part 5

Each desperately sustaining, till at last Both sank and died, the life-veins of the chased And chaser bursting here with one dire smart. Mutual the victory, mutual the defeat! High was the trophy hung with pitiless pride; 10 Say, rather, with that generous sympathy That wants not, even in rudest breasts, a seat; And, for this feeling's sake, let no one chide Verse that would guard thy memory, HART'S-HORN TREE![726]

FOOTNOTES:

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

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

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

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

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

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

[728] 1845.

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

[729] 1845.

Table; the Excavation ... 1835.

XXIII

FANCY AND TRADITION

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

FOOTNOTES:

[730] 1835.

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

MS.

[731] 1835.

... this alcove

MS.

[732] 1835.

Thus to the truth Tradition fondly clings

MS.

[733] 1835.

Were History only ...

MS.

XXIV

COUNTESS' PILLAR[734]

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

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

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

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

FOOTNOTES:

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

XXV

ROMAN ANTIQUITIES

[FROM THE ROMAN STATION AT OLD PENRITH]

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

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

FOOTNOTES:

[735] 1837.

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

XXVI

APOLOGY[736]

FOR THE FOREGOING POEMS

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

FOOTNOTES:

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

[737] 1845.

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

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

[739] 1837.

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

[740] 1837.

... have ... 1835.

XXVII

THE HIGHLAND BROACH

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOOTNOTES:

[741] How much the Broach is sometimes prized by persons in humble stations may be gathered from an occurrence mentioned to me by a female friend. She had had an opportunity of benefiting a poor old woman in her own hut, who, wishing to make a return, said to her daughter in Erse, in a tone of plaintive earnestness, "I would give anything I have, but I _hope_ she does not wish for my Broach!" and, uttering these words, she put her hand upon the Broach which fastened her kerchief, and which, she imagined, had attracted the eye of her benefactress.--W. W. 1835.

1832

The poems written in 1832 were few. They include _Devotional Incitements_, an _Evening Voluntary_, _Rural Illusions_, and a few sonnets.--ED.

DEVOTIONAL INCITEMENTS

Composed 1832.--Published 1835

[Written at Rydal Mount.--I. F.]

One of the "Poems of the Imagination."--ED.

"Not to the earth confined, Ascend to heaven."[742]

Where will they stop, those breathing Powers, The Spirits of the new-born flowers? They wander with the breeze, they wind Where'er the streams a passage find; Up from their native ground they rise 5 In mute aërial harmonies;[743] From humble violet--modest thyme-- Exhaled, the essential odours climb, As if no space below the sky Their subtle flight could satisfy: 10 Heaven will not tax our thoughts with pride If like ambition be _their_ guide.

Roused by this kindliest of May-showers, The spirit-quickener of the flowers, That with moist virtue softly cleaves 15 The buds, and freshens the young leaves, The birds pour forth their souls in notes Of rapture from a thousand throats-- Here checked by too impetuous haste, While there the music runs to waste, 20 With bounty more and more enlarged, Till the whole air is overcharged; Give ear, O Man! to their appeal And thirst for no inferior zeal, Thou, who canst _think_, as well as feel. 25

Mount from the earth; aspire! aspire! So pleads the town's cathedral quire, In strains that from their solemn height Sink, to attain a loftier flight; While incense from the altar breathes 30 Rich fragrance in embodied wreaths; Or, flung from swinging censer, shrouds The taper-lights, and curls in clouds Around angelic Forms, the still Creation of the painter's skill, 35 That on the service wait concealed One moment, and the next revealed. --Cast off your bonds, awake, arise, And for no transient ecstasies! What else can mean the visual plea 40 Of still or moving imagery-- The iterated summons loud, Not wasted on the attendant crowd, Nor wholly lost upon the throng Hurrying the busy streets along? 45 Alas! the sanctities combined By art to unsensualise the mind, Decay and languish; or, as creeds And humours change, are spurned like weeds: The priests are from their altars thrust; 50 Temples are levelled with the dust; And solemn rites and awful forms Founder amid fanatic storms.[744][745] Yet evermore, through years renewed In undisturbed vicissitude 55 Of seasons balancing their flight On the swift wings of day and night, Kind Nature keeps a heavenly door Wide open for the scattered Poor. Where flower-breathed incense to the skies 60 Is wafted in mute harmonies; And ground fresh-cloven by the plough Is fragrant with a humbler vow; Where birds and brooks from leafy dells Chime forth unwearied canticles, 65 And vapours magnify and spread The glory of the sun's bright head-- Still constant in her worship, still Conforming to the eternal Will,[746] Whether men sow or reap the fields, 70 Divine monition[747] Nature yields, That not by bread alone we live, Or what a hand of flesh can give; That every day should leave some part Free for a sabbath of the heart: 75 So shall the seventh be truly blest, From morn to eve, with hallowed rest.

FOOTNOTES:

[742] See _Paradise Lost_,