palace-home
To naturalise this tawny Lion brood;
Children of Art, that claim strange brotherhood 5
(Couched in their den) with those that roam at large
Over the burning wilderness, and charge
The wind with terror while they roar for food.
Satiate are _these_; and stilled to eye and ear;
Hence, while we gaze,[722] a more enduring fear! 10
Yet is the Prophet calm, nor would the cave
Daunt him--if his Companions, now be-drowsed
Outstretched[723] and listless, were by hunger roused:
Man placed him here, and God, he knows, can save.

Henry Crabb Robinson gives an account of this picture in his _Diary, etc._ (vol. ii. pp. 214, 215):--

"On September the 29th, from Lanark I visited the Duke of Hamilton's palace, and had unusual pleasure in the paintings to be seen there. I venture to copy my remarks on the famous Rubens' 'Daniel in the Lions' Den:'--'The variety of character in the lions is admirable. Here is indignation at the unintelligible power which restrains them; there reverence towards the being whom they dare not touch. One of them is consoled by the contemplation of the last skull he has been picking; one is anticipating his next meal; two are debating the subject together. But the Prophet, with a face resembling Curran's (foreshortened so as to lose its best expression), has all the muscles of his countenance strained from extreme terror. He is without joy or hope; and though his doom is postponed, he has no faith in the miracle which is to reward his integrity. It is a painting rather to astonish than delight.'"

In a footnote Robinson adds, "Daniel's head is thrown back, and he looks upwards with an earnest expression and clasped hands, as if vehemently supplicating. The picture formerly belonged to King Charles I. It was at that time entered as follows in the Catalogue of the Royal Pictures:--'A piece of Daniel in the Lions' Den with lions about him, given by the deceased Lord Dorchester to the king, being so big as the life. Done by Sir Peter Paul Rubens.' Dr. Waagen very justly observes that, upon the whole, the figure of Daniel is only an accessory employed by the great master to introduce, in the most perfect form, nine figures of lions and lionesses the size of life. Rubens, in a letter to Sir Dudley Carleton (who presented the picture to the king), dated April 28th, 1618, expressly states that it was wholly his own workmanship. The price was six hundred florins. Engraved in mezzotint by W. Ward, 1789."

This famous picture, after having been in the possession of the Duke of Hamilton, was sold--in 1882--to Mr. Denison, Yorkshire. The following is from the catalogue of the Hamilton Palace sale:--

RUBENS--DANIEL IN THE DEN OF LIONS.--The prophet is represented sitting naked in the middle of the den, his hands clasped, and his countenance directed upward with an expression of earnest prayer. Nine lions are prowling around him. Engraved by Blooteling, Van der Leuw, and Lamb, and in mezzotint by J. Ward. There is also an etching of it by Street, extremely rare. This is one of the few great pictures by Rubens which we know with certainty to have been entirely executed by his own hand. Rubens says this explicitly in an Italian letter to Sir Dudley Carleton, which Mr. Carpenter has printed in his _Pictorial Notices_, p. 140. This picture was presented by Sir Dudley Carleton to Charles I., and is inserted in the printed catalogue of his collection at page 87.

"No. 14.

[Sidenote: Done by Sir Peter Paul Rubens.]

Item.--A piece of Daniel in the lions' den, with lions about
him. Given by the deceased Lord Dorchester to the king, so
big as the life, in a black gilded frame."

It was sold to Mr. Denison for £5145.--ED.

FOOTNOTES:

[721] 1840.

... doth ... 1835.

[722] 1845.

But _these_ are satiate, and a stillness drear
Calls into life ... 1835.

Satiate are _these_; and still--to eye and ear;
Hence, while we gaze, ... 1837.

[723] 1837.

Yawning ... 1835.

XX

THE AVON

(A FEEDER OF THE ANNAN)

["Yet is it one that other rivulets bear." There is the Shakespeare Avon, the Bristol Avon; the one that flows by Salisbury, and a small river in Wales, I believe, bear the name; Avon being in the ancient tongue the general name for river.--I. F.]

Avon--a precious, an immortal name!
Yet is it one that other rivulets bear
Like this unheard-of, and their channels wear
Like this contented, though unknown to Fame:
For great and sacred is the modest claim 5
Of Streams to Nature's love, where'er they flow;
And ne'er did Genius slight them, as they go,
Tree, flower, and green herb, feeding without blame.
But Praise can waste her voice on work of tears,
Anguish, and death: full oft where innocent blood 10
Has mixed its current with the limpid flood,
Her heaven-offending trophies Glory rears:
Never for like distinction may the good
Shrink from _thy_ name, pure Rill, with unpleased ears.

XXI

SUGGESTED BY A VIEW FROM AN EMINENCE IN INGLEWOOD FOREST

[The extensive forest of Inglewood has been enclosed within my memory. I was well acquainted with it in its ancient state. The Hart's-horn tree mentioned in the next Sonnet was one of its remarkable objects, as well as another tree that grew upon an eminence not far from Penrith: it was single and conspicuous; and being of a round shape, though it was universally known to be a Sycamore, it was always called the "Round Thorn," so difficult is it to chain fancy down to fact.--I.F.]

The forest huge of ancient Caledon
Is but a name, no[724] more is Inglewood,
That swept from hill to hill, from flood to flood:
On her last thorn the nightly moon has shone;
Yet still, though unappropriate Wild be none, 5
Fair parks spread wide where Adam Bell might deign
With Clym o' the Clough, were they alive again,
To kill for merry feast their venison.
Nor wants the holy Abbot's gliding Shade
His church with monumental wreck bestrown; 10
The feudal Warrior-chief, a Ghost unlaid,
Hath still his castle, though a skeleton,
That he may watch by night, and lessons con
Of power that perishes, and rights that fade.

FOOTNOTES:

[724] 1845.

... nor ... 1835.

XXII

HART'S-HORN TREE, NEAR PENRITH[725]

Here stood an Oak, that long had borne affixed
To his huge trunk, or, with more subtle art,
Among its withering topmost branches mixed,
The palmy antlers of a hunted Hart,
Whom the Dog Hercules pursued--his part 5
Each desperately sustaining, till at last
Both sank and died, the life-veins of the chased
And chaser bursting here with one dire smart.
Mutual the victory, mutual the defeat!
High was the trophy hung with pitiless pride; 10
Say, rather, with that generous sympathy
That wants not, even in rudest breasts, a seat;
And, for this feeling's sake, let no one chide
Verse that would guard thy memory, HART'S-HORN TREE![726]

FOOTNOTES:

[725] This tree has perished, but its site is still well known. Compare the note to _Roman Antiquities_, p. 308.--ED.

[726] "In the time of the first Robert de Clifford, in the year 1333 or 1334, Edward Baliol king of Scotland came into Westmoreland, and stayed some time with the said Robert at his castles of Appleby, Brougham, and Pendragon. And during that time they ran a stag by a single greyhound out of Whinfell Park, to Redkirk, in Scotland,[727] and back again to this place; where, being both spent, the stag leaped over the pales, but died on the other side; and the greyhound, attempting to leap, fell, and died on the contrary side. In memory of this fact the stag's horns were nailed upon a tree just by, and (the dog being named Hercules) this rhythm was made upon them:

Hercules kill'd Hart a greese,
And Hart a greese kill'd Hercules.

The tree to this day bears the name of Hart's-horn Tree. The horns in process of time were almost grown over by the growth of the tree, and another pair was put up in their place."--Nicholson and Burn's _History of Westmoreland and Cumberland_.

The tree has now disappeared, but I well remember its[728] imposing appearance as it stood, in a decayed state, by the side of the high road leading from Penrith to Appleby. This whole neighbourhood abounds in interesting traditions and vestiges of antiquity, viz., Julian's Bower; Brougham and Penrith Castles; Penrith Beacon, and the curious remains in Penrith Churchyard; Arthur's Round Table,[729] and, close by, Maybrough; the excavation, called the Giant's Cave, on the banks of the Emont; Long Meg and her Daughters, near Eden, etc., etc.--W. W. 1835.

[727] "So say the Countess's Memoirs; but they probably mistake Redkirk for Ninekirks in this parish. A runnel, called Hart-horn Sike, in Whinfell Park, is mentioned in the partition of the Veteripont estate, between Isabella and Idonea."--Burn's _History of Westmoreland and Cumberland_.--ED.

[728] 1845.

but the author of these poems well remembers its ... 1835.

[729] 1845.

Table; the Excavation ... 1835.

XXIII

FANCY AND TRADITION

The Lovers took within this ancient grove
Their last embrace; beside those crystal springs[730]
The Hermit saw the Angel spread his wings
For instant flight; the Sage in yon alcove[731]
Sate musing; on that hill the Bard would rove, 5
Not mute, where now the linnet only sings:
Thus every where to truth Tradition clings,[732]
Or Fancy localises Powers we love.
Were only History[733] licensed to take note
Of things gone by, her meagre monuments 10
Would ill suffice for persons and events:
There is an ampler page for man to quote,
A readier book of manifold contents,
Studied alike in palace and in cot.

FOOTNOTES:

[730] 1835.

There fell the Hero in this ancient grove
The lovers pledged their faith beside these springs.

MS.

[731] 1835.

... this alcove

MS.

[732] 1835.

Thus to the truth Tradition fondly clings

MS.

[733] 1835.

Were History only ...

MS.

XXIV

COUNTESS' PILLAR[734]

On the roadside between Penrith and Appleby, there stands a pillar with the following inscription:--

"This Pillar was erected, anno 1656, By ye Rt honoble Anne Countess Dowager of Pembrock etc., Daughter and sole heire of ye Rt honoble George Earl of Cumberland, etc., for a memorial of her last parting in this place with her good and pious mother, ye Rt honoble Margaret, Countess Dowagr of Cumberland ye 2d of April 1616. In memory whereof she also left an annuity of four pounds to be distributed to ye poor within this parish of Brougham every 2d day of April for ever, upon ye stone table here hard by. Laus Deo!"--W. W.

[Suggested by the recollection of Julian's Bower and other traditions connected with this ancient forest.--I.F.]

While the Poor gather round, till the end of time
May this bright flower of Charity display
Its bloom, unfolding at the appointed day;
Flower than the loveliest of the vernal prime
Lovelier--transplanted from heaven's purest clime! 5
"Charity never faileth:" on that creed,
More than on written testament or deed,
The pious Lady built with hope sublime.
Alms on this stone to be dealt out, _for ever_!
"LAUS DEO." Many a Stranger passing by 10
Has with that Parting mixed a filial sigh,
Blest its humane Memorial's fond endeavour;
And, fastening on those lines an eye tear-glazed,
Has ended, though no Clerk, with "God be praised!"

FOOTNOTES:

[734] The Countess' Pillar is an octagonal one, on the high road from Penrith, a couple of miles out of the town on the Appleby road, a quarter of a mile from Brougham Castle, and over eleven miles from Appleby. It is somewhat weather-worn, but is preserved with care. On the north side of the pillar are the Pembroke Arms, and the date 1654. The inscription is in a copper plate, sunk in the stone. I have copied the "inscription" from the pillar itself, and have corrected, in what is given above, some errata in the poet's transcript of it.--ED.

XXV

ROMAN ANTIQUITIES

[FROM THE ROMAN STATION AT OLD PENRITH]

How profitless the relics that we cull,
Troubling the last holds of ambitious Rome,
Unless they chasten fancies that presume
Too high, or idle agitations lull!
Of the world's flatteries if the brain be full, 5
To have no seat for thought were better doom,
Like this old helmet, or the eyeless skull
Of him who gloried in its nodding plume.
Heaven out of view, our wishes what are they?
Our fond regrets tenacious[735] in their grasp? 10
The Sage's theory? the Poet's lay?--
Mere Fibulae without a robe to clasp;
Obsolete lamps, whose light no time recals;
Urns without ashes, tearless lacrymals!

I am indebted to Dr. Taylor of Penrith for the following note in reference to these "Roman Antiquities" at Old Penrith:--"I have great pleasure in giving you what information I can, concerning the Roman Station of Old Penrith. It is called 'Petriana' by Camden, but most archaeologists now allocate it in the '2nd Iter,' as the Station 'Voreda'--on the road between York and Carlisle. This road passes over Stanemoor, by Bowes, Brough, Kirkbythore, Brougham, and Plumpton Wall (or Voreda), to Lugovallum or Carlisle. The Roman Camps are visible at all these places, and the old Roman road is recognisable in many parts. This Old Penrith, Plumpton Wall, or Voreda, is a camp of the third class. At a time, probably about the period which Wordsworth alludes to, several Roman stones and altars were dug up at Voreda, and are now deposited in Lowther Castle. Wordsworth had relations living in Penrith, whom he used to visit occasionally, and it is probable that after a visit to Voreda, which is about six miles from here, he wrote the Sonnet alluded to. The 'Hart-horn Tree' referred to in the 'Legend of the Hunt of the Stag' stood in the park of Whinfell, in the parish of Brougham, but has disappeared for many years."--ED.

FOOTNOTES:

[735] 1837.

... insatiate ... 1835.
Our fond regrets, all that our hopes would grasp C.

XXVI

APOLOGY[736]

FOR THE FOREGOING POEMS

No more: the end is sudden and abrupt,
Abrupt--as without preconceived design
Was the beginning; yet the several Lays
Have moved in order, to each other bound
By a continuous and acknowledged tie 5
Though unapparent--like those Shapes distinct
That yet survive ensculptured on the walls
Of palaces, or temples,[737] 'mid the wreck
Of famed Persepolis;[738] each following each,
As might beseem a stately embassy,
In set array; these bearing in their hands
Ensign of civil power, weapon of war,
Or gift to be presented at the throne
Of the Great King; and others, as they go
In priestly vest, with holy offerings charged, 15
Or leading victims drest for sacrifice.
Nor will the Power we serve, that sacred Power,
The Spirit of humanity, disdain
A[739] ministration humble but sincere,
That from a threshold loved by every Muse 20
Its impulse took--that sorrow-stricken door,
Whence, as a current from its fountain-head,
Our thoughts have issued, and our feelings flowed,
Receiving, willingly or not, fresh strength
From kindred sources; while around us sighed 25
(Life's three first seasons having passed away)
Leaf-scattering winds; and hoar-frost sprinklings fell
(Foretaste of winter) on the moorland heights;
And every day brought with it tidings new
Of rash change, ominous for the public weal. 30
Hence, if dejection has[740] too oft encroached
Upon that sweet and tender melancholy
Which may itself be cherished and caressed
More than enough; a fault so natural
(Even with the young, the hopeful, or the gay) 35
For prompt forgiveness will not sue in vain.

FOOTNOTES:

[736] In the edition of 1835 the title was _Apology_.

[737] 1845.

Of Palace, or of Temple, ... 1835.

[738] Compare _Processions in the Vale of Chamouny_, in the "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent," 1820, vol. vi. p. 363.--ED.

[739] 1837.

Nor will the Muse condemn, or treat with scorn
Our ... 1835.

[740] 1837.

... have ... 1835.

XXVII

THE HIGHLAND BROACH

The exact resemblance which the old Broach (still in use, though rarely met with, among the Highlanders) bears to the Roman Fibula must strike every one, and concurs, with the plaid and kilt, to recall to mind the communication which the ancient Romans had with this remote country.--W. W. 1835.

[On ascending a hill that leads from Loch Awe towards Inverary, I fell into conversation with a woman of the humbler class who wore one of those Highland Broaches. I talked with her about it; and upon parting with her, when I said with a kindness I truly felt--"May that Broach continue in your family through many generations to come, as you have already possessed it"--she thanked me most becomingly and seemed not a little moved.--I.F.]

If to Tradition faith be due
And echoes from old verse speak true
Ere the meek Saint, Columba, bore
Glad tidings to Iona's shore,
No common light of nature blessed 5
The mountain region of the west,
A land where gentle manners ruled
O'er men in dauntless virtues schooled,
That raised, for centuries, a bar
Impervious to the tide of war: 10
Yet peaceful Arts did entrance gain
Where haughty Force had striven in vain;
And, 'mid the works of skilful hands,
By wanderers brought from foreign lands
And various climes, was not unknown 15
The clasp that fixed the Roman Gown;
The Fibula, whose shape, I ween,
Still in the Highland Broach is seen,
The silver Broach of massy frame,
Worn at the breast of some grave Dame 20
On road or path, or at the door
Of fern-thatched hut on heathy moor:
But delicate of yore its mould,
And the material finest gold;
As might beseem the fairest Fair, 25
Whether she graced a royal chair,
Or shed, within a vaulted hall,
No fancied lustre on the wall
Where shields of mighty heroes hung,
While Fingal heard what Ossian sung. 30

The heroic Age expired--it slept
Deep in its tomb:--the bramble crept
O'er Fingal's hearth; the grassy sod
Grew on the floors his sons had trod:
Malvina! where art thou? Their state 35
The noblest-born must abdicate;
The fairest, while with fire and sword
Come Spoilers--horde impelling horde,
Must walk the sorrowing mountains, drest
By ruder hands in homelier vest. 40
Yet still the female bosom lent,
And loved to borrow, ornament;
Still was its inner world a place
Reached by the dews of heavenly grace;
Still pity to this last retreat 45
Clove fondly; to his favourite seat
Love wound his way by soft approach,
Beneath a massier Highland Broach.

When alternations came of rage
Yet fiercer, in a darker age; 50
And feuds, where, clan encountering clan,
The weaker perished to a man;
For maid and mother, when despair
Might else have triumphed, baffling prayer,
One small possession lacked not power, 55
Provided in a calmer hour,
To meet such need as might befal--
Roof, raiment, bread, or burial:
For woman, even of tears bereft,
The hidden silver Broach was left. 60

As generations come and go
Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow;
Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away,
And feeble, of themselves, decay;
What poor abodes the heir-loom hide, 65
In which the castle once took pride!
Tokens, once kept as boasted wealth,
If saved at all, are saved by stealth.
Lo! ships, from seas by nature barred,
Mount along ways by man prepared; 70
And in far-stretching vales, whose streams
Seek other seas, their canvas gleams.
Lo! busy towns spring up, on coasts
Thronged yesterday by airy ghosts;
Soon, like a lingering star forlorn 75
Among the novelties of morn,
While young delights on old encroach,
Will vanish the last Highland Broach.

But when, from out their viewless bed,
Like vapours, years have rolled and spread; 80
And this poor verse, and worthier lays,
Shall yield no light of love or praise;
Then, by the spade, or cleaving plough,
Or torrent from the mountain's brow,
Or whirlwind, reckless what his might 85
Entombs, or forces into light;
Blind Chance, a volunteer ally,
That oft befriends Antiquity,
And clears Oblivion from reproach,
May render back the Highland Broach.[741] 90

FOOTNOTES: