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HERE, where, of havoc tired and rash undoing,
Man left this Structure to become Time's prey,
A soothing Spirit follows in the way

That Nature takes, her counter-work pursuing.
See how her Ivy clasps the sacred Ruin,*
Fall to prevent or beautify decay;

And, on the mouldered walls, how bright, how gay,
The flowers in pearly dews their bloom renewing!
Thanks to the place, blessings upon the hour:
Even as I speak the rising Sun's first smile
Gleams on the grass-crowned top of yon tall Tower *
Whose cawing occupants with joy proclaim
Prescriptive title to the shattered pile

Where, Cavendish,† thine seems nothing but a name!

In the chancel of the church at Furness Abbey, ivy almost covers the north wall. In the Belfry and in the Chapter House, it is the same. The "tower," referred to in the sonnet, is evidently the belfry tower to the west. It is still 66 grass-crowned." The sonnet was doubtless composed on the spot, and if Wordsworth ascended to the top of the belfry tower, he might have seen the morning sunlight strike the small remaining fragment of the central tower. But it is more likely that he looked up from the nave, or choir, of the church to the belfry, when he spoke of the sun's first smile gleaming from the top of the tall tower. 'Flowers " -crowfoot, campanulas, &c.—still luxuriate on the mouldered walls. With the line,

compare,

"Fall to prevent or beautify decay,"

"Nature softening and concealing,
And busy with a hand of healing,"

66

in the description of Bolton Abbey in The White Doe of Rylstone.—ED. + Furness Abbey is the property of the Duke of Devonshire, whose family name is Cavendish.-ED.

1845.

The Poems of 1845 include one "on the Naming of Places," The Westmoreland Girl (addressed to the Poet's grandchildren), several fragments addressed to Mrs Wordsworth and to friends, The Cuckoo Clock and one or two Sonnets.

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FORTH from a jutting ridge, around whose base
Winds our deep Vale, two heath-clad Rocks ascend*
In fellowship, the loftiest of the pair

Rising to no ambitious height; yet both,

O'er lake and stream, mountain and flowery mead,
Unfolding prospects fair as human eyes

Ever beheld. Up-led with mutual help,

To one or other brow of those twin Peaks

Were two adventurous Sisters wont to climb,

And took no note of the hour while thence they gazed,
The blooming heath their couch, gazed, side by side,
In speechless admiration. I, a witness

* These two rocks rise to the left of the lower high-road from Grasmere to Rydal, after it leaves the former lake and turns eastwards towards the latter. They are still "heath" clad, and covered with the coppice of the old Bane Riggs Wood, so named because the shortest road from Ambleside to Grasmere used to pass through it; "bain" or "bane" signifying, in the Westmoreland dialect, a short cut. Dr Cradock wrote of them thus:"They are now difficult of approach, being enclosed in a wood, with dense undergrowth, and surrounded by a high, well-built wall. They can be well seen from the lower road, from a spot close to the three-mile stone from Ambleside. They are some fifty or sixty feet above the road, about twenty yards apart, and separated by a slight depression of, say, ten feet. The view from the easterly one is now much preferable, as it is less encumbered with shrubs; and for that reason also is more heath-clad. The twin rocks are also well seen, though at a farther distance, from the hill in White Moss Common between the roads, which Dr Arnold used to call 'Old Corruption,' and 'Bit-by-bit Reform.' Doubtless the rocks were far more easily approached fifty years ago, when walls, if any, were low and ill-built. It is probable, however, that even then they were enclosed and protected; for heath will not grow on the Grasmere hills. on places much frequented by sheep." The best view of these heath clad rocks from the lower carriage road is at a spot two or three yards to the west of a large rock on the roadside near the milestone. The view of them from the Loughrigg Terrace walks is also interesting. The two sisters were Mary and Sarah Hutchinson (Mrs Wordsworth and her sister).—ED.

And frequent sharer of their calm delight
With thankful heart, to either Eminence
Gave the baptismal name each Sister bore.
Now are they parted, far as Death's cold hand
Hath power to part the Spirits of those who love
As they did love. Ye kindred Pinnacles-
That, while the generations of mankind
Follow each other to their hiding-place
In time's abyss, are privileged to endure
Beautiful in yourselves, and richly graced
With like command of beauty-grant your aid
For MARY'S humble, SARAH'S silent, claim,
That their pure joy in nature may survive
From age to age in blended memory.

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* This Westmoreland Girl was Sarah Mackereth of Wyke Cottage, Grasmere. She married a man named Davis, and died in 1872 at Broughton in Furness. The swollen "flood" from which she rescued the lamb, was Wyke Gill beck, which descends from the centre of Silver Howe. The picturesque cottage, with round chimney,- -a yew tree and Scotch fir behind it,-is on the western side of the road from Grasmere over to Langdale by Red Bank. The Mackereths have been a well-known West

But, as chanced, a Cottage-maiden
(Ten years scarcely had she told)
Seeing, plunged into the torrent,
Clasped the Lamb and kept her hold.

Whirled adown the rocky channel,
Sinking, rising, on they go,

Peace and rest, as seems, before them

Only in the lake below.

Oh! it was a frightful current

Whose fierce wrath the Girl had braved;
Clap your hands with joy, my Hearers,
Shout in triumph, both are saved;

Saved by courage that with danger

Grew, by strength the gift of love,
And belike a guardian angel

Came with succour from above.

PART II.

Now, to a maturer Audience,
Let me speak of this brave Child
Left among her native mountains
With wild Nature to run wild.

So, unwatched by love maternal,
Mother's care no more her guide,
Fared this little bright-eyed Orphan
Even while at her father's side.

moreland family for some hundred years. They belong to the "gentry of the soil,” and have been parish clerks in Grasmere for generations. One of them was the tenant of the Swan Inn referred to in The Waggoner-the host who painted, with his own hand, the "famous swan," used as a sign. (See Vol. III., p. 80).

The story of The Blind Highland Boy, which gave rise to the poem bearing that name, was told to Wordsworth by one of these Mackereths of Grasmere. (See the Fenwick note, Vol. II., p. 368.)—ED.

Spare your blame,—remembrance makes him

Loth to rule by strict command;

Still upon his cheek are living
Touches of her infant hand,

Dear caresses given in pity,
Sympathy that soothed his grief,
As the dying mother witnessed
To her thankful mind's relief.

Time passed on; the Child was happy,
Like a Spirit of air she moved,
Wayward, yet by all who knew her
For her tender heart beloved.

Scarcely less than sacred passions,
Bred in house, in grove, and field,
Link her with the inferior creatures,
Urge her powers their rights to shield.

Anglers, bent on reckless pastime,
Learn how she can feel alike

Both for tiny harmless minnow

And the fierce and sharp-toothed pike.

Merciful protectress, kindling

Into anger or disdain;

Many a captive hath she rescued,
Others saved from lingering pain

Listen yet awhile;-with patience
Hear the homely truths I tell,
She in Grasmere's old church-steeple
Tolled this day the passing-bell.

Yes, the wild Girl of the mountains
To their echoes gave the sound,
Notice punctual as the minute,
Warning solemn and profound.

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