Nor heat, at Tam o' Shanter's name, their blood) Waxed wroth, and with foul claws, a harpy brood, On Bard and Hero clamorously fell. Heed not, wild Rover once through heath and glen, Maintains inviolate its slightest vow! And to that brow life's morning wreath Who mad'st at length the better life thy Let her be comprehended in the frame choice, Of these illusions, or they please no more. JUNE 1820 FAME tells of groves-from England far away 1 Groves that inspire the Nightingale to And modulate, with subtle reach of skill Chanting, with indefatigable bill, Strains that recalled to mind a distant day; And scarcely conscious of the dashing oars Listening, and listening long, in rapturous Ye heavenly Birds! to your Progenitors. MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON 1820 I set out in company with my Wife and Sister, and Mr. and Mrs. Monkhouse, then just married, and Miss Horrocks. These two ladies, sisters, we left at Berne, while Mr. Monkhouse took the opportunity of making an excursion with us among the Alps as far as Milan. Mr. H. C. Robinson joined us at Lucerne, and when this ramble was completed we rejoined at Geneva the two ladies we had left at Berne and proceeded to Paris, where Mr. Monkhouse and H. C. R. left us, and where we spent five weeks, of which there is not a record in these poems. 1 Wallachia is the country alluded to. DEAR Fellow-travellers! think not that the Muse, Of living Nature; no-though free to choose RYDAL MOUNT, Nov. 1821. I FISH-WOMEN-ON LANDING AT CALAIS 'TIS said, fantastic ocean doth enfold rolled, The Dames resemble whom we here behold, How fearful were it down through opening waves To sink, and meet them in their fretted caves, Withered, grotesque, immeasurably old, And shrill and fierce in accent !-Fear it not: For they Earth's fairest daughters do excel; II BRUGÈS1 BRUGES I saw attired with golden light (Streamed from the west) as with a robe of power: The splendour fled; and now the sunless hour, 1 See Note. Of wind-swept corn that wide around us rolled In dreary billows; wood, and meagre cot, And monuments that soon must disappear: Yet a dread local recompence we found; While glory seemed betrayed, while patriotzeal Sank in our hearts, we felt as men should feel With such vast hoards of hidden carnage near, And horror breathing from the silent ground! V BETWEEN NAMUR AND LIEGE The scenery on the Meuse pleases me more, upon the whole, than that of the Rhine, though the river itself is much inferior in grandeur. The rocks both in form and colour, especially between Namur and Liege, surpass any upon the Rhine, though they are in several places disfigured by quarries, whence stones were taken for the new fortifications. This is much to be regretted, for they are useless, and the scars will remain perhaps for thousands of years. A like injury to a still greater degree has been inflicted, in my memory, upon the beautiful rocks of Clifton on the banks of the Avon. There is probably in existence a very long letter of mine to Sir Uvedale Price, in which was given a description of the landscapes on the Meuse as compared with those on the Rhine. Details in the spirit of these sonnets are given both in Mrs. Wordsworth's Journals and my Sister's, and the re-perusal of them has strengthened a wish long entertained that somebody would put together, as in one work, the notices contained in them, omitting particulars that were written down merely to aid our memory, and bringing the whole into as small a compass as is consistent with the general interests belonging to the scenes, circumstances, and objects touched on by each writer. WHAT lovelier home could gentle Fancy choose? Is this the stream, whose cities, heights, and plains, War's favourite playground, are with crimson stains Familiar, as the Morn with pearly dews? The Morn, that now, along the silver MEUSE, Spreading her peaceful ensigns, calls the swains To tend their silent boats and ringing wains, Or strip the bough whose mellow fruit bestrews The ripening corn beneath it. As mine eyes Turn from the fortified and threatening hill, How sweet the prospect of yon watery glade, With its grey rocks clustering in pensive shade That, shaped like old monastic turrets, rise From the smooth meadow-ground, serene and still! VI AIX-LA-CHAPELLE WAS it to disenchant, and to undo, That we approached the Seat of Charlemaine? To sweep from many an old romantic strain That faith which no devotion may renew! Why does this puny Church present to view Her feeble columns? and that scanty chair! This sword that one of our weak times might wear! Objects of false pretence, or meanly true! If from a traveller's fortune I might claim A palpable memorial of that day, Then would I seek the Pyrenean Breach That ROLAND clove with huge two-handed sway, And to the enormous labour left his name, Where unremitting frosts the rocky crescent bleach.1 VII IN THE CATHEDRAL AT COLOGNE O FOR the help of Angels to complete This Temple-Angels governed by a plan Thus far pursued (how gloriously!) by Man, Studious that HE might not disdain the seat Who dwells in heaven! But that aspiring heat 1 See Note. Hath failed; and now, ye Powers! whose gorgeous wings And splendid aspect yon emblazonings Immortal Fabrics, rising to the sound VIII IN A CARRIAGE, UPON THE BANKS OF THE RHINE AMID this dance of objects sadness steals O'er the defrauded heart-while sweeping by, As in a fit of Thespian jollity, Beneath her vine-leaf crown the green Backward, in rapid evanescence, wheels Each beetling rampart, and each tower sublime, And what the Dell unwillingly reveals Of lurking cloistral arch, through trees espied Near the bright River's edge. Yet why repine? To muse, to creep, to halt at will, to gazeSuch sweet wayfaring-of life's spring the pride, Her summer's faithful joy-that still is mine, And in fit measure cheers autumnal days. IX HYMN FOR THE BOATMEN, AS THEY APPROACH THE RAPIDS UNDER THE CASTLE OF HEIDELBERG JESU! bless our slender Boat, By the current swept along; Loud its threatenings-let them not Drown the music of a song XI ON APPROACHING THE STAUB-BACH, LAUTERBRUNNEN UTTERED by whom, or how inspireddesigned For what strange service, does this concert reach Our ears, and near the dwellings of man kind! 'Mid fields familiarized to human speech?— No Mermaid's warble-to allay the wind Driving some vessel toward a dangerous beach XIII MEMORIAL NEAR THE OUTLET OF THE LAKE OF THUN "DEM ANDENKEN MEINES FREUNDES ALOYS REDING MDCCCXVIII.” Aloys Reding, it will be remembered, was Captain-General of the Swiss forces, which, with a courage and perseverance worthy of the cause, opposed the flagitious and too successful attempt More thrilling melodies; Witch answering of Buonaparte to subjugate their country. Witch, AROUND a wild and woody hill A gravelled pathway treading, We reached a votive Stone that bears The name of Aloys Reding. Well judged the Friend who placed it there For silence and protection; And haply with a finer care Of dutiful affection. The Sun regards it from the West; And, while in summer glory He sets, his sinking yields a type Of that pathetic story: And oft he tempts the patriot Swiss Amid the grove to linger; Till all is dim, save this bright Stone Touched by his golden finger. XIV COMPOSED IN ONE OF THE CATHOLIC CANTONS DOOMED as we are our native dust I love, where spreads the village lawn, |