1

And tufts of mountain moss. Mechanic tools
Lay intermixed with scraps of paper, some 1
Scribbled with verse: a broken angling-rod
And shattered telescope, together linked
By cobwebs, stood within a dusty nook;
And instruments of music, some half-made,
Some in disgrace, hung dangling from the walls.
But speedily the promise was fulfilled;

A feast before us, and a courteous Host
Inviting us in glee to sit and eat.

A napkin, white as foam of that rough brook

By which it had been bleached, o'erspread the board; And was itself half-covered with a store 2

Of dainties, oaten bread, curd, cheese, and cream; And cakes of butter curiously embossed,

Butter that had imbibed from meadow-flowers

A golden hue, delicate as their own

Faintly reflected in a lingering stream.3

Nor lacked, for more delight on that warm day,
Our table, small parade of garden fruits,

And whortle-berries from the mountain side.

The Child, who long ere this had stilled his sobs,
Was now a help to his late comforter,

And moved, a willing Page, as he was bid,
Ministering to our need.

In genial mood,

While at our pastoral banquet thus we sate
Fronting the window of that little cell,
I could not, ever and anon, forbear

To glance an upward look on two huge Peaks,
That from some other vale peered into this.*
"Those lusty twins," exclaimed our host, "if here
It were your lot to dwell, would soon become 1
Your prized companions.-Many are the notes.
Which, in his tuneful course, the wind draws forth
From rocks, woods, caverns, heaths, and dashing shores;
And well those lofty brethren bear their part

In the wild concert-chiefly when the storm

"Those lusty Twins on which your eyes are cast," Exclaimed our Host, "if here you dwelt, would be 1814.

* It is generally supposed that the

That from some other vale peered into this,"

are the Langdale Pikes; and it is the most likely supposition. But, if the three were seated, as described, in the upper room of the cottage (which has one small window looking toward the Pikes), they could not possibly see them. Side Pike and Pike o' Blisco alone could be seen. Either then, these are the peaks referred to; or, what is much more likely, the realism of the narrative here gives way; and the far finer pikes of Langdale are introduced-although they are not visible from the house-because they belong to the district, and can be seen from so many points around. The phrases "from some other vale" and "lusty twins" point unmistakably to those two characteristic pikes which "peer" over the crest of the ridge dividing the Langdale valleys. "Let a man," says Dr Cradock, "as he approaches Blea Tarn from Little Langdale, see these slowly rising, and peering alone over the depression (or Haws) which divides the Langdales, and he cannot doubt that they are the 'lusty twins.' Let the Haws be in shadow, and the Pikes in sunlight, or the reverse, and the effect is one of the most striking in all the district." Compare the sonnet, Nov. 1, 1815, beginning—

"How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright."

- ED.

Rides high; then all the upper air they fill
With roaring sound, that ceases not to flow,
Like smoke, along the level of the blast,
In mighty current; theirs, too, is the song
Of stream and headlong flood that seldom fails;
And, in the grim and breathless hour of noon,
Methinks that I have heard them echo back
The thunder's greeting. Nor have nature's laws
Left them ungifted with a power to yield
Music of finer tone;1 a harmony,

So do I call it, though it be the hand

Of silence, though there be no voice; the clouds,
The mist, the shadows, light of golden suns,
Motions of moonlight, all come thither-touch,
And have an answer-thither come, and shape
A language not unwelcome to sick hearts.
And idle spirits :-there the sun himself,
At the calm close of summer's longest day,*
Rests his substantial orb;-between those heights
And on the top of either pinnacle,

More keenly than elsewhere in night's blue vault,
Sparkle the stars, as of their station proud.
Thoughts are not busier in the mind of man
Than the mute agents stirring there :—alone
Here do I sit and watch."—†

1

1827.

Music of finer frame;

A fall of voice,

1814.

*This is strictly accurate. On and about the 21st June, the sun, as seen from Blea Tarn, sets just between the Langdale Pikes.-ED.

"Mark how the wind rejoices in these peaks, and they give back its wild pleasure how all the things which touch and haunt them get their reply; how they are loved and love; how busy are the mute agents there; how proud the stars to shine on them." (Stopford Brooke's Theology in the English Poets, p. 108.)-ED.

Regretted like the nightingale's last note,

Had scarcely closed this high-wrought strain of rapture Ere with inviting smile the Wanderer said:1

"Now for the tale with which you threatened us!"

"In truth the threat escaped me unawares: Should the tale tire you, let this challenge stand For my excuse. Dissevered from mankind,

As to your eyes and thoughts we must have seemed 2 When ye looked down upon us from the crag,

3

Islanders mid a stormy mountain sea,
We are not so;-perpetually we touch
Upon the vulgar ordinances of the world;
And he, whom this our cottage hath to-day
Relinquished, lived dependent for his bread 5
Upon the laws of public charity.

The Housewife, tempted by such slender gains
As might from that occasion be distilled,

Opened, as she before had done for me,

Her doors to admit this homeless Pensioner ;
The portion gave of coarse but wholesome fare

With brightening face
The Wanderer heard him speaking thus, and said : 1814.
A fall of voice,

Regretted like the nightingale's last note,

Had scarcely closed this high-wrought rhapsody,

1827.

Had scarcely closed this strain of thankful rapture, C.

And was forgotten. Let this challenge stand
For my excuse, if what I shall relate

Tire your attention.-Outcast and cut off

As we seem here, and must have seemed to you,

1814.

Which appetite required—a blind dull nook,
Such as she had, the kennel of his rest!
This, in itself not ill, would yet have been
Ill borne in earlier life; but his was now
The still contentedness of seventy years.
Calm did he sit under the wide-spread tree 1
Of his old age: and yet less calm and meek,
Winningly meek or venerably calm,
Than slow and torpid; paying in this wise
A penalty, if penalty it were,

For spendthrift feats, excesses of his prime.

I loved the old Man, for I pitied him!

A task it was, I own, to hold discourse

With one so slow in gathering up his thoughts,
But he was a cheap pleasure to my eyes;
Mild, inoffensive, ready in his way,

And helpful to his utmost power:2 and there

Our housewife knew full well what she possessed!

He was her vassal of all labour, tilled

Her garden, from the pasture fetched her kine;
And, one among the orderly array

Of hay-makers, beneath the burning sun
Maintained his place; or heedfully pursued
His course, on errands bound, to other vales,
Leading sometimes an inexperienced child
Too young for any profitable task.

So moved he like a shadow that performed
Substantial service.* Mark me now, and learn

"The account given by the 'Solitary,' towards the close of the second book, in all that belongs to the character of the old man, was taken from a Grasmere pauper, who was boarded in the last house quiting the Vale on the road to Ambleside " (I. F. MS.).-ED.