POEMS ON THE NAMING OF PLACES.
By persons resident in the country and attached to ran objects, many places will be found unnamed or of known names, where little Incidents must have red, or feelings been experienced, which will are given to such places a private and peculiar interFrom a wish to give some sort of record to such lents, or renew the gratification of such Feelings, Names have been given to Places by the Author and e of his Friends, and the following Poems written consequence.
It was an April morning: fresh and clear
Rulet, delighting in its strength,
Pan with a young man's speed; and yet the voice waters which the winter had supplied
We softened down into a vernal tone. Te part of enjoyment and desire,
And hopes and wishes, from all living things Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.
adding groves appeared as if in haste ↑ spur the steps of June; as if their shades
erious green were hinderances that stood Between them and their object: yet, meanwhile, was such deep contentment in the air, That every naked ash, and tardy tree
let leadess, seemed as though the countenance With which it looked on this delightful day Tere native to the summer. - Up the brook Iramed in the confusion of my heart, 4.re to all things and forgetting all. tength I to a sudden turning came Iss continuous glen, where down a rock The Stream, so ardent in its course before, Net forth such sallies of glad sound, that all What I ull then had beard, appeared the voice aunton pleasure: beast and bird, the Lamb, Te Shepherd's Dog, the Linnet and the Thrush Ved with this Waterfall, and made a song Wch, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth lake some natural produce of the air, That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here;
But 't was the foliage of the rocks, the birch, The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn, With hanging islands of resplendent furze : And on a summit, distant a short space, By any who should look beyond the dell, A single mountain Cottage might be seen. I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said, "Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook My EMMA, I will dedicate to thee."
Soon did the spot become my other home, My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode. And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there, To whom I sometimes in our idle talk Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps, Years after we are gone and in our graves, When they have cause to speak of this wild place, May call it by the name of EMMA'S DELL.
AMID the smoke of cities did you pass The time of early youth; and there you learned, From years of quiet industry, to love
The living Beings by your own fire-side, With such a strong devotion, that your heart Is slow toward the sympathies of them Who look upon the hills with tenderness,
And make dear friendships with the streams and groves. Yet we, who are transgressors in this kind, Dwelling retired in our simplicity
Among the woods and fields, we love you well, Joanna! and I guess, since you have been So distant from us now for two long years, That you will gladly listen to discourse, However trivial, if you thence are taught That they, with whom you once were happy, talk Familiarly of you and of old times.
While I was seated, now some ten days past, Beneath those lofty firs, that overtop Their ancient neighbour, the old Steeple tower, The Vicar from his gloomy house hard by Came forth to greet me; and when he had asked, "How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted Maid!
And when will she return to us?" he paused; And, after short exchange of village news, He with grave looks demanded, for what cause Reviving obsolete Idolatry,
I, like a Runic Priest, in characters Of formidable size had chiselled out Some uncouth name upon the native rock, Above the Rotha, by the forest side.*
- Now, by those dear immunities of heart Engendered betwixt malice and true love, I was not loth to be so catechised, And this was my reply:-"As it befel, One summer morning we had walked abroad At break of day, Joanna and myself.
-'T was that delightful season when the broom, Full-flowered, and visible on every steep, Along the copses runs in veins of gold. Our pathway led us on to Rotha's banks; And when we came in front of that tall rock
Which looks towards the East, I there stopped short, And traced the lofty barrier with my eye From base to summit; such delight I found To note in shrub and tree, in stone and flower, That intermixture of delicious hues,
Along so vast a surface, all at once,
In one impression, by connecting force
Of their cwn beauty, imaged in the heart. -When I had gazed perhaps two minutes' space, Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld
That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud. The Rock, like something starting from a sleep, Took up the Lady's voice, and laughed again; That ancient Woman seated on Helm-Crag Was ready with her cavern; Hammar-Scar, And the tall Steep of Silver-How, sent forth A noise of laughter; southern Loughrigg heard, And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone: Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky
Carried the Lady's voice, - old Skiddaw blew His speaking trumpet; — back out of the clouds Of Glaramara southward came the voice; And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head.f
Now whether (said I to our cordial friend, Who in the heyday 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 fire-side, Have called the lovely rock, JoANNA'S ROCK."
THERE is an Eminence, of these our hills The last that parleys with the setting sun. We can behold it from our Orchard-seat; And, when at evening we pursue our walk Along the public way, this Cliff, so high Above us, and so distant in its height, Is visible; and often seems to send Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts. The meteors make of it a favourite haunt: The star of Jove, so beautiful and large In the mid heavens, is never half so fair As when he shines above it. 'Tis in truth The loneliest place we have among the clouds. And She who dwells with me, whom I have loved With such communion, that no place on earth Can ever be a solitude to me,
In Cumberland and Westmoreland are several Inscriptions, Hath to this lonely Summit given my Name.
upon the native rock, which, from the wasting of Time, and
the rudeness of the workmanship, have been mistaken for bility in the latter supposition. The passage in Drayton, alluded 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.
"-Till to your shouts the hills with echo all reply. Which Copland scarce had spoke, but quickly every hill. Upon her verge that stands, the neighbouring valleys fill; Helvillon from his height, it through the mountains threw, From whom as soon again, the sound Dunbalrase drew, From whose stone-trophied head, it on to Wendross went, Which tow'rds the sea again, resounded it to Dent, That Broadwater therewith within her banks astound, In sailing to the sea, told it in Egremound, Whose buildings, walks, and streets, with echoes loud and long,
Did mightily commend old Copland for her song."
'Polyolbion,' Song XXX.-H. R]
A NARROW girdle of rough stones and crags, 1 rade and natural causeway, interposed Between the water and a winding slope of copse and thicket, leaves the eastern shore Of Grasmere safe in its own privacy: And there, myself and two beloved Friends, The calm September morning, ere the mist Had alt gether yielded to the sun, Artered on this retired and difficult way. - suits the road with one in haste, but we ayed with our time; and, as we strolled along, It was our occupation to observe
Sara objects as the waves had tossed ashore, Frather, or leaf, or weed, or withered bough, Lam on the other heaped, along the line
the dry wreck. And, in our vacant mood, Ne sedam did we stop to watch some tuft of candelion seed or thistle's-beard,
at skimmed the surface of the dead calm lake, Steely halting now-a lifeless stand! Ang starting off again with freak as sudden; Isi its sportive wanderings, all the while, Xiang report of an invisible breeze
That was its wings, its chariot, and its horse, parmate, rather say its moving soul. And often, trifling with a privilege A te ndulged to all, we paused, one now, As Dow the other, to point out, perchance Tick, some flower or water-weed, too fair Eber to be divided from the place
which it grew, or to be left alone Town beauty. Many such there are,
Tar Ferns and Flowers, and chiefly that tall Fern, So stately, of the Queen Osmunda named; l'atelier, in its own retired abode
Grasmere's beach, than Naiad by the side Grecian brock, or Lady of the Mere, Sg by the shores of old Romance. -So fred we that bright morning: from the fields, Yanwhile, a noise was heard, the busy mirth Readers, Men and Women, Boys and Girls. gited much to listen to those sounds, 1:1 feeding thus our fancies, we advanced Ang the indented shore; when suddenly, 7gh a tan veil of glittering haze was seen Eve us, on a point of jutting land, The tall and upright figure of a Man Ated in peasant's garb, who stood alone, Aging besile the margin of the lake. provideat and reckless, we exclaimed, The Man must be, who thus can lose a day the mid harvest, when the labourer's hire lease, and some little might be stored
with to cheer him in the winter time. taking of that Peasant, we approached Cuse to the spot where with his rod and line
He stood alone; whereat he turned his head
To greet us and we saw a Man worn down
By sickness, gaunt and lean, with sunken cheeks And wasted limbs, his legs so long and lean That for my single self I looked at them, Forgetful of the body they sustained.— Too weak to labour in the harvest field, The Man was using his best skill to gain A pittance from the dead unfeeling lake That knew not of his wants. I will not say What thoughts immediately were ours, nor how The happy idleness of that sweet morn, With all its lovely images, was changed To serious musing and to self-reproach. Nor did we fail to see within ourselves What need there is to be reserved in speech, And temper all our thoughts with charity. -Therefore, unwilling to forget that day, My Friend, Myself, and She who then received The same admonishment, have called the place By a memorial name, uncouth indeed
As e'er by Mariner was given to Bay
Or Foreland, on a new-discovered coast;
And POINT RASH-JUDGMENT is the Name it bears.
OUR walk was far among the ancient trees; There was no road, nor any woodman's path; But the thick umbrage, checking the wild growth Of weed and sapling, along soft green turf Beneath the branches, of itself had made A track, that brought us to a slip of lawn, And a small bed of water in the woods.
All round this pool both flocks and herds might drink On its firm margin, even as from a Well,
Or some Stone-basin which the Herdsman's hand Had shaped for their refreshment; nor did sun, Or wind from any quarter, ever come, But as a blessing, to this calm recess, This glade of water and this one green field. The spot was made by Nature for herself; The travellers know it not, and 't will remain Unknown to them: but it is beautiful; And if a man should plant his cottage near, Should sleep beneath the shelter of its trees, And blend its waters with his daily meal, He would so love it, that in his death hour Its image would survive among his thoughts: And therefore, my sweet MARY, this still Nook With all its beeches, we have named from You
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. Upon a hill 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 seck, 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 Yout Year followed year, my Brother! and we two, Conversing not, knew little in what mould Each other's minds were fashioned; and at lengt 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.*
*This wish was not granted; the lamented Person not lon after perished by shipwreck, in discharge of his duty as C mander of the Honourable East India Company's Vessel, th Earl of Abergavenny.
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