"Henry Forest came to Loweswater, 1708, being twenty-five years of age."

"This curacy was twice augmented by Queen Anne's Bounty. The first payment, with great difficulty, was paid to Mr. John Curwen of London, on the 9th of May, 1724, deposited by me, Henry Forest, curate of Loweswater. Y^e said 9th of May, y^e said Mr. Curwen went to the office, and saw my name registered there, etc. This, by the Providence of God, came by lot to this poor place.

"Hæc testor H. Forest."

In another place he records, that the sycamore trees were planted in the churchyard in 1710.

He died in 1741, having been curate thirty-four years. It is not improbable that H. Forest was the gentleman who assisted Robert Walker in his classical studies at Loweswater.

To this parish register is prefixed a motto, of which the following verses are a part:—

FOOTNOTES:

MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT

1820

Composed 1821-2.—Published 1822

[I set out in company with my wife and sister, and Mr. and Mrs. Monkhouse, then just married, and Miss Horrocks. These two ladies, sisters, we left at Berne, while Mr. Monkhouse took the opportunity of making an excursion with us among the Alps as far as Milan. Mr. H. C. Robinson joined us at Lucerne, and when this ramble was completed we rejoined at Geneva the two ladies we had left at Berne and proceeded to Paris, where Mr. Monkhouse and H. C. R. left us, and where we spent five weeks, of which there is not a record in these poems.—I. F.]

See Dorothy Wordsworth's itinerary (Note A) of this tour, and Henry Crabb Robinson's account of it in his Diary and Correspondence, vol. ii. pp. 166-192 (Note B to this volume).—Ed.

DEDICATION

(Sent with these Poems, in MS., to ——)[467]

Rydal Mount, Nov. 1821[470]

VARIANTS:

FOOTNOTES:

I

FISH-WOMEN—ON LANDING AT CALAIS

"If in this Sonnet I should seem to have borne a little too hard upon the personal appearance of the worthy Poissardes of Calais, let me take shelter under the authority of my lamented friend, the late Sir George Beaumont. He, a most accurate observer, used to say of them, that their features and countenances seemed to have conformed to those of the creatures they dealt in; at all events the resemblance was striking."—W. W. 1822.

In Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal of this Tour on the Continent,—which, in a letter to her daughter Dorothy (dated 20th February 1821), she calls "hasty notes made by snatches during our journey,"—the following occurs:—"Passing through the gates of the city, we had before us a line of white-capped Fish-women, with thin brown faces. The fish very foul, yet at dinner the same sort proved excellent."

In Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal of the same Tour, the following occurs:—"Tuesday, 11th July. Calais.—With one consent we stopped to gaze at a group—rather a line of women and girls, seated beside dirty fish baskets under the old gate-way and ramparts—their white night caps, brown and puckered faces, bright eyes, etc. etc., very striking. The arrangements—how unlike those of a fish-market in the South of England!...

"Every one is struck with the excessive ugliness (if I may apply the word to any human creatures) of the fish-women of Calais, and that no one can forget."—Ed.

Henry Crabb Robinson wrote of this sonnet:—"Of the sonnets there is one remarkable and unique; the humour and naïveté, and the exquisitely refined sentiment of the Calais fish-women, are a combination of excellencies quite novel." (Diary, etc., vol. ii. p. 224.)—Ed.

VARIANTS:

FOOTNOTE:

II

BRUGÈS

This is not the first poetical tribute which in our times has been paid to this beautiful City. Mr. Southey, in the Poet's Pilgrimage, speaks of it in lines which I cannot deny myself the pleasure of connecting with my own.

"In this city are many vestiges of the splendour of the Burgundian Dukedom, and the long black mantle universally worn by the females is probably a remnant of the old Spanish connection, which, if I do not much deceive myself, is traceable in the grave deportment of its inhabitants. Bruges is comparatively little disturbed by that curious contest, or rather conflict, of Flemish with French propensities in matters of taste, so conspicuous through other parts of Flanders. The hotel to which we drove at Ghent furnished an odd instance. In the passages were paintings and statues, after the antique, of Hebe and Apollo; and in the garden, a little pond, about a yard and a half in diameter, with a weeping willow bending over it, and under the shade of that tree, in the centre of the pond a wooden painted statue of a Dutch or Flemish boor, looking ineffably tender upon his mistress, and embracing her. A living duck, tethered at the feet of the sculptured lovers, alternately tormented a miserable eel and itself with endeavours to escape from its bonds and prison. Had we chanced to espy the hostess of the hotel in this quaint rural retreat, the exhibition would have been complete. She was a true Flemish figure, in the dress of the days of Holbein; her symbol of office, a weighty bunch of keys, pendent from her portly waist. In Brussels, the modern taste in costume, architecture, etc., has got the mastery; in Ghent there is a struggle: but in Bruges old images are still paramount, and an air of monastic life among the quiet goings-on of a thinly-peopled city is inexpressibly soothing; a pensive grace seems to be cast over all, even the very children." (Extract from Journal.)—W. W. 1822.

From Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal:—"Thursday, 13th July....—Bruges. What a place. D. and I walked out as soon as we could after our arrival.... Went into the old church. The nuns, the different worshippers, the pictures, the place, the quiet stately streets, grand buildings, graceful nun-like women in their long cloaks, treading with swan-like motions those silent avenues of majestic architecture, I must leave to D. to describe. My own mind was uplifted by a sort of devotional elevation as if striving to fit itself to become worthy of what these temples would lead to."

"... Friday, 14th.—At Bruges all is silence, grace, and unmixed dignity.... You felt a sort of veneration for everything you looked upon. Nothing of this here" [i.e. at Ghent]; "yet what a splendid place! The evening too suited its character, for the sun went down in brightness. Yesterday was not a sunny day, and Bruges wanted no sunshine, its own outline in the gloom of evening needed no golden lustre. Yet this William witnessed, when D. and I were not with him, the great Tower of the Market House bathed in gold!"

The following is from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal:—"Thursday, 13th July. Dunkirk.—We entered Bruges by a long gently-winding street, and were so animated with pleasure in our hasty course that it seemed we too soon reached the inn. W. and Mr. M. walked out immediately, eager to view the city in the warm light of the setting sun....

"Continued to walk through the silent town till ten o'clock—no carts—no chaises—a cloistral silence felt in every corner and every open space, yet the large square was scattered over with groups of people; or passengers walking to and fro, no lights in the houses!"—Ed.

VARIANTS:

III

BRUGÈS

See the note to the last sonnet. The following is from Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal:—"Friday, 14th. Bruges.—Rose at five o'clock, paced the town again, and visited, but with disturbed mind (for I had left William in bed hurting himself with a sonnet), the churches of St. Salvador and Notre Dame.... I joined W. in our carriage, and have here written down the sonnet, Jones' Parsonage, so I hope he will be at rest."

The following is from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal:—"Friday, 14th July. Bruges.—The morning was bright, sunshine and shade falling upon the lines of houses, and the out-juttings of the more noble buildings. In the bright light of morning the same tender melancholy was over the city as in the sober time of twilight, yet with intervening images of rural life. A few peasants were now entering the town, and the rattling of a rustic cart, prettily laden with vegetables fresh from the soil, gave a gentle stirring to the fancy. Early as it was, people of all ages were abroad chiefly on their way to the churches: the figure, gait, and motions of the women in harmony with the collegiate air of the streets, and the processions and solemnities of Catholic worship. Such figures might have walked through these streets, two hundred years ago; streets bearing no stamp of progress or of decay. One might fancy that as the city had been built so it had remained. We first went to the Church of St. Salvador, a venerable Gothic edifice. Within the Church, our walk between the lofty pillars was very solemn. We saw in perspective the marble floor scattered over, at irregular distances, with people of all ages—standing, or upon their knees, silent, yet making such motions as the order of their devotions prescribed, crossing themselves, beating their breasts, or telling their beads. Such the general appearance of the worshippers: but the gestures of some were more impassioned....

"We spent some time in admiring the beauty of the choir, and every other part of this noble building, adorned as it is with statues; and pictures not in the paltry style of the Churches at Calais and Fernes; but works of art that would be interesting anywhere, and are much more so in these sacred places, where the wretched and the happy, the poor and the rich are alike invited to cast away worldly feelings, and may be elevated by the representations of Scripture history, or of the sufferings and glory of martyrs and saints."

In the final arrangement of his poems, Wordsworth placed the one entitled Incident at Brugès—which belonged to the year 1828—after the two sonnets on Brugès in these "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent in 1820." In the present edition the former poem is restored to its chronological place (see vol. vii.), where it is associated with A Jewish Family. As a consequence the numbering of the poems differs slightly from that which Wordsworth finally adopted.—Ed.

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IV

AFTER VISITING THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

"Namur, Tuesday 18th.—Our ride yesterday, except for the intervention of Waterloo, and its interests, which were so melancholy that I do not like to touch upon them, was a dull one, though the road was pleasant through the forest of Soignies. Waterloo, its pretty chapel, the walls within covered with monuments, recording the fall of many of our brave countrymen, and some few others as brave, La Haye Sainte, La Belle Alliance, Quatre Bras. Dined at Genappe; two bullet shots in the wainscot of the room, which, during the battle, had been heaped with dead and dying." (From Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Monday, 17th July, Brussels.—I could understand little till we got to the field of battle, where we stood upon an elevation; and thence, looking round upon every memorable spot, by help of gesture and action, and the sounds 'les Anglois, les Francois,' etc. etc., I gathered up a small portion of the story, helped out by a few monuments erected to the memory of the slain; but all round, there was no other visible record of slaughter: the wide fields were covered with luxuriant crops, just as they had been before the battles, except that now the corn was nearly ripe, and then it was green. We stood upon grass, and corn fields where heaps of our countrymen lay buried beneath our feet. There was little to be seen, but much to be felt; sorrow and sadness, and even something like horror breathed out of the ground as we stood upon it!" (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.) Compare the two sonnets Occasioned by the Battle of Waterloo, February, 1816, also the Thanksgiving Ode.—Ed.

VARIANT:

V

BETWEEN[482] NAMUR AND LIEGE

[The scenery on the Meuse pleases me more, upon the whole, than that of the Rhine, though the river itself is much inferior in grandeur. The rocks, both in form and colour, especially between Namur and Liege, surpass any upon the Rhine, though they are in several places disfigured by quarries, whence stones were taken for the new fortifications. This is much to be regretted, for they are useless, and the scars will remain perhaps for thousands of years. A like injury to a still greater degree has been inflicted, in my memory, upon the beautiful rocks of Clifton, on the banks of the Avon. There is probably in existence a very long letter of mine to Sir Uvedale Price, in which was given a description of the landscapes on the Meuse as compared with those on the Rhine.

Details in the spirit of these sonnets are given both in Mrs. Wordsworth's Journals and my Sister's, and the reperusal of them has strengthened a wish long entertained that somebody would put together, as in one work, the notices contained in them, omitting particulars that were written down merely to aid our memory, and bringing the whole into as small a compass as is consistent with the general interests belonging to the scenes, circumstances, and objects touched on by each writer.—I. F.]

The following extract from Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal illustrates this sonnet, and explains the Fenwick note. The "long entertained" "wish" of the poet, expressed in that note, has never yet been accomplished. It may be realised in one of the volumes which follow, in this edition.

"July 18. Departure from Namur, road out of the town beautiful, wide, disk-like valley, gardens, groves, town standing upon its two rivers. Ramparts towering above, very impressive to cast the eyes back upon. Market people flocking in in groups, variety of dresses, of all gay colours. Flowers seem to be the delight of the peasantry. They are worn in their hats, upon their breasts, carried in the mouth when their hands are at work sometimes, or stuck behind the ear. Road excellent all the way down the Meuse. Villages in all situations,—among the rocks, now one peeps out of a recess, again another upon a knoll with its spire rising from among trees. More and more beautiful as you proceed down the river—rocks on the banks of the most fantastic forms, something like those on the Wye. Sometimes the valley reminded us of the trough of the Clyde. Huy. Church handsome, the high tower struck by lightning fourteen years ago; new fortifications, most picturesque and romantic situation. Crossed the Meuse here, charming view from the bridge.... Road very delightful, rocks, woods, chateau, convent, vineyards, hanging gardens, orchards with profusion of fruit, shrubs, and flowers, and corn lands, all in the most luxuriant state. So beautiful a day's journey I never before travelled."

The following is from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.:—"Tuesday, July 18. Namur.—Having traversed the Vale, we travel downwards, with the stately, though muddy, river to our left—pass under limestone rocks resembling abbeys or castles—the opening prospect still presenting something new. Backwards, a noble view of the vale, terminated by the city and fortifications of Namur at the distance of, perhaps, two miles or more—our last farewell view! Still, as we go on, the rocks change their shapes, in prospect far off; or as we roll swiftly away beneath them. Villages not to be numbered by the hasty traveller, rise up, with spires and towers; cottages embowered in gardens and orchards, and sometimes an old chateau or modern villa. All these (in succession or together) vary the scene, while, the abundance of flowers, fruit, vegetables, and corn, interbedded and intermingled, give an image of plenty and happy industry."—Ed.

VARIANT:

VI

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE

Where unremitting frosts the rocky crescent bleach.

"Let a wall of rocks be imagined from three to six hundred feet in height, and rising between France and Spain, so as physically to separate the two kingdoms—let us fancy this wall curved like a crescent with its convexity towards France. Lastly, let us suppose, that in the very middle of the wall a breach of 300 feet wide has been beaten down by the famous Roland, and we may have a good idea of what the mountaineers call the 'Breche de Rolend.'" (Raymond's Pyrenees.)—W. W. 1822.

"Thursday, 20th July.—... Descend towards the town of Aix-la-Chapelle, a chapel on the opposite side of the vale upon a high knoll, overlooking the spires and towers.... Wm., T. M., and myself walked to the chapel we had seen on the heights, said to be built by Charlemagne: a very interesting view of the town, and over a large space of the country beyond, and into the country looking the other way. Wm. went higher to a monument recording that Buonaparte visited the spot with one attendant. We were too late to be satisfied here, the darkness only allowing us to form a notion of the outline, and to catch here and there a spire or a tower in the distance. The chapel here alluded to was not larger in appearance than the tiny rocky edifice at Buttermere. A Christ under the branches of a spreading oak, brought to my mind by contrast, a gay image of a brightly painted fox, on a sign board, among the branches of a flowing chestnut tree, which William and I saw gleaming in the setting sun, when walking through the village of Souldren." (From Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Thursday, 20th July. Aix-la-Chapelle.—I went to the Cathedral, a curious Building where are to be seen the chair of Charlemagne, on which the Emperors were formerly crowned, some marble pillars much older than his time; and many pictures; but I could not stay to examine any of these curiosities, and gladly made my way alone back to the inn to rest there. The market-place is a fine old square; but at Aix-la-Chapelle there is always a mighty preponderance of poverty and dulness, except in a few of the showiest of the streets, and even there, a flashy meanness, a slight patchery of things falling to pieces is everywhere visible." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)—Ed.

VARIANTS:

FOOTNOTE:

VII

IN THE CATHEDRAL AT COLOGNE

"Friday, July 21. Cologne.—... The Cathedral, a most magnificent edifice. Tower unfinished (this I perceived, but took it for a ruin at ten miles distance), built 700 years ago. The outside reminds you of Westminster Abbey in parts; and, had the Projector's wish been fulfilled, within and without, this would have been a much more sumptuous pile. It affectingly called to my mind William's lines—