Of Grasmere safe in its own privacy: 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 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 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! And starting off again with freak as sudden; 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. —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
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, So stately, of the queen Osmunda named ; Plant lovelier, in its own retired abode 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 morning: from the fields, Meanwhile, a noise was heard, the busy mirth Of reapers, men and women, boys and girls. Delighted much to listen to those sounds, And feeding thus our fancies, we advanced Along the indented shore; when suddenly, Through a thin veil of glittering haze was seen 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. "Improvident and reckless," we exclaimed, "The Man must be, who thus can lose a day 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 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 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 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. 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 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. 1800.
OUR walk was far among the ancient trees: There was no road, nor any woodman's path; But a thick umbrage-checking the wild growth Of weed and sapling, along soft green turf Beneath the branches of itself had made
A track, that 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 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; 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, 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!
Much wondering how I could have sought in vain For what was now so obvious. To abide,
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 unincumbered floor. Here, in a safe covert, on the shallow snow, And, sometimes, on a speck of visible earth, The redbreast near me hopped; nor was I loth 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 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 A hoary pathway traced between the trees, And winding on with such an easy line Along a natural opening, that I stood
For an allotted interval of ease,
Under 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 pursues her course through the dreary sea.
When thou hadst quitted Esthwaite's pleasant
And taken thy first leave of those green hills And rocks that were the play-ground of thy youth, Year followed year, my Brother! and we two, Conversing not, knew little in what mould Each other's mind was 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 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.
1805. Note. This wish was not granted; the lamented Person not long after perished by shipwreck, in discharge of his duty as Commander of the Honourable East India Company's Vessel, the Earl of Abergavenny.
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 too 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- 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.
Or peeped they often from their beds And prematurely disappeared, Devoured like pleasure ere it spreads A bosom to the sun endeared? If such their harsh untimely doom, It falls not here on bud or bloom.
All summer-long the happy Eve
Of this fair Spot her flowers may bind, Nor e'er, with ruffled fancy, grieve, From the next glance she casts, to find That love for little things by Fate Is rendered vain as love for great.
Yet, where the guardian fence is wound, So subtly are our eyes beguiled We see not nor suspect a bound,
No more than in some forest wild; The sight is free as air or crost Only by art in nature lost.
And, though the jealous turf refuse By random footsteps to be prest, And feed on never-sullied dews, Ye, gentle breezes from the west, With all the ministers of hope Are tempted to this sunny slope!
And hither throngs of birds resort; Some, inmates lodged in shady nests, Some, perched on stems of stately port That nod to welcome transient guests; While hare and leveret, seen at play, Appear not more shut out than they.
Apt emblem (for reproof of pride) This delicate Enclosure shows Of modest kindness, that would hide The firm protection she bestows; Of manners, like its viewless fence, Ensuring peace to innocence.
Thus spake the moral Muse-her wing Abruptly spreading to depart, She left that farewell offering, Memento for some docile heart; That may respect the good old age When Fancy was Truth's willing Page; And Truth would skim the flowery glade, Though entering but as Fancy's Shade.
A WHIRL-BLAST from behind the hill Rushed o'er the wood with startling sound; Then-all at once the air was still, And showers of hailstones pattered round. Where leafless oaks towered high above,
I sat within an undergrove
Of tallest hollies, tall and green;
A fairer bower was never seen. From year to year the spacious floor With withered leaves is covered o'er, And all the year the bower is green. But see! where'er the hailstones drop The withered leaves all skip and hop; There's not a breeze-no breath of air— Yet here, and there, and every where Along the floor, beneath the shade By those embowering hollies made, The leaves in myriads jump and spring, As if with pipes and music rare Some Robin Good-fellow were there, And all those leaves, in festive glee, Were dancing to the minstrelsy.
THE WATERFALL AND THE EGLANTINE
"BEGONE, thou fond presumptuous Elf," Exclaimed an angry Voice,
"Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self Between me and my choice!"
A small Cascade fresh swoln with snows Thus threatened a poor Briar-rose, That, all bespattered with his foam, And dancing high and dancing low, Was living, as a child might know, In an unhappy home.
"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;
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.
« ForrigeFortsæt » |