I'll hurl thee
headlong
with the rock
To which thy fibres cling.
To which thy fibres cling.
William Wordsworth
--Published 1800
[It is not accurate that the Eminence here alluded to could be seen from
our orchard-seat. It rises above the road by the side of Grasmere Lake
towards Keswick, and its name is Stone-Arthur. --I. F. ]
There is an Eminence,--of these our hills
The last that parleys with the setting sun;
We can behold it from our orchard-seat;
And, when at evening we pursue our walk
Along the public way, this Peak, [1] so high 5
Above us, and so distant in its height,
Is visible; and often seems to send
Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts.
The meteors make of it a favourite haunt:
The star of Jove, so beautiful and large 10
In the mid heavens, is never half so fair
As when he shines above it. 'Tis in truth
The loneliest place we have among the clouds.
And She who dwells with me, whom I have loved
With such communion, that no place on earth 15
Can ever be a solitude to me,
Hath to this lonely Summit given my Name. [2]
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1840.
. . . this Cliff, . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 2:
1815.
Hath said, this lonesome Peak shall bear my Name. 1800. ]
Stone-Arthur is the name of the hill, on the east side of the Vale of
Grasmere, opposite Helm Crag, and between Green Head Ghyll and Tongue
Ghyll. --Ed.
* * * * *
"A NARROW GIRDLE OF ROUGH STONES AND CRAGS"
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
[The character of the eastern shore of Grasmere Lake is quite changed
since these verses were written, by the public road being carried along
its side. The friends spoken of were Coleridge and my Sister, and the
facts occurred strictly as recorded. --I. F. ]
A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags,
A rude and natural causeway, interposed
Between the water and a winding slope
Of copse and thicket, leaves the eastern shore
Of Grasmere safe in its own privacy: [A] 5
And there myself and two beloved Friends,
One calm September morning, ere the mist
Had altogether yielded to the sun,
Sauntered on this retired and difficult way.
--Ill suits the road with one in haste; but we 10
Played with our time; and, as we strolled along,
It was our occupation to observe
Such objects as the waves had tossed ashore--
Feather, or leaf, or weed, or withered bough,
Each on the other heaped, along the line 15
Of the dry wreck. And, in our vacant mood,
Not seldom did we stop to watch some tuft
Of dandelion seed or thistle's beard,
That skimmed the surface of the dead calm lake,
Suddenly halting now--a lifeless stand! 20
And starting off again with freak as sudden; [1]
In all its sportive wanderings, all the while,
Making report of an invisible breeze
That was its wings, its chariot, and its horse,
Its playmate, rather say, its moving soul. [2] 25
--And often, trifling with a privilege
Alike indulged to all, we paused, one now,
And now the other, to point out, perchance
To pluck, some flower or water-weed, too fair
Either to be divided from the place 30
On which it grew, or to be left alone
To its own beauty. Many such there are,
Fair ferns and flowers, and chiefly that tall fern, [3]
So stately, of the queen Osmunda named;
Plant lovelier, in its own retired abode 35
On Grasmere's beach, than Naiad by the side
Of Grecian brook, or Lady of the Mere,
Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
--So fared we that bright [4] morning: from the fields,
Meanwhile, a noise was heard, the busy mirth 40
Of reapers, men and women, boys and girls.
Delighted much to listen [5] to those sounds,
And feeding thus our fancies, we advanced [6]
Along the indented shore; when suddenly,
Through a thin veil of glittering haze was seen [7] 45
Before us, on a point of jutting land,
The tall and upright figure of a Man
Attired in peasant's garb, who stood alone,
Angling beside the margin of the lake. [8]
"Improvident and reckless," we exclaimed, 50
"The Man must be, who thus can lose a day [9]
Of the mid harvest, when the labourer's hire
Is ample, and some little might be stored
Wherewith to cheer him in the winter time. "
Thus talking of that Peasant, we approached 55
Close to the spot where with his rod and line
He stood alone; whereat he turned his head
To greet us--and we saw a Man worn down
By sickness, gaunt and lean, with sunken cheeks
And wasted limbs, his legs so long and lean 60
That for my single self I looked at them,
Forgetful of the body they sustained. --
Too weak to labour in the harvest field,
The Man was using his best skill to gain
A pittance from the dead unfeeling lake 65
That knew not of his wants. I will not say
What thoughts immediately were ours, nor how
The happy idleness of that sweet morn,
With all its lovely images, was changed
To serious musing and to self-reproach. 70
Nor did we fail to see within ourselves
What need there is to be reserved in speech,
And temper all our thoughts with charity.
--Therefore, unwilling to forget that day,
My Friend, Myself, and She who then received 75
The same admonishment, have called the place
By a memorial name, uncouth indeed
As e'er by mariner was given to bay
Or foreland, on a new-discovered coast;
And POINT RASH-JUDGMENT is the name it bears. 80
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1815. (Compressing five lines into three. )
. . . thistle's beard,
Which, seeming lifeless half, and half impell'd
By some internal feeling, skimm'd along
Close to the surface of the lake that lay
Asleep in a dead calm, ran closely on
Along the dead calm lake, now here, now there, 1800. ]
[Variant 2:
1820.
Its very playmate, and its moving soul. 1800. ]
[Variant 3:
1802.
. . . tall plant . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 4:
1827.
. . . sweet . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 5:
1800.
. . . with listening . . . C. ]
[Variant 6:
1820.
And in the fashion which I have describ'd,
Feeding unthinking fancies, we advanc'd 1800. ]
[Variant 7:
1827.
. . . we saw 1800. ]
[Variant 8:
1800.
. . . a lake. 1802.
The text of 1815 returns to that of 1800. ]
[Variant 9:
1827.
. . . the margin of the lake.
That way we turn'd our steps; nor was it long,
Ere making ready comments on the sight
Which then we saw, with one and the same voice
We all cried out, that he must be indeed
An idle man, who thus could lose a day 1800.
Did all cry out, that he must be indeed
An Idler, he who thus . . . 1815. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: A new road has destroyed this retirement. (MS. footnote in
Lord Coleridge's copy of the edition of 1836. )--Ed. ]
The text of this poem reached its final state in the edition of 1827.
The same is true of the poem which follows, 'To M. H. ', with the
exception of a single change.
In Wordsworth's early days at Grasmere, a wild woodland path of quiet
beauty led from Dove Cottage along the margin of the lake to the "Point"
referred to in this poem, leaving the eastern shore truly "safe in its
own privacy"--a "retired and difficult way"; the high-way road for
carriages being at that time over White Moss Common. The late Dr.
Arnold, of Rugby and Foxhowe, used to name the three roads from Rydal to
Grasmere thus: the highest, "Old Corruption"; the intermediate, "Bit by
bit Reform"; the lowest and most level, "Radical Reform. " Wordsworth was
never quite reconciled to the radical reform effected on a road that
used to be so delightfully wild and picturesque. The spot which the
three friends rather infelicitously named "Point Rash-Judgment" is
easily identified; although, as Wordsworth remarks, the character of the
shore is changed by the public road being carried along its side. The
friends were quite aware that the "memorial name" they gave it was
"uncouth. " In spite of its awkwardness, however, it will probably
survive; if not for Browning's reason
'The better the uncouther;
Do roses stick like burrs? '
at least because of the incident which gave rise to the poem.
The date of composition is fixed by Dorothy Wordsworth's
Journal,
"10th Oct. 1800, Wm. sat up after me, writing 'Point
Rash-Judgment. '"
Ed.
* * * * *
TO M. H.
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
[To Mary Hutchinson, two years before our marriage. The pool alluded to
is in Rydal Upper Park. --I. F. ]
Our walk was far among the ancient trees:
There was no road, nor any woodman's path;
But a [1] thick umbrage--checking the wild growth
Of weed and sapling, along soft green turf [2]
Beneath the branches--of itself had made 5
A track, that [3] brought us to a slip of lawn,
And a small bed of water in the woods.
All round this pool both flocks and herds might drink
On its firm margin, even as from a well,
Or some stone-basin which the herdsman's hand 10
Had shaped for their refreshment; nor did sun,
Or wind from any quarter, ever come,
But as a blessing to this calm recess,
This glade of water and this one green field.
The spot was made by Nature for herself; 15
The travellers know it not, and 'twill remain
Unknown to them; but it is beautiful;
And if a man should plant his cottage near,
Should sleep beneath the shelter of its trees,
And blend its waters with his daily meal, 20
He would so love it, that in his death-hour
Its image would survive among his thoughts:
And therefore, my sweet MARY, this still Nook,
With all its beeches, we have named from You! [4]
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1836.
But the . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 2:
1827.
. . . on the soft green turf 1800.
. . . smooth dry ground MS. ]
[Variant 3:
1827.
. . . which . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 4:
1800.
. . . for You. 1802.
The text of 1815 returns to that of 1800. ]
To find the pool referred to in the Fenwick note, I have carefully
examined the course of Rydal beck, all the way up to the foot of the
Fell. There is a pool beyond the enclosures of the Hall property, about
five hundred feet above Rydal Mount, which partly corresponds to the
description in the poem, but there is no wood around it now; and the
trees which skirt its margin are birch, ash, oak, and hazel, but there
are no beeches. It is a short way below some fine specimens of ice-worn
rocks, which are to the right of the stream as you ascend it, and above
these rocks is a well-marked moraine. It is a deep crystal pool, and has
a "firm margin" of (artificially placed) stones. This may be the spot
described in the poem; or another, within the grounds of the Hall, may
be the place referred to. It is a sequestered nook, beside the third
waterfall as you ascend the beck--this third cascade being itself a
treble fall. Seen two or three days after rain, when the stream is full
enough to break over the whole face of the rock in showers of snowy
brightness, yet low enough to shew the rock behind its transparent veil,
it is specially beautiful. Trees change so much in eighty years that the
absence of "beeches" now would not make this site impossible. In a MS.
copy of the poem (of date Dec. 28, 1800), the last line is
'With all its poplars, we have named from you. '
Of the circular pool beneath this fall it may be said, as Wordsworth
describes it, that
'. . . both flocks and herds might drink
On its firm margin, even as from a well;'
and a "small slip of lawn" might easily have existed there in his time.
We cannot, however, be confident as to the locality, and I add the
opinion of several, whose judgment may be deferred to. Dr. Cradock
writes:
"As to Mary Hutchinson's pool, I think that it was not on the beck
anywhere, but some detached little pool, far up the hill, to the
eastwards of the Hall, in 'the woods. ' The description does not well
suit any part of Rydal beck; and no spot thereon could long 'remain
unknown,' as the brook was until lately much haunted by anglers. "
My difficulty as to a site "far up the hill" is, that it must have been
a pool of some size, if "both flocks and herds might drink" all round
it; and there is no stream, scarce even a rill that joins Rydal beck on
the right, all the way up from its junction with the Rothay. The late
Mr. Hull of Rydal Cottage, wrote:
"Although closely acquainted with every nook about Rydal Park, I have
never been able to discover any spot corresponding to that described
in Wordsworth's lines to M. H. It is possible, however, that the
'small bed of water' may have been a temporary rain pool, such as
sometimes lodges in the hollows on the mountain-slope after heavy
rain. "
Mr. F. M. Jones, the agent of the Rydal property, writes:
"I do not know of any pool of water in the Upper Rydal Park. There are
some pools up the river, 'Mirror Pool' among them; but I hardly think
there can ever have been 'beech-trees' growing near them. "
There are many difficulties, and the place cannot now be identified.
Wordsworth's own wish will doubtless be realised,
'The travellers know it not, and 'twill remain
Unknown to them. '
Ed.
* * * * *
THE WATERFALL AND THE EGLANTINE
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
[Suggested nearer to Grasmere, in the same mountain track as that
referred to in the following note. The Eglantine remained many years
afterwards, but is now gone. --I. F. ]
Included among the "Poems of the Fancy. "--Ed.
I "Begone, thou fond presumptuous Elf,"
Exclaimed an angry Voice, [1]
"Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self
Between me and my choice! "
A small Cascade fresh swoln with snows 5
Thus threatened a poor Briar-rose, [2]
That, all bespattered with his foam,
And dancing high and dancing low,
Was living, as a child might know,
In an unhappy home. 10
II "Dost thou presume my course to block?
Off, off! or, puny Thing!
I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock
To which thy fibres cling. "
The Flood was tyrannous and strong; [A] 15
The patient Briar suffered long,
Nor did he utter groan or sigh,
Hoping the danger would be past;
But, seeing no relief, at last,
He ventured to reply. 20
III "Ah! " said the Briar, "blame me not;
Why should we dwell in strife?
We who in this sequestered spot [3]
Once lived a happy life!
You stirred me on my rocky bed--25
What pleasure through my veins you spread
The summer long, from day to day,
My leaves you freshened and bedewed;
Nor was it common gratitude
That did your cares repay. 30
IV "When spring came on with bud and bell, [B]
Among these rocks did I
Before you hang my wreaths [4] to tell
That gentle days were nigh!
And in the sultry summer hours, 35
I sheltered you with leaves and flowers;
And in my leaves--now shed and gone,
The linnet lodged, and for us two
Chanted his pretty songs, when you
Had little voice or none. 40
V "But now proud thoughts are in your breast--
What grief is mine you see,
Ah! would you think, even yet how blest
Together we might be!
Though of both leaf and flower bereft, 45
Some ornaments to me are left--
Rich store of scarlet hips is mine,
With which I, in my humble way,
Would deck you many a winter day, [5]
A happy Eglantine! " 50
VI What more he said I cannot tell,
The Torrent down the rocky dell
Came thundering loud and fast; [6]
I listened, nor aught else could hear;
The Briar quaked--and much I fear 55
Those accents were his last.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1836.
. . . a thundering Voice, 1800. ]
[Variant 2:
1820.
A falling Water swoln with snows
Thus spake to a poor Briar-rose, 1800. ]
[Variant 3:
1820.
. . . in this, our natal spot, 1800. ]
[Variant 4:
1815.
. . . wreath . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 5:
1836.
. . . Winter's day, 1800. ]
[Variant 6:
1840.
The stream came thundering down the dell
And gallop'd loud and fast; 1800.
The Torrent thundered down the dell
With unabating haste; 1815.
With aggravated haste; 1827.
The Stream came thundering down the dell 1836. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Compare 'The Ancient Mariner' (part I. stanza II. ):
And now the Storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong.
Ed. ]
[Footnote B: Compare 'A Farewell', p. 325, l. 17. --Ed. ]
The spot referred to in this poem can be identified with perfect
accuracy. The Eglantine grew on the little brook that runs past two
cottages (close to the path under Nab Scar), which have been built since
the poet's time, and are marked Brockstone on the Ordnance Map.
"The plant itself of course has long disappeared: but in following up
the rill through the copse, above the cottages, I found an unusually
large Eglantine, growing by the side of the stream. "
(Dr Cradock to the editor, in 1877. ) It still grows luxuriantly there.
The following extract from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal illustrates both
this and the next poem:
"Friday, 23rd April 1802. --It being a beautiful morning, we set off at
eleven o'clock, intending to stay out of doors all the morning. We
went towards Rydal, under Nab Scar. The sun shone and we were lazy.
Coleridge pitched upon several places to sit down upon; but we could
not be all of one mind respecting sun and shade, so we pushed on to
the foot of the Scar. It was very grand when we looked up, very stony;
here and there a budding tree. William observed that the umbrella
Yew-tree that breasts the wind had lost its character as a tree, and
had become like solid wood. Coleridge and I pushed on before. We left
William sitting on the stones, feasting with silence, and I sat down
upon a rocky seat, a couch it might be, under the Bower of William's
'Eglantine,' 'Andrew's Broom. ' He was below us, and we could see him.
He came to us, and repeated his Poems, while we sat beside him. We
lingered long, looking into the vales; Ambleside Vale, with the
copses, the village under the hill, and the green fields; Rydale, with
a lake all alive and glittering, yet but little stirred by breezes;
and our own dear Grasmere, making a little round lake of Nature's own,
with never a house, never a green field, but the copses and the bare
hills enclosing it, and the river flowing out of it. Above rose the
Coniston Fells, in their own shape and colour, . . . the sky, and the
clouds, and a few wild creatures. Coleridge went to search for
something new. We saw him climbing up towards a rock. He called us,
and we found him in a bower,--the sweetest that was ever seen. The
rock on one side is very high, and all covered with ivy, which hung
loosely about, and bore bunches of brown berries. On the other side,
it was higher than my head. We looked down on the Ambleside vale, that
seemed to wind away from us, the village lying under the hill. The fir
tree island was reflected beautifully. . . . About this bower there is
mountain-ash, common ash, yew tree, ivy, holly, hawthorn, roses,
flowers, and a carpet of moss. Above at the top of the rock there is
another spot. It is scarce a bower, a little parlour, not enclosed by
walls, but shaped out for a resting-place by the rocks, and the ground
rising about it. It had a sweet moss carpet. We resolved to go and
plant flowers, in both these places to-morrow. "
This extract is taken from the "Journal" as originally transcribed by me
in 1889. When it appears in this edition it will be greatly
enlarged. --Ed.
* * * * *
THE OAK AND THE BROOM
A PASTORAL
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
[Suggested upon the mountain pathway that leads from Upper Rydal to
Grasmere. The ponderous block of stone, which is mentioned in the poem,
remains, I believe, to this day, a good way up Nab-Scar. Broom grows
under it, and in many places on the side of the precipice. --I. F. ]
One of the "Poems of the Fancy. "--Ed.
I His simple truths did Andrew glean
Beside the babbling rills;
A careful student he had been
Among the woods and hills.
One winter's night, when through the trees 5
The wind was roaring, [1] on his knees
His youngest born did Andrew hold:
And while the rest, a ruddy quire,
Were seated round their blazing fire,
This Tale the Shepherd told. 10
II "I saw a crag, a lofty stone
As ever tempest beat!
Out of its head an Oak had grown,
A Broom out of its feet.
The time was March, a cheerful noon--15
The thaw wind, with the breath of June,
Breathed gently from the warm south-west:
When, in a voice sedate with age,
This Oak, a giant and a sage, [2]
His neighbour thus addressed:--20
III "'Eight weary weeks, through rock and clay,
Along this mountain's edge,
The Frost hath wrought both night and day,
Wedge driving after wedge.
Look up! and think, above your head 25
What trouble, surely, will be bred;
Last night I heard a crash--'tis true,
The splinters took another road--
I see them yonder--what a load
For such a Thing as you! 30
IV "'You are preparing as before
To deck your slender shape;
And yet, just three years back--no more--
You had a strange escape:
Down from yon cliff a fragment broke; 35
It thundered down, with fire and smoke,
And hitherward pursued its way; [3]
This ponderous block was caught by me,
And o'er your head, as you may see,
'Tis hanging to this day! 40
V "'If breeze or bird to this rough steep
Your kind's first seed did bear;
The breeze had better been asleep,
The bird caught in a snare: [4]
For you and your green twigs decoy 45
The little witless shepherd-boy
To come and slumber in your bower;
And, trust me, on some sultry noon,
Both you and he, Heaven knows how soon!
Will perish in one hour. 50
VI "'From me this friendly warning take'--
The Broom began to doze,
And thus, to keep herself awake,
Did gently interpose:
'My thanks for your discourse are due; 55
That more than what you say is true, [5]
I know, and I have known it long;
Frail is the bond by which we hold
Our being, whether young or old, [6]
Wise, foolish, weak, or strong. 60
VII "'Disasters, do the best we can,
Will reach both great and small;
And he is oft the wisest man,
Who is not wise at all.
For me, why should I wish to roam? 65
This spot is my paternal home,
It is my pleasant heritage;
My father many a happy year,
Spread here [7] his careless blossoms, here
Attained a good old age. 70
VIII "'Even such as his may be my lot.
What cause have I to haunt
My heart with terrors? Am I not
In truth a favoured plant!
On me such bounty Summer pours, 75
That I am covered o'er with flowers; [8]
And, when the Frost is in the sky,
My branches are so fresh and gay
That you might look at me [9] and say,
This Plant can never die. 80
IX "'The butterfly, all green and gold,
To me hath often flown,
Here in my blossoms to behold
Wings lovely as his own.
When grass is chill with rain or dew, 85
Beneath my shade, the mother-ewe
Lies with her infant lamb; I see
The love they to each other make,
And the sweet joy which they partake,
It is a joy to me. ' 90
X "Her voice was blithe, her heart was light;
The Broom might have pursued
Her speech, until the stars of night
Their journey had renewed;
But in the branches of the oak 95
Two ravens now began to croak
Their nuptial song, a gladsome air;
And to her own green bower the breeze
That instant brought two stripling bees
To rest, or [10] murmur there. 100
XI "One night, my Children! from the north
There came a furious blast; [11]
At break of day I ventured forth,
And near the cliff I passed.
The storm had fallen upon the Oak, 105
And struck him with a mighty stroke,
And whirled, and whirled him far away;
And, in one hospitable cleft,
The little careless Broom was left
To live for many a day. " 110
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1820.
. . . thundering, . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 2:
1815.
. . . half giant and half sage, 1800. ]
[Variant 3:
1820.
It came, you know, with fire and smoke
And hither did it bend its way. 1800.
And hitherward it bent its way. 1802. ]
[Variant 4:
1836.
The Thing had better been asleep,
Whatever thing it were,
Or Breeze, or Bird, or fleece of Sheep,
That first did plant you there. 1800.
Or Breeze, or Bird, or Dog, or Sheep, 1802. ]
[Variant 5:
1820.
That it is true, and more than true, 1800. ]
[Variant 6:
1827.
. . . be we young or old, 1800. ]
[Variant 7:
1836.
Here spread . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 8:
1815.
The Spring for me a garland weaves
Of yellow flowers and verdant leaves, 1800. ]
[Variant 9:
1802.
. . . on me . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 10:
1827.
To feed and . . . 1800.
To rest and . . . 1815. ]
[Variant 11:
1815.
One night the Wind came from the North
And blew a furious blast, 1800. ]
The spot is fixed within narrow limits by the Fenwick note. It is,
beyond doubt, on the wooded part of Nab-Scar, through which the upper
path from Grasmere to Rydal passes. There is one huge block of stone
high above the path, which answers well to the description in the second
stanza. Crabb Robinson wrote in his 'Diary' (Sept. 11, 1816):
"The poem of 'The Oak and the Broom' proceeded from his" (Wordsworth)
"beholding a tree in just such a situation as he described the broom
to be in. "
Ed.
* * * * *
"'TIS SAID, THAT SOME HAVE DIED FOR LOVE"
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
One of the "Poems founded on the Affections. "--Ed.
'Tis said, that some have died for love:
And here and there a church-yard grave is found
In the cold north's unhallowed ground,
Because the wretched man himself had slain,
His love was such a grievous pain. 5
And there is one whom I five years have known;
He dwells alone
Upon Helvellyn's side:
He loved--the pretty Barbara died;
And thus he makes his moan: 10
Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid
When thus his moan he made:
"Oh, move, thou Cottage, from behind that oak!
Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,
That in some other way yon smoke 15
May mount into the sky!
The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart:
I look--the sky is empty space;
I know not what I trace;
But when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart. 20
"O! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves,
That murmur once so dear, when will it cease?
Your sound my heart of rest bereaves,
It robs my heart of peace. [1]
Thou Thrush, that singest loud--and loud and free, 25
Into yon row of willows flit,
Upon that alder sit;
Or sing another song, or choose another tree.
"Roll back, sweet Rill! back to thy mountain-bounds,
And there for ever be thy waters chained! 30
For thou dost haunt the air with sounds
That cannot be sustained;
If still beneath that [2] pine-tree's ragged bough
Headlong yon waterfall must come,
Oh let it then be dumb! 35
Be anything, sweet Rill, but that which thou art now.
"Thou Eglantine, so bright with sunny showers,
Proud as a rainbow spanning half the vale, [3]
Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers,
And stir not in the gale. 40
For thus to see thee nodding in the air,
To see thy arch thus stretch and bend,
Thus rise and thus descend,--
Disturbs me till the sight is more than I can bear.
[It is not accurate that the Eminence here alluded to could be seen from
our orchard-seat. It rises above the road by the side of Grasmere Lake
towards Keswick, and its name is Stone-Arthur. --I. F. ]
There is an Eminence,--of these our hills
The last that parleys with the setting sun;
We can behold it from our orchard-seat;
And, when at evening we pursue our walk
Along the public way, this Peak, [1] so high 5
Above us, and so distant in its height,
Is visible; and often seems to send
Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts.
The meteors make of it a favourite haunt:
The star of Jove, so beautiful and large 10
In the mid heavens, is never half so fair
As when he shines above it. 'Tis in truth
The loneliest place we have among the clouds.
And She who dwells with me, whom I have loved
With such communion, that no place on earth 15
Can ever be a solitude to me,
Hath to this lonely Summit given my Name. [2]
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1840.
. . . this Cliff, . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 2:
1815.
Hath said, this lonesome Peak shall bear my Name. 1800. ]
Stone-Arthur is the name of the hill, on the east side of the Vale of
Grasmere, opposite Helm Crag, and between Green Head Ghyll and Tongue
Ghyll. --Ed.
* * * * *
"A NARROW GIRDLE OF ROUGH STONES AND CRAGS"
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
[The character of the eastern shore of Grasmere Lake is quite changed
since these verses were written, by the public road being carried along
its side. The friends spoken of were Coleridge and my Sister, and the
facts occurred strictly as recorded. --I. F. ]
A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags,
A rude and natural causeway, interposed
Between the water and a winding slope
Of copse and thicket, leaves the eastern shore
Of Grasmere safe in its own privacy: [A] 5
And there myself and two beloved Friends,
One calm September morning, ere the mist
Had altogether yielded to the sun,
Sauntered on this retired and difficult way.
--Ill suits the road with one in haste; but we 10
Played with our time; and, as we strolled along,
It was our occupation to observe
Such objects as the waves had tossed ashore--
Feather, or leaf, or weed, or withered bough,
Each on the other heaped, along the line 15
Of the dry wreck. And, in our vacant mood,
Not seldom did we stop to watch some tuft
Of dandelion seed or thistle's beard,
That skimmed the surface of the dead calm lake,
Suddenly halting now--a lifeless stand! 20
And starting off again with freak as sudden; [1]
In all its sportive wanderings, all the while,
Making report of an invisible breeze
That was its wings, its chariot, and its horse,
Its playmate, rather say, its moving soul. [2] 25
--And often, trifling with a privilege
Alike indulged to all, we paused, one now,
And now the other, to point out, perchance
To pluck, some flower or water-weed, too fair
Either to be divided from the place 30
On which it grew, or to be left alone
To its own beauty. Many such there are,
Fair ferns and flowers, and chiefly that tall fern, [3]
So stately, of the queen Osmunda named;
Plant lovelier, in its own retired abode 35
On Grasmere's beach, than Naiad by the side
Of Grecian brook, or Lady of the Mere,
Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
--So fared we that bright [4] morning: from the fields,
Meanwhile, a noise was heard, the busy mirth 40
Of reapers, men and women, boys and girls.
Delighted much to listen [5] to those sounds,
And feeding thus our fancies, we advanced [6]
Along the indented shore; when suddenly,
Through a thin veil of glittering haze was seen [7] 45
Before us, on a point of jutting land,
The tall and upright figure of a Man
Attired in peasant's garb, who stood alone,
Angling beside the margin of the lake. [8]
"Improvident and reckless," we exclaimed, 50
"The Man must be, who thus can lose a day [9]
Of the mid harvest, when the labourer's hire
Is ample, and some little might be stored
Wherewith to cheer him in the winter time. "
Thus talking of that Peasant, we approached 55
Close to the spot where with his rod and line
He stood alone; whereat he turned his head
To greet us--and we saw a Man worn down
By sickness, gaunt and lean, with sunken cheeks
And wasted limbs, his legs so long and lean 60
That for my single self I looked at them,
Forgetful of the body they sustained. --
Too weak to labour in the harvest field,
The Man was using his best skill to gain
A pittance from the dead unfeeling lake 65
That knew not of his wants. I will not say
What thoughts immediately were ours, nor how
The happy idleness of that sweet morn,
With all its lovely images, was changed
To serious musing and to self-reproach. 70
Nor did we fail to see within ourselves
What need there is to be reserved in speech,
And temper all our thoughts with charity.
--Therefore, unwilling to forget that day,
My Friend, Myself, and She who then received 75
The same admonishment, have called the place
By a memorial name, uncouth indeed
As e'er by mariner was given to bay
Or foreland, on a new-discovered coast;
And POINT RASH-JUDGMENT is the name it bears. 80
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1815. (Compressing five lines into three. )
. . . thistle's beard,
Which, seeming lifeless half, and half impell'd
By some internal feeling, skimm'd along
Close to the surface of the lake that lay
Asleep in a dead calm, ran closely on
Along the dead calm lake, now here, now there, 1800. ]
[Variant 2:
1820.
Its very playmate, and its moving soul. 1800. ]
[Variant 3:
1802.
. . . tall plant . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 4:
1827.
. . . sweet . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 5:
1800.
. . . with listening . . . C. ]
[Variant 6:
1820.
And in the fashion which I have describ'd,
Feeding unthinking fancies, we advanc'd 1800. ]
[Variant 7:
1827.
. . . we saw 1800. ]
[Variant 8:
1800.
. . . a lake. 1802.
The text of 1815 returns to that of 1800. ]
[Variant 9:
1827.
. . . the margin of the lake.
That way we turn'd our steps; nor was it long,
Ere making ready comments on the sight
Which then we saw, with one and the same voice
We all cried out, that he must be indeed
An idle man, who thus could lose a day 1800.
Did all cry out, that he must be indeed
An Idler, he who thus . . . 1815. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: A new road has destroyed this retirement. (MS. footnote in
Lord Coleridge's copy of the edition of 1836. )--Ed. ]
The text of this poem reached its final state in the edition of 1827.
The same is true of the poem which follows, 'To M. H. ', with the
exception of a single change.
In Wordsworth's early days at Grasmere, a wild woodland path of quiet
beauty led from Dove Cottage along the margin of the lake to the "Point"
referred to in this poem, leaving the eastern shore truly "safe in its
own privacy"--a "retired and difficult way"; the high-way road for
carriages being at that time over White Moss Common. The late Dr.
Arnold, of Rugby and Foxhowe, used to name the three roads from Rydal to
Grasmere thus: the highest, "Old Corruption"; the intermediate, "Bit by
bit Reform"; the lowest and most level, "Radical Reform. " Wordsworth was
never quite reconciled to the radical reform effected on a road that
used to be so delightfully wild and picturesque. The spot which the
three friends rather infelicitously named "Point Rash-Judgment" is
easily identified; although, as Wordsworth remarks, the character of the
shore is changed by the public road being carried along its side. The
friends were quite aware that the "memorial name" they gave it was
"uncouth. " In spite of its awkwardness, however, it will probably
survive; if not for Browning's reason
'The better the uncouther;
Do roses stick like burrs? '
at least because of the incident which gave rise to the poem.
The date of composition is fixed by Dorothy Wordsworth's
Journal,
"10th Oct. 1800, Wm. sat up after me, writing 'Point
Rash-Judgment. '"
Ed.
* * * * *
TO M. H.
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
[To Mary Hutchinson, two years before our marriage. The pool alluded to
is in Rydal Upper Park. --I. F. ]
Our walk was far among the ancient trees:
There was no road, nor any woodman's path;
But a [1] thick umbrage--checking the wild growth
Of weed and sapling, along soft green turf [2]
Beneath the branches--of itself had made 5
A track, that [3] brought us to a slip of lawn,
And a small bed of water in the woods.
All round this pool both flocks and herds might drink
On its firm margin, even as from a well,
Or some stone-basin which the herdsman's hand 10
Had shaped for their refreshment; nor did sun,
Or wind from any quarter, ever come,
But as a blessing to this calm recess,
This glade of water and this one green field.
The spot was made by Nature for herself; 15
The travellers know it not, and 'twill remain
Unknown to them; but it is beautiful;
And if a man should plant his cottage near,
Should sleep beneath the shelter of its trees,
And blend its waters with his daily meal, 20
He would so love it, that in his death-hour
Its image would survive among his thoughts:
And therefore, my sweet MARY, this still Nook,
With all its beeches, we have named from You! [4]
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1836.
But the . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 2:
1827.
. . . on the soft green turf 1800.
. . . smooth dry ground MS. ]
[Variant 3:
1827.
. . . which . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 4:
1800.
. . . for You. 1802.
The text of 1815 returns to that of 1800. ]
To find the pool referred to in the Fenwick note, I have carefully
examined the course of Rydal beck, all the way up to the foot of the
Fell. There is a pool beyond the enclosures of the Hall property, about
five hundred feet above Rydal Mount, which partly corresponds to the
description in the poem, but there is no wood around it now; and the
trees which skirt its margin are birch, ash, oak, and hazel, but there
are no beeches. It is a short way below some fine specimens of ice-worn
rocks, which are to the right of the stream as you ascend it, and above
these rocks is a well-marked moraine. It is a deep crystal pool, and has
a "firm margin" of (artificially placed) stones. This may be the spot
described in the poem; or another, within the grounds of the Hall, may
be the place referred to. It is a sequestered nook, beside the third
waterfall as you ascend the beck--this third cascade being itself a
treble fall. Seen two or three days after rain, when the stream is full
enough to break over the whole face of the rock in showers of snowy
brightness, yet low enough to shew the rock behind its transparent veil,
it is specially beautiful. Trees change so much in eighty years that the
absence of "beeches" now would not make this site impossible. In a MS.
copy of the poem (of date Dec. 28, 1800), the last line is
'With all its poplars, we have named from you. '
Of the circular pool beneath this fall it may be said, as Wordsworth
describes it, that
'. . . both flocks and herds might drink
On its firm margin, even as from a well;'
and a "small slip of lawn" might easily have existed there in his time.
We cannot, however, be confident as to the locality, and I add the
opinion of several, whose judgment may be deferred to. Dr. Cradock
writes:
"As to Mary Hutchinson's pool, I think that it was not on the beck
anywhere, but some detached little pool, far up the hill, to the
eastwards of the Hall, in 'the woods. ' The description does not well
suit any part of Rydal beck; and no spot thereon could long 'remain
unknown,' as the brook was until lately much haunted by anglers. "
My difficulty as to a site "far up the hill" is, that it must have been
a pool of some size, if "both flocks and herds might drink" all round
it; and there is no stream, scarce even a rill that joins Rydal beck on
the right, all the way up from its junction with the Rothay. The late
Mr. Hull of Rydal Cottage, wrote:
"Although closely acquainted with every nook about Rydal Park, I have
never been able to discover any spot corresponding to that described
in Wordsworth's lines to M. H. It is possible, however, that the
'small bed of water' may have been a temporary rain pool, such as
sometimes lodges in the hollows on the mountain-slope after heavy
rain. "
Mr. F. M. Jones, the agent of the Rydal property, writes:
"I do not know of any pool of water in the Upper Rydal Park. There are
some pools up the river, 'Mirror Pool' among them; but I hardly think
there can ever have been 'beech-trees' growing near them. "
There are many difficulties, and the place cannot now be identified.
Wordsworth's own wish will doubtless be realised,
'The travellers know it not, and 'twill remain
Unknown to them. '
Ed.
* * * * *
THE WATERFALL AND THE EGLANTINE
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
[Suggested nearer to Grasmere, in the same mountain track as that
referred to in the following note. The Eglantine remained many years
afterwards, but is now gone. --I. F. ]
Included among the "Poems of the Fancy. "--Ed.
I "Begone, thou fond presumptuous Elf,"
Exclaimed an angry Voice, [1]
"Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self
Between me and my choice! "
A small Cascade fresh swoln with snows 5
Thus threatened a poor Briar-rose, [2]
That, all bespattered with his foam,
And dancing high and dancing low,
Was living, as a child might know,
In an unhappy home. 10
II "Dost thou presume my course to block?
Off, off! or, puny Thing!
I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock
To which thy fibres cling. "
The Flood was tyrannous and strong; [A] 15
The patient Briar suffered long,
Nor did he utter groan or sigh,
Hoping the danger would be past;
But, seeing no relief, at last,
He ventured to reply. 20
III "Ah! " said the Briar, "blame me not;
Why should we dwell in strife?
We who in this sequestered spot [3]
Once lived a happy life!
You stirred me on my rocky bed--25
What pleasure through my veins you spread
The summer long, from day to day,
My leaves you freshened and bedewed;
Nor was it common gratitude
That did your cares repay. 30
IV "When spring came on with bud and bell, [B]
Among these rocks did I
Before you hang my wreaths [4] to tell
That gentle days were nigh!
And in the sultry summer hours, 35
I sheltered you with leaves and flowers;
And in my leaves--now shed and gone,
The linnet lodged, and for us two
Chanted his pretty songs, when you
Had little voice or none. 40
V "But now proud thoughts are in your breast--
What grief is mine you see,
Ah! would you think, even yet how blest
Together we might be!
Though of both leaf and flower bereft, 45
Some ornaments to me are left--
Rich store of scarlet hips is mine,
With which I, in my humble way,
Would deck you many a winter day, [5]
A happy Eglantine! " 50
VI What more he said I cannot tell,
The Torrent down the rocky dell
Came thundering loud and fast; [6]
I listened, nor aught else could hear;
The Briar quaked--and much I fear 55
Those accents were his last.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1836.
. . . a thundering Voice, 1800. ]
[Variant 2:
1820.
A falling Water swoln with snows
Thus spake to a poor Briar-rose, 1800. ]
[Variant 3:
1820.
. . . in this, our natal spot, 1800. ]
[Variant 4:
1815.
. . . wreath . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 5:
1836.
. . . Winter's day, 1800. ]
[Variant 6:
1840.
The stream came thundering down the dell
And gallop'd loud and fast; 1800.
The Torrent thundered down the dell
With unabating haste; 1815.
With aggravated haste; 1827.
The Stream came thundering down the dell 1836. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Compare 'The Ancient Mariner' (part I. stanza II. ):
And now the Storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong.
Ed. ]
[Footnote B: Compare 'A Farewell', p. 325, l. 17. --Ed. ]
The spot referred to in this poem can be identified with perfect
accuracy. The Eglantine grew on the little brook that runs past two
cottages (close to the path under Nab Scar), which have been built since
the poet's time, and are marked Brockstone on the Ordnance Map.
"The plant itself of course has long disappeared: but in following up
the rill through the copse, above the cottages, I found an unusually
large Eglantine, growing by the side of the stream. "
(Dr Cradock to the editor, in 1877. ) It still grows luxuriantly there.
The following extract from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal illustrates both
this and the next poem:
"Friday, 23rd April 1802. --It being a beautiful morning, we set off at
eleven o'clock, intending to stay out of doors all the morning. We
went towards Rydal, under Nab Scar. The sun shone and we were lazy.
Coleridge pitched upon several places to sit down upon; but we could
not be all of one mind respecting sun and shade, so we pushed on to
the foot of the Scar. It was very grand when we looked up, very stony;
here and there a budding tree. William observed that the umbrella
Yew-tree that breasts the wind had lost its character as a tree, and
had become like solid wood. Coleridge and I pushed on before. We left
William sitting on the stones, feasting with silence, and I sat down
upon a rocky seat, a couch it might be, under the Bower of William's
'Eglantine,' 'Andrew's Broom. ' He was below us, and we could see him.
He came to us, and repeated his Poems, while we sat beside him. We
lingered long, looking into the vales; Ambleside Vale, with the
copses, the village under the hill, and the green fields; Rydale, with
a lake all alive and glittering, yet but little stirred by breezes;
and our own dear Grasmere, making a little round lake of Nature's own,
with never a house, never a green field, but the copses and the bare
hills enclosing it, and the river flowing out of it. Above rose the
Coniston Fells, in their own shape and colour, . . . the sky, and the
clouds, and a few wild creatures. Coleridge went to search for
something new. We saw him climbing up towards a rock. He called us,
and we found him in a bower,--the sweetest that was ever seen. The
rock on one side is very high, and all covered with ivy, which hung
loosely about, and bore bunches of brown berries. On the other side,
it was higher than my head. We looked down on the Ambleside vale, that
seemed to wind away from us, the village lying under the hill. The fir
tree island was reflected beautifully. . . . About this bower there is
mountain-ash, common ash, yew tree, ivy, holly, hawthorn, roses,
flowers, and a carpet of moss. Above at the top of the rock there is
another spot. It is scarce a bower, a little parlour, not enclosed by
walls, but shaped out for a resting-place by the rocks, and the ground
rising about it. It had a sweet moss carpet. We resolved to go and
plant flowers, in both these places to-morrow. "
This extract is taken from the "Journal" as originally transcribed by me
in 1889. When it appears in this edition it will be greatly
enlarged. --Ed.
* * * * *
THE OAK AND THE BROOM
A PASTORAL
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
[Suggested upon the mountain pathway that leads from Upper Rydal to
Grasmere. The ponderous block of stone, which is mentioned in the poem,
remains, I believe, to this day, a good way up Nab-Scar. Broom grows
under it, and in many places on the side of the precipice. --I. F. ]
One of the "Poems of the Fancy. "--Ed.
I His simple truths did Andrew glean
Beside the babbling rills;
A careful student he had been
Among the woods and hills.
One winter's night, when through the trees 5
The wind was roaring, [1] on his knees
His youngest born did Andrew hold:
And while the rest, a ruddy quire,
Were seated round their blazing fire,
This Tale the Shepherd told. 10
II "I saw a crag, a lofty stone
As ever tempest beat!
Out of its head an Oak had grown,
A Broom out of its feet.
The time was March, a cheerful noon--15
The thaw wind, with the breath of June,
Breathed gently from the warm south-west:
When, in a voice sedate with age,
This Oak, a giant and a sage, [2]
His neighbour thus addressed:--20
III "'Eight weary weeks, through rock and clay,
Along this mountain's edge,
The Frost hath wrought both night and day,
Wedge driving after wedge.
Look up! and think, above your head 25
What trouble, surely, will be bred;
Last night I heard a crash--'tis true,
The splinters took another road--
I see them yonder--what a load
For such a Thing as you! 30
IV "'You are preparing as before
To deck your slender shape;
And yet, just three years back--no more--
You had a strange escape:
Down from yon cliff a fragment broke; 35
It thundered down, with fire and smoke,
And hitherward pursued its way; [3]
This ponderous block was caught by me,
And o'er your head, as you may see,
'Tis hanging to this day! 40
V "'If breeze or bird to this rough steep
Your kind's first seed did bear;
The breeze had better been asleep,
The bird caught in a snare: [4]
For you and your green twigs decoy 45
The little witless shepherd-boy
To come and slumber in your bower;
And, trust me, on some sultry noon,
Both you and he, Heaven knows how soon!
Will perish in one hour. 50
VI "'From me this friendly warning take'--
The Broom began to doze,
And thus, to keep herself awake,
Did gently interpose:
'My thanks for your discourse are due; 55
That more than what you say is true, [5]
I know, and I have known it long;
Frail is the bond by which we hold
Our being, whether young or old, [6]
Wise, foolish, weak, or strong. 60
VII "'Disasters, do the best we can,
Will reach both great and small;
And he is oft the wisest man,
Who is not wise at all.
For me, why should I wish to roam? 65
This spot is my paternal home,
It is my pleasant heritage;
My father many a happy year,
Spread here [7] his careless blossoms, here
Attained a good old age. 70
VIII "'Even such as his may be my lot.
What cause have I to haunt
My heart with terrors? Am I not
In truth a favoured plant!
On me such bounty Summer pours, 75
That I am covered o'er with flowers; [8]
And, when the Frost is in the sky,
My branches are so fresh and gay
That you might look at me [9] and say,
This Plant can never die. 80
IX "'The butterfly, all green and gold,
To me hath often flown,
Here in my blossoms to behold
Wings lovely as his own.
When grass is chill with rain or dew, 85
Beneath my shade, the mother-ewe
Lies with her infant lamb; I see
The love they to each other make,
And the sweet joy which they partake,
It is a joy to me. ' 90
X "Her voice was blithe, her heart was light;
The Broom might have pursued
Her speech, until the stars of night
Their journey had renewed;
But in the branches of the oak 95
Two ravens now began to croak
Their nuptial song, a gladsome air;
And to her own green bower the breeze
That instant brought two stripling bees
To rest, or [10] murmur there. 100
XI "One night, my Children! from the north
There came a furious blast; [11]
At break of day I ventured forth,
And near the cliff I passed.
The storm had fallen upon the Oak, 105
And struck him with a mighty stroke,
And whirled, and whirled him far away;
And, in one hospitable cleft,
The little careless Broom was left
To live for many a day. " 110
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1820.
. . . thundering, . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 2:
1815.
. . . half giant and half sage, 1800. ]
[Variant 3:
1820.
It came, you know, with fire and smoke
And hither did it bend its way. 1800.
And hitherward it bent its way. 1802. ]
[Variant 4:
1836.
The Thing had better been asleep,
Whatever thing it were,
Or Breeze, or Bird, or fleece of Sheep,
That first did plant you there. 1800.
Or Breeze, or Bird, or Dog, or Sheep, 1802. ]
[Variant 5:
1820.
That it is true, and more than true, 1800. ]
[Variant 6:
1827.
. . . be we young or old, 1800. ]
[Variant 7:
1836.
Here spread . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 8:
1815.
The Spring for me a garland weaves
Of yellow flowers and verdant leaves, 1800. ]
[Variant 9:
1802.
. . . on me . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 10:
1827.
To feed and . . . 1800.
To rest and . . . 1815. ]
[Variant 11:
1815.
One night the Wind came from the North
And blew a furious blast, 1800. ]
The spot is fixed within narrow limits by the Fenwick note. It is,
beyond doubt, on the wooded part of Nab-Scar, through which the upper
path from Grasmere to Rydal passes. There is one huge block of stone
high above the path, which answers well to the description in the second
stanza. Crabb Robinson wrote in his 'Diary' (Sept. 11, 1816):
"The poem of 'The Oak and the Broom' proceeded from his" (Wordsworth)
"beholding a tree in just such a situation as he described the broom
to be in. "
Ed.
* * * * *
"'TIS SAID, THAT SOME HAVE DIED FOR LOVE"
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
One of the "Poems founded on the Affections. "--Ed.
'Tis said, that some have died for love:
And here and there a church-yard grave is found
In the cold north's unhallowed ground,
Because the wretched man himself had slain,
His love was such a grievous pain. 5
And there is one whom I five years have known;
He dwells alone
Upon Helvellyn's side:
He loved--the pretty Barbara died;
And thus he makes his moan: 10
Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid
When thus his moan he made:
"Oh, move, thou Cottage, from behind that oak!
Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,
That in some other way yon smoke 15
May mount into the sky!
The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart:
I look--the sky is empty space;
I know not what I trace;
But when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart. 20
"O! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves,
That murmur once so dear, when will it cease?
Your sound my heart of rest bereaves,
It robs my heart of peace. [1]
Thou Thrush, that singest loud--and loud and free, 25
Into yon row of willows flit,
Upon that alder sit;
Or sing another song, or choose another tree.
"Roll back, sweet Rill! back to thy mountain-bounds,
And there for ever be thy waters chained! 30
For thou dost haunt the air with sounds
That cannot be sustained;
If still beneath that [2] pine-tree's ragged bough
Headlong yon waterfall must come,
Oh let it then be dumb! 35
Be anything, sweet Rill, but that which thou art now.
"Thou Eglantine, so bright with sunny showers,
Proud as a rainbow spanning half the vale, [3]
Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers,
And stir not in the gale. 40
For thus to see thee nodding in the air,
To see thy arch thus stretch and bend,
Thus rise and thus descend,--
Disturbs me till the sight is more than I can bear.
