The last of the three sonnets probably belongs to the year 1804, as it is quoted in a letter to Sir George Beaumont, dated Grasmere, August 6. The year is not given, but I think it must have been 1804, as he says that "within the last month," he had written, "700 additional lines" of 'The Prelude'; and that poem was finished in May 1805.

The titles given to them make it necessary to place these Sonnets in the order which follows.

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.

I

Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace, And I be undeluded, unbetrayed; For if of our affections none finds [1] grace In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made The world which we inhabit? Better plea 5 Love cannot have, than that in loving thee Glory to that eternal Peace is paid, Who such divinity to thee imparts As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts. His hope is treacherous only whose love dies 10 With beauty, which is varying every hour; But, in chaste hearts uninfluenced by the power Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower, That breathes on earth the air of paradise.

* * * * *

VARIANT ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1849.

... find ... 1807.]



* * * * *



FROM THE SAME

Translated 1805?—Published 1807

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.



II

No mortal object did these eyes behold When first they met the placid light of thine, And my Soul felt her destiny divine, [1] And hope of endless peace in me grew bold: Heaven-born, the Soul a heaven-ward course must hold; 5 Beyond the visible world she soars to seek (For what delights the sense is false and weak) Ideal Form, the universal mould. The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest In that which perishes: nor will he lend 10 His heart to aught which doth on time depend. 'Tis sense, unbridled will, and not true love, That [2] kills the soul: love betters what is best, Even here below, but more in heaven above.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1807.

When first saluted by the light of thine, When my soul ...

MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont.]

[Variant 2:

1827.

Which ... 1807.]



* * * * *



FROM THE SAME. TO THE SUPREME BEING

Translated 1804?—Published 1807

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.



III

The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed If Thou the spirit give by which I pray: My unassisted heart is barren clay, That [1] of its native self can nothing feed: Of good and pious works thou art the seed, 5 That [2] quickens only where thou say'st it may. Unless Thou shew to us thine own true way No man can find it: Father! Thou must lead. Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind By which such virtue may in me be bred 10 That in thy holy footsteps I may tread; The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind, That I may have the power to sing of thee, And sound thy praises everlastingly.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1827.

Which ... 1807.]

[Variant 2:

1827.

Which ... 1807.]



The sonnet from which the above is translated, is not wholly by Michael Angelo, the sculptor and painter, but is taken from patched-up versions of his poem by his nephew of the same name. Michael Angelo only wrote the first eight lines, and these have been garbled in his nephew's edition. The original lines are thus given by Guasti in his edition of Michael Angelo's Poems (1863) restored to their true reading, from the autograph MSS. in Rome and Florence.

Imperfect Sonnet transcribed from "Le Rime di Michelangelo Buonarroti Cavate dagli Autografi da Cesare Guasti. Firenze. 1863."



SONNET LXXXIX. [Vatican].

Ben sarien dolce le preghiere mie, Se virtu mi prestassi da pregarte: Nel mio fragil terren non e gia parte Da frutto buon, che da se nato sie.

Tu sol se' seme d' opre caste e pie, Che la germoglian dove ne fa' parte: Nessun proprio valor puo seguitarte, Se no gli mostri le tue sante vie.

The lines are thus paraphrased in prose by the Editor:

Le mie preghiere sarebbero grate, se tu mi prestassi quella virtu che rende efficace il pregare: ma io sono un terreno sterile, in cui non nasce spontaneamente frutto che sia buono. Tu solamente sei seme di opere caste e pie, le quali germogliano la dove tu ti spargi: e nessuna virtu vi ha che da per se possa venirti dietro, se tu stesso non le mostri le vie che conducono al bene, e che sono le tue....

The Sonnet as published by the Nephew is as follows:

Ben sarian dolci le preghiere mie, Se virtu mi prestassi da pregarte: Nel mio terreno infertil non e parte Da produr frutto di virtu natie.

Tu il seme se' dell' opre giuste e pie, Che la germoglian dove ne fai parte: Nessun proprio valor puo seguitarte, Se non gli mostri le tue belle vie.

Tu nella mente mia pensieri infondi, Che producano in me si vivi effetti, Signor, ch' io segua i tuoi vestigi santi.

E dalla lingua mia chiari, e facondi Sciogli della tua gloria ardenti detti, Perche sempre io ti lodi, esalti, e canti.

('Le Rime di Michelangelo Buonarroti, Pittore, Scultor e Architetto cavate degli autografi, e pubblicate da Cesare Guasti'. Firenze, 1863.)-Ed.



* * * * *



APPENDIX.

NOTE I

"POEMS ON THE NAMING OF PLACES"

'When, to the attractions of the busy world', p. 66

The following variants occur in a MS. Book containing 'Yew Trees', 'Artegal' and 'Elidure', 'Laodamia', 'Black Comb,' etc.—Ed.

When from the restlessness of crowded life Back to my native vales I turned, and fixed My habitation in this peaceful spot, Sharp season was it of continuous storm In deepest winter; and, from week to week, Pathway, and lane, and public way were clogged With frequent showers of snow ...

When first attracted by this happy Vale Hither I came, among old Shepherd Swains To fix my habitation,'t was a time Of deepest winter, and from week to week Pathway, and lane, and public way were clogged

When to the { cares and pleasures of the world { attractions of the busy world

Preferring {ease and liberty } I chose {peace and liberty } I chose {studious leisure I had chosen A habitation in this peaceful vale Sharp season {was it of } continuous storm {followed by } continuous storm



* * * * *



NOTE II.—THE HAWKSHEAD BECK

(See pp. 188-89, 'The Prelude', book iv.)

Mr. Rawnsley, formerly of Wray Vicarage—now Canon Rawnsley of Crosthwaite Vicarage, Keswick—sent me the following letter in reference to:

... that unruly child of mountain birth, The famous brook, who, soon as he was boxed Within our garden, found himself at once, As if by trick insidious and unkind, Stripped of his voice and left to dimple down ... I looked at him and smiled, and smiled again, ... 'Ha,' quoth I, 'pretty prisoner, are you there!'

"I was not quite content with Dr. Cradock's identification of this brook, or of the garden; partly because, beyond the present garden square I found, on going up the brook, other garden squares, which were much more likely to have been the garden belonging to Anne Tyson's cottage, and because in these garden plots the stream was not 'stripped of his voice,' by the covering of Coniston flags, as is the case lower down towards the market place; and partly because—as you notice—you can both hear and see the stream through the interstices of the flags, and that it can hardly be described (by one who will listen) as stripped of its voice.

At the same time I was bound to admit that in comparing the voice of the stream here in the 'channel paved by man's officious care' with the sound of it up in the fields beyond the vicarage, nearer its birth-place, it certainly might be said to be softer voiced; and as the poet speaks of it as 'that unruly child of mountain birth,' it looks as if he too had realised the difference.

But whilst I thought that the identification of Dr. Cradock and yourself was very happy (in absence of other possibilities), I had not thought that Wordsworth would describe the stream as 'dimpling down,' or address it as a 'pretty prisoner.' A smaller stream seemed necessary.

It was, therefore, not a little curious that, in poking about among the garden plots on the west bank of the stream, fronting (as nearly as I could judge) Anne Tyson's cottage, to seek for remains of the ash tree, in which so often the poet—as he lay awake on summer nights—had watched 'the moon in splendour couched among the leaves,' rocking 'with every impulse of the breeze,' I not only stumbled upon the remains of an ash tree—now a 'pollard'—which is evidently sprung from a larger tree since decayed (and which for all I know may be one of the actual parts of the ancient tree itself); but also had the good luck to fall into conversation with a certain Isaac Hodgson, who volunteered the following information.

First, that Wordsworth, it was commonly said, had lodged part of his time with one Betty Braithwaite, in the very house called Church Hill House.

She was a widow, and kept a confectionery shop, and 'did a deal of baking,' he believed.

Secondly, that there was a little patch of garden at the back of the house, with a famous spring well—still called Old Betty's Well—in it, and that only a few paces from where I was then standing by the pollard ash.

On jumping over the fence I found myself on the western side of the quaint old Church Hill House, with magnificent views of the whole of the western side of Hawkshead Vale; grassy swell and wooded rises taking the eye up to the moorland ridge between us and Coniston.

'But,' said I, 'what about Betty's Well.' 'Oh,' said my friend, 'that's a noted spring, that never freezes, and always runs; we all drink of it, and neighbours send to it. Here it is,' he continued; and, gazing down, I saw a little dripping well of water, lustrous, clear, coming evidently in continuous force from the springs or secret channels up hill, pausing for a moment at the trough, thence falling into a box or 'channel paved by man's officious care,' and in a moment out of sight and soundless, to pursue its way, 'stripped of its voice,' towards the main Town beck, that ran at the north-east border of the garden plot. 'Ha, pretty prisoner,' and the words 'dimple down' came to my mind at once as appropriate. 'Old Betty's Well gave the key-note of the 'famous brook'; and 'boxed within our garden' seemed an appropriate and exact description.

Trace of 'the sunny seat Round the stone table under the dark pine,'

was there none. Not so, however, the Ash tree, the remains of which I have spoken of. From the bedroom of Betty Braithwaite's house the boy could have watched the moon,

'while to and fro In the dark summit of the waving tree She rocked with every impulse of the breeze.'

'In old times,' said my friend, 'the wall fence ran across the garden, just beyond this spring well, so you see it was but a small spot, was this garden close.' Yes; but the

'crowd of things About its narrow precincts all beloved,'

were known the better, and loved the more on that account. Certainly, thought I to myself, here is the famous spring; a brook that Wordsworth must have known, and that may have been the centre of memory to him in his description of those early Hawkshead days, with its metaphor of fountain life.

May we not, as we gaze on this little fountain well, in a garden plot at the back of one of the grey huts of this 'one dear vale,' point as with a wand, and say,

'This portion of the river of his mind Came from yon fountain.'

Is it not possible that the old dame whose

'Clear though shallow stream of piety, Ran on the Sabbath days a fresher course,'

was Betty Braithwaite, the aged dame who owned the cottage hard by?"

The following additional extract from a letter of Mr. Rawnsley's (Christmas, 1882) casts light, both on the Hawkshead beck and fountain, and on the stone seat in the market square, referred to in the fourth book of 'The Prelude'.

"Postlethwaite of the Sun Inn at Hawkshead, has a father aged 82, who can remember that there was a stone bench, not called old Betty's, but Old Jane's Stone, on which she used to spread nuts and cakes for the scholars of the Grammar School, but that it did not stand where the Market Hall now is, and no one ever remembers a stone or stone-bench standing there. This stone or stone-bench stood about opposite the Red Lion inn, in front of the little row of houses that run east and west, just as you pass out of the village in a northerly direction by the Red Lion. This stone or stone-bench is not associated with dark pine trees, but they may have passed away root and branch in an earlier generation.

Next and most interesting, I think, as showing that I was right in the matter of the famous fountain, or spring in the garden, behind Betty Braithwaite's house. There exists in Hawkshead near this house a covered-in place or shed, to which all the village repair for their drinking-water, and always have done so. It is known by the name of the Spout House, and the water—which flows all the year from a longish spout, with an overflow one by its side—comes direct from the little drop well in Betty B.'s garden, after having its voice stripped and boxed therein; and, falling out of the spout into a deep stone basin and culvert, runs through the town to join the Town Beck.

So wedded are the Hawkshead folk to this, their familiar fountainhead, that though water is supplied in stand-pipes now from a Reservoir, the folks won't have it, and come here to this spout-house, bucket and jug in hand, morn, noon and night. I have never seen anything so like a continental scene at the gathering at Hawkshead spout-house.

Lastly, there is a very aged thorn-tree in the churchyard—blown over but propped up—in which the forefathers of the hamlet used to sit as boys (in the thorn, that is, not the churchyard), and which has been worn smooth by many Hawkshead generations. The tradition is, that Wordsworth used to sit a deal in it when at school."

Ed.



* * * * *



NOTE III.—THE HAWKSHEAD MORNING WALK: SUMMER VACATION

(See p. 197, 'The Prelude', book iv. ll. 323-38)

If the farm-house where Wordsworth spent the evening before this memorable morning walk was either at Elterwater or High Arnside, and the homeward pathway led across the ridge of Ironkeld, either by the old mountain road (now almost disused), or over the pathless fells, there are two points from either of which the sea might be seen in the distance. The one is from the heights looking down to the Duddon estuary, across the Coniston valley; the other is from a spot nearer Hawkshead, where Morecambe Bay is visible. In the former case "the meadows and the lower grounds" would be those in Yewdale; in the latter case, they would be those between Latterbarrow and Hawkshead; and, on either alternative, the "solid mountains" would be those of the Coniston group—the Old Man and Wetherlam. It is also possible that the course of the walk was over the Latterbarrow fells, or heights of Colthouse; but, from the reference to the sunrise "not unseen" from the copse and field, through which the "homeward pathway wound," it may be supposed that the course was south-east, and therefore not over these fells, when his back would have been to the sun. Dr. Cradock's note [Footnote T to book iv] to the text (p. 197) sums up all that can "be safely said"; but Mr. Rawnsley has supplied me with the following interesting remarks:

"After a careful reading of the passage describing the poet's return from a festal night, spent in some farm-house beyond the hills, I am quite unable to say that the path from High Arnside over the Ironkeld range entirely suits the description. Is it not possible that the lad had school-fellows whose parents lived in Yewdale? If he had, and was returning from the party in one of the Yewdale farms, he would, as he ascended towards Tarn Howes, and faced about south, to gain the main Coniston road, by traversing the meadows between Berwick ground and the top of the Hawkshead and Coniston Hill, command a view of the sea that 'lay laughing at a distance'; and 'near, the solid mountains'—Wetherlam and Coniston Old Man—would shine 'bright as the clouds.' I think this is likely to have been the poet's track, because he speaks of labourers going forth to till the fields; and the Yewdale valley is one that is (at its head) chiefly arable, so that he would be likelier to have gazed on them there than in the vale of Hawkshead itself. One is here, however—as in a former passage, when we fixed on Yewdale as the one described as being a 'cultured vale'—obliged to remember that in Wordsworth's boyhood wheat was grown more extensively than is now the case in these parts. Of course, the Furness Fell, above Colthouse, might have been the scene. It is eminently suited to the description."

Ed.



* * * * *



NOTE IV.—DOROTHY WORDSWORTH AT CAMBRIDGE IN 1808. THE ASH TREE AT ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE

(See p. 224, 'The Prelude', book vi. ll. 76-94)

The following is an extract from a letter of Dorothy Wordsworth's to Lady Beaumont at Coleorton, dated "14th August," probably in 1808:

"We reached Cambridge at half-past nine. In our way to the Inn we stopped at the gate of St. John's College to set down one of our passengers. The stopping of the carriage roused me from a sleepy musing, and I was awe-stricken with the solemnity of the old gateway, and the light from a great distance within streaming along the pavement. When they told me it was the entrance to 'St. John's' College, I was still more affected by the gloomy yet beautiful sight before me, for I thought of my dearest brother in his youthful days passing through that gateway to his home, and I could have believed that I saw him there even then, as I had seen him in the first year of his residence. I met with Mr. Clarkson at the Inn, and was, you may believe, rejoiced to hear his voice at the coach door. We supped together, and immediately after supper I went to bed, and slept well, and at 8 o'clock next morning went to Trinity Chapel. There I stood for many minutes in silence before the statue of Newton, while the organ sounded. I never saw a statue that gave me one hundredth part so much pleasure—but pleasure, that is not the word, it is a sublime sensation—in harmony with sentiments of devotion to the Divine Being, and reverence for the holy places where He is worshipped. We walked in the groves all the morning and visited the Colleges. I sought out a favourite ash tree which my brother speaks of in his poem on his own life—a tree covered with ivy. We dined with a fellow of Peter-House in his rooms, and after dinner I went to King's College Chapel. There, and everywhere else at Cambridge, I was even much more impressed with the effect of the buildings than I had been formerly, and I do believe that this power of receiving an enlarged enjoyment from the sight of buildings is one of the privileges of our later years. I have this moment received a letter from William...."

Ed.



* * * * *



NOTE V.—"THE MEETING-POINT OF TWO HIGHWAYS"

(See p. 353, 'The Prelude', book xii. l. 293)

The following extract from a letter of Mr. Rawnsley's casts important light on a difficult question of localization. Dr. Cradock is inclined now to select the Outgate Crag, the second of the four places referred to by Mr. Rawnsley. But the first may have been the place, and the extract which follows will show how much is yet to be done in this matter of localizing poetical allusions.

"As to

'the crag, That, from the meeting-point of two highways Ascending, overlooked them both, far stretched,'

there seems to be no doubt but that we have four competitors for the honour of being the place to which the poet:

'impatient for the sight Of those led palfreys that should bear them home'

repaired with his brothers

'one Christmas-time, On the glad eve of its dear holidays.'

And unless, as it seems is quite possible, from what one sees in other of Wordsworth's poems, he really stood on one of the crags, and then in his description drew the picture of the landscape at his feet from his memory of what it was as seen from another of the vantage places, we need a high crag, rising gradually or abruptly from the actual meeting-place of two highways, with, if possible at this distance of time, a wall—or traces of it—quite at its summit. (I may mention that the wallers in this country still give two hundred years as the length of time that a dry wall will stand.) We need also traces of an old thorn tree close by. The wall, too, must be so placed on the summit of the crag that, as it faces the direction in which the lad is looking for his palfrey, it shall afford shelter to him against

'the sleety rain, And all the business of the elements.'

It is evident that the lad would be looking out in a north-easterly direction, i. e. towards the head of Windermere and Ambleside. So that

'the mist, That on the line of each of those two roads Advanced in such indisputable shapes,'

was urged by a wind that found the poet at his look-out station, glad to have the wall between him and it. Further, there must be in close proximity wood and the sound of rushing water, or the lapping of a lake wind-driven against the marge, for the boy remembers that 'the bleak music from that old stone wall' was mingled with 'the noise of wood and water.' The roads spoken of must be two highways, and must be capable of being seen for some distance; unless, as it is just possible, the epithet 'far-stretched' may be taken as applying not so much to the roads, as to the gradual ascent of the crag from the meeting-place of the two highways.

The scene from the crag must be extended, and half plain half wood-land; at least one gathers as much from the lines:

'as the mist Gave intermitting prospect of the copse And plain beneath.'

Lastly, it was a day of driving sleet and mist, and this of itself would necessitate that the poet and his brothers should only go to the place close to which the ponies must pass, or from which most plainly the roads were visible.

The boys too were

'feverish, and tired, and restless,'

and a schoolboy, to gain his point on such a day and on such an errand, does not take much account of a mile of country to be travelled over.

So that it is immaterial, I think, to make the distance from Hawkshead of either of the four crags or vantage grounds a factor in decision.

The farther the lads were from home when they met their ponies, the longer ride back they would have, and this to schoolboys is matter of consideration at such times.

Taking then a survey of the ground of choice, we have to decide whether the crag in question is situated at the first division or main split of the road from Ambleside furthest from Hawkshead, or whether at the place where the two roads converge again into one nearer Hawkshead.

Whether, that is, the crag above the Pullwyke quarry, at the junction of the road to Water Barngates and the road to Wray and Outgate is to be selected, about two miles from Hawkshead; or whether we are to fix on the spot you have chosen, at the point about a mile north-east of Hawkshead, 'called in the ordnance map Outgate.'

Of the two I incline to the former, for these reasons. The boys could not be so certain of 'not missing the ponies', at any other place than here at Pullwyke.

The crag exactly answers the poet's description, a rising ground, the meeting-place of two highways. For in the poet's time the old Hawkshead and Outgate road at the Pullwyke corner ran at the very foot of the rising ground (roughly speaking) parallel to and some 60 to 100 yards west of the present road from the Pull to Wray.

It is true that no trace of wall is visible at its summit, but the summit has been planted since with trees, and walls are often removed at time of planting.

The poet would have a full view of the main road, down to, and round, the Pullwyke Bay; he would see the branch road from the fork, as it mounted the Water Barngates Hill, to the west, and would see the other road of the fork far-stretched and going south.

He would also have an extended view of copse and meadow land. He might, if the wind were south-easterly, hear the noise of Windermere, sobbing in the Pullwyke Bay, and would without doubt hear also the roar of the Pull Beck water, as it passed down from the Ironkeld slopes on his left towards the lake.

It might be objected that the poem gives us the idea of a crag which, from the Hawkshead side at any rate, would require to be of more difficult ascent than this is, to justify the idea of difficulty as suggested in the lines:

'thither I repaired, Scout-like, and gained the summit;'

but I do not think we need read more into the lines than that the boy felt—as he scanned the country with his eyes, on the 'qui vive' at every rise in the ground—the feelings of a scout, who questions constantly the distant prospect.

And certainly the Pullwyke quarry crag rises most steeply from the meeting-point of the two highways.

Next as to the Outgate crag, which you have chosen. I am out of love with it. First, if the lads wanted to make sure of the ponies, they would not have ascended it, but would have stayed just at the Hawkshead side of Outgate, or at the village itself, at the point of convergence of the ways.

Secondly, the crag can hardly be described as rising from the meeting-point of two highways; only one highway passes near it.

The crag is of so curious a formation geologically, that I can't fancy the poet describing his memory of it, without calling it a terraced hill, or an ascent by natural terraces.

Then, again, the prospect is not sufficiently extended from it. The stream not near enough, or rather not of size enough, to be heard. Blelham Tarn is not too far to have added to the watery sound, it is true, but the wind we suppose to have been north-east, and the sound of the Blelham Tarn would be much carried away from him.

The present stone wall is not near the summit, and is of comparatively recent date. It is difficult to believe from the slope of the outcrop of rock that a wall could ever have been at the summit.

But there are two other vantage grounds intermediate between those extremes, both of which were probably in the mind and memory of the poet as he described the scene, and

'The intermitting prospect of the copse. And plain beneath,'

allowed him by the mist. One of these is the High Crag, about three-quarters of a mile from the divergence or convergence of the two highways, which Dr. Cradock has selected.

There can be no doubt that this is the crag 'par excellence' for a wide and extended look-out over all the country between Outgate and Ambleside. Close at its summit there remain aged thorn trees, but no trace of a wall.

But High Crag can hardly be said to have risen at 'the meeting-point of two highways,' unless we are to understand the epithet 'far-stretched' as applying to the south-western slopes or skirts of the hill; and the two highways, the roads between Water Barngates on the west, and the bridle road between Pullwyke and Outgate at their Outgate junction, and this is rather too far a stretch.

It is quite true that if bridle paths can be described as highways, there may be said to be a meeting-point of these close at the north-eastern side of the crag.

But, remembering that the ponies came from Penrith, the driver was not likely to have had any intimate knowledge of these bridle paths; while, at the same time, on that misty day, I much question whether the boys on the look-out at High Crag could have seen ponies creeping along between walled roads at so great a distance as half a mile or more.

And this would seem to have been the problem for them on that day.

I ought in fairness to say that it is not likely that the roads were then (as to-day) walled up high on either side. To-day, even from the summit of High Crag, only the head and ears of a pony could be seen as it passed up the Water Barngates Road; but at the end of last century many of the roads were only partially walled off from the moorlands they passed over in the Lake Country.

Still, as I said, High Crag was a point of vantage that the poet, as a lad, must have often climbed, in this part of the country, if he wanted to indulge in the delights of panoramic scene.

There is a wall some hundred yards from the summit, on the south-westerly flank of High Crag; near this—at a point close by, two large holly trees—the boy might have sheltered himself against the north-eastern wind, and have got a closer and better view of the road between Barngates and Outgate, and Randy Pike and Outgate.

Here, too, he could possibly hear the sound of the stream in the dingle or woody hollow immediately at his feet; but I am far from content with this as being the spot the poet watched from.

There is again a fourth possible look-out place, to which you will remember I directed your attention, nearer Randy Pike. The slope, covered with larches, rises up from the Randy Pike Road to a precipitous crag which faces north and east.

From this, a grand view of the country between Randy Pike and Pullwyke is obtained, and if the bridle paths might—as is possible, but unlikely—be called two highways, then this crag could be spoken of as rising from the meeting place of the two highways. For the old Hawkshead Road passed along to the east, within calling distance (say ninety yards), and a bridle road from Pullwyke, now used chiefly by the quarrymen, passed within eighty yards to the west; while it is certain that the brook below, when swollen by winter rains, might be loud enough to be heard from the copse. This crag is known as Coldwell or Caudwell Crag, and is situated about half a mile east-south-east of the High Crag.

It has this much in its favour, that a wall of considerable age crests its summit, and one can whilst sitting down on a rock close behind it be sheltered from the north and east, and yet obtain an extensive view of the subadjacent country. IF it were certain that the ponies when they got to Pullwyke did not go up towards Water Barngates, and so to Hawkshead, then there is no crag in the district which would so thoroughly answer to all the needs of the boys, and to all the points of description the poet has placed on record.

But it is just this IF that makes me decide on the Pullwyke Crag—the one first described—as being the actual spot to which, scout-like, the schoolboys clomb, on that eventful 'eve of their dear holidays;' while, at the same time, it is my firm conviction that Wordsworth—as he painted the memories of that event—had also before his mind's eye the scene as viewed from Coldwell and High Crag."

Ed.



* * * * *



NOTE VI.—COLERIDGE'S LINES TO WORDSWORTH, ON HEARING 'THE PRELUDE' RECITED BY HIM AT COLEORTON, IN 1806

The following is a copy of a version of these 'Lines', sent by Coleridge to Sir George Beaumont, at Dunmow, Essex, in January, 1807. The variations, both in the title and in the text, from that which Coleridge finally adopted (see p. 129), are interesting in many ways:

LINES

To William Wordsworth: Composed for the greater part on the same night after the finishing of his recitation of the Poem, in Thirteen Books, on the growth of his own mind.

O Friend! O Teacher! God's great Gift to me! Into my Heart have I received that Lay More than historic, that prophetic Lay Wherein (high theme by thee first sung aright) Of the foundations and the building up 5 Of thine own spirit thou hast loved to tell What may be told, by words revealable: With heavenly breathings, like the secret soul Of vernal growth, oft quickening in the heart Thoughts, that obey no mastery of words, 10 Pure Self-beholdings! Theme as hard as high, Of Smiles spontaneous and mysterious Fear! The first born they of Reason and twin birth! Of tides obedient to external force, And currents self-determin'd, as might seem, 15 Or by some inner power! Of moments awful, Now in thy hidden life, and now abroad, When power stream'd from thee, and thy soul receiv'd The light reflected, as a light bestow'd! Of fancies fair, and milder hours of youth, 20 Hybloean murmurs of poetic thought Industrious in its joy, in vales and glens Native or outland, Lakes and famous Hills; Or on the lonely high-road, when the stars Were rising; or by secret mountain streams, 25 The guides and the companions of thy way! Of more than Fancy—of the SOCIAL SENSE Distending, and of Man belov'd as Man, Where France in all her Towns lay vibrating, Even as a Bark becalm'd on sultry seas 30 Quivers beneath the voice from Heaven, the burst Of Heaven's immediate thunder, when no cloud Is visible, or shadow on the main! For thou wert there, thy own brows garlanded, Amid the tremor of a Realm aglow! 35 Amid a mighty nation jubilant! When from the general Heart of Human Kind Hope sprang forth, like an armed Deity! Of that dear Hope afflicted and struck down, So summon'd homeward; thenceforth calm and sure, 40 As from the Watch-tower of Man's absolute Self, With light unwaning on her eyes, to look Far on—herself a Glory to behold, The Angel of the Vision! Then (last strain) Of Duty, chosen Laws controlling choice, 45 Action and Joy!—an Orphic Tale indeed, A Tale divine of high and passionate Thoughts, To their own Music chaunted!—

A great Bard! Ere yet the last strain dying awed the air, With steadfast eyes I saw thee in the choir 50 Of ever-enduring men. The truly Great Have all one age, and from one visible space Shed influence: for they, both power and act, Are permanent, and Time is not with them, Save as it worketh for them, they in it. 55 Nor less a sacred Roll, than those of old, And to be plac'd, as they, with gradual fame Among the Archives of Mankind, thy Work Makes audible a linked Song of Truth, Of Truth profound a sweet continuous Song 60 Not learnt, but native, her own natural notes! Dear shall it be to every human heart, To me how more than dearest! Me, on whom Comfort from thee, and utterance of thy Love, Come with such Heights and Depths of Harmony 65 Such sense of Wings uplifting, that its might Scatter'd and quell'd me, till my Thoughts became A bodily Tumult; and thy faithful Hopes, Thy Hopes of me, dear Friend! by me unfelt! Were troublous to me, almost as a Voice 70 Familiar once and more than musical; As a dear Woman's Voice to one cast forth, [A] A Wanderer with a worn-out heart forlorn, Mid Strangers pining with untended wounds.

O Friend! too well thou know'st, of what sad years 75 The long suppression had benumbed my soul, That, even as Life returns upon the Drown'd, The unusual Joy awoke a throng of Pains— Keen Pangs of LOVE, awakening, as a Babe, Turbulent, with an outcry in the Heart! 80 And Fears self-will'd, that shunn'd the eye of Hope, And Hope, that scarce would know itself from Fear; Sense of past youth, and manhood come in vain, And Genius given and Knowledge won in vain; And all, which I had cull'd in wood-walks wild, 85 And all, which patient Toil had rear'd, and all, Commune with THEE had open'd out—but Flowers Strew'd on my Corse, and borne upon my Bier, In the same Coffin, for the self-same Grave!

That way no more! and ill beseems it me, 90 Who came a Welcomer, in Herald's Guise, Singing of Glory and Futurity, To wander back on such unhealthful road Plucking the Poisons of Self-harm! And ill Such intertwine beseems triumphal wreaths 95 Strew'd before thy advancing! Thou too, Friend! Impair thou not the memory of that hour Of thy Communion with my nobler mind By pity or grief, already felt too long! Nor let my words import more blame than needs. 100 The tumult rose and ceas'd: for Peace is nigh Where Wisdom's voice has found a list'ning Heart. Amid the howl of more than wintry storms The Halcyon hears the Voice of vernal Hours, Already on the wing!

Eve following Eve 105 Dear tranquil Time, when the sweet sense of Home Is sweetest! Moments, for their own sake hail'd, And more desired, more precious for thy Song! In silence listening, like a devout child, My soul lay passive, by the various strain 110 Driven as in surges now, beneath the stars With momentary [B] stars of her [C] own birth, Fair constellated Foam, still darting off Into the Darkness; now a tranquil Sea, Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the Moon. 115

And when—O Friend! my Comforter! my [D] Guide! Strong in thyself and powerful to give strength!— Thy long sustained Song finally clos'd, And thy deep voice had ceas'd—yet thou thyself Wert still before mine eyes, and round us both 120 That happy Vision of beloved Faces— (All whom, I deepliest love—in one room all!) Scarce conscious and yet conscious of its close I sate, my Being blended in one Thought, (Thought was it? or aspiration? or resolve?) 125 Absorb'd; yet hanging still upon the Sound— And when I rose, I found myself in Prayer.

S. T. COLERIDGE.

'Jany'. 1807.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Different reading on same MS.:

'To one cast forth, whose Hope had seem'd to die.'

Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare, as an illustrative note, the descriptive passage in Satyrane's first Letter in 'Biographia Literaria', beginning, "A beautiful white cloud of foam," etc.—S.T.C.]

[Footnote C: Different reading on same MS., "'my'."—Ed.]

[Footnote D: Different reading on same MS., "'and'."—Ed.]



In a MS. copy of 'Dejection, An Ode', transcribed for Sir George Beaumont on the 4th of April 1802—and sent to him, when living with Lord Lowther at Lowther Hall—there is evidence that the poem was originally addressed to Wordsworth.

The following lines in this copy can be compared with those finally adopted:

'O dearest William! in this heartless mood, To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd All this long eve so balmy and serene Have I been gazing on the western sky,'

...

'O William, we receive but what we give: And in our life alone does Nature live.'

...

'Yes, dearest William! Yes! There was a time when though my Path was rough This Joy within me dallied with distress.'

The MS. copy is described by Coleridge as "imperfect"; and it breaks off abruptly at the lines:

'Suspends what Nature gave me at my birth My shaping spirit of Imagination.'

And he continues:

'I am so weary of this doleful poem, that I must leave off....'

Another MS. copy of this poem, amongst the Coleorton papers, is signed "S. T. Coleridge to William Wordsworth." Ed.



* * * * *



NOTE VII.—GENERAL BEAUPUY

(See pp. 297 and 302, 'The Prelude', book ix.)

Professor Emile Legouis of Lyons—a thorough student, and a very competent expounder, of our modern English Literature—supplied me, some years ago, with numerous facts in reference to Wordsworth's friend General Beaupuy, and his family, from which I extract the following:

'The Prelude' gives us very little precise information about the republican officer with whom Wordsworth became acquainted in France, and on whom he bestowed more praise than on almost any other of his contemporaries. We only gather the following facts:—That his name was 'Beaupuy', that he was quartered at Orleans, with royalist officers, sometime between November 1791 and the spring of 1792, and that

'He perished fighting, in supreme command, Upon the borders of the unhappy Loire, For liberty, against deluded men, His fellow-countrymen....'

Though it seems very easy to identify a general even with such scanty data, the task is rendered more difficult by two inaccuracies in Wordsworth's statement, which, however, can be explained and redressed without much difficulty.

The first inaccuracy is in the spelling of the name, which is 'Beaupuy' and not 'Beaupuis'—a slight mistake considering that Wordsworth was a foreigner, and, besides, wrote down his friend's name ten years and perhaps more after losing sight of him. Moreover, the name of the general who, I think, was meant by Wordsworth, I have found spelt 'Beaupuy' in one instance, viz. the signature of a letter of his, as printed in 'Vie et Correspondance de Merlin de Thionville', publiee par Jean Reynaud, Paris, 1860 (2'e partie p. 241).

The spelling of proper names was not so fixed then as it is nowadays, and this irregularity is not to be wondered at.

The second inaccuracy consists in stating that General Beaupuy died on the banks of the Loire during the Vendean war. Indeed, he was grievously wounded at the Battle of Chateau-Gonthier, on the 26th of October 1793, and reported as dead. His soldiers thought he had been killed, and the rumour must have spread abroad, as it was recorded by A. Thiers himself in his 'Histoire de la Revolution', and by A. Challemel in his 'Histoire Musee de la Republique Francaise'.

It is no wonder that Wordsworth, who was then in England, and could only read imperfect accounts of what took place in France, should have been mistaken too.

No other General Beaupuy is recorded in the history of the Revolution, so far as I have been able to ascertain. The moral character of the officer, whose life I shall relate, answers to Wordsworth's description, and is worthy of his high estimate.

Armand Michel de Bachelier, Chevalier de Beaupuy, was born at Mussidan, in Perigord, on the 15th of July 1757. He belonged to a noble family, less proud of its antiquity than of the blood it had shed for France on many battlefields. On his mother's side (Mlle. de Villars), he reckoned Montaigne, the celebrated essayist, among his ancestors. His parents having imbibed the philanthropic ideas of the time, educated him according to their principles.

He had four brothers, who were all destined to turn republicans and do good service to the new cause, though their interest certainly lay in the opposite direction.

...

He was made sub-lieutenant in the regiment of Bassigny (33rd division of foot) on the 2nd of March 1773, and lieutenant of grenadiers on the 1st of October of the same year.

In 1791 he was first lieutenant in the same regiment. Having sided with the Revolution, he was appointed commander of a battalion of national volunteers in the department of Dordogne. I have not found the exact date of this appointment, but it must have taken place immediately after his stay at Orleans with Wordsworth.

I have found no further mention of his name till September 1792, when he is known to have served in the "Armee du Rhin," under General Custine, and contributed to the taking of Spire.

He took an important part in the taking of Worms, 4th October; of Mayence (Maenz) 21st October. He was among the garrison of Mayence when this place was besieged by the Prussians, and obliged to capitulate after a long and famous siege (from 6th April 1793 to 22nd July 1793). [A]

During the siege he wrote a journal of all the operations. Unfortunately, this journal is very short, and purely military. It has been handed down to us, and is found in the Bibliotheque Nationale of Paris in the 'Papiers de Merlin de Thionville', n. acq. fr. Nos. 244-252, 8 vol. in-8 deg.. Beaupuy's journal is in the 3rd volume, fol. 213-228.

...

In the Vendean war, the "Mayencais," or soldiers returned from Mayence, made themselves conspicuous, and bore almost all the brunt of the campaign. But none of them distinguished himself more than Beaupuy, then a General of Brigade.

The Mayencais arrived in Vendee at the end of August or beginning of September 1793. To Beaupuy's skill the victory of Chollet (Oct. 17, 1793) is attributed by Jomini. In this battle he fought hand to hand with and overcame a Vendean cavalier. He himself had three horses killed, and had a very narrow escape. On the battlefield he was made 'general of division' by the "Representants du peuple." It was after Chollet that the Vendeans made the memorable crossing of the Loire at St. Florent.

At Laval and Chateau-Gonthier (Oct. 26) a terrible defeat was inflicted on the Republicans, owing to the incapacity of their commander-in-chief, Lechelle. The whole corps commanded by General Beaupuy was crushed by a terrible fire, He himself, after withstanding for two or three hours with 2000 or 3000 men all the attacks of the royalists, was disabled by a shot, and fell, crying out, "'Laissez-moi la, et portez a mes grenadiers ma chemise sanglante'." His soldiers thought he was dead, and then the error was spread, which was repeated by Wordsworth, Thiers, and Challamel. Wordsworth's mistake is so far interesting, as it seems to prove that very little or no correspondence passed between the two friends after they had parted. Beaupuy, moreover, had too much work upon his hands to give much of his time to letter-writing.

Though severely wounded, Beaupuy lived on, and less than six weeks after the battle of Chateau-Gonthier, he was seen on the ramparts of Angers, where he required himself to be carried to animate his soldiers and head the defenders of the place, from which the Vendeans were driven after a severe contest (Dec. 5 and 6).

On the 22nd of December 1793 he shared in the victory of Savenay with his celebrated friends, Marceau, Kleber, and Westermann. After this battle, which put an end to the great Vendean war, he wrote the following letter to his friend Merlin de Thionville, the celebrated "representant du peuple."

"SAVENAY, le 4 Nivose au 2'e (25 Dec. 73).

"Enfin, enfin, mon cher Merlin, elle n'est plus cette armee royale ou catholique, comme tu voudras! J'en ai vu, avec tes braves collegues Prieur et Eurreau, les debris, consistant en 150 cavaliers battant l'eau dans le marais de Montaire; et comme tu connais ma veracite tu peux dire avec assurance que les deux combats de Savenay ont mis fin a la guerre de la nouvelle Vendee et aux chimeriques esperances des royalists.

L'histoire ne vous presente point de combat dont le suites aient ete plus decisives. Ah! mon brave, comme tu aurais joui! quelle attaque! mais quelle deroute aussi! Il fallait les voir ces soldats de Jesus et de Louis XVII, se jetant dans les marais ou obliges de se rendre par 5 ou 600 a la fois; et Langreniere pris et les autres generaux disperses et aux abois!

Cette armee, dont tu avais vu les restes de la terrasse de St. Florent, etait redevenue formidable par son recrutement dans les departements envahis. Je les ai bien vus, bien examines, j'ai reconnu meme de mes figures de Chollet et de Laval, et a leur contenance et a leur mine, je l'assure qu'il ne leur manquait du soldat que l'habit. Des troupes qui ont battu de tels Francais peuvent se flatter ainsi de vainere des peuples assez laaches pour se reunir centre un seul et encore pour la cause des rois! Enfin, je ne sais si je me trompe, mais cette guerre de brigands, de paysans, sur laquelle on a jete tant de ridicule, que l'on dedaignait, que l'on affectait de regarder comme meprisable, m'a toujours paru, pour la republique, la grande partie, et il me semble a present qu'avec nos autres ennemis, nous ne ferrons plus que peloter.

Adieu, brave montagnard, adieu! Actuellement que cette execrable guerre est terminee, que les manes de nos freres sont satisfaits, je vais guerir. J'ai obtenu de tes confreres un conge qui finira au moment ou la guerre recommencera.

LE GENERAL DE BRIGADE BEAUPUY.

I think I can recognize in this letter some traits of Beaupuy's character as pointed out by Wordsworth, not excepting the half-suppressed criticism:

'... somewhat vain he was, Or seemed so, yet it was not vanity, But fondness, and a kind of radiant joy Diffused around him ...'

Passing over numerous military incidents, on the 26th of June 1796 Beaupuy received seven or eight sabre-cuts at Jorich-Wildstadt. But on the 8th of July he was already back at his post.

He again greatly distinguished himself on the 1st of September 1796 at Greisenfeld and Langenbruck, where the victory of the French was owing to a timely attack made by Desaix and himself.

He was one of the generals under Moreau when the latter achieved his well-known retreat through the Black Forest, begun on the 15th of September 1796, and during which many battles were fought. In one of the actions on the banks of the Elz, Beaupuy was killed by a cannon-ball, while opposing General Latour on the heights of Malterdingen. His soldiers, who loved him passionately, fought desperately to avenge his death (Oct. 19, 1796).

One of Beaupuy's colleagues, General Duhem, in his account of the battle to the Government, thus expressed himself on General Beaupuy:

"Ecrivains patriotes, orateurs chaleureux, je vous propose un noble sujet, l'eloge du General Beaupuy, de Beaupuy, le Nestor et l'Achille de notre armee. Vous n'avez pas de recherches a faire; interrogez le premier soldat de l'armee du Rhin-et-Moselle, ses larmes exciteront les votres. Ecrivez alors ce que est vous en dira, et vous peindrez le Bayard de la Republique Francaise."

Such bombastic style was then common, but what we have seen of Beaupuy in this sketch shows that he had through his career united Nestor's prudence [B] with Achilles' bodily courage and Bayard's chivalric spirit,—to use the language of the time.

General Moreau had Beaupuy's remains transported to Brisach, where a monument was erected to his memory in 1802, after the peace of Luneville.

In short, Beaupuy seems to have always remained worthy of the high praise bestowed on him by Wordsworth. His name is to be remembered along with those of the unspotted generals of the first years of the Revolution—Hoche, Marceau, etc.—before the craving for conquest had developed, and the love of liberty yielded to a fond admiration of Bonaparte as it did in the case of Kleber, Desaix, and so many others. [C]

N. B.—The great influence which Beaupuy exercised at that time on Wordsworth will be easily understood, if we take into account not only his real qualities, but also his age. When they met, Wordsworth was only twenty-one, Beaupuy nearly thirty-five. The grown-up man could impart much of his knowledge of life, and of the favourite authors of the time, to a youth fresh from the University—though that youth was Wordsworth.

EMILE LEGOUIS.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: His bravery shone forth at Coethen, where he was left alone in a group of Prussians. He fought with their chief and disarmed him. A few days after he was named General of Brigade.—8th March 1793.]

[Footnote B: The pacification of Vendee was for a great part owing to his valour and prudence.]

[Footnote C: Beaupuy is said to have united civic virtues with military talents. A good son and a good brother, he showed in many a circumstance that true valour does not exclude humanity, and that the soul can be both strong and full of feeling.]

These notes (B and C) are taken from 'Biographic Nouvelle de Contemporains'.

THE END