No More Learning

". . . Travelled through the vale of Nith, here little like a vale, it
is so broad, with irregular hills rising up on each side, in outline
resembling the old-fashioned valances of a bed. There is a great deal
of arable land; the corn ripe; trees here and there--plantations,
clumps, coppices, a newness in everything. So much of the gorse and
broom rooted out that you wonder why it is not all gone, and yet there
seems to be almost as much gorse and broom as corn; and they grow one
among another you know not how. Crossed the Nith; the vale becomes
narrow, and very pleasant; cornfields, green hills, clay cottages; the
river's bed rocky, with woody banks. Left the Nith about a mile and a
half, and reached Brownhill, a lonely inn, where we slept. The view
from the windows was pleasing, though some travellers might have been
disposed to quarrel with it for its general nakedness; yet there was
abundance of corn. It is an open country--open, yet all over hills. At
a little distance were many cottages among trees, that looked very
pretty. Brownhill is about seven or eight miles from Ellisland. I
fancied to myself, while I was sitting in the parlour, that Burns
might have caroused there, for most likely his rounds extended so far,
and this thought gave a melancholy interest to the smoky walls. . . . "

On Dec. 23, 1839, Wordsworth wrote to Professor Henry Reed,
Philadelphia:

"The other day I chanced to be looking over a MS. poem belonging to
the year 1803, though not actually composed till many years
afterwards. It was suggested by visiting the neighbourhood of
Dumfries, in which Burns had resided, and where he died: it concluded
thus:

'Sweet Mercy! to the gates of Heaven, etc. '

I instantly added, the other day,

'But why to Him confine the prayer, etc. '

The more I reflect upon this, the more I feel justified in attaching
comparatively small importance to any literary monument that I may be
enabled to leave behind. It is well however, I am convinced, that men
think otherwise in the earlier part of their lives. . . . "

It may be mentioned that in his note to the "Poems, chiefly
of Early and Late Years," (1842), Wordsworth does not quote
from the text of his sister's Journal,--which was first published
in 1875,--but from some other copy of it. --Ed.





* * * * *





TO THE SONS OF BURNS, AFTER VISITING THE GRAVE OF THEIR FATHER [A]


Composed before 1807 [B]--Published 1807


The Poet's grave is in a corner of the church-yard. We looked at it with
melancholy and painful reflections, repeating to each other his own
verses:

'Is there a man whose judgment clear, etc. '

'Extract from the Journal of my Fellow-Traveller. '--W. W. 1827. [C]

One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection" in the 1815 and 1820
editions. --Ed.




'Mid crowded obelisks and urns
I sought the untimely grave of Burns;
Sons of the Bard, my heart still mourns
With sorrow true;
And more would grieve, but that it turns 5
Trembling to you!

Through twilight shades of good and ill
Ye now are panting up life's hill, [1]
And more than common strength and skill
Must ye display; 10
If ye would give the better will
Its lawful sway.

Hath Nature strung your nerves to bear
Intemperance with less harm, beware!
But if the Poet's wit ye share, 15
Like him can speed
The social hour--of tenfold care [2]
There will be need;

For honest men delight will take
To spare your failings for his sake, 20
Will flatter you,--and fool and rake [3]
Your steps pursue;
And of your Father's name will make
A snare for you.

Far from their noisy haunts retire, 25
And add your voices to the quire
That sanctify the cottage fire
With service meet;
There seek the genius of your Sire,
His spirit greet; 30

Or where,'mid "lonely heights and hows," [D]
He paid to Nature tuneful vows;
Or wiped his honourable brows
Bedewed with toil,
While reapers strove, or busy ploughs 35
Upturned the soil;

His judgment with benignant ray
Shall guide, his fancy cheer, your way;
But ne'er to a seductive lay
Let faith be given; 40
Nor deem that "light which leads astray,
Is light from Heaven. " [E]

Let no mean hope your souls enslave;
Be independent, generous, brave;
Your Father such example gave, 45
And such revere;
But be admonished by his grave,
And think, and fear! [F]


* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1827.

Ye now are panting up life's hill!
'Tis twilight time of good and ill, 1807. ]


[Variant 2:

1840.

Strong bodied if ye be to bear
Intemperance with less harm, beware!
But if your Father's wit ye share,
Then, then indeed,
Ye Sons of Burns! for watchful care 1807.

. . . for tenfold care 1827.

The text of 1827 is otherwise identical with that of 1840. ]


[Variant 3:

1840.

For honest men delight will take
To shew you favor for his sake,
Will flatter you; and Fool and Rake 1807.

For their beloved Poet's sake,
Even honest men delight will take
To flatter you; . . . 1820.

Even honest Men delight will take
To spare your failings for his sake,
Will flatter you,--. . . 1827. ]


* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: In the edition of 1807, this poem has the title 'Address to
the Sons of Burns after visiting their Father's Grave (August 14th,
1803)'. Slight changes were made in the title afterwards. --Ed. ]


[Footnote B: Dorothy Wordsworth wrote, in her 'Recollections' of this
tour, under date August 18th, 1803,

"William wrote long afterwards the following Address to the sons of
the ill-fated poet. "

Ed. ]


[Footnote C: This explanatory note appears in every edition of the Poems
from 1827 to 1850. It is taken (but not literally) from the
'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland' as published in 1875. --Ed. ]


[Footnote D: From Burns's 'Epistle to James Smith', l. 53. --Ed. ]


[Footnote E: From Burns's poem, 'The Vision', Duan Second. --Ed. ]


[Footnote F: In the edition of 1807, the poem began with what is now the
second stanza, and consisted of four stanzas only, viz. Nos. ii. , iii. ,
iv. , and viii. Stanzas i. , v. , vi. , and vii. were added in 1827. Stanza
iii. was omitted in 1820, but restored in 1827. --Ed. ]



In Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections' of this Tour we find, under date
August 18, 1803:

"The grave of Burns's Son, which we had just seen by the side of his
Father, and some stories heard at Dumfries respecting the dangers his
surviving children were exposed to, filled us with melancholy
concern, which had a kind of connection with ourselves. "


"The body of Burns was not allowed to remain long in this place. To
suit the plan of a rather showy mausoleum his remains were removed
into a more commodious spot of the same kirkyard on the 5th July
1815. "--(Allan Cunningham. )

'Ellen Irwin; or, the Braes of Kirtle', comes next in this series of
"Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1803. " It has already been printed,
however, (p. 124), in its proper chronological place, among the poems
belonging to the year 1800. --Ed.





* * * * *





TO A HIGHLAND GIRL

(AT INVERSNEYDE, UPON LOCH LOMOND)


Composed 1803. --Published 1807


Classed in 1815 and 1820 as one of the "Poems of the Imagination. "--Ed.

[This delightful creature and her demeanour are particularly described
in my Sister's Journal. The sort of prophecy with which the verses
conclude has, through God's goodness, been realized; and now,
approaching the close of my 73rd year, I have a most vivid remembrance
of her and the beautiful objects with which she was surrounded. She is
alluded to in the poem of 'The Three Cottage Girls' among my Continental
Memorials. In illustration of this class of poems I have scarcely
anything to say beyond what is anticipated in my Sister's faithful and
admirable Journal. --I. F. ]




Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower
Of beauty is thy earthly dower!
Twice seven consenting years have shed
Their utmost bounty on thy head:
And these grey rocks; that [1] household lawn; 5
Those trees, [A] a veil just half withdrawn;
This fall of water that doth make
A murmur near the silent lake;
This little bay; a quiet road
That holds in shelter thy Abode--10
In truth together do ye seem [2]
Like something fashioned in a dream;
Such Forms as from their covert peep
When earthly cares are laid asleep!
But, O fair Creature! in the light 15
Of common day, so heavenly bright, [3]
I bless Thee, Vision [4] as thou art,
I bless thee with a human heart;
God shield thee to thy latest years!
Thee, neither know I, [5] nor thy peers; 20
And yet my eyes are filled with tears.

With earnest feeling I shall pray
For thee when I am far away:
For never saw I mien, or face,
In which more plainly I could trace 25
Benignity and home-bred sense
Ripening in perfect innocence.
Here scattered, like a random seed,
Remote from men, Thou dost not need
The embarrassed look of shy distress, 30
And maidenly shamefacedness:
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear
The freedom of a Mountaineer:
A face with gladness overspread!
Soft smiles, [6] by human kindness bred! 35
And seemliness complete, that sways
Thy courtesies, about thee plays;
With no restraint, but such as springs
From quick and eager visitings
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach 40
Of thy few words of English speech:
A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife
That gives thy gestures grace and life!
So have I, not unmoved in mind,
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind--45
Thus beating up against the wind.

What hand but would a garland cull
For thee who art so beautiful?
O happy pleasure! here to dwell
Beside thee in some heathy dell; 50
Adopt your homely ways and dress,
A Shepherd, thou a Shepherdess!
But I could frame a wish for thee
More like a grave reality:
Thou art to me but as a wave 55
Of the wild sea; and I would have
Some claim upon thee, if I could,
Though but of common neighbourhood.
What joy to hear thee, and to see!
Thy elder Brother I would be, 60
Thy Father--anything to thee! [B]

Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace
Hath led me to this lonely place.
Joy have I had; and going hence
I bear away my recompence. 65
In spots like these it is we prize
Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes:
Then, why should I be loth to stir?
I feel this place was made for her;
To give new pleasure like the past, 70
Continued long as life shall last.
Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart,
Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part;
For I, methinks, till I grow old,
As fair before me shall behold, 75
As I do now, the cabin small,
The lake, the bay, the waterfall;
And Thee, the Spirit of them all!


* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1837.

. . . this . . . 1807. ]


[Variant 2:

1827.

In truth together ye do seem 1807.

In truth, unfolding thus, ye seem 1837.

The text of 1845 returns to that of 1827. ]


[Variant 3: The two preceding lines were added in 1845. ]


[Variant 4:

1845.

Yet, dream and vision . . . 1807.

. . . or vision . . . 1837. ]


[Variant 5:

1845.

I neither know thee . . . 1807. ]


[Variant 6:

1827.

Sweet looks, . . . 1807. ]


* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A:

"The distribution of 'these,' 'that,' and 'those' in these two lines,
was attained in 1845, after various changes. "

(Edward Dowden. )]


[Footnote B: Compare Virgil's 'Eclogues', x. 35:

'Atque utinam ex vobis unus, etc. '

Ed. ]



In her 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland', 1803, Dorothy
Wordsworth writes:

"Sunday, August 28th. --. . . After long waiting, the girls, who had been
on the look-out, informed us that the boat was coming. I went to the
waterside, and saw a cluster of people on the opposite shore; but,
being yet at a distance, they looked more like soldiers surrounding a
carriage than a group of men and women; red and green were the
distinguishable colours. We hastened to get ourselves ready as soon as
we saw the party approach, but had longer to wait than we expected,
the lake being wider than it appears to be. As they drew near we could
distinguish men in tartan plaids, women in scarlet cloaks, and green
umbrellas by the half-dozen. The landing was as pretty a sight as ever
I saw. The bay, which had been so quiet two days before, was all in
motion with small waves, while the swollen waterfall roared in our
ears. The boat came steadily up, being pressed almost to the water's
edge by the weight of its cargo; perhaps twenty people landed, one
after another. It did not rain much, but the women held up their
umbrellas; they were dressed in all the colours of the rainbow, and
with their scarlet cardinals, the tartan plaids of the men, and Scotch
bonnets, made a gay appearance. There was a joyous bustle surrounding
the boat, which even imparted something of the same character to the
waterfall in its tumult, and the restless grey waves; the young men
laughed and shouted, the lasses laughed, and the elder folks seemed to
be in a bustle to be away. I remember well with what haste the
mistress of the house where we were ran up to seek after her child,
and seeing us, how anxiously and kindly she inquired how we had fared,
if we had had a good fire, had been well waited upon, etc. All this in
three minutes--for the boatman had another party to bring from the
other side, and hurried us off.

"The hospitality we had met with at the two cottages and Mr.
Macfarlane's gave us very favourable impressions on this our first
entrance into the Highlands, and at this day the innocent merriment of
the girls, with their kindness to us, and the beautiful face and
figure of the elder, come to my mind whenever I think of the
ferry-house and waterfall of Loch Lomond, and I never think of the two
girls but the whole image of that romantic spot is before me, a living
image as it will be to my dying day. The following poem was written by
William not long after our return from Scotland. "

Compare the poem called 'The Three Cottage Girls', in the "Memorials of
a Tour on the Continent, 1820," published in 1822. --Ed.





* * * * *





GLEN-ALMAIN; OR, THE NARROW GLEN


Composed (possibly) in 1803. --Published 1807


Classed in 1815 and 1820 with the "Poems of the Imagination. "--Ed.




In this still place, remote from men,
Sleeps Ossian, in the NARROW GLEN;
In this still place, where murmurs on
But one meek streamlet, only one:
He sang of battles, and the breath 5
Of stormy war, and violent death;
And should, methinks, when all was past,
Have rightfully been laid at last
Where rocks were rudely heaped, and rent
As by a spirit turbulent; 10
Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild,
And everything unreconciled;
In some complaining, dim retreat,
For fear and melancholy meet;
But this is calm; there cannot be 15
A more entire tranquillity.

Does then the Bard sleep here indeed?
Or is it but a groundless creed?
What matters it? --I blame them not
Whose Fancy in this lonely Spot 20
Was moved; and in such [1] way expressed
Their notion of its perfect rest.
A convent, even a hermit's cell,
Would break the silence of this Dell: [A]
It is not quiet, is not ease; 25
But something deeper far than these:
The separation that is here
Is of the grave; and of austere
Yet [2] happy feelings of the dead:
And, therefore, was it rightly said 30
That Ossian, last of all his race!
Lies buried in this lonely place.


* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1827.

. . . in this . . . 1807. ]


[Variant 2:

1827.

And . . . 1807. ]


* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Compare the poem 'To the Lady Fleming', stanza iii. ll.
28-9. --Ed. ]


The glen is Glenalmond, in Perthshire, between Crieff and Amulree, known
locally as "the Sma' Glen. " I am not aware that it was ever called "Glen
Almain," till Wordsworth gave it that singularly un-Scottish name. [B]
It must have been a warm August day, after a tract of dry weather, when
he went through it, or the Almond would scarcely have been called a
"small streamlet. " In many seasons of the year the distinctive features
of the Glen would be more appropriately indicated by the words, which
the poet uses by way of contrast with his own experience of it, viz. a
place

'Where sights are rough, and sounds are wild,
And everything unreconciled. '

But his characterization of the place--a glen, the charm of which is
little known--in the stillness of an autumn afternoon, is as true to
nature as any of his interpretations of the spirit of the hills and
vales of Westmoreland. As yet there is no farm-house, scarcely even a
sheiling, to "break the silence of this Dell. "

The following is Dorothy Wordsworth's account of their walk through it
on Friday, September 9th, 1803:

"Entered the glen at a small hamlet at some distance from the head,
and, turning aside a few steps, ascended a hillock which commanded a
view to the top of it--a very sweet scene, a green valley, not very
narrow, with a few scattered trees and huts, almost invisible in a
misty green of afternoon light. At this hamlet we crossed a bridge,
and the road led us down the glen, which had become exceedingly
narrow, and so continued to the end: the hills on both sides heathy
and rocky, very steep, but continuous; the rock not single or
overhanging, not scooped into caverns, or sounding with torrents;
there are no trees, no houses, no traces of cultivation, not one
outstanding object. It is truly a solitude, the road even making it
appear still more so; the bottom of the valley is mostly smooth and
level, the brook not noisy: everything is simple and undisturbed, and
while we passed through it the whole place was shady, cool, clear, and
solemn. At the end of the long valley we ascended a hill to a great
height, and reached the top, when the sun, on the point of setting,
shed a soft yellow light upon every eminence. The prospect was very
extensive; over hollows and plains, no towns, and few houses
visible--a prospect, extensive as it was, in harmony with the secluded
dell, and fixing its own peculiar character of removedness from the
world, and the secure possession of the quiet of nature more deeply in
our minds. The following poem was written by William on hearing of a
tradition relating to it, which we did not know when we were there. "

Ed.


[Footnote B: In the Statistical Account of Scotland, however--drawn up
by the parish ministers of the county, and edited by Sir John
Sinclair--both the river and the glen are spelt Almon, by the Rev. Mr.
Erskine, who wrote the account of Monzie Parish in Perthshire. This was
in 1795. A recent authority states:

"'Glenamon,' in Ayrshire, and 'Glenalmond,' in Perthshire, are both
from the corrupted spelling of the word 'Avon,' which derives from its
being very nearly the pronunciation of the Gaelic word for 'a river. '
These names are from 'Gleann-abhuinn,' that is,'the valley of the
river. '"

(See the 'Gaelic Topography of Scotland', by James A. Robertson,
Edinburgh, 1859. )--Ed. ]





* * * * *





STEPPING WESTWARD


Composed between 1803 and 1805. --Published 1807


While my Fellow-traveller and I were walking by the side of Loch
Ketterine, one fine evening after sun-set, in our road to a Hut where in
the course of our Tour we had been hospitably entertained some weeks
before, we met, in one of the loneliest parts of that solitary region,
two well dressed Women, one of whom said to us, by way of greeting,
"What, you are stepping westward? "--W. W. 1807.

Classed in 1815 and 1820 among the "Poems of the Imagination. "--Ed.




"_What, you are stepping westward? "--" Yea_. "
'Twould be a _wildish_ [A] destiny,
If we, who thus together roam
In a strange Land, and far from home,
Were in this place the guests of Chance: 5
Yet who would stop, or fear to advance,
Though home or shelter he had none,
With such a sky to lead him on?

The dewy ground was dark and cold;
Behind, all gloomy to behold; 10
And stepping westward seemed to be
A kind of _heavenly_ destiny:
I liked the greeting; 'twas a sound
Of something without place or bound;
And seemed to give me spiritual right 15
To travel through that region bright.

The voice was soft, and she who spake
Was walking by her native lake:
The salutation had to me [1]
The very sound of courtesy: 20
Its power was felt; and while my eye
Was fixed upon the glowing Sky,
The echo of the voice enwrought
A human sweetness with the thought
Of travelling through the world that lay 25
Before me in my endless way.


* * * * *

VARIANT ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1807.

. . . seemed to me

In MS. letter to Sir G. Beaumont. N. D. ]


* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Italics were first used in 1855. --Ed. ]



The following is from the 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland':

"Sunday, Sept. 11th. --We have never had a more delightful walk than
this evening. Ben Lomond and the three pointed-topped mountains of
Loch Lomond, which we had seen from the garrison, were very majestic
under the clear sky, the lake perfectly calm, the air sweet and mild.
I felt that it was much more interesting to visit a place where we
have been before than it can possibly be the first time, except under
peculiar circumstances. The sun had been set for some time, when,
being within a quarter of a mile of the ferry man's hut, our path
having led us close to the shore of the calm lake, we met two
neatly-dressed women, without hats, who had probably been taking their
Sunday evening's walk. One of them said to us in a friendly, soft tone
of voice, 'What, you are stepping westward? ' I cannot describe how
affecting this simple expression was in that remote place, with the
western sky in front, yet glowing with the departed sun. William wrote
the following poem long after, in remembrance of his feelings and
mine. "

Ed.





* * * * *





THE SOLITARY REAPER


Composed between 1803 and 1805. --Published 1807


One of the "Poems of the Imagination" in 1815 and 1820. --Ed.




Behold her, single [1] in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 5
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands [2] 10
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard [3]
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas [A] 15
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings? --
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago: 20
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang [4] 25
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;--
I listened, motionless and still; [5]
And, as [6] I mounted up the hill, 30
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.


* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1807.

. . . singing . . .

MS. ]


[Variant 2:

1827.

So sweetly to reposing bands 1807. ]


[Variant 3:

1837.

No sweeter voice was ever heard 1807.

. . . sound . . . MS.

Such thrilling voice was never heard 1827. ]


[Variant 4:

1815.

. . . sung 1807. ]


[Variant 5:

1820.

I listen'd till I had my fill: 1807. ]


[Variant 6:

1807.

And when . . . 1827.

The text of 1837 returns to that of 1807. ]


* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Compare 'The Ancient Mariner'(part ii. stanza 6):

'And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea. '

Ed. ]



The following is from Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections' of the Tour:
13th Sept. 1803.

"As we descended, the scene became more fertile, our way being
pleasantly varied--through coppices or open fields, and passing
farm-houses, though always with an intermixture of cultivated ground.
It was harvest-time, and the fields were quietly--might I be allowed
to say pensively? --enlivened by small companies of reapers. It is not
uncommon in the more lonely parts of the Highlands to see a single
person so employed. The following poem was suggested to William by a
beautiful sentence in Thomas Wilkinson's 'Tour in Scotland. '"

In a note appended to the editions 1807 to 1820, Wordsworth wrote:

"This Poem was suggested by a beautiful sentence in a MS. 'Tour in
Scotland,' written by a Friend, the last line being taken from it
_verbatim_. "

The first part of Wilkinson's 'Tours to the British Mountains', which
was published in 1824, narrates his journey in Scotland (it took place
in 1787); and the following sentence occurs in the record of his travels
near Loch Lomond (p. 12),

"Passed a female who was reaping alone: she sung in Erse, as she
bended over her sickle; the sweetest human voice I ever heard: her
strains were tenderly melancholy, and felt delicious, long after they
were heard no more. "

There can be no doubt that this is the sentence referred to both by
Dorothy and William Wordsworth. Thomas Wilkinson was the friend, in
whose memory Wordsworth wrote the poem 'To the Spade of a Friend,
composed while we were labouring together in his pleasure-ground'. They
were comparatively near neighbours, as Wilkinson lived near Yanwath on
the Emont; and he had given his MS. to the Wordsworth family to read. I
have received some additional information about this MS. , and
Wordsworth's knowledge of it, from Mr. Wilson Robinson, who writes,

"From all the evidence, I conclude that Wilkinson's 'Tour to the
Highlands' was shown in manuscript to his friends soon after his
return;--that he was not only willing to show it, but even to allow it
to be copied, though reluctant to publish it;--that there was
sufficient intimacy between him and the Wordsworths to account for his
showing or lending the manuscript to them, especially as they had
travelled over much of the same ground, and would therefore be more
interested in it; and that in fact it was never published till 1824. "

When Wordsworth was living at Coleorton during the late autumn of 1806
he wrote to Wilkinson:

". . . What shall I say in apology for your Journal, which is now locked
up with my manuscripts at Grasmere. As I could not go over to your
part of the country myself, my intention was to have taken it with me
to Kendal . . . to be carefully transmitted to you; unluckily, most
unluckily, in the hurry of departure, I forgot it, together with two
of my own manuscripts which were along with it; and I am afraid you
will be standing in great need of it. . . . If you do not want it, it is
in a place where it can take no injury, and I may have the pleasure of
delivering it to you myself in the spring. . . . "

Ed.





* * * * *





ADDRESS TO KILCHURN CASTLE

UPON LOCH AWE


Begun 1803. --Published 1827


"From the top of the hill a most impressive scene opened upon our
view,--a ruined Castle on an Island (for an Island the flood had made
it) [A] at some distance from the shore, backed by a Cove of the
Mountain Cruachan, down which came a foaming stream. The Castle
occupied every foot of the Island that was visible to us, appearing to
rise out of the Water,--mists rested upon the mountain side, with
spots of sunshine; there was a mild desolation in the low-grounds, a
solemn grandeur in the mountains, and the Castle was wild, yet
stately--not dismantled of Turrets--nor the walls broken down, though
obviously a ruin. "

'Extract from the Journal of my Companion. '--W. W. 1827.

[The first three lines were thrown off at the moment I first caught
sight of the Ruin, from a small eminence by the wayside; the rest was
added many years after. --I. F. ]




Child of loud-throated War! the mountain Stream
Roars in thy hearing; but thy hour of rest
Is come, and thou art silent in thy age;
Save when the wind sweeps by and sounds are caught
Ambiguous, neither wholly thine nor theirs. 5
Oh! there is life that breathes not; Powers there are
That touch each other to the quick in modes
Which the gross world no sense hath to perceive,
No soul to dream of. What art Thou, from care
Cast off--abandoned by thy rugged Sire, 10
Nor by soft Peace adopted; though, in place
And in dimension, such that thou might'st seem
But a mere footstool to yon sovereign Lord,
Huge Cruachan, (a thing that meaner hills
Might crush, nor know that it had suffered harm;) 15
Yet he, not loth, in favour of thy claims
To reverence, suspends his own; submitting
All that the God of Nature hath conferred,
All that he holds [1] in common with the stars,
To the memorial majesty of Time 20
Impersonated in thy calm decay!

Take, then, thy seat, Vicegerent unreproved!
Now, while a farewell gleam of evening light
Is fondly lingering on thy shattered front,
Do thou, in turn, be paramount; and rule 25
Over the pomp and beauty of a scene
Whose mountains, torrents, lake, and woods, unite
To pay thee homage; and with these are joined,
In willing admiration and respect,
Two Hearts, which in thy presence might be called 30
Youthful as Spring. --Shade of departed Power,
Skeleton of unfleshed humanity,
The chronicle were welcome that should call
Into the compass of distinct regard
The toils and struggles of thy infant years! [2] 35
Yon foaming flood seems motionless as ice;
Its dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,
Frozen by distance; so, majestic Pile,
To the perception of this Age, appear
Thy fierce beginnings, softened and subdued 40
And quieted in character--the strife,
The pride, the fury uncontrollable,
Lost on the aerial heights of the Crusades! " [B]


* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1837.

. . . has . . . 1827. ]


[Variant 2:

1845.

. . . of thy infancy! 1827. ]


* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: The clause within brackets was added in 1837. --Ed. ]


[Footnote B: The Tradition is, that the Castle was built by a Lady
during the absence of her Lord in Palestine. --W. W. 1827. ]



From the following passage in Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections' of
their Tour, it will be seen that the poet altered the text considerably
in making his quotation in 1827: August 31, 1803.

"When we had ascended half-way up the hill, directed by the man, I
took a nearer foot-path, and at the top came in view of a most
impressive scene, a ruined castle on an island almost in the middle of
the last compartment of the lake, backed by a mountain cove, down
which came a roaring stream. The castle occupied every foot of the
island that was visible to us, appearing to rise out of the water;
mists rested upon the mountain side, with spots of sunshine between;
there was a mild desolation in the low grounds, a solemn grandeur in
the mountains, and the castle was wild, yet stately, not dismantled of
its turrets, nor the walls broken down, though completely in ruin.
After having stood some minutes I joined William on the highroad, and
both wishing to stay longer near this place, we requested the man to
drive his little boy on to Dalmally, about two miles further, and
leave the car at the inn. He told us the ruin was called Kilchurn
Castle, that it belonged to Lord Breadalbane, and had been built by
one of the ladies of that family for her defence, during her lord's
absence at the Crusades; for which purpose she levied a tax of seven
years' rent upon her tenants; he said that from that side of the lake
it did not appear, in very dry weather, to stand upon an island, but
that it was possible to go over to it without being wet-shod.