Yet then, when called ashore, he sought
The tender peace of rural thought:
In more than happy mood

To your abodes, bright daisy Flowers!
He then would steal at leisure hours,
And loved you glittering in your bowers,
A starry multitude.

But hark the word!—the ship is gone ;—
Returns from her long course :-anon
Sets sail-in season due,

Once more on English earth they stand:
But, when a third time from the land
They parted, sorrow was at hand
For Him and for his crew.

Ill-fated Vessel!-ghastly shock!

-At length delivered from the rock,

The deep she hath regained;

And through the stormy night they steer;
Labouring for life, in hope and fear,

To reach a safer shore-how near,
Yet not to be attained!

'Silence!' the brave Commander cried; To that calm word a shriek replied,

It was the last death-shriek.

-A few (my soul oft sees that sight)
Survive upon the tall mast's height;
But one dear remnant of the night—
For Him in vain I seek.

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That neighbourhood of grove and field
To Him a resting-place should yield,
A meek man and a brave!

The birds shall sing and ocean make

A mournful murmur for his sake;

And Thou, sweet Flower, shalt sleep and wake
Upon his senseless grave.

VIII

ELEGIAC VERSES

70

1805

IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER, JOHN WORDSWORTH

COMMANDER of the E. I. Company's ship, the Earl of Abergavenny, in which he perished by calamitous shipwreck, Feb. 6th, 1805. Composed near the mountain track, that leads from Grasmere through Grisdale Hawes, where it descends towards Patterdale.

T

1805

I

HE Sheep-boy whistled loud, and lo!
That instant, startled by the shock,
The Buzzard mounted from the rock
Deliberate and slow :

Lord of the air, he took his flight;
Oh! could he on that woeful night
Have lent his wing, my Brother dear,
For one poor
moment's space to Thee,
And all who struggled with the Sea,
When safety was so near.

II

Thus in the weakness of my heart
I spoke (but let that pang be still)
When rising from the rock at will,
I saw the Bird depart.

And let me calmly bless the Power

That meets me in this unknown Flower,

Affecting type of him I mourn!

With calmness suffer and believe,

And grieve, and know that I must grieve,
Not cheerless, though forlorn.

III

Here did we stop; and here looked round
While each into himself descends,
For that last thought of parting Friends
That is not to be found.

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Hidden was Grasmere Vale from sight,
Our home and his, his heart's delight,
His quiet heart's selected home.
But time before him melts away,
And he hath feeling of a day

Of blessedness to come.

IV

Full soon in sorrow did I weep,

Taught that the mutual hope was dust,
In sorrow, but for higher trust,

How miserably deep!

All vanished in a single word,

A breath, a sound, and scarcely heard.
Sea-Ship-drowned-Shipwreck-so it came,

The meek, the brave, the good, was gone;

He who had been our living John

Was nothing but a name.

That was indeed a parting! oh,

Glad am I, glad that it is past;

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For there were some on whom it cast
Unutterable woe.

But they as well as I have gains ;-
From many a humble source, to pains
Like these, there comes a mild release;
Even here I feel it, even this Plant
Is in its beauty ministrant

To comfort and to peace.

VI

He would have loved thy modest grace,

Meek Flower! To Him I would have said,

'It grows upon its native bed

Beside our Parting-place;

There, cleaving to the ground, it lies

With multitude of purple eyes,

Spangling a cushion green like moss;
But we will see it, joyful tide!

Some day, to see it in its pride,
The mountain will we cross. '1

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The plant alluded to is the Moss Campion (Silene acaulis, of Linnæus). This most beautiful plant is scarce in England, though it is found in great abundance upon the mountains of Scotland. The first specimen I ever saw of it, in its native bed, was singularly fine, the tuft or cushion being at least eight inches in diameter, and the root proportionably thick. I have only

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VII

-Brother and friend, if verse of mine
Have power to make thy virtues known,
Here let a monumental Stone
Stand-sacred as a Shrine;

And to the few who pass this way,
Traveller or Shepherd, let it say,
Long as these mighty rocks endure,-
Oh do not Thou too fondly brood,
Although deserving of all good,
On any earthly hope, however pure!

IX

SONNET

70

1805

HY should we weep or mourn, Angelic boy,

For such thou wert ere from our sight removed,

Holy, and ever dutiful-beloved

From day to day with never-ceasing joy,

And hopes as dear as could the heart employ

In aught to earth pertaining? Death has proved
His might, nor less his mercy, as behoved-
Death conscious that he only could destroy
The bodily frame. That beauty is laid low
To moulder in a far-off field of Rome;

But Heaven is now, blest Child, thy Spirit's home:
When such divine communion, which we know,

Is felt, thy Roman burial-place will be

Surely a sweet remembrancer of Thee.

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X
LINES

1846

the

COMPOSED at Grasmere, during a walk one Evening, after a stormy day, Author having just read in a Ñewspaper that the dissolution of Mr. Fox was hourly expected.

OUD is the Vale! the Voice is up

L

With which she speaks when storms are gone, A mighty unison of streams!

Of all her Voices, One!

met with it in two places among our mountains, in both of which I have since sought for it in vain.

Botanists will not, I hope, take it ill, if I caution them against carrying off, inconsiderately, rare and beautiful plants. This has often been done, particularly from Ingleborough and other mountains in Yorkshire, till the species have totally disappeared, to the great regret of lovers of nature living near the places where they grew.

See among the Poems on the 'Naming of Places,' No. vi., vol. 1., p. 239.

Loud is the Vale;-this inland Depth
In peace is roaring like the Sea;
Yon star upon the mountain-top
Is listening quietly.

Sad was I, even to pain deprest,
Importunate and heavy load!1
The Comforter hath found me here,
Upon this lonely road;

And many thousands now are sad-
Wait the fulfilment of their fear;
For he must die who is their stay,
Their glory disappear.

A Power is passing from the earth
To breathless Nature's dark abyss;
But when the great and good depart
What is it more than this-

That Man, who is from God sent forth,
Doth yet again to God return ?—

Such ebb and flow must ever be,

Then wherefore should we mourn?

1806

XI

INVOCATION TO THE EARTH

FEBRUARY, 1816

I

'REST, rest, perturbed Earth!

O rest, thou doleful Mother of Mankind!' A Spirit sang in tones more plaintive than the wind: 'From regions where no evil thing has birth

I come-thy stains to wash away,

Thy cherished fetters to unbind,

And open thy sad eyes upon a milder day.

The Heavens are thronged with martyrs that have risen From out thy noisome prison;

The penal caverns groan

With tens of thousands rent from off the tree

Of hopeful life,-by battle's whirlwind blown
Into the deserts of Eternity.

1 Importuna e grave salma.-MICHAEL ANGELO.

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