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The letter from which this extract is made, was pubNote, p. 87.

lished in 1838, by Sir Henry Bunbury, among some "The Brothers."

miscellaneous letters in his “Correspondence of Sir (Extract from a letter addressed by Wordsworth to Thomas Hanmer, etc.," p. 436. Carles James Fox in 1802, and accompanying a copy It is this poem of which Coleridge said—“THE BROof the Poems:

THERS, that model of English pastoral, which I never “In the two poems, "The Brothers' and · Michael, yet read with unclouded eye.Biographia Literaria, I have attempted to draw a picture of the domestic Vol. II., chap. v., p. 85, Note, Edit. of 1847. And affections, as I know they exist amongst a class of men Southey, writing to Coleridge, July 11, 1801, says: – i ho are now almost confined to the north of England. “God bless Wordsworth for that poem! (“The BroThey are small independent proprietors of land, here THERS.")" Life and Correspondence of Southey, Vol. II., called • statesmen,' men of respectable education, who

p. 150, chap. viii. - H. R.] daily labour on their own little properties. The domestic affections will always be strong amongst men who live

Page 96. In a country not crowded with population; if these men

.I travelled among unknown men.' are placed above poverty. But, if they are proprietors

[“ Amongst the Poems founded on the Affections is # small estates which have descended to them from Uber ancestors, the power which these affections will one called, from its first line, “I travelled among unacquire amongst such men, is inconceivable by those known men,' which ends with these lines, wherein the who bare only had an opportunity of observing hired poet addresses his native land : ka tourers, fariners, and the manufacturing poor. Their Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed itle tract of land serves as a kind of permanent rally. The bowers where Lucy played ; ing point for their domestic feelings, as a tablet upon And thine too is the last green field a bich they are written, which makes them objects of That Lucy's eyes surveyed. Cipriory in a thousand instances when they would A friend, a true poet himself, to whom I owe some new vverwise be forgotten. It is a fountain fitted to the insight into the merits of Mr. Wordsworth's poetry, pa'ure of social man, from which supplies of affection and who showed me to my surprise, that there were d« mire as his heart was intended for, are daily drawn. nooks in that rich and varied region, some of the shy Tiis class of men is rapidly disappearing. You, Sir, treasures of which I was not perfectly acquainted with, here a consciousness, upon which every good man will first made me feel the great beauty of this stanza ; in ruggratulate you, that the whole of your public conduct which the poet, as it were, spreads day and night over has in one way or other been directed to the preservation the object of his affections, and seems, under the influce this class of men, and those who hold similar situa- ence of passionate feeling, to think of England, whether 103. You have felt that the most sacred of all pro- in light or darkness, only as her play-place and verdant "sity is the property of the poor. The two poems home. -S. C.” (Sara Coleridge.) Biographia LitePhat I have mentioned were written with a view to raria of S. T. Coleridge, Vol. II., chap. ix., p. 173, Note, w that men who do not wear fine cloaths can feel Edit. of 1847.-H. R.] loppy. Pectus enim est quod disertos facit, et vis Turnus. Ideoque imperitis quoque, si modo sint aliquo

Page 98. ctu concitati, verba non desunt.' The poems are

Let other bards of angels sing.' "Stiful copies from nature; and I hope whatever effect they have upon you, you will at least be able to

[In his editions of 1845 and 1850, the author has ex: steve that they may excite profitable sympathies in cluded the following stanza, which was the second in

kind and good hearts ; and may in some small this piece in the earlier editions, to the readers of which Senarge our feelings of reverence for our species, it had become familiar, and is therefore preserved in 1. Mur knowledge of human nature, by showing that this note : 11,7 best qualities are possessed by men whom we are

Such if thou wert in all men's view, ang app to consider, not with reference to the points

A universal show, nahich they resemble us, but to those in which they

What would my fancy have to do? man testly differ from us."

My feelings to bestow ? - H. R.




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But 't was the foliage of the rocks, the birch,

The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorr,

With hanging islands of resplendent furze: Br persons resident in the country and attached to And on a summit, distant a short space, roral objects, many places will be found unnamed or By any who should look beyond the dell, of unknown names, where little Incidents must have a single mountain Cottage might be seen. occurred, or feelings been experienced, which will I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said, hare given to such places a private and peculiar inter

“Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook est. From a wish to give some sort of record to such My Emma, I will dedicate to thee." Incidents, or renew the gratification of such Feelings, - Soon did the spot become my other home, Names have been given to Places by the Author and My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode. come of his Friends, and the following Poems written And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there, in consequence.

To whom I sometimes in our idle talk
Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps,

Years after we are gone and in our graves,

When they have cause to speak of this wild place,

May call it by the name of EMMA'S DELL.
It was an April morning: fresh and clear
The Rivulet, delighting in its strength,
Ran with a young man's speed; and yet the voice
Of waters which the winter had supplied

II. l'as softened down into a vernal tone.

T'he spirit of enjoyment and desire,
And hopes and wishes, from all living things

Amid the smoke of cities did you pass
Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.

The time of early youth; and there you learned, The budding groves appeared as if in haste

From years of quiet industry, to love To spur the steps of June ; as if their shades

The living Beings by your own fire-side,
Of various green were hinderances that stood

With such a strong devotion, that your heart
Between them and their object: yet, meanwhile, Is slow toward the sympathies of them
There was such deep contentment in the air,

Who look upon the hills with tenderness,
every naked ash, and tardy tree

And make dear friendships with the streams and groves,
Yet leafless, seemed as though the countenance Yet we, who are transgressors in this kind,
With which it looked on this delightful day

Dwelling retired in our simplicity
Were native to the summer. — Up the brook Among the woods and fields, we love you well,
I roamned in the confusion of my heart,

Joanna! and I guess, since you have been
Alive to all things and forgetting all.

So distant from us now for two long years,
At length I to a sudden turning came


will gladly listen to discourse, la this continuous glen, where down a rock

However trivial, if you thence are taught The Stream, so ardent in its course before,

That they, with whom you once were happy, talk Sent forth such sallies of glad sound, that all Familiarly of you and of old times. Which I till then had heard, appeared the voice Of common pleasure: beast and bird, the Lamb,

While I was seated, now some ten days past, The Shepherd's Dog, the Linnet and the Thrush

Beneath those lofty firs, that overtop Vied with this Waterfall, and made a song

Their ancient neighbour, the old Steeple tower, Which

, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth The Vicar from his gloomy house bard by Or like some natural produce of the air,

Came forth to greet me; and when he had asked, That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here; 1 “How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted Maid !

And when will she return to us?” he paused;

Now whether (said I to our cordial friend,
And, after short exchange of village news,

Who in the heyday of astonishment
He with grave looks demanded, for what cause Smiled in my face) this were in simple truth
Reviving obsolete Idolatry,

A work accomplished by the brotherbood
I, like a Runic Priest, in characters

Of ancient mountains, or my ear was touched Of formidable size had chiselled out

With dreams and visionary impulses Some uncouth name upon the native rock,

To me alone imparted, sure I am Above the Rotha, by the forest side.*

That there was a loud uproar in the hills: – Now, by those dear immunities of heart

And, while we both were listening, to my side Engendered betwixt malice and true love,

The fair Joanna drew, as if she wished I was not loth to be so catechised,

To shelter from some object of her fear. And this was my reply:-“ As it befel,

- And hence, long afterwards, when eighteen mojis One summer morning we had walked abroad

Were wasted, as I chanced to walk alone At break of day, Joanna and myself.

Beneath this rock, at sunrise, on a calm -'T was that delightful season when the broom, And silent morning, I sat down, and there, Full.flowered, and visible on every steep,

In memory of affections old and true, Along the copses runs in veins of gold.

I chiselled out in those rude characters Our pathway led us on to Rotha's banks;

Joanna's name upon the living stone.
And when we came in front of that tall rock

And I, and all who dwell by my fire-side,
Which looks towards the East, I there stopped short, Ilave called the lovely rock, Joanna’s Rock."
And traced the lofty barrier with my eye
From base to summit; such delight I found
To note in shrub and tree, in stone and flower,
That intermixture of delicious hues,
Along so vast a surface, all at once,

In one impression, by connecting force
Of their cwn beauty, imaged in the heart.

There is an Eminence, of these our hills
When I had gazed perhaps two minutes' space,

The last that parleys with the setting sun.
Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld

We can behold it from our Orchard-seat;
That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud.
The Rock, like something starting from a sleep,

And, when at evening we pursue our walk
Took up the Lady's voice, and laughed again ;

Along the public way, this Cliff, so high That ancient Woman seated on Helm-Crag

Above us, and so distant in its height,

Is visible; and often seems to send
Was ready with her cavern; Hammar-Scar,
And the tall Steep of Silver-How, sent forth

Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts.

The meteors make of it a favourite haunt: A noise of laughter; southern Loughrigg heard,

The star of Jove, so beautiful and large And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone:

In the mid heavens, is never half so fair Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky

As when he shines above it. 'Tis in truth
Carried the Lady's voice, - old Skiddaw blew

The loneliest place we have among the clouds.
His speaking trumpet; – back out of the clouds
Of Glaramara southward came the voice;

And She who dwells with me, whom I have loved And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head.

With such communion, that no place on earth

Can ever be a solitude to me, * In Cumberland and Westmoreland are several Inscriptions, Hath to this lonely Summit given my Name. upon the native rock, which, from the wasting of Time, and the rudeness of the workmanship

, have been mistaken for bility in the lar:er supposition. The passage in Drayton, alluded Runic. They are without doubt Roman. The Rotha, mentioned in this poem, is the River which, flow.

"— Till to your shouts the hills with echo all reply, ing through the lakes of Grasmere and Rydale, falls into Wy.

Which Copland scarce had spoke, but quickly every hill

. nander. On Helm-Crag, that impressive single Mountain at the head of the Vale of Grasmere, is a rock which from most points

Upon her verge that stands, the neighbouring valleys fill;

Helvillon from his height, it through the mountains threw, of view bears a striking resemblance to an Old Woinan cower. From whom as soon again, the sound Dunbalrase drew, ing. Close by this rock is one of those Fissures or Caverns,

From whose stone-trophied head, it on to Wendross weni, which in the language of the country are called Dungeons. Which tow'rds the sea agnin, resounded it to Dent, Most of the Mountains here mentioned immediately surround That Broadwater there with within her banks astound, the Vale of Grasmere; of the others, some are at a considerable

In sailing to the sea, told it in Egremound, distance, but they belong to the same cluster.

Whose buildings, walks, and streets, with echoes loud and + ["— a noble imitation of Drayton, (if it was not rather a

long, coincidence).” COLERIDGE, · Biographia Literaria,' chap 20– Did mightily commend old Copland for her song." It matters little which, thongh there seems to be greater proba

*Polyolbion,' Song XXX.-H. R.)

to, is as quilow's:


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.


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 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 Ta 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 Grascere's beach, than Naiad by the side Of Grecian brook, or Lady of the Mere, Sule-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 Attised 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 la ample, and Home 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

TO M. H. Our walk was far among the ancient trees; There was no road, nor any woodman's path; But the 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 't will 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


WHEN, to the attractions of the busy World, Preferring studious leisure, I had chosen

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