mm Qj £l«kkk>1 H*19K£ K 1hn's Grove.' 21. Grasmere. 22. The Island, Grasmere. 23. Wordsworth's Cottage, Town End. 24. The Churchyard, Grasmere. 25. ' Emma's Dell.' 26. Lancrigg Terrace. 27. Easdale Tarn. 28. The Swan Inn. 29. The Ruined Sheepfold at Greenhead Ghyll. 30. Dunmail Raise. 31. Wytheburn Church. 32. The ' Rock of Names.' 33. Grisdale Tarn. 34. Aira Force. 35. Brother's Water. 36. Kirkstone Pass. 37. Skiddaw. 38. Derwentwater. 39. Southey's Grave. 40. The Borrowdale Yews. Etc., etc., etc." Reference must be made, however, to a somewhat similar book, written ten years ago by the author of the letter- Preface. ix press of this volume, and published by Mr. David Douglas, Edinburgh. The title of that book was The English Lake District, as interpreted in the Poems of Wordsworth; and its aim, as stated in the Preface, was to be " a guide to the Poems, rather than to the district ; and to the district only in so far as it is reflected in, and interpreted by the Poems," — the poems themselves being regarded as the chief " Guide " to a country which they have made classic ground. I may add that Mr. Goodwin's drawings in the present work were originally taken as illustrations of The English Lake District, and inserted in the pages of his copy of that book, as he drew them during successive years. They appeared to me so admirable, that I hoped Mr- Goodwin would be induced to reproduce them, indepen- dently of an accompanying letterpress. They seemed of ■much greater value than any prose description could be, as illustrative of a district of England, the characteristic features of which are being rapidly changed by the intro- duction of machinery, railways, water-works, etc., and which posterity might in vain wish to recover from oblivion. These Drawings are — along with the Poems they illustrate — almost self-interpretative ; and to those who know and love the English Lakes and Mountains, they X Preface. render a lengthened commentary superfluous, if not im- pertinent. The aim I have therefore kept in view, in my part of the work, has been twofold. First, to be as terse and simple as I possibly could ; saying just enough to point out the relation of Mr. Goodwin's drawing to the poem or the place, and no more. Occasionally however, during the passage of the proofs through the press, I have been led to add a few descriptive sentences from S. T. Coleridge, Southey, Lamb, Wordsworth or his sister. Second, not to traverse precisely the same ground as that which was covered in my earlier work. It will be seen that the order adopted, the poems quoted, and the de- scriptions of place differ in many ways. The fundamental idea of the books is different. The former was meant to be a prose guide to the localities mentioned in the Poems, and therefore many were referred to which are omitted here. In the present, the Drawings being the real guide, the letterpress is, in the main, an explanation of them. Were I to presume to offer advice to one visiting the English Lake District for the first time — or revisiting it a second time with a view to trace the connexion between the poems of Wordsworth and the places described in them — I would say, let him approach it by Windermere, Preface. xi (and long may it be ere the railway can bring him any farther !) From Windermere let him go by Bowness, not neglecting its Church as he passes — as some things will be seen in it that are alluded to in The Excursion, — and by the Ferry, to Hawkshead. The three islands of Win- dermere, described in The Prelude, will be noted, " The selected bourne Was now an Island musical with birds That sang and ceased not ; now a Sister Isle Beneath the oaks' umbrageous covert, sown With lilies of the valley like a field ; And now a third small Island, where survived In solitude the ruins of a shrine Once to Our Lady dedicate." On one of these islands Wordsworth's schoolfellow, Robert Greenwood, " the Ministrel of the Troop," blew his flute alone upon the rock ; and on another of them William Raincock, of Rayrigg, used at evening to send his ' " mimic hootings to the silent owls, That they might answer him." Not far off, on the Bowness side of the Ferry, stood the inn mentioned in The Prelude, " Midway on long Winander's eastern shore, Within the crescent of a pleasant bay." xii Preface, Passing on from "the station" on the western side of the lake, to Hawkshead, by the hamlet of Sawrey, many places on the road are associated with Wordsworth. There is the "long ascent, Where the road's watery surface, to the top Of the sharp rising glittered to the moon." There is the spot where grew the Yew Tree, " near the lake of Esthwaite, on a desolate part of the shore," and where the poet wrote the " Lines, left upon a Seat, etc." The village of Hawkshead is soon visible, where he says — " turning round I saw the snow-white church upon her hill Sit like a throned Lady sending out A gracious look all over her domain " ; and the Lake itself, round which the boy Wordsworth used to walk in summer mornings before schooltime, or across which he rowed his boat alone at night, and saw the peak of Wetherlam grew larger in the darkness, and where in winter he skated with his companions, so magni- ficently described in The Prelude. In the quaint village of Hawkshead, Dame Tyson's House, where the boy resided during his schooltime, fiVst claims notice ; next the " famous brook " in Flag Street, Preface. xiu " the unruly child of mountain birth" ; then the Square of the small market village, the centre of the sports of the schoolboys ; and the School itself, where Wordsworth's name is still to be seen — cut by himself with penknife on one of the primitive benches, — and where he was taught by his revered master, William Taylor (the " Matthew " of the poems). To identify the scene of the memorable " Morning Walk," after the night spent at a rustic dance, when "'vows were made for him," and to fix the " meeting-point of two highways," where he watched for the steeds to take him to Penrith at Christmas, is more difficult ; but both give large scope for imagination, and wise conjecture. Crossing the ridge that divides Hawks- head from Coniston, the Tilberthwaite valley is seen to the right, where the boy used to harry the ravens' nests, and pursue his other pastimes ; and from the village of Coniston the valley of the Duddon may be leisurely explored, the series of sonnets addressed to the stream— from its source at Wrynose to the sea at Duddon Sands — being the best guide. From Coniston, the Wordsworth student should go on to Ambleside, and from Ambleside visit the Langdales, either passing Dungeon Ghyll Force, and proceeding to Blea Tarn by the ordinary route, or ascending Lingmoor xiv Preface. to look down on the Tarn, " the liquid pool that glittered in the sun," described in The Excursion. The cottage in which the Solitary was supposed to live remains, and the ^'cool recess," the "semicirque of turf-clad ground," the rock like "a stranded ship, with keel upturned," the " fragment like an altar," etc., can all be recognised. The two peaks, " the lusty twins " of Langdale, are visible over the ridge to the north. Here, as well as at Grasmere, The Excursion is the best of guide-books. Returning to Ambleside, it is usual to push on to Rydal and Grasmere ; but this should be postponed. Let the Wordsworth student first take the Kirkstone road over to Ullswater, noting the stone near the summit, which " gives to this savage pass its name." Descending to Brother's Water, the bridge — where the lines bearing that name were composed — is crossed ; and proceeding down the eastern shore of the lake, Gowbarrow Park, where the daffodils were seen in myriads — those daffodils which suggested the poem beginning " I wandered lonely as a cloud," and one of the finest passages of prose writing in Dorothy Wordsworth's journal — may be visited, as also Lyulph's Tower and Aira Force. Returning again to Ambleside, the road to Rydal is full of associations with the Poet of the district the Preface. xv Mount itself, the terrace-walks, the summer-house, Dora's Field, Nab Scar, the falls in the grounds of Rydal Hall, the upper path under Nab Scar to Grasmere, the lake below it, the road by Hartley Coleridge's cottage at the Nab, passing the " Glow-worm Rock " to the right, and the " Heath-clad Rocks " to the left, on to the " Wishing Gate," and " John's Grove," till Grasmere is visible. From Rydal quarry the upper path may be taken, by the Leech-gatherer's Pool on White Moss Common, under Heughfolds, thence descending to the village, past Dove Cottage, where every turn of the road or winding path, every fresh grouping of rock and crag, of vale moun- tain and river, brings out " some new thing " connected with the glorious spring time, or the late autumn of the poet's work. At Grasmere we reach the very centre round which all the associations with Wordsworth cluster. It will require some leisure to exhaust what can be done by the student, who wishes to localize his poetry, and trace out its allusions. If Dove Cottage or Grasmere churchyard is our centre point, there is Allan Bank to the west (where the most of The Excursion was written, and where Cole- ridge stayed many months with Wordsworth) ; there is Easdale beck with " Emma's Dell," and Lancrigg House xvi Preface. and Terrace (where the cantos of TJte Prelude were murmured out aloud, and dictated to the poet's willing scribes, his wife and sister) ; there is Helm Crag, de- cribed in TJie Waggoner, "Joanna's Rock," "the Parson- age" of The Excursion, Dunmail Raise, and Fairfield, with Grisdale Tarn, the •' parting place " of the brothers William and John Wordsworth, to the north ; to the east, there is Greenhead Ghyll, with the ruins of " Michael's sheep-fold " in it, and the height of Stone Arthur, — " The last that parleys with the setting sun " ; to the south, the Lake itself, with " Point Rash Judgment," the Island, the terraces of Loughrigg, Red Bank, Ham- merscar, and the Wyke, below Silver Howe. The old Saxon Church of Grasmere itself, with its solemn associa- tions — the " Church" of Tlie Excursion, — being prominent, and the Churchyard, with its " moss-grown wall," near the poet's last resting place. There is the " long stone seat, fixed in the church-yard wall. Part shaded by cool sycamore, and part Offering a sunny resting place," whence may be heard, from Wray Ghyll Force, " the soft voice Of yon white torrent falling down the rock," Preface. xvii and may be seen to the north "the long ascent of Dunmail Raise," the road that, — " Mounts, as you see, in mazes serpentine." At Grasmere, let the Wordsworth student rest for many days ; and from this centre, in the late spring or autumn (May and October are the best months) he may study those places which the genius of the poet of " the inward eye" has consecrated for posterity. The special teaching of this poet, and its "healing power," can be realized nowhere else so perfectly; but, let me add, they will cease to be realizable even there, unless the vale of Grasmere remains a place of seclusion, unviolated by the roar of machinery and the din of trafific. The blasting of quarries, and the works of the water-engineers, have already done it grievous wrong, — a wrong which time, " softening and concealing. And busy with the hand of heahng," may in part atone ; but if ever the steam-car enters the vale of Grasmere, the lover of repose will have to seek it elsewhere, and the charm of that indescribable region will be only a memory of the past. From Grasmere the Wordsworth student naturally moves on to Keswick, over the ridge dividing the shires xviii Preface. of Westmorland and Cumberland. At the top of the col, he sees to the left " that pile of stones, Heaped over brave King Dunmail's bones." Descending toward Thirlmere, he passes " Wytheburn's modest house of prayer. As lowly as the lowliest dwelling " ; and not far from it, at the foot and on the western flank of Helvellyn, the old Cherry Tree Inn ; and next — at a spot soon to be sunk under the waters of a Manchester reservoir — the " Rock of Names," the trysting place of the poets of Grasmere and Keswick, with its initials W. W., M. H., D. W., S. T. C, J. W., and S. H. ; the " Raven Crag" and "Ghimmer Crag," of The Waggoner; St. John's Vale ; and so on to Keswick. At Keswick the associations are with Wordsworth's early residence at Windybrow farm, and his relations to Raisely Calvert, his visits to Coleridge and Southey at Greta Hall, his descriptions of Skiddaw, of St. Herbert's Island, and JLodore. From Keswick the birthplace of the poet at Cockermouth may be visited, and the places around it — Lorton, etc. — referred to in the poems ; while, in Borrowdale the Yew Tree grove under Glaramara, and Preface. xix in Ennerdale the spot associated with The Brothers, are easily accessible. The Lake District may doubtless be entered first at Keswick, and the poet's birthplace — with Borrowdale, etc. — be explored, before Grasmere is visited ; but it will be found every way better to begin, as I suggest, with Windermere, Hawkshead, and Ambleside ; and to advance from these, by Rydal and Grasmere, to the north. Wordsworth's own Description of the Scenery of the Lakes, can now be obtained in a cheap form ; and it ought to be taken to the district by every lover of the poems. It is occasionally referred to in the following pages. It is upon Mr. Goodwin's Drawings, however, that the entire merit of this book rests ; and I venture to think that the "Wordsworth Country" will be imperishably associated with one, who has reproduced its features and made them permanent, in so delightful a manner. William Knight. THEOUGH THE WORDSWOp COUpY. • No. I. COCKERMOUTH CASTLE. Wordsworth was born at Cockermouth, where his father was land agent to Sir James Lowther — afterwards Earl of Lonsdale — on April 7th, 1770; and there he spent the early years of childhood. In his autobio- graphical poem, The Prelude, he makes many allusions to the Town, to the old House, and the Garden with the river Derwent behind it, and to the surrounding scenery. Thu?, in the first book, he says : Was it for this 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 .? For this, didst thou. Through the Wordsworth Country. O Derwent ! winding among grassy holms Where I was looking on, a babe in arms, Make ceaseless music that composed my thoughts To more than infant softness, giving me Amid the fretful dwellings of mankind A foretaste, a dim earnest, of the calm That Nature breathes among the hills and groves ? When he had left the mountains and received On his smooth breast the shadow of those towers That yet survive, a shattered monument Of feudal sway, the bright blue river passed Along the margin of our terrace-walk ; A tempting playmate whom we dearly loved. Oh, many a time have I, a five years' child. In a small mill-race severed from his stream, Made one long bathing of a summer's day ; Basked in the sun, and plunged, and basked again, Alternate, all a summer's day, or scoured The sandy fields, leaping through flowery groves Of yellow ragwort ; or when rock and hill. The woods, and distant Skiddaw's lofty height. Were bronzed with deepest radiance, stood alone Beneath the sky, as if I had been born On Indian plains, and from my mother's hut 0\ WucXai swei'j -~ COCKERMOUTH CASTLE. [Face p. 2. Throngh the Wordsworth Country. 3 Had run abroad in wantonness, to sport A naked savage, in the thunder shower. The Prelude, Book I. The first of Mr. Goodwin's drawings is a sketch of the ruins of Cockermouth Castle, the "shattered monument of feudal sway." The " bright blue river " — the Derwent — passes to the right " Along the margin of our terrace-walk," which is below the wind-swept tree in the drawing, and at the foot of the garden of the old mansion in which Wordsworth was born. (This terrace-walk is the main feature in the second drawing of the poet's birthplace.) The view is to the east, and up the river, from a point almost opposite the raised terrace. Beyond the ruined towers and the rainbow will be seen the " windings of a public way." This is now a footpath, but in Wordsworth's time it was the high road over the " Watch Hill " to Isel, a hamlet on the Derwent, three and a half miles from Cockermouth. Wordsworth refers to it in the following passage in the thirteenth book of The Prelude : Who doth not love to follow with his eye The windings of a public way ? tlie sieht. 4 Through the Wordsworth Country. Familiar object as it is, hath wrought On my imagination since the morn Of childhood, when a disappearing line. One daily present to my eyes, that crossed The naked summit of a far off hill Beyond the limits that my feet had trod, Was like an invitation into space Boundless, or guide into eternity. The Prelude, Book XIII. The Address from the Spirit of Cockermouth Castle may be recalled, in connexion with this drawing ; and the sonnet To the River Derwent, though it refers to the infant stream, the " glory of the vale " of Langstrath undet Glaramara, may have been composed at Keswick, and contains allusions to the scenes of the poet's infancy. The former sonnet may be quoted in full. ADDRESS FROM THE SPIRIT OF COCKERMOUTH CASTLE. " Thou look'st upon me, and dost fondly think, 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 du.st. Erewhile a sterner link Through the Wordsworth Country. 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 Through my green courts ; or climbing, a bold suitor, Up to the flowers whose golden progeny Still round my shattered brow in beauty wave." Nn. II. WORDSWORTH'S BIRTHPLACE, COCKER- MOUTH. This drawing combines a view of the Terrace- Walk already- referred to, the Garden, and the back of the old House in which Wordsworth's father lived, with the river Derwent in the foreground. It is taken from the north bank of the river, looking almost due south. That Cockcrmouth garden, with its " leafy shade," is frequently referred to in the poems. Here it was that " My sister Emmeline and I Together chased the butterfly." Here that, as children, the brother and sister found out The Sparrow's Nest, with such wondering delight. It is thus that Wordsworth himself describes it, in a note to a poem written in 1801 in the orchard at Town End, Grasmere. " At the end of the garden of my father's house at Cockermouth was a high terrace that commanded a fine view of the river Derwent and Cockermouth Castle. 8 Through the Wordsworth Country. This was our favourite playground. The terrace wall, a low one, was covered with closely dipt privet and roses, which gave an almost impervious shelter to birds who built their nests there. The latter of these stanzas alludes to one of those nests." THE SPARROW'S NEST. Behold, within the leafy shade. Those bright blue eggs together laid ! On me the chance-discovered sight Gleamed like a vision of delight. I started — seeming to espy The home and sheltered bed, The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by My Father's house, in wet or dry My sister Emmeline and I Together visited. She looked at it and seemed to fear it ; Dreading, tho' wishing to be near it : Such heart was in her, being then A little Prattler among men. The Blessing of my later years Was with me when a boy : ' -^'S^'^*"''W<,lv~''-^'^^^s-^'^ vvcndswuit^i b(iH» TiUcc — Coe-kttmourii WORDSWORTH'S BIRTH-PLACE. [Face p. a Through the Wordsworth Country. She gave me eyes, she gave me ears ; And humble cares, and delicate fears ; A heart, the fountain of sweet tears ; And love, and thought, and joy. TO A BUTTERFLY. The Fenwick note to this poem is as follows : " Written in the orchard, Town End, Grasmere. My sister and I were parted almost immediately after the death of our mother, who died in 1778, both being very young." In Dorothy Wordsworth's " Grasmere Journal," she writes, under date March 14th, 1802: "While we were at break- fast, W. wrote the poem To a Butterfly. The thought came upon him, as we were talking about the pleasure we both always felt at the sight of a butterfly. I told him that I used to chase them a little, but that I was afraid of brushing the dust off their wings, and did not catch them. Mr. Sympson came in just as he was finish- ing the poem. After he was gone, I wrote it down, and the other poem, and read them all over to him. . . William began to try to alter the Butterfly, and tired himself." lo Through the Wordsworth Country. Stay near me — do not take thy flight ! A little longer stay in sight ! Much converse do I find in thee, Historian of my infancy ! Float near me : do not yet depart ! Dead times revive in thee : Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art ! A solemn image to my heart, My Father's family ! Oh ! pleasant, pleasant were the days. The time when, in our childish plays. My sister Emmeline and I Together chased the butterfly ! A very hunter did I rush Upon the prey : — with leaps and springs I followed on from brake to bush ; But she, God love her ! feared to brush The dust from off" its wings. No. III. DAME TYSON'S COTTAGE. During his school-days at Hawkshead Wordsworth lived in the cottage of Dame Tyson. This cottage, in the old market town, still remains externally very much as it was in 1778, and is little changed in the interior, although its surroundings are much altered. It is a humble dwelling of two storeys ; the floor of the base- ment flat, paved with the blue flags of Coniston slate, is probably just as it was in Wordsworth's time. On the second flat there are two bedrooms to the front, one of which must have been Wordsworth's. The cottage faces south-west, and Wordsworth's room was probably that on the proper left, with the smaller of the two windows. He speaks of it thus, Ye lowly cottages wherein we dwelt, A ministration of your own was yours ; Can I forget you, being as you were So beautiful among the pleasant fields 12 Through the Wordsworth Country. In which ye stood ? or can I here forget The plain and seemly countenance with which Ye dealt out your plain comforts ? Yet had ye Delights and exultations of your own. The Prelude, Book I. Again he refers to That lowly bed whence I had heard the wind Roar, and the rain beat hard ; where I so oft Had lain awake on summer nights to watch The moon in splendour couched among the leaves Of a tall ash, that near our cottage stood ; Had watched her with fixed eyes while to and fro In the dark summit of the waving tree She rocked with every impulse of the breeze. The Prelude, Book IV. This ash tree is gone, but its locality is not difficult to trace. It grew on the proper right front of the cottage, where an outhouse is now built. There are four places where Wordsworth lived in the Lake Country, more distinctively associated with him than any others, and more interesting — in connexion with his poetic work — than Racedown in Dorset, or Through the Wordsworth Country. 13 Alfoxden in Somerset, or Coleorton in Leicestershire. They are Tyson's Cottage at Hawkshead, Dove Cottage at Grasmere, Allan Bank, and Rydal Mount. Tyson's house has special interest, in its rustic lowliness and simplicity, as his home during those years which he describes as the " fair seed-time of his soul " ; and it is perhaps easier for us to realize the boy Wordsworth at Hawkshead as it now is, than to imagine the man Wordsworth at Dove Cottage or at Rydal, as they now are. Hawkshead is out of the stereotyped track of the tourists, it is less " modernized " than Bowness, Coniston, Ambleside, or Grasmere ; and although a great deal is gone that existed in Wordsworth's time, and we search in vain for the "stone seat" under the "dark pine," and the "ash tree," the Yew Seat near Esthwaite Water, and the " rude mass of native rock" in the "village square," — and have our puzzles about the "famous brook," and the "fountain," and the " morning walk," and the " meeting-point of two highways," there remain a score of things and places identifiable by minute traces in detail, and others realiz- able by imagination. It does not greatly signify that the precise spot of the memorable Morning Walk is unascer- tainable, while several places suit it well ; and as for the famous Skating Scene on Esthwaite water, wiien he 14 Through the Wordsworth Country. cut across the reflex of a star That fled, and flying still before him, gleamed Upon the glassy plain, it can be realized in almost any one of the " silent bays " of the lake. It is easy for the sympathetic student of the poems to follow the boy in his tenth year, holding, as he tells us, unconscious intercourse with beauty Old as creation, while he felt Gleams like the flashing of a shield ; — the earth And common face of Nature spake to him Remarkable things. No. IV. FLAG STREET, HAWKSHEAD. This is perhaps the most interesting street, or alley, in the quaintly picturesque village of Hawkshead ; but its interest is chiefly due to the description — in The Prelude — of the "famous brook," once an "unruly child of mountain birth" (see drawing No. VIII.), but which soon as he was boxed Within our garden, found himself at once, As if by trick insidious and unkind. Stripped of his voice, and left to dimple down (Without an effort and without a will) A channel framed by man's officious care. There has been doubt, and there still is controversy, as to the identity of this brook. Dr. Cradock wrote thus of it : " Persons have visited the cottage without discovering it ; and yet it is not forty yards distant, and is still exactly as described. On the opposite side of the lane already referred to, a few steps above the cottage, is a narrow passage through some new stone buildings. On 1 6 Through the Wordsworth Country, emerging from this, you meet a garden, the farther side of which is bounded by the brook, confined on both sides by large flags, and also covered by flags of the same Coniston formation, through the interstices of which you may see and hear the stream running freely. The upper flags are now used as a footpath, and lead by another passage back into the village. No doubt the garden has been reduced in size by the use- of that part of it fronting the lane for building purposes. The stream, before it enters the area of buildings and garden, is open by the lane side, and seemingly comes from the hills to the westward. The large flags are extremely hard and durable, and it is probable that the very flags which paved the channel in Wordsworth's time may be doing the same duty still." There is another spot, a few hundred yards above this one, in the course of the brook, at a place now called Walker Ground, where the streamlet is also " boxed within a garden " and " stripped of its voice " for some distance ; and it is said that boys attending the school in the end of the last century used to board there. But it seems more probable that the " garden " with its " crowd of things about its narrow precincts all beloved," was near Dame Tyson's house. ifTr- ;»??^ FLAG STREET, HAWKSHEAD. [Face p. 16. No. V, THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL, HAWKSHEAD. The Hawkshead Grammar School — founded by Edwin Sandys, Archbishop of York, in 1585 — is a humble building of two storeys, and remains very much as it was in the end of the last century. Many of the old benches are well cut with the names and initials of successive scholars ; and that of " W. Wordsworth " is amongst them — now covered by a small framework of glass to preserve it from injury. Four masters taught this school in Words- worth's time ; but for the third — the Rev. William Taylor — he entertained a very special regard. He died while the poet was at school ; and before his death, he called the upper boys to his room — Wordsworth amongst them — and blessed them, while he said farewell. It is to him that reference is made in the following lines : ADDRESS TO THE SCHOLARS OF THE VILLAGE SCHOOL OF . 1798. I COME, ye little noisy crew. Not long your pastime to prevent ; 1 8 Through the Wordsworth Country. I heard the blessing which to you Our common Friend and Father sent. I kissed his cheek before he died ; And when his breath was fled, I raised, while kneeling by his side, His hand : — it dropped like lead. Your hands, dear Little-ones, do all That can be done, will never fall Like his till they are dead. By day or night, blow foul or fair, Ne'er will the best of all your train Play with the locks of his white hair Or stand between his knees again. Here did he sit confined for hours ; But he could see the woods and plains, Could hear the wind and mark the showers Come streaming down the streaming panes. Now stretched beneath his grass-green mound He rests a prisoner of the ground. He loved the breathing air. He loved the sun, but if it rise Or set, to him where now he lies. Brings not a moment's care. Through the Wordsworth Country. 19 Alas ! what idle words ; but take The Dirge which for our Master's sake And yours, love prompted me to make. The rhymes so homely in attire With learned ears may ill agree, But chanted by your Orphan Quire, Will make a touching melody. Taylor is also characterized in other Poems, The Two April Mornings, The Fountain, and the lines quoted below. Note that as Wordsworth called his sister " Emma," and his daughter " Laura," he calls his old master, William Taylor, " Matthew." In the school of is a tablet, on which are inscribed, in gilt letters, the names of the several persons whc. have been schoolmasters there since the foundatioi of the school, with the time at which they entered upon and quitted their office. Opposite one of those names the author wrote the following lines : If nature, for a favourite child In thee hath tempered so her clay. That every hour thy heart runs wild. Yet never once doth go astray. 20 Through the Wordsworth Country. Read o'er these lines ; and then review This tablet, that thus humbly rears In such diversity of hue Its history of two hundred years. When through this little wreck of fame, Cipher and syllable ! thine eye Has travelled down to Matthew's name. Pause with no common sympathy. And, if a sleeping tear should wake, Then be it neither checked nor stayed : For Matthew a request I make Which for himself he had not made. Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er, Is silent as a standing pool : Far from the chimney's merry roar. And murmur of the village school. The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs Of one tired out with fun and madness ; The tears which came to Matthew's eyes Were tears of light, the dew of gladness. Through the Wordsworth Country. 2 1 Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup Of still and serious thought went round, It seemed as if he drank it up — He felt with spirit so profound. Thou soul of God's best earthly mould ! Thou happy soul ! and can it be That these two words of glittering gold Are all that must remain of thee ? A very touching reference to Taylor is made in The Prelude (Book X.), when, eight years after his death, Wordsworth, riding over Ulverston Sands, turned aside to see his grave in Cartmel churchyard. The grammar school of Hawkshead has recently been adorned by scrolls with inscriptions taken from Words- worth's poems ; such as — The child is father to the man. And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each in natural piety. Books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good. And a proposal was made a couple of years ago, at a 2 2 Through the Wordsworth Country. meeting of the Wordsworth Society — to which its presi- dent for the time being, the late Lord Houghton, was the first subscriber — to erect a bust of Wordsworth in this school, in memory of the most remarkable boy ever educated within it. It is to be hoped that this proposal will yet be realized. It was the custom of the senior boys in Wordsworth's time to add a volume to the school library when they left Hawkshead, and to inscribe their name upon the book, when they presented it. I have sought in vain for one with Wordsworth's name, or that of any of his brothers. It would be interesting to know what book he selected, if he followed the school custom. No. VI ESTHWAITE LAKE. The whole of the Hawkshead district is associated with Wordsworth, and the "first virgin passion of his soul Communing with this glorious universe." The Prelude, Book I. In the fifth book of The Prelude he tells us : Well do I call to mind the very week When I was first entrusted to the care Of that sweet Valley ; when its paths, its shores, And brooks were like a dream of novelty To my half-infant thoughts As to Esthwaite Lake, he tells us that his morning walks Were early ; — oft before the hours of school I travelled round our little lake, five miles Of pleasant wandering. The Prelude, Book II. 24 Through the Wordsworth Country. Again : Nor seldom did I lift our cottage latch Far earlier, ere one smoke-wreath had risen From human dwelling, or the vernal thrush Was audible ; and sate among the woods Alone upon some jutting eminence, At the first gleam of dawn-light, when the Vale, Yet slumbering, lay in utter solitude. The Prelude, Book II. But the late evening and the night had their revelations to him as well as the dawn. I would stand If the night blackened with a coming storm, Beneath some rock, listening to notes that are The ghostly language of the ancient earth. Or make their dim abode in distant winds. The Prelude, Book II. The sixth drawing is an illustration of a scene and an experience, described in the first book of The Prelude, the precise locality of which is easily identified. One summer evening (led by her) I found A little boat tied to a willow tree Through the Wordsworth Country. 25 Within a rocky cove, its usual home. Straight I unloosed her chain, and stepping in Pushed from the shore. It was an act of stealth And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice Of mountain-echoes did my boat move on ; Leaving behind her still, on either side, Small circles glittering idly in the moon, Until they melted all into one track Of sparkling light. But now, like one who rows. Proud of his skill, to reach a chosen point With an unswerving line, I fixed my view Upon the summit of a craggy ridge. The horizon's utmost boundary ; far above Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky. She was an elfin pinnace ; lustily I dipped my oars into the silent lake, And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat Went heaving through the water like a swan ; When, from behind that craggy steep till then The horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and huge. As if with voluntary power instinct Upreared its head. I struck and struck again, And growing still in stature the grirti shape Towered up between me and the stars, and still, 26 Through the Wordsworth Country. For so it seemed, with purpose of its own And measured motion like a living thing, Strode after me. With trembUng oars I turned, And through the silent water stole my way Back to the covert of the willow tree ; There in her mooring-place I left my bark, — And through the meadows homeward went, in grave And serious mood ; but after I had seen That spectacle, for many days, my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being ; o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion. No familiar shapes Remained, no pleasant images of trees, Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields ; But huge and mighty forms, that do not live Like living men, moved slowly through the mind By day, and were a trouble to my dreams. The Prelude, Book I. Any one walking from Hawkshead by the road to Sawrey, and keeping to the margin of the lake on its eastern shore, can realize the very spot to which this, refers The Through the Wordsworth Country. 27 " craggy ridge Till then the horizon's bound " is the ridge of Ironkeld, while the " hup-e peak, black and huge, As if with voluntary power inshuct," is the summit of Wetherlam. It was on Esthwaite Lake also that the Hawkshead schoolboys had their glorious winter pastime — so mag- nificently described in The Prelude — when the voices of Nature, its colours, forms, and motions, were heard and felt through all the sport, and blending with the intense zest of the physical exercise, were at once a revelation and a delight. No. VI 1. THE MEETING-POINT OF TWO HIGHWAYS One Christmas-time, On the glad eve of its dear holidays, Feverish, and tired, and restless, I went forth Into the fields, impatient for the sight Of those led palfreys that should bear us home ; My brothers and myself. There rose a crag, That, from the meeting-point of two highways. Ascending, overlooked them both, far stretched ; Thither, uncertain on which road to fix My expectation, thither I repaired, Scout-like, and gained the summit ; 'twas a day Tempestuous, dark, and wild, and on the grass I sate half-sheltered by a naked wall ; Upon my right hand couched a single sheep, Upon my left a blasted hawthorn stood ; With those companions at my side, I watched, Straining my eyes intensely, as the mist 28 Through the Wordsworth, Country. 29 Gave intermitting prospect of the copse And plain beneath. Ere we to school returned, — That dreary time, — ere we had been ten days Sojourners in my father's house, he died, And I and my three brothers, orphans then. Followed his body to the grave. The event. With all the sorrow that it brought, appeared A chastisement ; and when I called to mind That day so lately past, when from the crag I looked in such anxiety of hope ; With trite reflections of morality, Yet in the deepest passion, I bowed low To God, who thus corrected my desires ; And, afterwards, the wind and sleety rain. And all the business of the elements. The single sheep, and the one blasted tree. And the bleak music from that old stone wall, The noise of wood and water, and the mist That on the line of each of those two roads Advanced in such indisputable shapes ; All these were kindred spectacles and sounds To which I oft repaired, and thence would drink. As at a fountain ; and on winter nights, Down to this very time, when storm and rain 30 Through the Wordsworth Country. Beat on my roof, or, haply, at noon-day, While in a grove I walk, whose lofty trees. Laden with summer's thickest foliage, rock In a strong wind, some working of the spirit, Some inward agitations thence are brought, Whate'er their office, whether to beguile Thoughts over busy in the course they took. Or animate an hour of vacant ease. The Pr etude. Book XII. This is one of the most characteristic of Wordsworth's allusions to the scenes of his boyhood. The year was evidently 1783, but the locality is difficult to determine. It may have been one or other of two places. Words- worth's father died at Penrith, and it was there that the sons went for their Christmas holiday. The road from Penrith to Hawkshead was by Kirkstone Pass and Ambleside ; and the " led palfreys " sent to take the boys home would certainly come through the latter town. There are only two roads from Ambleside to Hawkshead, which meet at a point about a mile north of Hawkshead, called in the ordnance map " Outgate." The eastern road is now chiefly used by carriages, being less hilly and better made than the western one. The latter would be Through the Wordsworth Country. 31 quite as convenient as the former would be for horses. If one walks out from Hawkshead village to the place where the two roads separate at "Outgate," and then ascends the ridge between them, he will find several places from which he could overlook both roads " far stretched," were the view not now intercepted by numerous plantations. (The latter are of comparatively recent growth.) Dr- Cradock — to whom I am indebted for this, and for many other suggestions as to localities alluded to by Words- worth — thinks that " a point, marked on the map as ' High Crag,' between the two roads, and about three- quarters of a mile from their point of divergence, answers the description as well as any other. It may be nearly two miles from Hawkshead, a distance of which an active, eager schoolboy would think nothing. The ' blasted hawthorn ' and the ' naked wall ' are probably things of the past as much as the ' single sheep.' " Doubtless this may be the spot, — a green, rocky knoll with a steep face to the north, where a quarry is wrought, and with a plantation to the east. It commands a view of both roads. The other possible place is a crag, not a quarter of a mile from Outgate, a little to the right of the place where the two roads divide. A low wall runs up across it to the top, dividing a plantation of oak, hazel. 32 Through the Wordsworth Country. and ash from the firs that crown the summit. . These firs, which are larch and spruce, seem all of this century. The top of the crag may have been bare when Wordsworth lived at Hawkshead. But at the foot of the path along the dividing wall there are a few (probably older) trees ; and a solitary walk beneath them, at noon or dusk, is almost as suggestive to the imagination as repose under the yews of Borrowdale, listening to " the mountain flood " on Glaramara. There one may still hear the bleak music from the old stone wall, and " the noise of wood and water " ; while the loud dry wind whistles through the underwood, or moans amid the fir trees of the Crag, on the summit of which there is " a blasted hawthorn " tree. It may be difficult now to determine the precise spot to which the boy Wordsworth climbed on that eventful day — afterwards so significant to him, and from the events of which, he says, he drank "as at a fountain," — but I think it must have been to one or other of these two crags. No. VIII. THE HAWKS HEAD BROOK. THE FOUNTAIN. A CONVERSATION. We talked with open heart, and tongue Affectionate and true, A pair of friends, though I was young, And Matthew seventy-two. We lay beneath a spreading oak, Beside a mossy seat ; ft.nd from the turf a fountain broke. And gurgled at our feet. " Now, Matthew ! " said I, " let us match This water's pleasant tune With some old border-song, or catch That suits a summer's noon ; 34 Through the Wordsworth Country. Or of the church-clock and the chimes Sing here beneath the shade, That half-mad thing of witty rhymes Which you last April made ! " In silence Matthew lay, and eyed The spring beneath the tree ; And thus the dear old Man replied; The grey-haired man of glee : " No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears ; How merrily it goes ! 'Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay Beside this fountain's brink ! My eyes are dim with childish tears. My heart is idly stirred. For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. Through the Wordsworth Country. 35 Thus fares it still in our decay: And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what age takes away Than what it leaves behind. The blackbird amid leafy trees, The lark above the hill, Let loose their carols when they please^ Are quiet when they will With Nature never do they wage A foolish strife ; they see A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free : But we are pressed by heavy laws] And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy, because We have been glad of yore. If there be one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth, The household hearts that were his own ; It is the man of mirth. 36 Through the Wordsworth Country. My days, my Friend, are almost gone, My life has been approved, And many love me ; but by none Am I enough beloved." " Now both himself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains ! I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains ; And, Matthew, for thy children dead I'll be a son to thee ! " At this he grasped my hand, and said, " Alas ! that cannot be." We rose up from the fountain-side ; And down the smooth descent Of the green sheep-track did we glide ; And through the wood we went ; And ere we came to Leonard's rock. He sang those witty rhymes About the crazy old church-clock, And the bewildered chimes. Through the Wordsworth Country. 37 The above poem is a sequel to that on Matthew and The Two April Mornings ; all of them referring in part to the Rev. William Taylor, the "village schoolmaster" of Hawkshead. But the "Matthew" of these poems is an idealized picture of Taylor, as the "Wanderer" of The Excursion was an idealization of Patrick, the Scotch pedlar. The streamlet described in this poem, and in others, is doubtless the famous Hawkshead beck, — not as it is seen in the Flag Street, or " boxed " within the old dame's garden, but the " unruly child of mountain birth," as it comes down from the uplands above the village, a streamlet by the banks of which Wordsworth must have wandered a hundred times in those Hawkshead days. His description of it, — " No check, no stay, this streamlet fears ; How merrily it goes ! 'Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows," suggests the refrain of Tennyson's idyl The Brook, — " For men may come, and men may go, But I go on for ever.'' But the various MS. readings which Wordsworth gave 38 Through the Wordsworth Country. of this stanza on the margin of a copy of his poems are so interesting as to warrant quotation. " Down to the Vale with eager speed Behold this streamlet run, From subterranean bondage freed, And glittering in the sun.'' Down to the Vale with eager speed, Behold this streamlet run, From subterranean darkness freed, A pleasant course to run." " Down to the Vale this streamlet hies Look, how it seems to run, As if 'twere pleased with summer skies And glad to meet the sun. No guide it needs, no dark it fears, How merrily it goes ! 'Twill murmur on a thousand years And flow as now it flows." " Down towards the Vale with eager speed Behold this streamlet run. As if 'twere pleased with summer skies, And glad to meet the sun." At last he struck his pen through all these emendations, and adhered to the original version in the text. No. IX. THE HAWKSHEAD MORNING WALK. One of the most remarkable passages in The Prelude describes the effect produced by the calm and splendour of the dawn, after a night spent in " dancing, gaiety, and mirth," and the dedication of his life that followed. 'Mid a throng Of maids and youths, old men, and matrons staid A medley of all tempers, I had passed The night in dancing, gaiety, and mirth. With din of instruments and shuffling feet, And glancing forms, and tapers glittering. And unaimed prattle flying up and down ; Spirits upon the stretch, and here and there Slight shocks of young love-liking interspersed, Whose transient pleasure mounted to the head. And tingled through the veins. Ere we retired, The cock had crowed, and now the eastern sky Was kindling, not unseen, from humble copse 39 40 Through the Wordsworth Country. And open field, through which the pathway wound, And homeward led my steps. Magnificent The morning rose, in memorable pomp, Glorious as ere I had beheld — in front, The sea lay laughing at a distance ; near. The solid mountains shone, bright as the clouds. Grain-tinctured, drenched in empyrean light ; And in the meadows and the lower grounds Was all the sweetness of a common dawn — Dews, vapours, and the melody of birds. And labourers going forth to till the fields. Ah ! need I say, dear Friend ! that to the brim My heart was full : I made no vows, but vows Were then made for me ; bond unknown to me Was given, that I should be, else sinning greatly, A dedicated Spirit. On I walked In thankful blessedness, which yet survives. It is difficult to fix the precise locality of this memor- able morning walk. A view of the sea could only be obtained in that district, as Dr. Cradock pointed out, at a considerable elevation, and the phrase " in front, the sea lay laughing at a distance," if taken literally, would imply that Wordsworth walked in a southerly direction towards Through the Wordsworth Country. 41 Hawkshead. There are several mountain farms behind Ironkeldj and also in Yewdale, in any of which the night may have been spent. Certainly the point of view which he describes, and where he paused, and "vows were made " for him, was somewhere about the Hawse, between Coniston and Hawkshead. He may have been looking down into the vale of Esthwaite, or into that of Yewdale ; or across to the Latterbarrow heights, when in " the meadows and the lower grounds '' he saw " the sweetness of a common dawn." The mention of the "labourers going forth to till the fields," suggests the arable valley of Yewdale, rather than the other ; while " the solid mountains" were most probably Coniston Old Man and Wetherlam. The sea in distance must have been across the Coniston valley, and beyond the Duddon estuary. No. X. WINDERMERE. Windermere is frequently alluded to, and described by- Wordsworth, especially in The Prelude. When summer came, Our pastime was, on bright half-holidays, To sweep along the plain of Windermere With rival oars ; and the selected bourne Was now an Island musical with birds That sang and ceased not ; now a Sister Isle Beneath the oaks' umbrageous covert, sown With lilies of the valley like a field ; And now a third small Island, where survived In solitude the ruins of a shrine Once to Our Lady dedicate, and served Daily with chaunted rites. In such a race So ended, disappointment could be none. Uneasiness, or pain, or jealousy : We rested in the shade, all pleased alike, Conquered and conqueror. Thus the pride of strength, 44 Through the Wordsworth Country. And the vainglory of superior skill, Were tempered ; thus was gradually produced A quiet independence of the heart ; And to my Friend who knows me I may add, Fearless of blame, that hence for future days Ensued a diffidence and modesty, And I was taught to feel, perhaps too much. The self-sufficing power of Solitude. The Prelude, Book II. These islands are easily identified. The island " musical with birds that sang and ceased not," was either House Holme or Thomson's Holme. The " sister isle," that was sown " with lilies of the valley like a field," was Belle Isle, where the flowers still bloom beneath the "oaks' um- brageous covert." The third small island, with its ruins of a shrine " once to Our Lady dedicate," is still called Lady Holme. This lake, the ferry near Bowness, the inn " Midway on long Winander's eastern shore. Within the crescent of a pleasant bay," the road from Windermere to Hawkshead by Sawrey, were all associated with Wordsworth's summer vacations when an undergraduate at Cambridge, and his visits to WINDERMERE, [Face p. 44. Through the Wordsworth Country. 45 the home of his boyhood. The whole can be seen at a glance from the top of Orrest Head. Mr. Goodwin's view of th^ lake is taken from the western shore, looking towards the Claife Heights between Windermere and Esthwaite. Perhaps Wordsworth's finest poem referring to Winder- mere is that on the boy William Raincook, of Rayrigg, one of his schoolfellows, who died before his twelfth year. THERE WAS A BOY. There was a Boy ; ye knew him well, ye cliffs And islands of Winander ! — many a time, At evening, when the earliest stars began To move along the edges of the hills, Rising or setting, would he stand alone, Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake ; And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth Uplifted, he, as through an instrument, Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls. That they might answer him. — And they would shout A.cross the watery vale, and shout again, Responsive to his call, — with quivering peals. And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud Redoubled and redoubled ; concourse wild 46 ThroKgh the Wordsworth Country. Of jocund din ! And, when there came a pause Of silence such as baffled his best skill : Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise Has carried far into his heart the voice Of mountain-torrents ; or the visible scene Would enter unawares into his mind With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received Into the bosom of the steady lake. This boy was taken from his mates, and died In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old. Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale Where he was born and bred : the churchyard hangs Upon a slope above the village school ; And, through that churchyard when my way has led On summer evenings, I believe, that there A long half-hour together I have stood Mute — looking at the grave in which he lies ! It was of this poem, and especially of the phrase, "a gentle shock of mild surprise," that Coleridge said, that had he met with it whilst traversing the deserts of Arabia, he v/ould have immediately shouted out "Wordsworth." No. XI. YEWDALE. Fair seed-time had my soul, and I grew up Fostered alike by beauty and by fear : Much favoured in my birthplace, and no less In that beloved Vale to which erelong We were transplanted — there were we let loose For sports of wider range. Ere I had told Ten birthdays, when among the mountain slopes Frost, and the breath of frosty wind, had snapped The last autumnal crocus, 'twas my joy With store of springes o'er my shoulder hung To range the open heights where woodcocks run Along the smooth green turf Through half the night, Scudding away from snare to snare, I plied That anxious visitation ; — moon and stars Were shining o'er my head. I was alone. And seemed to be a trouble to the peace That dwelt among them. Sometimes it befell 48 Through the Wordsworth Country. In these night wanderings, that a strong desire O'erpowered my better reason, and the bird Which was the captive of another's toil Became my prey ; and when the deed was done I heard among the soHtary hills Low breathings coming after me, and sounds Of undistinguishable motion, steps Almost as silent as the turf they trod. Nor less when spring had warmed the cultured Vale, Moved we as plunderers where the mother-bird Had in high places built her lodge ; though mean Our object and inglorious, yet the end Was not ignoble. Oh ! when I have hung Above the raven's nest, by knots of grass And half-inch fissures in the slippery rock But ill sustained, and almost (so it seemed) Suspended by the blast that blew amain, Shouldering the naked crag, oh, at that time While on the perilous ridge I hung alone. With what strange utterance did the loud dry wind Blow through my ear ! the sky seemed not a sky Of earth — and with what motion moved the clouds ! The Prelude, Book I. Through the Wordsworth Country. 49 The " open heights " where the woodcocks ran " along the smooth green turf," were those between Esthwaite and Coniston ; but the scene of the youthful exploits in harrying ravens' nests, when the boy Wordsworth hung " by knots of grass and half-inch fissures in the slippery rock," must refer to the Holme Fells above Yewdale. The Yew tree, which gave its name to this dale, still survives, and is represented in the drawing. The Holme Fells are beyond ; and here (as Wordsworth describes it in his Epistle to Sir George Beaumont) is the " rock too steep for man to tread, Where, sheltered from the north and bleak north-west. Aloft the raven hangs a visible nest. Fearless of all assaults that would her brood molest." Note the accuracy of the allusion to the time when the breath of frosty wind had "snapped the last autumnal crocus." This usually happens in that district about mid October. No. XII. GRASMERE. The drawing No. XII. is a view of the lake and valley of Grasmere from the slopes of Silver How, near Red Bank. Near the centre is the church described in The Excursion. The house to the left is Allan Bank, where Wordsworth lived from the spring of 1807 till 1821, and where the larger part of TJie Excursion was written. Beyond it, over the wood, is Lancrigg, where (on the terrace-walk) he dictated much of The Prelude. Above it is Helm Crag, celebrated in The Waggoner. The path over Dunmail Raise is to the left, and on the flank of Fairfield, where up " the heathy waste," it " Mounts, as you see, in mazes serpentine." Dove Cottage, the poet's home during the seven years of his poetic prime, is to the right of the picture, a little way beyond its margin. " Point Rash Judgment " juts out on the waters of the mere, at the lower right corner, while Blencathara is seen beyond the " Easy outlet of the vale." 52 Through the Wordsworth Country. in the northern distance. The "parsonage " of The Excur- sion is still to be seen to the east of the road up Dunmail Raise, while Greenhead Ghyll, with " Michael's " ruined sheepfold, is underneath Stone Arthur, the "eminence" to the right, " The last that parleys with the setting sun." These are but a few of the spots consecrated by the genius of Wordsworth that come within the compass of this single sketch. Emma's Dell, Joanna's Rock, the Wyke Cottage, and a multitude of others are there ; while John's Grove, the Wishing Gate, the Two Heath-clad Rocks, and White Moss Common, with the Leech- gatherer's pool, are close at hand, to the right of the drawing. Perhaps the most general description of Grasmere which Wordsworth has given is that contained in a still unpub- lished canto of The Recluse, entitled " Home at Grasmere," an extract from which is to be found in the " Memoirs" ot the poet, by the late Bishop of Lincoln. On Nature's invitation do I come. By Reason sanctioned. Can the choice mislead, That made the calmest, fairest spot on earth, With all its unappropriated sood. ::-'-'-£JSci:}f$^^i.-"-^ 'li tin , -/f -• GRASMERE. [Face p. 52. Through the Wordsworth Country. 5 My own, and not mine only, for with me. Entrenched — say rather, peacefully embowered — Under yon orchard, in yon humble cot, A younger orphan of a home extinct, The only daughter of my parents dwells ? Ay, think on that, my heart, and cease to stir ; Pause upon that, and let the breathing frame No longer breathe, but all be satisfied. Oh, if such silence be not thanks to God For what hath been bestowed, then where, where then Shall gratitude find rest ? Mine eyes did ne'er Fix on a lovely object, nor my mind Take pleasure in the midst of happy thoughts. But either she, whom now I have, who now Divides with me that loved abode, was there. Or not far off. Where'er my footsteps turned, Her voice was like a hidden bird that sang ; The thought of her was like a flash of light. Or an unseen companionship, a breath Or fragrance independent of the wind. In all my goings, in the new and old Of all my meditations, and in this Favourite of all, in this the most of all. ***** 54 Through the Wordsworth Country. Embrace me then, ye hills, and close me in. Now in the clear and open day I feel Your guardianship : I take it to my heart ; 'Tis like the solemn shelter of the night. But I would call thee beautiful ; for mild, And soft, and gay, and beautiful thou art. Dear valley, having in thy face a smile. Though peaceful, full of gladness. Thou art pleased. Pleased with thy crags and woody steeps, thy lake, Its one green island, and its winding shores. The multitude of little rocky hills. Thy church, and cottages of mountain stone, Clustered like stars some few, but single most, And lurking dimly in their shy retreats. Or glancing at each other cheerful looks. Like separated stars with clouds between. The whole of this unpublished canto of The Recluse will appear in the extended Biography of WordswortJi now nearly ready for the press. No. XIII. DOVE COTTAGE. Wordsworth came to this cottage in the last week of last century. It still remains much as it was when he entered it, although its surroundings are greatly changed. It had once been a public house, bearing the sign of a dove and olive bough. Hence the name " Dove Cot- tage." De Quincey — who lived in it after Wordsworth went to Rydal — thus describes it, as he saw it in the summer of 1 807 : " A white cottage with two yew trees breaking the glare of its white walls." (These yew trees still stand on the eastern side of the cottage.) "A little semi-vestibule between two doors prefaced the entrance into what might be considered the principal room of the cottage. It was an oblong square, not above eight and a half feet high, sixteen feet long, and twelve broad, wainscotted from floor to ceiling with dark polished oak, slightly embellished with carving. One window there was, a perfect and unpretending cottage window, with little diamond panes, embowered at almost 56 Through the Wordsworth Country. every season of the year with roses, and in the summer and autumn with a profusion of jasmine and other shrubs. ... I was ushered up a little flight of stairs, fourteen in all, to a little drawing-room, or whatever the reader chooses to call it. Wordsworth himself has described the fireplace of this room as his •Half-kitchen and half-parlour fire.' It was not fully seven feet six inches high, and in other respects pretty nearly of the same dimensions as the rustic hall below. There was however, in a small room, a library of perhaps 300 volumes, which seemed to con- secrate the room as the poet's study and composing room, and which occasionally it was. But far oftener he both studied, as I found, and composed on the high- road." — Recollections of the Lakes, pp. 130, 137. In this cottage Wordsworth, his wife, and sister re- ceived Coleridge as a frequent guest ; and the numerous references to his visits, — coming over from Keswick un- expectedly, or by invitation, — with their conversations, and doings, as recorded by Dorothy Wordsworth in her journal, are of singular interest. There are many allusions to Dove Cottage in the poems; the majority however refer more to the orchard Through the Wordsworth Country. 57 garden behind the house, than to the cottage itself. The four sonnets entitled Personal Talk (which were written in the house) are associated with it perhaps as intimately as any others. PERSONAL TALK. I. I AM not one who much or oft delight To season my fireside with personal talk, — Of friends, who live within an easy walk, Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight : And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright. Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk. These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk. Painted on rich men's floors for one feast-night, Better than such discourse doth silence long. Long, barren silence, square with my desire ; To sit without emotion, hope, or aim. In the loved presence of my cottage-fire. And listen to the flapping of the flame, Or kettle whispering its faint undersong. II. " Yet life," you say, " is life ; we have seen and see, And with a living pleasure we describe ; I Through the Wordsworth Country. And fits of sprightly malice do but bribe The languid mind into activity. Sound sense, and love itself, and mirth and glee Are fostered by the comment and the gibe." Even be it so : yet still among your tribe. Our daily world's true Worldlings, rank not me ! Children are blest, and powerful ; their world lies More justly balanced ; partly at their feet. And part far from them : — sweetest melodies Are those that are by distance made more sweet ; Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes, He is a Slave ; the meanest we can meet 1 III. Wings have we, — and as far as we can go We may find pleasure : wilderness and wood, Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood Which with the lofty sanctifies the low. Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know. Are a substantial world, both pure and good : Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood. Our pastime and our happiness will grow. There find I personal themes, a plenteous store ; Through the Wordsworth Country. 59 Matter wherein right voluble I am, To which I listen with a ready ear ; Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear — ■ The gentle lady married to the Moor ; And heavenly Una, with her milk-white lamb. IV. Nor can I not believe but that hereby Great gains are mine ; for thus I live remote From evil-speaking : rancour, never sought. Comes to me not ; malignant truth, or lie. Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought : And thus from day to day my little boat Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably. Blessings be with them — and eternal praise. Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares — The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays ! Oh ! might my name be numbered among theirs, Then gladly would I end my mortal days. To give an adequate account of the days of poetic work and high discourse within this Grasmere Cottage, 6o Through the Wordsworth Country. the meetings with Coleridge and others, the "plain liv- ing and high thinking," of these years — 1800 to 1807 — a large part of Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal would have to be quoted. It is enough to point out here that, in Dove Cottage, and the surrounding locality — in the orchard garden, or on the roads and the heights, or the groves and valleys around, or by the banks of the Rothay — the best part of Wordsworth's work was done in these years of his "poetic prime.''. No. XIV. DOVE COTTAGE ORCHARD. The orchard-ground behind Dove Cottage is somewhat, though not greatly, altered since Wordsworth's time. It slopes upwards to a terrace, where an arbour or moss- hut was built by Wordsworth ; in which he murmured out, and wrote, or dictated many of his poems. Below the terrace is the Well which supplied the cottage with water, where large-leaved primroses still grow, doubtless the successors of those planted by the poet and his sister. When Wordsworth left Grasmere, in 1802, to be married to Mary Hutchinson at Stockton-on-Tees, he wrote the fol- lowing temporary Farewell to his cottage at Town End : A FAREWELL. Farewell, thou little ^ook of mountain-ground, Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair Of that magnificent temple which doth bound One side of our whole vale with grandeur rare ; 62 Through the Wordsworth Country. Sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair, The loveliest spot that man hath ever found, Farewell ! — we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care, Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround. Our boat is safely anchored by the shore. And there will safely ride when we are gone ; The flowering shrubs that deck our humble door Will prosper, though untended and alone : Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none : These narrow bounds contain our private store Of things earth makes, and sun doth shine upon ; Here are they in our sight — we have no more. Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell ! For two months now in vain we shall be sought ; We leave you here in solitude to dwell With these our latest gifts of tender thought ; Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat. Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell ! Whom from the borders of the Lake we brought. And placed together near our rocky Well. We go for One to whom ye will be dear ; And she will urize this Bower, this Indian shed, ThroiLgk the Wordsworth Country. 63 Our own contrivance, Building without peer ! — A gentle Maid, whose heart is lowly bred, Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered. With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer, Will come to you ; to you herself will wed ; And love the blessed life that we lead here. Dear spot ! which we have watched with tender heed, Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown Among the distant mountains, flower and weed. Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own, Making all kindness registered and known ; Thou for our sakes, though Nature's child indeed. Fair in thyself and beautiful alone, Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need. And O most constant, yet most fickle Place, That hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost show To them who look not daily on thy face ; Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know. And say'st, when we forsake thee, " Let them go 1 " Thou easy-hearted Thing, with thy wild race Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow. And travel with the year at a soft pace. 64 Through the Wordsworth Country. Help us to tell Her tales of years gone by, And this sweet spring, the best beloved and best ; Joy will be flown in its mortality : Something must stay to tell us of the rest. Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's breast Glittered at evening like a starry sky ; And in this bush our sparrow built her nest, Of which I sang one song that will not die. O happy Garden ! whose seclusion deep Hath been so friendly to industrious hours ; And to soft slumbers, that did gently steep Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers, And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers ; Two burning months let summer overleap, And, coming back with Her who will be ours, Into thy bosom we again shall creep. Above the well, in the rocks which diversify the slope, are the daffodils which the poet and his sister brought to their " garden ground " ; but the Christmas roses, which they planted near the well, were removed to the eastern side of the ground, where their successors still flourish luxuriantly. The moss-hut is gone, and a stone Through the Wordsworth Country. 65 seat now takes its place ; but the hidden brook may still be heard singing its under-song, as of yore. " If you listen, all is still, Save a little neighbouring rill. That from out the rocky ground Strikes a solitary sound." The " flowering shrubs," and the " rocky well " still exist, in the "little nook of mountain ground"; and the "steep rock's breast " is " thronged with primroses " in spring, although the " Bower " is a thing of the past. The poem most descriptive of this orchard, or garden ground, however, is The Green Linnet ; and it is as true to the spirit of the place in 1887 as it was eighty years ago. THE GREEN LINNET. Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat ! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together. K Ob Through the Wordsworth Country, One have I marked, the happiest guest In all this covert of the blest : Hail to Thee, far above the rest In joy of voice and pinion ! Thou, Linnet ! in thy green array, Presiding Spirit here to-day, Dost lead the revels of the May ; And this is thy dominion. While birds, and butterflies, and flowers, Make all one band of paramours, Thou, ranging up and down the bowers, Art sole in thy employment : A Life, a Presence like the Air, Scattering thy gladness without care, Too blest with any one to pair ; Thyself thy own enjoyment. Amid yon tuft of hazel trees. That twinkle to the gusty breeze, Behold him perched in ecstasies, Yet seeming still to hover ; There ! where the flutter of his wings Upon his back and body flings Through the Wordsworth Country. 67 Shadows and sunny glimmerings^ That cover him all over. My dazzled sight he oft deceives, A brother of the dancing leaves ; Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves Pours forth his song in gushes ; As if by that exulting strain He mocked and treated with disdain The voiceless Form he chose to feign, While fluttering in the bushes. Again — though two years earlier — he wrote : TO A BUTTERFLY. I've watch'd you now a full half-hour. Self-poised upon that yellow flower : And, little Butterfly ! indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless ! — not frozen seas More motionless ! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees. And calls you forth again ! 68 Through the Wordsworth Country. This plot of orchard-ground is ours ; My trees they are, my Sister's flowers. Here rest your wings when they are weary ; Here lodge as in a sanctuary ! Come often to us, fear no wrong ; Sit near us on the bough ! We'll talk of sunshine and of song, And summer days, when we were young; Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now. Other poems associated with this orchard are The Redbreast Chasing the Butterfly, The Kitten and the Falling Leaves, and the Lines (describing Coleridge and himself) Written in his Pocket Copy of Thomson's '^Castle of Indolence" No. XV. JOHN'S GROVE. This fir-grove is between White Moss Common and the old road from Grasmere to Rydal, past the " Wishing Gate.'' It is close to the gate, and above it, to the east. The "single beech-tree," — in which was the thrush's nest, mentioned in the poem, — was pointed out by Wordsworth to friends, in the year 1847. The view from the grove is no longer what it used to be, owing to the growth of larch plantations in the foreground : but still — " the steep Of Silver-how, and Grasmere's peaceful lake, And one green island, gleam between the stems Of the dark firs." These firs are greatly reduced in number since Words- worth's time, although a few still survive. Several of his poems were murmured out in this grove, especially one in memory of his brother John, which he included in the group of " Poems on the Naming of Places." This poem tells its own tale so simply that commentary is needless. 69 "JO Through the Wordsworth Country. When, to the attractions of the busy world, Preferring studious leisure, I had chosen A habitation in this peaceful Vale, Sharp season followed of continual storm In deepest winter ; and, from week to week, Pathway, and lane, and public road, were clogged With frequent showers of snow. Upon a hill At a short distance from my cottage stands A stately Fir-grove, whither I was wont To hasten, for I found, beneath the roof Of that perennial shade, a cloistral place Of refuge, with an unencumbered floor. Here, in safe covert, on the shallow snow. And, sometimes, on a speck of visible earth. The redbreast near me hopped ; nor was I loath To sympathise with vulgar coppice birds That, for protection from the nipping blast, Hither repaired. — A single beech-tree grew Within this grove of firs ; and, on the fork Of that one beech, appeared a thrush's nest ; A last year's nest, conspicuously built At such small elevation from the ground As gave sure sign that they, who in that house Of nature and of love had made their home Through the Wordsworth Country. "ji Amid the fir-trees, all the summer long Dwelt in a tranquil spot. And oftentimes, A few sheep, stragglers from some mountain-flock, Would watch my motions with suspicious stare. From the remotest outskirts of the grove, — Some nook where they had made their final stand, Huddling together from two fears — the fear Of me, and of the storm. Full many an hour Here did I lose. But in this grove the trees Had been so thickly planted, and had thriven In such perplexed and intricate array. That vainly did I seek, beneath their stems, A length of open space, where to and fro My feet might move without concern or care ; And, baffled thus, though earth from day to day Was fettered, and the air by storm disturbed, I ceased the shelter to frequent, — and prized, Less than I wished to prize, that calm recess. The snows dissolved, and genial Spring returned To clothe the fields with verdure. Other haunts Meanwhile were mine ; till, one bright April day By chance retiring from the glare of noon To this forsaken covert, there I found 72 Through the Wordsworth Country. A hoary pathway traced between the trees, And winding on with such an easy line Along a natural opening, that I stood Much wondering how I could have sought in vain For what was now so obvious. To abide, For an allotted interval of ease, Beneath my cottage roof, had gladly come From the wild sea a cherished Visitant , And with the sight of this same path — begun, Begun and ended, in the shady grove, Pleasant conviction flashed upon my mind That, to this opportune recess allured, He had surveyed it with a finer eye, A heart more wakeful ; and had worn the track By pacing here, unwearied and alone. In that habitual restlessness of foot That haunts the sailor measuring o'er and o'er His short domain upon the vessel's deck. While she is travelling through the dreary sea. When thou hadst quitted Esthwaite's pleasant shore And taken thy first leave of those green hills And rocks that were the playground of thy youth. Year followed year, my Brother ! and we two, Through the Wordsworth Country. 73 Conversing not, knew little in what mould Each other's minds were fashioned ; and at length, When once again we met in Grasmere Vale, Between us there was little other bond Than common feelings of fraternal love. But thou, a School-boy, to the sea hadst carried Undying recollections : Nature there Was with thee ; she, who loved us both, she still Was with thee ; and even so didst thou become A silent Poet ; from the solitude Of the vast sea didst bring a watchful heart Still couchant, an inevitable ear. And an eye practised like a blind man's touch. Back to the joyless ocean thou art gone ; Nor from this vestige of thy musing hours Could I withhold thy honoured name, — and now I love the fir-grove with a perfect love. Thither do I withdraw when cloudless suns Shine hot, or wind blows troublesome and strong : And there I sit at evening, when the steep Of Silver-how, and Grasmere's peaceful lake. And one green island, gleam between the stems Of the dark firs, a visionary scene ! And, while I gaze upon the spectacle 74 Through the Wordsworth Country. Of clouded splendour, on this dream-like sight Of solemn loveliness, I think on thee, My Brother, and on all which thou hast lost. Nor seldom, if I rightly guess, while Thou, Muttering the verses which I muttered first Among the mountains, through the midnight watch Art pacing thoughtfully the vessel's deck In some far region, here, while o'er my head, At every impulse of the moving breeze. The fir-grove murmurs with a sea-like sound, Alone I tread this path ; — for aught I know, Timing my steps to thine ; and, with a store Of undistinguishable sympathies, Mingling most earnest wishes for the day When we, and others whom we love, shall meet A second time, in Grasmere's happy Vale. John Wordsworth is referred to in others of the poems, especially in the Elegiac Stanzas associated with Grisdale Tarn, the final parting-place of the brothers. The fraternal tie that united them was specially strong and tender, and Wordsworth's grief at his brother's death was intense. John Wordsworth was captain of the ship Abergavenny, which was wrecked on the Bill of Portland Through the Wordsworth Country. 75 in February, 1804. The story of the shipwreck is familiar to all readers of Wordsworth ; but the following letter from the poet to his friend Richard Sharp, referring to his loss, has not hitherto been published. "Grasmere, March 19, 1805. "My dear Friend, — " You have often been in my thoughts lately, and I have often thought of writing to you, but my heart failed me. No doubt your thoughts too must frequently have turned this way. I half hoped you might have learned something concerning the ship, or my brother's conduct, which you might deem consolatory enough to encourage you to write to us. I have now and then in my distress, turning here and turning there, a thought of this kind ; and then I said to myself. What can he write.' or what can anybody write to us ? " Poor, blind creatures that we are ! How he hoped and struggled, and we hoped and struggled to procure him this voyage! He wrote to us from Portsmouth in the highest spirits, and then came those dismal tidings ! O my dear friend, no words can express the anguish which we have endured. Our brother was the pride and de- light of our hearts ; never present to our minds but as 76 Through the Wordsworth Country. an object of hope and pleasure : we had no expectation in life a thousand part so pleasing as that of his coming to live among us the life he loved, and reap the reward of his long privations. " I will not speak of him now, but if you and I ever see each other again, you will permit me to tell you what he was, and how he loved those that were about me, and what it was his wish to have done for us. I am afraid you will find us much changed when you come again to Grasmere. My sister has been stricken to the heart, and looks dismally ill ; but I hope time will calm us. Let us see you this summer if possible. We shall make a little tour into Scotland if we can muster courage ; but, alas ! every plan and scheme at this time only presents to us variety of sorrow. . . . "Your sincere friend, "W. Wordsworth." No. XVI. EMMA'S DELL. The first poem in the series to which Wordsworth gave the title, " On the Naming of Places," describes a favourite haunt of his, and of his sister, somewhere on the Easdale beck. It is associated with his sister, as the pool in Rydal Park is with his wife, and as Joanna's Rock is with his sister-in-law. The following are the lines : It was an April morning : fresh and clear The Rivulet, delighting in its strength, Ran with a young man's speed ; and yet the voice Of waters which the winter had supplied Was softened down into a vernal tone. The spirit of enjoyment and desire. And hopes and wishes, from all living things Went circling, like a multitude of sounds. The budding groves seemed eager to urge on The steps of June : as if their various hues Were only hindrances that stood between Through the Wordsworth Countiy. Them and their object : but, meanwhile, prevailed Such an entire contentment in the air That every naked ash, and tardy tree Yet leafless, showed as if the countenance With which it looked on this delightful day Were native to the summer. — Up the brook I roamed in the confusion of my heart, Alive to all things and forgetting all. At length I to a sudden turning came In this continuous glen, where down a rock The Stream, so ardent in its course before. Sent forth such sallies of glad sound that all Which I till then had heard appeared the voice Of common pleasure : beast and bird, the lamb, The shepherd's dog, the linnet and the thrush Vied with this waterfall, and made a song Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth Or like some natural produce of the air, That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here ; But 'twas the foliage of the rocks — the birch, The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn, With hanging islands of resplendent furze : And, on a summit, distant a short space. By any who should look beyond the dell, Through the Wordsworth Country. 79 A single mountain-cottage might be seen. I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said, " Our thoughts at least are ours ; and this wild nook, My Emma, I will dedicate to thee." Soon did the spot become my other home, My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode. And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there, To whom I sometimes in our idle talk Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps. Years after we are gone and in our graves. When they have cause to speak of this wild place. May call it by the name of Emma's Dell. Of these lines Wordsworth said to Miss Fenwick : " This poem was suggested on the banks of the brook that runs through Easdale, which is in some parts of its course as wild and beautiful as brook can be. I have composed thousands of verses by the side of it." The spot which he named Emmas Dell, in memory of his sister, is confessedly difficult to localize ; but there can be little doubt that the one selected corresponds more closely than any other on Easdale beck to the descrip- tion given in the poem. If one leaves the Easdale road at Goody Bridge, and follows the brook for a few hundred 8o Through the Wordsworth Cotintry. yards, till a " sudden turning" is made, and remembers that this path was a favourite haunt of Wordsworth and his sister, a spot will be seen answering precisely to the character of Emma's Dell. He will come to a deep pool, below a broken waterfall, near the place where the brook approaches the road. Though there may be no birch or yew or holly, or "hanging islands of resplendent furze," the " single mountain-cottage," and the multitudinous " sallies of glad sound " from the broken waterfall, identify the spot with sufficient clearness. The cascade in the distance, in the drawing, is Easdale Force ; and above it in the bosom of the hills, is Far Easdale. No. XVII. THE ISLAND, GRASMERE. This island — the " one green island " of the mere — is often referred to by Wordsworth ; especially in the fifth of the Inscriptions, which he represents as " written with a pencil upon a stone in the wall of the house (an outhouse), on the island of Grasmere." Rude is this Edifice, and thou hast seen Buildings, albeit rude, that have maintained Proportions more harmonious, and approached To closer fellowship with ideal grace. But take it in good part : — alas ! the poor Vitruvius of our village had no help From the great City ; never, upon leaves Of red Morocco folio saw displayed, In long succession, pre-existing ghosts Of Beauties yet unborn — the rustic Lodge Antique, and Cottage with verandah graced, Nor lacking, for fit company, alcove. 82 Through the Wordsworth Country. Green-house, shell-grot, and moss-lined hermitage. Thou see'st a homely Pile, yet to these walls The heifer comes in the snow-storm, and here The new-dropped lamb finds shelter from the wind. And hither does one Poet sometimes row His pinnace, a small vagrant barge, up-piled With plenteous store of heath and withered fern (A lading which he with his sickle cuts. Among the mountains), and beneath this roof He makes his summer couch, and here at noon Spreads out his limbs, while, yet unshorn, the Sheep, Panting beneath the burthen of their wool, Lie round him, even as if they were a part Of his own Household : nor, while from his bed He looks, through the open door-place, toward the lake And to the stirring breezes, does he want Creations lovely as the work of sleep — Pair sights, and visions of romantic joy ! The " homely pile '' upon this island still remains, but it is used merely as a barn, or shelter for sheep. The following occurs in a letter from S. T. Coleridge to Sir Humphry Davy, dated July 2Sth, 1800: "We drank tea the night before I left Grasmere, on the island in that THE ISLAND, QRASMERE. [Face p. 82. Through the Wordsworth Country. 83 lovely lake ; our kettle swung over the fire, hanging from the branch of a fir tree, and I lay and saw the woods, and mountains, and lake all trembling, and as it were idealized through the subtle smoke, which rose up from the clear red embers of the fir-apples which we had collected ; afterwards, we made a glorious bonfire on the margin, by some elder bushes, whose twigs heaved and sobbed in the uprushing column of smoke. I saw the image of the bonfire, and of us that danced round it — ruddy, laughing faces in the twilight — the image of this in a lake, smooth as that sea to whose waves the Son of God had said Peace ! May God, and all His sons, love you as I do. — S. T. Coleridge." No. XVIII. THE HEATH-CLAD ROCKS. Forth from a jutting ridge, around whose base Winds our deep Vale, two heath-clad Rocks ascend In fellowship, the loftiest of the pair Rising to no ambitious height ; yet both. O'er lake and stream, mountain and flowery mead, Unfolding prospects fair as human eyes Ever beheld. Up-led with mutual help. To one or other brow of those twin Peaks Were two adventurous Sisters wont to climb, And took no note of the hour while thence they gazed. The blooming heath their couch, gazed, side by side. In speechless admiration. I, a witness And frequent sharer of their calm delight With thankful heart, to either Eminence Gave the baptismal name each Sister bore. Now are they parted, far as Death's cold hand Hath power to part the Spirits of those who love As they did love. Ye kindred Pinnacles — 85 86 Through the Wordsworth Country. That, while the generations of mankind Follow each other to their hiding-place In time's abyss, are privileged to endure Beautiful in yourselves, and richly graced With like command of beauty — grant your aid For Mary's humble, Sarah's silent, claim, That their pure joy in nature may survive From age to age in blended memory. These two " heath-clad rocks " are easily identified. They rise from fifty to sixty ieet above the lower road from Rydal to Grasmere, and very near the third mile- stone from Ambleside. They are still " heath-clad " ; and the dense growth of underwood, which covered the ground around them, and made them difficult of approach, being at present (1886) cut down, they are now probably more as they were at the beginning of the century than they have been for many years. They are well seen from the terrace-walk on Loughrigg, or from the path over White Moss Common. The writer of these notes first saw them in company with the late Dr. Cradock, Principal of Brasenose College, Oxford, whose knowledge of the district and unerring instinct of localization were so remarkable. Seated on the height to the east, he pointed Through the Wordswortli, Country. 87 out the remarkable combinations visible from that point, in the view of the twin lakes of Rydal and Grasmere together, and the singular loveliness of the bossy knolls of Loughrigg, with its winding terraces. When I revisited the same spot with him years afterwards (the year before he died), conversation turned to his own immeasurable debt to Wordsworth. No. XIX. THE WISHING GATE. In the vale of Grasmere, by the side of the old highway- leading to Ambleside, is a gate, which, time out of mind, has been called the Wishing Gate, from a belief that wishes formed or indulged there have a favourable issue. THE WISHING GATE. Hope rules a land for ever green : All powers that serve the bright-eyed Queen Are confident and gay ; Clouds at her bidding disappear. Points she to aught i" — the bliss draws near And Fancy smooths the way. Not such the land of Wishes — there Dwell fruitless day-dreams, lawless prayer And thoughts with things at strife ; Yet how forlorn, should ye depart. Ye superstitions of the heart. How poor, were human life ! 89 go Through the Wordsworth Country. When magic lore abjured its might, Ye did not forfeit one dear right, One tender claim abate ; Witness this symbol of your sway, Surviving near the public way, The rustic Wishing Gate ! Inquire not if the faery race Shed kindly influence on the place, Ere northward they retired ; If here a warrior left a spell, Panting for glory as he fell ; Or here a saint expired. Enough that all around is fair, Composed with Nature's finest care. And in her fondest love — Peace to embosom and content — To overawe the turbulent. The selfish to reprove. Yea ! even the Stranger from afar, Reclining on this moss-grown bar, Unknowing, and unknown. Through the Wordsworth Country. 91 The infection of the ground partakes, Longing for his Beloved — who makes All happiness her own. Then why should conscious Spirits fear The mystic stirrings that are here, The ancient faith disclaim ? The local Genius ne'er befriends Desires whose course in folly ends, Whose just reward is shame. Smile if thou wilt, but not in scorn. If some, by ceaseless pains outworn, Here crave an easier lot ; If some have thirsted to renew A broken vow, or bind a true. With firmer, holier knot. And not in vain, when thoughts are cast Upon the irrevocable past, Some Penitent sincere May for a worthier future sigh. While trickles from his downcast eye No unavailing tear. 92 Through the Wordsworth Country. The Worldling, pining to be freed From turmoil, who would turn or speed The current of his fate, Might stop before this favoured scene, At Nature's call, nor blush to lean Upon the Wishing Gate. The Sage, who feels how blind, how weak Is man, though loath such help to seek, Yet, passing, here might pause, And thirst for insight to allay Misgiving, while the crimson day In quietness withdraws ; Or when the church-clock's knell profound To Time's first step across the bound Of midnight makes reply ; Time pressing on with starry crest, To filial sleep upon the breast Of dread eternity Through the Wordsworth Country,. 93 THE WISHING GATE DESTROYED. 'TiS gone — with old belief and dream That round it clung, and tempting scheme Released from fear and doubt ; And the bright landscape too must lie, By this blank wall, from every eye. Relentlessly shut out. Bear witness ye who seldom passed That opening — but a look ye cast Upon the lake below, What spirit-stirring power it gained From faith which here was entertained, Though reason might say no. Blest is that ground, where, o'er the springs Of history, Glory claps her wings. Fame sheds the exulting tear ; Yet earth is wide, and many a nook Unheard of is, like this, a book For modest meanings dear. 94 Through the Wordsworth Coujitry. It was in sooth a happy thought That grafted, on so fair a spot, So confident a token Of coming good ; — the charm is fled ; Indulgent centuries spun a thread, Which one harsh day has broken. Alas ! for him who gave the word ; Could he no sympathy afford, Derived from earth or heaven, To hearts so oft by hope betrayed ; Their very wishes wanted aid Which here was freely given ? Where, for the love-lorn maiden's wound, Will now so readily be found A balm of expectation ? Anxious for far-off children, where Shall mothers breathe a like sweet air Of home-felt consolation ? And not unfelt will prove the loss 'Mid trivial care and petty cross And each day's shallow grief. Through the Wordsworth Country. 95 Though the most easily beguiled Were oft among the first that smiled At their own fond belief If still the reckless change we mourn, A reconciling thought may turn To harm that might lurk here, Ere judgment prompted from within Fit aims, with courage to begin. And strength to persevere. Not Fortune's slave is Man : our state Enjoins, while firm resolves await On wishes just and wise, That strenuous action follow both, And life be one perpetual growth Of heaven- ward enterprise. So taught, so trained, we boldly face All accidents of time and place ; Whatever props may laii, Trust in that sovereign law can spread New glory o'er the mountain's head, Fresh beauty through the vale. 90 Through the Wordsworth Country. That truth informing mind and heart, The simplest cottager may part, Ungrieved, with charm and spell ; And yet, lost Wishing Gate, to thee The voice of grateful memory Shall bid a kind farewell ! These two poems require little local commentary. A gate still stands at the old spot, though not the " moss- grown bar " of Wordsworth's day, the disappearance of which suggested the sequel poem. But there, at the old break in the wall of the road under John's Grove, its successor stands, overlooking the lake. It is surely to be hoped, that when the present one yields to the influences of wind and weather, another may take its place, and the spot continue to be known " time out of mind " as the site of the Grasmere Wishing Gate ; especially since a " blank wall " now " reluctantly shuts out " the " bright landscape " and the " lake below," from the eye of every traveller who passes along that road. No. XX. THE GLOW-WORM ROCK. Amongst Wordsworth's " Poems of the Imagination " is one called The Primrose of the Rock. He said of it, in the note dictated to Miss Fenwick : " This rock stands on the right hand, a little way leading up the vale from Rydal to Grasmere. We have been in the habit of calling it the Glow-worm Rock, from the number of glow- worms we have often seen hanging on it as described. The tuft of primroses has, I fear, been washed away by heavy rains." THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK. A Rock there is whose homely front The passing traveller slights ; Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps, Liki; stars, at various heights : And one coy Primrose to that Rock The vernal breeze invites. w o 98 Through the Wordsworth Country. What hideous warfare hath been waged, What kingdoms overthrown, Since first I spied that Primrose-tuft And marked it for my own ; A lasting link in Nature's chain From highest heaven let down ! The flowers, still faithful to the stemn, Their fellowship renew : The stems are faithful to the root, That worketh out of view : And to the rock the root adheres In every fibre true. Close clings to earth the living rock. Though threatening still to fall ; The earth is constant to her sphere ; And God upholds them all : So blooms this lonely Plant, nor dreads Her annual funeral. Here closed the meditative strain ; But air breathed soft that day, Throttgh the Wordsworth Country. 99 The hoary mountain-heights were cheered The sunny vale looked gay ; And to the Primrose of the Rock I gave this after-lay. 1 sang — Let myriads of bright flowers, Like Thee, in field and grove Revive unenvied ; — mightier far. Than tremblings that reprove Our vernal tendencies to hope. Is God's redeeming love : That love which changed — for wan disease, For sorrow that had bent O'er hopeless dust, for withered age — Their moral element. And turned the thistles of a curse To types beneficent. Sin-blighted though we are, we too, The reasoning Sons of Men, From one oblivious winter called Shall rise, and breathe again : And in eternal summer lose Our threescore year- and ten. lOO Through the Wordsworth Country. To humbleness of heart descends This prescience from on high, The faith that elevates the just, Before and when they die ; And makes each soul a separate heaven, A court for Deity. In the second stanza of l^he Waggoner the glow- worms on this rock are referred to. " Confiding glow-worms, 'tis a night Propitious to your earth-born light ! " Glow-worms were to be seen in the district in i860. They have since disappeared. The working of the quarry, not to speak of the hideous noise and ' smoke of the Manchester water works — now making such havoc of the vales of Grasmere and Rydal — would of itself probably frighten away such a shy creature as the glow-worm. At the quarry near this rock, Wordsworth met The Beggars, on whom he wrote two poems, the first in 1802, the second " many years afterwards." Not far off, on White Moss Common, above the Primrose Rock, is the "Pool bare to the eye of heaven," on the margin of which he saw the old Leech-gatherer, Through the Wordsworth Country. loi and patient at his work, whom he immortalized poem Resolution and Independence. " Motionless as a cloud the old man stood, That heareth not the loud winds when they call, And moveth all together, if it move at all." In connexion with the Glow-worm Rock, the poem, beginning " Among all lovely things my love had been," which refers to his sister — and which was written in 1802 and published in 1807, but afterwards so strangely sup pressed — will be read with interest. No. XXI. GREEN-HEAD GHYLL. Green-head Ghyll is the scene of the pastoral poem Michael, written in 1800. To Miss Fenwick Wordsworth said, in 1845 : "The sheepfold remains, or rather the ruins of it. The character and circumstances of Luke were taken from a family to whom had belonged, many years before, the house we lived in at Town End. The name of the Evening Star was not given to this house, but to another on the same side of the valley, more to the north." There is now a finished sheepfold in the Ghyll, as you enter it from the lower valley ; but Michael's unfinisJied one was much higher up, between Stone Arthur and Rydal Fell. MICHAEL. A PASTORAL POEM. If from the public way you turn your steps Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyl], You will suppose that with an upright path I04 Through the Wordsworth Country. Your feet must struggle : in such bold ascent The pastoral mountains front you, face to face. But, courage ! for around that boisterous brook The mountains have all opened out themselves, And made a hidden valley of their own. No habitation can be seen ; but they Who journey thither find themselves alone With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites That overhead are sailing in the sky. It is in truth an utter solitude ; Nor should I have made mention of this Dell But tor one object which you might pass by, Might see and notice not. Beside the brook Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones : And to that simple object appertains A story — unenriched with strange events, Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside. Or for the summer shade. It was the first Of those domestic tales that spake to me Of Shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men Whom I already loved ; — not verily For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills Where was their occupation and abode. ***** Throicgh the Wordsworth Country. 105 Upon the forest-side in Grasmere Vale There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his name ; An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb. His bodily frame had been from youth to age Of an unusual strength : his mind was keen, Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs. And in his shepherd's calling he was prompt And watchful more than ordinary men. Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds, Of blasts of every tone ; and, oftentimes. When others heeded not, he heard the South Make subterraneous music, like the noise Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills. The Shepherd, at such warning, of his flock Bethought him, and he to himself would say, ' The winds are now devising work for me ! " And, truly, at all times, the storm, that drives The traveller to a shelter, summoned him Up to the mountains : he had been alone Amid the heart of many thousand mists, That came to him, and left him, on the heights. So lived he till his eightieth year was past. And grossly that man errs, who should suppose That the green valleys, and the streams and rocks, io6 Through the Wordsworth Country. Were things indifferent to the Shepherd's thoughts. Fields where, with cheerful spirits he had breathed The common air ; hills, which with vigorous step He had so often climbed ; which had impressed So many incidents upon his mind Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear ; Which, like a book, preserved the memory Of the dumb animals whom he had saved, Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts The certainty of honourable gain ; Those fields, those hills — what could they less ? — had laid Strong hold on his affections, were to him A pleasurable feeling of blind love, The pleasure which there is in life itself. Michael's home is thus described : . . . As it chanced Their cottage on a plot of rising ground Stood single, with large prospect, north and south, High into Easedale, up to Dunmail Raise, And westward to the village near the lake ; And from this constant light, so regular Through the Wordsworth Country. 107 And so far seen, the House itself, by all Who dwelt within the limits of the vale, Both old and young, was named The Evening Star. This cottage was gone in 1800, when the poem was written. It stood where the coach-house and stables of " The Hollins '' now stand. Near the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll In that deep valley, Michael had designed To build a Sheep-fold ; and, before he heard The tidings of his melancholy loss, For this same purpose he had gathered up A heap of stones, which by the streamlet's edge Lay thrown together, ready for the work. Among the rocks He went, and still looked up to sun and cloud, And listened to the wind ; and, as before. Performed all kinds of labour for his sheep, And for the land, his small inheritance. And to that hollow dell from time to time io8 Through the Wordsworth Country. Did he repair, to build the Fold of which His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet The pity which was then in every heart For the old Man — and 'tis believed by all That many and many a day he thither went, And never lifted up a single stone. There, by the Sheepfold, sometimes was he seen Sitting alone, or with his faithful Dog, Then old, beside him, lying at his feet. The length of full seven years, from time to time, He at the building of this Sheepfold wrought, And left the work unfinished when he died. Three years, or little more, did Isabel Survive her husband : at her death the estate Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand. The cottage which was named The Evening Star Is gone — the ploughshare has been through the ground On which it stood : great changes have been wrought In all the neighbourhood : — yet the oak is left That grew beside their door ; and the remains Of the unfinished Sheepfold may be seen Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll. The following extracts from Miss Wordsworth's Gras- Tkrotigh the Wordsworth Country. 109 mere journal will show how carefully her brother worked at this most pathetic of poems. "Oct. II, 1800. — W. walked up Green-head Ghyll in search of a sheep-fold. . . . The sheep-fold is falling away. It is built nearly in the form of a heart unequally divided. Oct. 1 3. ^William composed in the evening. „ 15. — W. composed a httle. . . . W. again composed at the sheep-fold after dinner. Oct. 18. — W. worked all the morning at the sheep-fold, but in vain. He lay down till seven o'clock, but did not sleep. Oct. ig. — William got to work. „ 20. — W. worked in the morning at the sheep-fold. „ 21. — W. had been unsuccessful in the morning at the sheep- old. Oct. 22. — W. composed without much success at the sheep-fold. „ 23. — W. was not successful in composition in the evening. „ 24. — W was only partly successful in composition. „ 26.— W. composed a good deal all the morning. „ 28. — W. could not compose much : fatigued himself with altering. „ 30. — W. worked at his poem all the morning. Nov. 10. — W. at the sheep-fold. „ 12. — W. has been working at the sheep-fold Dec. 9. — W. finished his poem today.'' No. XXII. LOUGHRIGG TARN. LOUGHRIGG Tarn, on the southern face of Loughrigg Fell, is described with some minuteness in Wordsworth's book on the " Scenery of the Lakes " ; and in his Epistle to Sir George Beaumont, written in 1811 — which records a journey taken from Grasmere to Bootle — he refers to it thus: . . . From our own dear Vale we pass And soon approach Diana's Looking-glass ! To Loughrigg Tarn, round, clear, and bright as heaven Such name Italian fancy would have given, Ere on its banks the few grey cabins rose That yet disturb not its concealed repose More than the feeblest wind that idly blows. Ah, Beaumont ! when an opening in the road Stopped me at once by charm of what it showed. The encircling region vividly exprest Within the mirror's depth, a world at rest — 112 Through the Wordsworth Country. Sky streaked with purple, grove and craggy bield* And the smooth green of many a pendent field, And, quieted and soothed, a torrent small, A little daring, would-be waterfall ; One chimney smoking and its azure wreath, Associate all in the calm Pool beneath. With here and there a faint imperfect gleam Of water-lilies veiled in misty steam — What wonder at this hour of stillness deep, A shadowy link 'tween wakefulness and sleep. When Nature's self, amid such blending, seems To render visible her own soft dreams ; If, mixed with what appeared of rock, lawn, wood, Fondly embosomed in the tranquil flood, A glimpse I caught of that Abode, by thee Designed to rise in humble privacy, A lowly Dwelling, here to be outspread. Like a small Hamlet, with its bashful head Half hid in native trees ! Alas ! 'tis not Nor ever was ; I sighed, and left the spot, Unconscious of its own untoward lot. • A word common in the country, signifying shelter, as in .S''ot- land. M%''':..'v^7i^%*,.^P/f LOUGHRIGQ TARN. [Face p. 112. Through the Wordsworth Country. 1 1 3 And thought in silence, with regret too keen, Of unexperienced joys that might have been ; Of neighbourhood and intermingling arts, And golden summer days uniting cheerful hearts. But time, irrevocable time, is flown, And let us utter thanks for blessings sown And reaped — what hath been, and what is, our own. In the Fenwick note to this poem, Wordsworth, alluding to Sir George Beaumont's purchase of the tarn with the view to build a residence near it, says, — "The project of building was given up. Sir George retaining possession of the tarn. Many years afterwards, a Kendal trades- man, born upon its banks, applied to me for the purchase of it ; and accordingly it was sold for the sum that had been given for it, and the money laid out, under my direc- tion, upon a substantial oak fence for a certain number of yew trees to be planted in Grasmere churchyard. . . . The whole eight are now thriving, and are an ornament to a place which, during recent years, has lost much of its rustic simplicity by the introduction of iron palisades, to fence off family burying-grounds, and by numerous orna- ments, some of them in very bad taste, from which this place of burial was in my memory quite free. . . . Q 114 Through the Wordsworth Country. May the trees be taken care of hereafter, when we are all gone ; and some of them will perhaps, at some far distant time, rival the majesty of the yew at Lorton and those which I have described as growing at Borrowdale, where they are still to be seen in grand assemblage." The note appended to the sequel of this poem, com- posed thirty years afterwards, is as follows : " Loughrigg Tarn, alluded to in the foregoing epistle, resembles, though much smaller in compass, the Lake Nemi, or Speculum Diance, as it is often called, not only in its clear waters and circular form, and the beauty immediately surrounding it, but also as being overlooked by the eminence of Langdale Pikes, as Lake Nemi is by that of Monte Calvo. Since this epistle was written, Loughrigg Tarn has lost much of its beauty by the felling of many natural clumps of wood, relics of the old forest, particularly upon the farm called ' The Oaks,' from the abundance of that tree which grew there. " It is to be regretted, upon public grounds, that Sir George Beaumont did not carry into effect his intention of constructing here a Summer Retreat in the style I have described, as his taste would have set an example how buildings, with all the accommodation modern society requires, might be introduced into even the most secluded Through the Wordsworth Country. 1 1 5 parts of the country without injuring their native char- acter" The truth of this remark will be obvious to any one of ordinarily cultivated taste when he sees the modern erections — hard, angular, and garishly obtrusive — that are now put up in certain parts of the Lake Country, without the slightest regard to what Wordsworth calls the " native character " of the district. Another poem associated with Loughrigg Tarn is the fragment belonging to the year 1845 — one of the latest Wordsworth wrote — beginning, So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive. Would that the little flowers were born to live, Conscious of half the pleasure that they give ; That to this mountain-daisy's self was known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone ! Of this fragment. Archdeacon Graves — who accompanied Wordsworth on the day it was written — says : " When we reached the side of Loughrigg Tarn, . . . the loveli- ness of the scene arrested our steps and fixed our gaze. The splendour of a July noon surrounded us, and lit up the landscape, with the Langdale Pikes soaring above, and the 1 1 6 Through the Wordsworth Country. bright tarn shining beneath ; and when the poet's eyes were satisfied with their feast on the beauties familiar to them, they sought relief in the search — to them a happy, vital habit — for new beauty in the flower-enamelled turf at his feet. Then his attention was arrested by a fair smooth stone, of the size of an ostrich's egg, seeming to imbed at its centre, and at the same time to display, a dark star- shaped fossil of most distinct outline. Upon closer in- spection, this proved to be the shadow of a daisy, projected upon it with extraordinary precision by the intense light of an almost vertical sun. The poet drew the attention of the rest of the party to the minute but beautiful pheno- menon, and gave expression at the time to thoughts sug- gested by it. . . ." Judge Talfourd, in his Vacation Rambles, speaking of Loughrigg Fell, says : " This beautiful piece of upland might seem a platform — if such a phrase did not belie its waving, rock-ribbed, and pinnacled surface — built by Nature, to enable her true lovers to enjoy, in quick succession, the most splendid variety she can exhibit. On one side, from the gently ascending path, bordered by scanty heather, you embrace the broader portion of Windermere, spreading out its arms as if to embrace the low and lovely hills that enfold Through the Wordsworth Country. 1 1 7 it — a view without an angle or a contrast — a scene of per- fect harmony and peace. Ascend a lofty slab of rock, not many paces onward, and you have lying before you the delicious vale of the Rotha — a stream gliding through the greenest meadows — with Fairfield beyond, expanding its huge arms as of a giant's chair, and with Fox How in the midst, where the great and good Dr. Arnold— great in goodness — embraced the glories of the external world with all the earnestness of his generous and simple nature, and nourished that sense of the imaginative and harmo- nious aspects of humanity and faith which grew clearer and deeper as he advanced in years. Wind your way through two small valleys, each having its own oval basin, and from another height you may look down on the still mirror of Rydalmere, with its small central island, the nest of herons, and following the valley to Grasmere with its low white church tower, beyond the figured crest of Helm Crag, behold the vast triangle of Skiddaw filling the distance ; while midway, just rising above green moun- tains, you may see the topmost rind of Helvellyn, curved in air, with one black descent just indicated ; and when the eye has been satiated with loveliness, look down just below on a mansion at the foot of Nab Scar, the dwelling of the Poet, not of these only, but of all earth's scenes : ii8 Through the Wordsworth Country. who, disdaining the frequent description of particular combinations of its beauties, has unveiled the sources of profoundest sentiment they contain ; and, more than any writer who ever lived, has diffused that love of external nature which now sheds its purifying influence abroad among our people. Pass from thence to the highest point of all this region, and look down, beyond the calm, round tarn of Loughrigg, into a magnificent chaos, the Langdale vales, with the ribbed pike of Scawfell beyond them, and in the midst those Pikes, which, yielding to many of the surrounding hills in height, surpass them all in form." No. XXIII. THE CHURCHYARD, GRASMERE. Both Grasmere Church and Churchyard are sacred to the memory of Wordsworth. Green is the Churchyard, beautiful and green, Ridge rising gently by the side of ridge, A heaving surface, almost wholly free From interruption of sepulchral stones, And mantled o'er with aboriginal turf And everlasting flowers. These Dalesmen trust The lingering gleam of their departed lives To oral record, and the silent heart ; Depositories faithful and more kind Than fondest epitaph. The Excursion, Book VI. It was, in the poet's time, " almost wholly free From interruption of sepulchral stones." It is not so now. Wordsworth, his wife (Mary Hutchinson), I20 Through the Wordsworth Country. his sister Dorothy, their daughter Dora (Mrs. Quillinan), and their two children who died in infancy, lie together under the shade of one of the yew-trees which the poet planted. The grave of Hartley Coleridge is close at hand. There are few spots in England more peaceful, or more sacred. The church of Stratford-upon-Avon has associa- tions with the Mightier Dead; but it is doubtful if any single spot — whether at Weimar or Florence, at Athens or Rome, or Westminster Abbey — evokes a deeper feeling than that which rises in the heart of the pilgrim who reverently visits the churchyard of Grasmere. The daisy, of which Wordsworth wrote so much, has " its place upon its poet's grave," seeming there, if anywhere in the world, to have a " function apostolical." A correspondent writes : " To lie under the mound on which the shadow of that grey tower falls, seems scarcely like a banishment from life, only a deeper sleep, in a home quieter, but not less lovely, than those which sur- round the margin of the lake. Voices of children come up from the village street, with the hum of rustic life. From sunny heights the lowing of cattle is heard, and the bleat of the sheep that pasture on the hill sides ; and Through the Wordsworth Country. 1 2 1 by day and night unceasingly, the Rotha, hurrying past the churchyard wall, mingles the babble of its waters with the soft susurrus of the breeze." As to the interior of the Church at Grasmere, Words- worth himself regretted the so-called improvements which impaired "the rude and antique majesty" of its former appearance. He preferred the " oak benches with a single rail at the back" to the modern "pews." The interior of the Church, as it was in the beginning of the century, is described (although with sundry additions taken from Bowness Church) in the fifth book of The Excursion, thus : As chanced, the portals of the sacred Pile Stood open ; and we entered. On my frame, At such transition from the fervid air, A grateful coolness fell, that seemed to strike The heart, in concert with that temperate awe And natural reverence which the place inspired. Not raised in nice proportions was the pile, But large and massy ; for duration built ; With pillars crowded, and the roof upheld By naked rafters intricately crossed. Like leafless underboughs, in some thick wood, All withered by the depth of shade above. 122 Through the Wordsworth Country. Admonitory texts inscribed the walls, Each in its ornamental scroll enclosed ; Each also crowned with winged heads — a pair Of rudely painted Cherubim. The floor Of nave and aisle, in unpretending guise. Was occupied by oaken benches ranged In seemly rows ; the chancel only showed Some vain distinctions, marks of earthly state By immemorial privilege allowed : Though with the Encincture's special sanctity But ill according. An heraldic shield, Varying its tincture with the changeful light. Imbued the altar- window ; fixed aloft A faded hatchment hung, and one by time Yet undiscoloured. A capacious pew Of sculptured oak stood here, with drapery lined ; And marble monuments were here displayed Thronging the walls ; and on the floor beneath Sepulchral stones appeared, with emblems graven And foot-worn epitaphs, and some with small And shining effigies of brass inlaid. The Excursion, Book V. The "naked rafters intricately crossed," the "admonitory texts," Through the Wordsworth Country. 123 " each m its ornamental scroll enclosed," some of the " oaken benches," the " heraldic shield " in the " altar- window," the "faded hatchment," the "marble monuments," and "sepulchral stones with foot-worn epi- taphs," are still there ; and it is to be hoped that no changes, excepting what are absolutely necessary, will be made in the interior — especially none which would impair the traditional interest, or destroy the antiquarian character of a building, that is rich in priceless historic memories. The fifth, sixth, and seventh books of The Excursion must be read on the spot by one who wishes to realize the Church, and " The Churchyard among the Mountains," of Wordsworth's time. Much minute identification is still possible, e.g. the graves of the Sympson family, minutely described in the seventh book : These grassy heaps lie amicably close, . . . like surges heaving in the wind Along the surface of a mountain pool : !^ ^ ijS "P «1* . Five graves, and only five, that rise together Unsociably sequestered, and encroaching On the smooth play-ground of the village-school. 1 24 Through the Wordsworth Country. The sound of Wray Ghyll force — between Easdale and Silver How — may be heard, The soft voice Of yon white torrent falling down the rock ; while the " lowly parsonage " in which the pastor (Sympson) lived, " all unembowered and naked," with its Smooth blue slabs of mountain stone With which the parlour-floor, in simplest guise Of pastoral homesteads, had been long inlaid (The Excursion, Book VII.), is still to be seen on the eastern side of the road, a short distance beyond the Swan Inn. No. XXIV. LANCRIGG TERRACE. The natural terrace-walk, from the small mountain farm of Lancrigg westwards, through a somewhat tangled copse, up the Easdale Valley, and under Helm Crag, was one that Wordsworth tells us he and his sister found out, three days after they took up their abode at Dove Cottage, in the year 1800; and it "long remained their favourite haunt." Lady Richardson says " it was their custom to spend the fine days of summer in the open air, chiefly in 'the valley of Easdale. The Prelude was chiefly composed on a green mountain terrace, on the Easdale side of Helm Crag, known by the name of Under Lancrigg, a place which he used to say he ' knew by heart.' The ladies sat at their work on the hill-side while he walked to and fro, on the smooth green mountain turf, humming out his verses to himself, and then re- peating them to his sympathising and ready listeners, to be noted down on the spot, and transcribed at home.'' A little " rocky well " on this terrace was known and 126 > Through the Wordsworth Country. prized by him, before he knew the Nab Well, at Rydal Half way along the terrace, amid the wild hazel wood, is that moss-covered Stone described in one of the Mis- eel) meous sonnets. Mark the concentred hazels that enclose Yon old grey Stone, protected from the ray Of noontide suns : — and even the beams that play And glance, while wantonly the rough wind blows, Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows Upon that roof, amid embowering gloom, The very image framing of a Tomb, In which some ancient Chieftain finds repose Among the lonely mountains. — Live, ye trees ! And thou, grey Stone, the pensive likeness keep Of a dark chamber where the Mighty sleep : For more than Fancy to the influence bends When solitary Nature condescends To mimic Time's forlorn humanities. This natural terrace-walk is little changed since the beginning of the century : although, when dictating the Fenwick notes, Wordsworth complained that "much of the wood that veiled it from the glare of day had been Through the Wordsworth Country. 127 felled." Among the hollies that still grow in the wilder part of the " Tom Intak " are doubtless some that have grown up from the berries put in by the poet in 1841, of which Lady Richardson tells us that "as he put the seeds in, he every now and then muttered, in his low solemn tone, that beautiful verse from Burns's Vision. ' And wear thou this, she solemn said, And bound the holly round my head. The polished leaves and berries red Did rustling play ; And, like a passing thought, she fled In light away.' He said also, while putting in the berries, ' I like to do this for futurity.' " A small group of oak trees is still to be seen in the flat of Easdale — like an island in a green sea-meadow — to which Wordsworth often called Lady Richardsoii's attention. " Watch your shrubs well," he said, " that they may not prevent the sight of that clump of oaks ; for they give a great character to the view." An extract may here be given from Wordsworth's own Description of the Scenery of the Lakes. " The woods consist chiefly of oak, ash, and birch, and 128 Through the Wordsworth Country. here and there wych-elm, with underwood of hazel, the white and black thorn, and hollies ; in moist places alders and willows abound ; and yews among the rocks. For- merly the whole country must have been covered with wood to a great height up the mountains ; where native Scotch firs must have grown in great profusion, as they do in the northern part of Scotland to this day. But not one of these old inhabitants has existed, perhaps, for some hundreds of years ; the beautiful traces however of the universal sylvan appearance the country formerly had, yet survive in the native coppice-woods that have been pro- tected by inclosures, and also in the forest trees and hpllies, which, though disappearing fast, are yet scattered both over the inclosed and uninclosed parts of the moun- tains. The same is expressed by the beauty and intricacy with which the fields and coppice-woods are often inter- mingled ; the plough of the first settlers having followed naturally the veins of richer, dryer, or less stony soil ; and thus it has shaped out an intermixture of wood and lawn, with a grace and wildness which it would have been im- possible for the hand of studied art to produce. Other trees have been introduced within these last fifty years, such as beeches, larches, limes, etc., and plantations of firs, seldom with advantage, and often with great injury to the Through the Wordsworth Country. 129 appearance of the country ; but the sycamore (which 1 believe was brought into this island from Germany, not more than two hundred years ago) has long been the favourite of the cottagers ; and, with the fir, has been chosen to screen their dwellings ; and is sometimes found in the fields whither the winds or the waters may have carried its seeds." No. XXV. GRISDALE TARN. No Cumbrian tarn is more impressive than Grisdale, in its loneliness and peaceful seclusion. Frederick Faber, of whom Wordsworth said, " He had not only as good an eye for Nature as I have, but a better one," describes it thus : In yon pale hollow would I dwell. Where waveless Grisdale meekly lies, And the three clefts of grassy fell Let in the blueness of the skies ; And lowland sounds come travelling up To echo in that mountain cup. Where from the tarn the shallow brook By rough Helvellyn shapes its way. The window of my cell should look Eastward upon the birth of day. It was here that William Wordsworth and his sailor brother John, — who is imperishably associated with the 132 Through the Wordsworth Country. Grove of Fir trees at Grasmere, — parted for the last time. In memory of this brother, Wordsworth wrote the following ELEGIAC VERSES, IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER, JOHN WORDSWORTH, COMMANDER OF THE E. I. COMPANY'S SHIP THE EARL OF ABERGAVENNY, IN WHICH HE PERISHED BY CALAMITOUS SHIPWRECK, FEB. 6TH, 1805. Composed near the Mountain track that leads from Gras- mere through Grisdale Hawes, where it descends towards Patterdale. I. The Sheep-boy whistled loud, and lo ! That instant, startled by the shock. The Buzzard mounted from the rock Deliberate and slow : Lord of the air, he took his flight ; Oh ! could he on that woeful night Have lent his wing, my Brother dear, For one poor moment's space to Thee, And all who struggled with the Sea, When safety was so near. Through the Wordsworth Country. 13^ II. Thus in the weakness of my heart I spoke (but let that pang be still) When rising from the rock at will, I saw the Bird depart. And let me calmly bless the Power That meets me in this unknown Flower, Affecting type of him I mourn ! With calmness suffer and believe, And grieve, and know that I must grieve, Not cheerless, though forlorn. III. Here did we stop ; and here looked round While each into himself descends, For that last thought of parting Friends That is not to be found. Hidden was Grasmere Vale from sight, Our home and his, his heart's delight. His quiet heart's selected home. But time before him melts away, And he hath feeling of a day Of blessedness to come. 134 Through the Wordsworth Country. IV. Full soon in sorrow did I weep, Taught that the mutual hope was dust, In sorrow, but for higher trust. How miserably deep ! All vanished in a single word, A breath, a sound, and scarcely heard : Sea — Ship — drowned — Shipwreck — so it came, The meek, the brave, the good, was gone ; He who had been our living John Was nothing but a name. V. That was indeed a parting ! oh, Glad am I, glad that it is past ; For there were some on whom it cast Unutterable woe. But they as well as I have gains ; — From many a humble source, to pains Like these, there comes a mild release ; Even here I feel it, even this Plant Is in its beauty ministrant To comfort and to peace. Through the Wordsworth Country. 135 VI. He would have loved thy modest grace, Meek Flower ! To Him I would have said, " It grows upon its native bed Beside our Parting-place ; There, cleaving to the ground it lies With multitude of purple eyes, Spangling a cushion green like moss ; But we will see it, joyful tide ! Some day, to see it in its pride, The mountain will we cross." VII. — Brother and friend, if verse of mine Have power to make thy virtues known, Here let a monumental Stone Stand — sacred as a Shrine ; And to the few who pass this way, Traveller or Shepherd, let it say, Long as these mighty rocks endure, — Oh do not thou too fondly brood, Although deserving of all good. On any earthly hope, however pure ! * * The plant alluded to is the moss campion {Silene acaulis, of Linnseus). 136 Through the Wordsworth Country. The late Dr. Cradock, wrote thus to me of this poem : "The parting-place of the brothers William and John Wordsworth is marked with unusual precision in the poet's note on these verses. It is exactly where the Helvellyn path diverges from the old packhorse track to Patterdale, and is passed by hundreds of tourists. I have found the moss campion, in times past, within a few yards of the spot ; but I do not think it can now be seen within 200 yards of it. It goes out of flower before the main influx of tourists, and may thus escape entire destruction. The time of its flowering shows that Wordsworth's visit must have been in the spring or very early summer [of 1805], and therefore while his grief was fresh. His burst of feeling on seeing the buzzard rise from the crags of Dollywagon is most true to nature. It is marvellous with what perverse ingenuity recent sorrow assimilates every object to itself The far-fetched con- nexion between the bird's flight and the shipwreck might possibly have occurred to any one under the same circum- stances ; but the comfort which Wordsworth found in the little flower is all his own. In order to understand it, it is necessary to understand him!' Near this parting-place of the Brothers, about a hun- dred yards from the tarn as one descends to Patterdale, Through the Wordsworth Country. 137 a panel has been sunk in the face of the native rock, with an inscription taken from the Elegiac Verses. This was done by the Wordsworth Society, at the suggestion of Mr. Rawnsley. What he calls "the lonely isolation of this mountain memorial " must appeal " to the few who pass that way, Traveller or Shepherd." And now that a Monumental Stone is raised at the place where the poet wished it, it is to be hoped that for many generations it will " Stand— SACRED as a shrine." An unpublished letter from Wordsworth to his friend Richard Sharp, on this brother's death, is quoted at p. 75. A similar one, from their sister Dorothy to her friend Mrs. Marshall, may be given here. I am indebted for the use of it to the kindness of Mrs. Marshall's daughter, the Dowager Lady Monteagle : "March \6th, 1805. Grasmere. ". . . It does me good to weep for him, and it does me good to find that others weep, and I bless them for it. . . . It is with me, when I write, as when I am walking out in this vale, once so full of joy, I can 138 Through the Wordsworth Country. turn to no object that does not remind me of our loss. I see nothing that he would not have loved, and enjoyed. . . . My consolations rather come to me in gusts of feeling, than are the quiet growth of my mind. I know it will not always be so. The time will come when the light of the setting sun upon these mountain tops will be as heretofore a pure joy ; not the same gladness, that can never be — but yet a joy even more tender. It will soothe me to know how happy he would have been, could he have seen the same beautiful spectacle. . . . He was taken away in the freshness of his manhood : pure he was, and innocent as a child. Never human being was more thoroughly modest, and his courage I need not speak of. He was ' seen speaking with apparent cheerfulness to the first mate a few minutes before the ship went down ' ; and when nothing more could be done, he said, 'The will of God be done.' I have no doubt when he felt that it was out of his power to save his life he was as calm as before, if some thought of what we should endure did not awaken a pang. . . . He loved solitude, and he rejoiced in society. He would wander alone amongst these hills with his fishing-rod, or led on by the mere pleasure of walking, for many hours ; or he would walk with W. or me, or both of us, and was continually Through the Wordsworth Country. 139 pointing out — with a gladness which is seldom seen but in very young people — something which perhaps would have escaped our observation ; for he had so fine an eye that no distinction was unnoticed by him, and so tender a feeling that he never noticed anything in vain. Many a time has he called out to me at evening to look at the moon or stars, or a cloudy sky, or this vale in the quiet moonlight ; but the stars and moon were his chief delight. He made of them his companions when he was at sea, and was never tired ot those thoughts which the silence of the night fed in him. Then he was so happy by the fireside. Any little business of the house interested him, He loved our cottage. He helped us to furnish it, and to make the garden. Trees are growing now which he planted. . . . He stayed with us till the 29th of September, having come to us about the end of January. During that time Mary Hutchinson — now Mary Words- worth — stayed with us six weeks. John used to walk with her everywhere, and they were exceedingly attached to each other ; so my poor sister mourns with us, not merely because we have lost one who was so dear to William and me, but from tender love to John and an intimate knowledge of him. Her hopes as well as ours were fixed on John. ... I can think of nothing but of our de- 140 Through the Wordsworth Country. parted brother, yet I am very tranquil to-day. I honour him, and love him, and glory in his memory. . . ." Other poems of Wordsworth's contain allusions to, and were in part suggested by, his brother John ; — notably the Character of the Happy Warrior, and that pathetic idyl associated with Ennerdale and the Pillar Rock, Tht Brothers. No. XXVI. HELVELLYN. Helvellyn is referred to in many of the Poems, espe- cially in Fidelity, in the stanzas addressed to Miss Blackett on her first ascent of the mountain, and in the Musings near Aquapendente. Fidelity is the record of the devotion of a dog to its master, who was killed by falling over the rocks above Red Tarn, near the summit of Helvellyn. These Helvellyn racks are represented in Mr. Goodwin's drawing. FIDELITY. A BARKING sound the Shepherd hears, A cry as of a dog or fox ; He halts — and searches with his eyes Among the scattered rocks : And now at distance can discern A stirring in a brake of fern ; And instantly a dog is seen. Glancing through that covert green. The Dog is not of mountain breed ; Its motions, too, are wild and shy ; 142 Through the Wordsworth Country. With something, as the Shepherd thinks, Unusual in its cry : Nor is there any one in sight All round, in hollow or on height ; Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear ; What is the creature doing here ? It was a cove, a huge recess, That keeps, till June, December's snow ; A lofty precipice in front, A silent tarn below ! Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, Remote from public road or dwelling, , Pathway, or cultivated land ; From trace of human foot or hand. There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer ; The crags repeat the raven's croak, In symphony austere ; Thither the rainbow comes — the cloud — And mists that spread the flying shroud ; And sunbeams ; and the sounding blast, That, if it could, would hurry past ; But that enormous barrier holds it fast. Through the Wordsworth Country. 143 Not free from boding thoughts, a while The Shepherd stood ; then makes his way O'er rocks and stones, following the Dog As quickly as he may ; Nor far had gone before he found A human skeleton on the ground ; The appalled Discoverer with a sigh Looks round, to learn the history. From those abrupt and perilous rocks The Man had fallen, that place of fear ! At length upon the Shepherd's mind It breaks, and all is clear : He instantly recalled the name, And who he was, and whence he came ; Remembered, too, the very day On which the Traveller passed this way. But hear a wonder, for whose sake This lamentable tale I tell ! A lasting monument of words This wonder merits well. The Dog, which still was hovering nigh, Repeating the same timid cry. This Dog, had been through three months' space A dweller in that savage place, 144 Through the Wordsworth Country. Yes, proof was plain that, since the day When this ill-fated Traveller died, The Dog had watched about the spot, Or by his master's side : How nourished here through such long time He knows who gave that love sublime ; And gave that strength of feeling, great Above all human estimate ! This incident is commemorated also by Sir Walter Scott, in his lines to Helvellyn, and by Thomas Wilkinson, in his poem Emont Vale. The poem addressed to Miss Blackett, On her first Ascent to the Summit of Helvellyn, is as follows : TO , ON HER FIRST ASCENT TO THE SUMMIT OF HELVELLYN. Inmate of a mountain-dwelling, Thou hast clomb aloft, and gazed From the watch-towers of Helvellyn ; Awed, delighted, and amazed ! Potent was the spell that bo&nd thee, Not unwilling to obey Through the Wordsworth Country. 145 For blue Ether's arms, flung round thee, Stilled the paintings of dismay. Lo ! the dwindled woods and meadows ; What a vast abyss is there ! Lo ! the clouds, the solemn shadows, And the glistenings— heavenly fair I And a record of commotion Which a thousand ridges yield ; Ridge, and gulf, and distant ocean Gleaming like a silver shield ! Maiden ! now take flight ; — inherit Alps or Andes — they are thine ! With the morning's roseate Spirit, Sweep their length of snowy line ; Or survey their bright dominions In the gorgeous colours drest Flung from off the purple pinions. Evening spreads throughout the west ! Thine are all the coral fountains Warbling in each sparry vault Of the untrodden lunar mountains ; Listen to their songs ! — or halt. 146 Through the Wordsworth Country. To Niphates' top invited, Whither spiteful Satan steered ; Or descend where the ark ahghted, When the green earth re-appeared ; For the power of hills is on thee, As was witnessed through thine eye Then when old Helvellyn won thee To confess their majesty ! In the poems recording his Italian tour with Henry Crabb Robinson, in 1835, there is one, very characteristic of Wordsworth, called Musings near Aquapendente — name most musical, and exquisite in its dim suggestiveness. The sight of the yellow broom, growing amid the Apennines in April, at once sent him homeward to the hills and vales of his native land, and he greets his own " Fairfield," and " Helvellyn's top," and " Greenside Fell," and " Glenridding Screes, and low Glencoign." He thinks too of that happy day when he and Scott, the mighty " Wizard of the North," ascended Helvellyn in company, where " once together, in his day of strength, We stood rejoicing, as if earth were free From sorrow, like the sky above our heads. No. XXVII. AIRA FORCE. Descending Helvellyn by the road from Grisdale Hawse to Patterdale, one reaches — at a short distance from Ullswater — the secluded glen down which the " wild stream of Aira" flows. The cascade, a short way above Lyulph's Tower, suggested to Wordsworth the poem he called Airey-Force Valley. It is one of his later works, but is full of his idealized realism. The breeze just enter- ing the grove — by the oak unfelt, but moving the lighter leaves of the ash — is described as making a " soft eye-music of slow-waving boughs." This description of the effect of Nature on one of the senses by its effect on another sense, suggests a passage in The ^olian Harp of Coleridge, in which he speaks of " A light in sound, a sound-like power in light." AIREY-FORCE VALLEY. Not a breath of air RufOes the bosom of this leafy glen. 148 Through the Wordsworth Country. From the brook's margin, wide around, the trees Are steadfast as the rocks ; the brook itself. Old as the hills that feed it from afar, Doth rather deepen than disturb the calm Where all things else are still and motionless. And yet, even now, a little breeze, perchance Escaped from boisterous winds that rage without. Has entered, by the sturdy oaks unfelt, But to its gentle touch how sensitive Is the light ash ! that, pendent from the brow Of yon dim cave, in seeming silence makes A soft eye-music of slow-waving boughs, Powerful almost as vocal harmony To stay the wanderer's steps and soothe his thoughts. A "light ash "is still "pendent" at Aira Force. It is thus that Wordsworth speaks of the Force in his " Guide to the Lakes." " Here is a powerful brook, which dashes among rocks through a deep glen, hung on every side with a rich and happy intermixture of native wood ; here are beds of luxuriant fern, aged hawthorns and hollies decked with honeysuckles ; and fallowi deer glancing and bounding over the lanes and through the thickets." AIRA FORCE. IFace p. 148. Throttgh the Wordsworth Country. 149 Not far from the point where Aira Force joins the lake of Ullswater is Gowbarrow Park, for ever associated with the poem on the Daffodils. THE DAFFODILS. I WANDERED lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils ; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay : Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced ; but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee : A poet could not but be gay. In such a jocund company ! I gazed — and gazed — but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought. 150 Through the Wordsworth Country. For oft when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude ; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. The following is from Miss Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal, under date Thursday, April iSth, 1802; and is the best commentary on the poem, — the prose of the sister being quite as remarkable as the poetry of the brother. " Thursday, April i^th, 1802. " It was a threatening, misty morning, but mild. We set off after dinner from Grasmere. Mr. Clarkson went a short way with us, but turned back. The wind was furious, and we thought we must have returned. We first rested in the large boat-house, then under a furze bush opposite Mr. Clarkson's. Saw the plough going in the field. The wind seized our breath. The lake was rough. There was a boat by itself, floating in the middle of the bay below Water Millock. We rested again in the Water Millock Lane, the hawthorns black and green; the birches here and there greenish, but there is yet Through the Wordsworth Country. i 5 1 more of purple to be seen on the twigs. ... A few primroses by the roadside — wood sorrel flower, the ane- mone, scentless violets, strawberries, and that starry yellow flower which Mrs. C. calls pilewort. When we were in the woods beyond Gowbarrow Park, we saw a few daffodils close to the water side. We fancied that the sea had floated the seeds ashore, and that the little colony had so sprung up. But as we went along there were more, and yet more ; and, at last, under the boughs of the trees, we saw that there was a long belt of them along the shore, about the breadth of a country turnpike road. I never saw daffodils so beautiful. They grew among the mossy stones, about and above them ; some rested their heads upon these stones, as on a pillow for weari- ness ; and the rest tossed and reeled and danced, and seemed as if they verily laughed with the wind that blew upon them over the lake. They looked so gay, ever glancing, ever changing. This wind blew directly over the lake to them. There was here and there a little knot, and a few stragglers higher up ; but they were so few as not to disturb the simplicity, unity, and life of that one busy highway. We rested again and again. The bays were stormy, and we heard the waves at different dis- tances, and in the middle of the water, like the sea. . . . 152 Through the Wordsworth Country. The following letter to Mr. Wrangham was written, the late Bishop of Lincoln tells us, some time after the poem of The Daffodils was composed. " Grasmere, Nov. \th. "My dear Wrangham, — " I am indeed much pleased that Mrs. Wrangham and yourself have been gratified by these breathings of simple nature. You mention Butler, Montagu's friend ; not Tom Butler, but the conveyancer : when I was in town in spring, he happened to see the volumes lying on Mon- tagu's mantelpiece, and to glance his eye upon the very poem of The Daffodils. ' Ay,' says he, ' a fine morsel this for the reviewers.' When this was told me (for I was not present), I observed that there were two lines in that little poem which, if thoroughly felt, would annihilate nine-tenths of the reviews of the kingdom, as they would find no readers. The Imes I alluded to were these — ' They flash upon that inward eye, Which is the bliss of solitude.' " These two lines were composed by Mrs. Wordsworth. Daffodils still grow in abundance on the shore of Ulls- water, below Gowbarrow Park. No. XXVIII. BROTHER'S WATER. While resting at the foot of Brother's Water, the day after he wrote the poem on the Daffodils, Wordsworth composed the following. written in march, while resting on the bridge at the foot of brother's water. The Cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter. The green field sleeps in the sun ; The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest ; The cattle are grazing. Their heads never raising ; There are forty feeding like one ! 154 Through the Wordsworth Country. Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill ; The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon : There's joy in the mountains ; There's life in the fountains ; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing ; The rain is over and gone ! The view is taken from the top of Kirkstone Pass, with the Rock on the left, " Whose church-like frame Gives to this savage Pass its name." The following is from Dorothy Wordsworth's diary. It records the walk from Ullswater, over Kirkstone Pass, to Ambleside : "Friday, \6th April i^Good Friday). "When I undrew the curtains in the morning, I was much affected by the beauty of the prospect and the change. The sun shone, the wind had passed away, the hills looked cheerful. The river was very bright as it Through the Wordsworth Country. 155 flowed into the lake. The church rises up behind a little knot of rocks, the steeple not so high as an ordinary three-storey house ; trees in a row in the garden under the wall. We set forward. The valley is at first broken by little rocky, woody knolls, that make retiring places, fairy valleys in the vale. The river winds along under these hills, travelling not in a bustle, but not slowly, to the lake. We saw a fisherman in the flat meadow on the other side of the water. He came towards us, and threw his line over the two-arched bridge. It is a bridge of a heavy construction, almost bending inwards in the middle ; but it is grey, and there is a look of ancientry in the architecture of it that pleased me. As we go on the vale opens out more into one vale, with somewhat of a cradle bed. Cottages, with groups of trees on the side of the hills. We passed a pair of twin children two years old ; sat, on the next bridge which we crossed, a single arch. We rested again upon the turf, and looked at the same bridge. We observed arches in the water, occasioned by the large stones sending it down in two streams. A ' sheep came plunging through the river, stumbled up the bank, and passed close to us. It had been frightened by an insignificant looking dog on the other side. Its fleece dropped a glittering shower under 156 Through the Wordsworth Country. its belly. Primroses by the roadside ; pilevvort that shone like stars of gold in the sun ; violets, strawberries retired and half buried among the grass. When we came to the foot of Brother's Water, I left William sitting on the bridge, and went along the path on the right side of the lake through the wood. I was delighted with what I saw : the water under the boughs of the bare old trees, the simplicity of the mountains, and the exquisite beauty of the path. There was one grey cottage. I repeated the Glow-worm as I walked along. I hung over the gate, and thought I could have stayed for ever. When I returned, I found William writing a poem descriptive of the sights and sounds we saw and heard. There was the gentle flowing of the stream, the glittering, lively lake, green fields, without a living creature to be seen on them ; behind us, a flat pasture with forty-two cattle feeding ; to our left, the road leading to the hamlet. No smoke there, the sun shone on the bare roofs. The people were at work ploughing, harrowing, and sowing ; lasses work- ing ; a dog barking now and then ; cocks crowing, birds twittering ; the snow in patches at the top of the highest hills ; yellow palms, purple and green twigs on the birches, ashes with their glittering stems quite bare. The hawthorn a bright green, with black stems under Through the Wordsworth Country. 157 the oak. The moss of the oaks glossy. . . . As we went up the vale of Brother's Water, more and more cattle feeding, a hundred of them. William finished his poem before we got to the foot of Kirkstone." No. XXIX. KIRKSTONE PASS. This is a view of Kirkstone Pass from the south, looking up to the Hawse, which divides the valleys of Stockghyll and Patterdale. The " kirk-stone " represented in the previous drawing is on the other side, to the left as one descends towards Brother's Water. Of the following poem Wordsworth said, it embodies " thoughts and feel- ings of many walks in all weathers, by day and night, over this pass, alone and with beloved friends.'' THE PASS OF KIRKSTONE. I. Within the mind strong fancies work, A deep delight the bosom thrills, Oft as I pass along the fork Of these fraternal hills ; Where, save the rugged road, we find No appanage of human kind. i6o Through the Wordsworth Country. Nor hint of man ; if stone or rock Seem not his handy-work to mock By something cognisably shaped : Mockery — or model roughly hewn, And left as if by earthquake strewn, Or from the Flood escaped : Altars for Druid service fit : (But where no fire was ever lit, Unless the glow-worm to the skies Thence offer nightly sacrifice) Wrinkled Egyptian monument : Green moss-grown tower ; or hoary tent : Tents of a camp that never shall be razed — On which four thousand years have gazed ! II. Ye plough-shares sparkling on the slopes ! Ye snow-white lambs that trip Imprisoned 'mid the formal props Of restless ownership ! Ye trees, that may to-morrow fall To feed the insatiate Prodigal ! Lawns, houses, chattels, groves and fields All that the fertile valley shields ; , ' :m''w^^''^''' ' " ^^>^. KIRKSTONE PASS. Face p. 160. Through the Wordsworth Country. i6i Wages of folly — baits of crime, Of life's uneasy game the stake, Playthings that keep the eyes awake Of drowsy, dotard Time ; — O care ! O guilt ! — O vales and plains, Here, 'mid his own unvexed domains, A Genius dwells, that can subdue At once all memory of You, — Most potent when mists veil the sky. Mists that distort and magnify ; While the coarse rushes, to the sweeping breeze. Sigh forth their ancient melodies ! III. List to those shriller notes ! — that march Perchance was on the blast. When, through this Height's inverted arch, Rome's earliest legion passed ! — They saw, adventurously impelled. And older eyes than theirs beheld. This block — and yon, whose church-like frame Gives to this savage Pass its name. Aspiring Road ! that lov'st to hide Thy daring in a vapoury bourn, Y 1 62 Through the Wordsworth Country. Not seldom may the hour return When thou shalt be my guide : And I (as all men may find cause, When life is at a weary pause, And they have panted up the hiil Of duty with reluctant will) Be thankful, even though tired and faint. For the rich bounties of constraint ; Whence oft invigorating transports flow That choice lacked courage to bestow ! IV. My Soul was grateful for delight That wore a threatening brow ; A veil is lifted — can she slight The scene that opens now ? Though habitation none appear. The greenness tells, man must be there ; The shelter — that the perspective Is of the clime in which we live ; Where Toil pursues his daily round ; Where Pity sheds sweet tears — and Love, In woodbine bower or birchen grove. Inflicts his tender wound. Through the Wordsworth Country. 163 — Who comes not hither ne'er shall know How beautiful the world below ; Nor can he guess how lightly leaps The brook adown the rocky steeps. Farewell, thou desolate Domain ! Hope, pointing to the cultured plain, Carols like a shepherd boy ; And who is she ? — Can that be Joy ! Who, with a sunbeam for her guide, Smoothly skims the meadows wide : While Faith, from yonder opening cloud, To hill and vale proclaims aloud, " Whate'er the weak may dread, the wicked dare, Thy lot, O Man, is good, thy portion fair ! " Miss Wordsworth thus describes a walk with her brother up Kirkstone Pass from Brother's Water, the day after the poem of The Daffodils was composed : " The walk up Kirkstone was very interesting. The becks among the rocks were all alive. William showed me the little mossy streamlet, which he had before loved when he saw its bright green track in the snow. The view above Ambleside very beautiful. There we sat, and looked down on the green vale. We watched the crows at a little 164 Through the Wordsworth Countjy. distance from us become white as silver as they flew in the sunshine, and when they went still farther they looked like shapes of water passing over the green fields." The following extract from Wordsworth's Description of the Scenery of the Lakes is also illustrative of this and other poems : " It has been said that in human life there are moments worth ages. In a more subdued tone of sympathy may we affirm, that in the climate of England there are, for the lover of nature, days which are worth whole months, — I might say — even years. One of these favoured days sometimes occurs in springtime, when that soft air is breathing over the blossoms and new-born verdure which inspired Buchanan with his beautiful Ode to the First of May ; the air, which, in the luxuriance of his fancy, he likens to that of the golden age, — to that which gives motion to the funereal cypresses on the banks of the Lethe ; — to the air which is to salute beatified spirits when expiatory fires shall have consumed the earth with all her habitations. But it is in autumn that days of 'juch affecting influence most frequently intervene; — the atmosphere seems refined, and the sky rendered more crystalline, as the vivifying heat of the year abates ; the lights and shadows are more delicate ; the colouring is Through the Wordsworth Country. 165 richer and more finely harmonized ; and, in this season of stillness, the ear being unoccupied, or only gently excited, the sense of vision becomes more susceptible ol its appropriate enjoyments. A resident in a country like this which we are treating of, will agree with me, that the presence of a lake is indispensable to exhibit in perfection the beauty of one of these days ; and he must have experienced, while looking on the unruffled waters, that the imagination, by their aid, is carried into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable. The reason of this is, that the heavens are not only brought down into the bosom of the earth, but that the earth is mainly looked at, and thought of, through the medium of a purer element. The happiest time is when the equinoctial gales are departed ; but their fury may probably be called to mind by the sight of a few shattered boughs, whose leaves do not differ in colour from the faded foliage of the stately oaks from which these relics of the storm depend ; all else speaks of tranquillity ; — not a breath of air, no restlessness of insects, and not a moving object perceptible — except the clouds gliding in the depths o( the lake, or the traveller passing along, an inverted image, whose motion seems governed by the quiet of a time, to which its archetype, the living person, is, per- 1 66 Through the Wordsworth Cotmiry. haps, insensible : — or, it may happen, that the figure of one of the larger birds, a raven or a heron, is crossing silently among the reflected clouds, while the voice of the. real bird, from the element aloft, gently awakens in the spectator the recollection of appetites and instincts pursuits and occupations, that deform and agitate the world, — yet have no power to prevent nature from put- ting on an aspect capable of satisfying the most intense cravings for the tranquil, the lovely, and the perfect, to which man, the noblest of her creatures, is subject." No. XXX. DUNGEON GHYLL. Every visitor to the Lakes goes up Langdale, and all who go up Langdale visit Dungeon Ghyll. It is one of the best known of the localities associated with Words- worth ; and although his pastoral poem, The Idle Shepherd Boys ; or, Dungeon-Ghyll Force, is not one of his greatest efforts, it has an interest of its own. The locality, the •' chasm," with its " bridge of rock,'' and " basin black and small," have not changed since the beginning of the century, nor are they likely to change much in future years. THE IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS; OR, DUNGEON- GHYLL FORCE* A PASTORAL. The valley rings with mirth and joy ; Among the hills the echoes play * Ghyll, in the dialect of Cumberland and Westmorland, is a short and, for the most part, a steep narrow valley, with a stream running through it. Force is the word universally employed in these dialects for waterfall. — W. W. 167 1 68 Through the Wordsworth Country. A never never ending song, To welcome in the May. The magpie chatters with delight ; The mountain raven's youngling brood Have left the mother and the nest ; And they go rambling east and west In search of their own food ; Or through the glittering vapours dart In very wantonness of heart. Beneath a rock, upon the grass, Two boys are sitting in the sun ; Their work, if any work they have. Is out of mind — or done. On pipes of sycamore they play The fragments of a Christmas hymn ; Or with that plant which in our dale We call stag-horn, or fox's tail, Their rusty hats they trim : And thus, as happy as the day. Those shepherds wear the time away. Along the river's stony marge The sand-lark chants a joyous song ; Through the Wordsworth Country. 169 The thrush is busy in the wood, And carols loud and strong. A thousand lambs are on the rocks, All newly born ! both earth and sky Keep jubilee, and more than all. Those boys with their green coronal ; They never hear the cry, That plaintive cry ! which up the hill Comes from the depth of Dungeon-GhylL Said Walter, leaping from the ground, ■"Down to the stump of yon old ys.'N We'll for our whistles run a race." Away the shepherds flew ; They leapt — they ran — and when they came Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll, Seeing that he should lose the prize, " Stop ! " to his comrade Walter cries — James stopped with no good will. Said Walter then, exulting : " Here You'll find a task for half a year. " Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross — Come on, and tread where I shall tread." 1 70 Through the Wordsworth Country. The other took him at his word, And followed as he led. It was a spot which you may see If ever you to Langdale go ; Into a chasm a mighty block Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock : The gulf is deep below ; And, in a basin black and small, Receives a lofty waterfall. With staff in hand across the cleft The challenger pursued his march ; And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained The middle of the arch. When list ! he hears a piteous moan — Again ! — his heart within him dies — His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost. He totters, pallid as a ghost, And, looking down, espies A lamb, that in the pool is pent Within that black and frightful rent. The lamb had slipped into the stream. And safe without a bruise or wound Through the Wordsworth Country. 171 The cataract had borne him down Into the gulf profound. His dam had seen him when he fell, She saw him down the torrent borne ; And, while with all a mother's love She from the lofty rocks above Sent forth a cry forlorn, The lamb, still swimming round and round, Made answer to that plaintive sound. When he had learnt what thing it was, That sent this rueful cry, I ween The boy recovered heart, and told The sight which he had seen. Both gladly now deferred their task ; Nor was there wanting other aid — A Poet, one who loves the brooks Far better than the sages' books, By chance had thither strayed ; And there the helpless lamb he found By those huge rocks encompassed round. He drew it from the troubled pool. And brought it forth into the light ; £72 Through the Wordsworth Country. The Shepherds met him with his charge, An unexpected sight ! Into their arms the lamb they took, Whose life and limbs the flood had spared : Then up the steep ascent they hied, And placed him at his mother's side ; And gently did the Bard Those idle Shepherd-boys upbraid. And bade them better mind their trade. Of this poem Wordsworth said : " When Coleridge and Southey were walking together upon the Fells, Southey observed that, if I wished to be considered a faithful painter of rural manners, I ought not to have said that my shepherd-boys trimmed their rustic hats as described in the poem. Just as the words had passed his lips, two boys appeared, with the very plant entwined round their hats." No. XXXI. BLEA TARN, FROM LINGMOOR. It was in the little cottage near Blea Tarn, which lies at the western base of Lingmoor, between the two Langdale valleys, that " The Solitary " of The Excursion lived. In the Fenwick note to the poem, Wordsworth tells us : " I suppose that the pedlar and I ascended from a plain country up the vale of Langdale, and struck off a good way above the chapel to the western side of the vale. We ascended the hill, and thence looked down upon the circular recess in which lies Blea Tarn, chosen by the Solitary for his retreat." The hill is Lingmoor. The summit he described as a dreary plain, "With a tumultuous waste of high hill-tops Before us ; savage region ! which I paced Dispirited." The " tumultuous waste of high hill-tops " refers, of course, to the range of Great End, Bowfell, Shelter Crags, Crinkle Crags, and Pike o' Blisco, to the west ; the twin 174 Throtigh the Wordsworth Country. peaks of Langdale, to the north, on the right ; with Wrynose, Wetherlam, and the Coniston Mountains, to the south-west. They walked along the summit of Lingmoor, When, all at once, behold ! Beneath our feet, a little lowly vale, A lowly vale, and yet uplifted high Among the mountains ; even as if the spot Had been from eldest time by wish of theirs So placed, to be shut out from all the world ! Urn-like it was in shape, deep as an urn ; With rocks encompassed, save that to the south Was one small opening, where a heath-clad ridge Supplied a boundary less abrupt and close : A quiet treeless nook, with two green fields, A liquid pool that glittered in the sun, And one bare dwelling ; one abode, no more ! It seemed the home of poverty and toil. Though not of want : the little fields, made green By husbandry of many thrifty years, Paid cheerful tribute to the moorland house. — There crows the cock, single in his domain : The small birds find in spring no thicket there Through the Wordsworth Country. 175 To shroud them ; only from the neighbouring vales The cuckoo, straggling up to the hill tops, Shouteth faint tidings of some gladder place. The Excursion, Book II. The " little lowly vale " is the head of Little Langdale ; " urn-like," as seen from the top of Lingmoor ; the " one small opening " is the path into Little Langdale by Fell Foot and Busk ; the " nook " is not now " treeless," but the fir wood, on the western side of the vale, adds to its " quiet," and deepens the sense of seclusion ; the " liquid pool that glittered in the sun,'' is Blea Tarn ; the " one abode, no more," is the solitary cottage, now called Blea Tarn House ; and up to this retreat among the mountains the cuckoo still comes " from neighbouring vales.'' Ah ! what a sweet Recess, thought I, is here ! Instantly throwing down my limbs at ease Upon a bed of heath ; — full many a spot Of hidden beauty have I chanced to espy Among the mountains ; never one like this ; So lonesome, and so perfectly secure ; Not melancholy — no, for it is green, And bright, and fertile, furnished in itself With the few needful things that life requires. 176 Through the Wordsworth Country. — In rugged arms how softly does it lie How tenderly protected ! Far and near We have an image of the pristine earth, The planet in its nakedness : were this Man's only dwelling, sole appointed seat, First, last, and single, in the breathing world It could not be more quiet : peace is here Or nowhere ; days unruffled by the gale Of public news or private ; years that pass Forgetfully ; uncalled upon to pay The common penalties of mortal life, Sickness, or accident, or grief, or pain. The Excursion, Book II. Wordsworth's minute and delicate characterization of the Blea Tarn Valley, in The Excursion, makes it the fittest guide to the district, apart from the lofty teaching of the third and fourth books. Any one who understands the poem, and then visits the place, will feel that its unique solitude, its upland peace, — with " the strength of the hills " all around — made it the fittest spot in Westmorland for these discourses of the Wanderer and his friends. No. XXXII. BLEA TARN, WITH THE LANGDALE PIKES. In the second book of The Excursion, Wordsworth repre- sents the Wanderer and himself as visiting " the Solitary," a recluse living in the cottage at Blea Tarn, where they carry on a varied conversational discussion on high themes of lasting human interest. They partake together of a rustic meal. In genial mood, While at our pastoral banquet thus we sate Fronting the window of that little cell, I could not, ever and anon, forbear To glance an upward look on two huge Peaks, That from some other vale peered into this. " Those lusty twins," exclaimed our host, " if here It were your lot to dwell, would soon become Your prized companions. — Many are the notes Which, in his tuneful course, the wind draws forth ^" A A 17^ Through the Wordsworth Coimtry. From rocks, woods, caverns, heaths, and dashing shores ; And well those lofty brethren bear their part In the wild concert — chiefly when the storm Rides high ; then all the upper air they fill With roaring sound, that ceases not to flow, Like smoke, along the level of the blast. In mighty current ; theirs, too, is the song Of stream and headlong flood that seldom fails ; And, in the grim and breathless hour of noon, Methinks that I have heard them echo back The thunder's greeting. Nor have nature's laws Left them ungifted with a power to yield Music of finer tone ; a harmony. So do I call it, though it be the hand Of silence, though there be no voice ; — the clouds, The mist, the shadows, light of golden suns. Motions of moonlight, all come thither^ — ^touch. And have an answer — thither come, and shape A language not unwelcome to sick hearts And idle spirits : — there the sun himself, At the calm close of summer's longest day. Rests his substantial orb ; — between those heights And on the top of either pinnacle. More keenly than elsewhere in night's blue vault. ^ >1 y> , , ..'lit ' Wif^',^ J? 1 c a. Ten 11. — Twu ln.Cj?. Peaks Ihal' J-ioiii 10111J ohici Val< |ir