The note at the end of this poem, upon the Oxford movement, was entrusted to my friend, Mr Frederick Faber.* I told him what I wished to be said, and begged that, as he was intimately acquainted with several of the Leaders of it, he would express my thought in the way least likely to be taken amiss by them. Much of the work they are undertaking was grievously wanted, and God grant their endeavours may continue to prosper as they have done.]
YE Apennines! with all your fertile vales
Deeply embosomed, and your winding shores
Of either sea, an Islander by birth,
A Mountaineer by habit, would resound
Your praise, in meet accordance with your claims
Bestowed by Nature, or from man's great deeds
Inherited :-presumptuous thought!—it fled
Like vapour, like a towering cloud, dissolved.
Not, therefore, shall my mind give way to sadness;—
Yon snow-white torrent-fall, plumb down it drops
Yet ever hangs or seems to hang in air,
Lulling the leisure of that high perched town,
AQUAPENDENTE, in her lofty site
Its neighbour and its namesake-town, and flood
Forth flashing out of its own gloomy chasm
Bright sunbeams-the fresh verdure of this lawn
Strewn with grey rocks, and on the horizon's verge,
O'er intervenient waste, through glimmering haze,
Unquestionably kenned, that cone-shaped hill
With fractured summit,† no indifferent sight
To travellers, from such comforts as are thine,
Bleak Radicofani!‡ escaped with joy—
These are before me; and the varied scene
May well suffice, till noon-tide's sultry heat
* Afterwards Father Faber, priest of the Oratory of St Philip Neri. -ED.
On the old high road from Siena to Rome.- ED.
Relax, to fix and satisfy the mind.
Passive yet pleased.
What! with this Broom in flower She bids me fly to greet
Her sisters, soon like her to be attired.
With golden blossoms opening at the feet
Of my own Fairfield.* The glad greeting given,
Given with a voice and by a look returned
Of old companionship, Time counts not minutes
Ere, from accustomed paths, familiar fields,
The local Genius hurries me aloft,
Transported over that cloud-wooing hill,
Seat Sandal, a fond suitor of the clouds,†
With dream-like smoothness, to Helvellyn's top,
There to alight upon crisp moss, and range
Obtaining ampler boon, at every step,
Of visual sovereignty-hills multitudinous,
(Not Apennine can boast of fairer) hills
Pride of two nations, wood and lake and plains,
And prospect right below of deep coves shaped §
By skeleton arms, that, from the mountain's trunk
Extended, clasp the winds, with mutual moan
Struggling for liberty, while undismayed
The shepherd struggles with them.
And downward by the skirt of Greenside fell,||
The mountain between Rydal Head and Helvellyn.- ED.
+ Seat Sandal is the mountain between Tongue Ghyll and Grisedale Tarn on the south and east, and the Dunmail Raise road on the west.ED.
Compare The Eclipse of the Sun in "Memorials of a Tour in the Continent in 1820." (Vol. VI. p. 256.)-ED.
§ Keppelcove, Nethermost cove, and the cove in which Red Tarn lies bounded by the "skeleton arms" of Striding Edge and Swirrel Edge. Compare
"It was a cove, a huge recess
That keeps till June December's snow."
-Fidelity. Vol. III. p. 37.-ED.
|| Descending to Ullswater from Helvellyn, Greenside Fell and Mines are passed.-Ed.
And by Glenridding-screes,* and low Glencoign,†
Places forsaken now, though1 loving still
The muses, as they loved them in the days
Of the old minstrels and the border bards.-
But here am I fast bound; and let it pass,
The simple rapture;-who that travels far
To feed his mind with watchful eyes could share
Or wish to share it ?-One there surely was,
"The Wizard of the North," with anxious hope
Brought to this genial climate, when disease
Preyed upon body and mind-yet not the less
Had his sunk eye kindled at those dear words
That spake of bards and minstrels; and his spirit
Had flown with mine to old Helvellyn's brow
Where once together, in his day of strength,
We stood rejoicing, as if earth were free
From sorrow, like the sky above our heads.
Years followed years, and when, upon the eve
Of his last going from Tweed-side, thought turned,
Or by another's sympathy was led,
To this bright land, Hope was for him no friend,
Knowledge no help; Imagination shaped
No promise. Still, in more than ear-deep seats,
Survives for me, and cannot but survive
The tone of voice which wedded borrowed words
To sadness not their own, when, with faint smile
Forced by intent to take from speech its edge,
* The Glenridding Screes are bold rocks on the left as you descend Helvellyn to Patterdale.-ED.
+ Glencoign is an offshoot of the Patterdale valley between Glenridding and Goldbarrow.-ED.
† See the Fenwick note.-ED.
He said, "When I am there, although 'tis fair,
'Twill be another Yarrow."
"'* Prophecy
More than fulfilled, as gay Campania's shores
Soon witnessed, and the city of seven hills,
Her sparkling fountains, and her mouldering tombs ;
And more than all, that Eminence † which showed
Her splendours, seen, not felt, the while he stood
A few short steps (painful they were) apart
From Tasso's Convent-haven, and retired grave.‡
Peace to their Spirits! why should Poesy
Yield to the lure of vain regret, and hover
In gloom on wings with confidence outspread
To move in sunshine ?-Utter thanks, my Soul !
Tempered with awe, and sweetened by compassion
For them who in the shades of sorrow dwell
That I-so near the term to human life
Appointed by man's common heritage, §
Frail as the frailest, one withal (if that
Deserve a thought) but little known to fame-
And free to rove where Nature's loveliest looks,
Art's noblest relics, history's rich bequests,
Failed to reanimate and but feebly cheered
The whole world's Darling-free to rove at will
O'er high and low, and if requiring rest,
Rest from enjoyment only.
* These words were quotod to me from "Yarrow Unvisited," by Sir Walter Scott, when I visited him at Abbotsford, a day or two before his departure for Italy: and the affecting condition in which he was when he looked upon Rome from the Janicular Mount, was reported to me by a lady who had the honour of conducting him thither.-W. W. 1842.-See also the Fenwick note to this poem.-ED.
+ The Janicular Mount.-ED.
See the Fenwick note prefixed to this poem.- ED. § He was then sixty-s y-seven years of age. -ED.
For what thus far hath blessed my wanderings, thanks
Fervent but humble as the lips can breathe
Where gladness seems a duty-let me guard
Those seeds of expectation which the fruit
Already gathered in this favoured Land
Enfolds within its core. The faith be mine,
That He who guides and governs all, approves
When gratitude, though disciplined to look
Beyond these transient spheres, doth wear a crown
Of earthly hope put on with trembling hand;
Nor is least pleased, we trust, when golden beams,
Reflected through the mists of age, from hours
Of innocent delight, remote or recent,
Shoot but a little way-'tis all they can—
Into the doubtful future. Who would keep
Power must resolve to cleave to it through life,
Else it deserts him, surely as he lives.
Saints would not grieve nor guardian angels frown
If one-while tossed, as was my lot to be,
In a frail bark urged by two slender oars
Over waves rough and deep,* that, when they broke
Dashed their white foam against the palace walls
Of Genoa the superb-should there be led
To meditate upon his own appointed tasks,
However humble in themselves, with thoughts
Raised and sustained by memory of Him
Who oftentimes within those narrow bounds
Rocked on the surge, there tried his spirit's strength
And grasp of purpose, long ere sailed his ship
To lay a new world open.
Be those impressions which incline the heart
* See the Fenwick note.- ED.
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