book i
. ll. 283-85--
The shadow of those towers That yet survive, a shattered monument Of feudal sway.
Compare also the sonnet _At Furness Abbey_, written in 1844.--ED.
VIII
NUN'S WELL, BRIGHAM
[So named from the religious House that stood close by. I have rather an odd anecdote to relate of the Nun's Well. One day the landlady of a public-house, a field's length from the well, on the roadside, said to me--"You have been to see the Nun's Well, Sir?" "The Nun's Well! what is that?" said the Postman, who in his royal livery stopt his mail-car at the door. The landlady and I explained to him what the name meant, and what sort of people the nuns were. A countryman who was standing by, rather tipsy, stammered out--"Aye, those nuns were good people; they are gone; but we shall soon have them back again." The Reform mania was just then at its height.--I.F.]
The cattle crowding round this beverage clear To slake their thirst, with reckless hoofs have trod The encircling turf into a barren clod; Through which the waters creep, then disappear, Born to be lost in Derwent flowing near; 5 Yet, o'er the brink, and round the lime-stone cell Of the pure spring (they call it the "Nun's Well," Name that first struck by chance my startled ear) A tender Spirit broods--the pensive Shade Of ritual honours to this Fountain paid 10 By hooded Votaresses[806] with saintly cheer;[807] Albeit oft the Virgin-mother mild Looked down with pity upon eyes beguiled Into the shedding of "too soft a tear."[808]
FOOTNOTES:
[806] 1837.
... Votaries ... 1835.
[807] Attached to the church of Brigham was formerly a chantry, which held a moiety of the manor; and in the decayed parsonage some vestiges of monastic architecture are still to be seen.--W. W. 1835.
[808] See Pope's _Eloïsa to Abelard_, l. 224.--ED.
IX
TO A FRIEND[809]
(ON THE BANKS OF THE DERWENT)
[My son John, who was then building a parsonage on his small living at Brigham.--I.F.]
Pastor and Patriot!--at whose bidding rise These modest walls, amid a flock that need, For one who comes to watch them and to feed, A fixed Abode--keep down presageful sighs.[810] Threats, which the unthinking only can despise, 5 Perplex the Church; but be thou firm,--be true To thy first hope, and this good work pursue, Poor as thou art. A welcome sacrifice Dost Thou prepare, whose sign will be the smoke[811] Of thy new hearth; and sooner shall its wreaths, 10 Mounting while earth her morning incense breathes, From wandering fiends of air receive a yoke, And straightway cease to aspire, than God disdain This humble tribute as ill-timed or vain.
FOOTNOTES:
[809] John Wordsworth, the poet's son, the subject of this sonnet, was incumbent of Moresby, near Whitehaven, before he went to Brigham. See the Fenwick note to the lines, _Composed by the Sea-shore_, p. 340. In 1833 Wordsworth wrote to Lady Beaumont:--
"Were you ever told that my son is building a parsonage-house upon a small living, to which he was lately presented by the Earl of Lonsdale. The situation is beautiful, commanding the windings of the Derwent both above and below the site of the house; the mountain Skiddaw terminating the view one way, at a distance of six miles, and the ruins of Cockermouth Castle appearing nearly in the centre of the same view. In consequence of some discouraging thoughts expressed by my son when he had entered upon this undertaking, I addressed to him the following Sonnet, which you may perhaps read with some interest at the present crisis."--ED.
[810] 1835.
... foreboding sighs.
MS. Letter to Lady Beaumont.
[811] 1835.
To Him who dwells in Heaven will be the smoke
MS. Letter to Lady Beaumont.
X
MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS
(LANDING AT THE MOUTH OF THE DERWENT, WORKINGTON)[812]
[I will mention for the sake of the friend who is writing down these notes, that it was among the fine Scotch firs near Ambleside, and
## particularly those near Green Bank, that I have over and over again
paused at the sight of this image. Long may they stand to afford a like gratification to others!--This wish is not uncalled for, several of their brethren having already disappeared.--I. F.]
Dear to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed, The Queen drew back the wimple that she wore; And to the throng, that on the Cumbrian shore Her landing hailed, how touchingly she bowed![813] And like a Star (that, from a heavy cloud[814] 5 Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts,[815] When a soft summer gale at evening parts The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud) She smiled;[816] but Time, the old Saturnian seer, Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand, 10 With step prelusive to a long array Of woes and degradations hand in hand-- Weeping captivity, and shuddering fear Stilled by the ensanguined block of Fotheringay![817]
FOOTNOTES:
[812] "The fears and impatience of Mary were so great," says Robertson, "that she got into a fisher-boat, and with about twenty attendants landed at Workington, in Cumberland; and thence she was conducted with many marks of respect to Carlisle." The apartment in which the Queen had slept at Workington Hall (where she was received by Sir Henry Curwen as became her rank and misfortunes) was long preserved, out of respect to her memory, as she had left it; and one cannot but regret that some necessary alterations in the mansion could not be effected without its destruction.--W. W. 1835.
[813] 1837.
And to the throng how touchingly she bowed That hailed her landing on the Cumbrian shore; 1835.
[814] 1840.
Bright as a star (that, from a sombre cloud 1835.
[815] 1835.
High poised in air of pine-tree foliage, darts, MS.
[816] Compare _The Triad_, ll. 189, 190 (p. 188)--
So gleams the crescent moon, that loves To be descried through shady groves.--ED.
[817] 1835.
Thenceforth he saw a long and long array Of miserable seasons hand in hand-- Weeping, captivity, and pallid fear, And last, the ensanguined block of Fotheringay.
MS.
XI
STANZAS SUGGESTED IN A STEAM-BOAT OFF SAINT BEES' HEADS, ON THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND[818]
If Life were slumber on a bed of down, Toil unimposed, vicissitude unknown, Sad were our lot: no hunter of the hare Exults like him whose javelin from the lair Has roused the lion; no one plucks the rose, 5 Whose proffered beauty in safe shelter blows 'Mid a trim garden's summer luxuries, With joy like his who climbs, on hands and knees, For some rare plant, yon Headland of St. Bees.
This independence upon oar and sail, 10 This new indifference to breeze or gale, This straight-lined progress, furrowing a flat lea, And regular as if locked in certainty-- Depress the hours. Up, Spirit of the storm! That Courage may find something to perform; 15 That Fortitude, whose blood disdains to freeze At Danger's bidding, may confront the seas, Firm as the towering Headlands of St. Bees.
Dread cliff of Baruth! _that_ wild wish may sleep, Bold as if men and creatures of the Deep 20 Breathed the same element; too many wrecks Have struck thy sides, too many ghastly decks Hast thou looked down upon, that such a thought Should here be welcome, and in verse enwrought: With thy stern aspect better far agrees 25 Utterance of thanks that we have past with ease, As millions thus shall do, the Headlands of St. Bees.
Yet, while each useful Art augments her store, What boots the gain if Nature should lose more? And Wisdom, as she holds[819] a Christian place 30 In man's intelligence sublimed by grace? When Bega sought of yore the Cumbrian coast,[820] Tempestuous winds her holy errand cross'd: She[821] knelt in prayer--the waves their wrath appease; And, from her vow well weighed in Heaven's decrees, Rose, where she touched the strand, the Chantry of St. Bees. 36
"Cruel of heart were they, bloody of hand," Who in these Wilds then struggled for command;[822] The strong were merciless, without hope the weak; Till this bright Stranger came, fair as day-break, 40 And as a cresset true that darts its length Of beamy lustre from a tower of strength; Guiding the mariner through troubled seas, And cheering oft his peaceful reveries, Like the fixed Light that crowns yon Headland of St. Bees. 45
To aid the Votaress, miracles believed Wrought in men's minds, like miracles achieved; So piety took root; and Song might tell What humanising virtues near her cell[823] Sprang up, and spread their fragrance wide around; How savage bosoms melted at the sound 51 Of gospel-truth enchained in harmonies Wafted o'er waves, or creeping through close trees, From her religious Mansion of St. Bees.
When her sweet Voice, that instrument of love, 55 Was glorified, and took its place, above The silent stars, among the angelic quire, Her chantry blazed with sacrilegious fire, And perished utterly; but her good deeds Had sown the spot, that witnessed them, with seeds 60 Which lay in earth expectant, till a breeze With quickening impulse answered their mute pleas, And lo! a _statelier_ pile, the Abbey of St. Bees.[824]
There are[825] the naked clothed, the hungry fed; And Charity extendeth[826] to the dead, 65 Her intercessions made for the soul's rest Of tardy penitents; or for the best Among the good (when love might else have slept, Sickened, or died) in pious memory kept. Thanks to the austere and simple Devotees, 70 Who, to that service bound by venial fees, Keep watch before the altars of St. Bees.
Are[827] not, in sooth, their Requiems sacred ties[828] Woven out of passion's sharpest agonies, Subdued, composed, and formalized by art, 75 To fix a wiser sorrow in the heart? The prayer for them whose hour is past away Says[829] to the Living, profit while ye may! A little part, and that the worst, he sees Who thinks that priestly cunning holds the keys 80 That best unlock the secrets of St. Bees.
Conscience, the timid being's inmost light, Hope of the dawn and solace of the night, Cheers these Recluses with a steady ray In many an hour when judgment goes astray. 85 Ah! scorn not hastily their rule who try Earth to despise, and flesh to mortify; Consume with zeal, in wingèd ecstasies Of prayer and praise forget their rosaries, Nor hear the loudest surges of St. Bees. 90
Yet none so prompt to succour and protect The forlorn traveller, or sailor wrecked On the bare coast; nor do they grudge the boon Which staff and cockle hat and sandal shoon Claim for the pilgrim: and, though chidings sharp 95 May sometimes greet the strolling minstrel's harp, It is not then when, swept with sportive ease, It charms a feast-day throng of all degrees, Brightening the archway of revered St. Bees.
How did the cliffs and echoing hills rejoice 100 What time the Benedictine Brethren's voice, Imploring, or commanding with meet pride, Summoned the Chiefs to lay their feuds aside, And under one blest ensign serve the Lord In Palestine. Advance, indignant Sword! 105 Flaming till thou from Panym hands release That Tomb, dread centre of all sanctities Nursed in the quiet Abbey of St. Bees.
But look we now to them whose minds from far[830] Follow the fortunes which they may not share. 110 While in Judea Fancy loves to roam, She helps to make a Holy-land at home: The Star of Bethlehem from its sphere invites To sound the crystal depth of maiden rights;[831] And wedded Life, through scriptural mysteries, 115 Heavenward ascends with all her charities, Taught by the hooded Celibates of St. Bees.
Nor be it e'er forgotten how by skill Of cloistered Architects, free their souls to fill With love of God, throughout the Land were raised 120 Churches, on whose symbolic beauty gazed Peasant and mail-clad Chief with pious awe; As at this day men seeing what they saw, Or the bare wreck of faith's solemnities, Aspire to more than earthly destinies; 125 Witness yon Pile that greets us from St. Bees.[832]
Yet more; around those Churches, gathered Towns[833] Safe from the feudal Castle's haughty frowns; Peaceful abodes, where Justice might uphold Her scales with even hand, and culture mould 130 The heart to pity, train the mind in care For rules of life, sound as the Time could bear. Nor dost thou fail, thro' abject love of ease, Or hindrance raised by sordid purposes, To bear thy part in this good work, St. Bees.[834] 135
Who with the ploughshare clove the barren moors, And to green meadows changed the swampy shores? Thinned the rank woods; and for the cheerful grange Made room where wolf and boar were used to range? Who taught, and showed by deeds, that gentler chains 140 Should bind the vassal to his lord's domains? The thoughtful Monks, intent their God to please, For Christ's dear sake, by human sympathies Poured from the bosom of thy Church, St. Bees!
But all availed not; by a mandate given 145 Through lawless will the Brotherhood was driven Forth from their cells; their ancient House laid low In Reformation's sweeping overthrow. But now once more the local Heart revives, The inextinguishable Spirit strives. 150 Oh may that Power who hushed the stormy seas, And cleared a way for the first Votaries, Prosper the new-born College of St. Bees![835]
Alas! the Genius of our age, from Schools Less humble, draws her lessons, aims, and rules. 153 To Prowess guided by her insight keen Matter and Spirit are as one Machine; Boastful Idolatress of formal skill She in her own would merge the eternal will:[836] Better,[837] if Reason's triumphs match with these, 160 Her flight before the bold credulities That furthered the first teaching of St. Bees.[838]
FOOTNOTES:
[818] St. Bees' Heads, anciently called the Cliff of Baruth, are a conspicuous sea-mark for all vessels sailing in the N.E. parts of the Irish Sea. In a bay, one side of which is formed by the southern headland, stands the village of St. Bees; a place distinguished, from very early times, for its religious and scholastic foundations.
"St. Bees," say Nicholson and Burns, "had its name from Bega, an holy woman from Ireland, who is said to have founded here, about the year of our Lord 650, a small monastery, where afterwards a church was built in memory of her.
"The aforesaid religious house, being destroyed by the Danes, was restored by William de Meschiens, son of Ranulph, and brother of Ranulph de Meschiens, first Earl of Cumberland after the Conquest; and made a cell of a prior and six Benedictine monks to the Abbey of St. Mary at York."
Several traditions of miracles, connected with the foundation of the first of these religious houses, survive among the people of the neighbourhood; one of which is alluded to in these Stanzas; and another, of a somewhat bolder and more peculiar character, has furnished the subject of a spirited poem by the Rev. R. Parkinson, M.A., late Divinity Lecturer of St. Bees' College, and now Fellow of the Collegiate Church of Manchester.
After the dissolution of the monasteries, Archbishop Grindal founded a free school at St. Bees, from which the counties of Cumberland and Westmoreland have derived great benefit; and recently, under the patronage of the Earl of Lonsdale, a college has been established there for the education of ministers for the English Church. The old Conventual Church has been repaired under the superintendence of the Rev. Dr. Ainger, the Head of the College; and is well worthy of being visited by any strangers who might be led to the neighbourhood of this celebrated spot.
The form of stanza in this Poem, and something in the style of versification, are adopted from the _St. Monica_, a poem of much beauty upon a monastic subject, by Charlotte Smith: a lady to whom English verse is under greater obligations than are likely to be either acknowledged or remembered. She wrote little, and that little unambitiously, but with true feeling for rural nature,[839] at a time when nature was not much regarded by English Poets; for in point of time her earlier writings preceded, I believe, those of Cowper and Burns.[840]--W. W. 1835.
[819] 1845.
And Wisdom, that once held ... 1835.
[820] See the note, p. 351.--ED.
[821] 1837.
... cross'd; As high and higher heaved the billows, faith Grew with them, mightier than the powers of death. She ... 1835.
[822] The Danes, and the Cymric aborigines.--ED.
[823] 1837.
... round her Cell 1835.
[824] See the extract from Nicholson and Burn's _History of Cumberland_, in Wordsworth's note, p. 351.--ED.
[825] 1837.
There were ... 1835.
[826] 1837.
... extended ... 1835.
[827] 1837.
Were ... 1835.
[828] I am aware that I am here treading upon tender ground; but to the intelligent reader I feel that[841] no apology is due. The prayers of survivors, during passionate grief for the recent loss of relatives and friends, as the object of those prayers could no longer be the suffering body of the dying, would naturally be ejaculated for the souls of the departed; the barriers between the two worlds dissolving before the power of love and faith. The ministers of religion, from their habitual attendance upon sick-beds, would be daily witnesses of these benign results; and hence would be strongly tempted to aim at giving to them permanence, by embodying them in rites and ceremonies, recurring at stated periods. All this, as it was in course of nature, so was it blameless, and even praiseworthy; since some of its effects, in that rude state of society, could not but be salutary. No reflecting person, however, can view[842] without sorrow the abuses which rose out of thus formalizing sublime instincts, and disinterested movements of passion, and perverting them into means of gratifying the ambition and rapacity of the priesthood. But, while we deplore and are indignant at these abuses, it would be a great mistake if we imputed the origin of the offices to prospective selfishness on the part of the monks and clergy: _they_ were at first sincere in their sympathy, and in their degree dupes rather of their own creed, than artful and designing men. Charity is, upon the whole, the safest guide that we can take in judging our fellow-men, whether of past ages, or of the present time.--W. W. 1835.
[829] 1837.
... was past away Said ... 1835.
[830] 1837.
On, Champions, on!--But mark! the passing Day Submits her intercourse to milder sway, With high and low whose busy thoughts from far 1835.
[831] Compare _The Virgin_, in the "Ecclesiastical Sonnets,"