And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head. -Now whether (said I to our cordial friend, Who in the hey-day of astonishment
Smiled in my face) this were in simple truth A work accomplished by the brotherhood Of ancient mountains, or my ear was touched With dreams and visionary impulses
To me alone imparted, sure I am
That there was a loud uproar in the hills: And, while we both were listening, to my side The fair Joanna drew, as if she wished To shelter from some object of her fear.
-And hence, long afterwards, when eighteen moons Were wasted, as I chanced to walk alone Beneath this rock, at sunrise, on a calm And silent morning, I sat down, and there, In memory of affections old and true,
I chiselled out in those rude characters Joanna's name upon the living stone.
And I, and all who dwell by my fireside,
Have called the lovely rock, 'JOANNA'S ROCK."
NOTE.-In Cumberland and Westmorland are several Inscriptions, upon the native rock, which, from the wasting of Time, and the rudeness of the Workmanship, have been mistaken for Runic. They are without doubt Roman.
The Rotha, mentioned in this poem, is the River which, flowing through the lakes of Grasmere and Rydale, falls into Wynander. On Helm-Crag, that impressive single Mountain at the head of the Vale of Grasmere, is a rock which from most points of view bears a striking resemblance to an Old Woman cowering. Close by this rock is one of those Fissures or Caverns, which in the language of the country are called Dungeons. Most of the Mountains here mentioned immediately surround the Vale of Grasmere ; of the others, some are at a considerable distance, but they belong to the same cluster.
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.
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 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, between their stems, A length of open space, where to and fro My feet might move without concern or care; And, baffled thus, before the storm relaxed, 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 path-way traced between the trees, And winding on with such an easy line Along a natural opening, that I stood
Much wondering how I could have sought in vain For what was now so obvious.
To abide, For an allotted interval of ease,
Beneath my cottage roof, had newly 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 With which the Sailor measures o'er and o'er His short domain upon the vessel's deck, While she is travelling through the dreary sea.
When thou hadst quitted Esthwaite's pleasant shore, 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 minds were 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.
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.
COMPOSED IN THE YEAR 1802.
FAREWELL, thou little Nook of mountain-ground, Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair
Of that magnificent temple which doth bound One side of our whole vale with grandeur rare; Sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair,
The loveliest spot that man hath ever found,
Farewell!-we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care, Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround.
Our boat is safely anchored by the shore, And there will safely ride when we are gone : The flowering shrubs that deck our humble door Will prosper, though untended and alone : Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none : These narrow bounds contain our private store Of things earth makes, and sun doth shine upon; Here are they in our sight-we have no more.
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