The poems of william wordsworth

William WordsworthCollected Reading Texts from The Cornell Wordsworth Series Volume III Edited by Jared Curtis HEB ☼ Humanities-Ebooks, LLP... Cover image, from Great Dodd, © Richard Gr

William Wordsworth

Collected Reading Texts

from

The Cornell Wordsworth

Edited by Jared Curtis

Volume III

HEB ☼ Humanities-Ebooks

For advice on use of this ebook please scroll to page 2

This book is designed to be read in single page view, using the ‘fit page’ command.

To navigate through the contents use the hyperlinked ‘Bookmarks’ at the left of the screen

To search, click the search symbol

For ease of reading, use <CTRL+L> to enlarge the page to full screen, and return to normal view using < Esc >

Hyperlinks (if any) appear in Blue Underlined Text

No part of this publication may be otherwise reproduced or transmitted or distributed without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher

Making or distributing copies of this book would constitute copyright infringement and would be liable to prosecution Thank you for respecting the rights of the author

William Wordsworth

Collected Reading Texts

from The Cornell Wordsworth Series

Volume III Edited by Jared Curtis

HEB ☼ Humanities-Ebooks, LLP

The Author has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published by Humanities-Ebooks, LLP, Tirril Hall, Tirril, Penrith CA10

2JE

Cover image, from Great Dodd, © Richard Gravil

The reading texts of Wordsworth’s poems used in this volume are from the Cornell Wordsworth series, published by Cornell University Press, Sage House,

512 East State Street, Ithaca, NY 14850 Copyright © Cornell University Volumes are available at: http://www.cornellpress.cornell.edu

The Ebook (with the facility of word and phrase search) is available to private purchasers exclusively from http://www.humanities-ebooks.co.uk

The paperback version is available from all booksellers but at a 33% discount only from http://www.troubador.co.uk

ISBN 978-1-84760-087-5 Ebook

ISBN 978-1-84760-091-2 Paperback

Memorials of a Tour on the Continent, 1820 427

Yarrow Revisited, and Other Poems, Composed (two excepted)

during a Tour in Scotland, and on the English Border, in the

Sonnets Composed or Suggested during a tour in Scotland, in the

Memorials of a Tour in Italy 1837 524

Sonnets upon the Punishment of Death In Series 555

Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty and Order 561

LastPoems(1821–1850) 568

IndextoPoemsinVolumeIII 798 IndextoPoemsinVolumesItoIII 828

For a complete list of contents in each section,

please expand the bookmarks panel

Contents of volumes I and II

VolumeI

An Evening Walk (1793) 82

Descriptive Sketches (1793) 97

Adventures on Salisbury Plain (1795–1799) 123

The Borderers (1797) 151

The Ruined CottageandThe Pedlar (1798,1803–1804)

The Ruined Cottage(1798) 270

The Pedlar(1803–1804) 286

Lyrical Ballads, and Other Poems, 1797–1800

Lyrical Ballads and Other Poems(1798) 312

Lyrical Ballads and Other Poems, in Two Volumes(1800) 377

Peter Bell, a Tale (1799) 487

The Prelude (1798–1799) 530

Home at Grasmere (1800–1806) 558

Poems, in Two Volumes, and Other Poems, 1800–1807

Poems, in Two Volumes(1807) 587

VolumeII

The Prelude (1805–1806) 11

Benjamin the Waggoner &c (1806) 250

The Tuft of Primroses,withOtherLatePoemsfor The Recluse (1808–1828)

The Tuft of Primroses 274

The Peasant’s Life 568

The Shepherd of Bield Crag 570

The White Doe of Rylstone; Or the Fate of the Nortons A Poem (1808) 572

TranslationsofChaucerandVirgil(1801–1831)

Chaucer: The Prioress’s Tale 635

Chaucer: The Cuckoo and the Nightingale 643

Chaucer: Troilus and Cressida 654

Chaucer: The Manciple (from the Prologue) and his Tale 659

Virgil: Aeneid 667

Virgil: Georgics 751

The Cornell Wordsworth series, under the general editorship of Stephen Parrish, began appearing in 1975 Through controversy and acclaim, the editions have steadily appeared over three decades, coming to completion

in 2007 with the publication of the twenty-first volume—an edition of The Excursion—and a supplementary volume of indexes and guides for the

series The purpose of this edition is to collect all of the earliest complete reading texts garnered from the twenty-one volumes in the series

The earliest records of Wordsworth’s poetic composition date from

1785, when he was fifteen years old, and the latest date from 1847, when

he was seventy-seven In the interim he composed hundreds of poems, thousands of verses, not all of which reached—or survived in—a “com-pleted” state All of those that did are included here If William Butler Yeats was remarkable for reinventing his poetic self, Wordsworth might be said

to have constantly “revisited” his Three of his lyrics bear the revealing sequential titles, “Yarrow Unvisited” (1803), “Yarrow Visited” (1814), and

“Yarrow Revisited” (1831) In the first, the poet-traveler prefers his ined Yarrow—the Yarrow of Scots balladeers Nicol Burne, John Logan, and William Hamilton—to the physical one In the second, the “genuine” Yarrow engenders an image that

Will dwell with me—to heighten joy,

And cheer my mind in sorrow

And the third pays tribute to his friend and fellow poet, Walter Scott, with whom he toured the Yarrow valley before the ailing Scott departed for Italy: in this time of “change and changing,” he prays that the valley maintain its power to restore “brightness” to “the soul’s deep valley.” Significant threads of Wordsworth’s development as a poet are embodied

in these three elegiac tributes They are all written in a ballad stanza that Wordsworth borrowed and adapted from the older Scots poets A glance through the pages of this volume will illustrate the varied verse forms the poet adopted and transformed over his long career Obvious favorites were his own meditative style of blank verse and the sonnet in its various guises But he employed a variety of meters, stanzaic patterns, and rhyme schemes

in producing poems ranging from ballads to autobiography, satirical squibs

to verse romance, from epitaphs to royal tributes The methods, too, of the three “Yarrows” are instructive The primacy of the imagination is sug-

gested in the poet’s reluctance to visit the famed valley; upon visiting the place, the poet’s response is to preserve it in memory as a “spot of time” to bind his days, “each to each” as a remedy for future sorrow; and on revis-iting the valley he acknowledges that sorrow and attempts to recharge the healing power of memory.

Another example of “revisiting” can be found in the restless energy that Wordsworth displayed over his entire writing life in composing sonnets, both singly, as apparently instant responses to present scene, public event,

or personal history, and in series, building both narrative and argument through this highly adaptive form And, occupying the center of this meta-phor are the several attempts to write the story of his inner life as a poet,

here represented in the three versions of The Prelude.

Annotation is confined largely to reproducing the notes Wordsworth lished with his poems Editorial commentary has been kept to a minimum, given the rich resource in each of the Cornell Wordsworth volumes, leaving room instead for the poetry For information about the source of the text, its compositional history, its textual and interpretive annotation, and its social and historical context, the reader is referred to the appropriate volumes in the series, cited in the editor’s notes at the end of each volume

For the impetus to prepare such an edition and for his continuing and siastic support for its completion I owe thanks to Stephen Parrish I have gained from fruitful discussions with James Butler, Stephen Gill, and Mark Reed from the beginning stages, and for making my task easier by helping with proofreading and other tasks, I especially thank James and Mark I owe thanks, too, to the editors who prepared each of the editions from which the reading texts making up this edition were drawn All of them are acknowl-edged by name, and their work cited, in the editor’s notes None of these generous scholars can be held responsible for any flaws in detail or judg-ment I am pleased to acknowledge the Wordsworth Trust for graciously permitting the use of materials from their collections and Cornell University Press for both the permission and the assistance needed to prepare this gath-ering of reading texts from their landmark series of Wordsworth editions And for wise counsel and technical assistance in the enterprize of produc-ing an electronic text of these volumes, I am grateful to Richard Gravil of Humanities-Ebooks

enthu-Note on the Text

The source for each poem is the earliest and most complete reading text presented in the volume in the Cornell Wordsworth series that contains that poem With the few exceptions noted below, no attempt has been made to include the many alternate readings and revisions that these volumes pro-vide Early evidence of Wordsworth revisiting his own work is found in the

two versions of Pity (“Now too while o’er the heart we feel”) and in the

“extracts” from The Vale of Esthwaite; both the original poems and their later development are included In the case of The Prelude, each of the

three versions that stood as complete is represented In 1799 Wordsworth

revised the ending to The Ruined Cottage, within a year of composing the

first ending, and in 1803–1804 incorporated much of the earlier poem in

an expanded portrait of the Pedlar in The Pedlar Wordsworth then porated large parts of both poems into The Excursion in 1814 These three

incor-distinct poems are included Wordsworth occasionally folded a ing sonnet into a subsequent sonnet series or sequence, in which case the

free-stand-free-standing sonnet is repeated in its later context.

The aim throughout has been to present clean reading texts of Wordsworth’s poems In most cases the poet’s and his earliest printers’ orthography has not been altered, though some exceptions have been made for consistency To distinguish a poem originally published without a title from poems that immediately precede or follow it, I have used the familiar anthologist’s convention of quoting the first line of the poem as its “title,” even though neither Wordsworth nor his publishers did so

A few editorial devices have proven necessary, especially where the source for the reading text is a manuscript For further comment on the gaps and irregularities in the manuscript sources, see the original Cornell editions

[ ] A gap in the source, either left by the poet, or caused by a

dam-aged manuscript

[word] Within the brackets are missing letters or words, supplied from

a different authorial source, or by the editor; in a few instances, brackets enclose lines that Wordsworth apparently canceled, but without indicating a substitute

** — Asterisks and solid lines, employed by Wordsworth to indicate

omissions or breaks in the text

_ A double solid line, used by the editor to indicate an

interrup-tion in the text

Wordsworth’s long notes, prose dedications, and other prose writings nected to the poems, are gathered in the “Notes” section at the end of the volume, and their presence is indicated in the on-page notes

con-Jared Curtis

Seattle, Washington

Shorter Poems (1807–1820)

“Mark the concentred Hazels that enclose”

Mark the concentred Hazels that enclose

Yon old grey Stone, protected from the ray

Of noontide suns:—and even the beams that play

And glance, while wantonly the rough wind blows,

Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows 5

Upon that roof—amid embowering gloom

The very image framing of a Tomb,

In which some ancient Chieftain finds repose

Among the lonely mountains.—Live, ye Trees!

And Thou, grey Stone, the pensive likeness keep 10

Of a dark chamber where the Mighty sleep:

For more than Fancy to the influence bends

When solitary Nature condescends

To mimic Time’s forlorn humanities

“The Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said”

The Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said,

“Bright is thy veil, O Moon, as thou art bright!”

Forthwith, that little Cloud, in ether spread,

And penetrated all with tender light,

She cast away, and shewed her fulgent head 5

Uncover’d;—dazzling the Beholder’s sight

As if to vindicate her beauty’s right,

Her beauty thoughtlessly disparaged

Meanwhile that Veil, removed or thrown aside,

Went, floating from her, darkening as it went; 10

And a huge Mass, to bury or to hide,

Approached this glory of the firmament;

Who meekly yields, and is obscur’d;—content

With one calm triumph of a modest pride

  For  the  sources  of  the  reading  texts  and  the  editor’s  commentary  see  Shorter Poems,

1807–1820, ed. Carl H. Ketcham (989).

“Eve’s lingering clouds extend in solid bars”

Eve’s lingering clouds extend in solid bars

Through the grey west; and lo! these waters, steeled

By breezeless air to smoothest polish, yield

A vivid repetition of the stars;

Amid his fellows, beauteously revealed

At happy distance from earth’s groaning field,

Where ruthless mortals wage incessant wars

Is it a mirror?—or the nether sphere

Opening its vast abyss, while fancy feeds 10

On the rich show!—But list! a voice is near;

Great Pan himself low-whispering through the reeds,

“Be thankful thou; for, if unholy deeds

Ravage the world, tranquillity is here!”

Sonnet on Milton

Amid the dark control of lawless sway,

Ambitions, rivalry, fanatic hate

And various ills that shook the unsettled State,

The dauntless Bard pursued his studious way,

Than raise and dignify our mortal date,

And sing the blessings which the Just await,

That Man might hence in humble hope obey

Thus on a rock in Norway’s bleak domain,

Nature impels the stately Pine to grow; 10

[ ]

And restless Ocean dashes all below:

Still he preserves his firm majestic reign

While added strength his spreading branches shew

  “The  subject  from  Symonds’s  Life.”  WW’s  MS.  note.  DW  left  a  gap  in  the  manuscript  

at l. .

Elegiac Stanzas,

composed in the churchyard of grasmere, westmorland,

a few days after the interment there, of a man and

his wife, inhabitants of the vale, who were lost

upon the neighbouring mountains, on the night

of the nineteenth of march last

Who weeps for Strangers?—Many wept

For George and Sarah Green;

Wept for that Pair’s unhappy end,

Whose Grave may here be seen

Did Wife and Husband roam:

Six little-Ones the Pair had left

And could not find their Home

For any Dwelling-place of men

He perish’d, and a voice was heard,

The Widow’s lonely shriek

Down the dark precipice he fell,

And she was left alone,

Not long to think of her Children dear, 15

Not long to pray or groan!

A few wild steps—she too was left,

A Body without life!

The chain of but a few wild steps

Now lodge they in one Grave, this Grave,

A House with two-fold Roof,

Two Hillocks but one Grave, their own,

A covert tempest-proof

It keeps them safe and far,

From fear, and from all need of hope,

From sun, or guiding Star

Our peace is of the immortal Soul,

Such bounty is in Heaven, so pass

The bitterest pangs away

Three days did teach the Mother’s Babe

Forgetfully to rest

Upon another’s breast

The trouble of the elder Brood

I know not that it stay’d

So long—they seiz’d their joy, and They

Now do the sternly-featur’d Hills

Look gently on this Grave,

And quiet now is the depth of air

As a sea without a wave

In shelter more profound;

The heart of quietness is here,

Within this Church-yard ground

O Darkness of the Grave! how calm

That last and dreary living one

Of sorrow and affright!

O sacred Marriage-bed of Death

That holds them side by side,

Which may not be untied!

“A few bold Patriots, Reliques of the Fight”

A few bold Patriots, Reliques of the Fight

That crush’d the Gothic sovereignty of Spain,

Beneath Pelayo’s banner did unite;

In hope they from the Arabian crescent fled,

And when their steps had measured [ ] Plain, 5Cross’d Deva’s [ ] flood and [ ] snow-clad Height,

And wound through depth of many a sunless Vale

On which the noontide dew lay wet and pale,

And now had reach’d Auseva’s rugged breast,

The Leader turn’d, and from a jutting rock, 10Calm as a Shepherd beck’ning to his flock,

The little band addrest

“Stop, Christian Warriors, faithful and undaunted!

This Hill shall be our Fortress and the gloom

Of yon wide Cave our harbour or our tomb 15Yet if the Saints and pitying Angels bless

The efforts of the brave in their distress,

Not vainly shall your Standard here be planted!

With swords to guard our Virtue are we come

To these Asturian Wilds, a proud retreat 20Where Friends surround us in their antient seat,

An inextinguishable people’s home

Aloft while here we hover, night and day

Shall multiply our host and strengthen our array

—What earthly power can check the gathering clouds 25When from afar, along the craggy chain

Of these huge mountains they appear in crowds?

What mortal enmity the work restrain?

Which an impenetrable darkness shrouds

While steadfastly embodied they remain, 30Feeding a silent force of thunder, wind, and rain,

Which at the sovereign word

Of their almighty Lord

Breaks forth and spreads in ravage o’er the plain—

  This  version  is  the  earliest  recoverable  beneath  later  revisions.  The  poem  was  left  incomplete.

No otherwise shall we descend and quell 35The astounded Infidel.

“Meanwhile till Heav’n, O patient Warriors, call

Our Valor to the onset, yon wide Cave

Which opens like a ready grave

For desperate Fugitives, to us shall be 40

A Legislative Hall

Chear’d by the gladsome voice of Liberty;

And to that Sanctuary dark

Will we entrust the holy Ark,

That saves the soul from death,

And shall uphold our frail and mortal hands

Till we, or men as brave, the favored bands

Of our exalted Countrymen, regain

For Lordship without end the fields of Universal Spain.” 50

Thus spake Pelayo on his chosen Hill;

And shall at this late [ ] the Heavens belie

The heroic prophecy

And put to shame the great Diviner’s skill?

The Power which, issuing like a slender rill 55

From those high places, waxed by slow degrees,

Swoln with access of many sovereignties,

And gained a River’s strength and rolled a mighty wave—

The Stream which in Pelayo’s Cave

Upon the illustrious Mountain took its birth— 60

Has disappeared from earth:

A foreign Tyrant speaks his impious will,

And Spain hath own’d the Monarch which he gave

Most horrible attempt! unthought-of hour

Alas, not unprovoked those Tempests low’r,

Not uninvited this malignity

Full long relinquishing a precious dower

By Gothic Virtue won, secured by oath

Of king and people pledged in mutual troth, 70

The Spaniard hath approached on servile knee

The native Ruler; all too willingly

Full many an age in that degenerate Land

The rightful Master hath betrayed his trust

In mortal languishment;

This knew the Spoiler whose victorious hand

Hath snapp’d th’enfeebled Stalk and laid its head in dust

“Say, what is Honour?—Tis the finest sense”

Say, what is Honour?—Tis the finest sense

Of justice which the human mind can frame,

Intent each lurking frailty to disclaim,

And guard the way of life from all offence

A Kingdom doth assault, and in the scale

Of perilous war her weightiest Armies fail,

Honour is hopeful elevation—whence

Glory—and Triumph Yet with politic skill

Endangered States may yield to terms unjust, 10

Stoop their proud heads;—but not unto the dust,—

A Foe’s most favourite purpose to fulfil!

Happy occasions oft by self-mistrust

Are forfeited; but infamy doth kill

Composed while the Author was Engaged in Writing a Tract, Occasioned

by the Convention of Cintra, 1808

Not ’mid the World’s vain objects that enslave

The free-born Soul,—that world whose vaunted skill

In selfish interest perverts the will,

Whose factions lead astray the wise and brave;

Not there! but in dark wood and rocky cave, 5

And hollow vale which foaming torrents fill

With omnipresent murmur as they rave

Down their steep beds that never shall be still:

Here, mighty Nature!—in this school sublime

I weigh the hopes and fears of suffering Spain: 10

For her consult the auguries of time,

And through the human heart explore my way,

And look and listen,—gathering where I may

Triumph, and thoughts no bondage can restrain

Composed at the Same Time, and on the Same Occasion

I dropped my pen;—and listened to the wind

That sang of trees up-torn and vessels tost;

—A midnight harmony, and wholly lost

To the general sense of men by chains confined

Of business, care, or pleasure,—or resigned 5

To timely sleep.— Thought I, the impassioned strain,

Which, without aid of numbers, I sustain,

Like acceptation from the World will find

Yet some with apprehensive ear shall drink

A dirge devoutly breathed o’er sorrows past, 10

And to the attendant promise will give heed,

The prophecy,—like that of this wild blast,

Which, while it makes the heart with sadness shrink,

Tells also of bright calms that shall succeed

“Hail, Zaragoza! If with unwet eye”

Hail, Zaragoza! If with unwet eye

We can approach, thy sorrow to behold,

Yet is the heart not pitiless nor cold;

Such spectacle demands not tear or sigh

These desolate Remains are trophies high 5

Of more than martial courage in the breast

Of peaceful civic virtue: they attest

Thy matchless worth to all posterity

Blood flowed before thy sight without remorse;

Disease consumed thy vitals; War upheaved 10

The ground beneath thee with volcanic force;

Dread trials! yet encountered and sustained

Till not a wreck of help or hope remained,

And Law was from necessity received.

1810

Ah! where is Palafox? Nor tongue nor pen

Reports of him, his dwelling or his grave!

Does yet the unheard-of Vessel ride the wave?

Or is she swallowed up—remote from ken

Methinks that we shall hail thee, Champion brave,

Redeemed to baffle that imperial Slave;

And through all Europe cheer desponding men

With new-born hope Unbounded is the might

Of martyrdom, and fortitude, and right 10

Hark, how thy Country triumphs!—Smilingly

The Eternal looks upon her sword that gleams,

Like his own lightning, over mountains high,

On rampart, and the banks of all her streams

“Call not the royal Swede unfortunate”

Call not the royal Swede unfortunate

Who never did to Fortune bend the knee;

Who slighted fear,—rejected steadfastly

Temptation; and whose kingly name and state

Have “perished by his choice, and not his fate!” 5

Hence lives He, to his inner self endeared;

And hence, wherever virtue is revered,

He sits a more exalted Potentate,

Throned in the hearts of men Should Heaven ordain

That this great Servant of a righteous cause 10

Must still have sad or vexing thoughts to endure,

Yet may a sympathizing spirit pause,

Admonished by these truths, and quench all pain

In thankful joy and gratulation pure

“Look now on that Adventurer who hath paid”

Look now on that Adventurer who hath paid

His vows to Fortune; who, in cruel slight

Of virtuous hope, of liberty, and right,

Hath followed wheresoe’er a way was made

By the blind Goddess;—ruthless, undismayed; 5

And so hath gained at length a prosperous Height,

Round which the Elements of worldly might

Beneath his haughty feet, like clouds, are laid

O joyless power that stands by lawless force!

Curses are his dire portion, scorn, and hate, 10

Internal darkness and unquiet breath;

And, if old judgments keep their sacred course,

Him from that Height shall Heaven precipitate

By violent and ignominious death

“Is there a Power that can sustain and cheer”

Is there a Power that can sustain and cheer

The captive Chieftain—by a Tyrant’s doom

Forced to descend alive into his tomb,

A dungeon dark!—where he must waste the year,

And lie cut off from all his heart holds dear; 5

What time his injured Country is a stage

Whereon deliberate Yalour and the Rage

Of righteous Vengeance side by side appear,—

Filling from morn to night the heroic scene

With deeds of hope and everlasting praise: 10

Say can he think of this with mind serene

And silent fetters?— Yes, if visions bright

Shine on his soul, reflected from the days

When he himself was tried in open light

“Brave Schill! by death delivered, take thy flight”

Brave Schill! by death delivered, take thy flight

From Prussia’s timid region Go, and rest

With Heroes ’mid the Islands of the Blest,

Or in the Fields of empyrean light

Yet shall thy name, conspicuous and sublime,

Stand in the spacious firmament of time,

Fixed as a star: such glory is thy right

Alas! it may not be: for earthly fame

Is Fortune’s frail dependant; yet there lives 10

A Judge, who, as man claims by merit, gives;

To whose all-pondering mind a noble aim,

Faithfully kept, is as a noble deed;

In whose pure sight all virtue doth succeed

Feelings of the Tyrolese

The Land we from our Fathers had in trust,

And to our Children will transmit, or die:

This is our maxim, this our piety;

And God and Nature say that it is just.

That which we would perform in arms—we must! 5

We read the dictate in the Infant’s eye;

In the Wife’s smile; and in the placid sky;

And, at our feet, amid the silent dust

Of them that were before us.—Sing aloud

Old Songs, the precious music of the heart! 10

Give, Herds and Flocks! your voices to the wind!

While we go forth, a self-devoted crowd,

With weapons in the fearless hand, to assert

Our virtue, and to vindicate mankind

“Alas! what boots the long, laborious quest”

Alas! what boots the long, laborious quest

Of moral prudence, sought through good and ill,

Or pains abstruse, to elevate the will,

And lead us on to that transcend ant rest

Where every passion shall the sway attest 5

Of Reason seated on her sovereign hill;—

What is it but a vain and curious skill,

If sapient Germany must lie deprest,

Beneath the brutal sword?—Her haughty Schools

Shall blush; and may not we with sorrow say, 10

A few strong instincts and a few plain rules,

Among the herdsmen of the Alps, have wrought

More for mankind at this unhappy day

Than all the pride of intellect and thought

“And is it among rude untutored Dales”

And is it among rude untutored Dales,

There, and there only, that the heart is true?

And, rising to repel or to subdue,

Is it by rocks and woods that man prevails?

Ah, no!—though Nature’s dread protection fails 5

There is a bulwark in the soul.— This knew

Iberian Burghers when the sword they drew

In Zaragoza, naked to the gales

Of fiercely-breathing war The truth was felt

Like him of noble birth and noble mind;

By Ladies, meek-eyed Women without fear;

And Wanderers of the street, to whom is dealt

The bread which without industry they find

“O’er the wide earth, on mountain and on plain”

O’er the wide earth, on mountain and on plain,

Dwells in the affections and the soul of man

A Godhead, like the universal pan,

But more exalted, with a brighter train

And shall his bounty be dispensed in vain, 5

Showered equally on City and on Field,

And neither hope nor steadfast promise yield

In these usurping times of fear and pain?

Such doom awaits us.—Nay, forbid it Heaven!

We know the arduous strife, the eternal laws 10

To which the triumph of all good is given,

High sacrifice, and labour without pause,

Even to the death:—else wherefore should the eye

Of man converse with immortality?

“Advance—come forth from thy Tyrolean ground”

Advance—come forth from thy Tyrolean ground

Dear Liberty!—stern Nymph of soul untamed,

Sweet Nymph, Oh! rightly of the mountains named!

Through the long chain of Alps from mound to mound

And o’er the eternal snows, like Echo, bound,— 5

Like Echo, when the Hunter-train at dawn

Have rouzed her from her sleep: and forest-lawn,

Cliffs, woods, and caves her viewless steps resound

And babble of her pastime!—On, dread Power,

With such invisible motion speed thy flight, 10

Through hanging clouds, from craggy height to height,

Through the green vales and through the Herdsman’s bower,

That all the Alps may gladden in thy might,

Here, there, and in all places at one hour

Hôffer

Of mortal Parents is the Hero born

By whom the undaunted Tyrolese are led?

Or is it Tell’s great Spirit, from the dead

Returned to animate an age forlorn?

He comes like Phœbus through the gates of morn 5

When dreary darkness is discomfited:

Yet mark his modest state!—upon his head,

That simple crest—a heron’s plume—is worn

O Liberty! they stagger at the shock;

The Murderers are aghast; they strive to flee 10

And half their Host is buried:—rock on rock

Descends:—beneath this godlike Warrior, see!

Hills, Torrents, Woods, embodied to bemock

The Tyrant, and confound his cruelty

On the Final Submission of the Tyrolese

It was a moral end for which they fought;

Else how, when mighty Thrones were put to shame,

Could they, poor Shepherds, have preserved an aim,

A resolution, or enlivening thought?

Nor hath that moral good been vainly sought; 5

For in their magnanimity and fame

Powers have they left—an impulse—and a claim

Which neither can be overturned nor bought

Sleep, Warriors, sleep! among your hills repose!

We know that ye, beneath the stern controul 10

Of awful prudence, keep the unvanquished soul

And when, impatient of her guilt and woes

Europe breaks forth; then, Shepherds! shall ye rise

For perfect triumph o’er your Enemies

[Epitaphs Translated from Chiabrera]

“True is it that Ambrosio Salinero”

True is it that Ambrosio Salinero

With an untoward fate was long involved

In odious litigation; and full long,

Fate harder still! had he to endure assaults

  Gabriello Chiabrera (552–638).

Of racking malady And true it is 5

That not the less a frank courageous heart

And buoyant spirit triumphed over pain;

And he was strong to follow in the steps

Of the fair Muses Not a covert path

Leads to the dear Parnassian forest’s shade, 10

That might from him be hidden; not a track

Mounts to pellucid Hippocrene, but he

Had traced its windings.— This Savona knows,

Yet no sepulchral honors to her Son

She paid, for in our age the heart is ruled 15

Only by gold And now a simple stone

Inscribed with this memorial here is raised

By his bereft, his lonely, Chiabrera

Think not, O Passenger! who read’st the lines

That an exceeding love hath dazzled me; 20

No—he was One whose memory ought to spread

Where’er Permessus bears an honoured name,

And live as long as its pure stream shall flow

“Not without heavy grief of heart did He”

Not without heavy grief of heart did He,

On whom the duty fell, (for at that time

The Father sojourned in a distant Land)

Deposit in the hollow of this Tomb

A Brother’s Child, most tenderly beloved! 5

francesco was the name the Youth had borne,

pozzobonnelli his illustrious House;

And when beneath this stone the Corse was laid

The eyes of all Savona streamed with tears

Had scarcely flowered: and at this early time,

By genuine virtue he inspired a hope

That greatly cheered his Country: to his Kin

He promised comfort; and the flattering thoughts

His Friends had in their fondness entertained, 15

He suffered not to languish or decay

  “In justice to the Author I subjoin the original.

—————e degli amici

Non lasciava languire i bei pensieri.” WW

Now is there not good reason to break forth

Into a passionate lament?—O Soul!

Short while a Pilgrim in our nether world,

And round this earthly tomb let roses rise,

An everlasting spring! in memory

Of that delightful fragrance which was once,

From thy mild manners, quietly exhaled

“Pause, courteous Spirit!—Balbi supplicates”

Pause, courteous Spirit!—Balbi supplicates

That Thou, with no reluctant voice, for him

Here laid in mortal darkness, wouldst prefer

A prayer to the Redeemer of the world

This to the Dead by sacred right belongs; 5

All else is nothing.—Did occasion suit

To tell his worth, the marble of this tomb

Would ill suffice: for Plato’s lore sublime

And all the wisdom of the Stagyrite

Enriched and beautified his studious mind: 10

With Archimedes also he conversed

As with a chosen Friend, nor did he leave

Those laureat wreaths ungathered which the Nymphs

Twine on the top of Pindus.—Finally,

Himself above each lower thought uplifting, 15

His ears he closed to listen to the Song

Which Sion’s Kings did consecrate of old;

And fixed his Pindus upon Lebanon

A blessed Man! who of protracted days

Made not, as thousands do, a vulgar sleep; 20

But truly did He live his life.—Urbino

Take pride in him;—O Passenger farewell!

“There never breathed a man who when his life”

There never breathed a man who when his life

Was closing might not of that life relate

Toils long and hard.— The Warrior will report

Of wounds, and bright swords flashing in the field,

And blast of trumpets He, who hath been doomed 5

To bow his forehead in the courts of kings,

Will tell of fraud and never-ceasing hate,

Envy, and heart-inquietude, derived

From intricate cabals of treacherous friends

I, who on ship-board lived from earliest Youth, 10

Could represent the countenance horrible

Of the vexed waters, and the indignant rage

Of Auster and Boötes Forty years

Over the well-steered Gallies did I rule:—

From huge Pelorus to the Atlantic pillars, 15

Rises no mountain to mine eyes unknown;

And the broad gulfs I traversed oft—and—oft:

Of every cloud which in the heavens might stir

I knew the force; and hence the rough sea’s pride

What noble pomp and frequent have not I

On regal decks beheld! yet in the end

I learn that one poor moment can suffice

To equalize the lofty and the low

We sail the sea of life—a Calm One finds, 25

And One a Tempest—and, the voyage o’er,

Death is the quiet haven of us all

If more of my condition ye would know,

Savona was my birth-place, and I sprang

Of noble Parents: sixty years and three 30

Lived I—then yielded to a slow disease

“Destined to war from very infancy”

Destined to war from very infancy

Was I, Roberto Dati, and I took

In Malta the white symbol of the Cross

Nor in life’s vigorous season did I shun

Hazard or toil; among the Sands was seen 5

Of Lybia, and not seldom on the Banks

Of wide Hungarian Danube, ’twas my lot

To hear the sanguinary trumpet sounded

So lived I, and repined not at such fate;

This only grieves me, for it seems a wrong, 10

That stripped of arms I to my end am brought

On the soft down of my paternal home.

Yet haply Arno shall be spared all cause

To blush for me Thou, loiter not nor halt

How fleeting and how frail is human life

“Weep not, beloved Friends! nor let the air”

Weep not, beloved Friends! nor let the air

For me with sighs be troubled Not from life

Have I been taken; this is genuine life

And this alone—the life which now I live

Together move in fellowship without end.—

Francesco Ceni after death enjoined

That thus his tomb should speak for him And surely

Small cause there is for that fond wish of ours

Long to continue in this world; a world 10

That keeps not faith, nor yet can point a hope

To good, whereof itself is destitute

“Perhaps some needful service of the State”

Perhaps some needful service of the State

Drew Titus from the depth of studious bowers,

And doomed him to contend in faithless courts,

Where gold determines between right and wrong

And his pure native genius lead him back

To wait upon the bright and gracious Muses

Whom he had early loved And not in vain

Such course he held! Bologna’s learned schools

Were gladdened by the Sage’s voice, and hung 10

With fondness on those sweet Nestorian strains

There pleasure crowned his days; and all his thoughts

A roseate fragrance breathed.—O human life,

That never art secure from dolorous change!

    “I vi vivea giocondo e i suoi pensieri

  Erano tutti rose.

The Translator had not skill to come nearer to his original.” WW

To Arno’s side conducts him, and he charmed

A Tuscan audience: but full soon was called

To the perpetual silence of the grave

Mourn, Italy, the loss of him who stood

To quell the rage of literary War!

“O Thou who movest onward with a mind”

O Thou who movest onward with a mind

Intent upon thy way, pause though in haste!

’Twill be no fruitless moment I was born

Within Savona’s walls of gentle blood

To sacred studies; and the Roman Shepherd

Gave to my charge Urbino’s numerous Flock

Much did I watch, much laboured; nor had power

To escape from many and strange indignities;

Was smitten by the great ones of the World 10

But did not fall, for virtue braves all shocks,

Upon herself resting immoveably

Me did a kindlier fortune then invite

To serve the glorious Henry, King of France,

Stretched out for my acceptance—but Death came.—

Now, Reader, learn from this my fate—how false,

How treacherous to her promise is the World,

And trust in God—to whose eternal doom

Must bend the sceptred Potentates of Earth 20

“O Lelius, beauteous flower of gentleness”

O Lelius, beauteous flower of gentleness,

The fair Aglaia’s friend above all friends,

O darling of the fascinating Loves,

By what dire envy moved did De[a]th uproot

Thy days e’er yet full blown and what ill chance 5

Hath robbed Savona of her noblest grace?

She weeps for thee and shall for ever weep,

And if the fountain of her tears should fail

She would implore Sabete to supply

Her need—Sabete, sympathizing stream 10

Who on his margin saw thee close thine eyes

On the chaste bosom of thy Lady dear

Oh what do riches, what does youth avail?

Dust are our hopes; I weeping did inscribe

Of every gentle Spirit bitterly

To read the record with as copious tears

“Torquato Tasso rests within this Tomb”

Torquato Tasso rests within this Tomb;

This Figure weeping from her inmost heart

Is Poesy; from such impassioned grief

Let everyone conclude what this Man was

“O flower of all that springs from gentle blood”

O flower of all that springs from gentle blood,

And all that generous nurture breeds, to make

Youth amiable; O friend so true of soul

To fair Aglaia; by what envy moved,

Lelius! has death cut short thy brilliant day 5

In its sweet opening? and what dire mishap

Has from Savona torn her best delight?

For thee she mourns, nor e’er will cease to mourn;

And, should the out-pourings of her eyes suffice not

For her heart’s grief, she will entreat Sebeto 10

Not to withhold his bounteous aid, Sebeto

Who saw thee, on his margin, yield to death,

In the chaste arms of thy belovéd Love!

What profit riches? what does youth avail?

Dust are our hopes;—I, weeping bitterly, 15

Penned these sad lines, nor can forbear to pray

That every gentle Spirit hither led

May read them not without some bitter tears

——————————

The Oak of Guernica

The ancient Oak of Guernica, says Laborde in his account of Biscay, is a most venerable natural Monument Ferdinand and Isabella, in the year 1476, after hearing mass in the Church of Santa Maria de la Antigua, repaired to

this tree, under which they swore to the Biscayans to maintain their fueros

(privileges) What other interest belongs to it in the minds of this People will appear from the following

Supposed Address to the Same

1810Oak of Guernica! Tree of holier power

Than that which in Dodona did enshrine

(So faith too fondly deemed) a voice divine

Heard from the depths of its aerial bower,

How canst thou flourish at this blighting hour? 5

What hope, what joy can sunshine bring to thee,

Or the soft breezes from the Atlantic sea,

The dews of morn, or April’s tender shower?

——Stroke merciful and welcome would that be

Which should extend thy branches on the ground, 10

If never more within their shady round

Those lofty-minded Lawgivers shall meet,

Peasant and Lord, in their appointed seat,

Guardians of Biscay’s ancient liberty

“In due observance of an ancient rite”

In due observance of an ancient rite,

The rude Biscayans, when their Children lie

Dead in the sinless time of infancy,

Attire the peaceful Corse in vestments white;

And, in like sign of cloudless triumph bright, 5

They bind the unoffending Creature’s brows

With happy garlands of the pure white rose:

This done, a festal Company unite

In choral song; and, while the uplifted Cross

Of Jesus goes before, the Child is borne 10

Uncovered to his grave.—Her piteous loss

The lonesome Mother cannot chuse but mourn;

Yet soon by Christian faith is grief subdued,

And joy attends upon her fortitude

Feelings of a Noble Biscayan

at one of these funerals

1810

Yet, yet, Biscayans, we must meet our Foes

With firmer soul,—yet labour to regain

Our ancient freedom; else ’twere worse than vain

To gather round the Bier these festal shows!

A garland fashioned of the pure white rose 5

Becomes not one whose Father is a Slave:

Oh! bear the Infant covered to his Grave!

These venerable mountains now enclose

A People sunk in apathy and fear

If this endure, farewell, for us, all good! 10

The awful light of heavenly Innocence

Will fail to illuminate the Infant’s bier;

And guilt and shame, from which is no defence,

Descend on all that issues from our blood

1810

O’erweening Statesmen have full long relied

On fleets and armies, and external wealth:

But from within proceeds a Nation’s health;

Which shall not fail, though poor men cleave with pride

In the thronged City, from the walks of gain,

As being all unworthy to detain

A Soul by contemplation sanctified

There are who cannot languish in this strife,

Spaniards of every rank, by whom the good 10

Of such high course was felt and understood;

Who to their Country’s cause have bound a life,

Ere while by solemn consecration given

To labour, and to prayer, to nature, and to heaven.

  “See Laborde’s Character of the Spanish People; from him the sentiment of these two 

last lines is taken.” WW; he cites from Alexander De Laborde, A View of Spain (5 vols., 

London, 809).

“Avaunt all specious pliancy of mind”

Avaunt all specious pliancy of mind

In men of low degree, all smooth pretence!

I better like a blunt indifference

And self-respecting slowness, disinclined

To win me at first sight:—and be there joined 5

Patience and temperance with this high reserve,—

Honour that knows the path and will not swerve;

Affections, which, if put to proof, are kind;

And piety tow’rds God.—Such Men of old

Were England’s native growth; and, throughout Spain, 10

Forests of such do at this day remain;

Then for that Country let our hopes be bold;

For matched with these shall Policy prove vain,

Her arts, her strength, her iron, and her gold

Indignation of a High-minded Spaniard 1810

We can endure that He should waste our lands,

Despoil our temples,—and by sword and flame

Return us to the dust from which we came;

Such food a Tyrant’s appetite demands:

And we can brook the thought that by his hands 5

Spain may be overpowered, and he possess,

For his delight, a solemn wilderness,

Where all the Brave lie dead But when of bands,

Which he will break for us, he dares to speak,—

When our enlightened minds shall bless his sway,

Then, the strained heart of fortitude proves weak:

Our groans, our blushes, our pale cheeks declare

That he has power to inflict what we lack strength to bear

The French, and the Spanish Guerillas

Hunger, and sultry heat, and nipping blast

From bleak hill-top, and length of march by night

Through heavy swamp, or over snow-clad height,

These hardships ill sustained, these dangers past,

The roving Spanish Bands are reached at last, 5

Charged, and dispersed like foam:—but as a flight

Of scattered quails by signs do reunite

So these,—and, heard of once again, are chased

With combinations of long practised art

And newly-kindled hope;—but they are fled, 10

Gone are they, viewless as the buried dead;

Where now?— Their sword is at the Foeman’s heart!

And thus from year to year his walk they thwart,

And hang like dreams around his guilty bed

Spanish Guerillas 1811

They seek, are sought; to daily battle led,

Shrink not, though far out-numbered by their Foes:

For they have learnt to open and to close

The ridges of grim War; and at their head

Are Captains such as erst their Country bred 5

Or fostered, self-supported Chiefs,—like those

Whom hardy Rome was fearful to oppose,

Whose desperate shock the Carthaginian fled

In one who lived unknown a Shepherd’s life

And Mina, nourished in the studious shade,

With that great Leader vies, who, sick of strife

And bloodshed, longed in quiet to be laid

In some green Island of the western main

“The martial courage of a day is vain—”

The martial courage of a day is vain—

An empty noise of death the battle’s roar—

If vital hope be wanting to restore,

Or fortitude be wanting to sustain,

Armies or Kingdoms We have heard a strain 5

Of triumph, how the labouring Danube bore

A weight of hostile corses: drenched with gore

Were the wide fields, the hamlets heaped with slain

Yet see, the mighty tumult overpast,

Austria a Daughter of her Throne hath sold! 10

And her Tyrolean Champion we behold

Murdered like one ashore by shipwreck cast,

Murdered without relief Oh! blind as bold,

To think that such assurance can stand fast!

Conclusion 1811

Here pause: the Poet claims at least this praise

That virtuous Liberty hath been the scope

Of his pure song, which did not shrink from hope

In the worst moment of these evil days;

From hope, the paramount duty that Heaven lays, 5

For its own honour, on man’s suffering heart

Never may from our souls one truth depart,

That an accursed thing it is to gaze

On prosperous Tyrants with a dazzled eye;

Nor, touched with due abhorrence of their guilt 10

For whose dire ends tears flow, and blood is spilt,

And justice labours in extremity,

Forget thy weakness, upon which is built,

O wretched Man, the throne of Tyranny!

1811

The power of Armies is a visible thing,

Formal, and circumscribed in time and place;

But who the limits of that power can trace

Which a brave People into light can bring,

Or hide, at will,—for Freedom combating, 5

By just revenge enflamed? No foot can chase,

No eye can follow to a fatal place

That power, that spirit, whether on the wing

Like the strong wind, or sleeping like the wind

Within its awful caves.—From year to year 10

Springs this indigenous produce far and near;

No craft this subtle element can bind,

Rising like water from the soil, to find

In every nook a lip that it may cheer

On a Celebrated Event in Ancient History

A Roman Master stands on Grecian ground,

And to the Concourse of the Isthmian Games

He, by his Herald’s voice, aloud proclaims

the liberty of greece:—the words rebound

Until all voices in one voice are drowned; 5

Glad acclamation by which air was rent!

And birds, high-flying in the element,

Dropped to the earth, astonished at the sound!

—A melancholy Echo of that noise

Doth sometimes hang on musing Fancy’s ear: 10

Ah! that a Conqueror’s words should be so dear;

Ah! that a boon could shed such rapturous joys!

A gift of that which is not to be given

By all the blended powers of Earth and Heaven

Upon the Same Event

When, far and wide, swift as the beams of morn

The tidings passed of servitude repealed,

And of that joy which shook the Isthmian Field,

The rough Ætolians smiled with bitter scorn

“’Tis known,” cried they, “that He, who would adorn 5

His envied temples with the Isthmian Crown,

Must either win, through effort of his own,

The prize, or be content to see it worn

By more deserving brows.— Yet so ye prop,

Sons of the Brave who fought at Marathon, 10

Your feeble Spirits Greece her head hath bowed,

As if the wreath of Liberty thereon

Would fix itself as smoothly as a cloud,

Which, at Jove’s will, descends on Pelion’s top!”

Upon the Sight of a Beautiful Picture

Praised be the Art whose subtle power could stay

Yon Cloud, and fix it in that glorious shape;

Nor would permit the thin smoke to escape,

Nor those bright sunbeams to forsake the day;

Which stopped that Band of Travellers on their way 5

Ere they were lost within the shady wood;

And shewed the Bark upon the glassy flood

For ever anchored in her sheltering Bay

Soul-soothing Art! which Morning, Noon-tide, Even

Do serve with all their changeful pageantry! 10

Thou, with ambition modest yet sublime,

Here, for the sight of mortal man, hast given

To one brief moment caught from fleeting time

The appropriate calm of blest eternity

Departure

from the vale of grasmere august1803

The gentlest Shade that walked Elysian Plains

Might sometimes covet dissoluble chains;

Even for the Tenants of the Zone that lies

Beyond the stars, celestial Paradise,

Methinks ’twould heighten joy, to overleap 5

At will the crystal battlements, and peep

Into some other region, though less fair,

To see how things are made and managed there:

Change for the worse might please, incursion bold

Into the tracts of darkness and of cold; 10

O’er Limbo lake with ặry flight to steer,

And on the verge of Chaos hang in fear

Such animation often do I find,

Power in my breast, wings growing in my mind,

Then, when some rock or hill is overpast, 15

Perchance without one look behind me cast,

Some barrier with which Nature, from the birth

Of things, has fenced this fairest spot on earth

O pleasant transit, Grasmere! to resign

Such happy fields, abodes so calm as thine; 20

Not like an outcast with himself at strife;

The slave of business, time, or care for life,

But moved by choice; or, if constrained in part,

Yet still with Nature’s freedom at the heart;

To cull contentment upon wildest shores, 25

And luxuries extract from bleakest moors;

With prompt embrace all beauty to enfold,

And having rights in all that we behold

—Then why these lingering steps? A bright adieu,

For a brief absence, proves that love is true; 30

Ne’er can the way be irksome or forlorn,

That winds into itself, for sweet return

[Epistle to Sir George Howland Beaumont, Bart From the

South-west Coast of Cumberland.—1811]

Far from [ ] Grasmere’s lake serene,

Her Vale profound and mountains ever green,

Fixed within hearing of loud Ocean’s roar

Where daily, on a bleak and lonesome shore,

Even at this summer season, huge Black Comb 5

Frowns, deep’ning visibly his native gloom.

Unless perchance, rejecting in despite

What on the Plain we have of warmth and light,

In his own Tempests hide himself from Sight

Here am I, Friend, where neither sheltered road 10

Nor hedgerow screen, invite my steps abroad,

Where one poor Plane-tree, having as it can

Attained a stature twice the height of Man,

Hopeless of further growth, and brown and sere,

Thro’ half the summer stands with top cut sheer 15

Like an unshifting weathercock that proves

How cold the Quarter that the wind best loves,

Or Centinel, that placed in front before

Darkens the window, not defends the door

Of this unfinished House; a Fortress bare, 20

Where strength has been the Builder’s only care,

Whose rugged walls may still for years demand

The finer polish of the Plaisterer’s hand;

This Dwelling’s Inmate more than three weeks’ space

And oft a Prisoner in the cheerless place 25

I, of whose touch the fiddle would complain,

Whose breath would labour at the flute in vain,

In music all unversed—and without skill

A bridge to copy, or to paint a mill;

And tired of listening to the boisterous Sea,

Pace between door and window murmuring rhyme,

An old resource to cheat the froward time!

And it would well content me to disclaim

  The reading text is drawn from the earliest complete version, which is untitled. WW’s notes 

are those he published with the poem in Poems, 1815 The first line in 1815 is “Far from

our home by Grasmere’s quiet Lake.”

In these dull hours a more ambitious aim 35But if there be a Muse, who, free to take

Her Seat upon Olymphus, doth forsake

Those Heights (like Phœbus when his golden locks

He veiled, attendant on Thessalian Flocks)

And in disguise, a Milkmaid with her pail 40Trips on the pathways of some winding dale;

Or like a Mermaid warbles on the shores

To Fishers, mending nets beside their doors;

Or like a tired Way-farer faint in mind,

Gives plaintive Ballads to the heedless wind— 45

If such a visitant of Earth there be

And she would deign this day to smile on me

And aid my Verse content with narrow bounds,

Life’s beaten road and Nature’s daily rounds,

Thoughts, chances, sights or doings, which we tell 50Without reserve to those whom we love well,

Then haply Beaumont, for my pen is near,

The unlaboured lines to your indulgent ear

May be transmitted, else will perish here

What shall I treat of? News from Mona’s Isle? 55Such have I, but unvaried in its style;

No tales of Runnagates fresh landed, whence

And wherefore fugitive, or on what pretence—

Of feasts or scandal eddying like the wind

Most restlessly alive, when most confined 60Ask not of me whose tongue can best appease

The mighty tumults of the House of Keys,

The last Year’s Cup whose Ram or Heifer gained,

What slopes are planted, and what mosses drained?

On that proud pageant, now at hand or past,

When full five hundred boats in trim array

With nets and Sails outspread, and streamers gay

And chaunted hymns and stiller voice of prayer

For the old Manx harvest to the Deep repair, 70Soon as the Herring-shoals at distance shine

Like beds of moonlight shifting on the brine

Mona from my Abode is daily seen

But with a wilderness of waves between,

Of aught transacted there, in bay or creek;

No tidings reach me thence from town or field;

Only faint news the mountain sun-beams yield,

And some I gather from the misty air,

And some the hovering clouds, my telegraph, declare 80But these poetic mysteries I withhold,

For Fancy hath her fits both hot and cold

And should the colder fit with you be on

When you must read, my credit would be gone

Let more substantial themes our care engage 85And humbler business occupy the Stage

—First, for our journey hither Ere the dawn

Had from the east her silver star withdrawn

The Wain stood ready at our Cottage door

Thoughtfully freighted with a various store 90And long before the uprising of the Sun,

O’er dew-damp’d dust our travel was begun,

A needful journey, under summer skies

Thro’ peopled Vales, yet something in the guise

Of those old Patriarchs, when from Well to Well 95They roamed, where now the tented Arabs dwell

Say then, to whom this charge did we confide,

Who promptly undertook the Wain to guide

Up many a sharply-twining road, and down,

And over many a wide hill’s craggy crown, 100Thro’ the quick turns of many a hollow nook

And the rough bed of many an unbridged brook?

A blooming Lass, who in her better hand

Bore a light switch, her sceptre of command

When yet a slender Girl, she often led, 105Skilful and bold, the Horse and burdened Sled

From the peat-yielding Moss on Gowdar’s head

What could we dread with such a Charioteer!

For goods and chattels, or those Infants dear

A Pair who smilingly sate side by side

  “A local word for Sledge.” WW

Our hope confirming, that the salt-sea tide

Whose free embraces we were bound to seek

Would their lost strength restore, and freshen the pale cheek:

Pacing behind, along the silent Lane

Advancing Summer, Nature’s tasks fulfilled,

The Choristers in Copse and grove had stilled,

But we, we lacked not music of our own,

For lightsome Fanny had thus early thrown 120

Mid the gay prattle of those busy tongues

Some notes prelusive from that round of Songs

With which, more zealous than the liveliest bird

That in wide Arden’s brakes was ever heard,

Her work and her work’s partners she can cheer 125

The whole day long, and all days of the year

Thus gladdened, soon we saw, and could not pass

Without a pause, Diana’s looking glass!

To Loughrigg’s pool, round, clear and bright as heaven

Such name Italian fancy would have given— 130

Ere on its banks those few grey Cabins rose

That yet molest not its concealed repose

More than the ruffling wind that idly blows

Ah Beaumont, when an opening in the road

Stopped me at once by charm of what it showed 135

And I beheld (how vividly impressed!)

The encircling landscape on its peaceful breast—

Woods intermingling with a rocky bield,

And the smooth green of many a pendent field,

  “L oughrigg T arn , alluded to in the foregoing Epistle, resembles, though much smaller in 

compass, the Lake Nemi, or Speculum Diana, as it is often called, not only in its clear 

waters and circular form, and the beauty immediately surrounding it, but also as being  overlooked by the eminence of Langdale Pikes as Lake Nemi is by that of Monte Calvo.  Since this Epistle was written Loughrigg Tarn has lost much of its beauty by the felling of  many natural clumps of wood, relics of the old forest, particularly upon the farm called ’The  Oaks,” from the abundance of that tree which grew there.

It is to be regretted, upon public grounds, that Sir George Beaumont did not carry into  effect his intention of constructing here a Summer Retreat in the style I have described; as  his Taste would have set an example how buildings, with all the accommodations modern  society requires, might be introduced even into the most secluded parts of this country  without injuring their native character. The design was not abandoned from failure of incli- nation on his part, but in consequence of local untowardnesses which need not be par- ticularised.” WW

2  “A word common in the country, signifying shelter, as in Scotland.” WW