book x
. l. 532.) It will be seen, however, from the Fenwick note to 'Matthew', that the Hawkshead Schoolmaster, like the Wanderer in 'The Excursion', was "made up of several both of his class and men of other occupations;" but of the four masters who taught Wordsworth at Hawkshead--Peake, Christian, Taylor, and Bowman--Taylor was far the ablest, the most interesting, and the most beloved by the boys, and it was doubtless the memory of this man that gave rise to the above poem, and the four which follow it. He was but thirty-two years old when he died, 12th June, 1786. This fact, taken in connection with line 14 of the 'Address', may illustrate the composite character of 'Matthew'.--Ed.
* * * * *
MATTHEW
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
In the School of--is a tablet on which are inscribed, in gilt letters, the names of the several persons who have been Schoolmasters there since the foundation of the School, with the time at which they entered upon and quitted their office. Opposite one of those names the Author wrote the following lines.--W. W. 1800.
[Such a tablet as is here spoken of continued to be preserved in Hawkshead School, though the inscriptions were not brought down to our time. This, and other poems connected with Matthew, would not gain by a literal detail of facts. Like the Wanderer in 'The Excursion' this Schoolmaster was made up of several, both of his class and men of other occupations. I do not ask pardon for what there is of untruth in such verses, considered strictly as matters of fact. It is enough, if, being true and consistent in spirit, they move and teach in a manner not unworthy of a Poet's calling.--I.F.] [A]
In the editions of 1800 to 1820 this poem had no title except the note prefixed to it above, although in the Table of Contents it was called 'Lines written on a Tablet in a School'. From 1820-32 "Matthew" is the page heading, though there is no title. In the editions of 1827 and 1832 it was named, in the Table of Contents, by its first line, "If Nature, for a favourite child." In 1837 it was entitled 'Matthew'. It was included among the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection." The Tablet, with the names of the Masters inscribed on it, still exists in Hawkshead School.--Ed.
If Nature, for a favourite child, In thee hath tempered so her clay, That every hour thy heart runs wild, Yet never once doth go astray,
Read o'er these lines; and then review 5 This tablet, that thus humbly rears In such diversity of hue Its history of two hundred years.
--When through this little wreck of fame, Cipher and syllable! thine eye 10 Has travelled down to Matthew's name, Pause with no common sympathy.
And; if a sleeping tear should wake, Then be it neither checked nor stayed: For Matthew a request I make 15 Which for himself he had not made.
Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er, Is silent as a standing pool; Far from the chimney's merry roar, And murmur of the village school. 20
The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs Of one tired out with fun and madness; The tears which came to Matthew's eyes Were tears of light, the dew [1] of gladness.
Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup 25 Of still and serious thought went round, It seemed as if he drank it up-- He felt with spirit so profound.
--Thou soul of God's best earthly mould! Thou happy Soul! and can it be 30 That these two words of glittering gold Are all that must remain of thee? [2]
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1815.
... the oil ... 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1800.
... to thee? 1805, and MS.
The text of 1815 returns to that of 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: On the 27th March 1843, Wordsworth wrote to Professor Henry Reed of Philadelphia:
"The character of the schoolmaster, had like the Wanderer in 'The Excursion' a solid foundation in fact and reality, but like him it was also in some degree a composition: I will not, and need not, call it an invention--it was no such thing."
Ed.]
* * * * *
THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--Ed.
We walked along, while bright and red Uprose the morning sun; And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said, "The will of God be done!"
A village schoolmaster was he, 5 With hair of glittering grey; As blithe a man as you could see On a spring holiday.
And on that morning, through the grass, And by the steaming rills, 10 We travelled merrily, to pass A day among the hills.
"Our work," said I, "was well begun, Then, from thy breast what thought, Beneath so beautiful a sun, 15 So sad a sigh has brought?"
A second time did Matthew stop; And fixing still his eye Upon the eastern mountain-top, To me he made reply: 20
"Yon cloud with that long purple cleft Brings fresh into my mind A day like this which I have left Full thirty years behind.
"And just above yon slope of corn 25 Such colours, and no other, Were in the sky, that April morn, Of this the very brother. [1]
"With rod and line I sued the sport Which that sweet season gave, [2] 30 And, to the church-yard come, [3] stopped short Beside my daughter's grave.
"Nine summers had she scarcely seen, The pride of all the vale; And then she sang [4];--she would have been 35 A very nightingale.
"Six feet in earth my Emma lay; And yet I loved her more, For so it seemed, than till that day I e'er had loved before. 40
"And, turning from her grave, I met, Beside the church-yard yew, A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet With points of morning dew.
"A basket on her head she bare; 45 Her brow was smooth and white: To see a child so very fair, It was a pure delight!
"No fountain from its rocky cave E'er tripped with foot so free; 50 She seemed as happy as a wave That dances on the sea. [A]
"There came from me a sigh of pain Which I could ill confine; I looked at her, and looked again: 55 And did not wish her mine!"
Matthew is in his grave, yet now, Methinks, I see him stand, As at that moment, with a bough [5] Of wilding in his hand. 60
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1802.
And on that slope of springing corn The self-same crimson hue Fell from the sky that April morn, The same which now I view! 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1815.
With rod and line my silent sport I plied by Derwent's wave, 1800.]
[Variant 3:
1837.
And, coming to the church, ... 1800.]
[Variant 4:
1800.
... sung;--... 1802.
The text of 1815 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 5:
1820.
... his bough 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Compare the 'Winters Tale', act IV. scene iii. ll. 140-2:
'when you do dance, I wish you A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that, etc.'
Ed.]
* * * * *
THE FOUNTAIN
A CONVERSATION
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--Ed.
We talked with open heart, and tongue Affectionate and true, A pair of friends, though I was young, And Matthew seventy-two.
We lay beneath a spreading oak, 5 Beside a mossy seat; And from the turf a fountain broke, And gurgled at our feet.
"Now, Matthew!" said I, "let us match [1] This water's pleasant tune 10 With some old border-song, or catch That suits a summer's noon;
"Or of the church-clock and the chimes Sing here beneath the shade, That half-mad thing of witty rhymes 15 Which you last April made!"
In silence Matthew lay, and eyed The spring beneath the tree; And thus the dear old Man replied, The grey-haired man of glee: 20
"No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears; [2] How merrily it goes! 'Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows.
"And here, on this delightful day, 25 I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay Beside this fountain's brink.
"My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, 30 For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
"Thus fares it still in our decay: And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what age takes away 35 Than what it leaves behind. [A]
"The blackbird amid leafy trees, The lark above the hill, [3] Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will. 40
"With Nature never do _they_ wage A foolish strife; they see A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free:
"But we are pressed by heavy laws; 45 And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy, because We have been glad of yore.
"If there be [4] one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth, 50 The household hearts that were his own; It is the man of mirth.
"My days, my Friend, are almost gone, My life has been approved, And many love me; but by none 55 Am I enough beloved."
"Now both himself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains! I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains; 60
"And, Matthew, for thy children dead I'll be a son to thee!" At this he grasped my hand, [5] and said, "Alas! that cannot be."
We rose up from the fountain-side; 65 And down the smooth descent Of the green sheep-track did we glide; And through the wood we went;
And, ere we came to Leonard's rock, He sang those witty rhymes 70 About the crazy old church-clock, And the bewildered chimes.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1820.
Now, Matthew, let us try to match 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1837.
Down to the vale this water steers, 1800.
Down to the vale with eager speed Behold this streamlet run, From subterranean bondage freed, And glittering in the sun. C.
From subterranean darkness freed, A pleasant course to run. C.
Down to the vale this streamlet hies, Look, how it seems to run, As if 't were pleased with summer skies, And glad to meet the sun. C.
And glad to greet the sun. MS.
No guide it needs, no check it fears, How merrily it goes! 'Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. C.
Down towards the vale with eager speed, Behold this streamlet run As if 'twere pleased with summer skies And glad to meet the sun. C.]
[Variant 3:
1837.
The blackbird in the summer trees, The lark upon the hill, 1800.]
[Variant 4:
1832.
... is .... 1800 and MS.]
[Variant 5:
1815.
... his hands, ... 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A:
"Pour me plaindre a moy, regarde noti tant ce qu'on moste, que ce qui me reste de sauvre, et dedans et dehors."
Montaigne, 'Essais', iii. 12.
Compare also:
"Themistocles quidem, cum ei Simonides, an quis alius artem memoriæ polliceretur, _Oblivionis_, inquit, _mallem_; _nam memini etiam quæ nolo, oblivisci non possum quæ volo_."
Cicero, 'De Finibus', II. 32.--Ed.]
* * * * *
TO A SEXTON
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
[Written in Germany, 1799.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems of the Fancy."--Ed.
Let thy wheel-barrow alone-- Wherefore, Sexton, piling still In thy bone-house bone on bone? 'Tis already like a hill In a field of battle made, 5 Where three thousand skulls are laid; These died in peace each with the other,-- Father, sister, friend, and brother.
Mark the spot to which I point! From this platform, eight feet square, 10 Take not even a finger-joint: Andrew's whole fire-side is there. Here, alone, before thine eyes, Simon's sickly daughter lies, From weakness now, and pain defended, 15 Whom he twenty winters tended.
Look but at the gardener's pride-- How he glories, when he sees Roses, lilies, side by side, Violets in families! 20 By the heart of Man, his tears, By his hopes and by his fears, Thou, too heedless, [1] art the Warden Of a far superior garden.
Thus then, each to other dear, 25 Let them all in quiet lie, Andrew there, and Susan here, Neighbours in mortality. And, should I live through sun and rain Seven widowed years without my Jane, 30 O Sexton, do not then remove her, Let one grave hold the Loved and Lover!
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1845.
Thou, old Grey-beard! ... 1800.]
* * * * *
THE DANISH BOY
A FRAGMENT
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
[Written in Germany, 1799. It was entirely a fancy; but intended as a prelude to a ballad-poem never written.--I.F.]
In the editions of 1800-1832 this poem was called 'A Fragment'. From 1836 onwards it was named 'The Danish Boy. A Fragment'. It was one of the "Poems of the Fancy."--Ed.
I Between two sister moorland rills There is a spot that seems to lie Sacred to flowerets of the hills, And sacred to the sky. And in this smooth and open dell 5 There is a tempest-stricken tree; A corner-stone by lightning cut, The last stone of a lonely hut; [1] And in this dell you see A thing no storm can e'er destroy, 10 The shadow of a Danish Boy. [A]
II In clouds above, the lark is heard, But drops not here to earth for rest; [2] Within [3] this lonesome nook the bird Did never build her [4] nest. 15 No beast, no bird hath here his home; Bees, wafted on [5] the breezy air, Pass high above those fragrant bells To other flowers:--to other dells Their burthens do they bear; [6] 20 The Danish Boy walks here alone: The lovely dell is all his own.
III A Spirit of noon-day is he; Yet seems [7] a form of flesh and blood; Nor piping shepherd shall he be, 25 Nor herd-boy of the wood. [8] A regal vest of fur he wears, In colour like a raven's wing; It fears not [9] rain, nor wind, nor dew; But in the storm 'tis fresh and blue 30 As budding pines in spring; His helmet has a vernal grace, Fresh as the bloom upon his face.
IV A harp is from his shoulder slung; Resting the harp upon his knee; 35 To words of a forgotten tongue, He suits its melody. [10] Of flocks upon the neighbouring hill [11] He is the darling and the joy; And often, when no cause appears, 40 The mountain-ponies prick their ears, --They hear the Danish Boy, While in the dell he sings [12] alone Beside the tree and corner-stone. [13]
V There sits he; in his face you spy 45 No trace of a ferocious air, Nor ever was a cloudless sky So steady or so fair. The lovely Danish Boy is blest And happy in his flowery cove: 50 From bloody deeds his thoughts are far; And yet he warbles songs of war, That seem [14] like songs of love, For calm and gentle is his mien; Like a dead Boy he is serene. 55
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1836.
... a cottage hut; 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1827.
He sings his blithest and his best; 1800.
She sings, regardless of her rest, 1820.]
[Variant 3:
1827.
But in ... 1800.]
[Variant 4:
1820.
... his ... 1800.]
[Variant 5:
1827.
The bees borne on ... 1800.]
[Variant 6:
1827.
Nor ever linger there. 1800.]
[Variant 7:
1836.
He seems ... 1800.]
[Variant 8:
1802.
A piping Shepherd he might be, A Herd-boy of the wood. 1800.]
[Variant 9:
1802.
... nor ... 1800.]
[Variant 10:
1836.
He rests the harp upon his knee, And there in a forgotten tongue He warbles melody. 1800.]
[Variant 11:
1827.
Of flocks and herds both far and near 1800.
Of flocks upon the neighbouring hills 1802.]
[Variant 12:
1845.
... sits ... 1800.]
[Variant 13:
When near this blasted tree you pass, Two sods are plainly to be seen Close at its root, and each with grass Is cover'd fresh and green. Like turf upon a new-made grave These two green sods together lie, Nor heat, nor cold, nor rain, nor wind Can these two sods together bind, Nor sun, nor earth, nor sky, But side by side the two are laid, As if just sever'd by the spade.
This stanza occurs only in the edition of 1800.]
[Variant 14:
1815.
They seem ... 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: These Stanzas were designed to introduce a Ballad upon the Story of a Danish Prince who had fled from Battle, and, for the sake of the valuables about him, was murdered by the Inhabitant of a Cottage in which he had taken refuge. The House fell under a curse, and the Spirit of the Youth, it was believed, haunted the Valley where the crime had been committed.--W. W. 1827.]
* * * * *
LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
[Written at Goslar, in Germany, in 1799. It was founded on a circumstance told me by my sister, of a little girl, who, not far from Halifax in Yorkshire, was bewildered in a snow storm. Her footsteps were tracked by her parents to the middle of a lock of a canal, and no other vestige of her, backward or forward, could be traced. The body, however, was found in the canal. The way in which the incident was treated, and the spiritualizing of the character, might furnish hints for contrasting the imaginative influences, which I have endeavoured to throw over common life, with Crabbe's matter-of-fact style of handling subjects of the same kind. This is not spoken to his disparagement, far from it; but to direct the attention of thoughtful readers into whose hands these notes may fall, to a comparison that may enlarge the circle of their sensibilities, and tend to produce in them a catholic judgment.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood."--Ed.
Oft I had heard [1] of Lucy Gray: And, when I crossed the wild, I chanced to see at break of day The solitary child.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; 5 She dwelt on a wide moor, [2] --The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door!
You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green; 10 But the sweet [3] face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen.
"To-night will be a stormy night-- You to the town must go; And take a lantern, Child, to light 15 Your mother through the snow."
"That, Father! will I gladly do: 'Tis scarcely afternoon-- The minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the moon!" 20
At this the Father raised his hook, And snapped [4] a faggot-band; He plied his work;--and Lucy took The lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe: 25 With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time: She wandered up and down; 30 And many a hill did Lucy climb But never reached the town.
The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide; But there was neither sound nor sight 35 To serve them for a guide.
At day-break on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood, A furlong from their door. 40
They wept--and, turning homeward, cried, [5] "In heaven we all shall meet;" --When in the snow the mother spied [6] The print of Lucy's feet.
Then downwards [7] from the steep hill's edge 45 They tracked the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn hedge, And by the long stone-wall;
And then an open field they crossed: The marks were still the same; 50 They tracked them on, nor ever lost; And [8] to the bridge they came.
They followed from the snowy bank Those [9] footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank; 55 And further there were [10] none!
--Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. 60
O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. [A]
This poem was illustrated by Sir George Beaumont, in a picture of some merit, which was engraved by J. C. Bromley, and published in the collected editions of 1815 and 1820. Henry Crabb Robinson wrote in his 'Diary', September 11, 1816 (referring to Wordsworth):
"He mentioned the origin of some poems. 'Lucy Gray', that tender and pathetic narrative of a child lost on a common, was occasioned by the death of a child who fell into the lock of a canal. His object was to exhibit poetically entire 'solitude', and he represents the child as observing the day-moon, which no town or village girl would ever notice."
A contributor to 'Notes and Queries', May 12, 1883, whose signature is F., writes:
"THE SCENE OF 'LUCY GRAY'.--In one of the editions of Wordsworth's works the scene of this ballad is said to have been near Halifax, in Yorkshire. I do not think the poet was acquainted with the locality beyond a sight of the country in travelling through on some journey. I know of no spot where all the little incidents mentioned in the poem would exactly fit in, and a few of the local allusions are evidently by a stranger. There is no 'minster'; the church at Halifax from time immemorial has always been known as the 'parish church,' and sometimes as the 'old church,' but has never been styled 'the minster.' The 'mountain roe,' which of course may be brought in as poetically illustrative, has not been seen on these hills for generations, and I scarcely think even the 'fawn at play' for more than a hundred years. These misapplications, it is almost unnecessary to say, do not detract from the beauty of the poetry. Some of the touches are graphically true to the neighbourhood, as, for instance, 'the wide moor,' the 'many a hill,' the 'steep hill's edge,' the 'long stone wall,' and the hint of the general loneliness of the region where Lucy 'no mate, no comrade, knew.' I think I can point out the exact spot--no longer a 'plank,' but a broad, safe bridge--where Lucy fell into the water. Taking a common-sense view, that she would not be sent many miles at two o'clock on a winter afternoon to the town (Halifax, of course), over so lonely a mountain moor--bearing in mind also that this moor overlooked the river, and that the river was deep and strong enough to carry the child down the current--I know only one place where such an accident could have occurred. The clue is in this verse:
'At day-break on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood, A furlong from their door.'
The hill I take to be the high ridge of Greetland and Norland Moor, and the plank she had to cross Sterne Mill Bridge, which there spans the Calder, broad and rapid enough at any season to drown either a young girl or a grown-up person. The mountain burns, romantic and wild though they be, are not dangerous to cross, especially for a child old enough to go and seek her mother. To sum up the matter, the hill overlooking the moor, the path to and distance from the town, the bridge, the current, all indicate one point, and one point only, where this accident could have happened, and that is the bridge near Sterne Mill. This bridge is so designated from the Sterne family, a branch of whom in the last century resided close by. The author of 'Tristram Shandy' spent his boyhood here; and Lucy Gray, had she safely crossed the plank, would immediately have passed Wood Hall, where the boy Laurence had lived, and, pursuing her way to Halifax, would have gone through the meadows in which stood Heath School, where young Sterne had been educated. The mill-weir at Sterne Mill Bridge was, I believe, the scene of Lucy Gray's death."
Sterne Mill Bridge, however, crosses the river Calder, while Wordsworth tells us that the girl lost her life by falling "into the lock of a canal." The Calder runs parallel with the canal near Sterne Mill Bridge. See J.R. Tutin's 'Wordsworth in Yorkshire'.--Ed.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1800.
Oft had I heard ...
Only in the second issue of 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1800 (2nd issue).
She dwelt on a wild Moor 1800.
She lived on a wide Moor MS.]
[Variant 3:
1800.
... bright ... C.]
[Variant 4:
1800.
He snapped ... MS.]
[Variant 5:
1827.
And now they homeward turn'd, and cry'd 1800.
And, turning homeward, now they cried 1815.]
[Variant 6:
1800.
The Mother turning homeward cried, "We never more shall meet," When in the driven snow she spied MS.]
[Variant 7:
1840.
Then downward ... 1800.
Half breathless ... 1827.]
[Variant 8:
1800.
... and never lost Till ... MS.]
[Variant 9:
1827.
The ... 1800.]
[Variant 10:
1800.
... was ... 1802.
The text of 1815 returns to that of 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Compare Gray's ode, 'On a Distant Prospect of Eton College', II. 38-9:
'Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind.'
Ed.]
* * * * *
RUTH
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
[Written in Germany, 1799. Suggested by an account I had of a wanderer in Somersetshire.--I.F.]
Classed among the "Poems founded on the Affections" in the editions of 1815 and 1820. In 1827 it was transferred to the "Poems of the Imagination."--Ed.
When Ruth was left half desolate, Her Father took another Mate; And Ruth, not seven years old, A slighted child, at her own will [1] Went wandering over dale and hill, 5 In thoughtless freedom, bold.
And she had made a pipe of straw, And music from that pipe could draw Like sounds of winds and floods; [2] Had built a bower upon the green, 10 As if she from her birth had been An infant of the woods.
Beneath her father's roof, alone [3] She seemed to live; her thoughts her own; Herself her own delight; 15 Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay; And, passing thus the live-long day, She grew to woman's height. [4]
There came a Youth from Georgia's shore-- A military casque he wore, 20 With splendid feathers drest; [A] He brought them from the Cherokees; The feathers nodded in the breeze, And made a gallant crest.
From Indian blood you deem him sprung: 25 But no! [5] he spake the English tongue, And bore [6] a soldier's name; And, when America was free From battle and from jeopardy, He 'cross the ocean came. 30
With hues of genius on his cheek In finest tones the Youth could speak: --While he was yet a boy, The moon, the glory of the sun, And streams that murmur as they run, 35 Had been his dearest joy.
He was a lovely Youth! I guess The panther in the wilderness Was not so fair as he; And, when he chose to sport and play, 40 No dolphin ever was so gay Upon the tropic sea.
Among the Indians he had fought, And with him many tales he brought Of pleasure and of fear; 45 Such tales as told to any maid By such a Youth, in the green shade, Were perilous to hear.
He told of girls--a happy rout! Who quit their fold with dance and shout, 50 Their pleasant Indian town, To gather strawberries all day long; Returning with a choral song When daylight is gone down.
He spake of plants that hourly change 55 Their blossoms, through a boundless range Of intermingling hues; [7] [B] With budding, fading, faded flowers They stand the wonder of the bowers From morn to evening dews, [C] 60 [8] He told of the magnolia, [D] spread High as a cloud, high over head! The cypress and her spire; [E] --Of flowers [F] that with one scarlet gleam Cover a hundred leagues, and seem 65 To set the hills on fire. [G]
The Youth of green savannahs spake, And many an endless, endless lake, With all its fairy crowds Of islands, that together lie 70 As quietly as spots of sky Among the evening clouds. [H]
"How pleasant," then he said, "it were [9] A fisher or a hunter there, In sunshine or in shade 75 To wander with an easy mind; And build a household fire, and find [10] A home in every glade!
"What days and what bright [11] years! Ah me! Our life were life indeed, with thee 80 So passed in quiet bliss, And all the while," said he, "to know That we were in a world of woe, On such an earth as this!"
And then he sometimes interwove 85 Fond [12] thoughts about a father's love: "For there," said he, "are spun Around the heart such tender ties, That our own children to our eyes Are dearer than the sun. 90
"Sweet Ruth! and could you go with me My helpmate in the woods to be, Our shed at night to rear; Or run, my own adopted bride, A sylvan huntress at my side, 95 And drive the flying deer!
"Belovèd Ruth!"--No more he said. The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed [13] A solitary tear: She thought again--and did agree 100 With him to sail across the sea, And drive the flying deer.
"And now, as fitting is and right, We in the church our faith will plight, A husband and a wife." 105 Even so they did; and I may say That to sweet Ruth that happy day Was more than human life.
Through dream and vision did she sink, Delighted all the while to think 110 That on those lonesome floods, And green savannahs, she should share His board with lawful joy, and bear His name in the wild woods.
But, as you have before been told, 115 This Stripling, sportive, gay, and bold, And, with his dancing crest, So beautiful, through savage lands Had roamed about, with vagrant bands Of Indians in the West. 120
The wind, the tempest roaring high, The tumult of a tropic sky, Might well be dangerous food For him, a Youth to whom was given So much of earth--so much of heaven, 125 And such impetuous blood.
Whatever in those climes he found Irregular in sight or sound Did to his mind impart A kindred impulse, seemed allied 130 To his own powers, and justified The workings of his heart.
Nor less, to feed voluptuous [14] thought, The beauteous forms of nature wrought, Fair trees and gorgeous [15] flowers; 135 The breezes their own languor lent; The stars had feelings, which they sent Into those favored [16] bowers.
Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween That sometimes [17] there did intervene 140 Pure hopes of high intent: For passions linked to forms so fair And stately, needs must have their share [18] Of noble sentiment.
But ill he lived, [19] much evil saw, 145 With men to whom no better law Nor better life was known; Deliberately, and undeceived, Those wild men's vices he received, And gave them back his own. 150
His genius and his moral frame Were thus impaired, and he became The slave of low desires: A Man who without self-control Would seek what the degraded soul 155 Unworthily admires.
And yet he with no feigned delight Had wooed the Maiden, day and night Had loved her, night and morn: What could he less than love a Maid 160 Whose heart with so much nature played So kind and so forlorn!
Sometimes, most earnestly, he said, "O Ruth! I have been worse than dead; False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain, 165 Encompassed me on every side When I, in confidence and pride, Had crossed the Atlantic main. [20]
"Before me shone a glorious world-- Fresh as a banner bright, unfurled 170 To music suddenly: [21] I looked upon those hills and plains, And seemed as if let loose from chains, To live at liberty. [22] "No more of this; for now, by thee, 175 Dear Ruth! more happily set free With nobler zeal I burn; [23] My soul from darkness is released, Like the whole sky when to the east [24] The morning doth return." 180 [25] Full soon that better mind was gone; [26] No hope, no wish remained, not one,-- They stirred him now no more; New objects did new pleasure give, And once again he wished to live 185 As lawless as before.
Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared, They for the voyage were prepared, And went to the sea-shore, But, when they thither came, the Youth 190 Deserted his poor Bride, and Ruth Could never find him more.
God help thee, Ruth!-Such pains she had, That she in half a year was mad, And in a prison housed; 195 And there, with many a doleful song Made of wild words, her cup of wrong She fearfully caroused. [27]
Yet sometimes milder hours she knew, Nor wanted sun, nor rain, nor dew, 200 Nor pastimes of the May; --They all were with her in her cell; And a clear brook [28] with cheerful knell Did o'er the pebbles play.
When Ruth three seasons thus had lain, 205 There came a respite to her pain; She from her prison fled; But of the Vagrant none took thought; And where it liked her best she sought Her shelter and her bread. 210
Among the fields she breathed again: The master-current of her brain Ran permanent and free; And, coming to the Banks of Tone, [I] There did she rest; and dwell alone [29] 215 Under the greenwood tree.
The engines of her pain, [30] the tools That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools, And airs that gently stir The vernal leaves--she loved them still; 220 Nor ever taxed them with the ill Which had been done to her.
A Barn her _winter_ bed supplies; But, till the warmth of summer skies And summer days is gone, 225 (And all do in this tale agree) [31] She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree, And other home hath none.
An innocent life, yet far astray! And Ruth will, long before her day, [32] 230 Be broken down and old: Sore aches she needs must have! but less Of mind, than body's wretchedness, From damp, and rain, and cold. [33]
If she is prest by want of food, 235 She from her dwelling in the wood Repairs to a road-side; And there she begs at one steep place Where up and down with easy pace The horsemen-travellers ride. 240
That oaten pipe of hers is mute, Or thrown away; but with a flute Her loneliness she cheers: This flute, made of a hemlock stalk, At evening in his homeward walk 245 The Quantock woodman hears.
I, too, have passed her on the hills Setting her little water-mills By spouts and fountains wild-- Such small machinery as she turned 250 Ere she had wept, ere she had mourned, A young and happy Child!
Farewell! and when thy days are told, Ill-fated Ruth, in hallowed mould Thy corpse shall buried be, 255 For thee a funeral bell shall ring, And all the congregation sing A Christian psalm for thee.
The following extract from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal gives the date of the stanzas added to 'Ruth' in subsequent editions:
"Sunday, March 8th, 1802.--I stitched up 'The Pedlar,' wrote out 'Ruth', read it with the alterations.... William brought two new stanzas of 'Ruth'."
The transpositions of stanzas, and their omission from certain editions and their subsequent re-introduction, in altered form, in later ones, make it extremely difficult to give the textual history of 'Ruth' in footnotes. They are even more bewildering than the changes introduced into 'Simon Lee'.--Ed.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1802.
And so, not seven years old, The slighted Child ... 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1836.
And from that oaten pipe could draw All sounds ... 1800.]
[Variant 3: This stanza was added in the edition of 1802.]
[Variant 4:
1827.
She pass'd her time; and in this way Grew up to Woman's height. 1802.]
[Variant 5:
1836.
Ah no! ... 1800.]
[Variant 6:
1805.
... bare ... 1800.]
[Variant 7:
1836.
He spake of plants divine and strange That ev'ry day their blossoms change, Ten thousand lovely hues! 1800.
... every hour ... 1802.]
[Variant 8:
Of march and ambush, siege and fight, Then did he tell; and with delight The heart of Ruth would ache; Wild histories they were, and dear: But 'twas a thing of heaven to hear When of himself he spake!
Only in the editions of 1802 and 1805.
The following is the order of the stanzas in the edition of 1802. The first, fifth, and last had not appeared before.
Sometimes most earnestly he said; "O Ruth! I have been worse than dead: False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain Encompass'd me on every side When I, in thoughtlessness and pride, Had cross'd the Atlantic Main.
Whatever in those Climes I found Irregular in sight or sound Did to my mind impart A kindred impulse, seem'd allied To my own powers, and justified The workings of my heart.
Nor less to feed unhallow'd thought The beauteous forms of nature wrought, Fair trees and lovely flowers; The breezes their own languor lent; The stars had feelings which they sent Into those magic bowers.
Yet, in my worst pursuits, I ween, That often there did intervene Pure hopes of high intent; My passions, amid forms so fair And stately, wanted not their share Of noble sentiment.
So was it then, and so is now: For, Ruth! with thee I know not how I feel my spirit burn Even as the east when day comes forth; And to the west, and south, and north, The morning doth return.
It is a purer better mind: O Maiden innocent and kind What sights I might have seen! Even now upon my eyes they break!" --And he again began to speak Of Lands where he had been.
The last stanza is only in the editions of 1802-1805. [a]]
[Variant 9:
1836.
And then he said "How sweet it were 1800.]
[Variant 10:
1845.
A gardener in the shade, Still wandering with an easy mind To build ... 1800.
In sunshine or through shade To wander with an easy mind; And build ... 1836.]
[Variant 11:
1836.
... sweet ... 1800.]
[Variant 12:
1832.
Dear ... 1800.]
[Variant 13:
1820.
Sweet Ruth alone at midnight shed 1800.]
[Variant 14:
1800.
... unhallow'd ... 1802 and MS.
The edition of 1805 returns to the reading of 1800.]
[Variant 15:
1845.
... lovely ... 1800.]
[Variant 16:
1845.
... magic ... 1800.
... gorgeous ... 1815.]
[Variant 17:
1800.
That often ... 1802.
The text of 1805 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 18:
1800.
For passions, amid forms so fair And stately, wanted not their share 1802.
The text of 1805 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 19:
1800.
Ill did he live ... 1802.
The text of 1805 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 20:
1805.
When I, in thoughtlessness and pride, Had crossed ... 1802.
When first, in confidence and pride, I crossed ... 1820.
C., and the edition of 1840, revert to the reading of 1805.]
[Variant 21:
1840 and C.
"It was a fresh and glorious world, A banner bright that was unfurled Before me suddenly: 1805.
A banner bright that shone unfurled 1836.]
[Variant 22: Lines 163-168, and 175-180, were added in 1802. Lines 169-174 were added in 1805. All these were omitted in 1815, but were restored in 1820.]
[Variant 23:
1845
So was it then, and so is now: For, Ruth! with thee I know not how I feel my spirit burn 1802.
"But wherefore speak of this? for now, Sweet Ruth! with thee, ... 1805.
Dear Ruth! with thee ... 1836.]
[Variant 24:
1836.
Even as the east when day comes forth; And to the west, and south, and north, 1802.]
[Variant 25:
It is my purer better mind O maiden innocently kind What sights I might have seen! Even now upon my eyes they break! And then the youth began to speak Of lands where he had been. MS.]
[Variant 26:
1845.
But now the pleasant dream was gone, 1800.
Full soon that purer mind ... 1820.]
[Variant 27:
1836.
And there, exulting in her wrongs, Among the music of her songs She fearfully carouz'd. [b] 1800.
And there she sang tumultuous songs, By recollection of her wrongs, To fearful passion rouzed. 1820.]
[Variant 28:
1836.
wild brook ... 1800.]
[Variant 29:
1802.
And to the pleasant Banks of Tone She took her way, to dwell alone 1800.]
[Variant 30:
1802.
... grief, ... 1800.]
[Variant 31:
1805.
(And in this tale we all agree) 1800.]
[Variant 32:
1805.
The neighbours grieve for her, and say That she will ... 1802.]
[Variant 33: This stanza first appeared in the edition of 1802.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Taken from the portrait of the chief in Bartram's frontispiece.--Ed.]
[Footnote B:
"The tall aspiring Gordonia lacianthus ... gradually changing colour, from green to golden yellow, from that to a scarlet, from scarlet to crimson, and lastly to a brownish purple, ... so that it may be said to change and renew its garments every morning throughout the year."
See 'Travels through North and South Carolina, Georgia, East Florida, the Cherokee Country', etc., by William Bartram (1791), pp. 159, 160.--Ed.]
[Footnote C:
"Its thick foliage of a dark green colour is flowered over with large milk-white, fragrant blossoms, ... renewed every morning, and that in such incredible profusion that the tree appears silvered over with them, and the ground beneath covered with the fallen flowers. It, at the same time, continually pushes forth new twigs, with young buds on them."
(Bartram's 'Travels', etc., p. 159.)--Ed.]
[Footnote D: Magnolia grandiflora.--W. W. 1800; and Bartram's 'Travels', p. 8.--Ed.]
[Footnote E:
"The Cypressus distichia stands in the first order of North American trees. Its majestic stature, lifting its cumbrous top towards the skies, and casting a wide shade upon the ground, as a dark intervening cloud," etc.
(Bartram's 'Travels', p. 88).--Ed.]
[Footnote F: The splendid appearance of these scarlet flowers, which are scattered with such profusion over the Hills in the Southern parts of North America is frequently mentioned by Bartram in his 'Travels'.--W. W. 1800.]
[Footnote G: Mr. Ernest Coleridge tells me he
"has traced, to a note-book of Coleridge's in the British Museum, the source from which Wordsworth derived his description of Georgian scenery in 'Ruth'. He does, I know, refer to Bartram, but the whole passage is a poetical rendering, and a pretty close one, of Bartram's poetical narrative. I have a portrait--the frontispiece of Bartram's 'Travels'--of Mico Chlucco, king of the Seminoles, whose feathers nod in the breeze just as did the military casque of the 'youth from Georgia's shore.'"
Ed.]
[Footnote H:
"North and south almost endless green plains and meadows, embellished with islets and projecting promontories of high dark forests, where the pyramidal Magnolia grandiflora ... conspicuously towers."
(Bartram's 'Travels', p. 145).--Ed.]
[Footnote I: The Tone is a River of Somersetshire, at no great distance from the Quantock Hills. These Hills, which are alluded to a few stanzas below, are extremely beautiful, and in most places richly covered with Coppice woods. W. W. 1800.]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Footnote a: The edition of 1805 substitutes the stanzas beginning,
'It was a fresh and glorious world'
for stanzas 2, 3, and 4 of the above six in this note, but it inserts these omitted stanzas later on as Nos. 27, 28, 29.--Ed.]
[Sub-Footnote b: Wordsworth wrote to Barren Field in 1828 that this stanza
"was altered, Lamb having observed that it was not English. I like it better myself;'
(i.e. the version of 1800)
"but certainly to carouse cups--that is to empty them--is the genuine English."
Ed.]
* * * * *
1800
Towards the close of December 1799, Wordsworth came to live at Dove Cottage, Town-end, Grasmere. The poems written during the following year (1800), are more particularly associated with that district of the Lakes. Two of them were fragments of a canto of 'The Recluse', entitled "Home at Grasmere," referring to his settlement at Dove Cottage. Others, such as 'Michael', and 'The Brothers'--classed by him afterwards among the "Poems founded on the Affections,"--deal with incidents in the rural life of the dalesmen of Westmoreland and Cumberland. Most of the "Poems on the Naming of Places" were written during this year; and the "Places" are all in the neighbourhood of Grasmere. To these were added several "Pastoral Poems"--such as 'The Idle Shepherd Boys; or, Dungeon-Ghyll Force'--sundry "Poems of the Fancy," and one or two "Inscriptions." In all, twenty-five poems were written in the year 1800; and, with the exception of the two fragments of 'The Recluse', they were published during the same year in the second volume of the second edition of "Lyrical Ballads." It is impossible to fix the precise date of the composition of the fragments of 'The Recluse'; but, as they refer to the settlement at Dove Cottage--where Wordsworth went to reside with his sister, on the 21st of December 1799--they may fitly introduce the poems belonging to the year 1800. They were first published in 1851 in the 'Memoirs of Wordsworth' (vol. i. pp. 157 and 155 respectively), by the poet's nephew, the late Bishop of Lincoln. The entire canto of 'The Recluse', entitled "Home at Grasmere," will be included in this edition.
The first two poems which follow, as belonging to the year 1800, are parts of 'The Recluse', viz. "On Nature's invitation do I come," (which is ll. 71-97, and 110-125), and "Bleak season was it, turbulent and bleak," (which is ll. 152-167). They are not reprinted from the 'Memoirs' of 1851, because the text there given was, in several instances, inaccurately reproduced from the original MS., which has been re-examined. They were printed here, in 'The Recluse '(1888), and in my 'Life of Wordsworth' (vol. i. 1889).--Ed.
* * * * *
"ON NATURE'S INVITATION DO I COME"
Composed (probably) in 1800.--Published 1851
On Nature's invitation do I come, By Reason sanctioned. Can the choice mislead, That made the calmest, fairest spot of earth, With all its unappropriated good, My own, and not mine only, for with me 5 Entrenched--say rather peacefully embowered-- Under yon orchard, in yon humble cot, A younger orphan of a home extinct, The only daughter of my parents dwells: Aye, think on that, my heart, and cease to stir; 10 Pause upon that, and let the breathing frame No longer breathe, but all be satisfied. Oh, if such silence be not thanks to God For what hath been bestowed, then where, where then Shall gratitude find rest? Mine eyes did ne'er 15 Fix on a lovely object, nor my mind Take pleasure in the midst of happy thoughts, But either she, whom now I have, who now Divides with me this loved abode, was there, Or not far off. Where'er my footsteps turned, 20 Her voice was like a hidden bird that sang; The thought of her was like a flash of light Or an unseen companionship, a breath Or fragrance independent of the wind. In all my goings, in the new and old 25 Of all my meditations, and in this Favourite of all, in this the most of all.... Embrace me then, ye hills, and close me in. Now in the clear and open day I feel Your guardianship: I take it to my heart; 30 'Tis like the solemn shelter of the night. But I would call thee beautiful; for mild, And soft, and gay, and beautiful thou art, Dear valley, having in thy face a smile, Though peaceful, full of gladness. Thou art pleased, 35 Pleased with thy crags, and woody steeps, thy lake, Its one green island, and its winding shores, The multitude of little rocky hills, Thy church, and cottages of mountain-stone Clustered like stars some few, but single most, 40 And lurking dimly in their shy retreats, Or glancing at each other cheerful looks, Like separated stars with clouds between.
This Grasmere cottage is identified, much more than Rydal Mount, with Wordsworth's "poetic prime." It had once been a public-house, bearing the sign of the Dove and Olive Bough--and as such is referred to in 'The Waggoner'--from which circumstance it was for a long time, and is now usually, called "Dove Cottage." A small two storied house, it is described somewhat minutely--as it was in Wordsworth's time--by De Quincey, in his 'Recollections of the Lakes', and by the late Bishop of Lincoln, in the 'Memoirs' of his uncle.
"The front of it faces the lake; behind is a small plot of orchard and garden ground, in which there is a spring and rocks; the enclosure shelves upwards towards the woody sides of the mountains above it." [A]
The following is De Quincey's description of it, as he saw it in the summer of 1807.
"A white cottage, with two yew trees breaking the glare of its white walls" (these yews still stand on the eastern side of the cottage). "A little semi-vestibule between two doors prefaced the entrance into what might be considered the principal room of the cottage. It was an oblong square, not above eight and a half feet high, sixteen feet long, and twelve broad; wainscoted from floor to ceiling with dark polished oak, slightly embellished with carving. One window there was--a perfect and unpretending cottage window, with little diamond panes, embowered at almost every season of the year with roses; and, in the summer and autumn, with a profusion of jasmine, and other fragrant shrubs.... I was ushered up a little flight of stairs, fourteen in all, to a little drawing-room, or whatever the reader chooses to call it. Wordsworth himself has described the fireplace of this room as his
'Half-kitchen and half-parlour fire.'
It was not fully seven feet six inches high, and in other respects pretty nearly of the same dimensions as the rustic hall below. There was, however, in a small recess, a library of perhaps three hundred volumes, which seemed to consecrate the room as the poet's study and composing room, and such occasionally it was. But far oftener he both studied, as I found, and composed on the high road." [B]
Other poems of later years refer, much more fully than the above, to this cottage, and its orchard ground, where so many of Wordsworth's lyrics were composed.
The "orchard ground," which was for the most part in grass, sloped upwards; but a considerable portion of the natural rock was exposed; and on its face, some rough stone steps were cut by Wordsworth, helped by a near neighbour of his--John Fisher--so as more conveniently to reach the upper terrace, where the poet built for himself a small arbour. All this garden and orchard ground is not much altered since 1800. The short terrace walk is curved, with a sloping bank of grass above, shaded by apple trees, hazel, holly, laburnum, laurel, and mountain ash. Below the terrace is the well, which supplied the cottage in Wordsworth's time; and there large leaved primroses still grow, doubtless the successors of those planted by his own and his sister's hands. Above, and amongst the rocks, are the daffodils, which they also brought to their "garden-ground;" the Christmas roses, which they planted near the well, were removed to the eastern side of the garden, where they flourished luxuriantly in 1882; but have now, alas! disappeared. The box-wood planted by the poet grows close to the cottage. The arbour is now gone; but, in the place where it stood, a seat is erected. The hidden brook still sings its under-song, as it used to do, "its quiet soul on all bestowing," and the green linnet may doubtless be seen now, as it used to be in 1803. The allusions to the garden ground at Dove Cottage, in the poems which follow, will be noted as they occur.--Ed.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: See the 'Memoirs of Wordsworth', vol. i. p. 156.--Ed.]
[Footnote B: See 'Recollections of the Lakes', etc., pp. 130-137, Works, vol. ii., edition of 1862.--Ed.]
* * * * *
"BLEAK SEASON WAS IT, TURBULENT AND BLEAK" [A]
Composed (probably) in 1800.--Published 1851
Bleak season was it, turbulent and bleak, When hitherward we journeyed, side by side, Through burst of sunshine and through flying showers, Paced the long vales, how long they were, and yet How fast that length of way was left behind, 5 Wensley's rich vale and Sedbergh's naked heights. The frosty wind, as if to make amends For its keen breath, was aiding to our steps, And drove us onward like two ships at sea; Or, like two birds, companions in mid-air, 10 Parted and reunited by the blast. Stern was the face of nature; we rejoiced In that stern countenance; for our souls thence drew A feeling of their strength. The naked trees, The icy brooks, as on we passed, appeared 15 To question us, "Whence come ye? To what end?"
This poem refers to a winter journey on foot, which Wordsworth and his sister took from Sockburn to Grasmere, by Wensleydale and Askrigg; and, since he has left us an account of this journey, in a letter to Coleridge, written a few days after their arrival at Grasmere--a letter in which his characterisation of Nature is almost as happy as it is in his best poems--some extracts from it may here be appended.
"We left Sockburn last Tuesday morning. We crossed the Tees by moonlight in the Sockburn fields, and after ten good miles riding came in sight of the Swale. It is there a beautiful river, with its green banks and flat holms scattered over with trees. Four miles further brought us to Richmond, with its huge ivied castle, its friarage steeple, its castle tower resembling a huge steeple.... We were now in Wensleydale, and D. and I set off side by side to foot it as far as Kendal.... We reached Askrigg, twelve miles, before six in the evening, having been obliged to walk the last two miles over hard frozen roads.... Next morning the earth was thinly covered with snow, enough to make the road soft and prevent its being slippery. On leaving Askrigg we turned aside to see another waterfall. It was a beautiful morning, with driving snow showers, which disappeared by fits, and unveiled the east, which was all one delicious pale orange colour. After walking through two small fields we came to a mill, which we passed, and in a moment a sweet little valley opened before us, with an area of grassy ground, and a stream dashing over various laminæ of black rocks close under a bank covered with firs; the bank and stream on our left, another woody bank on our right, and the flat meadow in front, from which, as at Buttermere, the stream had retired, as it were, to hide itself under the shade. As we walked up this delightful valley we were tempted to look back perpetually on the stream, which reflected the orange lights of the morning among the gloomy rocks, with a brightness varying with the agitation of the current. The steeple of Askrigg was between us and the east, at the bottom of the valley; it was not a quarter of a mile distant.... The two banks seemed to join before us with a facing of rock common to them both. When we reached this bottom the valley opened out again; two rocky banks on each side, which, hung with ivy and moss, and fringed luxuriantly with brushwood, ran directly parallel to each other, and then approaching with a gentle curve at their point of union, presented a lofty waterfall, the termination of the valley. It was a keen frosty morning, showers of snow threatening us, but the sun bright and active. We had a task of twenty-one miles to perform in a short winter's day.... On a nearer approach the waters seemed to fall down a tall arch or niche that had shaped itself by insensible moulderings in the wall of an old castle. We left this spot with reluctance, but highly exhilarated.... It was bitter cold, the wind driving the snow behind us in the best style of a mountain storm. We soon reached an inn at a place called Hardrane, and descending from our vehicles, after warming ourselves by the cottage fire, we walked up the brook-side to take a view of a third waterfall. We had not walked above a few hundred yards between two winding rocky banks before we came full upon the waterfall, which seemed to throw itself in a narrow line from a lofty wall of rock, the water, which shot manifestly to some distance from the rock, seeming to be dispersed into a thin shower scarcely visible before it reached the bason. We were disappointed in the cascade itself, though the introductory and accompanying banks were an exquisite mixture of grandeur and beauty.... After cautiously sounding our way over stones of all colours and sizes, encased in the clearest water formed by the spray of the fall, we found the rock, which before had appeared like a wall, extending itself over our heads, like the ceiling of a huge cave, from the summit of which the waters shot directly over our heads into a bason, and among fragments wrinkled over with masses of ice as white as snow, or rather, as Dorothy says, like congealed froth. The water fell at least ten yards from us, and we stood directly behind it, the excavation not so deep in the rock as to impress any feeling of darkness, but lofty and magnificent; but in connection with the adjoining banks excluding as much of the sky as could well be spared from a scene so exquisitely beautiful. The spot where we stood was as dry as the chamber in which I am now sitting, and the incumbent rock, of which the groundwork was limestone, veined and dappled with colours which melted into each other with every possible variety of colour. On the summit of the cave were three festoons, or rather wrinkles, in the rock, run up parallel like the folds of a curtain when it is drawn up. Each of these was hung with icicles of various length, and nearly in the middle of the festoon, in the deepest valley of the waves that ran parallel to each other, the stream shot from the rows of icicles in irregular fits of strength, and with a body of water that varied every moment. Sometimes the stream shot into the bason in one continued current; sometimes it was interrupted almost in the midst of its fall, and was blown towards part of the waterfall at no great distance from our feet like the heaviest thunder shower. In such a situation you have at every moment a feeling of the presence of the sky. Large fleecy clouds drove over our heads above the rush of the water, and the sky appeared of a blue more than usually brilliant. The rocks on each side, which, joining with the side of this cave, formed the vista of the brook, were chequered with three diminutive waterfalls, or rather courses of water. Each of these was a miniature of all that summer and winter can produce of delicate beauty. The rock in the centre of the falls, where the water was most abundant, a deep black, the adjoining parts yellow, white, purple, and dove colour, covered with water--plants of the most vivid green, and hung with streaming icicles, that in some places seem to conceal the verdure of the plants and the violet and yellow variegation of the rocks; and in some places render the colours more brilliant. I cannot express to you the enchanting effect produced by this Arabian scene of colour as the wind blew aside the great waterfall behind which we stood, and alternately hid and revealed each of these fairy cataracts in irregular succession, or displayed them with various gradations of distinctness as the intervening spray was thickened or dispersed. What a scene too in summer! In the luxury of our imagination we could not help feeding upon the pleasure which this cave, in the heat of a July noon, would spread through a frame exquisitely sensible. That huge rock on the right, the bank winding round on the left with all its living foliage, and the breeze stealing up the valley, and bedewing the cavern with the freshest imaginable spray. And then the murmur of the water, the quiet, the seclusion, and a long summer day."
Ed.
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT:
[Footnote A: This is a fragment of 'The Recluse', ll. 152-167; but it was originally published in the 'Memoirs of Wordsworth' by his nephew (1851).--Ed.]
* * * * *
ELLEN IRWIN; OR, THE BRAES OF KIRTLE [A]
Composed 1800.--Published 1800
[It may be worth while to observe that as there are Scotch Poems on this subject in simple ballad strain, I thought it would be both presumptuous and superfluous to attempt treating it in the same way; and, accordingly, I chose a construction of stanza quite new in our language; in fact, the same as that of Bürger's 'Leonora', except that the first and third lines do not, in my stanzas, rhyme. At the outset I threw out a classical image to prepare the reader for the style in which I meant to treat the story, and so to preclude all comparison.--I.F.]
In the editions of 1815 and 1820 this was included among the "Poems founded on the Affections." In 1827 it was placed in the "Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1803."--Ed.
Fair Ellen Irwin, when she sate Upon the braes of Kirtle, Was lovely as a Grecian maid Adorned with wreaths of myrtle; Young Adam Bruce beside her lay, 5 And there did they beguile the day With love and gentle speeches, Beneath the budding beeches.
From many knights and many squires The Bruce had been selected; 10 And Gordon, fairest of them all, By Ellen was rejected. Sad tidings to that noble Youth! For it may be proclaimed with truth, If Bruce hath loved sincerely, 15 That Gordon [1] loves as dearly.
But what are Gordon's form and face, His shattered hopes and crosses, To them, 'mid Kirtle's pleasant braes, Reclined on flowers and mosses? [2] 20 Alas that ever he was born! The Gordon, couched behind a thorn, Sees them and their caressing; Beholds them blest and blessing.
Proud Gordon, maddened by the thoughts [3] 25 That through his brain are travelling, Rushed forth, and at the heart of Bruce [4] He launched a deadly javelin! Fair Ellen saw it as it came, And, starting up to meet the same, [5] 30 Did with her body cover The Youth, her chosen lover.
And, falling into Bruce's arms, Thus died the beauteous Ellen, Thus, from the heart of her True-love, 35 The mortal spear repelling. And Bruce, as soon as he had slain The Gordon, sailed away to Spain; And fought with rage incessant Against the Moorish crescent. 40
But many days, and many months, And many years ensuing, This wretched Knight did vainly seek The death that he was wooing. So, coming his last help to crave, 45 Heart-broken, upon Ellen's grave [6] His body he extended, And there his sorrow ended.
Now ye, who willingly have heard The tale I have been telling, 50 May in Kirkonnel churchyard view The grave of lovely Ellen: By Ellen's side the Bruce is laid; And, for the stone upon his head, May no rude hand deface it, 55 And its forlorn Hic jacet.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1815.
The Gordon ... 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1837.
But what is Gordon's beauteous face? And what are Gordon's crosses To them who sit by Kirtle's Braes Upon the verdant mosses? 1800.]
[Variant 3:
1837.
Proud Gordon cannot bear the thoughts 1800.]
[Variant 4:
1837.
And, starting up, to Bruce's heart 1800.]
[Variant 5:
1837.
Fair Ellen saw it when it came, And, stepping forth ... 1800.]
[Variant 6:
1827.
So coming back across the wave, Without a groan on Ellen's grave 1800.
And coming back ... 1802.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE:
[Footnote A: The Kirtle is a River in the Southern part of Scotland, on whose banks the events here related took place.--W. W. 1800.]
No Scottish ballad is superior in pathos to 'Helen of Kirkconnell'. It is based on a traditionary tale--the date of the event being lost--but the locality, in the parish of Kirkpatrick-Fleming in Dumfriesshire, is known; and there the graves of "Burd Helen" and her lover are still pointed out.
The following is Sir Walter Scott's account of the story:
"A lady of the name of Helen Irving, or Bell (for this is disputed by the two clans), daughter of the laird of Kirkconnell in Dumfriesshire, and celebrated for her beauty, was beloved by two gentlemen in the neighbourhood. The name of the favoured suitor was Adam Fleming of Kirkpatrick: that of the other has escaped tradition, although it has been alleged he was a Bell of Blackel-house. The addresses of the latter were, however, favoured by the friends of the lady, and the lovers were therefore obliged to meet in secret, and by night, in the Churchyard of Kirkconnell, a romantic spot, surrounded by the river Kirtle. During one of their private interviews, the jealous and despised lover suddenly appeared on the opposite bank of the stream, and levelled his carbine at the breast of his rival. Helen threw herself before her lover, received in her bosom the bullet, and died in his arms. A desperate and mortal combat ensued between Fleming and the murderer, in which the latter was cut to pieces."
See 'Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border', vol. ii. p. 317.
The original ballad--well known though it is--may be quoted as an admirable illustration of the different types of poetic genius in dealing with the same, or a kindred, theme.
I wish I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen lies, On fair Kirkconnell lee!
Cursed be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me!
Oh think ye na my heart was sair, When my love dropt down and spake nae mair! There did she swoon wi' meikle care, On fair Kirkconnell lee.
As I went down the water side, None but my foe to be my guide, None but my foe to be my guide, On fair Kirkconnell lee--
I lighted down, my sword did draw, I hacked him in pieces sma', I hacked him in pieces sma', For her sake that died for me.
Oh, Helen fair, beyond compare! I'll weave a garland of thy hair Shall bind my heart for evermair, Until the day I dee!
Oh that I were where Helen lies! Day and night on me she cries; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says, "Haste, and come to me!"
O Helen fair! O Helen chaste! Were I with thee I would be blest, Where thou lies low and takes thy rest, On fair Kirkconnell lee.
I wish my grave were growing green, A winding sheet drawn o'er my e'en, And I in Helen's arms lying On fair Kirkconnell lee.
I wish I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries, And I am weary of the skies, For her sake that died for me!
Ed.
* * * * *
HART-LEAP WELL
Composed 1800.--Published 1800
Hart-Leap Well is a small spring of water, about five miles from Richmond in Yorkshire, and near the side of the road which leads from Richmond to Askrigg. Its name is derived from a remarkable chace, the memory of which is preserved by the monuments spoken of in the second Part of the following Poem, which monuments do now exist as I have there described them.--W. W. 1800.
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. The first eight stanzas were composed extempore one winter evening in the cottage, when, after having tired myself with labouring at an awkward passage in 'The Brothers', I started with a sudden impulse to this to get rid of the other, and finished it in a day or two. My sister and I had passed the place a few weeks before in our wild winter journey from Sockburn on the banks of the Tees to Grasmere. A peasant whom we met near the spot told us the story so far as concerned the name of the Well, and the Hart, and pointed out the Stones. Both the stones and the well are objects that may easily be missed. The tradition by this time may be extinct in the neighbourhood. The man who related it to us was very old.--I. F.]
Included among the "Poems of the Imagination,"--Ed.
The Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor With the slow motion of a summer's cloud And now, as he approached a vassal's door, "Bring forth another horse!" he cried aloud. [1]
"Another horse!"--That shout the vassal heard 5 And saddled his best Steed, a comely grey; Sir Walter mounted him; he was the third Which he had mounted on that glorious day.
Joy sparkled in the prancing courser's eyes; The horse and horseman are a happy pair; 10 But, though Sir Walter like a falcon flies, There is a doleful silence in the air.
A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall, That as they galloped made the echoes roar; But horse and man are vanished, one and all; 15 Such race, I think, was never seen before.
Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind, Calls to the few tired dogs that yet remain: Blanch, [2] Swift, and Music, noblest of their kind, Follow, and up the weary mountain strain. 20
The Knight hallooed, he cheered and chid them on [3] With suppliant gestures [4] and upbraidings stern; But breath and eyesight fail; and, one by one, The dogs are stretched among the mountain fern.
Where is the throng, the tumult of the race? [5] 25 The bugles that so joyfully were blown? --This chase it looks not like an earthly chase; [6] Sir Walter and the Hart are left alone.
The poor Hart toils along the mountain-side; I will not stop to tell how far he fled, 30 Nor will I mention by what death he died; But now the Knight beholds him lying dead.
Dismounting, then, he leaned against a thorn; He had no follower, dog, nor man, nor boy: He neither cracked [7] his whip, nor blew his horn, 35 But gazed upon the spoil with silent joy.
Close to the thorn on which Sir Walter leaned, Stood his dumb partner in this glorious feat; [8] Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yeaned; And white with foam as if with cleaving sleet. [9] 40
Upon his side the Hart was lying stretched: His nostril touched [10] a spring beneath a hill, And with the last deep groan his breath had fetched The waters of the spring were trembling still.
And now, too happy for repose or rest, 45 (Never had living man such joyful lot!) [11] Sir Walter walked all round, north, south, and west, And gazed and gazed upon that darling spot. [12]
And climbing [13] up the hill--(it was at least Four [14] roods of sheer ascent) Sir Walter found 50 Three several hoof-marks which the hunted Beast [15] Had left imprinted on the grassy [16] ground.
Sir Walter wiped his face, and cried, "Till now Such sight was never seen by human [17] eyes: Three leaps have borne him from this lofty brow, 55 Down to the very fountain where he lies.
"I'll build a pleasure-house upon this spot, And a small arbour, made for rural joy; 'Twill be the traveller's shed, the pilgrim's cot, A place of love for damsels that are coy. 60
"A cunning artist will I have to frame A basin for that fountain in the dell! And they who do make mention of the same, From this day forth, shall call it HART-LEAP WELL.
"And, gallant Stag! [18] to make thy praises known, 65 Another monument shall here be raised; Three several pillars, each a rough-hewn stone, And planted where thy hoofs the turf have grazed.
"And, in the summer-time when days are long, I will come hither with my Paramour; 70 And with the dancers and the minstrel's song We will make merry in that pleasant bower.
"Till the foundations of the mountains fail My mansion with its arbour shall endure;-- The joy of them who till the fields of Swale, 75 And them who dwell among the woods of Ure!"
Then home he went, and left the Hart, stone-dead, With breathless nostrils stretched above the spring. --Soon did the Knight perform what he had said; And far and wide the fame thereof did ring. [19] 80
Ere thrice the Moon into her port had steered, A cup of stone received the living well; Three pillars of rude stone Sir Walter reared, And built a house of pleasure in the dell.
And near the fountain, flowers of stature tall 85 With trailing plants and trees were intertwined,-- Which soon composed a little sylvan hall, A leafy shelter from the sun and wind.
And thither, when the summer days were long Sir Walter led his wondering Paramour; [20] 90 And with the dancers and the minstrel's song Made merriment within that pleasant bower.
The Knight, Sir Walter, died in course of time, And his bones lie in his paternal vale.-- But there is matter for a second rhyme, 95 And I to this would add another tale.
PART SECOND
The moving accident [A] is not my trade; To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: 'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for [21] thinking hearts. 100
As I from Hawes to Richmond did repair, It chanced that I saw standing in a dell Three aspens at three corners of a square; And one, not four yards distant, near a well.
What this imported I could ill divine: 105 And, pulling now the rein my horse to stop, I saw three pillars standing in a line,-- The last stone-pillar on a dark hill-top.
The trees were grey, with neither arms nor head: Half wasted the square mound of tawny green; 110 So that you just might say, as then I said, "Here in old time the hand of man hath [22] been."
I looked upon the hill [23] both far and near, More doleful place did never eye survey; It seemed as if the spring-time came not here, 115 And Nature here were willing to decay.
I stood in various thoughts and fancies lost, [B] When one, who was in shepherd's garb attired, Came up the hollow:--him did I accost, And what this place might be I then inquired. 120
The Shepherd stopped, and that same story told Which in my former rhyme I have rehearsed. "A jolly place," said he, "in times of old! But something ails it now: the spot is curst.
"You see these lifeless stumps of aspen wood--125 Some say that they are beeches, others elms-- These were the bower; and here a mansion stood, The finest palace of a hundred realms!
"The arbour does its own condition tell; You see the stones, the fountain, and the stream; 130 But as to the great Lodge! you might as well Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
"There's neither dog nor heifer, horse nor sheep, Will wet his lips within that cup of stone; And oftentimes, when all are fast asleep, 135 This water doth send forth a dolorous groan.
"Some say that here a murder has been done, And blood cries out for blood: but, for my part, I've guessed, when I've been sitting in the sun, That it was all for that unhappy Hart. 140
"What thoughts must through the creature's brain have past! Even from the topmost stone, upon the steep, [24] Are but three bounds--and look, Sir, at this last-- O Master! it has been a cruel leap.
"For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race; 145 And in my simple mind we cannot tell What cause the Hart might have to love this place, And come and make his death-bed near the well.
"Here on the grass perhaps asleep he sank, Lulled by the [25] fountain in the summer tide; 150 This water was perhaps the first he drank When he had wandered from his mother's side.
"In April here beneath the flowering [26] thorn He heard the birds their morning carols sing; And he, perhaps, for aught we know, was born 155 Not half a furlong from that self-same spring.
"Now, here is [27] neither grass nor pleasant shade; The sun on drearier hollow never shone; So will it be, as I have often said, Till trees, and stones, and fountain, all are gone." 160
"Grey-headed Shepherd, thou hast spoken well; Small difference lies between thy creed and mine: This Beast not unobserved by Nature fell; His death was mourned by sympathy divine.
"The Being, that is in the clouds and air, 165 That is in the green leaves among the groves, Maintains a deep and reverential care For the unoffending creatures [28] whom he loves.
"The pleasure-house is dust:--behind, before, This is no common waste, no common gloom; 170 But Nature, in due course of time, once more Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom.
"She leaves these objects to a slow decay, That what we are, and have been, may be known; But at the coming of the milder day, 175 These monuments shall all be overgrown.
"One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide, Taught both by what she shows, and what conceals; [C] Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels." 180
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1836.
He turn'd aside towards a Vassal's door, And, "Bring another Horse!" he cried aloud. 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1827.
Brach, ... 1800.]
[Variant 3:
1827.
... he chid and cheer'd them on 1800.]
[Variant 4:
1800.
With fawning kindness ... MS.]
[Variant 5:
1802.
... of the chace? 1800.]
[Variant 6:
1802.
This race it looks not like an earthly race; 1800.]
[Variant 7:
1820.
... smack'd ... 1800.]
[Variant 8:
1820.
... act; 1800.]
[Variant 9:
1820.
And foaming like a mountain cataract. 1800.]
[Variant 10:
1820.
His nose half-touch'd ... 1800.]
[Variant 11:
1820.
Was never man in such a joyful case, 1800.]
[Variant 12:
1820.
.... place. 1800.]
[Variant 13:
1802.
... turning ... 1800.]
[Variant 14:
1845.
Nine ... 1800.]
[Variant 15:
1802.
Three several marks which with his hoofs the beast 1800.]
[Variant 16:
1820.
... verdant ... 1800.]
[Variant 17:
1836.
... living ... 1800.]
[Variant 18:
1827.
... gallant brute! ... 1800.]
[Variant 19:
1815.
And soon the Knight perform'd what he had said, The fame whereof through many a land did ring. 1800.]
[Variant 20:
1820.
... journey'd with his paramour; 1800.]
[Variant 21:
1815.
... to ... 1800.]
[Variant 22:
1815.
... has ... 1800.]
[Variant 23:
1815.
... hills ... 1800.]
[Variant 24:
1815.
From the stone on the summit of the steep 1800.
... upon ... 1802.]
[Variant 25:
1832.
... this ... 1800.]
[Variant 26:
1836.
... scented ... 1800.]
[Variant 27:
1827.
But now here's ... 1800.]
[Variant 28:
1815.
For them the quiet creatures ... 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Compare 'Othello', act I. scene iii. l. 135:
'Of moving accidents by flood and field.'
Ed.]
[Footnote B: Compare the sonnet (vol. iv.) beginning:
"Beloved Vale!" I said. "when I shall con ...
Ed.]
[Footnote C: Compare Tennyson, 'In Memoriam', v. II. 3, 4.
'For words, like Nature, half reveal And half conceal the Soul within.'
Ed.]
This poem was suggested to Wordsworth in December 1799 during the journey with his sister from Sockburn in Yorkshire to Grasmere. I owe the following local note on 'Hart-Leap Well' to Mr. John R. Tutin of Hull.
"June 20, 1881. Visited 'Hart-Leap Well,' the subject of Wordsworth's poem. It is situated on the road side leading from Richmond to Askrigg, at a distance of not more than three and a-half miles from Richmond, and not five miles as stated in the prefatory note to the poem. The 'three aspens at three corners of a square' are things of the past; also the 'three stone pillars standing in a line, on the hill above. In a straight line with the spring of water, and where the pillars would have been, a wall has been built; so that it is very probable the stone pillars were removed at the time of the building of this wall. The scenery around answers exactly to the description
More doleful place did never eye survey; It seemed as if the spring time came not here, And Nature here were willing to decay. ... Now, here is neither grass nor pleasant shade.
"It is barren moor for miles around. The water still falls into the 'cup of stone,' which appeared to be of very long standing. Within ten yards of the well is a small tree, at the same side of the road as the well, on the right hand coming from Richmond."
The Rev. Thomas Hutchinson of Kimbolton wrote to me on June 18, 1883:
"The tree is not a Thorn, but a Lime. It is evidently an old one, but is now in full and beautiful leaf. It stands on the western side of the road, and a few yards distant from it. The well is somewhat nearer the road. This side of the road is open to the fell. On the other side the road is bounded by a stone wall: another wall meeting this one at right angles, exactly opposite the well. I ascended the hill on the north side of this wall for some distance, but could find no trace of any rough-hewn stone. Descending on the other side, I found in the wall one, and only one, such stone. I should say the base was in the wall. The stone itself leans outwards; so that, at the top, three of its square faces can be seen; and two, if not three, of these faces bear marks of being hammer-dressed. The distance from the stone to the well is about 40 yards, and the height of the stone out of the ground about 3 or 4 feet.
"The ascent from the well is a gentle one, not 'sheer'; nor does there appear to be any hollow by which the shepherd could ascend. On the western side of the road there is a wide plain, with a slight fall in that direction."
"'Hart-Leap Well' is the tale for me; in matter as good as this ('Peter Bell'); in manner infinitely before it, in my poor judgment."
Charles Lamb to Wordsworth, May 1819. (See 'The Letters of Charles Lamb', edited by Alfred Ainger, vol. ii. p. 20.)--Ed.
* * * * *
THE IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS; OR, DUNGEON-GHYLL FORCE [A]
A PASTORAL
Composed 1800.--Published 1800
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. I will only add a little monitory anecdote concerning this subject. When Coleridge and Southey were walking together upon the Fells, Southey observed that, if I wished to be considered a faithful painter of rural manners, I ought not to have said that my shepherd-boys trimmed their rustic hats as described in the poem. Just as the words had passed his lips two boys appeared with the very plant entwined round their hats. I have often wondered that Southey, who rambled so much about the mountains, should have fallen into this mistake, and I record it as a warning for others who, with far less opportunity than my dear friend had of knowing what things are, and far less sagacity, give way to presumptuous criticism, from which he was free, though in this matter mistaken. In describing a tarn under Helvellyn I say:
"There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer."
This was branded by a critic of these days, in a review ascribed to Mrs. Barbauld, as unnatural and absurd. I admire the genius of Mrs. Barbauld and am certain that, had her education been favourable to imaginative influences, no female of her day would have been more likely to sympathise with that image, and to acknowledge the truth of the sentiment.--I. F.]
Included among the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood."--Ed.
The valley rings with mirth and joy; Among the hills the echoes play A never never ending song, To welcome in the May. [1] The magpie chatters with delight; 5 The mountain raven's youngling brood Have left the mother and the nest; And they go rambling east and west In search of their own food; Or through the glittering vapours dart 10 In very wantonness of heart.
Beneath a rock, upon the grass, Two boys are sitting in the sun; Their work, if any work they have, Is out of mind--or done. [2] 15 On pipes of sycamore they play The fragments of a Christmas hymn; Or with that plant which in our dale We call stag-horn, or fox's tail, Their rusty hats they trim: 20 And thus, as happy as the day, Those Shepherds wear the time away.
Along the river's stony marge The sand-lark chants a joyous song; The thrush is busy in the wood, 25 And carols loud and strong. A thousand lambs are on the rocks, All newly born! both earth and sky Keep jubilee, [B] and more than all, Those boys with their green coronal; 30 They never hear the cry, That plaintive cry! which up the hill Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll.
Said Walter, leaping from the ground, "Down to the stump of yon old yew 35 We'll for our whistles run a race." [3] --Away the shepherds flew; They leapt--they ran--and when they came Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll, Seeing that he should lose the prize, 40 "Stop!" to his comrade Walter cries-- James stopped with no good will: Said Walter then, exulting; "Here You'll find a task for half a year. [4]
"Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross--45 Come on, and tread where I shall tread." [5] The other took him at his word, And followed as he led. [6] It was a spot which you may see If ever you to Langdale go; 50 Into a chasm a mighty block Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock: The gulf is deep below; And, in a basin black and small, Receives a lofty waterfall. 55
With staff in hand across the cleft The challenger pursued [7] his march; And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained The middle of the arch. When list! he hears a piteous moan--60 Again!--his heart within him dies-- His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost, He totters, pallid as a ghost, [8] And, looking down, espies [9] A lamb, that in the pool is pent 65 Within that black and frightful rent.
The lamb had slipped into the stream, And safe without a bruise or wound The cataract had borne him down Into the gulf profound. 70 His dam had seen him when he fell, She saw him down the torrent borne; And, while with all a mother's love She from the lofty rocks above Sent forth a cry forlorn, 75 The lamb, still swimming round and round, Made answer to that plaintive sound.
When he had learnt what thing it was, That sent this rueful cry; I ween The Boy recovered heart, and told 80 The sight which he had seen. Both gladly now deferred their task; Nor was there wanting other aid-- A Poet, one who loves the brooks Far better than the sages' books, 85 By chance had thither strayed; And there the helpless lamb he found By those huge rocks encompassed round.
He drew it from the troubled pool, [10] And brought it forth into the light: 90 The Shepherds met him with his charge, An unexpected sight! Into their arms the lamb they took, Whose life and limbs the flood had spared; [11] Then up the steep ascent they hied, 95 And placed him at his mother's side; And gently did the Bard Those idle Shepherd-boys upbraid, And bade them better mind their trade.
The "bridge of rock" across Dungeon-Ghyll "chasm," and the "lofty waterfall," with all its accessories of place as described in the poem, remain as they were in 1800.--Ed.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1800.
The valley rings with mirth and joy; And, pleased to welcome in the May, From hill to hill the echoes fling Their liveliest roundelay. 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1836.
It seems they have no work to do Or that their work is done. 1800.
Boys that have had no work to do, Or work that now is done. 1827.]
[Variant 3:
1805.
I'll run with you a race."--No more--1800.
We'll for this Whistle run a race." ... 1802.]
[Variant 4:
1836.
Said Walter then, "Your task is here, 'Twill keep you working half a year. 1800.
'Twill baffle you for half a year. 1827.]
[Variant 5:
1836.
Till you have cross'd where I shall cross, Say that you'll neither sleep nor eat." 1800.
"Now cross where I shall cross,--come on And follow me where I shall lead--" 1802.
"Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross-- Come on, and in my footsteps tread!" 1827.]
[Variant 6:
1827.
James proudly took him at his word, But did not like the feat. 1800.
... the deed. 1802.
The other took him at his word, 1805.]
[Variant 7:
1827.
... began ... 1800.]
[Variant 8:
1827.
... pale as any ghost, 1800.]
[Variant 9:
1827.
... he spies 1800.]
[Variant 10:
1836.
He drew it gently from the pool, 1800.]
[Variant 11:
1836.
Said they, "He's neither maim'd nor scarr'd"--1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: 'Ghyll', in the dialect of Cumberland and Westmoreland is a short and for the most part a steep narrow valley, with a stream running through it. 'Force' is the word universally employed in these dialects for Waterfall.--W. W. 1800.
"Ghyll" was spelt "Gill" in the editions of 1800 to 1805.--Ed.]
[Footnote B: Compare the 'Ode, Intimations of Immortality', iv. l. 3 (vol. viii.)--Ed.]
* * * * *
THE PET-LAMB
A PASTORAL
Composed 1800.--Published 1800
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. Barbara Lewthwaite, now living at Ambleside (1843), though much changed as to beauty, was one of two most lovely sisters. Almost the first words my poor brother John said, when he visited us for the first time at Grasmere, were, "Were those two Angels that I have just seen?" and from his description, I have no doubt they were those two sisters. The mother died in childbed; and one of our neighbours at Grasmere told me that the loveliest sight she had ever seen was that mother as she lay in her coffin with her babe in her arm. I mention this to notice what I cannot but think a salutary custom once universal in these vales. Every attendant on a funeral made it a duty to look at the corpse in the coffin before the lid was closed, which was never done (nor I believe is now) till a minute or two before the corpse was removed. Barbara Lewthwaite was not in fact the child whom I had seen and overheard as described in the poem. I chose the name for reasons implied in the above; and here will add a caution against the use of names of living persons. Within a few months after the publication of this poem, I was much surprised, and more hurt, to find it in a child's school book, which, having been compiled by Lindley Murray, had come into use at Grasmere School where Barbara was a pupil; and, alas! I had the mortification of hearing that she was very vain of being thus distinguished; and, in after life she used to say that she remembered the incident, and what I said to her upon the occasion.--I. F.]
Included among the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood."--Ed.
The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!" And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow white mountain-lamb with a Maiden at its side.
Nor sheep nor kine [1] were near; the lamb was all alone, 5 And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone; With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden kneel, While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal.
The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took, Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure shook. "Drink, pretty creature, drink," she said in such a tone That I almost received her heart into my own.
'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare! I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair. Now with her empty can the Maiden turned away: 15 But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.
Right towards the lamb she looked; and from a shady place [2] I unobserved could see the workings of her face: If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring, Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little Maid might sing: 20
"What ails thee, young One? what? Why pull so at thy cord? Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board? Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be; Rest, little young One, rest; what is't that aileth thee?
"What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy heart? 25 Thy limbs are they not strong? And beautiful thou art: This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers; And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!
"If the sun be [3] shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain, This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain; 30 For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou need'st not fear, The rain and storm are things that [4] scarcely can come here.
"Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day When my father found thee first in places far away; Many flocks were [5] on the hills, but thou wert owned by none, 35 And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.
"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home: A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam? A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been. 40
"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran; And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new.
"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now, 45 Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough; My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.
"It will not, will not rest!--Poor creature, can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee? [6] 50 Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear, And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.
"Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair! I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there; The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, 55 When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.
"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky; Night and day thou art safe,--our cottage is hard by. Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? Sleep--and at break of day I will come to thee again!" [7] 60
--As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat; And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line, That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was _mine_. [8]
Again, and once again, did I repeat the song; 65 "Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel [9] must belong, For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone, That I almost received her heart into my own."
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1836.
No other sheep ... 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1836.
Towards the Lamb she look'd, and from that shady place 1800]
[Variant 3:
1802.
... is ... 1800.]
[Variant 4:
1827.
... which ... 1800.]
[Variant 5:
1802.
... are ... 1800.]
[Variant 6:
1800.
... Poor creature, it must be That thou hast lost thy mother, and 'tis that which troubles thee. MS.]
[Variant 7:
1802.
... the raven in the sky, He will not come to thee, our Cottage is hard by, Night and day thou art safe as living thing can be, Be happy then and rest, what is't that aileth thee?" 1800.]
[Variant 8: _Italics_ first used in 1815.]
[Variant 9: This word was _italicised_ from 1813 to 1832.]
* * * * *
THE FARMER OF TILSBURY VALE
Composed 1800.--Published 1815 [A]
[The character of this man was described to me, and the incident upon which the verses turn was told me, by Mr. Poole of Nether Stowey, with whom I became acquainted through our common friend, S. T. Coleridge. During my residence at Alfoxden, I used to see much of him, and had frequent occasions to admire the course of his daily life, especially his conduct to his labourers and poor neighbours; their virtues he carefully encouraged, and weighed their faults in the scales of charity. If I seem in these verses to have treated the weaknesses of the farmer and his transgressions too tenderly, it may in part be ascribed to my having received the story from one so averse to all harsh judgment. After his death was found in his escritoir, a lock of grey hair carefully preserved, with a notice that it had been cut from the head of his faithful shepherd, who had served him for a length of years. I need scarcely add that he felt for all men as his brothers. He was much beloved by distinguished persons--Mr. Coleridge, Mr. Southey, Sir H. Davy, and many others; and in his own neighbourhood was highly valued as a magistrate, a man of business, and in every other social relation. The latter part of the poem perhaps requires some apology, as being too much of an echo to 'The Reverie of Poor Susan'.--I.F.]
Included in the "Poems referring to the Period of Old Age."--Ed.
'Tis not for the unfeeling, the falsely refined, The squeamish in taste, and the narrow of mind, And the small critic wielding his delicate pen, That I sing of old Adam, the pride of old men.
He dwells in the centre of London's wide Town; 5 His staff is a sceptre--his grey hairs a crown; And his bright eyes look brighter, set off by the streak Of the unfaded rose that still blooms on his cheek. [1]
'Mid the dews, in the sunshine of morn,--'mid the joy Of the fields, he collected that bloom, when a boy; 10 That countenance there fashioned, which, spite of a stain [2] That his life hath received, to the last will remain. [3]
A Farmer he was; and his house [4] far and near Was the boast of the country [5] for excellent cheer: How oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale 15 Of the silver-rimmed horn whence he dealt his mild ale! [6]
Yet Adam was far as the farthest from ruin, His fields seemed to know what their Master was doing; And turnips, and corn-land, [7] and meadow, and lea, All caught the infection--as generous as he. 20
Yet Adam prized little the feast and the bowl, [8]-- The fields better suited the ease of his soul: He strayed through the fields like an indolent wight, The quiet of nature was Adam's delight.
For Adam was simple in thought; and the poor, 25 Familiar with him, made an inn of his door: He gave them the best that he had; or, to say What less may mislead you, they took it away. [9] Thus thirty smooth years did he thrive on his farm: The Genius of plenty preserved him from harm: 30 At length, what to most is a season of sorrow, His means are [10] run out,--he must beg, or must borrow.
To the neighbours he went,--all were free with their money; For his hive had so long been replenished with honey, That they dreamt not of dearth;--He continued his rounds, [11] 35 Knocked here-and knocked there, pounds still adding to pounds.
He paid what he could with his [12] ill-gotten pelf, And something, it might be, reserved for himself: [13] Then (what is too true) without hinting a word, Turned his back on the country--and off like a bird. 40
You lift up your eyes!--but I guess that you frame A judgment too harsh of the sin and the shame; [14] In him it was scarcely [15] a business of art, For this he did all in the _ease_ [16] of his heart.
To London--a sad emigration I ween--45 With his grey hairs he went from the brook [17] and the green; And there, with small wealth but his legs and his hands, As lonely he stood as [18] a crow on the sands.
All trades, as need [19] was, did old Adam assume,-- Served as stable-boy, errand-boy, porter, and groom; 50 But nature is gracious, necessity kind, And, in spite of the shame that may lurk in his mind, [20] [21] He seems ten birthdays younger, is green and is stout; [22] Twice as fast as before does his blood run about; You would [23] say that each hair of his beard was alive, 55 And his fingers are busy as bees in a hive.
For he's not like an Old Man that leisurely goes About work that he knows, [24] in a track that he knows; But often his mind is compelled to demur, And you guess that the more then his body must stir. 60
In the throng of the town like a stranger is he, Like one whose own country's far over the sea; And Nature, while through the great city he hies, Full ten times a day takes his heart by surprise.
This gives him the fancy of one that is young, 65 More of soul in his face than of words on [25] his tongue; Like a maiden of twenty he trembles and sighs, And tears of fifteen will come [26] into his eyes.
What's a tempest to him, or the dry parching heats? Yet he watches the clouds that pass over the streets; 70 With a look of such earnestness often will stand, [27] You might think he'd twelve reapers at work in the Strand.
Where proud Covent-garden, in desolate hours Of snow and hoar-frost, spreads her fruits and her flowers, Old Adam will smile at the pains that have made 75 Poor winter look fine in such strange masquerade. [28] [29] 'Mid coaches and chariots, a waggon of straw, Like a magnet, the heart of old Adam can draw; With a thousand soft pictures his memory will teem, And his hearing is touched with the sounds of a dream. 80
Up the Haymarket hill he oft whistles his way, Thrusts his hands in a waggon, and smells at the hay; [30] He thinks of the fields he so often hath mown, And is happy as if the rich freight were his own. [31]
But chiefly to Smithfield he loves to repair,--85 If you pass by at morning, you'll meet with him there. The breath of the cows you may see him inhale, And his heart all the while is in Tilsbury Vale.
Now farewell, old Adam! when low [32] thou art laid, May one blade of grass spring over [33] thy head; 90 And I hope that thy grave, wheresoever it be, Will hear the wind sigh through the leaves of a tree.
With this picture, which was taken from real life, compare the imaginative one of 'The Reverie of Poor Susan' [vol. i. p. 226]; and see (to make up the deficiencies of this class) 'The Excursion, passim'.--W. W. 1837.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1837.
Erect as a sunflower he stands, and the streak Of the unfaded rose is expressed on his cheek. 1815.
... still enlivens his cheek. 1827.]
[Variant 2:
1840.
There fashion'd that countenance, which, in spite of a stain 1815.]
[Variant 3:
There's an old man in London, the prime of old men, You may hunt for his match through ten thousand and ten, Of prop or of staff, does he walk, does he run, No more need has he than a flow'r of the sun. 1800.
This stanza appeared only in 1800, occupying the place of the three first stanzas in the final text.]
[Variant 4:
1815.
... name ... 1800.]
[Variant 5:
1815.
Was the Top of the Country, ... 1800.]
[Variant 6:
1827.
Not less than the skill of an Exchequer Teller Could count the shoes worn on the steps of his cellar. 1800.
How oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale Of the silver-rimmed horn whence he dealt his good ale. 1815.]
[Variant 7:
1815.
... plough'd land, ... 1800.]
[Variant 8:
1815.
... the noise of the bowl, 1800]
[Variant 9:
On the works of the world, on the bustle and sound, Seated still in his boat, he look'd leisurely round; And if now and then he his hands did employ, 'Twas with vanity, wonder, and infantine joy.
Only in the text of 1800.]
[Variant 10:
1815.
... were ... 1800.]
[Variant 11:
1815.
For they all still imagin'd his hive full of honey; Like a Church-warden, Adam continu'd his rounds, 1800.]
[Variant 12:
1837.
... this ... 1800.]
[Variant 13:
1815.
... he kept to himself; 1800.]
[Variant 14:
1820.
You lift up your eyes, "O the merciless Jew!" But in truth he was never more cruel than you; 1800.
...--and I guess that you frame A judgment too harsh of the sin and the shame; 1815.]
[Variant 15:
1815.
... scarce e'en ... 1800.]
[Variant 16: _Italics_ first used in 1815.]
[Variant 17:
1815.
... lawn ... 1800.]
[Variant 18:
1815.
He stood all alone like ... 1800.]
[Variant 19:
1800.
... needs ... 1815.
The edition of 1827 returns to the text of 1800.]
[Variant 20:
1815.
Both stable-boy, errand-boy, porter and groom; You'd think it the life of a Devil in H--l, But nature was kind, and with Adam 'twas well. 1800.]
[Variant 21:
He's ten birth-days younger, he's green, and he's stout, Twice as fast as before does his blood run about, You'd think it the life of a Devil in H--l, But Nature is kind, and with Adam 'twas well.
This stanza appeared only in 1800. It was followed by that which now forms lines 53-56 of the final text.]
[Variant 22:
1815.
He's ten birth-days younger, he's green, and he's stout, 1800.]
[Variant 23:
1815.
You'd ... 1800.]
[Variant 24:
1815.
... does ... 1800.]
[Variant 25:
1815.
... in ... 1800.]
[Variant 26:
1800.
... have come ... 1815.
The text of 1820 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 27:
1815.
...he'll stand 1800.]
[Variant 28:
1837.
Where proud Covent-Garden, in frost and in snow, Spreads her fruits and her flow'rs, built up row after row; Old Adam will point with his finger and say, To them that stand by, "I've seen better than they." 1800.
... her fruit ... 1815.
(The text of 1815 is otherwise identical with that of 1837.)]
[Variant 29:
Where the apples are heap'd on the barrows in piles, You see him stop short, he looks long, and he smiles; He looks, and he smiles, and a Poet might spy The image of fifty green fields in his eye.
Only in the text of 1800.]
[Variant 30:
1837.
... in the waggons, and smells to the hay; 1800.
... in the Waggon, and smells at ... 1815.]
[Variant 31:
1815.
... has mown, And sometimes he dreams that the hay is his own. 1800.]
[Variant 32:
1815.
... where'er ... 1800.]
[Variant 33:
1850.
... spring up o'er ... 1800.
... over ... 1815.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: i. e. first published in the 1815 edition of the Poems: but, although dated by Wordsworth 1803, it had appeared in 'The Morning Post' of July 21, 1800, under the title, 'The Farmer of Tilsbury Vale. A Character'. It was then unsigned.--Ed.]
* * * * *
POEMS ON THE NAMING OF PLACES
ADVERTISEMENT
By Persons resident in the country and attached to rural objects, many places will be found unnamed or of unknown names, where little Incidents will have occurred, or feelings been experienced, which will have given to such places a private and peculiar interest. From a wish to give some sort of record to such Incidents or renew the gratification of such Feelings, Names have been given to Places by the Author and some of his Friends, and the following Poems written in consequence. [A]--W. W. 1800.
[Footnote A: It should be explained that owing to the chronological plan adopted in this edition (see the preface to vol. i.), two of the poems which were placed by Wordsworth in his series of "Poems on the Naming of Places," but which belong to later years, are printed in subsequent volumes.--Ed.]
* * * * *
"IT WAS AN APRIL MORNING: FRESH AND CLEAR"
Composed 1800.--Published 1800
[Written at Grasmere. This poem was suggested on the banks of the brook that runs through Easdale, which is, in some parts of its course, as wild and beautiful as brook can be. I have composed thousands of verses by the side of it.--I. F.]
It was an April morning: fresh and clear The Rivulet, delighting in its strength, Ran with a young man's speed; and yet the voice Of waters which the winter had supplied Was softened down into a vernal tone. 5 The spirit of enjoyment and desire, And hopes and wishes, from all living things Went circling, like a multitude of sounds. The budding groves seemed eager to urge on The steps of June; as if their various hues 10 Were only hindrances that stood between Them and their object: but, meanwhile, prevailed Such an entire contentment in the air [1] That every naked ash, and tardy tree Yet leafless, showed as if [2] the countenance 15 With which it looked on this delightful day Were native to the summer.--Up the brook I roamed in the confusion of my heart, Alive to all things and forgetting all. At length I to a sudden turning came 20 In this continuous glen, where down a rock The Stream, so ardent in its course before, Sent forth such sallies of glad sound, that all Which I till then had heard, appeared the voice Of common pleasure: beast and bird, the lamb, 25 The shepherd's dog, the linnet and the thrush Vied with this waterfall, and made a song, Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth Or like some natural produce of the air, That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here; 30 But 'twas the foliage of the rocks--the birch, The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn, With hanging islands of resplendent furze: And, on a summit, distant a short space, By any who should look beyond the dell, 35 A single mountain-cottage might be seen. I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said, "Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook, My EMMA, I will dedicate to thee." --Soon did the spot become my other home, 40 My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode. And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there, To whom I sometimes in our idle talk Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps, Years after we are gone and in our graves, 45 When they have cause to speak of this wild place, May call it by the name of EMMA'S DELL.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1845.
The budding groves appear'd as if in haste To spur the steps of June; as if their shades Of _various_ green were hindrances that stood Between them and their object: yet, meanwhile, There was such deep contentment in the air 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1845.
... seem'd as though ... 1800.]
The text of the "Poems on the Naming of Places" underwent comparatively little alteration in successive editions. Both the changes in the first poem were made in 1845. From the Fenwick note, it is evident that "the Rivulet" was Easdale beck. But where was "Emma's Dell"? In the autumn of 1877, Dr. Cradock, the Principal of Brasenose College, Oxford, took me to a place, of which he afterwards wrote,
"I have a fancy for a spot just beyond Goody Bridge to the left, where the brook makes a curve, and returns to the road two hundred yards farther on. But I have not discovered a trace of authority in favour of the idea farther than that the wooded bend of the brook with the stepping stones across it, connected with a field-path recently stopped, was a very favourite haunt of Wordsworth's. At the upper part of this bend, near to the place where the brook returns to the road, is a deep pool at the foot of a rush of water. In this pool, a man named Wilson was drowned many years ago. He lived at a house on the hill called Score Crag, which, if my conjecture as to Emma's Dell is right, is the 'single mountain cottage' on a 'summit, distant a short space.' Wordsworth, happening to be walking at no great distance, heard a loud shriek. It was that of Mr. Wilson, the father, who had just discovered his son's body in the beck."
In the "Reminiscences" of the poet, by the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge, which were contributed to the 'Memoirs of Wordsworth', written by his nephew (vol. ii. pp. 300-315), there is a record of a walk they took up Easdale to this place, entering the field just at the spot which Dr. Cradock supposes to be "Emma's Dell."
"He turned aside at a little farm-house, and took us into a swelling field to look down on the tumbling stream which bounded it, and which we saw precipitated at a distance, in a broad white sheet, from the mountain." (This refers to Easdale Force.) "Then, as he mused for an instant, he said,
'I have often thought what a solemn thing it would be could we have brought to our mind at once all the scenes of distress and misery which any spot, however beautiful and calm before us, has been witness to since the beginning. That water break, with the glassy quiet pool beneath it, that looks so lovely, and presents no images to the mind but of peace--there, I remember, the only son of his father, a poor man who lived yonder, was drowned.'"
This walk and conversation took place in October 1836. If any one is surprised that Wordsworth, supposing him to have been then looking into the very dell on which he wrote the above poem in 1800, did not name it to Mr. Coleridge, he must remember that he was not in the habit of speaking of the places he had memorialised in verse, and that in 1836 his "Sister Emmeline" had for a year been a confirmed invalid at Rydal. I have repeatedly followed Easdale beck all the way up from its junction with the Rothay to the Tarn, and found no spot corresponding so closely to the realistic detail of this poem as the one suggested by Dr. Cradock. There are two places further up the dale where the "sallies of glad sound" such as are referred to in the poem, are even more distinctly audible; but they are not at "a sudden turning," as is the spot above Goody Bridge. If one leaves the Easdale road at this bridge, and keeps to the side of the beck for a few hundred yards, till he reaches the turning,--especially if it be a bright April morning, such as that described in the poem,--and remembers that this path by the brook was a favourite resort of Wordsworth and his sister, the probability of Dr. Cradock's suggestion will be apparent. Lady Richardson, who knew the place, and appreciated the poem as thoroughly as any of Wordsworth's friends, told me that she concurred in this identification of the "dell."--Ed.
* * * * *
TO JOANNA
Composed 1800.--Published 1800
[Written at Grasmere. The effect of her laugh is an extravagance, though the effect of the reverberation of voices in some parts of the mountains is very striking. There is, in 'The Excursion', an allusion to the bleat of a lamb thus re-echoed, and described without any exaggeration, as I heard it, on the side of Stickle Tarn, from the precipice that stretches on to Langdale Pikes.--I.F.]
Amid the smoke of cities did you pass The time [1] of early youth; and there you learned, From years of quiet industry, to love The living Beings by your own fire-side, With such a strong devotion, that your heart 5 Is slow to meet [2] the sympathies of them Who look upon the hills with tenderness, And make dear friendships with the streams and groves. Yet we, who are transgressors in this kind, Dwelling retired in our simplicity 10 Among the woods and fields, we love you well, Joanna! and I guess, since you have been So distant from us now for two long years, That you will gladly listen to discourse, However trivial, if you thence be taught [3] 15 That they, with whom you once were happy, talk Familiarly of you and of old times.
While I was seated, now some ten days past, Beneath those lofty firs, that overtop Their ancient neighbour, the old steeple-tower, 20 The Vicar from his gloomy house hard by [A] Came forth to greet me; and when he had asked, "How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted Maid! And when will she return to us?" he paused; And, after short exchange of village news, 25 He with grave looks demanded, for what cause, Reviving obsolete idolatry, I, like a Runic Priest, in characters Of formidable size had chiselled out Some uncouth name upon the native rock, 30 Above the Rotha, by the forest-side. --Now, by those dear immunities of heart Engendered between [4] malice and true love, I was not loth to be so catechised, And this was my reply:--"As it befel, 35 One summer morning we had walked abroad At break of day, Joanna and myself. --'Twas that delightful season when the broom, Full-flowered, and visible on every steep, Along the copses runs in veins of gold. 40 Our pathway led us on to Rotha's banks; And when we came in front of that tall rock That eastward looks, I there stopped short--and stood [5] Tracing [6] the lofty barrier with my eye From base to summit; such delight I found 45 To note in shrub and tree, in stone and flower That intermixture of delicious hues, Along so vast a surface, all at once, In one impression, by connecting force Of their own beauty, imaged in the heart. 50 --When I had gazed perhaps two minutes' space, Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud. The Rock, like something starting from a sleep, Took up the Lady's voice, and laughed again; 55 That ancient Woman seated on Helm-crag Was ready with her cavern; Hammar-scar, And the tall Steep of Silver-how, sent forth A noise of laughter; southern Loughrigg heard, And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone; 60 Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky Carried the Lady's voice,--old Skiddaw blew His speaking-trumpet;--back out of the clouds Of Glaramara southward came the voice; And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head. 65 --Now whether (said I to our cordial Friend, Who in the hey-day of astonishment Smiled in my face) this were in simple truth A work accomplished by the brotherhood Of ancient mountains, or my ear was touched 70 With dreams and visionary impulses To me alone imparted, sure I am [7] That there was a loud uproar in the hills. And, while we both were listening, to my side The fair Joanna drew, as if she wished 75 To shelter from some object of her fear. --And hence, long afterwards, when eighteen moons Were wasted, as I chanced to walk alone Beneath this rock, at sunrise, on a calm And silent morning, I sat down, and there, 80 In memory of affections old and true, I chiselled out in those rude characters Joanna's name deep in the living stone:--[8] And I, and all who dwell by my fireside, Have called the lovely rock, JOANNA'S ROCK." 85
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1827.
Your time ... 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1836.
Is slow towards... 1800.
... toward.... 1827.]
[Variant 3:
1836. ... are taught... 1800.]
[Variant 4:
1836.
... betwixt ... 1800.]
[Variant 5:
1836.
Which looks towards the East, I there stopp'd short, 1800.
... toward ... 1827.]
[Variant 6:
1836.
And trac'd ... 1800.]
[Variant 7:
1827.
Is not for me to tell; but sure I am 1800]
[Variant 8:
1845.
Joanna's name upon the living stone. 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: The Rectory at Grasmere, where Wordsworth lived from 1811 to 1813, and where two of his children died.--Ed.]
In Cumberland and Westmoreland are several Inscriptions upon the native rock which from the wasting of Time and the rudeness of the Workmanship had been mistaken for Runic. They are without doubt Roman.
The Rotha, mentioned in this poem, is the River which flowing through the Lakes of Grasmere and Rydale falls into Wyndermere. On Helm-Crag, that impressive single Mountain at the head of the Vale of Grasmere, is a Rock which from most points of view bears a striking resemblance to an Old Woman cowering. Close by this rock is one of those Fissures or Caverns, which in the language of the Country are called Dungeons. The other Mountains either immediately surround the Vale of Grasmere, or belong to the same Cluster.--W. W. 1800.
Most of the Mountains here mentioned immediately surround the vale of Grasmere; of the others, some are at a considerable distance, but they belong to the same cluster.--W. W. 1802.
The majority of the changes introduced into the text of this poem were made in the year 1836.
The place where the echo of the bleat of the lamb was heard--referred to in the Fenwick note--may be easily found. The "precipice" is Pavy Ark. "The 'lofty firs, that overtop their ancient neighbour, the old steeple-tower,' stood by the roadside, scarcely twenty yards north-west from the steeple of Grasmere church. Their site is now included in the road, which has been widened at that point. They were Scotch firs of unusual size, and might justly be said to 'overtop their neighbour' the tower. Mr. Fleming Green, who well remembers the trees, gave me this information, which is confirmed by other inhabitants.
"When the road was enlarged, not many years ago, the roots of the trees were found by the workmen."
(Dr. Cradock to the editor.) The
'tall rock That eastward looks'
by the banks of the Rotha, presenting a "lofty barrier" "from base to summit," is manifestly a portion of Helmcrag. It is impossible to know whether Wordsworth carved Joanna Hutchinson's name anywhere on Helmcrag, and it is useless to enquire. If he did so, the discovery of the place would not help any one to understand or appreciate the poem. It is obvious that he did not intend to be literally exact in details, as the poem was written in 1800, and addressed to Joanna Hutchinson,--who is spoken of as having been absent from Grasmere "for two long years;" and Wordsworth says that he carved the Runic characters 'in memoriam' eighteen months after that summer morning when he heard the echo of her laugh. But the family took up residence at Grasmere only in December 1799, and the "Poems on the Naming of Places" were published before the close of 1800. The effect of these lines to Joanna, however, is certainly not impaired--it may even be enhanced--by our inability to localise them. Only one in the list of places referred to can occasion any perplexity, viz., Hammar-scar, since it is a name now disused in the district. It used to be applied to some rocks on the flank of Silver-how, to the wood around them, and also to the gorge between Silver-how and Loughrigg. Hammar, from the old Norse 'hamar', signifies a steep broken rock.
The imaginative description of the echo of the lady's laugh suggests a parallel passage from Michael Drayton's 'Polyolbion', which Wordsworth must doubtless have read. (See his sister's reference to Drayton in her 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland', in 1803: in the note to the poem, 'At the grave of Burns', p. 382 of this volume.)
'Which _Copland_ scarce had spoke, but quickly every Hill Upon her verge that stands, the neighbouring valleys fill; _Helvillon_ from his height, it through the mountains threw, From whence as soon again, the sound _Dunbalrase_ drew, From whose stone-trophèd head, it on the _Wendrosse_ went, Which tow'rds the sea again, resounded it to _Dent_, That _Brodwater_ therewith within her banks astound, In sailing to the sea, told it to _Egremound_, Whose buildings, walks, and streets, with echoes loud and long, Did mightily commend old _Copland_ for her song.'
'Polyolbion', The Thirtieth Song, ll. 155-164.
Any one who compares this passage with Wordsworth's 'Joanna' will see the difference between the elaborate fancy of a topographical narrator, and the vivid imagination of a poetical idealist. A somewhat similar instance of indebtedness--in which the debt is repaid by additional insight--is seen when we compare a passage from Sir John Davies's 'Orchestra, or a poem on Dancing' (stanza 49), with one from 'The Ancient Mariner',