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DOVE COTTAGE.
DOVE COTTAGE
WORDSWORTH'S HOME FROM 1800—1808
DECEMBER 21, 1799
TO
MAY — 1808
BY
STOPFORD A. BROOKE
London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND NEW YORK
1890
The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved
828
W930
885
RICHARD CLAY AND Sons, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BUNGAY.
DOVE COTTAGE.
WHEN I was staying last year at Grasmere I
went with my brother to see Dove Cottage, Words-
worth's home from Dec. 1799 to May 1808 ; the
little house which also received the name of “ Town
End” from its being the outlier of the cluster of
buildings which made up, in the Wordsworths' time,
the hamlet of Grasmere. We had walked up to
Easdale Tarn in the morning and the whole of
that lovely and joyous piece of poetry in which
Wordsworth describes the delightful goings on of
the Easdale stream on that “ April morning”
was in our ears as we stood by the wooden gate
which opens on to the low-roofed porch. It seemed
that he and his sister Dorothy were standing with
us and that we heard him say to her, “ Come
in: I will dictate to you the verses I made to-day
in Easdale.” And in our mind's eye we saw
6
DOVE COTTAGE.
the place as it was in his time. There were
no houses then between the gate and the lake;
green fields stretched down to its greener waters,
and a winding path led across the fields to the
fringe of stones and reeds which, bordering the
lake, defines the little point among the copse-
wood that Wordsworth called Point Rash-Judg-
ment. Beyond the shore and sleeping quietly on
the water lay the island with its tall pines and
solitary barn, and on the other side the hill rose
abruptly, red with autumn fern and grey with
rocks. The ridge of Loughrigg crowned it, and
across it ran the terrace where Wordsworth walked
at eventide. To the right was Silverhow, and
the white wedge of Easdale Fall among the
tumbled hills, and Helm-crag where sat the
Ancient Woman and the Astrologer; while in the
valley underneath the white cottages of Grasmere
village, plunged in trees, stood around the low grey
tower of the church like sheep around the shep-
herd. Then we saw the road to Dunmailraise
run straight up the hill, past “The Swan," and
coming down to meet it the last slope of the
spur of Fairfield, and the huge shoulder of
Seat Sandal, and the gorge of Greenhead Ghyll.
DOVE COTTAGE:
7
Towering above the cottage was the jutting rock of
Arthur's Chair and the dark summit of Great Rigg,
and then, stretching away to Rydal, the descending
ridge of Nab Scar—a lovely land, scarcely a rock,
or slope of grass, or sheep-fed nook of which had
not heard Wordsworth murmuring his poems.
Nor was the road on which we stood less full of
sentiment and recollection. It was then the only
road between Grasmere and Ambleside. It went
straight up the hill to the pool where Wordsworth
met the Leechgatherer. White-Moss, a tossed
and broken height of knolls of rock and grass and
pools, jutted out from the top of this hill be-
tween the lakes of Grasmere and Rydal. Up
the road, and to the highest point of the Moss,
was a favourite stroll of Wordsworth and his
sister when the sun was setting, for thence they
saw both the lakes, and, beyond Rydal, Amble-
side and Windermere, and, beyond Grasmere, all
the secret place above Easdale, where Nature,
in her wild alchemy, made the mountain rains,
and whence she sent forth her storms. In no
place is there a greater business of the elements.
But the ridges of the Moss had yet more human
associations, for lying underneath there was the
DOVE COTTAGE.
pine grove where John Wordsworth paced to and
fro, remembering his ship at sea, and made the
path among the trees, of which his brother
wrote the poem. There, evening after evening,
Dorothy rested and William built his verse.
There is not a line of all the poems made on his
brother's fate which is not linked by sentiment
to this quiet piece of woodland, the very thrushes
of which were dear to him..
It was down this road, down the hill, that the
“Waggoner” came, and regretted that the cottage
of the Wordsworths' was no longer the wayside inn
it had been, whose sign of the “Dove and Olive
Bough” gave the name of Dove Cottage to the
poet's home. The famous horses stopped almost
of their own accord before the gate at which now
we stood. We lifted the latch, passed underneath
the porch still covered with wild flowers, regretted
the loss of the elder tree which once hung all its
flowers over the wall, and stepped into “the little
semi-vestibule which prefaced the entrance into
what might be considered the principal room of the
cottage. It was an oblong square, not above eight
: 1 This is De Quincey's description of the house as he saw it when
in 1807 he visited the Wordsworths for the first time. In 1806 he
DOVE COTTAGE.
and a half feet high, sixteen feet long, and twelve
broad, very prettily wainscoted from the floor to
the ceiling with dark polished oak, slightly em-
bellished with carving. One window there was, a
perfect and unpretending cottage window, with
little diamond panes embowered at almost every
season of the year with a profusion of jasmine and
other fragrant shrubs.”
The room is much the same as it was then. No
fatal change has been made in it; but it is now
uncared for; no sentiment presides over it; it is
hard to see the ghosts that as evening falls must
inhabit it; and though the flowers still grow by
the window, there is no hand as delicate and loving
as Dorothy's to train and nourish them. It struck
me with great pity that England had no care for
this little spot of earth to which she owed so much.
From this lower room, “we mount a flight of
stairs (again I quote De Quincey), fourteen in all,
had come to the lakes, desirous of seeing Wordsworth, but was too
shy to fulfil his wish. “I caught one hasty glimpse,” he says, "of
the loveliest of landscapes with its little white cottage gleaming
from the midst of trees, and retreated like a guilty thing." In 1807
however, “he liſted the latch” of the gate.
See the note at the end for De Quincey's after connexion with
Dove Cottage.
IO
DOVE COTTAGE.
VI
to a little drawing-room. Wordsworth himself has
described the fireplace of this room as his-
Half kitchen and half parlour fire.
It was not fully seven feet six inches high, and in
other respects pretty nearly of the same dimensions
as the rustic hall below. There was, however, in a
small recess a library of perhaps 300 volumes which
seemed to consecrate the room as the poet's study
and composing room, and such occasionally it
was."
Underneath this small recess is still the “nice
elbow place where William might sit for the picture
of John Bunyan.” So says Dorothy in her journal,
and this recess was filled with its bookshelves
during their occupation. The mantelpiece remains,
large enough to be adorned with “ the mosses and
flowers" which the Wordsworths brought back
from their mountain excursions. The window and
its seat opens still upon a lovely view. On the
same floor was Wordsworth's bedroom, whence,
when he was restless with composing, he came
down to visit his sister who slept a little below and
to read to her his verses; to which she came when
he could not sleep, and read to him Ben Jonson,
Shakspere, Spenser, Milton, or his own poems.
DOVE COTTAGE.
II
Near it were the tiny guest rooms where John
Wordsworth, and Coleridge, and De Quincey slept
so often-sacred places. One of these rooms was
built during their occupation. It was planned by
Wordsworth and his sister, as they sat in the
orchard. It is shaped by their very thought.
Underneath are the small offices, and the
kitchen where Mary Wordsworth so often was,
and the long stone-floored room where Wordsworth
sometimes chopped the wood for the house, where
Dorothy washed her own and her brother's clothes,
and where she fulfilled so many other of the
quiet duties of the poor. The whole house is
perfumed with their memories.
A still greater crowd of associations pressed
round us, as, descending the stairs, we entered
into the garden. There in front, on the eastern
side, are the “two yew trees still breaking the
glare of the white walls ;” and, trained over the
low wall, many of the plants, rosemary and sweet-
smelling herbs, the boxwood, the gowans, that the
Wordsworths planted with their own hands. Turn-
ing the corner of the house, we came into the little
walled space behind it rising up the side of the
hill, and there was scarcely a square foot of the
12
DOVE COTTAGE.
hallowed ground which did not bloom with
memories like flowers. It remains almost as
it was left by Wordsworth when, in 1808, he
went away from it to Allan Bank. The grass
shelves upwards almost immediately over the
natural rock, which still, here and there, breaks
through the short sweet verdure. In this rock,
for convenience of access to a small terrace above,
Wordsworth himself and John Fisher his neighbour
cut rough steps, and these steps, which the eager
labour of the poet made, as yet remain untouched.
Halfway up is the piece of rock which Coleridge
discovered and worked into a seat. To us, who
loved them, it was a thing full of thought and
pleasure to walk upon the steps and to sit on the
rocky chair. Among the rocks, when spring is near,
the daffodils spring up and toss their heads,
children of the flowers which he and his sister
planted with their own hands. Underneath the
grass flows the rill that fed the well, “a hidden
brook,” such as Coleridge tells of in the Ancient
Mariner, “its quiet soul on all bestowing," which
those who listened in the summer stillness could
hear from out the rocky ground
Strike its solitary sound.
DOVE COTTAGE.
13
Below is the well which gives water to the cot-
tage and which it was Wordsworth’s pleasure to
keep clear and bright. The primroses they planted
still grow among the stones—a coronal of beauty.
Round it once were also Christmas roses which
Wordsworth set in the ground, but which have
now been transferred to another side of the
garden. It would be easy to replace them, for
they bloom brightly where they are.
Above the terrace walk, and down the sides
of the grass, making a “sunshiny shade,” the
apple trees of the orchard still cluster and are
full of blossom in the spring. “The short
terrace at the top is curved, with a sloping
bank of grass above, shaded by apple trees, hazel,
laburnum, holly, laurel, and mountain ash.”Over
the bank is a rude wall, built up and planted by
Wordsworth himself, every interstice of which
he filled with fern, and beyond the wall, a dark
wood climbs the hill. The view is lovely, look-
ing over Grasmere village and the lake. At the
end of the terrace was once the arbour which
1 In Professor Knight's Life of Wordsworth, and his Edition of
the Poems, much interesting matter will be found concerning Dove
Cottage.
14
DOVE COTTAGE.
Wordsworth erected, and where day by day, and
often in the depth of winter, he sat and wrote. It
would be easy, from the description he has left, to
build such an arbour, where those who know the
poems he wrote beneath its covert might sit and
read them in the summer stillness.
“There is no place," we said, “which has so
many thoughts and memories as this belonging to
our poetry; none at least in which they are so
closely bound up with the poet and the poems;
almost everything in this garden has been written
of beautifully; almost every flower has been
planted by his or his sister's hands ; in almost
every tree some bird has built of which he has
sung. In every part of this little place he has
walked with his sister and wife or talked with
Coleridge. And it is almost untouched. Why
should we not try and secure it, as Shakspere's
birthplace is secured, for the eternal possession
of those who love English poetry all over the
world ?" And we agreed to try, and as we
walked back to the inn drew up the scheme
an abstract of which I give below.
The first thing to find out was whether we
could buy the place, and we discovered, that
DOVE COTTAGE.
15
night, that it and the adjoining field had been
bought a few months before by a gentleman of
Bradford, Mr. Lee, who had written a pleasant
and graceful book on Dorothy Wordsworth. We
wrote to him, stating our desire and plans, and
received a letter in return, which said that he
would, for such a purpose, willingly sell the free-
hold with the neighbouring field for £650. We
then wrote to Professor Knight of St. Andrews,
who heartily concurred in the scheme and pro-
mised to bring it before the members of the late
Wordsworth Society, and we now submit it to
all those to whom the work and memory of the
poet are dear, both in these islands, in our colonies,
and among our brothers and sisters in America.
Our Committee then proposes to purchase, by
means of a national subscription, at the price of
£650, the 'fee-simple of Dove Cottage and the ad-
joining field as a memorial of Wordsworth, and to
secure it under a trust for the pleasure and good of
the English race; and we calculate that for £350
more, that is, for £1,000 altogether, we could set
the place in complete order, plant and beautify
the garden, clean and arrange the house, and put
enough old furniture into it to give it a pleasant
16
DOVE COTTAGE.
air of occupation. The house is but little altered,
and it would be easy, without any attempt at
restoration, to arrange it as it was in Wordsworth's
time. The garden, with the exception of the moss
house on the terrace, remains nearly as Wordsworth
left it. We should propose to rebuild the arbour-
all moss-houses are of the same type—and to plant
the garden with the flowers which the Wordsworths
loved. We know from Dorothy's diary what these
were; and the very position which they occupied.
Adjoining the cottage, on the left-hand side, as
one stands at the gate, is a field of nearly an acre
in size. This would also be included in the pur-
chase. It isolates the cottage pleasantly, and its
possession will enable the trustees to build here-
after, if necessary, a Wordsworth Museum and
Library, of a simple cottage form, in harmony
with the home of Wordsworth." This meadow, if
planted with trees and flowers, would be a very
gracious and quiet retreat in which to read the
poems dedicated to this valley. The green field,
then, with a low-roofed, simple museum, shaded
1 To build such a Museum would cost about £ 500 more than the
£1000 required for the purchase and arrangement of the House and
Garden ; but we hope to receive from our own country and from
America enough to carry out this second part of the project.
DOVE COTTAGE.
17
ST
by trees; the little cottage beside it, with its
orchard-garden, would form, standing together, a
pretty and historic group of buildings, and recall,
amidst the newer Grasmere, the homely mountain
village of the last century. At present there is a
tenant in the cottage, but possession can be obtained
on a six months' notice.
With regard to the management and mainten-
ance of the property, it is proposed to follow the
convenient and safe guide of the Trust under
which Shakspere's birthplace is held at Stratford-
on-Avon. That house was bought by a national
subscription and vested in a body of Trustees, and
the success of the management is known to be
admirable.
Mr. Lee will then convey the property to a
Board of Trustees, who will be (as in the case of
Shakspere's birthplace) partly persons of standing
and influence in the counties of Cumberland and
Westmorland, many of whom are connected with
the Wordsworths by family or friendship; and
partly other persons, not belonging to the locality,
who, by their literary or professional eminence or
by their known love of Wordsworth's poetry, would
be considered suitable. These would hold office
18
DOVE COTTAGE1
.
.
for life, and as the Board would be a large one,
the necessity for a fresh deed to vest the property
in new Trustees would seldom arise.
Under the Board of Trustees, an Executive
Committee of Management (and this follows, as
before, the precedent set at Stratford-on-Avon)
would be appointed, meeting once a month, and
consisting of ladies and gentlemen of the neigh-
bourhood willing to serve for this purpose.
They would derive their powers from the Board ;
they would be charged with the supervision and
superintendence of the Trust property, the
management of the Funds, the appointment
and dismissal of the caretaker of the Cottage
and other officials; and they would report their
action and submit their accounts to the annual
meeting of the Board. This roughly indicates the
relation of the Board to the Committee of Manage-
ment; but a more precise arrangement of the
powers of the Board and of the local Committee
would form one of the first subjects for con-
sideration.
The promoters are of opinion that there will be
more than enough money received from visitors to:
support the cottage, garden, and field, when once
DOVE COTTAGE.
19
they have been bought and put in order. The
example of Shakespere's Memorial leaves little
doubt on this point. The admission fee to
the Birthplace at Stratford is sixpence, and to
the Museum sixpence, and the yearly revenue
from these charges amounts to a sum con-
siderably in excess of all the expenses. We
should propose to charge the same sum for admis-
sion to Dove Cottage. Thousands of persons pass
through Grasmere every year, sometimes three
or four hundred a day during the season. The
coaches run by the very gate of Dove Cottage, and
stop at the hotel within two minutes' walk of it. A
great number of travellers stay to see the church
and graves, to walk to the Wishing Gate, and to
visit Easdale, Lancrigg, and the Loughrigg Terrace.
They would readily pay their sixpences to see the
home and garden of Wordsworth, and if from this
fee we received an income of even £60 a year, it
would be sufficient to keep up the place. In time
to come, the interest would be greatly increased by
a Wordsworth Library, and by many memorials of
the poet which have been already promised to us.
Rydal Mount has not the same romantic and
youthful interest as this. Cottage, nor was the work
B 2
20
DOVE COTTAGE.
done there of the same quality as that which grew
into form in these small rooms, in the garden, and
the orchard. Moreover, the Mount is jealously
shut up from the public. There is no place,
indeed, intimately associated with Wordsworth,
which is open, except the churchyard where he
is buried.
To Mr. Lee, whose interest and affection for
Wordsworth have been proved by his frank consent
to sell the property, no small thanks we think are
due for the chance he has given to the English-
speaking peoples of securing this little nook of
earth as an eternal possession, and we confidently
recommend the scheme to all lovers of poetry.
Such is the proposition, and we hope we shall get
names and money enough to push it through. As
soon as we receive the names of those willing to
join, we shall issue in the daily papers a list
of them, and acknowledge the subscriptions, and
immediately afterwards an Organizing Committee
will be established. Lord Coleridge and Lord
Selborne have already promised their support, and
we have no doubt that many among the late
Wordsworth Society will join. But we hope that
we shall gain our best assistance in small subscrip-
DOVE COTTAGE.
21
tions from the large body of men and women to
whom Wordsworth's poetry has been, in the noises,
sickness and trouble of life, quiet and healing and
strength.
It remains to add other reasons why this pur-
chase should be made and the place secured for
posterity—reasons drawn from the associations,
personal, literary, and moral, which gather round
this cottage, from the poetic sentiment which abides
in it and from its preciousness to English-speaking
men and women over the whole world.
Within the walls of this cottage, and on its
garden ground, to speak first of Persons, a number
of folk whose names are household words in
literature, lived for a time a life of grave simplicity
and of love of letters. Other places in England
are also connected with their names, but we do
not find ourselves elsewhere so closely bound up
with these visitors as we are in the cottage rooms
of the Wordsworths, or in the garden, which was so
small that they seem cloistered in it for our quiet
observation. It is easier here than at Coleorton
for the imagination to picture Coleridge, and De
Quincey is more present to the mind's eye in the
wainscoted room where first he saw the elfin face
22
DOVE COTTAGE.
of Dorothy, than in the homes of the literary
magnates of Edinburgh. Moreover, the persons
who came to the cottage have been beautifully
written of. When Dorothy speaks of her friends,
they become instinct with life; when Wordsworth
writes of them in verse, they seem to become
children of eternity.
The whole place is alive with Coleridge before
his trouble deepened, and it was on Dorothy that
the terrible sadness of his life fell hardest. Her
affection for him was great, her misery for his
breakdown, both of health and moral power, was
equally great. The rooms of Dove Cottage and
the garden saw her bitter grief and heard her tears.
Thither, too, before that time he came continually
striding over from Keswick, or from the high
gorges of the hills—
Full many a time upon a stormy night
His voice came to us from the neighbouring height;
Oft could we see him driving full in view
At midday when the sun was shining bright.
Sometimes it was to remain day after day;
sometimes it was but to come and go-
Seek for him, he is fled ; and whither none can say.
DOVE COTTAGE
23
We catch one picture of him from the Grasmere
Diary, when he marched into the room with his
sack full of books, and a bunch of mountain ash in
his hand; and another when he came over Hel-
vellyn, arriving at II P.M., when Dorothy is walk-
ing in the clear still moonshine. It was at the
fire in the upper room that she often cooked his
dinner for him. It was there that he first read out
“Christabel” to Wordsworth—and read it again
and again. That association alone sanctifies the
place. It was there that Wordsworth read out to
him after tea “The Pedlar”—a general name
given to the “Excursion," but which refers here
either to the first book or to that of the “Solitary."
It was there that he listened to Lamb's letters on
thé“ Lyrical Ballads ;” it was there that they read
together Milton, Ben Jonson and all the old
dramatists, of which a store were in the recess
above the chair of Wordsworth ; it was there that
they were “very merry” till half the night was
passed. It was over the blazing fire of logs that
Dorothy and Coleridge often sat talking till three
in the morning, for she was a very late person ; and
when the moon was high it not unfrequently saw
her and Coleridge pacing up and down the little
: DOVE COTTAGE.
path above the orchard, till the night had far gone
and the dawn began to appear. Morning after
morning he haunted the orchard and the garden,
reciting his verses, listening to William's new
poems, hearing Dorothy read out the Elizabethan
poets, talking of them in his torrent-way; and
once these three read together-and it must have
been a wonderful hour—the “Epithalamium” of
Spenser. I can fancy as she read, the “shooting
lights of her wild eyes," and the stern joy of the
two poets in verse so worthy of their own. Often
he lay on the grass full length under the apple
trees, and it was on such a day that Wordsworth
pictured him in the stanzas written on a fly-leaf of
Thomson's "Castle of Indolence”-
Down would he sit, and without strength or power,
Look at the common grass from hour to hour ;
And oftentimes, how long I fear to say,
Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower,
Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay ;
And like a naked Indian, slept himself away."
I know no place in the world, no, not even
Alfoxden, so bound up with Coleridge in his
1 I have adopted the view that these verses refer to Coleridge.
On the whole, I think this view the most probable. But many,
and persons of great repute and intelligence, refer them to Words-
worth himself.
DOVE COTTAGE.
25
early time while still he could write “Christabel”
—and the homely and gracious touches with which
Dorothy paints him enable us to see him as he
was to those who loved him, with whom he was
happy as the day-
For never sun on living creature shone
Who more devout enjoyment with us took.
Here on his hours he hung as on a book ;
On his own time here would he float away
As doth a fly upon a summer brook.
All the pity of his fate, all the pity of his want
of will, all the pity of his ill-fortuned habits
clusters here; and in this garden broke from
Dorothy that sorrowful cry, "Every sight and
sound reminds me of Coleridge; dear, dear
fellow, of his many talks to us, by day and
night,, of all dear things. I was melancholy and
could not talk, but at last I eased my heart by
weeping. *** O! how many, many reasons
have I to be anxious for him.”
But not only Coleridge walks in this house
and garden. Here Hartley played up and down
among the trees; the happy child, who fitted to
unutterable thought
The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol.
26
DOVE COTTAGE.
.
-hither too came the small thin figure of De
Quincey; the dark face with its subtle changing
mouth, and his eyes half slumber, half fire; and
here his tongue fled to and fro over his subject,
“his volant touch”—for I liken his talk to Milton's
organ player-
Instinct through all proportions low and high
Fled and pursued transverse the resonant fugue.
Here Southey came; and “Thalaba” was read
aloud in this garden; and Wordsworth listened
to the scholar, and wondered, I sometimes think,
how he became a poet. Here frequently came
Clarkson—"the man," says Dorothy, with a fine
feminine carelessness, “who took so much pains
about the slave trade.” Here Charles Lloyd sat
and discoursed, and perhaps read his poems; and
here William Calvert talked with Wordsworth of
the brother to whom the poet owed so deep a debt
of gratitude. Often, too, in parlour and in orchard,
that patron of the arts, Sir Geo. Beaumont, himself
somewhat of an artist, one of whose pictures is
immortalized in a poem among the very noblest
Wordsworth ever wrote—was seen pacing up and
down the narrow pathway, and talking with
11
DOVE DOV
27
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Wordsworth of landscape gardening—a figure
we are happy to see here, for he was kind, and
his kindness was as frank as it was generous.
Nor must we forget the keen, sweet face of
Humphrey Davy, whose gracious playfulness of
temper and quick eye charmed the women of
the household. One great figure and noble face
we also can place here and see moving to and fro
—endeared to Wordsworth, “the whole world's
Darling." Walter Scott and his wife visited the
Wordsworths in 1805, and all the associations of
the place receive another ennoblement. It was at
this time that Davy, and Wordsworth, and Scott
ascended Helvellyn together.
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.
They started from this cottage, they returned to
it, and Dorothy and Mary welcomed them to tea.
It is a happy picture with which to fill the upper
room, and sorely must they have been crowded in
it. But how gay the evening would be, how happy
Wordsworth, how the Wizard's rugged brow shone
in the firelight, and how great the meeting of
8
DOVE COTTAGE.
these two men who in prose and poetry have
mastered the common human heart. When all the
visitors swim away from our eyes, we still see in
the quiet sacredness of home, Dorothy flashing
in and out, the three children playing around
Wordsworth as he wrote, and among them, moving
quietly,“ her eyes like stars of twilight fair,” Mary
“the phantom of delight.”
Were it for Dorothy's sake alone, the cottage and
garden would seem to be worth a pilgrimage to all
who have been taught by Wordsworth. For she
was his most faithful helper, almost his inspiration.
All lovers of English poetry owe her à deep debt
of gratitude. She wrote but little verse herself, for
she had not the formative power ; but she had the
power of seeing subjects for song, and of feeling them
profoundly, and they were such subjects as were
fitted for the distinctive and shaping genius of
Wordsworth. In her daily talk with him, in the
records of her journal were the roots out of which
grew many of his most sensitive poems. And
Wordsworth himself loved her for her help, and
honoured her beyond all living things.
In all literature there is nothing to equal in fer-
vour and sacred.passion of love his acknowledgments
1
DOVE COTTAGE.
29
to Dorothy. In this cottage, every room of which
her presence fills, in this orchard garden, every
flower of which breathes of her, she is alive and
delightful, and beloved for evermore. We see her
as she is in her brother's poetry—“his dearest
friend,” “my dear, dear sister,” in whose voice
I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes.
Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk,
And let the misty mountain winds be free
To blow against thee ; and in after years,
When these wild ecstacies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lively forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies.
Surely no woman was ever praised so well. Nor
are these lines, which belong to the time before
Grasmere, the only ones which picture her. In the
“Recluse," which relates his first coming to the
Valley, and how, with him, peacefully embowered,
Under yon orchard, in yon humble cot,
The only daughter of my parents dwells,
he breaks forth into a lovely passage, in which she
becomes at one with all the beautiful motions of
30
DOVE COTTAGE.
the universe, and yet profoundly, passionately his
own—
Aye-think on that, my heart, and cease to stir ;
Pause upon that, and let the breathing frame
No longer breathe, but all be satisfied.
O! if such silence be not thanks to God
For what hath been bestowed, then where, where then,
Shall gratitude find rest ? Mine eyes did ne'er
Fix on a lovely object, nor my mind
Take pleasure in the midst of happy thoughts,
But either she whom now I have, who now
Divides with me this loved abode, was there,
Or not far off. Where'er my footsteps turned,
Her voice was like a hidden bird that sang,
The thought of her was like a flash of light,
Or an unseen companionship, a breath
Or fragrance independent of the wind.
In all my goings, in the new and old
Of all my meditations, and in this
Favourite of all, in this the most of all.
In Grasmere, in this cottage where he lived alone
with her, in those first years of which he wrote
in the “ Recluse," she was all in all to him-
The blessing of my later years
Was with me when I was a boy ;
She gave me eyes, she gave me ears,
And humble cares and delicate fears,
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears,
And love, and thought, and joy.
There too, when writing the “Prelude" in this
cottage, after his marriage, it is still his sister who
DOVE COTTAGE.
31
is the charm and help and genius of his life. He:
looks back on all she did for him when she adorned
and softened his rugged nature ; when, in his hour of
doubt, and of worse than doubt, of mere intellectual
consideration of Man and Nature, she maintained
for him a saving intercourse with his true self, and
preserved him still a poet; and he cannot refrain
from another outburst of delight in her nature-
Birds in the bower and lambs in the green fold,
Could they have known her, would have loved ;
methought
Her very presence such a sweetness breathed,
The flowers and trees and even the silent hills,
And everything she looked on, should have had
An intimation how she bore herself
Towards them and to all creatures.
Later on, after his marriage, two other poems,
“I met Louisa in the shade,” and “To a Young
Lady," are alive with that intensity of love, and
gratitude which breathes through all he wrote of
his sister. No subtler yet simpler compliment was
ever written to a woman than this verse-
And she hath smiles to earth unknown;
Smiles that with motion of their own
Do spread and sink and rise ;
That come and go in endless play
And ever, as they pass away,
Are hidden in her eyes.
32
DOVE COTTAGE.
The verse is of 1805, and was omitted in 1845. I
cannot understand why, unless it was that Words-
worth did not like “Do spread and sink and rise,”
and well he might dislike it. But he might have
altered it, and kept the rest, which is woven so fine,
and is as subtle and lovely as a summer cloud.
This is the figure which, as much as Words-
worth's, haunts this cottage ; and we have her
pictured not only by the brother who loved her,
but by the friend who admired her-by that
affectionate yet acute pencil which in prose
obeyed so well the interweaving intellect of De
Quincey.
I might be content to leave Mrs. Wordsworth
as described by her husband, and to fill the cottage
with that image-
Her eyes like stars of twilight fair,
Like twilight, too, her dark brown hair,
But all things else about her drawn
From Maytime and the cheerful dawn.
and in the rest of the exquisite lyric; yet it is
impossible not to quote a few words from De
Quincey's study of her, where in this place he
saw her first :-"From the doorway of the
upper room opening on a small staircase, two
DOVE COTTAGE.
33
R
ladies entered the room. The foremost, a tallish
young woman, with the most winning expression
of benignity on her features, advanced to me, pre-
senting her hand with so frank an air that all
embarrassment must have fled in a moment before
the native goodness of her manner. This was Mrs.
Wordsworth.” Then, describing certain faults in
her appearance, he adds :—“Had they been ten
times more and greater, they would have been
neutralized by that supreme expression of her
features, to the unity of which every lineament in
the fixed parts, and every undulation in the moving
parts of her countenance, concurred—viz., a sunny
benignity, a radiant graciousness-such as in this
world I never saw surpassed.”
Then he turns to Dorothy. “Immediately be-
hind her moved a lady, shorter, slighter, and
perhaps in all other respects as different from
her in personal characteristics as could have
been wished for the most effective contrast.
Her face was of Egyptian brown; rarely, in a
woman of English birth, had I seen a more deter-
mined gipsy tan. Her eyes were not soft, as Mrs.
Wordsworth's, nor were they fierce or bold, but
they were wild and startling, and hurried in their
DOVE COTTAGE.
motion. Her manner was warm and even ardent,
her sensibility seemed constitutionally deep; and
some subtle fire of impassioned intellect apparently
burned within her, which, being alternately pushed
forward into a conspicuous expression of the irre-
pressible instincts of her temperament, and then
immediately checked, in obedience to the decorum
of her sex and age, and her maidenly condition,
gave to her whole demeanour and to her conversa-
tion an air of embarrassment, and even of self-
conflict, that was almost distressing to witness.
Even her very utterance and enunciation often
suffered in point of clearness and steadiness from
the agitation of her excessive organic sensibility."
He speaks then of her stammer which sometimes
appeared, of all she had been to her brother, of her
ways of walking, and, adds, “I may mention her
i This fine description of Dorothy's eyes and indeed breadth and
subtlety there is in the whole description-makes me desire to quote
that passage about Wordsworth's eyes which contains in it, as it
were, the impassioned essence of Wordsworth himself :-
"His eyes are not, under any circumstances, bright, lustrous or
piercing ; but, after a long day's toil in walking, I have seen them
assume an appearance the most solemn and spiritual that it is possible
for the human eye to wear. The light which resides in them is at
no time a superficial light, but under favourable accidents, it is a
light which seems to come from unfathomed depths : in fact, it is
more truly entitled to be held, “The light that never was on land
or sea,”—a light radiating from some far spiritual world, than any
the most idealizing that ever yet a painter's hand created."
DOVE COTTAGE.
35
exceeding sympathy—always ready and always
profound, by which she made all that one could tell
her, all that one could describe, all that one could
quote from a foreign author, reverberate, as it were,
à plusieurs reprises, to one's own feelings, by the
manifest impression it made upon hers. The pulses
of light are not more quick or more inevitable in
their flow and undulation, than were the answering
and echoing movements of her sympathizing atten-
tion. Her knowledge of literature was irregular and
thoroughly unsystematic. She was content to be
ignorant of many things, but what she knew and
had really mastered, lay where it could not be dis-
turbed—in the temple of her own most fervid heart.”
This “ardent and fiery creature,” “the very
wildest (in the sense of the most natural) person
De Quincey had ever known, and also the truest
and the most inevitable”-was for nearly nine
years the lover of this cottage, and made it, and
her heart, in it, a home for Wordsworth.
She loves her fire, her cottage home,
Yet o'er the moorland will she roam
In weather rough and bleak;
And when against the wind she strains,
Oh! might I kiss the mountain rains
That sparkle on her cheek.
C2
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The light of their mutual love, and the glory of
their common work, so fills this spot of earth that
it seems like sacrilege to let it perish.
One also who loved this garden must not be
unmentioned. He belongs to the Home—that
inner and sacred shrine which seems among the
Wordsworths to be almost a living Spirit-John,
“the never-resting Pilgrim of the Sea.” Often
walking on this terrace at night he called Dorothy
out “to look," as a letter of hers records, “at the
moon, or stars, or cloudy sky, or this vale in
the quiet moonlight; but the stars and the
moon were his chief delight. He made of them
his companions at sea, and was never tired on
those thoughts which the silence of the night fed
in him. Then he was so happy by the fireside.
Any little business of the house interested him.
He loved our cottage. He helped us to furnish it,
and to make the garden. Trees are growing now
which he planted.”
He too, is fit for the imagination to picture in
this place, whose walls and flowers heard the bitter
weeping for him; another witness to the love that
filled it-another image of peace, and joy, and
duty-a "silent poet." I wish there were many
DOVE COTTAGE."
37
more spots in this country as worthy of preserving
for the meditation of the heart on great men and
tender women, on noble conversation, on high
thinking and on plain living.
But it is not only the personages whom we meet
here by which the place is honourable, but the
work which was here done. In this home the very
best of Wordsworth's work was completed. Even
the poems which were composed as he walked on
the hills, on the terraces of Loughrigg and Lancrigg,
were written out in this cottage by Dorothy, and;
here corrected by Wordsworth. Of these I do not
speak. They do not actually belong to the house
and garden. But the rooms and the orchard-
arbour were the proper birth-place of many others,
conceived here, and here travailed with until they
were finished. The very air hears their music as
we stand at the window seat, or sit on the grass
beneath the apple trees..
I take first the poems made in the garden.
Dorothy again and again describes this little nook
of rocky land which we wish to secure for England.
It was wholly the work of their own hands.
They enclosed it from the road, and pulled
down the fence which formerly divided it from the
38
DOVE COTTAGE.
orchard. “It is a delightful orchard, though so
small," she writes, “from its retirement and the
excessive beauty of the prospect from it.” The
first picture she gives of the place is that she
“sauntered to and fro in it, and the blackbird sat
quietly on its nest, rocked by the wind and beaten
by the rain.” A little further on, as she was writ-
ing to Coleridge, she says, “The little birds are
busy and making love (it is June 1800), and peck-
ing the blossoms and bits of moss off the trees.
They flutter about and about and beneath the
ing backwards and forwards with her brother in the
orchard, and, morning after morning, in that winter
time, William sat with her there, slowly working out
belongs to the arbour on the terrace as well as to
the house. There, too, in 1802 the poem of “The
Emigrant Mother” was composed one wintry
morning, and on a mild afternoon in March,
walking up and down the terrace, he repeated
to Dorothy for the first time “ The Cuckoo," the
poem all our hearts have repeated. “The Robin
and the Butterfly" belongs also to these trees, to
the “pilewort spread out upon the grass, a thousand
DOVE COTTAGE.
39
shiny stars; to the primroses and the remains of
a few daffodils," which Dorothy saw , before her
while the poem was making, in April 1802. In
the same month in this garden, he wrote the
“Children gathering Flowers, and began in May
the second poem on the “Celandine." I am sure
that the first was at least partly composed in the
garden.
In the time before the thrush
Has a thought about her nest,
are lines which belonged to his own thrush, to the
bird that Dorothy loved so well—“That dear
thrush was singing upon the topmost of the smooth
branches of the ash tree at the top of the orchard.”
The very aspect of the garden, when in its shades
the “ Leech-gatherer” was partly finished, is painted
for us. “It is a sweet morning—May 6, 1802. We
have put the finishing stroke to our bower, and here
we are sitting in the orchard. We are sitting upon
a seat under the wall which I found my brother
building up when I came to him. . . . It is a nice,
cool, shady spot. The small birds are singing,
lambs bleating, cuckoos calling, the thrush sings by
fits. Thomas Ashburnam's axe is going quietly-
40
DOVE COTTAGE.
without passion in the orchard, hens are cackling,
flies humming, the women talking together at
their doors, plum and pear trees are in blossom,
apple trees greenish, the opposite woods green, the
crows are cawing—we have heard ravens, the ash
trees are in blossom, birds flying all about us, the
stitchwort is coming out, there is one budding
1
celandine, violets, and wood sorrel for evermore,
little geraniums and pansies on the wall.” The
next day the “ Leech-gatherer” was finished to the
music of the thrush.
On Friday, the 28th of May, she describes the
orchard again, and vividly. “We sat in the orchard,
the sky cloudy, the air sweet and cool. The young
bullfinches, in their party-coloured raiment, bustle
about among the blossoms, and poise them-
selves like wire-dancers or tumblers, shaking the
twigs and dashing off the blossoms. There is yet
one primrose in the orchard. The stitchwort is
fading. The vetches are in abundance, blossoming
and seeding. That pretty little wavy-looking, dial-
like flower, the speedwell, and some others whose
names I do not yet know. The wild columbines
are coming into beauty, some of the gowans fading.
DOVE COTTAGE.
41
In the garden we have lilies, and many other :
flowers. The scarlet beans are up in crowds."
This is the haunted place, and it is made still
more dear to us by Wordsworth himself. There
are a number of poems in which he praises his
guardian nook, and all the life of birds and flowers
that moved therein. “The Butterfly,” April 20,
1802, describes the garden.
I've watched you now a full half hour,
Self poised upon that yellow flower,
And, little Butterfly ! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless! not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees
And calls you forth again.
This plot of orchard ground is ours;
My trees they are, my sister's flowers ;
Here rest your wings when they are weary ;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary !
Come often to us, fear no wrong ;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days when we were young-
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
Then come, written in the orchard, the
two first poems upon “The Daisy," and they were
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made as he looked on the flower, where under his
own apple-trees it starred the dappled grass, and
“ breathed with him the sun and air.”
Oft on the dappled turf at ease
I sit and play with similes,
Loose types of things through all degrees
Thoughts of thy raising.
Then, full of charm, and closelier connected with
the garden than almost any other poem, is the
“Green Linnet,” “ composed,” as he says, “ in the
orchard, Townend, where the bird was often seen as
here described.” It was written in 1803, and illus-
trates with what an outburst of joy Wordsworth
escaped from the severe work of “ The Prelude”
and “The Excursion” into the revel of Nature
where all his closest friendships were. I quote the
whole of it.
Beneath these fruit trees' boughs that shed
Their snow-white blossoms on my head,
With brightest sunshine round nie spread
Of spring's unclouded weather.
In this sequestered nook how sweet
To sit upon my orchard seat !
And birds and flowers once more to greet
My last year's friends together.
One have I marked, the happiest guest
In all this covert of the blest ;
Hail to Thee, far above the rest
In joy of voice and pinion !
DOVE COTTAGE."
Thou, Linnet, in thy green array,
Dost lead the revels of the May;..
And this is thy dominion.
While birds, and butterflies, and flowers,
Make all one band of paramours,
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers,
Art sole in thy employment;
A Life, a Presence, like the Air,
Scattering thy gladness without care,
Too blest with any one to pair ;
Thyself thy own enjoyment.
Amid yon tuft of hazel trees,
That twinkle to the gusty breeze,
Yet seeming still to hover;
There, where the flutter of his wings
Upon his back and body flings
Shadows and sunny glimmerings,
That cover him all over.
My dazzled sight he oft deceives,
A Brother of the dancing leaves;
Then flits, and from the cottage eaves
Pours forth his song in gushes;
As if by that exulting strain
He mocked and treated with disdain
The voiceless Form he chose to feign,
While fluttering in the bushes.
In the same year he records the edging of the
rock in the garden,
14
DOVE COTTAGE.
With living snowdrops, circlet bright,
How glorious to this orchard ground !
Who loved the little Rock, and set
Upon its head this coronet ?
In 1804, in“ The Kitten and the Falling Leaves,
the birds and trees of his orchard are described as
he saw them in a joyous hour; when this grave
man, solitary sitting in his own great world, was as
gamesome as the infant that lay beside him on the
grass. Through her, lost, though late, too soon, his
little Dora, he entered into the impenetrable cell
Of the silent heart which Nature
Furnishes to every creature.
What touches most the place I quote:
That way look, my infant, lo!
What a pretty baby show !
See the kitten on the wall
Sporting with the leaves that fall,
Withered leaves-one, two, and three,
From the lofty elder tree.
The elder tree is gone, but it would be pleasant
to replace it, and we know the exact spot. He
goes on, describing with a jocund thought the
game of the kitten with the leaves. Then, with a
sudden turn of pensive contemplation, he turns to
his orchard and thinks how much is gone-
DOVE COTTAGE.
'Tis a pretty baby treat,
Nor, I deem, for me unmeet;
Here, for neither babe nor me,
Other playmate can I see.
Of the countless living things,
That with stir of feet or wings
(In the sun or under shade,
Upon bough or grassy blade),
And with busy revellings,
Chirp and song, and murmurings,
Make this orchard's narrow space,
And this vale so blithe a place.
Multitudes are swept away
Never more to breathe the day ;
Some are sleeping ; some in bands
Travelled into distant lands;
Others slunk to moor and wood,
Far from human neighbourhood;
And among the Kinds that keep
With us closer fellowship
With us openly abide,
All have laid their mirth aside.
Where is he, that giddy Sprite,
Blue-cap, with his colours bright,
Who was blest as bird could be,
Feeding in the apple tree;
Made such wanton spoil and rout,
Turning blossoms inside out ;
Hung-head pointing towards the ground-
Fluttered, perched, into a round
Bound himself, and then unbound;
Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin !
Prettiest Tumbler ever seen!
Light of heart and light of limb,
What is now become of Him ?
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DOVE COTTAGE.
No fairy Prince could speak with more pride
and joy of his palace-garden than Wordsworth has
done, in all these verses, of his little spot of mountain
ground. No noble preacher could speak more
nobly or with more religion, of the Spirit by whose
inspiration his sister planted its flowers, who, like
a heavenly guest, lived in the hearts of those who
loved this garden.
It is the Spirit of Paradise
That prompts such work—a spirit strong,
That gives to all the selfsame bent,
Where life is wise and innocent.
In all the work we should do in house or
orchard, this is the Spirit we desire to be our
guide-if only the public enable us to buy them,
and put them under trust for England. Our wish
is to settle the place into the same simplicity it had
in Wordsworth's time, to make it worthy of its
innocent and sacred memories, to plant the flowers
in it that Wordsworth and his sister planted, to fit
them to the same places as we find them to have
been fitted in the Diary and Poems—in one word,
to enshrine this cottage home as a record of
Wordsworth’s life and work, and as a memorial
of the roots of his power.
These poetic associations are even more
DOVE COTTAGE.
47
numerous when we enter the house. The tales of
Dorothy—to take the Diary first-people the house
with love and joy, and fill it with the romance of a
country home.
But first, I quote her letter written on Sept. 10,
1800:--
“We are daily more delighted with Grasmere
and its neighbourhood. Our walks are per-
petually varied, and we are more fond of the
mountains as our acquaintance with them in-
creases. We have a boat upon the lake, and a
small orchard and smaller garden, which, as it
is the work of our own hands, we regard with
pride and partiality. Our cottage is quite large
enough for us, though very small; and we have
made it neat and comfortable within doors; and
it looks very nice on the outside ; for though the
roses and honeysuckles which we have planted
against it are only of this year's growth, yet it
is covered all over with green leaves and scarlet
flowers; for we have trained scarlet beans upon
threads, which are not only exceedingly beauti-
ful but very useful, as their produce is immense.
We have made a lodging-room of the parlour
below stairs, which has a stone floor, therefore
48
DOVE COTTAGE.
YIT
we have covered it all over with matting. We
sit in a room above stairs, and we have one
lodging-room with two single beds, a sort of
lumber-room, and a small low unceiled room,
which I have papered with newspapers, and in
which we have put a small bed."
This is a plain and vivid picture of the interior.
We then, from her Diary, see with her eyes the
view from the windows. “In the morning when
I arose the mists were hanging over the opposite
hills, and the tops of the highest hills were
covered with snow. There was a most lovely
combination at the head of the vale of the
yellow autumnal mists wrapped in sunshine, and
overhung with partial mists, the green and yellow
trees and the distant snow-topped mountains. It
was a most heavenly morning."
Then comes a picture of still life. “I put aside
dearest Coleridge's letters, and now at about seven
o'clock we are all sitting by a nice fire-William
with his book and candle, and Mary writing to
Sara ;” and again, “William is reading Spenser,
Mary is writing beside me. The little tyke mur-
murs. We are quiet and happy.” “In the after-
noon we sat by the fire; I read Chaucer aloud,
DOVE COTTAGE.
49
and Mary read the first canto of the 'Fairy
Queen.'” “Mr. Clarkson came in before tea. We
played at cards. The moon shone upon the waters
below the Silver How, and above it hung a bowl-
shaped moon, the curve downwards; the white
fields, the glittering roof of Thomas Ashburner's
house, the dark yew tree, the white fields, gay and
beautiful. William lay with his curtains open that
he might see it.” Again, “ William is now sleeping
with the window open, lying on the window-
seat. The thrush is singing. There are, I do
believe, a thousand buds on the honeysuckle
tree, all small and far from blowing, save one that
is retired behind the twigs close to the wall and as
snug as a bird's nest.” Midst of all this poetic
life, we find her making pies and bread, cooking for
the household, sewing and knitting beside her
brother, preparing food for Coleridge, waiting
dinner for Wordsworth who would not leave his
poems, coming home late at night from Ambleside
and reading Coleridge's letters by the fireside,
sitting up with her brother till four in the morning
in talk, sitting up with Coleridge and William till
the dawn, sitting up with Coleridge alone, writing
those long letters to him which are, so strangely,
50
DOVE COTTAGE.
wholly lost ; leaving at ten the house, on moon-lit
nights, and pacing to and fro in the garden with her
brother. “After tea,” she writes, “we walked on our
about the disposal of our riches. We lay upon the
sloping turf. Earth and sky were so lovely that
they melted our very hearts. The sky to the north
was of a chastened yet rich yellow, fading into
pale blue and streaked and scattered over with
steady islands of purple, melting away into shades
of pink. It was like a vision to me."
There was a wealth of love in that woman's heart
which makes the place, the garden and the rooms
2
1
1
anything prettier be bound up with her bedroom
than her little tale about the swallows, which I here
extract. “The swallows come to the sitting-room
window as if wishing to build, but I am afraid they
will not have courage for it, but I believe they will
build in my room window. They twitter, and
make a bustle, and a little cheerful song, hanging
against the panes of glass with their soft white
bellies close to the glass, and their forked fish-like
tails. They swim round and round, and again
they come"... The nest fell and was afterwards
TO
DOVE COTTAGE.
51
rebuilt. “I had watched them early in the morning,
in the day many and many a time, and in the
evenings when it was almost dark. I had seen them
sitting together side by side in their unfinished
nest both morning and night. ... They fluttered
and sang their own little twittering song. Every
now and then there was a motion in their wings, a
sort of tremulousness, and they sang a low song to
one another. It is now eight o'clock. I will go and
see if my swallows are on their nest. Yes! there
they are, both looking down into the garden. I
have been out on purpose to see their faces.” On
the 8th of July, 1802, this diary ends; and ends
with a good-bye to her cottage as passionate as
if it were a person whom she loved. Next day
she was going with her brother to meet Mary
Hutchinson and to witness his marriage. “O
beautiful place," she cries ;“ dear Mary and William.
The hour is come-I must prepare to go. The
swallows-I must leave them, the wall, the garden,
roses, all. Dear creatures, they sang last night
after I was in bed ; seemed to be singing to one
another, just before they settled to rest for the
night. Well, I must go. Farewell !”
These are quiet, homely entries, but they have
D 2
52
DOVE COTTAGE.
the value of individual charm, and of sweet content.
Their very simplicity, their still enjoyment, endear
the spot where they were written. It is impossible to
read them without feeling her love to the cottage
and the garden awakening in us also affection for
the place. It is for that reason I have quoted
them ; they will endear the house to those who visit
it hereafter; it will be peopled with those memories
which are the daily blessings of common life.
And now, as before, I pass to the poems which
Wordsworth wrote in the house. Their spiritual
presence dignifies these rooms.
I have said that the greater part of his poetic
work was, now and afterwards, done in the
open air, beyond the house and garden--on the
mountain sides; marching up and down Lancrigg,
whence he saw all Easdale before him; in the Fir
Grove and on White Moss; but some poems, and
those famous, are bound up with the two rooms
where they sat, and especially with the room above,
where they kept the needs for their evening meal,
made their own tea and toast, and sat talking and
writing till late at night. A thrill of pleasure,
mingled with reverence, passes through our heart
when we think that in this room much of “The
DOVE COTTAGE.
Recluse" was actually composed, at a time, per-
haps in 1800, when all the spirit of youth in him
was married to the power of song, when infinite
hope was in him that he would move the world.
Here too, with slight exceptions, the whole of
“The Prelude " was copied by Dorothy from the
sheets brought home from Lancrigg, and long and
continuous work given to it. As he corrected it in
this low dark room, his life from boyhood passed
before him, vision after vision, and the walls opened
and showed him the universe.
Morning after morning, he worked here also
at books of “The Excursion,” but chiefly at “The
Ruined Cottage.” Almost every poem published
in the second volume of “The Lyrical Ballads”
is bound up in thought with this room. Here he
read them to Coleridge and Dorothy, here he
polished their numbers, from this house he sent
them to press, and here he received the volume.
But some were not only corrected, but made in the
house. “Michael," during the two months of its
composition, was kept, it seems, for the orchard,
and for the upper room in the evenings, and its
connection with the house is doubled when we
know that the character and circumstances of
54 : DOVE COTTAGE.
0
Luke were taken from a family to whom the house
had once belonged. All the lovely band of brother
poems“On the Naming of Places," once inhabited,
at their birth, this cottage. One winter evening
in 1800, and it is a story full of Wordsworth's
character, while he was labouring in his upper
room at a difficult passage in “The Brothers,” he
started with a sudden impulse into the poem of
“Hartleap Well,” recited extempore the first eight
stanzas, and finished it in a day or two. The
1
at breakfast. “He ate not a morsel, but sat with
his shirt-neck unbuttoned and his waistcoat opened
while he did it.” It was after a happy day that
he wrote at night one of his few poems that
deal with unhappy passion, “'Tis said that some
have died for love." “Alice Fell” and “The
Beggars” were dictated in the morning room,
Dorothy dropping in at intervals to write them
down ; and “The Beggars” arose out of a chance
meeting of Dorothy's with a gipsy woman at the
cottage gate. Here too, and all of a sudden
one March morning, he broke out into
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky.
DOVE COTTAGE. : 55
Another day, in 1802, his sister read to him in the
afternoon the sonnets of Milton. As he listened, ·
moving to and fro, he took fire and wrote three
sonnets, one after another—the first, he said, he had
ever written, —of one of which we are alone certain
"I grieved for Buonaparte." It is something to
know that in this cottage his great and varied
series of sonnets was begun..
In 1803—for I only mention those poems which
illustrate the house_his sister Sara Hutchinson
called him to the window of the cottage, saying,
“Look how beautiful is yon star! It has all the
sky to itself.” No sooner had he heard the words
and seen the ambitious star, than the sonnet, “It is
no spirit who from Heaven hath flown," sprang, as
it were from his lips-for it is one of the great
mistakes the critics of Wordsworth make, that he
had no rush, no spontaneity, no rapidity of verse.
Numbers of the poems written at Dove Cottage
gushed from him with a speed and force which
belonged only to Burns and Keats out of all the
great poets of this century. No sooner, in the same
year, had he come back from his Scottish tour and
found “Mary in perfect health, and little John
1 See Prof. Knight's note on this statement.
56
DOVE COTTAGE.
asleep in the clothes basket by the fire," than he
sang by the fireside “The Blind Highland Boy."
The lines with which it begins-
Now we are tired of boisterous joy,
Have romped enough, my little boy ;.
-are full of his homely pleasure at returning.
In 1804, Townend heard “The Daffodils”; and
Mary added there those two lines which are the
spiritual centre of the poem. That noble piece of
simple and imaginative passion which might
come forth out of the voice of a primæval mother-
hood—"The Affliction of Margaret" was written in
these rooms; where too arose the “Address to my
infant daughter Dora”-a poem where all the
tenderness of fatherhood and motherhood is, as it
were, heard moving in the heart, and in which, with
that unique felicity of his whereby he brought
Nature and Humanity into union, like two clasped
hands, he weaves into one the moon and the
child. Here “Personal Talk” was composed,
while Othello or the Faerie Queen was read.
Here poems ran to and fro in Wordsworth's mind
while he sat dreaming over the fire. It was his
favourite custom, when evening fell,
DOVE COTTAGE.
To sit without emotion, hope, or aim,
In the loved presence of my cottage fire,
And listen to the flapping of the flame,
Or kettle whispering its faint under-song.
Many other poems belong to the time before he
left, and were published in the edition of 1807, but
I cannot place them for a certainty in these rooms.
One, however, we know, was partly composed in
this house, and alone is enough to hallow its walls
for ever. It is the ode concerning “Immortality
and Childhood," begun-awakened, I may say, out
of its sleep in his soul-on a bright May morning.
It would, in truth, be an immortal pity if the spot
where it rose into being was cast away by England
for want of care.
When they returned after the marriage, they
took up life with the same simplicity. In the
midst of a household straitened for room, his poetic
vein did not fail him. “The Prelude” took up a
great deal of the time of 1804, and the last six books
were finished in the first six months of 1805. We
have that date from a letter to Sir G. Beaumont, in
which he describes his orchard :-
"June 3, 1805.—I write to you from the moss
hut at the top of my orchard, the sun just sinking
58
DOVE COTTAGE.
behind the hills at the front of the entrance, and
his light falling on the green moss of the side
opposite me. A linnet is singing in the tree
above, and the children of some of our neigh-
bours, who have been to-day little John's visitors,
are playing below, equally noisy and happy.
The green fields in the level area of the vale
and part of the lake, lie before me in quiet-
ness. ... I have the pleasure to say that I
finished 12y poem about a fortnight ago."
Many other great poems are bound up with the
house at this time. Its walls heard recited to his
wife and sister the “Ode to Duty," the “Stanzas
to his Brother's Death," “ The Waggoner," "The
Character of the Happy Warrior," and the “Force
of Prayer."
In 1806 he went with his household to Coleorton.
The cottage had become far too small for his
increasing family; and it was almost impossible
to live in it during the winter of 1806. “I cannot
but admire the fortitude," Dorothy writes in 1807,
“and wonder at the success, with which he has
laboured in that one room, common to all the
family, to all visitors, and where the children
frequently play beside him." In 1807 the first
DOVE COTTAGE.
59
part of “The White Doe of Rylstone” was
finished at Stockton, and he read it out at Dove
Cottage on his return from Stockton. The rest of
the poem was also finished here before he went to
Allan Bank, and the first verse of the “Dedication”
enshrines his happiness with Mary in the arbour
of the orchard, and by the fire of the cottage,
which we are desirous of making England's
own.
In trellised shed with clustering roses gay,
And Mary, oft beside our blazing fire,
When years of wedded life were as a day
Whose current answers to the heart's desire,
Did we together read in Spenser's lay
How Una, sad of soul, in sad attire,
The gentle Una, of celestial birth,
To seek her knight went wandering o'er the earth.
12. of celestial birt
This much then may be said concerning the poems
written in the cottage during this time, and con-
cerning their associations, and I think that together
they form a body of memories and thoughts to
which it is well by the purchase of this place
to give a local habitation and a name; some
home where we may fancy that the poems may
gather-glad to see one another—and hold con-
verse when all the world of England is asleep; for
60
DOVE COTTAGE.
it seems no dream to think that great poems have
a being of their own, and move as they please
about the place where they were born and shaped
into their beauty. If the “ Cuckoo " and the
“Green Linnet" meet in the orchard ; if "Michael”
and the “Recluse” sit over the fire by night in the
upper room, they will be glad to think that their
birth-place is to be theirs for ever.
There is little more to say, but I would urge
this purchase from another point of view. It
was during the years he was at Dove Cottage
that he wrote-chiefly in the turmoil and complex
wealth of London--those sonnets of his that urge
upon us plain living and high thinking ; which call
us back to travel on life's common way, like
Milton, in cheerful godliness. It was in this house
that he sang to us to find nothing so fair as the
smile upon the face of duty; to so live in obscurity,
that in every difficulty and trouble we may feel
like men inspired.
In poverty, in simplicity of life, in quiet duty
done in obedience day by day, in love, is the
strength of life. There is no greater object-lesson
of this truth than Dove Cottage and Wordsworth's
life in it; no man or woman can sit for half an hour
TY
DOVE COTTAGE.
61
in its rooms or walk in its narrow garden without
the power of this thought coming upon him for
encouragement or wise reproach. It is said that
poverty chills genius and nurtures the discontent
that troubles thought, that household cares in
pinching circumstances injure the brightness and
movement of the joyful emotion which is the
fountain of poetry. This cottage is the witness
to the opposite: The Wordsworths had at first
barely enough to live upon. He and Dorothy
had for some years about £80 a year. The
rooms were as small as the rooms of a labourer's
cottage. Poetry had to be made in a room which
was full of interruptions. The children played
there, and the cradle stood by the fire. I have
said that they cooked their own dinner, tilled their
own garden ; that Dorothy, with all her genius,
did honest servant work-washing, baking, clean-
ing; that Wordsworth chopped the wood, cleaned
the well, planted the vegetables, did the work also
of a labourer. Yet all the time poetry sprang up like
a goddess from his head. He was gay, alive to all
beauty, thrilled incessantly with the glory of the
universe, able to shape all he felt into song. There
is no need to point the lesson to those who spend a
62 .
DOVE COTTAGE.
life of poverty in wailing to be rich, or a life of
wealth in confessing their inability to be poor. It
is written in every flower of this quiet garden, in
every room of this peaceful cottage.
Nor does it speak less plainly to a world which
strives at every point to fly away from simplicity
of life. Luxury, complexity of amusement or
of knowledge, to be removed as far as possible from
the natural roots of life—these things are too much
thought to bring happiness, culture, and honour. To
stand in the porch of Dove Cottage is enough to
teach us another lesson. Happiness was there, and
good society, few books but fine culture, and honour
laid its garland on the humble roof-yet the life was
as simple, as settled in a round of daily duties, as
that of any shepherd in the dale; lived close to
natural beauty, among the birds and flowers of the
woodland, among poor neighbours, with the common
pleasures and common loves of men. And out of
it arose a new poetry—a power which will draw
after it for ever the hearts of men, a voice which
always calls us to live with those great laws
which never grow old, for an immortal God is in
them.
Nor can we forget that here Love dwelt-the
n1
DOVE COTTAGE.
63
sacred love of home and of its duties, that touch-
stone of a nation's strength, the foundation of the
love of country and of all other love; the check of
all base affections; the root of temperance in
passion ; the harbour where our storm-tossed bark
lies in peace and refits for a fresh voyage. There
is scarcely one of the affections of home which is
not represented with beauty, with a certain tender-
ness of romance, in the little cottage during those
eight years—the love of husband and wife, of
father and mother, of brother and brother, of sister
and brother; and this kind of love, of which
1
clothed with the sun, and brought into union with
all the pomp and beauty of the elements. It was
this that enabled him to be the poet of the poor, to
see in lives lived in the common daylight of events
and work subjects for verse, and to connect them
also with the majesty of Nature.
Love had he found in huts where poor men lie;
His daily teachers had been woods and rills,
The silence that is in the starry sky,
The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
The cottage is a living witness to this thought, and
V
64
DOVE COTTAGE.
to this love ; and it is well to preserve the little
place, that England may not forget the wisdom
of the love, and the passion of the thought; even
more, that she may have some form to clothe the
historic truth, that out of this feeling and this con-
ception grew a new type of song. Here, in this
home, was shaped into full beauty that living Being
of Poetry, which, first born in the “ Lyrical Ballads"
of 1798, kindled with her fresh eyes, and with her
simple and tuneful voice, a fresh life in all whom
the Muses loved in England.
It is enough to say, but there is one more ground
of appeal. There are thousands whose lives have
been soothed and dignified, whose holidays in
England have been charmed, whose soul has been
purified, whose love of beauty has been made tem-
perate, clear and deep by Wordsworth; and who
owe to him an infinite debt. They may be sure
that he would be glad that their gratitude should
preserve his humble home for England. For he
dearly loved the place. He never gave to Rydal
Mount half the romantic love his youth gave to
Dove Cottage; it would stir his heart with pleasure
to know that England also loved the orchard, the
garden, and the rooms where his heart was once so
DOVE COTTAGE.
happy; that she honoured his poetry in the way in
which he would best like it honoured.
No record of his love for this home of his is fuller
sweeter or more intimate than the “Farewell” of
1802, with which I close this little Book, and by
whose appealing verses I again recommend this
purchase.
Composed just before my Sister and I went to fetch Mrs.
Wordsworth from Gallow Hill, near Scarborough.
Farewell, thou little Nook of mountain-ground,
Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair
Of that magnificent temple which doth bound
One side of our whole vale with grandeur rare;
Sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair,
The loveliest spot that man hath ever found,
Farewell !-we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care,
Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround.
Our boat is safely anchored by the shore,
And there will safely ride when we are gone;
The flowering shrubs that deck our humble door
Will prosper, though untended and alone :
Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none :
These narrow bounds contain our private store
Of things earth makes, and sun doth shine upon ;
Here are they in our sight-we have no more.
DOVE COTTAGE.
Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell !
For two months now in vain we shall be sought :
We leave you here in solitude to dwell
With these our latest gifts of tender thought;
Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat,
Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell !
Whom from the borders of the Lake we brought,
And placed together near our rocky Well.
We go for One to whom ye will be dear;
And she will prize this Bower, this Indian shed,
Our own contrivance, Building without peer!
-A gentle Maid, whose heart is lowly bred,
Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered,
With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer
Will come to you; to you herself will wed;
And love the blessed life that we lead here.
Dear Spot ! which we have watched with tender heed,
Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown
Among the distant mountains, flower and weed,
Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own,
Making all kindness registered and known;
Thou for our sakes, though Nature's child indeed,
Fair in thyself and beautiful alone,
Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need.
And O most constant, yet most fickle Place,
That hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost show
To them who look not daily on thy face;
Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know,
And say'st, when we forsake thee, “Let them go!"
Thou easy-hearted Thing, with thy wild race
Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow,
And travel with the year at a soft pace.
DOVE COTTAGE.
Help us to tell Her tales of years gone by,
And this sweet spring, the best beloved and best ;
Joy will be flown in its mortality ;
Something must stay to tell us of the rest.
Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's breast
Glittered at evening like a starry sky;
And in this bush our sparrow built her nest,
Of which I sang one song that will not die.
O happy Garden ! whose seclusion deep
Hath been so friendly to industrious hours ;
And to soft slumbers, that did gently steep
Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers,
And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers ;
Two burning months let summer overleap,
And, coming back with Her who will be ours,
1802.
APPENDIX.
APPENDIX.
It may give an additional literary interest to Dove
Cottage, and especially in the case of those persons who
care more for fine prose than for fine poetry, if we
remember how intimately it became connected with De
Quincey. In the latter months of 1809 Dorothy
Wordsworth was actively employed in carpeting, furnish-
ing, and getting ready the Cottage for De Quincey. In
November 1809, when he was twenty-four years old,
he took up his residence within its walls. “For twenty-
seven years he held it in tenancy, and for a little more
than twenty years it was his head-quarters, the place where
he resided constantly when he was at rest. The mile
of road from the Cottage to Wordsworth's house of Allan
Bank was his familiar walk morning and evening from the
first, for the sake of Wordsworth's society, and also of
Coleridge's, so long as Coleridge remained Wordsworth's
guest.” 1
This closeness of friendship between him and Words-
worth diminished after 1810, but they remained friends
1 “ De Quincey.” Masson, p. 45-49.
72
APPENDIX.
till De Quincey left for Scotland in 1829. Dorothy and
the Wordsworth children, however, grew nearer and
nearer to him as time went on.
During his occupation of the Cottage, one of his most
frequent visitors was John Wilson of Elleray, who, as
Masson cleverly says, “rather bounded into the Lake
District than settled in it.” But De Quincey had few
visitors—he was an almost solitary student, lost as it
were among the mountains, buried in his books. He
must have filled every room in the cottage with them,
for he made a library of 5,000 volumes, many of which
overflowed into the cottage of Nab Scar, about a mile
away, where his father-in-law lived. It was here that till
1812 he read in comfort German metaphysics, and every
Saturday night enjoyed his opium, cosily drinking it out
of a decanter, over the fire in that upper room of which
so much has been said. It was here in 1813 that he
became a confirmed opium eater, consuming every day
8,000 drops of laudanum, enough to fill about seven
ordinary wine glasses. A few years afterwards the tor-
ments began he so vividly recorded. It was at the gate
of this cottage he met the Malay who figured so often
in his Asiatic dreams, and became one of the horrors of
his nights. The kitchen is the stage of that strange
interview which stands out, like an impressionist pic-
ture, from the pages of “The Confessions of an Opium
Eater.”
These associations I have kept apart from the Words-
worth story, but they will add to many a new charm to
the Cottage. It is an island of literature, and I match,
in conclusion, Dorothy's description at page 47 with
APPENDIX.
De Quincey's picture of Dove Cottage as it was in
1816 :-
Let there be a cottage, standing in a valley, eighteen
miles from any town; no spacious valley, but about two
miles long by three-quarters of a mile in average width-
the benefit of which provision is that all families resident
within its circuit will comprise, as it were, one larger
household, personally familiar to your eye, and more or
less interesting to your affections. Let the mountains be
real mountains, between 3,000 and 4,000 feet high, and
the cottage a real cottage, not (as a witty author has it)
“a cottage with a double coach-house," let it be in fact
(for I must abide by the actual scene) a white cottage,
embowered with flowering shrubs, so chosen as to unfold
a succession of flowers upon the walls, and clustering
around the windows, through all the months of spring,
summer, and autumn; beginning, in fact, with May roses,
and ending with jasmine. Let it, however, not be spring,
nor summer, nor autumn, but winter in its sternest
shape. ... But here, to save myself the trouble of too
much verbal description, I will introduce a painter, and
give him directions for the rest of the picture. Painters
do not like white cottages, unless a good deal weather-
stained; but, as the reader now understands that it is a
the inside of the house. Paint me, then, a room seven-
teen feet by twelve, and not more than seven and a half
feet high. This, reader, is somewhat ambitiously styled,
in my family, the drawing-room ; but, being contrived
“a double debt to pay," it is also, and more justly,
termed the library; for it happens that books are the
APPENDIX.
only article of property in which I am richer than my
neighbours. Of these, I have about 5,000, collected
gradually since my eighteenth year. Therefore, Painter,
put as many as you can into this room. Make it popu-
lous with books; and furthermore, paint me a good fire,
and furniture plain and modest, befitting the unpretend-
ing cottage of a scholar. And near the fire paint me a
tea-table; and (as it is clear that no creature can come
to see me on such a stormy night) place only two cups
and saucers on the tea-tray : and if you know how to
paint such a thing, symbolically or otherwise, paint me
an eternal tea-pot,-eternal, a parte ante, and, a parte
post ; for I usually drink tea from eight o'clock at night
to four in the morning.
And as it is very unpleasant to make tea or to pour it
out for oneself, paint me a lovely young woman sitting
at the table. Paint her arms like Aurora's and her
smiles like Hebe's; but no, dear M- ! (this is Mar-
garet Simpson, his wife) not even in jest let me insinuate
that thy power to illuminate my cottage rests upon a
tenure so perishable as mere personal beauty, or that the
witchcraft of angelic smiles lies within the empire of any
earthly pencil. Pass then, my good Painter, to some-
thing more within thy power; and the next article brought
forward should naturally be myself—a picture of the
Opium Eater, “ with his little golden receptacle of the
pernicious drug” lying beside him on the table. As to
the opium I have no objection to see a picture of that ;
you may paint it, if you choose ; but I apprise you that
no "little” receptacle would, even in 1816, answer my
purpose, who was at a distance from the stately Pantheon
and all druggists, neutral or otherwise. No, you may as
APPENDIX.
75
well paint the real receptacle, which was not of gold, but
of glass, and as much like a sublunary wine-decanter as
possible. In fact, one day, by a series of happily con-
ceived experiments, I discovered that it was a decanter.
Into this you may put a quart of ruby-coloured laudanum;
that, and a book of German metaphysics placed by its side,
will sufficiently attest my being in the neighbourhood.
This homelike, weird, and wintry orgie, with the
solitary quiet of an opium dream wrapt round it, is an
image for the mind to rest on strangely different from
those pictures which we have made of this room when
Wordsworth and Dorothy and Mary sat round its fire
and listened to “The Ode to Duty" and the “Character
of the Happy Warrior.” The little room is the same,
the firelight, the winter wind without; the quiet figures
resemble one another; the literary life and its elements
one home is remote from that of the other. Words-
worth, in all matters, and especially in matters of appetite
was the bondman of duty. De Quincey, though after-
wards he fought a good fight, was at Dove Cottage the
victim of indulgence. Yet so great was his genius, and
wrote so great a legacy to the English language, that we
are glad to see his thin, dark and lovable face, with all
his books looking down upon it, in this room; and the
vision—so distinct from that of Wordsworth that they do
not clash with one another—enhances rather than lessens
our desire to possess and guard the place.
Communications on the subject of this Book may be
made to the
Honorary Secretaries.
PROFESSOR KNIGHT,
The University, St. Andrews,
N.B.
WM. G. BROOKE,
14 Herbert Street, Dublin.
or to
THE REV. STOPFORD BROOKE,
I Manchester Square,
W .
All Subscriptions will be acknowledged by the
Treasurer.
GEO. LILLIE CRAIK,
Macmillan & Co.,
Bedford Street,
Covent Garden.
Bankers.
LONDON & COUNTY BANK,
Henrietta Street,
Covent Garden.
2
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DOVE COTTAGE
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WORDSWORTH'S HOME FROM 1800–1808.
1
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DECEMBER 21, 1799
:TO
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,
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MAY , 1808
BY
:
STOPFORD A. BROOKE
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-1
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London:
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND NEW YORK
1890
.
The Right of. Translation and Reproduction.es Reserved.
.
.
Price: One Shilling:
.
...
.

It.
3 9015 03015 0075
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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN

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