Rumble along thy bed, block after block:
Or, whirling with reiterated shock,
Combat, while darkness aggravates the groans:
But if thou (like Cocytus from the moans[798] 5
Heard on his rueful margin[799]) thence wert named
The Mourner, thy true nature was defamed,
And the habitual murmur that atones
For thy worst rage, forgotten. Oft as Spring
Decks, on thy sinuous banks, her thousand thrones, 10
Seats of glad instinct and love's carolling,
The concert, for the happy, then may vie
With liveliest peals of birth-day harmony:
To a grieved heart, the notes are benisons.
Compare The Prelude, book i. l. 269 (vol. iii. p. 140):—
That one, the fairest of all rivers, loved
To blend his murmurs with my nurse's song,
And, from his alder shades and rocky falls,
And from his fords and shallows, sent a voice
That flowed along my dreams?
To more than infant softness."
Ed.
FOOTNOTES:
[798] Many years ago, when I was at Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire, the hostess of the inn, proud of her skill in etymology, said, that "the name of the river was taken from the bridge, the form of which, as every one must notice, exactly resembled a great A." Dr. Whitaker has derived it from the word of common occurrence in the North of England, "to greet;" signifying to lament aloud, mostly with weeping: a conjecture rendered more probable from the stony and rocky channel of both the Cumberland and Yorkshire rivers. The Cumberland Greta, though it does not, among the country people, take up that name till within three miles of its disappearance in the River Derwent, may be considered as having its source in the mountain cove of Wythburn, and flowing through Thirlmere, the beautiful features of which lake are known only to those who, travelling between Grasmere and Keswick, have quitted the main road in the vale of Wythburn, and, crossing over to the opposite side of the lake, have proceeded with it on the right hand.
The channel of the Greta, immediately above Keswick, has, for the purposes of building, been in a great measure cleared of the immense stones which, by their concussion in high floods, produced the loud and awful noises described in the sonnet.
"The scenery upon this river," says Mr. Southey in his Colloquies, "where it passes under the woody side of Latrigg, is of the finest and most rememberable kind:—
Occurrensque sibi venturas aspicit undas.'"
W. W. 1835.
[799] The Cocytus was a tributary of the Acheron, in Epirus, but was supposed to have some connection with the underworld, doubtless, as Wordsworth puts it,
Heard on his rueful margin.
Compare Homer, Odyssey x. 513, and Virgil, Aenid vi. 295.—Ed.
V
TO THE RIVER DERWENT[800]
Thou near the eagle's nest[801]—within brief sail,
I, of his bold wing floating on the gale,
Where thy deep voice could lull me! Faint the beam
Of human life when first allowed to gleam 5
On mortal notice.—Glory of the vale,
Such thy meek outset, with a crown, though frail,
Kept in perpetual verdure by the steam
Of thy soft breath!—Less vivid wreath entwined
Nemæan victor's brow;[802] less bright was worn, 10
Meed of some Roman chief—in triumph borne
With captives chained; and shedding from his car
The sunset splendours of a finished war
Upon the proud enslavers of mankind!
FOOTNOTES:
[800] This sonnet has already appeared in several editions of the author's poems; but he is tempted to reprint it in this place, as a natural introduction to the two that follow it.—W. W. 1835.
It was first published in 1819.—Ed.
[801] The river Derwent rises in Langstrath valley, Borrowdale, in which is Eagle Crag, so named from its having been the haunt of a bird that is now extinct in Cumberland.—Ed.
[802] The Nemæan games were celebrated every third or fifth year at Nemæa in Argolis. The victor was crowned with a wreath of olive.—Ed.
VI
IN SIGHT OF THE TOWN OF COCKERMOUTH
(Where the Author was born, and his Father's remains are laid.)
And yours, my buried Little-ones![803] am I;
And to those graves looking habitually
In kindred quiet I repose my trust.
Death to the innocent is more than just, 5
And, to the sinner, mercifully bent;
So may I hope, if truly I repent
And meekly bear the ills which bear I must:
And You, my Offspring! that do still remain,
Yet may outstrip me in the appointed race, 10
If e'er, through fault of mine, in mutual pain
We breathed together for a moment's space,
The wrong, by love provoked, let love arraign,
And only love keep in your hearts a place.
FOOTNOTES:
[803] His children, Catherine and Thomas, who died in infancy at the Parsonage, Grasmere, and were buried in Grasmere Churchyard.—Ed.
VII
ADDRESS FROM THE SPIRIT OF COCKERMOUTH CASTLE
Poet! that, stricken as both are by years,
We, differing once so much, are now Compeers,
Prepared, when each has stood his time, to sink
Into the dust. Erewhile a sterner link 5
United us; when thou, in boyish play,
Entering my dungeon, didst become a prey
To soul-appalling darkness. Not a blink
Of light was there;—and thus did I, thy Tutor,
Make thy young thoughts acquainted with the grave;
While thou wert chasing the wing'd butterfly 11
Through my green courts;[804] or climbing, a bold suitor
Up to the flowers whose golden progeny
Still round my shattered brow in beauty wave."[805]
FOOTNOTES:
[804] Compare To a Butterfly (1802), vol. ii. p. 284—
The time, when, in our childish plays,
My sister Emmeline and I
Together chased the butterfly!
Ed.
[805] Compare The Prelude, book i. ll. 283-85—
That yet survive, a shattered monument
Of feudal sway.
Compare also the sonnet At Furness Abbey, written in 1844.—Ed.
VIII
NUN'S WELL, BRIGHAM
[So named from the religious House that stood close by. I have rather an odd anecdote to relate of the Nun's Well. One day the landlady of a public-house, a field's length from the well, on the roadside, said to me—"You have been to see the Nun's Well, Sir?" "The Nun's Well! what is that?" said the Postman, who in his royal livery stopt his mail-car at the door. The landlady and I explained to him what the name meant, and what sort of people the nuns were. A countryman who was standing by, rather tipsy, stammered out—"Aye, those nuns were good people; they are gone; but we shall soon have them back again." The Reform mania was just then at its height.—I.F.]
To slake their thirst, with reckless hoofs have trod
The encircling turf into a barren clod;
Through which the waters creep, then disappear,
Born to be lost in Derwent flowing near; 5
Yet, o'er the brink, and round the lime-stone cell
Of the pure spring (they call it the "Nun's Well,"
Name that first struck by chance my startled ear)
A tender Spirit broods—the pensive Shade
Of ritual honours to this Fountain paid 10
By hooded Votaresses[806] with saintly cheer;[807]
Albeit oft the Virgin-mother mild
Looked down with pity upon eyes beguiled
Into the shedding of "too soft a tear."[808]
FOOTNOTES:
[806] 1837.
[807] Attached to the church of Brigham was formerly a chantry, which held a moiety of the manor; and in the decayed parsonage some vestiges of monastic architecture are still to be seen.—W. W. 1835.
[808] See Pope's Eloïsa to Abelard, l. 224.—Ed.
IX
TO A FRIEND[809]
(ON THE BANKS OF THE DERWENT)
[My son John, who was then building a parsonage on his small living at Brigham.—I.F.]
These modest walls, amid a flock that need,
For one who comes to watch them and to feed,
A fixed Abode—keep down presageful sighs.[810]
Threats, which the unthinking only can despise, 5
Perplex the Church; but be thou firm,—be true
To thy first hope, and this good work pursue,
Poor as thou art. A welcome sacrifice
Dost Thou prepare, whose sign will be the smoke[811]
Of thy new hearth; and sooner shall its wreaths, 10
Mounting while earth her morning incense breathes,
From wandering fiends of air receive a yoke,
And straightway cease to aspire, than God disdain
This humble tribute as ill-timed or vain.
FOOTNOTES:
[809] John Wordsworth, the poet's son, the subject of this sonnet, was incumbent of Moresby, near Whitehaven, before he went to Brigham. See the Fenwick note to the lines, Composed by the Sea-shore, p. 340. In 1833 Wordsworth wrote to Lady Beaumont:—
"Were you ever told that my son is building a parsonage-house upon a small living, to which he was lately presented by the Earl of Lonsdale. The situation is beautiful, commanding the windings of the Derwent both above and below the site of the house; the mountain Skiddaw terminating the view one way, at a distance of six miles, and the ruins of Cockermouth Castle appearing nearly in the centre of the same view. In consequence of some discouraging thoughts expressed by my son when he had entered upon this undertaking, I addressed to him the following Sonnet, which you may perhaps read with some interest at the present crisis."—Ed.
X
MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS
(LANDING AT THE MOUTH OF THE DERWENT, WORKINGTON)[812]
[I will mention for the sake of the friend who is writing down these notes, that it was among the fine Scotch firs near Ambleside, and particularly those near Green Bank, that I have over and over again paused at the sight of this image. Long may they stand to afford a like gratification to others!—This wish is not uncalled for, several of their brethren having already disappeared.—I. F.]
The Queen drew back the wimple that she wore;
And to the throng, that on the Cumbrian shore
Her landing hailed, how touchingly she bowed![813]
And like a Star (that, from a heavy cloud[814] 5
Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts,[815]
When a soft summer gale at evening parts
The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud)
She smiled;[816] but Time, the old Saturnian seer,
Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand, 10
With step prelusive to a long array
Of woes and degradations hand in hand—
Weeping captivity, and shuddering fear
Stilled by the ensanguined block of Fotheringay![817]
FOOTNOTES:
[812] "The fears and impatience of Mary were so great," says Robertson, "that she got into a fisher-boat, and with about twenty attendants landed at Workington, in Cumberland; and thence she was conducted with many marks of respect to Carlisle." The apartment in which the Queen had slept at Workington Hall (where she was received by Sir Henry Curwen as became her rank and misfortunes) was long preserved, out of respect to her memory, as she had left it; and one cannot but regret that some necessary alterations in the mansion could not be effected without its destruction.—W. W. 1835.
[813] 1837.
That hailed her landing on the Cumbrian shore; 1835.
[814] 1840.
[815] 1835.
[816] Compare The Triad, ll. 189, 190 (p. 188)—
To be descried through shady groves.—Ed.
[817] 1835.
Of miserable seasons hand in hand—
Weeping, captivity, and pallid fear,
And last, the ensanguined block of Fotheringay.
MS.
XI
STANZAS SUGGESTED IN A STEAM-BOAT
OFF SAINT BEES' HEADS, ON THE
COAST OF CUMBERLAND[818]
Toil unimposed, vicissitude unknown,
Sad were our lot: no hunter of the hare
Exults like him whose javelin from the lair
Has roused the lion; no one plucks the rose, 5
Whose proffered beauty in safe shelter blows
'Mid a trim garden's summer luxuries,
With joy like his who climbs, on hands and knees,
For some rare plant, yon Headland of St. Bees.
This new indifference to breeze or gale,
This straight-lined progress, furrowing a flat lea,
And regular as if locked in certainty—
Depress the hours. Up, Spirit of the storm!
That Courage may find something to perform; 15
That Fortitude, whose blood disdains to freeze
At Danger's bidding, may confront the seas,
Firm as the towering Headlands of St. Bees.
Bold as if men and creatures of the Deep 20
Breathed the same element; too many wrecks
Have struck thy sides, too many ghastly decks
Hast thou looked down upon, that such a thought
Should here be welcome, and in verse enwrought:
With thy stern aspect better far agrees 25
Utterance of thanks that we have past with ease,
As millions thus shall do, the Headlands of St. Bees.
What boots the gain if Nature should lose more?
And Wisdom, as she holds[819] a Christian place 30
In man's intelligence sublimed by grace?
When Bega sought of yore the Cumbrian coast,[820]
Tempestuous winds her holy errand cross'd:
She[821] knelt in prayer—the waves their wrath appease;
And, from her vow well weighed in Heaven's decrees,
Rose, where she touched the strand, the Chantry of St. Bees. 36
Who in these Wilds then struggled for command;[822]
The strong were merciless, without hope the weak;
Till this bright Stranger came, fair as day-break, 40
And as a cresset true that darts its length
Of beamy lustre from a tower of strength;
Guiding the mariner through troubled seas,
And cheering oft his peaceful reveries,
Like the fixed Light that crowns yon Headland of St. Bees. 45
Wrought in men's minds, like miracles achieved;
So piety took root; and Song might tell
What humanising virtues near her cell[823]
Sprang up, and spread their fragrance wide around;
How savage bosoms melted at the sound 51
Of gospel-truth enchained in harmonies
Wafted o'er waves, or creeping through close trees,
From her religious Mansion of St. Bees.
Was glorified, and took its place, above
The silent stars, among the angelic quire,
Her chantry blazed with sacrilegious fire,
And perished utterly; but her good deeds
Had sown the spot, that witnessed them, with seeds 60
Which lay in earth expectant, till a breeze
With quickening impulse answered their mute pleas,
And lo! a statelier pile, the Abbey of St. Bees.[824]
And Charity extendeth[826] to the dead, 65
Her intercessions made for the soul's rest
Of tardy penitents; or for the best
Among the good (when love might else have slept,
Sickened, or died) in pious memory kept.
Thanks to the austere and simple Devotees, 70
Who, to that service bound by venial fees,
Keep watch before the altars of St. Bees.
Woven out of passion's sharpest agonies,
Subdued, composed, and formalized by art, 75
To fix a wiser sorrow in the heart?
The prayer for them whose hour is past away
Says[829] to the Living, profit while ye may!
A little part, and that the worst, he sees
Who thinks that priestly cunning holds the keys 80
That best unlock the secrets of St. Bees.
Hope of the dawn and solace of the night,
Cheers these Recluses with a steady ray
In many an hour when judgment goes astray. 85
Ah! scorn not hastily their rule who try
Earth to despise, and flesh to mortify;
Consume with zeal, in wingèd ecstasies
Of prayer and praise forget their rosaries,
Nor hear the loudest surges of St. Bees. 90
The forlorn traveller, or sailor wrecked
On the bare coast; nor do they grudge the boon
Which staff and cockle hat and sandal shoon
Claim for the pilgrim: and, though chidings sharp 95
May sometimes greet the strolling minstrel's harp,
It is not then when, swept with sportive ease,
It charms a feast-day throng of all degrees,
Brightening the archway of revered St. Bees.
What time the Benedictine Brethren's voice,
Imploring, or commanding with meet pride,
Summoned the Chiefs to lay their feuds aside,
And under one blest ensign serve the Lord
In Palestine. Advance, indignant Sword! 105
Flaming till thou from Panym hands release
That Tomb, dread centre of all sanctities
Nursed in the quiet Abbey of St. Bees.
Follow the fortunes which they may not share. 110
While in Judea Fancy loves to roam,
She helps to make a Holy-land at home:
The Star of Bethlehem from its sphere invites
To sound the crystal depth of maiden rights;[831]
And wedded Life, through scriptural mysteries, 115
Heavenward ascends with all her charities,
Taught by the hooded Celibates of St. Bees.
Of cloistered Architects, free their souls to fill
With love of God, throughout the Land were raised 120
Churches, on whose symbolic beauty gazed
Peasant and mail-clad Chief with pious awe;
As at this day men seeing what they saw,
Or the bare wreck of faith's solemnities,
Aspire to more than earthly destinies; 125
Witness yon Pile that greets us from St. Bees.[832]
Safe from the feudal Castle's haughty frowns;
Peaceful abodes, where Justice might uphold
Her scales with even hand, and culture mould 130
The heart to pity, train the mind in care
For rules of life, sound as the Time could bear.
Nor dost thou fail, thro' abject love of ease,
Or hindrance raised by sordid purposes,
To bear thy part in this good work, St. Bees.[834] 135
And to green meadows changed the swampy shores?
Thinned the rank woods; and for the cheerful grange
Made room where wolf and boar were used to range?
Who taught, and showed by deeds, that gentler chains 140
Should bind the vassal to his lord's domains?
The thoughtful Monks, intent their God to please,
For Christ's dear sake, by human sympathies
Poured from the bosom of thy Church, St. Bees!
Through lawless will the Brotherhood was driven
Forth from their cells; their ancient House laid low
In Reformation's sweeping overthrow.
But now once more the local Heart revives,
The inextinguishable Spirit strives. 150
Oh may that Power who hushed the stormy seas,
And cleared a way for the first Votaries,
Prosper the new-born College of St. Bees![835]
Less humble, draws her lessons, aims, and rules. 153
To Prowess guided by her insight keen
Matter and Spirit are as one Machine;
Boastful Idolatress of formal skill
She in her own would merge the eternal will:[836]
Better,[837] if Reason's triumphs match with these, 160
Her flight before the bold credulities
That furthered the first teaching of St. Bees.[838]
FOOTNOTES:
[818] St. Bees' Heads, anciently called the Cliff of Baruth, are a conspicuous sea-mark for all vessels sailing in the N.E. parts of the Irish Sea. In a bay, one side of which is formed by the southern headland, stands the village of St. Bees; a place distinguished, from very early times, for its religious and scholastic foundations.
"St. Bees," say Nicholson and Burns, "had its name from Bega, an holy woman from Ireland, who is said to have founded here, about the year of our Lord 650, a small monastery, where afterwards a church was built in memory of her.
"The aforesaid religious house, being destroyed by the Danes, was restored by William de Meschiens, son of Ranulph, and brother of Ranulph de Meschiens, first Earl of Cumberland after the Conquest; and made a cell of a prior and six Benedictine monks to the Abbey of St. Mary at York."
Several traditions of miracles, connected with the foundation of the first of these religious houses, survive among the people of the neighbourhood; one of which is alluded to in these Stanzas; and another, of a somewhat bolder and more peculiar character, has furnished the subject of a spirited poem by the Rev. R. Parkinson, M.A., late Divinity Lecturer of St. Bees' College, and now Fellow of the Collegiate Church of Manchester.
After the dissolution of the monasteries, Archbishop Grindal founded a free school at St. Bees, from which the counties of Cumberland and Westmoreland have derived great benefit; and recently, under the patronage of the Earl of Lonsdale, a college has been established there for the education of ministers for the English Church. The old Conventual Church has been repaired under the superintendence of the Rev. Dr. Ainger, the Head of the College; and is well worthy of being visited by any strangers who might be led to the neighbourhood of this celebrated spot.
The form of stanza in this Poem, and something in the style of versification, are adopted from the St. Monica, a poem of much beauty upon a monastic subject, by Charlotte Smith: a lady to whom English verse is under greater obligations than are likely to be either acknowledged or remembered. She wrote little, and that little unambitiously, but with true feeling for rural nature,[839] at a time when nature was not much regarded by English Poets; for in point of time her earlier writings preceded, I believe, those of Cowper and Burns.[840]—W. W. 1835.
[819] 1845.
[821] 1837.
As high and higher heaved the billows, faith
Grew with them, mightier than the powers of death.
She ... 1835.
[822] The Danes, and the Cymric aborigines.—Ed.
[823] 1837.
[824] See the extract from Nicholson and Burn's History of Cumberland, in Wordsworth's note, p. 351.—Ed.
[825] 1837.
[826] 1837.
[827] 1837.
[828] I am aware that I am here treading upon tender ground; but to the intelligent reader I feel that[841] no apology is due. The prayers of survivors, during passionate grief for the recent loss of relatives and friends, as the object of those prayers could no longer be the suffering body of the dying, would naturally be ejaculated for the souls of the departed; the barriers between the two worlds dissolving before the power of love and faith. The ministers of religion, from their habitual attendance upon sick-beds, would be daily witnesses of these benign results; and hence would be strongly tempted to aim at giving to them permanence, by embodying them in rites and ceremonies, recurring at stated periods. All this, as it was in course of nature, so was it blameless, and even praiseworthy; since some of its effects, in that rude state of society, could not but be salutary. No reflecting person, however, can view[842] without sorrow the abuses which rose out of thus formalizing sublime instincts, and disinterested movements of passion, and perverting them into means of gratifying the ambition and rapacity of the priesthood. But, while we deplore and are indignant at these abuses, it would be a great mistake if we imputed the origin of the offices to prospective selfishness on the part of the monks and clergy: they were at first sincere in their sympathy, and in their degree dupes rather of their own creed, than artful and designing men. Charity is, upon the whole, the safest guide that we can take in judging our fellow-men, whether of past ages, or of the present time.—W. W. 1835.
[829] 1837.
Said ... 1835.
[830] 1837.
Submits her intercourse to milder sway,
With high and low whose busy thoughts from far 1835.
[831] Compare The Virgin, in the "Ecclesiastical Sonnets," Part II. xxv.—Ed.
[832] 1845.
Or the bare wreck of faith's solemnities,
May lift {the} hearts {to} blissful destinies;
{our} {for}
{Witness the remnant of thy Church, St. Bees.
{Witness your works, good cœnobites of St. Bees. C.
(or)
As on this day we seeing what they saw,
Uplift our hearts for heavenly destinies
In field or town, 'mid mountain fastnesses,
Or on wave-beaten shores like thine, St. Bees. C.
[833] See "The English Town" in Green's Short History of the English People, ch. iv. sec. 4.—Ed.
[834] This stanza and the preceding one were added in 1845.—Ed.
[835] This College was founded for the education of clerks in holy orders who did not mean to proceed to Oxford or Cambridge.—Ed.
[836] 1835.
From schools that scorning faith in things unseen,
Most confident when most they overween,
Would merge, idolaters of formal skill
In their own system God's eternal will. C.
... aims and rules
Would merge, Idolaters of formal skill
In her own system God's eternal will. C.
[837] 1837.
Expert to move in paths that Newton trod,
From Newton's Universe would banish God.
Better, ... 1835.
[838] See The Excursion, seventh part; and "Ecclesiastical Sonnets," second part, near the beginning.—W. W. 1850.
The passages referred to are the following: The Excursion, book vii. l. 1008, etc. (vol. v. p. 324), beginning—
and alluding to Sir Alfred Irthing; and in the "Ecclesiastical Sonnets," Part II. iii., iv., v., Cistercian Monastery, and Monks and Schoolmen.—Ed.
[839] 1837.
[840] From "at a time" to "Burns" was added in 1837.
[841] 1845.
[842] 1837.