Chapter IX: "pause, Courteous Spirit!--Balbi Supplicates"a (1)

Published 1810[B]

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 near their loved Permessus.[1]--Finally,
Himself above each lower thought uplifting, 15
His ears he closed to listen to the songs[2]
Which Sion's Kings did consecrate of old;
And his Permessus found on Lebanon.[3]
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!

I have been unable to obtain any definite information in reference to the persons commemorated in these epitaphs by Chiabrera: Francesco Ceni, Titus, Ambrosio Salinero, Roberto Dati, Lelius, Francesco Pozzobonnelli, and Balbi. Mr. W. M. Rossetti writes to me that he "supposes all the men named by Chiabrera to be such as enjoyed a certain local and temporary reputation, which has hardly passed down to any sort of posterity, and certainly not to the ordinary English reader."

Chiabrera was born at Savona on the 8th of June 1552, and educated at Rome. He entered the service of Cardinal Cornaro, married in his 50th year, lived to the age of 85, and died October 14, 1637. His poetical faculty showed itself late. "Having commenced to read the Greek writers at home, he conceived a great admiration for Pindar, and strove successfully to imitate him. He was not less happy in catching the naive and pleasant spirit of Anacreon; his canzonetti being distinguished for their ease and elegance, while his _Lettere Famigliari_ was the first attempt to introduce the poetical epistle into Italian Literature. He wrote also several epics, bucolics, and dramatic poems. His _Opere_ appeared at Venice, in 6 vols., in 1768."

Wordsworth says of him, in his _Essay on Epitaphs_, where translations of two of those Epitaphs of Chiabrera first appeared (see _The Friend_, February 22, 1810, and notes to _The Excursion_)--"His life was long, and every part of it bore appropriate fruits. Urbino, his birth-place, might be proud of him, and the passenger who was entreated to pray for his soul has a wish breathed for his welfare.... The Epitaphs of Chiabrera are twenty-nine in number, and all of them, save two, upon men probably little known at this day in their own country, and scarcely at all beyond the limits of it; and the reader is generally made acquainted with the moral and intellectual excellence which distinguished them by a brief history of the course of their lives, or a selection of events and circumstances, and thus they are individualized; but in the two other instances, namely, in those of Tasso and Raphael, he enters into no particulars, but contents himself with four lines expressing one sentiment, upon the principle laid down in the former part of this discourse, when the subject of the epitaph is a man of prime note...."

Compare the poem _Musings near Aquapendente_. In reference to the places referred to in these Epitaphs of Chiabrera, it may be mentioned that Savona (Epitaphs III., IV., V., VII., VIII.) is a town in the Genovese territory; Permessus (Epitaphs V. and IX.) a river of Boeotia, rising in Mount Helicon and flowing round it, hence sacred to the Muses; and that the fountain of Hippocrene--also referred to in Epitaph V.--was not far distant. Sebeto (Epitaph VII.), now cape Faro, is a Sicilian promontory.--ED.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1837.

Twine on the top of Pindus.-- ... 1810.

[2] 1837.

... Song 1810.

[3] 1837.

And fixed his Pindus upon Lebanon. 1810.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Wordsworth's extended commentary on this sonnet in his _Essay on Epitaphs_ (see his "Prose Works" in this edition), should here be referred to.--ED.

[B] In _The Friend_, January 4.--ED.

1810

As indicated in the editorial note to the poems belonging to the year 1809, those of 1810 were mainly sonnets, suggested by the events occurring on the Continent of Europe, and the patriotic efforts of the Spaniards to resist Napoleon. I have assigned the two referring to Flamininus, entitled _On a Celebrated Event in Ancient History_, to the same year. They were first published in 1815, and seem to have been due to the same impulse which led Wordsworth to write the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty."--ED.

"AH! WHERE IS PALAFOX? NOR TONGUE NOR PEN"

Composed 1810.--Published 1815

All the sonnets of 1810 were "dedicated to Liberty." In every edition this poem had for its title the date _1810_.--ED.

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
Of pitying human-nature? Once again 5
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.

See notes to sonnets (pp. 223 and 229).--ED.

"IN DUE OBSERVANCE OF AN ANCIENT RITE"

Composed 1810.--Published 1815

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:
Then do[1] 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: 'tis closed,--her loss
The Mother _then_ mourns, as she needs must mourn;
But soon, through Christian faith, is grief subdued;[2]
And joy returns, to brighten fortitude.[3]

VARIANTS:

[1] 1837.

This done, ... 1815.

[2] 1837.

Uncovered to his grave.--Her piteous loss
The lonesome Mother cannot chuse but mourn;
Yet soon by Christian faith is grief subdued, 1815.

[3] C. and 1838.

And joy attends upon her fortitude. 1815.

Or joy returns to brighten fortitude. 1837.

FEELINGS OF A NOBLE BISCAYAN AT ONE OF THOSE FUNERALS, 1810

Composed 1810.--Published 1815

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.

ON A CELEBRATED EVENT IN ANCIENT HISTORY

Composed 1810.--Published 1815

A Roman Master stands on Grecian ground,
And to the people at the Isthmian Games
Assembled, He, by a herald's voice, proclaims[1]
THE LIBERTY OF GREECE:--the words rebound
Until all voices in one voice are drowned; 5
Glad acclamation by which air was[2] rent!
And birds, high flying in the element,
Dropped[3] to the earth, astonished at the sound!
Yet were the thoughtful grieved; and still that voice
Haunts, with sad echoes, musing Fancy's ear:[4] 10
Ah! that a _Conqueror's_ words[5] 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.

This "Roman Master" "on Grecian ground" was T. Quintius Flamininus, one of the ablest and noblest of the Roman generals (230-174 B.C.). He was successful against Philip of Macedon, overran Thessaly in 198, and conquered the Macedonian army in 197, defeating Philip at Cynoscephalae. He concluded a peace with the vanquished. "In the spring of 196, the Roman commission arrived in Greece to arrange, conjointly with Flamininus, the affairs of the country: they also brought with them the terms on which a definite peace was to be concluded with Philip.... The Aetolians exerted themselves to excite suspicions among the Greeks as to the sincerity of the Romans in their dealings with them. Flamininus, however, insisted upon immediate compliance with the terms of the peace.... In this summer, the Isthmian games were celebrated at Corinth, and thousands from all parts of Greece flocked thither. Flamininus, accompanied by the ten commissioners, entered the assembly, and, at his command, a herald, in name of the Roman Senate, proclaimed the freedom and independence of Greece. The joy and enthusiasm at this unexpected declaration was beyond all description: the throngs of people that crowded around Flamininus to catch a sight of their liberator or touch his garment were so enormous, that even his life was endangered." (Smith's _Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography_: Art. Flamininus, No. 4.)--ED.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1837.

And to the Concourse of the Isthmian Games
He, by his Herald's voice, aloud proclaims 1815.

[2] 1815.

... is ... 1838.

The text of 1840 returns to that of 1815.

[3] 1815.

Drop ... 1838.

The text of 1840 returns to that of 1815.

[4] 1837.

... at the sound!
--A melancholy Echo of that noise
Doth sometimes hang on musing Fancy's ear: 1815.

[5] 1815.

... word ... 1827.

The text of 1837 returns to that of 1815.

UPON THE SAME EVENT

Composed (probably) 1810.--Published 1815

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 Aetolians smiled with bitter scorn.
"'Tis known," cried they, "that he, who would adorn
His envied temples with the Isthmian crown, 6
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."

The Aetolians were the only Greeks that entertained suspicion of the Roman designs from the first. When Flamininus was wintering in Phocis in 196, and an insurrection broke out at Opus, some of the citizens had called in the aid of the Aetolians against the Macedonian garrison; but the gates of the city were not opened to admit the Aetolian volunteers till Flamininus arrived. Then in the battle at the heights of Cynoscephalae, where the Macedonian army was routed, the Aetolian contingent, which had helped Flamininus, claimed the sole credit of the victory; and wished no truce made with Philip, as they were bent on the destruction of the Macedonian power. The Aetolians aimed subsequently at exciting suspicion against the sincerity of Flamininus. In the second sonnet, Wordsworth's sympathy seems to have been with the Aetolians, as much as it was with the Swiss and the Tyrolese in their attitude to Buonaparte. But Flamininus was not a Napoleon.--ED.

THE OAK OF GUERNICA

Composed 1810.--Published 1815

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. 1810

Oak 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.

Prophetic power was believed to reside within the grove which surrounded the temple of Jupiter near Dodona, in Epirus, and oracles were given forth from the boughs of the sacred oak.--ED.

INDIGNATION OF A HIGH-MINDED SPANIARD, 1810

Composed 1810.--Published 1815

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,
Of benefits, and of a future day 10
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.

Compare the two sonnets _On a Celebrated Event in Ancient History_ (pp. 242-44). The following note to the last line of this sonnet occurs in Professor Reed's American edition of the Poems:--"The student of English poetry will call to mind Cowley's impassioned expression of the indignation of a Briton under the depression of disasters somewhat similar.

Let rather Roman come again,
Or Saxon, Norman, or the Dane:
In all the bonds we ever bore,
We grieved, we sighed, we wept, _we never blushed before_."

See Cowley's _Discourse on the Government of Oliver Cromwell_.--ED.

"AVAUNT ALL SPECIOUS PLIANCY OF MIND"

Composed 1810.--Published 1815

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 towards God. Such men of old
Were England's native growth; and, throughout Spain,
(Thanks to high God) forests of such remain:[1] 11
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.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1837.

Forests of such do at this day remain; 1815.

"O'ERWEENING STATESMEN HAVE FULL LONG RELIED"

Composed 1810.--Published 1815

In all the editions this poem has for its title the date _1810_.--ED.

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
To the paternal floor; or turn aside, 5
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
Erewhile, by solemn consecration, given
To labour, and to prayer, to nature, and to heaven.[A]

FOOTNOTES:

[A] See Laborde's Character of the Spanish People; from him the sentiment of these two last lines is taken.--W. W. 1815.

THE FRENCH AND THE SPANISH GUERILLAS

Composed 1810.--Published 1815

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.

See the note appended to the sonnet entitled _Spanish Guerillas_ (p. 254).--ED.

MATERNAL GRIEF

Composed 1810.--Published 1842

[This was in part an overflow from the Solitary's description of his own and his wife's feelings upon the decease of their children. (See _Excursion_, book 3rd.)--I. F.]

One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."--ED.

Departed Child! I could forget thee once
Though at my bosom nursed; this woeful gain
Thy dissolution brings, that in my soul
Is present and perpetually abides
A shadow, never, never to be displaced 5
By the returning substance, seen or touched,
Seen by mine eyes, or clasped in my embrace.
Absence and death how differ they! and how
Shall I admit that nothing can restore
What one short sigh so easily removed?-- 10
Death, life, and sleep, reality and thought,
Assist me, God, their boundaries to know,
O teach me calm submission to thy Will!

The Child she mourned had overstepped the pale
Of Infancy, but still did breathe the air 15
That sanctifies its confines, and partook
Reflected beams of that celestial light[A]
To all the Little-ones on sinful earth
Not unvouchsafed--a light that warmed and cheered
Those several qualities of heart and mind 20
Which, in her own blest nature, rooted deep,
Daily before the Mother's watchful eye,
And not hers only, their peculiar charms
Unfolded,--beauty, for its present self,
And for its promises to future years, 25
With not unfrequent rapture fondly hailed.

Have you espied upon a dewy lawn
A pair of Leverets each provoking each
To a continuance of their fearless sport,
Two separate Creatures in their several gifts 30
Abounding, but so fashioned that, in all
That Nature prompts them to display, their looks,
Their starts of motion and their fits of rest,
An undistinguishable style appears
And character of gladness, as if Spring 35
Lodged in their innocent bosoms, and the spirit
Of the rejoicing morning were their own?

Such union, in the lovely Girl maintained
And her twin Brother, had the parent seen,
Ere, pouncing like a ravenous bird of prey, 40
Death in a moment parted them, and left
The Mother, in her turns of anguish, worse
Than desolate; for oft-times from the sound
Of the survivor's sweetest voice (dear child,
He knew it not) and from his happiest looks, 45
Did she extract the food of self-reproach,
As one that lived ungrateful for the stay
By Heaven afforded to uphold her maimed
And tottering spirit. And full oft the Boy,
Now first acquainted with distress and grief, 50
Shrunk from his Mother's presence, shunned with fear
Her sad approach, and stole away to find,
In his known haunts of joy where'er he might,
A more congenial object. But, as time
Softened her pangs and reconciled the child 55
To what he saw, he gradually returned,
Like a scared Bird encouraged to renew
A broken intercourse; and, while his eyes
Were yet with pensive fear and gentle awe
Turned upon her who bore him, she would stoop 60
To imprint a kiss that lacked not power to spread
Faint colour over both their pallid cheeks,
And stilled his tremulous lip. Thus they were calmed
And cheered; and now together breathe fresh air
In open fields; and when the glare of day 65
Is gone, and twilight to the Mother's wish
Befriends the observance, readily they join
In walks whose boundary is the lost One's grave,
Which he with flowers hath planted, finding there
Amusement, where the Mother does not miss 70
Dear consolation, kneeling on the turf
In prayer, yet blending with that solemn rite
Of pious faith the vanities of grief;
For such, by pitying Angels and by Spirits
Transferred to regions upon which the clouds 75
Of our weak nature rest not, must be deemed
Those willing tears, and unforbidden sighs,
And all those tokens of a cherished sorrow,
Which, soothed and sweetened by the grace of Heaven
As now it is, seems to her own fond heart, 80
Immortal as the love that gave it being.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Compare the _Ode, Intimations of Immortality_, l. 4, and _passim_ (vol. viii.)--ED.

1811

In the spring of 1811 Wordsworth left Allan Bank, to reside for two years in the Rectory, Grasmere. A small fragment on his daughter Catherine, the _Epistle to Sir George Beaumont, Bart., from the south-west coast of Cumberland_, the lines _To the Poet, John Dyer_, and four sonnets (mainly suggested by the events of the year in Spain) comprise all the poems belonging to 1811.--ED.

CHARACTERISTICS OF A CHILD THREE YEARS OLD

Composed 1811.--Published 1815

[Written at Allanbank, Grasmere. Picture of my daughter, Catherine, who died the year after.--I. F.]

Classed among the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood."--ED.

Loving she is, and tractable, though wild;
And Innocence hath privilege in her
To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes;
And feats of cunning; and the pretty round
Of trespasses, affected to provoke 5
Mock-chastisement and partnership in play.
And, as a faggot sparkles on the hearth,
Not less if unattended and alone
Than when both young and old sit gathered round
And take delight in its activity; 10
Even so this happy Creature of herself
Is all-sufficient; solitude to her
Is blithe society, who fills the air
With gladness and involuntary songs.
Light are her sallies as the tripping fawn's 15
Forth-startled from the fern where she lay couched;
Unthought-of, unexpected, as the stir
Of the soft breeze ruffling the meadow-flowers,
Or from before it chasing wantonly
The many-coloured images imprest 20
Upon the bosom of a placid lake.

On February 28, 1810, Dorothy Wordsworth wrote to Lady Beaumont, "Catherine is the only funny child in the family; the rest of the children are _lively_, but Catherine is comical in every look and motion. Thomas perpetually forces a tender smile by his simplicity, but Catherine makes you laugh outright, though she can hardly say a dozen words, and she joins in the laugh, as if sensible of the drollery of her appearance."--ED.

SPANISH GUERILLAS, 1811

Composed 1811.--Published 1815

Classed among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty."--ED.

They seek, are sought; to daily battle led,
Shrink not, though far outnumbered by their Foes,
For they have learnt to open and to close
The ridges of grim war;[A] 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
Redoubted Viriatus breathes again;[B] 10
And Mina, nourished in the studious shade,[C]
With that great Leader[D] vies, who, sick of strife
And bloodshed, longed in quiet to be laid
In some green island of the western main.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Compare _Paradise Lost_, book vi. ll. 235-36--

and when to close
The ridges of grim war. ED.

[B] Viriatus, for eight or fourteen years leader of the Lusitanians in the war with the Romans in the middle of the second century B.C. He defeated many of the Roman generals, including Q. Pompeius. Some of the historians say that he was originally a shepherd, and then a robber or guerilla chieftain. (See Livy, books 52 and 54.)--ED.

[C] "Whilst the chief force of the French was occupied in Portugal and Andalusia, and there remained in the interior of Spain only a few weak corps, the Guerilla system took deep root, and in the course of 1811 attained its greatest perfection. Left to itself the boldest and most enterprising of its members rose to command, and the mode of warfare best adapted to their force and habits was pursued. Each province boasted of a hero, in command of a formidable band--Old Castile, Don Julian Sanches; Aragon, Longa; Navarre, Esprez y Mina, ... with innumerable others, whose deeds spread a lustre over every part of the kingdom.... Mina and Longa headed armies of 6000 or 8000 men with distinguished ability, and displayed manoeuvres oftentimes for months together, in baffling the pursuit of more numerous bodies of French, which would reflect credit on the most celebrated commanders." Mina had been trained for clerical life. (See _Account of the War in Spain and Portugal, and in the south of France, from 1808 to 1814 inclusive_, by Lieut.-Colonel John T. Jones. London, 1818.)--ED.

[D] Sertorius.--W. W. 1827. See note to _The Prelude_ book i. vol. iii. p. 138.--ED.

"THE POWER OF ARMIES IS A VISIBLE THING"

Composed 1811.--Published 1815

One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty."

The power of Armies is a visible thing,[A]
Formal, and circumscribed in time and space;[1]
But who the limits of that power shall trace[2]
Which a brave People into light can bring
Or hide, at will,--for freedom combating 5
By just revenge inflamed? No foot may chase,[3]
No eye can follow, to a fatal[4] 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.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1827.

... and place; 1815.

[2] 1827.

... can trace 1815.

[3] 1827.

... can chase, 1815.

[4] The word "fatal" was _italicised_ in the editions of 1815-43.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Compare Aubrey de Vere's _Picturesque Sketches of Greece and Turkey_, vol. i. chap. viii. p. 204.--ED.

"HERE PAUSE: THE POET CLAIMS AT LEAST THIS PRAISE"

Composed 1811.--Published 1815

Included among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty." In 1815 it was called _Conclusion_, as ending this series of poems in that edition. In all editions it was headed by the date _1811_.--ED.

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.[A]
Never may from our souls one truth depart--
That an accursed[1] 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!

VARIANTS:

[1] The word "accursed" was _italicised_ in the editions of 1815-43.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Compare _The Excursion_ (book iv. l. 763)--

We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love,

and S. T. C. in _The Friend_ (vol. i. p. 172). "What an awful duty, what a nurse of all others, the fairest virtues, does not Hope become! We are bad ourselves, because we despair of the goodness of others."--ED.

EPISTLE TO SIR GEORGE HOWLAND BEAUMONT, BART.

FROM THE SOUTH-WEST COAST OF CUMBERLAND.--1811

Composed 1811.--Published 1842

[This poem opened, when first written, with a paragraph that has been transferred as an introduction to the first series of my Scotch Memorials. The journey, of which the first part is here described, was from Grasmere to Bootle on the south-west coast of Cumberland, the whole among mountain roads through a beautiful country; and we had fine weather. The verses end with our breakfast at the head of Yewdale in a yeoman's house, which, like all the other property in that sequestered vale, has passed or is passing into the hands of Mr. James Marshall of Monk Coniston--in Mr. Knott's, the late owner's, time called Waterhead. Our hostess married a Mr. Oldfield, a lieutenant in the Navy. They lived together for some time at Hacket, where she still resides as his widow. It was in front of that house, on the mountain side, near which stood the peasant who, while we were passing at a distance, saluted us, waving a kerchief in her hand as described in the poem.[A] (This matron and her husband were then residing at the Hacket. The house and its inmates are referred to in the fifth book of _The Excursion_, in the passage beginning--

You behold,
High on the breast of yon dark mountain, dark
With stony barrenness, a shining speck.--J. C.)[B]

The dog which we met with soon after our starting belonged to Mr. Rowlandson, who for forty years was curate of Grasmere in place of the rector who lived to extreme old age in a state of insanity. Of this Mr. R. much might be said, both with reference to his character, and the way in which he was regarded by his parishioners. He was a man of a robust frame, had a firm voice and authoritative manner, of strong natural talents, of which he was himself conscious, for he has been heard to say (it grieves me to add) with an oath--"If I had been brought up at college I should have been a bishop." Two vices used to struggle in him for mastery, avarice and the love of strong drink; but avarice, as is common in like cases, always got the better of its opponent; for, though he was often intoxicated, it was never I believe at his own expense. As has been said of one in a more exalted station, he would take any _given_ quantity. I have heard a story of him which is worth the telling. One summer's morning, our Grasmere curate, after a night's carouse in the vale of Langdale, on his return home, having reached a point near which the whole of the vale of Grasmere might be seen with the lake immediately below him, stepped aside and sat down on the turf. After looking for some time at the landscape, then in the perfection of its morning beauty, he exclaimed--"Good God, that I should have led so long such a life in such a place!" This no doubt was deeply felt by him at the time, but I am not authorised to say that any noticeable amendment followed. Penuriousness strengthened upon him as his body grew feebler with age. He had purchased property and kept some land in his own hands, but he could not find in his heart to lay out the necessary hire for labourers at the proper season, and consequently he has often been seen in half-dotage working his hay in the month of November by moonlight, a melancholy sight which I myself have witnessed. Notwithstanding all that has been said, this man, on account of his talents and superior education, was looked up to by his parishioners, who without a single exception lived at that time (and most of them upon their own small inheritances) in a state of republican equality, a condition favourable to the growth of kindly feelings among them, and in a striking degree exclusive to temptations to gross vice and scandalous behaviour. As a pastor their curate did little or nothing for them; but what could more strikingly set forth the efficacy of the Church of England through its Ordinances and Liturgy than that, in spite of the unworthiness of the minister, his church was regularly attended; and, though there was not much appearance in the flock of what might be called animated piety, intoxication was rare, and dissolute morals unknown. With the Bible they were for the most part well acquainted; and, as was strikingly shown when they were under affliction, must have been supported and comforted by habitual belief in those truths which it is the aim of the Church to inculcate. _Loughrigg Tarn._--This beautiful pool and the surrounding scene are minutely described in my little Book upon the Lakes. Sir G. H. Beaumont, in the earlier part of his life, was induced, by his love of nature and the art of painting, to take up his abode at Old Brathay, about three miles from this spot, so that he must have seen it under many aspects; and he was so much pleased with it that he purchased the Tarn with a view to build, near it, such a residence as is alluded to in this Epistle. Baronets and knights were not so common in that day as now, and Sir Michael le Fleming, not liking to have a rival in that kind of distinction so near him, claimed a sort of Lordship over the territory, and showed dispositions little in unison with those of Sir G. Beaumont, who was eminently a lover of peace. The project of building was in consequence given up, Sir George retaining possession of the Tarn. Many years afterwards a Kendal tradesman born upon its banks applied to me for the purchase of it, and accordingly it was sold for the sum that had been given for it, and the money was laid out under my direction upon a substantial oak fence for a certain number of yew trees to be planted in Grasmere church-yard; two were planted in each enclosure, with a view to remove, after a certain time, the one which throve least. After several years, the stouter plant being left, the others were taken up and placed in other parts of the same church-yard, and were adequately fenced at the expense and under the care of the late Mr. Barber, Mr. Greenwood, and myself: the whole eight are now thriving, and are already an ornament to a place which, during late years, has lost much of its rustic simplicity by the introduction of iron palisades to fence off family burying-grounds, and by numerous monuments, some of them in very bad taste; from which this place of burial was in my memory quite free. See the lines in the sixth book of _The Excursion_ beginning--"Green is the church-yard, beautiful and green." The _Epistle_ to which these notes refer, though written so far back as 1804,[C] was carefully revised so late as 1842, previous to its publication. I am loth to add, that it was never seen by the person to whom it is addressed. So sensible am I of the deficiencies in all that I write, and so far does everything I attempt fall short of what I wish it to be, that even private publication, if such a term may be allowed, requires more resolution than I can command. I have written to give vent to my own mind, and not without hope that, some time or other, kindred minds might benefit by my labours: but I am inclined to believe I should never have ventured to send forth any verses of mine to the world if it had not been done on the pressure of personal occasions. Had I been a rich man, my productions, like this _Epistle_, the tragedy of _The Borderers_, etc., would most likely have been confined to manuscript.--I. F.]

Included among the "Miscellaneous Poems."--ED.

Far from our home by Grasmere's quiet Lake,
From the Vale's peace which all her fields partake,
Here on the bleakest point of Cumbria's shore
We sojourn stunned by Ocean's ceaseless roar;
While, day by day, grim neighbour! huge Black Comb
Frowns deepening visibly his native gloom, 6
Unless, perchance rejecting in despite
What on the Plain _we_ have of warmth and light,
In his own storms he hides himself from sight.
Rough is the time; and thoughts, that would be free 10
From heaviness, oft fly, dear Friend, to thee;
Turn from a spot where neither sheltered road
Nor hedge-row screen invites my steps abroad;
Where one poor Plane-tree, having as it might
Attained a stature twice a tall man's height, 15
Hopeless of further growth, and brown and sere
Through half the summer, stands with top cut sheer,
Like an unshifting weathercock which proves
How cold the quarter that the wind best loves,
Or like a Centinel[1] that, evermore 20
Darkening the window, ill defends the door
Of this unfinished house--a Fortress bare,
Where strength has been the Builder's only care;
Whose rugged walls may still for years demand
The final polish of the Plasterer's hand. 25
--This Dwelling's Inmate more than three weeks' space
And oft a Prisoner in the cheerless place,
I--of whose touch the fiddle would complain,
Whose breath would labour at the flute in vain,
In music all unversed, nor blessed with skill 30
A bridge to copy, or to paint a mill,
Tired of my books, a scanty company!
And tired of listening to the boisterous sea--
Pace between door and window muttering rhyme,
An old resource to cheat a froward time! 35
Though these dull hours (mine is it, or their shame?)
Would tempt me to renounce that humble aim.
--But if there be a Muse who, free to take
Her seat upon Olympus, doth forsake
Those heights (like Phoebus when his golden locks 40
He veiled, attendant on Thessalian flocks)
And, in disguise, a Milkmaid with her pail
Trips down the pathways of some winding dale;
Or, like a Mermaid, warbles on the shores
To fishers mending nets beside their doors; 45
Or, Pilgrim-like, on forest moss reclined,
Gives plaintive ditties to the heedless wind,
Or listens to its play among the boughs
Above her head and so forgets her vows--
If such a Visitant of Earth there be 50
And she would deign this day to smile on me
And aid my verse, content with local bounds
Of natural beauty and life's daily rounds,
Thoughts, chances, sights, or doings, which we tell
Without reserve to those whom we love well-- 55
Then haply, Beaumont! words in current clear
Will flow, and on a welcome page appear
Duly before thy sight, unless they perish here.

What shall I treat of? News from Mona's Isle?
Such have we, but unvaried in its style; 60
No tales of Runagates fresh landed, whence
And wherefore fugitive or on what pretence;
Of feasts, or scandal, eddying like the wind
Most restlessly alive when most confined.
Ask not of me, whose tongue can best appease 65
The mighty tumults of the HOUSE OF KEYS;
The last year's cup whose Ram or Heifer gained,
What slopes are planted, or what mosses drained:
An eye of fancy only can I cast
On that proud pageant now at hand or past, 70
When full five hundred boats in trim array,
With nets and sails outspread and streamers gay,
And chanted hymns and stiller voice of prayer,
For the old Manx-harvest to the Deep repair,
Soon as the herring-shoals at distance shine 75
Like beds of moonlight shifting on the brine.

Mona from our Abode is daily seen,
But with a wilderness of waves between;
And by conjecture only can we speak
Of aught transacted there in bay or creek; 80
No tidings reach us thence from town or field,
Only faint news her mountain sunbeams yield,
And some we gather from the misty air,
And some the hovering clouds, our telegraph, declare.
But these poetic mysteries I withhold; 85
For Fancy hath her fits both hot and cold,
And should the colder fit with You be on
When You might read, my credit would be gone.

Let more substantial themes the pen engage,
And nearer interests culled from the opening stage 90
Of our migration.--Ere the welcome dawn
Had from the east her silver star withdrawn,
The Wain stood ready, at our Cottage-door,
Thoughtfully freighted with a various store;
And long or ere the uprising of the Sun 95
O'er dew-damped dust our journey was begun,
A needful journey, under favouring skies,
Through peopled Vales; yet something in the guise
Of those old Patriarchs when from well to well
They roamed through Wastes where now the tented Arabs 100
dwell.

Say first, to whom did we the charge 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,
Through the quick turns of many a hollow nook, 105
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,
Skilful and bold, the horse and burthened _sled_[D] 110
From the peat-yielding Moss on Gowdar's head.
What could go wrong with such a Charioteer
For goods and chattels, or those Infants dear,
A Pair who smilingly sat side by side,
Our hope confirming that the salt-sea tide, 115
Whose free embraces we were bound to seek,
Would their lost strength restore and freshen the pale cheek?
Such hope did either Parent entertain
Pacing behind along the silent lane.

Blithe hopes and happy musings soon took flight, 120
For lo! an uncouth melancholy sight--
On a green bank a creature stood forlorn
Just half protruded to the light of morn,
Its hinder part concealed by hedge-row thorn.
The Figure called to mind a beast of prey 125
Stript of its frightful powers by slow decay,
And, though no longer upon rapine bent,
Dim memory keeping of its old intent.
We started, looked again with anxious eyes,
And in that griesly object recognise 130
The Curate's Dog--his long-tried friend, for they,
As well we knew, together had grown grey.
The Master died, his drooping servant's grief
Found at the Widow's feet some sad relief;[2]
Yet still he lived in pining discontent, 135
Sadness which no indulgence could prevent;
Hence whole day wanderings, broken nightly sleeps
And lonesome watch that out of doors he keeps;
Not oftentimes, I trust, as we, poor brute!
Espied him on his legs sustained, blank, mute, 140
And of all visible motion destitute,
So that the very heaving of his breath
Seemed stopt, though by some other power than death.
Long as we gazed upon the form and face,
A mild domestic pity kept its place, 145
Unscared by thronging fancies of strange hue
That haunted us in spite of what we knew.
Even now I sometimes think of him as lost
In second-sight appearances, or crost
By spectral shapes of guilt, or to the ground, 150
On which he stood, by spells unnatural bound,
Like a gaunt shaggy Porter forced to wait
In days of old romance at Archimago's gate.

Advancing Summer, Nature's law fulfilled,
The choristers in every grove had stilled; 155
But we, we lacked not music of our own,
For lightsome Fanny had thus early thrown,
Mid the gay prattle of those infant tongues,
Some notes prelusive, from the round of songs
With which, more zealous than the liveliest bird 160
That in wild Arden's brakes was ever heard,
Her work and her work's partners she can cheer,
The whole day long, and all days of the year.

Thus gladdened from our own dear Vale we pass
And soon approach Diana's Looking-glass! 165
To Loughrigg-tarn, round, clear, and bright as heaven,
Such name Italian fancy would have given,
Ere on its banks the few grey cabins rose
That yet disturb not its concealed repose
More than the feeblest wind that idly blows. 170

Ah, Beaumont! when an opening in the road
Stopped me at once by charm of what it showed,
The encircling region vividly exprest
Within the mirror's depth, a world at rest--
Sky streaked with purple, grove and craggy _bield_,[E] 175
And the smooth green of many a pendent field,
And, quieted and soothed, a torrent small,
A little daring would-be waterfall,
One chimney smoking and its azure wreath,
Associate all in the calm Pool beneath, 180
With here and there a faint imperfect gleam
Of water-lilies veiled in misty steam--
What wonder at this hour of stillness deep,
A shadowy link 'tween wakefulness and sleep,
When Nature's self, amid such blending, seems 185
To render visible her own soft dreams,
If, mixed with what appeared of rock, lawn, wood,
Fondly embosomed in the tranquil flood,
A glimpse I caught of that Abode, by Thee
Designed to rise in humble privacy, 190
A lowly Dwelling, here to be outspread,
Like a small Hamlet, with its bashful head
Half hid in native trees. Alas 'tis not,
Nor ever was; I sighed, and left the spot
Unconscious of its own untoward lot, 195
And thought in silence, with regret too keen,
Of unexperienced joys that might have been;
Of neighbourhood and intermingling arts,
And golden summer days uniting cheerful hearts.
But time, irrevocable time, is flown, 200
And let us utter thanks for blessings sown
And reaped--what hath been, and what is, our own.

Not far we travelled ere a shout of glee,
Startling us all, dispersed my reverie;
Such shout as many a sportive echo meeting 205
Oft-times from Alpine _chalets_ sends a greeting.
Whence the blithe hail? behold a Peasant stand
On high, a kerchief waving in her hand!
Not unexpectant that by early day
Our little Band would thrid this mountain way, 210
Before her cottage on the bright hill side
She hath advanced with hope to be descried.
Right gladly answering signals we displayed,
Moving along a tract of morning shade,
And vocal wishes sent of like good will 215
To our kind Friend high on the sunny hill--
Luminous region, fair as if the prime
Were tempting all astir to look aloft or climb;
Only the centre of the shining cot
With door left open makes a gloomy spot, 220
Emblem of those dark corners sometimes found
Within the happiest breast on earthly ground.

Rich prospect left behind of stream and vale,
And mountain-tops, a barren ridge we scale;
Descend and reach, in Yewdale's depths, a plain 225
With haycocks studded, striped with yellowing grain--
An area level as a Lake and spread
Under a rock too steep for man to tread,
Where sheltered from the north and bleak north-west
Aloft the Raven hangs a visible nest, 230
Fearless of all assaults that would her brood molest.
Hot sunbeams fill the steaming vale; but hark,
At our approach, a jealous watch-dog's bark,
Noise that brings forth no liveried Page of state,
But the whole household, that our coming wait. 235
With Young and Old warm greetings we exchange,
And jocund smiles, and toward the lowly Grange
Press forward by the teasing dogs unscared.
Entering, we find the morning meal prepared:
So down we sit, though not till each had cast 240
Pleased looks around the delicate repast--
Rich cream, and snow-white eggs fresh from the nest,
With amber honey from the mountain's breast;
Strawberries from lane or woodland, offering wild
Of children's industry, in hillocks piled; 245
Cakes for the nonce,[3] and butter fit to lie
Upon a lordly dish; frank hospitality
Where simple art with bounteous nature vied,
And cottage comfort shunned not seemly pride.

Kind Hostess! Handmaid also of the feast, 250
If thou be lovelier than the kindling East,
Words by thy presence unrestrained may speak
Of a perpetual dawn from brow and cheek
Instinct with light whose sweetest promise lies,
Never retiring, in thy large dark eyes, 255
Dark but to every gentle feeling true,
As if their lustre flowed from ether's purest blue.

Let me not ask what tears may have been wept
By those bright eyes, what weary vigils kept,
Beside that hearth what sighs may have been heaved 260
For wounds inflicted, nor what toil relieved
By fortitude and patience, and the grace
Of heaven in pity visiting the place.
Not unadvisedly those secret springs
I leave unsearched: enough that memory clings, 265
Here as elsewhere, to notices that make
Their own significance for hearts awake,
To rural incidents, whose genial powers
Filled with delight three summer morning hours.

More could my pen report of grave or gay 270
That through our gipsy travel cheered the way;
But, bursting forth above the waves, the Sun
Laughs at my pains, and seems to say, "Be done."
Yet, Beaumont, thou wilt not, I trust, reprove
This humble offering made by Truth to Love, 275
Nor chide the Muse that stooped to break a spell
Which might have else been on me yet:--
FAREWELL.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1845.

Or stedfast Centinel ... 1842.

[2]

Until the Vale she quitted, and their door
Was closed, to which she will return no more;
But first old Faithful to a neighbour's care
Was given in charge; nor lacked he dainty fare,
And in the chimney nook was free to lie
And doze, or, if his hour were come, to die.

Inserted only in the edition of 1842.

[3] The phrase "for the nonce" was _italicised_ in 1842.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] In the MS. of these Fenwick notes, the following is written in pencil, the passage referred to beginning with "Our hostess," and ending at "the poem." "Revise this sentence. Here is something involved."--ED.

[B] _i.e._ John Carter, Wordsworth's confidential clerk, who saw the edition of 1857 through the press. The sentence enclosed within brackets and signed J. C. is his.--ED.

[C] See the note dealing with this date (p. 269). It should be 1811.--ED.

[D] A local word for Sledge.--W. W. 1842.

[E] A word common in the country, signifying shelter, as in Scotland.--W. W. 1842.

UPON PERUSING THE FOREGOING EPISTLE THIRTY YEARS AFTER ITS COMPOSITION

Composed 1841.--Published 1842

Included among the "Miscellaneous Poems."--ED.

Soon did the Almighty Giver of all rest
Take those dear young Ones to a fearless nest;
And in Death's arms has long reposed the Friend
For whom this simple Register was penned.
Thanks to the moth that spared it for our eyes; 5
And Strangers even the slighted Scroll may prize,
Moved by the touch of kindred sympathies.
For--save the calm, repentance sheds o'er strife
Raised by remembrances of misused life,
The light from past endeavours purely willed 10
And by Heaven's favour happily fulfilled;
Save hope that we, yet bound to Earth, may share
The joys of the Departed--what so fair
As blameless pleasure, not without some tears,
Reviewed through Love's transparent veil of years?[A] 15

The mighty tumults of the HOUSE OF KEYS;

The Isle of Man has a constitution of its own, independent of the Imperial Parliament. The House of twenty-four Keys is the popular assembly, corresponding to the British House of Commons; the Lieutenant-Governor and Council constitute the Upper House. All legislative measures must be first considered and passed by both branches, and afterwards transmitted to the English Sovereign for the Royal Assent before becoming law.

Mona from our Abode is daily seen,
But with a wilderness of waves between;

In a letter written from Bootle to Sir George Beaumont on the 28th August 1811, Wordsworth says:--

"This is like most others, a bleak and treeless coast, but
abounding in corn fields, and with a noble beach, which is
delightful either for walking or riding. The Isle of Man is right
opposite our window; and though in this unsettled weather often
invisible, its appearance has afforded us great amusement. One
afternoon above the whole length of it was stretched a body of
clouds, shaped and coloured like a magnificent grove in winter,
when whitened with snow and illuminated, by the morning sun,
which, having melted the snow in part, has intermingled black
masses among the brightness. The whole sky was scattered over with
fleecy dark clouds, such as any sunshiny day produces, and which
were changing their shapes and positions every moment. But this
line of clouds was immovably attached to the island, and
manifestly took their shape from the influence of its mountains.
There appeared to be just span enough of sky to allow the hand to
slide between the top of Snafell, the highest peak in the island,
and the base of this glorious forest, in which little change was
noticeable for more than the space of half an hour."

In the Fenwick note, Wordsworth tells us that this _Epistle_ was written in 1804; and by referring to the note prefixed to the first poem in the "Memorials of a Tour in Scotland," 1803, (see vol. ii. p. 377), it will be seen that the lines entitled _Departure from the Vale of Grasmere, August, 1803_, beginning--

The gentlest Shade that walked Elysian plains,

were "not actually written for the occasion, but transplanted from my _Epistle to Sir George Beaumont_."

It does not follow from this, however, that the lines belong to the year 1803 or 1804; because they were not published along with the earlier "Memorials" of the Scotch Tour, but appeared for the first time in the edition of 1827. It is certain that Wordsworth travelled down with his household from the Grasmere Parsonage to Bootle in August 1811--mainly to get some sea-air for his invalid children--and that he lived there for some time during the autumn of that year. He _may_ have also gone down to the south-west coast of Cumberland in 1804, and then written a part of the poem; but we have no direct evidence of this; and I rather think that the mention of the year 1804 to Miss Fenwick is just another instance in which Wordsworth's memory failed him while dictating these memoranda. If the poem was not written at different times, but was composed as a whole in 1811, we may partly account for the date he gave to Miss Fenwick, when we remember that in the year 1827 he transferred a part of it (viz. the introduction) to these "Memorials" of the Scotch Tour of 1803.

Up many a sharply-twining road and down,
And over many a wide hill's craggy crown,
Through the quick turns of many a hollow nook,
And the rough bed of many an unbridged brook.