Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

Peace to their Spirits! why should Poesy 85
Yield to the lure of vain regret, and hover
In gloom on wings with confidence outspread
To move in sunshine?--Utter thanks, my Soul!
Tempered with awe, and sweetened by compassion
For them who in the shades of sorrow dwell, 90
That I--so near the term to human life
Appointed by man’s common heritage,[78]
Frail as the frailest, one withal (if that
Deserve a thought) but little known to fame--
Am free to rove where Nature’s loveliest looks, 95
Art’s noblest relics, history’s rich bequests,
Failed to reanimate and but feebly cheered
The whole world’s Darling--free to rove at will
O’er high and low, and if requiring rest,
Rest from enjoyment only.
Thanks poured forth 100
For what thus far hath blessed my wanderings, thanks
Fervent but humble as the lips can breathe
Where gladness seems a duty--let me guard
Those seeds of expectation which the fruit
Already gathered in this favoured Land 105
Enfolds within its core. The faith be mine,
That He who guides and governs all, approves
When gratitude, though disciplined to look
Beyond these transient spheres, doth wear a crown
Of earthly hope put on with trembling hand; 110
Nor is least pleased, we trust, when golden beams,
Reflected through the mists of age, from hours
Of innocent delight, remote or recent,
Shoot but a little way--’tis all they can--
Into the doubtful future. Who would keep 115
Power must resolve to cleave to it through life,
Else it deserts him, surely as he lives.
Saints would not grieve nor guardian angels frown
If one--while tossed, as was my lot to be,
In a frail bark urged by two slender oars 120
Over waves rough and deep,[79] that, when they broke,
Dashed their white foam against the palace walls
Of Genoa the superb--should there be led
To meditate upon his own appointed tasks,
However humble in themselves, with thoughts 125
Raised and sustained by memory of Him
Who oftentimes within those narrow bounds
Rocked on the surge, there tried his spirit’s strength
And grasp of purpose, long ere sailed his ship
To lay a new world open.
Nor less prized 130
Be those impressions which incline the heart
To mild, to lowly, and to seeming weak,
Bend that way her desires. The dew, the storm--
The dew whose moisture fell in gentle drops
On the small hyssop destined to become, 135
By Hebrew ordinance devoutly kept,
A purifying instrument--the storm
That shook on Lebanon the cedar’s top,
And as it shook, enabling the blind roots
Further to force their way, endowed its trunk 140
With magnitude and strength fit to uphold
The glorious temple--did alike proceed
From the same gracious will, were both an offspring
Of bounty infinite.
Between Powers that aim
Higher to lift their lofty heads, impelled 145
By no profane ambition, Powers that thrive
By conflict, and their opposites, that trust
In lowliness--a mid-way tract there lies
Of thoughtful sentiment for every mind
Pregnant with good. Young, Middle-aged, and Old, 150
From century on to century, must have known
The emotion--nay, more fitly were it said--
The blest tranquillity that sunk so deep
Into my spirit, when I paced, enclosed
In Pisa’s Campo Santo,[80] the smooth floor 155
Of its Arcades paved with sepulchral slabs,[81]
And through each window’s open fret-work looked
O’er the blank Area of sacred earth
Fetched from Mount Calvary,[82] or haply delved
In precincts nearer to the Saviour’s tomb, 160
By hands of men, humble as brave, who fought
For its deliverance--a capacious field
That to descendants of the dead it holds
And to all living mute memento breathes,
More touching far than aught which on the walls 165
Is pictured, or their epitaphs can speak,
Of the changed City’s long-departed power,
Glory, and wealth, which, perilous as they are,
Here did not kill, but nourished, Piety.
And, high above that length of cloistral roof, 170
Peering in air and backed by azure sky,
To kindred contemplations ministers
The Baptistery’s dome,[83] and that which swells
From the Cathedral pile;[84] and with the twain
Conjoined in prospect mutable or fixed 175
(As hurry on in eagerness the feet,
Or pause) the summit of the Leaning-tower.[85]
Nor[86] less remuneration waits on him
Who having left the Cemetery stands
In the Tower’s shadow, of decline and fall 180
Admonished not without some sense of fear,
Fear that soon vanishes before the sight
Of splendour unextinguished, pomp unscathed,
And beauty unimpaired. Grand in itself,
And for itself, the assemblage, grand and fair 185
To view, and for the mind’s consenting eye
A type of age in man, upon its front
Bearing the world-acknowledged evidence
Of past exploits, nor fondly after more
Struggling against the stream of destiny, 190
But with its peaceful majesty content.
--Oh what a spectacle at every turn
The Place unfolds, from pavement skinned with moss,
Or grass-grown spaces, where the heaviest foot
Provokes no echoes, but must softly tread; 195
Where Solitude with Silence paired stops short
Of Desolation, and to Ruin’s scythe
Decay submits not.
But where’er my steps
Shall wander, chiefly let me cull with care
Those images of genial beauty, oft 200
Too lovely to be pensive in themselves
But by reflection made so, which do best
And fitliest serve to crown with fragrant wreaths
Life’s cup when almost filled with years, like mine.
--How lovely robed in forenoon light and shade, 205
Each ministering to each, didst thou appear
Savona,[87] Queen of territory fair
As aught that marvellous coast thro’ all its length
Yields to the Stranger’s eye. Remembrance holds
As a selected treasure thy one cliff, 210
That, while it wore for melancholy crest
A shattered Convent, yet rose proud to have
Clinging to its steep sides a thousand herbs
And shrubs, whose pleasant looks gave proof how kind
The breath of air can be where earth had else 215
Seemed churlish. And behold, both far and near,
Garden and field all decked with orange bloom,
And peach and citron, in Spring’s mildest breeze
Expanding; and, along the smooth shore curved
Into a natural port, a tideless sea, 220
To that mild breeze with motion and with voice
Softly responsive; and, attuned to all
Those vernal charms of sight and sound, appeared
Smooth space of turf which from the guardian fort
Sloped seaward, turf whose tender April green, 225
In coolest climes too fugitive, might even here
Plead with the sovereign Sun for longer stay
Than his unmitigated beams allow,
Nor plead in vain, if beauty could preserve,
From mortal change, aught that is born on earth 230
Or doth on time depend.
While on the brink
Of that high Convent-crested cliff I stood,
Modest Savona! over all did brood
A pure poetic Spirit--as the breeze,
Mild--as the verdure, fresh--the sunshine, bright-- 235
Thy gentle Chiabrera![88]--not a stone,
Mural or level with the trodden floor,
In Church or Chapel, if my curious quest
Missed not the truth, retains a single name
Of young or old, warrior, or saint, or sage, 240
To whose dear memories his sepulchral verse[89]
Paid simple tribute, such as might have flowed
From the clear spring of a plain English heart,
Say rather, one in native fellowship
With all who want not skill to couple grief 245
With praise, as genuine admiration prompts.
The grief, the praise, are severed from their dust,
Yet in his page the records of that worth
Survive, uninjured;--glory then to words,
Honour to word-preserving Arts, and hail 250
Ye kindred local influences that still,
If Hope’s familiar whispers merit faith,
Await my steps when they the breezy height
Shall range of philosophic Tusculum;[90]
Or Sabine vales[91] explored inspire a wish 255
To meet the shade of Horace by the side
Of his Bandusian fount;[92]--or I invoke
His presence to point out the spot where once
He sate, and eulogized with earnest pen
Peace, leisure, freedom, moderate desires; 260
And all the immunities of rural life
Extolled, behind Vacuna’s crumbling fane.[93]
Or let me loiter, soothed with what is given
Nor asking more, on that delicious Bay,[94]
Parthenope’s Domain--Virgilian haunt, 265
Illustrated with never-dying verse,[95]
And, by the Poet’s laurel-shaded tomb,[96]
Age after age to Pilgrims from all lands
Endeared.
And who--if not a man as cold
In heart as dull in brain--while pacing ground 270
Chosen by Rome’s legendary Bards, high minds
Out of her early struggles well inspired
To localize heroic acts--could look
Upon the spots with undelighted eye,
Though even to their last syllable the Lays 275
And very names of those who gave them birth
Have perished?--Verily, to her utmost depth,
Imagination feels what Reason fears not
To recognize, the lasting virtue lodged
In those bold fictions that, by deeds assigned 280
To the Valerian, Fabian, Curian Race,
And others like in fame, created Powers
With attributes from History derived,
By Poesy irradiate, and yet graced,
Through marvellous felicity of skill, 285
With something more propitious to high aims
Than either, pent within her separate sphere,
Can oft with justice claim.
And not disdaining
Union with those primeval energies
To virtue consecrate, stoop ye from your height 290
Christian Traditions! at my Spirit’s call
Descend, and, on the brow of ancient Rome
As she survives in ruin, manifest
Your glories mingled with the brightest hues
Of her memorial halo, fading, fading, 295
But never to be extinct while Earth endures.
O come, if undishonoured by the prayer,
From all her Sanctuaries!--Open for my feet
Ye Catacombs, give to mine eyes a glimpse
Of the Devout, as, ’mid your glooms convened 300
For safety, they of yore enclasped the Cross[97]
On knees that ceased from trembling, or intoned
Their orisons with voices half-suppressed,
But sometimes heard, or fancied to be heard,
Even at this hour.
And thou Mamertine prison,[98] 305
Into that vault receive me from whose depth
Issues, revealed in no presumptuous vision,
Albeit lifting human to divine,
A saint, the Church’s Rock, the mystic Keys
Grasped in his hand;[99] and lo! with upright sword 310
Prefiguring his own impendent doom,
The Apostle of the Gentiles; both prepared
To suffer pains with heathen scorn and hate
Inflicted;--blessed Men, for so to Heaven
They follow their dear Lord!
Time flows--nor winds, 315
Nor stagnates, nor precipitates his course,
But many a benefit borne upon his breast
For human-kind sinks out of sight, is gone,
No one knows how; nor seldom is put forth
An angry arm that snatches good away, 320
Never perhaps to reappear. The Stream
Has to our generation brought and brings
Innumerable gains; yet we, who now
Walk in the light of day, pertain full surely
To a chilled age, most pitiably shut out 325
From that which _is_ and actuates, by forms,
Abstractions, and by lifeless fact to fact
Minutely linked with diligence uninspired,
Unrectified, unguided, unsustained,
By godlike insight. To this fate is doomed 330
Science, wide-spread and spreading still as be
Her conquests, in the world of sense made known.
So with the internal mind it fares; and so
With morals, trusting, in contempt or fear
Of vital principle’s controlling law, 335
To her purblind guide Expediency; and so
Suffers religious faith. Elate with view
Of what is won, we overlook or scorn
The best that should keep pace with it, and must,
Else more and more the general mind will droop, 340
Even as if bent on perishing. There lives
No faculty within us which the Soul
Can spare,[100] and humblest earthly Weal demands,
For dignity not placed beyond her reach,
Zealous co-operation of all means 345
Given or acquired, to raise us from the mire,
And liberate our hearts from low pursuits.
By gross Utilities enslaved we need
More of ennobling impulse from the past,
If to the future aught of good must come 350
Sounder and therefore holier than the ends
Which, in the giddiness of self-applause,
We covet as supreme. O grant the crown
That Wisdom wears, or take his treacherous staff
From Knowledge!--If the Muse, whom I have served 355
This day, be mistress of a single pearl
Fit to be placed in that pure diadem;
Then, not in vain, under these chesnut boughs
Reclined, shall I have yielded up my soul
To transports from the secondary founts 360
Flowing of time and place, and paid to both
Due homage; nor shall fruitlessly have striven,
By love of beauty moved, to enshrine in verse
Accordant meditations, which in times
Vexed and disordered, as our own, may shed 365
Influence, at least among a scattered few,
To soberness of mind and peace of heart
Friendly; as here to my repose hath been
This flowering broom’s dear neighbourhood,[101] the light
And murmur issuing from yon pendent flood, 370
And all the varied landscape. Let us now
Rise, and to-morrow greet magnificent Rome.[102]

[62] Wordsworth himself, his nephew tells us, had no sense of smell (see the _Memoirs_, by his nephew Christopher, vol. ii. p. 322).--ED.

[63] Afterwards Father Faber, priest of the Oratory of St. Philip Neri.--ED.

[64] Monte Amiata,--ED.

[65] On the old high road from Siena to Rome.--ED.

[66] The mountain between Rydal Head and Helvellyn.--ED.

[67] Seat Sandal is the mountain between Tongue Ghyll and Grisedale Tarn on the south and east, and the Dunmail Raise road on the west.--ED.

[68] Compare _The Eclipse of the Sun_, l. 78, in “Memorials of a Tour on the Continent in 1820” (vol. vi. p. 345).--ED.

[69] Keppelcove, Nethermost cove, and the cove in which Red Tarn lies bounded by the “skeleton arms” of Striding Edge and Swirrel Edge. Compare _Fidelity_, l. 17, vol. iii. p. 45--

It was a cove, a huge recess,
That keeps, till June, December’s snow.

ED.

[70] Descending to Ullswater from Helvellyn, Greenside Fell and Mines are passed.--ED.

[71] The Glenridding Screes are bold rocks on the left as you descend Helvellyn to Patterdale.--ED.

[72] Glencoign is an offshoot of the Patterdale valley between Glenridding and Goldbarrow.--ED.

[73] 1845.

… but …

1842.

[74] See the Fenwick note.--ED.

[75] These words were quoted to me from _Yarrow Unvisited_, by Sir Walter Scott, when I visited him at Abbotsford, a day or two before his departure for Italy: and the affecting condition in which he was when he looked upon Rome from the Janicular Mount, was reported to me by a lady who had the honour of conducting him thither.--W.W. 1842. See also the Fenwick note to this poem, and compare Lockhart’s _Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott_ (chapter lxxx. vol. x. p. 104).--ED.

[76] The Janicular Mount.--ED.

[77] See the Fenwick note prefixed to this poem.--ED.

[78] He was then sixty-seven years of age.--ED.

[79] See the Fenwick note.--ED.

[80] The Campo Santo, or Burial Ground, founded by Archbishop Ubaldo (1188-1200).--ED.

[81] “There are forty-three flat arcades, resting on forty-four pilasters.… In the interior there is a spacious hall, the open round-arched windows of which, with their beautiful tracery, sixty-two in number, look out upon a green quadrangle.… The walls are covered with frescoes by the Tuscan School of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, below which is a collection of Roman, Etruscan, and mediaeval sculptures.… The tombstones of persons interred here form the pavement.” (Baedeker’s _Northern Italy_, p. 324.)--ED.

[82] Ubaldo conveyed hither fifty-three ship-loads of earth from Mount Calvary, in the Holy Land, in order that the dead might repose in holy ground.--ED.

[83] The Baptistery in Pisa was begun in 1153 by Diotisalvi, and completed in 1278. It is a circular structure, covered by a conical dome, 190 feet high.--ED.

[84] The Cathedral of Pisa is a basilica, built in 1063, in the Tuscan style, and has an elliptical dome.--ED.

[85] The Campanile, or Clock-Tower, rises in eight stories to the height of 179 feet, and (from its oblique position) is known as the Leaning-Tower.--ED.

[86] 1845.

Not …

1842.

[87] See the Fenwick note to this poem. Savona is a town on the Gulf of Genoa, capital of the Montenotte Department under Napoleon.--ED.

[88] The theatre in Savona is dedicated to Chiabrera, who was a native of the place.--ED.

[89] If any English reader should be desirous of knowing how far I am justified in thus describing the epitaphs of Chiabrera, he will find translated specimens of them in this Volume, under the head of “Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces.”--W.W. 1842.

[90] Tusculum was the birthplace of the elder Cato, and the residence of Cicero.--ED.

[91] “Satis beatus unicis Sabinis.” _Odes_, ii. 18, 14.--ED.

[92] See Horace, _Odes_, iii. 13.--ED.

[93] See Horace, _Epistles_, i. 10, 49--

Haec tibi dictabam post fanum putre Vacunae.

Vacuna was a Sabine divinity. She had a sanctuary near Horace’s Villa. (Compare Pliny, _Nat. Hist._ iii. 42, 47.) A traveller in Italy writes: “Following a path along the brink of the torrent Digentia, we passed a towering rock, on which once stood Vacuna’s shrine.” See also Ovid, _Fasti_, vi. 307.--ED.

[94] The Bay of Naples. Neapolis (the new city) received its ancient name of Parthenope from one of the Sirens, whose body was said to have been washed ashore in that bay. Sil. 12, 33.--ED.

[95] See _Georgics_, iv. 564.--ED.

[96] Virgil died at Brundusium, but his remains were carried to his favourite residence, Naples, and were buried by the side of the road leading to Puteoli--the Via Puteolana. His tomb is still pointed out near Posilipo,--close to the sea, and about half way from Naples to Puteoli, the _Scuola di Virgilio_.

“The monument, now called the tomb of Virgil, is not on the road which passes through the tunnel of Posilipo; but if the Via Puteolana ascended the hill of Posilipo, as it may have done, the situation of the monument would agree very well with the description of Donatus.” (George Long, in Smith’s _Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography_.)

The inscription said to have been placed on the tomb was as follows:--

Mantua me genuit, Calabri rapuere, tenet nunc
Parthenope. Cecini pascua, rura, duces.

ED.

[97] The catacombs were subterranean chambers and passages, usually cut out of the solid rock, and used as places of burial, or of refuge. The early Christians made use of the catacombs in the Appian Way for worship, as well as for sepulture.--ED.

[98] The Carcer Mamertinus,--one of the most ancient Roman structures,--overhung the Forum, as Livy tells us, “imminens foro,” underneath the Capitoline hill. It still exists, and is entered from the sacristy of the church of S. Giuseppe de Falagnami, to the left of the arch of Severus. It was originally a well (the _Tullianum_ of Livy), and afterwards a prison, in which Jugurtha was starved to death, and Catiline’s accomplices perished. There are two chambers in the prison, one beneath the other; the lower-most containing, in its rock floor, a spring, which rises nearly to the surface. For the legend connected with it see the next note.--ED.

[99] According to the legend, St. Peter, who was imprisoned in the _Carcer Mamertinus_ under Nero, caused this spring to flow miraculously in order to baptize his jailors. Hence the building is called _S. Pietro in Carcere._--ED.

[100] Compare “Despondency Corrected,” _The Excursion_, book iv. l. 1058--

Within the soul a faculty abides, etc.

ED.

[101] See the Fenwick note.--ED.

[102] It would be ungenerous not to advert to the religious movement that, since the composition of these verses in 1837, has made itself felt, more or less strongly, throughout the English Church;--a movement that takes, for its first principle, a devout deference to the voice of Christian antiquity. It is not my office to pass judgment on questions of theological detail; but my own repugnance to the spirit and system of Romanism has been so repeatedly and, I trust, feelingly expressed, that I shall not be suspected of a leaning that way, if I do not join in the grave charge, thrown out, perhaps in the heat of controversy, against the learned and pious men to whose labours I allude. I speak apart from controversy; but, with strong faith in the moral temper which would elevate the present by doing reverence to the past, I would draw cheerful auguries for the English Church from this movement, as likely to restore among us a tone of piety more earnest and real than that produced by the mere formalities of the understanding, refusing, in a degree, which I cannot but lament, that its own temper and judgment shall be controlled by those of antiquity.--W.W. 1842.

II

THE PINE OF MONTE MARIO[103] AT ROME

[Sir George Beaumont told me that, when he first visited Italy, pine-trees of this species abounded, but that on his return thither, which was more than thirty years after, they had disappeared from many places where he had been accustomed to admire them, and had become rare all over the country, especially in and about Rome. Several Roman villas have within these few years passed into the hands of foreigners, who, I observed with pleasure, have taken care to plant this tree, which in course of years will become a great ornament to the city and to the general landscape. May I venture to add here, that having ascended the Monte Mario, I could not resist embracing the trunk of this interesting monument of my departed friend’s feelings for the beauties of nature, and the power of that art which he loved so much, and in the practice of which he was so distinguished?--I.F.]

I saw far off the dark top of a Pine
Look like a cloud--a slender stem the tie
That bound it to its native earth--poised high
’Mid evening hues, along the horizon line,
Striving in peace each other to outshine. 5
But when I learned the Tree was living there,
Saved from the sordid axe by Beaumont’s care,[104]
Oh, what a gush of tenderness was mine!
The rescued Pine-tree, with its sky so bright
And cloud-like beauty, rich in thoughts of home, 10
Death-parted friends, and days too swift in flight,
Supplanted the whole majesty of Rome
(Then first apparent from the Pincian Height)[105]
Crowned with St. Peter’s everlasting dome.[106]

[103] The Monte Mario is to the north-west of Rome, beyond the Janiculus and the Vatican. The view from the summit embraces Rome, the Campagna, and the sea. It is capped by the villa Millini, in which the “magnificent solitary pine-tree” of this sonnet still stands, amidst its cypress plantations.--ED.

[104] “It was Mr. Theed, the sculptor, who informed us of the pine-tree being the gift of Sir George Beaumont.” H.C. Robinson. (See _Memoirs of Wordsworth_, by his nephew, vol. ii. p. 330.)--ED.

[105] From the _Mons Pincius_, “collis hortorum,” where were the gardens of Lucullus, there is a remarkable view of modern Rome.--ED.

[106] Within a couple of hours of my arrival at Rome, I saw from Monte Pincio, the Pine tree as described in the sonnet; and, while expressing admiration at the beauty of its appearance, I was told by an acquaintance of my fellow-traveller, who happened to join us at the moment, that a price had been paid for it by the late Sir G. Beaumont, upon condition that the proprietor should not act upon his known intention of cutting it down.--W.W. 1842.

III

AT ROME

[Sight is at first sight a sad enemy to imagination and to those pleasures belonging to old times with which some exertions of that power will always mingle: nothing perhaps brings this truth home to the feelings more than the city of Rome; not so much in respect to the impression made at the moment when it is first seen and looked at as a whole, for then the imagination may be invigorated and the mind’s eye quickened; but when particular spots or objects are sought out, disappointment is I believe invariably felt. Ability to recover from this disappointment will exist in proportion to knowledge, and the power of the mind to reconstruct out of fragments and parts, and to make details in the present subservient to more adequate comprehension of the past.--I.F.]

Is this, ye Gods, the Capitolian Hill?
Yon petty Steep in truth the fearful Rock,
Tarpeian named of yore,[107] and keeping still
That name, a local Phantom proud to mock
The Traveller’s expectation?--Could our Will
Destroy the ideal Power within, ’twere done
Thro’ what men see and touch,--slaves wandering on,
Impelled by thirst of all but Heaven-taught skill.
Full oft, our wish obtained, deeply we sigh;
Yet not unrecompensed are they who learn, 10
From that depression raised, to mount on high
With stronger wing, more clearly to discern
Eternal things; and, if need be, defy
Change, with a brow not insolent, though stern.

[107] The Tarpeian rock, from which those condemned to death were hurled, is not now precipitous, as it used to be: the ground having been much raised by successive heaps of ruin.--ED.

IV

AT ROME--REGRETS--IN ALLUSION TO NIEBUHR AND OTHER MODERN HISTORIANS

Those old credulities, to nature dear,
Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock
Of History, stript naked as a rock
’Mid a dry desert? What is it we hear?
The glory of Infant Rome must disappear,[108] 5
Her morning splendours vanish, and their place
Know them no more. If Truth, who veiled her face
With those bright beams yet hid it not, must steer
Henceforth a humbler course perplexed and slow;
One solace yet remains for us who came 10
Into this world in days when story lacked
Severe research, that in our hearts we know
How, for exciting youth’s heroic flame,
Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.

[108] Niebuhr, in his Lectures on Roman History (1826-29), was one of the first to point out the legendary character of much of the earlier history, and its “historical impossibility.” He explained the way in which much of it had originated in family and national vanity, etc.--ED.

V

CONTINUED

Complacent Fictions were they, yet the same
Involved a history of no doubtful sense,
History that proves by inward evidence
From what a precious source of truth it came.
Ne’er could the boldest Eulogist have dared 5
Such deeds to paint, such characters to frame,
But for coeval sympathy prepared
To greet with instant faith their loftiest claim.
None but a noble people could have loved
Flattery in Ancient Rome’s pure-minded style: 10
Not in like sort the Runic Scald was moved;
He, nursed ’mid savage passions that defile
Humanity, sang feats that well might call
For the blood-thirsty mead of Odin’s riotous Hall.

VI

PLEA FOR THE HISTORIAN

Forbear to deem the Chronicler unwise,
Ungentle, or untouched by seemly ruth,
Who, gathering up all that Time’s envious tooth
Has spared of sound and grave realities,
Firmly rejects those dazzling flatteries, 5
Dear as they are to unsuspecting Youth,
That might have drawn down Clio from the skies
To vindicate the majesty of truth.
Such was her office while she walked with men,[109]
A Muse, who,[110] not unmindful of her Sire 10
All-ruling Jove, whate’er the[111] theme might be
Revered her Mother, sage Mnemosyne,
And taught her faithful servants how the lyre
Should[112] animate, but not mislead, the pen.[113]

[109] Clio, daughter of Zeus and Mnemosyne, the first-born of the Muses, presided over History. It was her office to record the actions of illustrious heroes.--ED.

[110] 1845.

Her rights to claim, and vindicate the truth.
Her faithful Servants while she walked with men
Were they who, …

1842.

[111] 1845.

… their …

1842.

[112] 1845.

And, at the Muse’s will, invoked the lyre
To animate, …

1842.

[113]

Quem virum--lyra--
--sumes celebrare Clio?

W. W. 1842.

VII

AT ROME

[I have a private interest in this Sonnet, for I doubt whether it would ever have been written but for the lively picture given me by Anna Ricketts of what she had witnessed of the indignation and sorrow expressed by some Italian noblemen of their acquaintance upon the surrender, which circumstances had obliged them to make, of the best portion of their family mansions to strangers.--I.F.]

They--who have seen the noble Roman’s scorn
Break forth at thought of laying down his head,
When the blank day is over, garreted
In his ancestral palace, where, from morn
To night, the desecrated floors are worn 5
By feet of purse-proud strangers; they--who have read
In one meek smile, beneath a peasant’s shed,
How patiently the weight of wrong is borne;
They--who have heard some learned Patriot treat[114]
Of freedom, with mind grasping the whole theme 10
From ancient Rome, downwards through that bright dream
Of Commonwealths, each city a starlike seat
Of rival glory; they--fallen Italy--
Nor must, nor will, nor can, despair of Thee!

VIII

NEAR ROME, IN SIGHT OF ST. PETER’S

Long has the dew been dried on tree and lawn;
O’er man and beast a not unwelcome boon
Is shed, the languor of approaching noon;
To shady rest withdrawing or withdrawn
Mute are all creatures, as this couchant fawn, 5
Save insect-swarms that hum in air afloat,
Save that the Cock is crowing, a shrill note,
Startling and shrill as that which roused the dawn.
--Heard in that hour, or when, as now, the nerve
Shrinks from the note[115] as from a mis-timed thing, 10
Oft for a holy warning may it serve,
Charged with remembrance of _his_ sudden sting,
His bitter tears, whose name the Papal Chair
And yon resplendent Church are proud to bear.

[114] 1845.

They--who have heard thy lettered sages treat

1842.

[115] 1845.

… voice …

1842.

IX

AT ALBANO[116]

[This Sonnet is founded on simple fact, and was written to enlarge, if possible, the views of those who can see nothing but evil in the intercessions countenanced by the Church of Rome. That they are in many respects lamentably pernicious must be acknowledged; but, on the other hand, they who reflect, while they see and observe, cannot but be struck with instances which will prove that it is a great error to condemn in all cases such mediation as purely idolatrous. This remark bears with especial force upon addresses to the Virgin.--I.F.]

Days passed--and Monte Calvo would not clear
His head from mist; and, as the wind sobbed through
Albano’s dripping Ilex avenue,[117]
My dull forebodings in a Peasant’s ear
Found casual vent. She said, “Be of good cheer; 5
Our yesterday’s procession did not sue
In vain; the sky will change to sunny blue,
Thanks to our Lady’s grace.” I smiled to hear,
But not in scorn:--the Matron’s Faith may lack
The heavenly sanction needed to ensure 10
Fulfilment; but, we trust, her upward track[118]
Stops not at this low point, nor wants the lure
Of flowers the Virgin without fear may own,
For by her Son’s blest hand the seed was sown.

[116] Albano, 10 miles south-east of Rome, is a small town and episcopal residence, a favourite autumnal resort of Roman citizens. It is on the site of the ruins of the villa of Pompey. Monte Carlo (the Monte Calvo of this sonnet) is the ancient _Mons Latialis_, 3127 feet high. At its summit a convent of Passionist Monks occupies the site of the ancient temple of Jupiter.--ED.

[117] The ilex-grove of the Villa Doria is one of the most marked features of Albano.--ED.

[118] 1845.

Its own fulfilment; but her upward track

1842.

X

“NEAR ANIO’S STREAM, I SPIED A GENTLE DOVE”

Near Anio’s stream,[119] I spied a gentle Dove
Perched on an olive branch, and heard her cooing
’Mid new-born blossoms that soft airs were wooing,
While all things present told of joy and love.
But restless Fancy left that olive grove 5
To hail the exploratory Bird renewing
Hope for the few, who, at the world’s undoing,
On the great flood were spared to live and move.
O bounteous Heaven! signs true as dove and bough
Brought to the ark are coming evermore, 10
Given though we seek them not, but, while we plough[120]
This sea of life without a visible shore,
Do neither promise ask nor grace implore
In what alone is ours, the living Now.[121]

[119] The Anio joins the Tiber north of Rome, flowing from the north-east past Tivoli.--ED.

[120] 1845.

Even though men seek them not, but, while they plough

1842.

[121] 1845.

… the vouchsafed Now.

1842.

XI

FROM THE ALBAN HILLS, LOOKING TOWARDS ROME

Forgive, illustrious Country! these deep sighs,
Heaved less for thy bright plains and hills bestrown
With monuments decayed or overthrown,
For all that tottering stands or prostrate lies,
Than for like scenes in moral vision shown, 5
Ruin perceived for keener sympathies;
Faith crushed, yet proud of weeds, her gaudy crown
Virtues laid low, and mouldering energies.
Yet why prolong this mournful strain?--Fallen Power,
Thy fortunes, twice exalted,[122] might provoke 10
Verse to glad notes prophetic of the hour
When thou, uprisen, shalt break thy double yoke,
And enter, with prompt aid from the Most High,
On the third stage of thy great destiny.[123]

[122] The ancient Classic period, and that of the Renaissance.--ED.

[123] This period seems to have been already entered. Compare Mrs. Browning’s “Poems before Congress,” _passim_.--ED.

XII

NEAR THE LAKE OF THRASYMENE

When here with Carthage Rome to conflict came,[124]
An earthquake, mingling with the battle’s shock,
Checked not its rage;[125] unfelt the ground did rock,
Sword dropped not, javelin kept its deadly aim.--
Now all is sun-bright peace. Of that day’s shame, 5
Or glory, not a vestige seems to endure,
Save in this Rill that took from blood the name[126]
Which yet it bears, sweet Stream! as crystal pure.
So may all trace and sign of deeds aloof
From the true guidance of humanity, 10
Thro’ Time and Nature’s influence, purify
Their spirit; or, unless they for reproof
Or warning serve, thus let them all, on ground
That gave them being, vanish to a sound.

[124] The Carthaginian general Hannibal defeated the Roman Consul C. Flaminius, near the lacus Trasimenus, 217 B.C., with a loss of 15,000 men. (See Livy, book xxii. 4, etc.)--ED.

[125] Compare _Hannibal, A Historical Drama_, by the late Professor John Nichol, act II. scene vi. p. 107--

Here shall shepherds tell
To passing travellers, when we are dust,
How, by the shores of reedy Thrasymene,
We fought and conquered, while the earthquake shook
The walls of Rome.

ED.

[126] Sanguinetto.--W.W. 1845.

XIII

NEAR THE SAME LAKE

For action born, existing to be tried,
Powers manifold we have that intervene
To stir the heart that would too closely screen
Her peace from images to pain allied.
What wonder if at midnight, by the side 5
Of Sanguinetto or broad Thrasymene,[127]
The clang of arms is heard, and phantoms glide,
Unhappy ghosts in troops by moonlight seen;
And singly thine, O vanquished Chief![128] whose corse,
Unburied, lay hid under heaps of slain: 10
But who is He?--the Conqueror. Would he force
His way to Rome? Ah, no,--round hill and plain
Wandering, he haunts, at fancy’s strong command,
This spot--his shadowy death-cup in his hand.[129]

[127] Lake Thrasymene is the largest of the Etrurian lakes, being ten miles in length and three in breadth.--ED.

[128] C. Flaminius.--ED.

[129] After the battle of Lake Thrasymene, Hannibal did not push on to Rome, but turned through the Apennines to Apulia, just as subsequently after the battle of Cannas he remained inactive.--ED.

XIV

THE CUCKOO AT LAVERNA[130]

MAY 25TH 1837

[Among a thousand delightful feelings connected in my mind with the voice of the cuckoo, there is a personal one which is rather melancholy. I was first convinced that age had rather dulled my hearing, by not being able to catch the sound at the same distance as the younger companions of my walks; and of this failure I had a proof upon the occasion that suggested these verses. I did not hear the sound till Mr. Robinson had twice or thrice directed my attention to it.]

List--’twas the Cuckoo.--O with what delight
Heard I that voice! and catch it now, though faint,[131]
Far off and faint, and melting into air,
Yet not to be mistaken. Hark again!
Those louder cries give notice that the Bird, 5
Although invisible as Echo’s self,[132]
Is wheeling hitherward. Thanks, happy Creature,
For this unthought-of greeting!
While allured
From vale to hill, from hill to vale led on,
We have pursued, through various lands, a long 10
And pleasant course; flower after flower has blown,
Embellishing the ground that gave them birth
With aspects novel to my sight; but still
Most fair, most welcome, when they drank the dew
In a sweet fellowship with kinds beloved, 15
For old remembrance sake. And oft--where Spring
Display’d her richest blossoms among files
Of orange-trees bedecked with glowing fruit
Ripe for the hand, or under a thick shade
Of Ilex, or, if better suited to the hour, 20
The lightsome Olive’s twinkling canopy--[133]
Oft have I heard the Nightingale and Thrush
Blending as in a common English grove
Their love-songs; but, where’er my feet might roam,
Whate’er assemblages of new and old, 25
Strange and familiar, might beguile the way,
A gratulation from that vagrant Voice
Was wanting;--and most happily till now.

For see, Laverna! mark the far-famed Pile,
High on the brink of that precipitous rock,[134] 30
Implanted like a Fortress, as in truth
It is, a Christian Fortress, garrisoned
In faith and hope, and dutiful obedience,
By a few Monks, a stern society,
Dead to the world and scorning earth-born joys. 35
Nay--though the hopes that drew, the fears that drove,
St. Francis, far from Man’s resort, to abide
Among these sterile heights of Apennine, [135]
Bound him, nor, since he raised yon House, have ceased
To bind his spiritual Progeny, with rules 40
Stringent as flesh can tolerate and live;[136]
His milder Genius (thanks to the good God
That made us) over those severe restraints
Of mind, that dread heart-freezing discipline,
Doth sometimes here predominate, and works 45
By unsought means for gracious purposes;
For earth through heaven, for heaven, by changeful earth,
Illustrated, and mutually endeared.

Rapt though He were above the power of sense,
Familiarly, yet out of the cleansed heart 50
Of that once sinful Being overflowed
On sun, moon, stars, the nether elements,
And every shape of creature they sustain,
Divine affections; and with beast and bird
(Stilled from afar--such marvel story tells-- 55
By casual outbreak of his passionate words,
And from their own pursuits in field or grove
Drawn to his side by look or act of love
Humane, and virtue of his innocent life)
He wont to hold companionship so free, 60
So pure, so fraught with knowledge and delight,
As to be likened in his Followers’ minds
To that which our first Parents, ere the fall
From their high state darkened the Earth with fear,
Held with all Kinds in Eden’s blissful bowers. 65

Then question not that, ’mid the austere Band,
Who breathe the air he breathed, tread where he trod,
Some true Partakers of his loving spirit
Do still survive,[137] and, with those gentle hearts
Consorted, Others, in the power, the faith, 70
Of a baptized imagination, prompt
To catch from Nature’s humblest monitors
Whate’er they bring of impulses sublime.

Thus sensitive must be the Monk, though pale
With fasts, with vigils worn, depressed by years, 75
Whom in a sunny glade I chanced to see,
Upon a pine-tree’s storm-uprooted trunk,
Seated alone, with forehead sky-ward raised,
Hands clasped above the crucifix he wore
Appended to his bosom, and lips closed 80
By the joint pressure of his musing mood
And habit of his vow. That ancient Man--
Nor haply less the Brother whom I marked,
As we approached the Convent gate, aloft
Looking far forth from his aerial cell, 85
A young Ascetic--Poet, Hero, Sage,
He might have been, Lover belike he was--
If they received into a conscious ear
The notes whose first faint greeting startled me,
Whose sedulous iteration thrilled with joy 90
My heart--may have been moved like me to think,
Ah! not like me who walk in the world’s ways,
On the great Prophet, styled _the Voice of One_
_Crying amid the wilderness_, and given,
Now that their snows must melt, their herbs and flowers 95
Revive, their obstinate winter pass away,
That awful name to Thee, thee, simple Cuckoo,
Wandering in solitude, and evermore
Foretelling and proclaiming, ere thou leave
This thy last haunt beneath Italian skies 100
To carry thy glad tidings over heights
Still loftier, and to climes more near the Pole.

Voice of the Desert, fare-thee-well; sweet Bird!
If that substantial title please thee more,
Farewell!--but go thy way, no need hast thou 105
Of a good wish sent after thee; from bower
To bower as green, from sky to sky as clear,
Thee gentle breezes waft--or airs that meet
Thy course and sport around thee softly fan--
Till Night, descending upon hill and vale, 110
Grants to thy mission a brief term of silence,
And folds thy pinions up in blest repose.

[130] Laverna is a corruption of _Alverna_ (now called Alverniac). It is about five or six hours’ walk from Camaldoli, on a height of the Apennines, not far from the sources of the Anio. To reach it, “the southern height of the Monte Valterona is ascended as far as the chapel of St. Romaiald; then a descent is made to Moggiona, beyond which the path turns to the left, traversing a long and fatiguing succession of gorges and slopes; the path at the base of the mountain is therefore preferable. The market town of Soci in the valley of the Archiano is first reached, then the profound valley of the Corsaline; beyond it rises a blunted cone, on which the path ascends in windings to a stony plain with marshy meadows. Above this rises the abrupt sandstone mass of the _Vernia_, to the height of 850 feet. On its S.W. slope, one-third of the way up, and 3906 feet above the sea-level, is seen a wall with small windows, the oldest part of the monastery, built in 1218 by St. Francis of Assisi. The church dates from 1284.… One of the grandest points is the _Penna della Vernia_ (4796 feet), the ridge of the Vernia, also known as _l’Apennino_, the ‘rugged rock between the sources of the Tiber and Anio,’ as it is called by Dante (_Paradiso_, ii. 106).… Near the monastery are the _Luoghi Santi_, a number of grottos and rock-hewn chambers in which St. Francis once lived.” (See Baedeker’s _Northern Italy_, 1886, p. 463.)

“The Monte Alverno, or Monte della Verni is situated on the border of Tuscany, near the sources of the Tiber and Anio, not far from the Castle of Chiusi, where Orlando lived.” (Mrs. Oliphant’s _Francis of Assisi_, chap. xvi. p. 248.)

See also Herzog’s _Real-Encyklopädie für protestantische Theologie und Kirche_, vol. iv. p. 655.--ED.

[131] Compare _To the Cuckoo_, II. 3, 4 (vol. ii. p. 289)--

… Bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?

ED.

[132] Compare _To the Cuckoo_, l. 15 (vol. ii. p. 290)--

No bird, but an invisible thing.

ED.

[133] From the difference in the colour of each side of the leaf, a grove of olives when _wind-tossed_ is pre-eminently a “twinkling canopy.”--ED.

[134] See note, p. 67.--ED.

[135] St. Francis of Assisi, founder of the order of Friars Minors, after establishing numerous monasteries in Italy, Spain, and France, resigned his office and retired to this, one of the highest of the Apennine heights. See note, p. 67. He was canonised in 1230. Henry Crabb Robinson tells us, “It was at Laverna that he” [W.W.] “led me to expect that he had found a subject on which he could write, and that was the love which birds bore to St. Francis. He repeated to me a short time afterwards a few lines, which I do not recollect amongst those he has written on St. Francis in this poem. On the journey, one night only I heard him in bed composing verses, and on the following day I offered to be his amanuensis; but I was not patient enough, I fear, and he did not employ me a second time. He made inquiries for St. Francis’s biography, as if he would dub him his Leibheiliger (body-saint), as Goethe (saying that every one must have one) declared St. Philip Neri to be his.” (See the _Memoirs of William Wordsworth_, by his nephew, vol. ii. p. 331)--ED.

[136] The characteristic feature of the Franciscan order was its vow of Poverty, and Francis desired that it should be taken in the most rigorous sense, viz. that no individual member of the fraternity, nor the fraternity itself, should be allowed to possess any property whatsoever, even in things necessary to human use.--ED.

[137] The members of the Franciscan order were the Stoics of Christendom. The order has been powerful, and of great service to the Roman Church--alike in literature, and in practical action and enterprise.--ED.

XV

AT THE CONVENT OF CAMALDOLI

This famous sanctuary was the original establishment of Saint Romualdo (or Rumwald, as our ancestors saxonised the name) in the 11th century, the ground (campo) being given by a Count Maldo. The Camaldolensi, however, have spread wide as a branch of Benedictines, and may therefore be classed among the _gentlemen_ of the monastic orders. The society comprehends two orders, monks and hermits; symbolised by their arms, two doves drinking out of the same cup. The monastery in which the monks here reside is beautifully situated, but a large unattractive edifice, not unlike a factory. The hermitage is placed in a loftier and wilder region of the forest. It comprehends between 20 and 30 distinct residences, each including for its single hermit an inclosed piece of ground and three very small apartments. There are days of indulgence when the hermit may quit his cell, and when old age arrives, he descends from the mountain and takes his abode among the monks.

My companion had, in the year 1831, fallen in with the monk, the subject of these two sonnets, who showed him his abode among the hermits. It is from him that I received the following[138] particulars. He was then about 40 years of age, but his appearance was that of an older man. He had been a painter by profession, but on taking orders changed his name from Santi to Raffaello, perhaps with an unconscious reference as well to the great Sanzio d’Urbino as to the archangel. He assured my friend that he had been 13 years in the hermitage and had never known melancholy or ennui. In the little recess for study and prayer, there was a small collection of books. “I read only,” said he, “books of asceticism and mystical theology.” On being asked the names of the most famous[139] mystics, he enumerated _Scaramelli_, _San Giovanni della Croce_, _St. Dionysius the Areopagite_ (supposing the work which bears his name to be really his),[140] and with peculiar emphasis _Ricardo di San Vittori_. The works of _Saint Theresa_ are also in high repute among ascetics.[141] These names may interest some of my readers.

We heard that Raffaello was then living in the convent; my friend sought in vain to renew his acquaintance with him. It was probably a day of seclusion. The reader will perceive that these sonnets were supposed to be written when he was a young man.--W.W. 1842.

The monastery of Camaldoli is on the highest point of the hills near Naples (1476 feet), and commands one of the finest views in Italy.--ED.

Grieve for the Man who hither came bereft,
And seeking consolation from above;
Nor grieve the less that skill to him was left
To paint this picture of his lady-love:
Can she, a blessed saint, the work approve? 5
And O, good Brethren of the cowl, a thing
So fair, to which with peril he must cling,
Destroy in pity, or with care remove.
That bloom--those eyes--can they assist to bind
Thoughts that would stray from Heaven? The dream must cease 10
To be; by Faith, not sight, his soul must live;
Else will the enamoured Monk too surely find
How wide a space can part from inward peace
The most profound repose his cell can give.

[138] 1845.

received these particulars.

1842.

[139] 1845.

famous Italian mystics,

1842.

[140] 1845.

_San Dionysia_, _Areopagitica_, and with

1842.

[141] 1845.

are among ascetics in high repute, but she was a Spaniard.

1842.

XVI

CONTINUED

The world forsaken, all its busy cares
And stirring interests shunned with desperate flight,
All trust abandoned in the healing might
Of virtuous action; all that courage dares,
Labour accomplishes, or patience bears-- 5
Those helps rejected, they, whose minds perceive
How subtly works man’s weakness, sighs may heave
For such a One beset with cloistral snares.
Father of Mercy! rectify his view,
If with his vows this object ill agree; 10
Shed over it thy grace, and thus subdue[142]
Imperious passion in a heart set free:--
That earthly love may to herself be true,
Give him a soul that cleaveth unto thee.

[142] 1845.

… and so subdue

1842.

XVII

AT THE EREMITE OR UPPER CONVENT OF CAMALDOLI

What aim had they, the Pair of Monks, in size[143]
Enormous, dragged, while side by side they sate,
By panting steers up to this convent gate?
How, with empurpled cheeks and pampered eyes,
Dare they confront the lean austerities 5
Of Brethren, who, here fixed, on Jesu wait
In sackcloth, and God’s anger deprecate
Through all that humbles flesh and mortifies?
Strange contrast!--verily the world of dreams,
Where mingle, as for mockery combined, 10
Things in their very essences at strife,
Shows not a sight incongruous as the extremes
That everywhere, before the thoughtful mind,
Meet on the solid ground of waking life.[144]

[143] In justice to the Benedictines of Camaldoli, by whom strangers are so hospitably entertained, I feel obliged to notice, that I saw among them no other figures at all resembling, in size and complexion, the two Monks described in this Sonnet. What was their office, or the motive which brought them to this place of mortification, which they could not have approached without being carried in this or some other way, a feeling of delicacy prevented me from inquiring. An account has before been given of the hermitage they were about to enter. It was visited by us towards the end of the month of May; yet snow was lying thick under the pine-trees, within a few yards of the gate.--W.W. 1842.

[144] See note, pp. 72, 73.--ED.

XVIII

AT VALLOMBROSA[145]

[I must confess, though of course I did not acknowledge it in the few lines I wrote in the Strangers’ book kept at the convent, that I was somewhat disappointed at Vallombrosa. I had expected, as the name implies, a deep and narrow valley overshadowed by enclosing hills; but the spot where the convent stands is in fact not a valley at all, but a cove or crescent open to an extensive prospect. In the book before mentioned, I read the notice in the English language that if anyone would ascend the steep ground above the convent, and wander over it, he would be abundantly rewarded by magnificent views. I had not time to act upon this recommendation, and only went with my young guide to a point, nearly on a level with the site of the convent, that overlooks the Vale of Arno for some leagues. To praise great and good men has ever been deemed one of the worthiest employments of poetry, but the objects of admiration vary so much with time and circumstances, and the noblest of mankind have been found, when intimately known, to be of characters so imperfect, that no eulogist can find a subject which he will venture upon with the animation necessary to create sympathy, unless he confines himself to a particular part or he takes something of a one-sided view of the person he is disposed to celebrate. This is a melancholy truth, and affords a strong reason for the poetic mind being chiefly exercised in works of fiction: the poet can then follow wherever the spirit of admiration leads him, unchecked by such suggestions as will be too apt to cross his way if all that he is prompted to utter is to be tested by fact. Something in this spirit I have written in the note attached to the Sonnet on the King of Sweden; and many will think that in this poem and elsewhere I have spoken of the author of _Paradise Lost_ in a strain of panegyric scarcely justifiable by the tenor of some of his opinions, whether theological or political, and by the temper he carried into public affairs, in which, unfortunately for his genius, he was so much concerned.--I.F.]

Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks
In Vallombrosa, where Etrurian shades
High over-arch’d embower.

PARADISE LOST.[146]

“Vallombrosa--I longed in thy shadiest wood
To slumber, reclined on the moss-covered floor!”[147]
Fond wish that was granted at last, and the Flood,
That lulled me asleep, bids me listen once more.
Its murmur how soft! as it falls down the steep, 5
Near that Cell--yon sequestered Retreat high in air--[148]
Where our Milton was wont lonely vigils to keep
For converse with God, sought through study and prayer.
The Monks still repeat the tradition with pride,
And its truth who shall doubt? for his Spirit is here;[149] 10
In the cloud-piercing rocks doth her grandeur abide,
In the pines pointing heavenward her beauty austere;
In the flower-besprent meadows his genius we trace
Turned to humbler delights, in which youth might confide,
That would yield him fit help while prefiguring that Place 15
Where, if Sin had not entered, Love never had died.