Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

[24] This way of indicating the _name_ of my lamented friend has been found fault with, perhaps rightly so; but I may say in justification of the double sense of the word, that similar allusions are not uncommon in epitaphs. One of the best in our language in verse, I ever read, was upon a person who bore the name of Palmer†; and the course of the thought, throughout, turned upon the Life of the Departed, considered as a pilgrimage. Nor can I think that the objection in the present case will have much force with any one who remembers Charles Lamb’s beautiful sonnet addressed to his own name, and ending--

No deed of mine shall shame thee, gentle name!

W. W. 1837.

† 1840.

Pilgrim;

1837.

Professor Henry Reed, in his edition of 1837, added the following note to Wordsworth’s. “In _Hierologus_, a Church Tour through England and Wales, I have met with an epitaph which is probably the one alluded to above … a Kentish epitaph on one Palmer:

Palmers all our fathers were;
I, a Palmer lived here,
And traveyled sore, till worn with age,
I ended this world’s pilgrimage,
On the blest Ascension Day
In the cheerful month of May.”

The above is Professor Reed’s note. The following is an exact copy of the epitaph:--

_Palmers_ all our faders were;
I, a _Palmer_ livyd here
And travyld still till worne wyth age,
I endyd this world’s pylgramage,
On the blyst assention day
In the cherful month of May;
A thowsand wyth fowre hundryd seven,
And took my jorney hense to heven.

(Printed by Weever.)

ED.

[25] Compare Talfourd’s _Final Memorials of Charles Lamb_, _passim_.--ED.

[26] 1837.

_He had a constant friend--in Charity_;
HER _who, among_ a multitude of sins,

In privately printed edition.

[27] 1837.

From a reflecting mind and sorrowing heart
This tribute flow’d, with hope that it might guard
The dust of him whose virtues call’d it forth;
But ’tis a little space of earth that man,
Stretch’d out in death, is doom’d to occupy;
Still smaller space doth modest custom yield,
On sculptured tomb or tablet, to the claims
Of the deceased, or rights of the bereft.
’Tis well; and tho’, the record overstepped
Those narrow bounds, yet on the printed page
Received, there may it stand, I trust, unblamed
As long as verse of mine shall steal from tears
Their bitterness, or live to shed a gleam
Of solace over one dejected thought.

In privately printed edition.

Professor Dowden quotes, from “a slip of MS. in the poet’s hand-writing,” the following variation of these lines--

’Tis well, and if the Record in the strength
And earnestness of feeling, overpass’d
Those narrow limits and so miss’d its aim,
Yet will I trust that on the printed page
Received, it there may keep a place unblamed.

ED.

[28] Lamb’s indifference to the country “was a sort of ‘mock apparel,’ in which it was his humour at times to invest himself.” (H. N. Coleridge, Supplement to the _Biographia Literaria_, p. 333.)--ED.

[29] 1837.

Burned, and with ever-strengthening light, enshrined

In privately printed edition.

[30] 1837.

By God, …

In privately printed edition.

[31] 1837.

… Our days pass on;

In privately printed edition.

[32] 1837.

Together stood they witnessing of time

In privately printed edition.

[33] 1837.

Yet, in all visitations, through all trials
Still they were faithful, like two goodly ships
Launch’d from the beach, …

In privately printed edition.

[34] Compare the testimony borne to Mary Lamb by Mr. Procter (Barry Cornwall), and by Henry Crabb Robinson.--ED.

[35] 1837.

… The sacred tie
Is broken, to become more sacred still.

In privately printed edition.

Wordsworth originally meant to write an epitaph on Charles Lamb, but his verse grew into an elegy of some length. A reference to the circumstance of its “composition” will be found in one of his letters, in a later volume.--ED.

EXTEMPORE EFFUSION UPON THE DEATH OF JAMES HOGG

Composed 1835.--Published 1835

[These verses were written extempore, immediately after reading a notice of the Ettrick Shepherd’s death, in the Newcastle paper, to the Editor of which I sent a copy for publication. The persons lamented in these verses were all either of my friends or acquaintance. In Lockhart’s _Life of Sir Walter Scott_, an account is given of my first meeting with him in 1803. How the Ettrick Shepherd and I became known to each other has already been mentioned in these notes. He was undoubtedly a man of original genius, but of coarse manners and low and offensive opinions. Of Coleridge and Lamb I need not speak here. Crabbe I have met in London at Mr. Rogers’s, but more frequently and favourably at Mr. Hoare’s upon Hampstead Heath. Every spring he used to pay that family a visit of some length, and was upon terms of intimate friendship with Mrs. Hoare, and still more with her daughter-in-law, who has a large collection of his letters addressed to herself. After the Poet’s decease, application was made to her to give up these letters to his biographer, that they, or at least part of them, might be given to the public. She hesitated to comply, and asked my opinion on the subject. “By no means,” was my answer, grounded not upon any objection there might be to publishing a selection from these letters, but from an aversion I have always felt to meet idle curiosity by calling back the recently departed to become the object of trivial and familiar gossip. Crabbe obviously for the most part preferred the company of women to that of men, for this among other reasons, that he did not like to be put upon the stretch in general conversation: accordingly in miscellaneous society his _talk_ was so much below what might have been expected from a man so deservedly celebrated, that to me it seemed trifling. It must upon other occasions have been of a different character, as I found in our rambles together on Hampstead Heath, and not so much from a readiness to communicate his knowledge of life and manners as of natural history in all its branches. His mind was inquisitive, and he seems to have taken refuge from the remembrance of the distresses he had gone through, in these studies and the employments to which they led. Moreover, such contemplations might tend profitably to counterbalance the painful truths which he had collected from his intercourse with mankind. Had I been more intimate with him, I should have ventured to touch upon his office as a minister of the Gospel, and how far his heart and soul were in it so as to make him a zealous and diligent labourer: in poetry, though he wrote much as we all know, he assuredly was not so. I happened once to speak of pains as necessary to produce merit of a certain kind which I highly valued: his observation was--“It is not worth while.” You are quite right, thought I, if the labour encroaches upon the time due to teach truth as a steward of the mysteries of God: if there be cause to fear _that_, write less: but, if poetry is to be produced at all, make what you do produce as good as you can. Mr. Rogers once told me that he expressed his regret to Crabbe that he wrote in his later works so much less correctly than in his earlier. “Yes,” replied he, “but then I had a reputation to make; now I can afford to relax.” Whether it was from a modest estimate of his own qualifications, or from causes less creditable, his motives for writing verse and his hopes and aims were not so high as is to be desired. After being silent for more than twenty years, he again applied himself to poetry, upon the spur of applause he received from the periodical publications of the day, as he himself tells us in one of his prefaces. Is it not to be lamented that a man who was so conversant with permanent truth, and whose writings are so valuable an acquisition to our country’s literature, should have _required_ an impulse from such a quarter? Mrs. Hemans was unfortunate as a poetess in being obliged by circumstances to write for money, and that so frequently and so much, that she was compelled to look out for subjects wherever she could find them, and to write as expeditiously as possible. As a woman, she was to a considerable degree a spoilt child of the world. She had been early in life distinguished for talent, and poems of hers were published while she was a girl. She had also been handsome in her youth, but her education had been most unfortunate. She was totally ignorant of housewifery, and could as easily have managed the spear of Minerva as her needle. It was from observing these deficiencies, that, one day while she was under my roof, I _purposely_ directed her attention to household economy, and told her I had purchased _Scales_ which I intended to present to a young lady as a wedding present; pointed out their utility (for her especial benefit) and said that no ménage ought to be without them. Mrs. Hemans, not in the least suspecting my drift, reported this saying, in a letter to a friend at the time, as a proof of my simplicity. Being disposed to make large allowances for the faults of her education and the circumstances in which she was placed, I felt most kindly disposed towards her, and took her part upon all occasions, and I was not a little affected by learning that after she withdrew to Ireland, a long and severe sickness raised her spirit as it depressed her body. This I heard from her most intimate friends, and there is striking evidence of it in a poem written and published not long before her death. These notices of Mrs. Hemans would be very unsatisfactory to her intimate friends, as indeed they are to myself, not so much for what is said, but what for brevity’s sake is left unsaid. Let it suffice to add, there was much sympathy between us, and, if opportunity had been allowed me to see more of her, I should have loved and valued her accordingly; as it is, I remember her with true affection for her amiable qualities, and, above all, for her delicate and irreproachable conduct during her long separation from an unfeeling husband, whom she had been led to marry from the romantic notions of inexperienced youth. Upon this husband I never heard her cast the least reproach, nor did I ever hear her even name him, though she did not wholly forbear to touch upon her domestic position; but never so that any fault could be found with her manner of adverting to it. --I.F.]

This first appeared in _The Athenæum_, December 12, 1835, and in the edition of 1837 it was included among the “Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces.”--ED.

When first, descending from the moorlands,
I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide
Along a bare and open valley,
The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide.[36]

When last along its banks I wandered, 5
Through groves that had begun to shed
Their golden leaves upon the pathways,
My steps the Border-minstrel led.

The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer,[37]
’Mid mouldering ruins low he lies;[38] 10
And death upon the braes of Yarrow,
Has closed the Shepherd-poet’s eyes:[39]

Nor has the rolling year twice measured,
From sign to sign, its stedfast course,
Since every mortal power of Coleridge 15
Was frozen at its marvellous source;[40]

The rapt One, of the godlike forehead,[41]
The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth:
And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle,
Has vanished from his lonely hearth.[42] 20

Like clouds that rake the mountain-summits,[43]
Or waves that own no curbing hand,
How fast has brother followed brother,
From sunshine to the sunless land!

Yet I, whose lids from infant slumber[44] 25
Were earlier raised, remain to hear
A timid voice, that asks in whispers,
“Who next will drop and disappear?”

Our haughty life is crowned with darkness,
Like London with its own black wreath, 30
On which with thee, O Crabbe! forth-looking,
I gazed from Hampstead’s breezy heath.

As if but yesterday departed,
Thou too art gone before;[45] but why,
O’er ripe fruit, seasonably gathered, 35
Should frail survivors heave a sigh?

Mourn rather for that holy Spirit,
Sweet as the spring, as ocean deep;
For Her who, ere her summer faded,
Has sunk into a breathless sleep.[46] 40

No more of old romantic sorrows,
For slaughtered Youth or love-lorn Maid!
With sharper grief is Yarrow smitten,
And Ettrick mourns with her their Poet dead.[47]

[36] Compare _Yarrow Visited_ (September, 1814), vol. vi. p. 35.--ED.

[37] Compare _Yarrow Revisited_ (1831), vol. vii. p. 278.--ED.

[38] Scott died at Abbotsford, on the 21st September 1832, and was buried in Dryburgh Abbey.--ED.

[39] Hogg died at Altrive, on the 21st November 1835.--ED.

[40] Coleridge died at Highgate, on the 25th July 1834.--ED.

[41] Compare the _Stanzas written in my Pocket Copy of Thomson’s “Castle of Indolence”_ (vol. ii. p. 307)--

Profound his forehead was, though not severe.

ED.

[42] Lamb died in London, on the 27th December 1834.--ED.

[43] “This expression is borrowed from a sonnet by Mr. G. Bell, the author of a small volume of poems lately printed at Penrith. Speaking of Skiddaw he says--

Yon dark cloud ‘rakes,’ and shrouds its noble brow.”

(Henry Reed, 1837.)--ED.

[44] 1845.

… slumbers

1837.

[45] George Crabbe died at Trowbridge, Wiltshire, on the 3rd of February 1832.--ED.

[46] Felicia Hemans died 16th May 1835.--ED.

[47]

Grieve rather for that holy Spirit
Pure as the sky, as ocean deep;
For her who ere the summer faded
Has sunk into a breathless sleep.

No more of old romantic sorrows
For slaughtered Youth or love-lorn Maid!
With sharper grief is Yarrow smitten,
And Ettrick mourns her Shepherd Poet dead.

C.

UPON SEEING A COLOURED DRAWING OF THE BIRD OF PARADISE IN AN ALBUM

Composed 1835.--Published 1836

[I cannot forbear to record that the last seven lines of this Poem were composed in bed during the night of the day on which my sister Sara Hutchinson died about 6 P.M., and it was the thought of her innocent and beautiful life that, through faith, prompted the words----

On wings that fear no glance of God’s pure sight,
No tempest from his breath.

The reader will find two poems on pictures of this bird among my Poems. I will here observe that in a far greater number of instances than have been mentioned in these notes one poem has, as in this case, grown out of another, either because I felt the subject had been inadequately treated, or that the thoughts and images suggested in course of composition have been such as I found interfered with the unity indispensable to every work of art, however humble in character.--I.F.]

One of the “Poems of Sentiment and Reflection.”--ED.

Who rashly strove thy Image to portray?
Thou buoyant minion of the tropic air;
How could he think of the live creature----gay
With a divinity of colours, drest
In all her brightness, from the dancing crest 5
Far as the last gleam of the filmy train
Extended and extending to sustain
The motions that it graces----and forbear
To drop his pencil! Flowers of every clime
Depicted on these pages smile at time; 10
And gorgeous insects copied with nice care
Are here, and likenesses of many a shell
Tossed ashore by restless waves,
Or in the diver’s grasp fetched up from caves
Where sea-nymphs might be proud to dwell: 15
But whose rash hand (again I ask) could dare,
’Mid casual tokens and promiscuous shows,
To circumscribe this Shape in fixed repose;
Could imitate for indolent survey,
Perhaps for touch profane, 20
Plumes that might catch, but cannot keep, a stain;
And, with cloud-streaks lightest and loftiest, share
The sun’s first greeting, his last farewell ray!

Resplendent Wanderer! followed with glad eyes
Where’er her course; mysterious Bird! 25
To whom, by wondering Fancy stirred,
Eastern Islanders have given
A holy name----the Bird of Heaven!
And even a title higher still,
The Bird of God![48] whose blessed will 30
She seems performing as she flies
Over the earth and through the skies
In never-wearied search of Paradise----
Region that crowns her beauty with the name
She bears for _us_----for us how blest, 35
How happy at all seasons, could like aim
Uphold our Spirits urged to kindred flight
On wings that fear no glance of God’s pure sight,
No tempest from his breath, their promised rest
Seeking with indefatigable quest 40
Above a world that deems itself most wise
When most enslaved by gross realities!

[48] Compare, in Robert Browning’s poem on Guercino’s picture of _The Guardian-Angel at Fano_----

Thou bird of God.

ED.

“DESPONDING FATHER! MARK THIS ALTERED BOUGH”

Composed 1835.--Published 1835

One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.

Desponding Father! mark this altered bough,[49]
So beautiful of late, with sunshine warmed,
Or moist with dews; what more unsightly now,
Its blossoms shrivelled, and its fruit, if formed,
Invisible? yet Spring her genial brow 5
Knits not o’er that discolouring and decay
As false to expectation. Nor fret thou
At like unlovely process in the May
Of human life: a Stripling’s graces blow,
Fade and are shed, that from their timely fall 10
(Misdeem it not a cankerous change) may grow
Rich mellow bearings, that for thanks shall call:
In all men, sinful is it to be slow
To hope----in Parents, sinful above all.

[49] Compare _The Excursion_ (book iii. l. 649), and the sonnet (vol. vi. p. 72) beginning----

Surprised by joy----impatient as the Wind.

ED.

“FOUR FIERY STEEDS IMPATIENT OF THE REIN”

Composed 1835.--Published 1835

[Suggested on the road between Preston and Lancaster where it first gives a view of the Lake country, and composed on the same day, on the roof of the coach.--I.F.]

One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.

Four fiery steeds impatient of the rein
Whirled us o’er sunless ground beneath a sky
As void of sunshine, when, from that wide plain,
Clear tops of far-off mountains we descry,
Like a Sierra of cerulean Spain, 5
All light and lustre. Did no heart reply?
Yes, there was One;--for One, asunder fly
The thousand links of that ethereal chain;
And green vales open out, with grove and field,
And the fair front of many a happy Home; 10
Such tempting spots as into vision come
While Soldiers, weary of the arms they wield
And sick at heart[50] of strifeful Christendom,
Gaze on the moon by parting clouds revealed.

[50] 1837.

While Soldiers, of the weapons that they wield
Weary, and sick of strifeful …

1835.

TO ----

Composed 1835.--Published 1835

[The fate of this poor Dove, as described, was told to me at Brinsop Court, by the young lady to whom I have given the name of Lesbia.--I.F.]

[Miss not the occasion: by the forelock take
That subtle Power, the never-halting Time,
Lest a mere moment’s putting-off should make
Mischance almost as heavy as a crime.]

One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.

“Wait, prithee, wait!” this answer Lesbia[51] threw
Forth to her Dove, and took no further heed.
Her eye was busy, while her fingers flew
Across the harp, with soul-engrossing speed;
But from that bondage when her thoughts were freed 5
She rose, and toward the close-shut casement drew,
Whence the poor unregarded Favourite, true
To old affections, had been heard to plead
With flapping wing for entrance. What a shriek
Forced from that voice so lately tuned to a strain 10
Of harmony!----a shriek of terror, pain,
And self-reproach! for, from aloft, a Kite
Pounced,----and the Dove, which from its ruthless beak
She could not rescue, perished in her sight!

[51] Miss Loveday Walker, daughter of the Rector of Brinsop. See the Fenwick note to the next sonnet.--ED.

ROMAN ANTIQUITIES DISCOVERED AT BISHOPSTONE, HEREFORDSHIRE

Composed 1835.--Published 1835

[My attention to these antiquities was directed by Mr. Walker, son to the itinerant Eidouranian Philosopher. The beautiful pavement was discovered within a few yards of the front door of his parsonage, and appeared from the site (in full view of several hills upon which there had formerly been Roman encampments) as if it might have been the villa of the commander of the forces, at least such was Mr. Walker’s conjecture.--I.F.]

One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.

While poring Antiquarians search the ground
Upturned with curious pains, the Bard, a Seer,
Takes fire:----The men that have been reappear;
Romans for travel girt, for business gowned;
And some recline on couches, myrtle-crowned, 5
In festal glee: why not? For fresh and clear,
As if its hues were of the passing year,
Dawns this time-buried pavement. From that mound
Hoards may come forth of Trajans, Maximins,
Shrunk into coins with all their warlike toil: 10
Or a fierce impress issues with its foil
Of tenderness--the Wolf, whose suckling Twins
The unlettered ploughboy pities when he wins
The casual treasure from the furrowed soil.

ST. CATHERINE OF LEDBURY

Composed 1835.--Published 1835

[Written on a journey from Brinsop Court, Herefordshire.--I.F.]

One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.

When human touch (as monkish books attest)
Nor was applied nor could be, Ledbury bells
Broke forth in concert flung adown the dells,
And upward, high as Malvern’s cloudy crest;[52]
Sweet tones, and caught by a noble Lady blest 5
To rapture! Mabel listened at the side
Of her loved mistress: soon the music died,
And Catherine said, Here I set up my rest.
Warned in a dream, the Wanderer long had sought
A home that by such miracle of sound 10
Must be revealed:--she heard it now, or felt
The deep, deep joy of a confiding thought;
And there, a saintly Anchoress, she dwelt
Till she exchanged for heaven that happy ground.

[52] The Ledbury bells are easily audible on the Malvern hills.--ED.

“BY A BLEST HUSBAND GUIDED, MARY CAME”[53]

Published 1835

[This lady was named Carleton; she, along with a sister, was brought up in the neighbourhood of Ambleside. The epitaph, a part of it at least, is in the church at Bromsgrove, where she resided after her marriage.--I.F.]

One of the “Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces.”--ED.

By a blest Husband guided, Mary came
From nearest kindred, Vernon[54] her new name;
She came, though meek of soul, in seemly pride
Of happiness and hope, a youthful Bride.
O dread reverse! if aught _be_ so, which proves 5
That God will chasten whom he dearly loves.
Faith bore her up through pains in mercy given,
And troubles that were each a step to Heaven:
Two Babes were laid in earth before she died;
A third now slumbers at the Mother’s side; 10
Its Sister-twin survives, whose smiles afford
A trembling solace to her widowed Lord.

Reader! if to thy bosom cling the pain
Of recent sorrow combated in vain;
Or if thy cherished grief have failed to thwart 15
Time still intent on his insidious part,
Lulling the mourner’s best good thoughts asleep,
Pilfering regrets we would, but cannot, keep;
Bear with Him--judge _Him_ gently who makes known
His bitter loss by this memorial Stone; 20
And pray that in his faithful breast the grace
Of resignation find a hallowed place.

[53] 1837.

In the edition of 1835 the title was “Epitaph.”

[54] 1837.

From nearest kindred, …

1835.

“OH WHAT A WRECK! HOW CHANGED IN MIEN AND SPEECH!”

Composed 1835.--Published 1838

[The sad condition of poor Mrs. Southey[55] put me upon writing this. It has afforded comfort to many persons whose friends have been similarly affected.--I.F.]

One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.

Oh what a Wreck! how changed in mien and speech!
Yet--though dread Powers, that work in mystery, spin
Entanglings of[56] the brain; though shadows stretch
O’er the chilled heart--reflect; far, far within
Hers is a holy Being, freed from Sin. 5
She is not what she seems, a forlorn wretch,
But delegated Spirits comfort fetch
To Her from heights that Reason may not win.
Like Children, She is privileged to hold
Divine communion;[57] both do live and move, 10
Whate’er to shallow Faith their ways unfold,
Inly illumined by Heaven’s pitying love;
Love pitying innocence not long to last,
In them--in Her our sins and sorrows past.

[55] Mrs. Southey died 16th November 1837. She had long been an invalid. See Southey’s _Life and Correspondence_, vol. vi. p. 347.--ED.

[56] 1842.

… for …

1838.

[57] Compare a remark of Wordsworth’s that he never saw those with mind unhinged, but he thought of the words, “Life hid in God.” It is a curious oriental belief that idiots are in closer communion with the Infinite than the sane are.--ED.

1836

So far as can be ascertained, only one sonnet was written by Wordsworth in 1836. The verses _To a Redbreast_, by his sister-in-law, Sarah Hutchinson, may however be placed alongside of the sonnet addressed to her.--ED.

NOVEMBER 1836

Composed 1836.--Published 1837.

One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”--ED.

Even so for me a Vision sanctified
The sway of Death; long ere mine eyes had seen
Thy countenance--the still rapture of thy mien--
When thou, dear Sister![58] wert become Death’s Bride:
No trace of pain or languor could abide 5
That change:--age on thy brow was smoothed--thy cold
Wan cheek at once was privileged to unfold
A loveliness to living youth denied.
Oh! if within me hope should e’er decline,
The lamp of faith, lost Friend! too faintly burn; 10
Then may that heaven-revealing smile of thine,
The bright assurance, visibly return:
And let my spirit in that power divine
Rejoice, as, through that power, it ceased to mourn.

[58] Sarah Hutchinson--Mrs. Wordsworth’s sister--died at Rydal on the 23rd June 1836. It was after her that the poet named one of the two “heath-clad rocks” referred to in the “Poems on the naming of Places,” and which he called respectively “Mary-Point” and “Sarah-Point.” In 1827 he inscribed to her the sonnet beginning--

Excuse is needless when with love sincere,

and the lines she wrote _To a Redbreast_, beginning--

Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay,

were published among Wordsworth’s own poems.

The sonnet written in 1806, beginning--

Methought I saw the footsteps of a throne,

was, Wordsworth tells us, a great favourite with S. H. He adds, “When I saw her lying in death I could not resist the impulse to compose the sonnet that follows it.” (See vol. iv. p. 46.)

In a letter to Southey (unpublished), Wordsworth refers to her death, and adds: “I saw her within an hour after her decease, in the silence and peace of death, with as heavenly an expression on her countenance as ever human creature had. Surely there is food for faith in these appearances: for myself, I can say that I have passed a wakeful night, more in joy than in sorrow, with that blessed face before my eyes perpetually as I lay in bed.”

TO A REDBREAST--(IN SICKNESS)

Published 1842

[Almost the only verses by our lamented sister Sara Hutchinson.--I.F.]

One of the “Miscellaneous Poems.”--ED.

Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay,
And at my casement sing,
Though it should prove a farewell lay
And this our parting spring.

Though I, alas! may ne’er enjoy 5
The promise in thy song;
A charm, _that_ thought can not destroy,
Doth to thy strain belong.

Methinks that in my dying hour
Thy song would still be dear, 10
And with a more than earthly power
My passing Spirit cheer.

Then, little Bird, this boon confer,
Come, and my requiem sing,
Nor fail to be the harbinger 15
Of everlasting Spring.

S.H.

1837

The poems belonging to the year 1837 include the “Memorials of a Tour in Italy” with Henry Crabb Robinson in that year, and one or two additional sonnets.--ED.

“SIX MONTHS TO SIX YEARS ADDED HE REMAINED”

Published 1837

One of the “Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces.”--ED.

Six months to six years added he remained
Upon this sinful earth, by sin unstained:
O blessed Lord! whose mercy then removed
A Child whom every eye that looked on loved;
Support us, teach us calmly to resign 5
What we possessed, and now is wholly thine![59]

[59] This refers to the poet’s son Thomas, who died December 1, 1812. He was buried in Grasmere churchyard, beside his sister Catherine; and Wordsworth placed these lines upon his tombstone. They may have been written much earlier than 1836, probably in 1813, but it is impossible to ascertain the date, and they were not published till 1837.--ED.

MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN ITALY 1837

Composed 1837.--Published 1842

[During my whole life I had felt a strong desire to visit Rome and the other celebrated cities and regions of Italy, but did not think myself justified in incurring the necessary expense till I received from Mr. Moxon, the publisher of a large edition of my poems, a sum sufficient to enable me to gratify my wish without encroaching upon what I considered due to my family. My excellent friend H.C. Robinson readily consented to accompany me, and in March 1837, we set off from London, to which we returned in August, earlier than my companion wished or I should myself have desired had I been, like him, a bachelor. These Memorials of that tour touch upon but a very few of the places and objects that interested me, and, in what they do advert to, are for the most part much slighter than I could wish. More particularly do I regret that there is no notice in them of the South of France, nor of the Roman antiquities abounding in that district, especially of the Pont de Degard, which, together with its situation, impressed me full as much as any remains of Roman architecture to be found in Italy. Then there was Vaucluse, with its Fountain, its Petrarch, its rocks of all seasons, its small plots of lawn in their first vernal freshness, and the blossoms of the peach and other trees embellishing the scene on every side. The beauty of the stream also called forcibly for the expression of sympathy from one who, from his childhood, had studied the brooks and torrents of his native mountains. Between two and three hours did I run about climbing the steep and rugged crags from whose base the water of Vaucluse breaks forth. “Has Laura’s Lover,” often said I to myself, “ever sat down upon this stone? or has his foot ever pressed that turf?” Some, especially of the female sex, would have felt sure of it: my answer was (impute it to my years) “I fear, not.” Is it not in fact obvious that many of his love verses must have flowed, I do not say from a wish to display his own talent, but from a habit of exercising his intellect in that way rather than from an impulse of his heart? It is otherwise with his Lyrical poems, and particularly with the one upon the degradation of his country: there he pours out his reproaches, lamentations, and aspirations like an ardent and sincere patriot. But enough: it is time to turn to my own effusions such as they are.--I.F.]

TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON[60]

Companion! by whose buoyant Spirit cheered,
In[61] whose experience trusting, day by day
Treasures I gained with zeal that neither feared
The toils nor felt the crosses of the way,
These records take, and happy should I be 5
Were but the Gift a meet Return to thee
For kindnesses that never ceased to flow,
And prompt self-sacrifice to which I owe
Far more than any heart but mine can know.

W. WORDSWORTH.

RYDAL MOUNT, _Feb. 14th, 1842._

[60] The following is the Itinerary of the Italian Tour of 1837, supplied by Mr. Henry Crabb Robinson. (See _Memoirs of Wordsworth_, vol. ii. pp. 316, 317.) The spelling of the names of places is Robinson’s.

March, 1837.

19. By steam to Calais.
20. Posting to Samer.
21. Posting to Granvilliers.
22. Through Beauvais to Paris.
26. To Fontainbleau.
27. Through Nemours to Cosne.
28. To Moulins.
29. To Tarare.
30. To Lyons.
31. Through Vienne to Tain.

April.

1. Through Valence to Orange.
2. To Avignon; to Vaucluse and back.
3, 4. By Pont du Gard to Nismes.
5, 6. By St. Remi to Marseilles.
7. To Toulon.
8. To Luc.
9. By Frejus to Cannes.
10, 11. To Nice.
12. Through Mentone to St. Remo.
13. Through Finale to Savone.
14-16. To Genoa.
17. To Chiaveri.
18. To Spezia.
19. By Carrara to Massa.
20. To Lucca.
21. To Pisa.
22. To Volterra.
23. By Castiglonacco and Sienna.
24. To Radicofani.
25. By Aquapendente to Viterbo.
26. To Rome.

May.

13. Excursion to Tivoli with Dr. Carlyle.
17-21. Excursion to Albano, etc., etc., with Miss Mackenzie.
23. To Terni.
24. After seeing the Falls, to Spoleto.
25. To Cortona and Perugia.
26. To Arezzo.
27. To Bibiena and Laverna.
28. To Camaldoli.
29. From Muselea to Ponte Sieve.
30. From Ponte Sieve to Val Ombrosa and Florence.

June.

6, 7. To Bologna.
8. Parma.
9. Through Piacenza to Milan.
11. To the Certosa and back.
12. To the Lake of Como and back.
13. To Bergamo.
14. To Pallazuola and Isco.
15. Excursion to Riveri and back.
16. To Brescia and Desinzano.
17. On Lake of Garda to Riva.
19. To Verona.
20. Vicenza.
21. Padua.
22. Venice.
28. To Logerone.
29. To Sillian.
30. Spittal (in Carinthia).

July.

1. Over Kazenberg to Tweng.
2. Through Werfen to Hallein.
3. Excursion to Konigsee.
4, 5. To Saltzburg.
6. To Ischl. A week’s stay in the Salzkammer Gut, viz.--
8. Gmund.
9. Travenfalls and back.
10. Aussee.
11. Excursion to lakes, then to Hallstadt.
13. Through Ischl to St. Gilgin.
14. Through Salzburg to Trauenstein.
15. To Miesbach.
16. To Tegernsee and Holzkirken.
17. To Munich.
21. To Augsburg.
22. To Ulm.
23. To Stuttgard.
24. To Besigham.
25. To Heidelberg.
28. Through Worms to Mayence.
29. To Coblenz.
30. To Bonn.
31. Through Cologne to Aix-la-Chapelle.

August.

1. To Louvain
2. To Brussels.
3. To Antwerp.
4. To Liege.
5. Through Lille to Cassell.
6. Calais.
7. London.

[61] 1845.

To …

1842.

The Tour of which the following Poems are very inadequate remembrances was shortened by report, too well founded, of the prevalence of Cholera at Naples. To make some amends for what was reluctantly left unseen in the South of Italy, we visited the Tuscan Sanctuaries among the Apennines, and the principal Italian Lakes among the Alps. Neither of those lakes, nor of Venice, is there any notice in these Poems, chiefly because I have touched upon them elsewhere. See, in particular, _Descriptive Sketches_, “Memorials of a Tour on the Continent in 1820,” and a Sonnet upon the extinction of the Venetian Republic.--W.W.

I

MUSINGS NEAR AQUAPENDENTE

APRIL, 1837

[Not the less
Had his sunk eye kindled at those dear words
That spake of bards and minstrels.

His, Sir Walter Scott’s, eye, _did_ in fact kindle at them, for the lines, “Places forsaken now” and the two that follow, were adopted from a poem of mine which nearly forty years ago was _in part_ read to him, and he never forgot them.

Old Helvellyn’s brow
Where once together, in his day of strength,
We stood rejoicing.

Sir Humphry Davy was with us at the time. We had ascended from Patterdale, and I could not but admire the vigour with which Scott scrambled along that horn of the mountain called “Striding Edge.” Our progress was necessarily slow, and was beguiled by Scott’s telling many stories and amusing anecdotes, as was his custom. Sir H. Davy would have probably been better pleased if other topics had occasionally been interspersed, and some discussion entered upon: at all events he did not remain with us long at the top of the mountain, but left us to find our way down its steep side together into the Vale of Grasmere, where, at my cottage, Mrs. Scott was to meet us at dinner.

With faint smile
…
He said, “When I am there, although ’tis fair,
’Twill be another Yarrow.”

See among these notes the one on _Yarrow Revisited_.

A few short steps (painful they were) apart
From Tasso’s Convent-haven, and retired grave.

This, though introduced here, I did not know till it was told me at Rome by Miss Mackenzie of Seaforth, a lady whose friendly attentions during my residence at Rome I have gratefully acknowledged with expressions of sincere regret that she is no more. Miss M. told me that she accompanied Sir Walter to the Janicular Mount, and, after showing him the grave of Tasso in the church upon the top, and a mural monument, there erected to his memory, they left the church and stood together on the brow of the hill overlooking the City of Rome: his daughter Anne was with them, and she, naturally desirous, for the sake of Miss Mackenzie especially, to have some expression of pleasure from her father, half reproached him for showing nothing of that kind either by his looks or voice: “How can I,” replied he, “having only one leg to stand upon, and that in extreme pain!” so that the prophecy was more than fulfilled.

Over waves rough and deep.

We took boat near the lighthouse at the point of the right horn of the bay which makes a sort of natural port for Genoa; but the wind was high, and the waves long and rough, so that I did not feel quite recompensed by the view of the city, splendid as it was, for the danger apparently incurred. The boatman (I had only one) encouraged me saying we were quite safe, but I was not a little glad when we gained the shore, though Shelley and Byron--one of them at least, who seemed to have courted agitation from any quarter--would have probably rejoiced in such a situation: more than once I believe were they both in extreme danger even on the lake of Geneva. Every man, however, has his fears of some kind or other; and no doubt they had theirs: of all men whom I have ever known, Coleridge had the most of passive courage in bodily peril, but no one was so easily cowed when moral firmness was required in miscellaneous conversation or in the daily intercourse of social life.

How lovely robed in forenoon light and shade,
Each ministering to each, didst thou appear,
Savona.

There is not a single bay along this beautiful coast that might not raise in a traveller a wish to take up his abode there, each as it succeeds seems more inviting than the other; but the desolated convent on the cliff in the bay of Savona struck my fancy most; and had I, for the sake of my own health or that of a dear friend, or any other cause, been desirous of a residence abroad, I should have let my thoughts loose upon a scheme of turning some part of this building into a habitation provided as far as might be with English comforts. There is close by it a row or avenue, I forget which, of tall cypresses. I could not forbear saying to myself--“What a sweet family walk, or one for lonely musings, would be found under the shade!” but there, probably, the trees remained little noticed and seldom enjoyed.

This flowering broom’s dear neighbourhood.

The broom is a great ornament through the months of March and April to the vales and hills of the Apennines, in the wild parts of which it blows in the utmost profusion, and of course successively at different elevations as the season advances. It surpasses ours in beauty and fragrance,[62] but, speaking from my own limited observations only, I cannot affirm the same of several of their wild spring flowers, the primroses in particular, which I saw not unfrequently but thinly scattered and languishing compared to ours.

The note at the end of this poem, upon the Oxford movement, was entrusted to my friend, Mr. Frederick Faber.[63] I told him what I wished to be said, and begged that, as he was intimately acquainted with several of the Leaders of it, he would express my thought in the way least likely to be taken amiss by them. Much of the work they are undertaking was grievously wanted, and God grant their endeavours may continue to prosper as they have done.--I.F.]

Ye Apennines! with all your fertile vales
Deeply embosomed, and your winding shores
Of either sea, an Islander by birth,
A Mountaineer by habit, would resound
Your praise, in meet accordance with your claims 5
Bestowed by Nature, or from man’s great deeds
Inherited:--presumptuous thought!--it fled
Like vapour, like a towering cloud, dissolved.
Not, therefore, shall my mind give way to sadness;--
Yon snow-white torrent-fall, plumb down it drops 10
Yet ever hangs or seems to hang in air,
Lulling the leisure of that high perched town,
AQUAPENDENTE, in her lofty site
Its neighbour and its namesake--town, and flood
Forth flashing out of its own gloomy chasm 15
Bright sunbeams--the fresh verdure of this lawn
Strewn with grey rocks, and on the horizon’s verge,
O’er intervenient waste, through glimmering haze,
Unquestionably kenned, that cone-shaped hill
With fractured summit,[64] no indifferent sight 20
To travellers, from such comforts as are thine,
Bleak Radicofani![65] escaped with joy--
These are before me; and the varied scene
May well suffice, till noon-tide’s sultry heat
Relax, to fix and satisfy the mind 25
Passive yet pleased. What! with this Broom in flower
Close at my side! She bids me fly to greet
Her sisters, soon like her to be attired
With golden blossoms opening at the feet
Of my own Fairfield.[66] The glad greeting given, 30
Given with a voice and by a look returned
Of old companionship, Time counts not minutes
Ere, from accustomed paths, familiar fields,
The local Genius hurries me aloft,
Transported over that cloud-wooing hill, 35
Seat Sandal, a fond suitor of the clouds,[67]
With dream-like smoothness, to Helvellyn’s top,[68]
There to alight upon crisp moss and range,
Obtaining ampler boon, at every step,
Of visual sovereignty--hills multitudinous, 40
(Not Apennine can boast of fairer) hills
Pride of two nations, wood and lake and plains,
And prospect right below of deep coves shaped[69]
By skeleton arms, that, from the mountain’s trunk
Extended, clasp the winds, with mutual moan 45
Struggling for liberty, while undismayed
The shepherd struggles with them. Onward thence
And downward by the skirt of Greenside fell,[70]
And by Glenridding-screes,[71] and low Glencoign,[72]
Places forsaken now, though[73] loving still 50
The muses, as they loved them in the days
Of the old minstrels and the border bards.--
But here am I fast bound; and let it pass,
The simple rapture;--who that travels far
To feed his mind with watchful eyes could share 55
Or wish to share it?--One there surely was,
“The Wizard of the North,” with anxious hope
Brought to this genial climate, when disease
Preyed upon body and mind--yet not the less
Had his sunk eye kindled at those dear words 60
That spake of bards and minstrels; and his spirit
Had flown with mine to old Helvellyn’s brow,
Where once together, in his day of strength,
We stood rejoicing,[74] as if earth were free
From sorrow, like the sky above our heads. 65

Years followed years, and when, upon the eve
Of his last going from Tweed-side, thought turned,
Or by another’s sympathy was led,
To this bright land, Hope was for him no friend,
Knowledge no help; Imagination shaped 70
No promise. Still, in more than ear-deep seats,
Survives for me, and cannot but survive
The tone of voice which wedded borrowed words
To sadness not their own, when, with faint smile
Forced by intent to take from speech its edge, 75
He said, “When I am there, although ’tis fair,
’Twill be another Yarrow.”[75] Prophecy
More than fulfilled, as gay Campania’s shores
Soon witnessed, and the city of seven hills,
Her sparkling fountains, and her mouldering tombs; 80
And more than all, that Eminence[76] which showed
Her splendours, seen, not felt, the while he stood
A few short steps (painful they were) apart
From Tasso’s Convent-haven, and retired grave.[77]