TO THE EARL OF LONSDALE.

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XLV.

TO THE EARL OF LONSDALE.

'Magistratus indicat virum.'

LONSDALE! it were unworthy of a Guest,
Whose heart with gratitude to thee inclines,
If he should speak, by fancy touched, of signs
On thy Abode harmoniously imprest,

Yet be unmoved with wishes to attest

How in thy mind and moral frame agree
Fortitude, and that Christian Charity
Which, filling, consecrates the human breast.
And if the Motto on thy 'scutcheon teach
With truth," THE MAGISTRACY SHOWS THE MAN;"
That searching test thy public course has stood; 1
As will be owned alike by bad and good,
Soon as the measuring of life's little span
Shall place thy virtues out of Envy's reach.*

Lonsdale! it were unworthy of a Guest,
One chiefly well aware how much he owes
To thy regard, to speak in verse or prose
Of types and signs harmoniously imprest
On thy Abode, neglecting to attest

That in thy Mansion's Lord as well agree
Meekness and strength and Christian charity,
That filling, consecrates the human breast.
And if, as thy armorial bearings teach,
"The Magistracy indicates the Man,"

That test thy life triumphantly has stood.

1

MS.

This sonnet was written immediately after certain trials, which took place at the Cumberland Assizes, when the Earl of Lonsdale, in consequence of repeated and long-continued attacks upon his character, through the local press, had thought it right to prosecute the conductors and proprietors of three several journals. A verdict of libel was given in one case; and, in the others, the prosecutions were withdrawn, upon the individuals retracting and disavowing the charges, expressing regret that they had been made, and promising to abstain from the like in future.-W. W.,

XLVI.

THE SOMNAMBULIST.*

[This poem might be dedicated to my friends, Sir G. Beaumont and Mr Rogers jointly. While we were making an excursion together in this part of the Lake District we heard that Mr Glover, the artist, while lodging at Lyulph's Tower, had been disturbed by a loud shriek, and upon rising he had learnt that it had come from a young woman in the house who was in the habit of walking in her sleep. In that state she had gone down stairs, and, while attempting to open the outer door, either from some difficulty or the effect of the cold stone upon her feet, had uttered the cry which alarmed him. It seemed to us all that this might serve as a hint for a poem, and the story here told was constructed and soon after put into verse by me as it now stands.]

LIST, ye who pass by Lyulph's Tower1 †

At eve; how softly then
Doth Aira-force, that torrent hoarse,
Speak from the woody glen! ‡

Fit music for a solemn vale!

And holier seems the ground 2

*The original title of the Poem (in MS.) was

Aira Force,

or

Sir Eglamore and Elva.

There were no changes of text in the published editions of this poem. The various readings given are from MS. copies of the poem, in Mrs Wordsworth's handwriting.-ED.

+A pleasure-house built by the late Duke of Norfolk upon the banks of Ullswater. FORCE is the word used in the Lake District for Waterfall.W. W., 1835.

Compare Airey Force Valley—

the brook itself,

Old as the hills that feed it from afar,

Doth rather deepen than disturb the calm,
&c.,

-ED.

THE SOMNAMBULIST.

To him who catches 1 on the gale
The spirit of a mournful tale,
Embodied in the sound.

Not far from that fair site whereon

The Pleasure-house is reared,

As story says, in antique days

A stern-browed house appeared;
Foil to a Jewel rich in light

There set, and guarded well;
Cage for a Bird of plumage bright,
Sweet-voiced, nor wishing for a flight
Beyond her native dell.

To win this bright Bird from her cage,
To make this Gem their own,
Came Barons bold, with store of gold,
And Knights of high renown;
But one She prized, and only one;
Sir Eglamore was he;

Full happy season, when was known,
Ye Dales and Hills! to you alone
Their mutual loyalty—2

Known chiefly, Aira! to thy glen,

Thy brook, and bowers of holly;

Where Passion caught what Nature taught,
That all but love is folly;

Where Fact with Fancy stooped to play;

383

MS.

MS.

Doubt came not, nor regret

To trouble hours that winged their way,
As if through an immortal day

Whose sun could never set.

But in old times Love dwelt not long1
Sequester'd with repose;

Best throve the fire of chaste desire,
Fanned by the breath of foes.
"A conquering lance is beauty's test,
And proves the Lover true;"
So spake Sir Eglamore, and pressed
The drooping Emma2 to his breast,
And looked a blind adieu.

They parted.-Well with him it fared
Through wide-spread regions errant ;

A knight of proof in love's behoof,
The thirst of fame his warrant:

And She her happiness3 can build

On woman's quiet hours;

Though faint, compared with spear and shield,
The solace beads and masses yield,

And needlework and flowers.

Yet blest was Emma1 when she heard

Her Champion's praise recounted;

Though brain would swim, and eyes grow dim,

And high her blushes mounted;

THE SOMNAMBULIST.

Or when a bold heroic lay

She warbled from full heart;
Delightful blossoms for the May

Of absence! but they will not stay,
Born only to depart.

Hope wanes with her, while lustre fills
Whatever path he chooses;
As if his orb, that owns no curb,
Received the light her's loses.
He comes not back; an ampler space
Requires for nobler deeds;

He ranges on from place to place,
Till of his doings is no trace,

But what her fancy breeds.

His fame may spread, but in the past
Her spirit finds its centre;

Clear sight She has of what he was,

And that would now content her.

"Still is he my devoted Knight?"

The tear in answer flows;

Month falls on month with heavier weight;
Day sickens round her, and the night
Is empty of repose.

In sleep She sometimes walked abroad,
Deep sighs with quick words blending,
Like that pale Queen whose hands are seen
With fancied spots contending;*

But she is innocent of blood,—

VII.

The moon is not more pure

* See Macbeth, Act iv., Scene 5.-ED.

2 B

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