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 i 
 I
 
 POEMS.
 
 BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON
 
 THE 
 
 POEMS 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN 
 
 NOW FIRST COLLECTED FROM ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT AND PRINTED 
 
 SOURCES ; AND EDITED, IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER, WITH 
 
 NOTES, BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL, 
 
 BV 
 
 W. G. COLLINGWOOD. 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 POEMS WRITTEN IN BOYHOOD; 
 18261835. 
 
 GEORGE ALLEN, 
 SUNNYSIDE, ORPINGTON. 
 
 AND 
 
 S, BELL YARD, TEMPLE BAR, LONDON.
 
 [All rights rcsm'eti.\
 
 Anr.ax 
 
 9R 
 5? 58 
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 FIRST POEMS; 1826, AGE 7. 
 
 77ns oo /s copyrighted in America by 
 CHARLES E. MERRILL & Co., New 
 York (1891). 
 
 become our own by sympathy : and when they reach 
 the day of victory and coronation, we seem, like loyal 
 adherents of a conqueror, to share the triumph ; and, 
 like intimate confidants, to understand the full signi- 
 ficance of the achievement. 
 
 It is no idle curiosity, then, that prompts the admirers 
 of Mr. Ruskin's works to collect his boyish writings and 
 to learn the story of his youth. More than other writers, 
 
 he is misunderstood by the casual reader: more than 
 VOL. i. b
 
 [A II righ ts reserved. \
 
 Anr.ax 
 
 ft\ 
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 FIRST POEMS; 1826, AGE 7. 
 
 THERE is always a peculiar interest in watching develop- 
 ment, in witnessing growth. When we have seen a 
 plant burst the soil, and its long-expected bud unfold 
 into blossom, we love every leaf and petal of it : it 
 is our own ; and worth more to us than all the cut 
 bouquets of a flower-show. And in the same way we 
 delight in the early history of nations, in the early 
 biography of great men. As we follow their first steps, 
 and note the foreshadowings of character, the promises 
 of power, which even their youngest years afford, they 
 become our own by sympathy : and when they reach 
 the day of victory and coronation, we seem, like loyal 
 adherents of a conqueror, to share the triumph ; and, 
 like intimate confidants, to understand the full signi- 
 ficance of the achievement. 
 
 It is no idle curiosity, then, that prompts the admirers 
 of Mr. Ruskin's works to collect his boyish writings and 
 to learn the story of his youth. More than other writers, 
 
 he is misunderstood by the casual reader : more than 
 VOL. i. b
 
 vi FIRST POEMS. 1826, 
 
 others, he needs to be approached I do not say with 
 any prejudice in his favour but with a preliminary 
 understanding of his ways, and aims, and attitude : and 
 in his case, more than with others, these conditions 
 have been determined at an early age, and illustrated 
 in his early writings. That is the recurrent burden of 
 his autobiography : " I find in myself nothing what- 
 soever changed. Some of me is dead, more of me is 
 stronger. I have learned a few things, forgotten many ; 
 in the total of me, I am but the same youth, disappointed 
 and rheumatic." 
 
 These poems, although he thrust them aside for prose, 
 in which he could better put the complicated feelings, 
 thoughts, and facts which he had to tell, these poems 
 are, for that very reason, the best introduction to his 
 later and greater books. They sketch the author's 
 portrait, as frontispiece to his works. They give, in 
 the simple and direct terms to which lyrical or elegiac 
 verse is limited, the ground-plan of his character, the 
 bias of his mental development. They bring before 
 us, from year to year, his home and surroundings, his 
 studies and travels, authentic memoirs of a curiously 
 observant childhood, in themselves valuable as records 
 of bygone times and old-world personages. They 
 hint the models upon which he formed his style : and 
 the reader who is not tied down to admire whatever 
 affectation may be fashionable, of formality or of ex- 
 travagance, will find among these hitherto unknown
 
 AGE 7- FIRST POEMS. vii 
 
 pieces much that will surprise him by its literary value. 
 I count it for nothing against them that their author 
 himself has never brought them forward : because he 
 has spent his best strength in elevating the public taste 
 in poetry as well as in art ; so that it was impossible for 
 him to offer his own juvenile productions as examples of 
 the lofty ideal he preached. But that makes me all the 
 more grateful to him for yielding to the requests of his 
 friends, and permitting the present publication. 
 
 Of Mr. Ruskin's earliest attempts at writing verse 
 he has given the following account : " My calf-milk 
 of books was, on the lighter side, composed of Dame 
 Wiggins of Lee, the Peacock at Home, and the like 
 nursery rhymes ; and on the graver side, of Miss Edge- 
 worth's Frank, and Harry and Lucy, combined with 
 Joyce's Scientific Dialogues. The earliest dated efforts 
 I can find, indicating incipient action of brain-molecules, 
 are six 'poems' on subjects selected from those works ; 
 between the fourth or fifth of which my mother has 
 written: 'January, 1826. This book begun about 
 September or October, 1826; finished about January 
 1827.' The whole of it, therefore, was written and 
 printed in imitation of book-print in my seventh year ; " 
 that is, when he was seven years old. "Of the six 
 poems, the first is on the steam-engine, beginning 
 
 ' When furious up from mines the water pours, 
 And clears from rusty moisture all the ores ; '
 
 viii F/A'Sr POEMS. 1826, 
 
 and the last on the Rainbow, 'in blank verse,' as being 
 of a didactic character, with observations on the ignorant 
 and unreflective dispositions of certain people : 
 
 ' But those that do not know about that light 
 Reflect not on it ; and in all that light 
 Not one of all the colours do they know.' " * 
 
 These are sufficient quotations from "The Steam- 
 engine " and " The Rainbow ; " but the same note-book 
 contains Mr. Ruskin's very first dated attempt at written 
 verse, composed in January 1826, before he had reached 
 the age of seven. As a curiosity, I print it just as he 
 copied it into that earliest edition of his poetical works, 
 without punctuation, and with no capitals except in 
 the initial word, like a mediaeval missal or an ancient 
 Greek codex : 
 
 THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 
 
 AMONG the rushes lived a mouse 
 with a pretty little house 
 made of rushes tall and high 
 that to the skies were heard to sigh 
 while one night while she was sleeping 
 comes a dog that then was peeping 
 and had found her out in spite 
 of her good wall for then his sight 
 was better than our mouses 
 
 so 
 she was obliged to yield to foe 
 
 * Prasterita, vol. i. chap. iii. (pp. 76, 83) ; and see the Editor's 
 account of the manuscripts of the unpublished poems, at the end of 
 this volume (p. 263).
 
 AGE 7. FIRST POEMS. ix 
 
 when frightened was the dog just then 
 at the scratching of a hen 
 so of[f] he ran and little mouse 
 was left in safety with her house. 
 
 But these childish verses were not by any means 
 merely derivative, as the author seems to hint in the 
 passage quoted from Praterita. His continuation of 
 " Harry and Lucy," though it imitates Miss Edgeworth's 
 form, is in great part the story of his own travels ; and 
 two of the "poems" of this year, 1826, record the im- 
 pressions received during a journey from Scotland with 
 his parents, after visiting his aunt at Perth. Of the 
 "Farewell," line 4 is no doubt a reminiscence of the 
 May sunshine in which they went northwards ; for their 
 start was usually made about the middle of May ; and 
 he contrasts the sunny anticipation of the arrival with 
 the autumnal gloom of the departure. 
 
 FAREWELL TO SCOTLAND. 
 
 O what a change from pretty Perth so near, 
 To dreary heather, and to streams so clear, 
 To rocks, and stones ! Upon the dreary way 
 No sun is shining, as on sprightly May. 
 Again it changes to the winding Earn, 
 'Tis shallow water, but it has no fern ; 
 But it is precious for its shining drops ; 
 And sometimes from the river a fish pops. 
 Again it changes to a steep, steep hill, 
 And it is cold, do anything you will.
 
 x PJRST POEMS. 1826, 
 
 In short, such changes Scotland does now take, 
 That I can't tell them, and 
 
 an end I make 
 
 was no doubt the conclusion he meant, a not uncommon 
 formula of termination in these first attempts, like the 
 "these things were thus" with which Herodotus con- 
 cludes his chapters. Note in passing, as a matter of 
 style, the use of "precious" to describe the peculiar, 
 unhackneyed beauty of a pet phenomenon. 
 
 During the journey home, or on his return, in Septem- 
 ber, was written a poem on "Glenfarg," which is ex- 
 tremely curious as a foretaste of that moralisation of 
 landscape which is so characteristic of the author. It 
 is interesting, also, from the precocious power of con- 
 secutive thought and condensed imagery, by which the 
 little boy of seven rises in gradual climax from the 
 river, in which he sees typified the mere "glory of 
 going on and still to be " in the darkness of the ravine, 
 to the streams on the hillside, whose energy he fancies 
 to be conscious of ministration to their fellow-creatures. 
 From the streams, he ascends to the stones in them, 
 which are called upon for a higher lesson, to " bear " 
 trial, for he that endureth to the end shall "never, 
 never die." But what in the stones is a virtue, is a 
 defect in living creatures ; for he sees the cattle live and 
 move and have a fuller being ; and the sheep still more 
 so. And finally, man proud of his earthly science, of 
 the mill-wheel to which he trusts for his daily bread is
 
 AGE 7- FIRST POEMS. xi 
 
 reproved for the lowness of his horizon, and exhorted 
 to lift up his eyes to the wheel of the heavenly wain ; 
 reminded of his fallible nature, and pointed to his true 
 guide and goal, above. 
 
 GLEN OF GLENFARG. 
 
 Glen of Glenfarg, thy beauteous rill, 
 Streaming through thy mountains high, 
 
 Onward pressing, onward still, 
 Hardly seeing the blue sky. 
 
 Mountain streams, press on your way, 
 
 And run into the stream below : 
 Never stop like idle clay, 
 
 Hear the sheep, and cattle low. 
 
 Stones that in the stream do lie, 
 
 Bear the rushing torrent still : 
 Thou shalt never, never die, 
 
 Submit unto the Almighty's will. 
 
 Cows that lie upon the grass, 
 
 Rise and graze upon the hills ; 
 Never be a heavy mass, 
 
 Like a stone that's in the rills. 
 
 Sheep that eat upon the hills, 
 
 Rise, and play, and jump about ; 
 Drink out of the running rills, 
 
 And always on the grass be out 
 
 Cottages upon the plain, 
 
 Placed so near the floury mills ; 
 Cottager, look on Charles's Wain, 
 
 Right above the grassy hills.
 
 xii FIRST POEMS. 1826, 
 
 The pole-star guides thee on the way, 
 When in dark nights thou art [lost] ; 
 
 Therefore look up at the starry day, 
 Look at the stars about thee tost. 
 
 The word in square brackets is wanting in the original. 
 In the verses previously unedited, which nearly equal in 
 bulk the already published poems, the few words that 
 I have supplied or altered are marked in the same way, 
 as also any notes or dates I have inserted : everything 
 else in the body of the text is either given by Mr. Ruskin, 
 or drawn from his writings, or from authorities im- 
 mediately required for the sake of explanation. The 
 Editor's notes are relegated to the end of the volumes. 
 But while I have not taken liberties in the way of 
 emending the original MSS., my instructions obliged 
 me to omit such poems and passages as were either 
 without general interest, or incomplete and inadequately 
 representative of the author's attainments and style at 
 the time; as must often be the case in verses written 
 only in the rough, and never revised for publication. 
 How completely unpolished the MSS. are may be 
 gathered from the fact that they contain hardly a trace 
 of punctuation. On the other hand, the spelling rarely 
 needs correction. 
 
 The last piece of 1826 was a New Year's Address to 
 the author's father, written apparently on December 31, 
 as an essay to order; and, like other "commissions," 
 without afflatus of inspiration. Shall I print it? or
 
 AGE 7. FIRST POEMS, xiii 
 
 "discreetly blot"? I think Mr. Ruskin's fame will 
 survive editorial indiscretion ; and " 'tis sixty years 
 since," you know, and more. Besides, the "poem" is 
 meant to be humorous. 
 
 TIME. BLANK VERSE. 
 
 Papa, what's Time ? a figure or a sense ? 
 'Tis one, but not the other. Is not Time 
 A figure ? yes, it is : for on the tops of shops 
 We often see a figure with two wings, 
 A scythe upon one shoulder, and a lock 
 Of hair upon his forehead, while his head is bald, 
 Except the lock upon his forehead ;- and called Time. 
 Time's very quick ; and therefore he has wings. 
 When past, Time's gone for ever ; so he has a lock 
 Of hair upon his forehead ; and the proverb is 
 " Take Time by the forelock." He mows down every- 
 thing, 
 
 And so he has a scythe. Time is so quick 
 That might a year be called a day. 
 Day ! Now I think of it, 'tis New Year's day. 
 A happy New Year's day to you, Papa ! 
 And now I must return to Time. 
 Is Time only a figure ? No, he is not. 
 What is he then ? what is he ? I don't know ; 
 He's not a quality ; of that I'm sure. 
 Oh I remember now ! He is a god 
 Entitled Saturn : he's a heathen god. 
 And well he might be called one : none but they 
 Could go so quick, or jump from 'tween our hands 
 As Time does. Time ! I'm quite away from him ! 
 Away from him ? No surely I'm not so ; 
 For I'm at heathen gods, and he's a god : 
 So though I may be from him, I'm not far 
 From him, and now I must go to him quite.
 
 xiv FIRST POEMS. 1826, 
 
 Tis but an hour to merry New- Years day ; 
 For, though it is a day, a day's an hour ; 
 And what's an hour, 'tis only a wee minute, 
 Made so by the quick course of time. 
 So, Mr. Time, as I've said all about you, 
 All I've to say, I must take leave of you ! 
 
 It is droll as it stands ; a very little touching up would 
 have regulated the rhythm and emphasised the grotesque 
 humour of the monologue. The lad who, at the age of 
 seven, could knock this off without effort, and throw it 
 aside as a failure, was certainly taking time by the fore- 
 lock ; father to the man who engraved upon his seal, 
 " To-day, To-day, To-day." And is it not characteristic 
 that he should be already puzzling over the metaphysical 
 nature of Time, and, even though humorously, asking 
 questions that it took a Kant to answer ? Not long after, 
 he goes on to attempt an epic "On the Universe." 
 Surely this might have been Browning's youngster with 
 his " Transcendentalism ; a poem in twelve books : " 
 surely to this boy with " What a poetical face ! " as 
 Keats' Severn said of* him might have been addressed 
 the admiring remonstrance, condensing all possible 
 criticism : 
 
 " You are a poem, though your poem's naught. 
 The best of all you showed before, believe, 
 Was your own boy-face o'er the finer chords 
 Bent, following the cherub at the top 
 That points to God with his paired half-moon wings."
 
 AGE 7. FSA'ST POEMS. xv 
 
 And to him surely, when the full time was come, the 
 prophetic advice was appropriate, how appropriate, 
 with its Alpine metaphor ! 
 
 " Speak prose, and hollo it till Europe hears ! 
 The six-foot Swiss tube, braced about with bark 
 Which helps the hunter's voice from Alp to Alp 
 Exchange our harp for that, who hinders you ?" 
 
 But while recognising that Mr. Ruskin's power lay in 
 other directions, it would be a mistake unduly to depre- 
 ciate these volumes of juvenile verses. They contain 
 many a sonorous line and noble thought, many a genuine 
 feeling and fine, enthusiastic description that already 
 
 " Buries us with a glory, young once more, 
 Pouring heaven into this shut house of life."
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 * Pieces now Printed for the First Time. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. *FIRST POEMS; 1826, AGE 7. v 
 
 1827 ; AGE 8. 
 
 GLENFARG, " Papa, how pretty those icicles are " . . 3 
 *THE SUN : NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS TO HIS FATHER . 5 
 
 1828 ; AGE 9. 
 
 *MAY : BIRTHDAY ADDRESS TO HIS FATHER ... 9 
 
 *SKIDDAW n 
 
 *DERWENTWATER 13 
 
 EUDOSIA ; ON THE UNIVERSE. BOOK 1 15 
 
 Do. Do. *BooK II. 16 
 
 1829; AGE IO. 
 
 *ON THE APPEARANCE OF A SUDDEN CLOUD OF YELLOW 
 
 FOG COVERING EVERYTHING WITH DARKNESS . . 23 
 
 *THE MOON 25 
 
 *ON HAPPINESS 26 
 
 *SABBATH MORNING 27 
 
 *SHAGRAM'S FAREWELL TO SHETLAND .... 28 
 
 *TNA 30
 
 xviii CONTENTS. 
 
 1830; AGE ii. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 *TRAFALGAR 35 
 
 *Mv DOG DASH 38 
 
 *HADDON HALL 39 
 
 *ON THE DEATH OF MY COUSIN JESSIE .... 40 
 
 THE ASCENT OF SKIDDAW *THE START .... 42 
 
 *THE VIEW FROM LATRIGG 44 
 
 *THE CLIMB 45 
 
 *THE SUMMIT 46 
 
 *H/c OLIM MEMINISSE . .... 47 
 
 1831 ; AGE 12. 
 
 PASSAGES FROM THE ITERIAD ; OR, THREE WEEKS AMONG 
 THE LAKES : 
 *FROM KENDAL TO Low- WOOD . . .51 
 
 *SUNSET AT LOW-WOOD 53 
 
 *GRASMERE 54 
 
 *HELVELLYN 56 
 
 *THIRLMERE 57 
 
 *KESWICK 58 
 
 *FRIAR'S CRAG AND CASTLEHEAD .... 58 
 
 *HERO-\VORSHIP 63 
 
 *BORROWDALE IN A SHOWER 64 
 
 *HONISTAR CRAG 67 
 
 'THUNDERSTORM AT BUTTERMERE .... 68 
 
 "MYTHOLOGICAL METEOROLOGY .... 70 
 
 *ULLSWATER : A DIGRESSION 70 
 
 *COMING DOWN FROM KlRKSTONE .... 73 
 EXCURSION TO CONISTON ... -74 
 
 *To MY HEART 79 
 
 *To POESIE 82 
 
 *WANT OF A SUBJECT 84 
 
 *To THE OCEAN SPIRITS 87 
 
 *To THE FAIRIES 89 
 
 *BED-TIME 92 
 
 *To THE MEMORY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT ... 94 
 
 *THE ETERNAL HILLS 96 
 
 *THE SITE OF BABYLON 08
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 *MOONLIGHT ON THE MOUNTAINS IOO 
 
 *SONNET : HARLECH CASTLE 101 
 
 *SONNET To A CLOUD 102 
 
 1832; AGE 13. 
 
 *SONNET TO THE MORNING IO$ 
 
 *SONG OF THE SOUTHERN BREEZE Io6 
 
 *THE DESTRUCTION OF PHARAOH 109 
 
 *THE GRAVE OF THE POET no 
 
 1833; AGE 14. 
 
 SONG : "I weary for the torrent leaping" . . . . 115 
 *Mv FATHER'S BIRTHDAY: "The Month of May" . .117 
 ACCOUNT OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT IN 1833 
 
 *CALAIS 119 
 
 *CASSEL 120 
 
 *LlLLE 122 
 
 BRUSSELS 123 
 
 *THE MEUSE . 126 
 
 *COLOGNE 127 
 
 ANDERNACH 128 
 
 EHRENBREITSTEIN 129 
 
 ST. GOAR 133 
 
 *HEIDELBERG . 134 
 
 *THE BLACK FOREST 138 
 
 *ENTRANCE TO SCHAFFHAUSEN .... 140 
 
 *THE ALPS FROM SCHAFFHAUSEN .... 140 
 
 *THE RHINE 142 
 
 *ViA MALA 143 
 
 *SPLUGEN 144 
 
 *THE SUMMIT 146 
 
 *CHIAVENNA 147 
 
 *LAGO DI COMO 148 
 
 *CADENABBIA 149 
 
 *MILAN CATHEDRAL 151 
 
 *LAGO MAGGIORE 151 
 
 *GENOA 153 
 
 *PASSING THE ALPS , . . . -155
 
 xx CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAMOUNI . . 156 
 
 *THE ARVE AT CHAMOUNI 159 
 
 EVENING AT CHAMOUNI 161 
 
 *THE SOURCE OF THE ARVERON . . . .162 
 
 1834; AGE 15. 
 
 *THE CRYSTAL- HUNTER ; A FANTASY .... 167 
 
 THE INVENTION OF QUADRILLES 175 
 
 THE MONTHS 176 
 
 1835 ; AGE 16. 
 
 JOURNAL OF A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE TO CHAMOUNI 
 
 *CANTO 1 181 
 
 CANTO II 208 
 
 LETTER FROM ABROAD TO RICHARD FALL 
 
 FROM PARIS 224 
 
 FROM THE HOSPICE OF THE GREAT ST. BERNARD 226 
 
 FROM SCHAFFHAUSEN 22? 
 
 FROM THE TOP OF RIGI 229 
 
 *FROM THE HOSPICE OF THE GRIMSEL . . .231 
 
 FROM THUN 235 
 
 VENICE 236 
 
 SALZBURG . 238 
 
 THE AVALANCHE 240 
 
 THE EMIGRATION OF THE SPRITES 243 
 
 THE INVASION OF THE ALPS 250 
 
 CONVERSATION SUPPOSED TO BE HELD BETWEEN MR. R., 
 MRS. R., Miss R., AND MASTER R., ON NEW YEAR'S 
 
 MORNING, 1836 251 
 
 EDITOR'S NOTES- 
 BIOGRAPHICAL DATA 257 
 
 PRELIMINARY NOTE ON THE ORIGINAL MSS. OF THE 
 
 POEMS 262 
 
 NOTES TO THE POEMS 269
 
 1827 
 
 AT 8 YEARS OF AGE. 
 
 CLENFARG [Autumn ^"1827]. 
 
 THE SUN [Mia Year's Address to his Father, 1828]. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 AGE 8. 
 
 GLENFARG. 
 
 I will risk whatever charge of folly may come on me, for printing 
 one of my many childish rhymes, written on a frosty day in Glen 
 Farg, just north of Loch Leven. . . . All that I ever could be, and 
 all that I cannot be, the weak little rhyme already shows. 
 
 PAPA, how pretty those icicles are, 
 
 That are seen so near, that are seen so far ; 
 
 Those dropping waters that come from the rocks, 
 And many a hole, like the haunt of a fox ; 
 That silvery stream that runs babbling along, 
 Making a murmuring, dancing song ; 
 Those trees that stand waving upon the rock's side, 
 And men, that, like spectres, among them glide ; 
 And waterfalls that are heard from far, 
 And come in sight when very near ; 
 And the water-wheel that turns slowly round, 
 Grinding the corn that requires to be ground ; * 
 And mountains at a distance seen, 
 And rivers winding through the plain ; 
 
 * Political Economy of the Future ! 
 3
 
 4 GLENFARG. 1827, 
 
 And quarries with their craggy stones, 
 And the wind among them moans.* 
 
 * So foretelling Stones of Venice, and this essay on Athena. (The 
 Queen of the Air, iii. 12.) [On the date of this poem, see note i. at the 
 end of the volume.]
 
 AGE 8. 
 
 THE SUN. 
 
 [NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS TO HIS FATHER.] 
 
 THOU Sun, them golden Sun, in beauty rise, 
 And show thy yellow face among the clouds ; 
 Disperse the stars, and make bright morning come ! 
 Break through the clouds, and let thy golden beams 
 Shine on the earth ! The birds, arising, sing 
 To hail the approach of thee. At the hot noon 
 Oft have I worked to make my garden nice, 
 Till, when I stopped, the drops of perspiration 
 Fell from my brows. In the sweet afternoon 
 The air is balmy ; in that pleasant time 
 Oft have I walked, with dear Mamma beside me, 
 To watch the flowers growing, and to play 
 Upon the green. Then comes the evening dark, 
 In which all nature quiet still remains. 
 
 When seven of these are past, a week is gone ; 
 And four of these a month do constitute ; 
 And twelve of these the long, long year do make. 
 But yet not all the year doth pass without 
 Some festivals ; and some of these I'll name :
 
 THE SUN, 1827. 
 
 First, solemn Easter comes ; then Whitsunday ; 
 Then Christmas, New Year's Day. 
 And New- Year's Day it is ! Therefore, Papa, 
 I must wish you a Happy New Year's Day ! 
 
 [FinisAed before January i, 1828.]
 
 1828 
 
 AT THE AGE OF 9 YEARS. 
 
 MAY {Birthday Address to his Father, May 10, 1828]. 
 
 SKIDD A w {Summer of 1828]. 
 
 DERWENTWATER {Summer of r828]. 
 
 EUDOSIA; ON THE UNIVERSE [Spring and Autumn, 1828].
 
 AGE 9. 
 
 MAY. 
 
 [BIRTHDAY ADDRESS TO HIS FATHER.] 
 
 FLOWERS spring up beneath thy feet ; 
 Greenest velvet is thy seat ; 
 
 Sunny rays 
 
 Round thee blaze, 
 With temperate and pleasant heat. 
 
 Come away, 
 
 Happy May, 
 Where all that's good and pleasant meet ! 
 
 Much happier thou indeed to me, 
 For thou Papa's birthday doth see. 
 
 With that thou might 
 
 Be Zembla's night, 
 And yet be quite as fair to me 
 
 As now thou art. 
 
 My happy heart 
 Beats, at the thought of spending thee. 
 
 Not thee, May, though indeed thou'rt fair, 
 Tis for his birthday that I care ; 
 
 9
 
 io MA Y. 
 
 That happy day 
 
 When joined with May 
 Is joyous more than all the year. 
 
 Come away, 
 
 Joyous May, 
 Good and happy, sweet and fair ! 
 
 May io.
 
 AGE 9. 
 
 SKIDDAW. 
 
 SKIDDAW, upon thy heights the sun shines bright, 
 But only for a moment : then gives place 
 Unto a playful cloud which on thy brow 
 Sports wantonly, then floats away in air, 
 Throwing its shadow on thy towering height ; 
 And, darkening for a moment thy green side, 
 But adds unto its beauty, as it makes 
 The sun more bright when it again appears. 
 Thus in the morning on thy brow those clouds 
 Rest as upon a couch, and give vain scope 
 For fancy's play. And airy fortresses, 
 And towers, and battlements, and all appear 
 Chasing the others off, and in their turn 
 Are chased by the others. 
 
 Skiddaw came, 
 
 Noble, and grand, and beauteous, clothed with green, 
 And yet but scantily and in some parts. 
 A bare, terrific cliff precipitous 
 Descends, with only here and there a root, 
 A straggler, pushing forth its branches stiff. 
 Skiddaw, majestic ! Giant Nature's work !
 
 12 SKID DA IV. 1828, 
 
 Those giant works of Art,* with thee compared, 
 Sink into nothing ; all that Art can do 
 Is nothing beside thee. The touch of man 
 Raised pigmy mountains, but gigantic tombs. 
 The touch of Nature raised the mountain's brow, 
 But made no tombs at all ; save where the snow 
 (The fleecy locks of winter) falls around 
 And forms a white tomb for the careless swain 
 Who wanders far from home, and meets his death 
 Amidst the cold of winter. 
 
 * [The Pyramids.] 
 [Summer of 1828.]
 
 AGE 9. 
 
 DERWENTWATER. 
 
 Now Derwentwater come ! a looking-glass 
 
 Wherein reflected are the mountain's heights, 
 
 As in a mirror, framed in rocks and woods ; 
 
 So upon thee there is a seeming mount, 
 
 A seeming tree, a seeming rivulet. 
 
 All upon thee are painted by a hand 
 
 Which not a critic can well criticise. 
 
 But to disturb thee oft, bluff Eolus 
 
 Descends upon the mountains, with his breath. 
 
 Thy polished surface is a boy at play 
 
 Who labours at the snow to make a man, 
 
 And when he's made it, knocks it down again ;- 
 
 As when thou'st made a picture thou dost play 
 
 At tearing it to pieces. Trees do first 
 
 Tremble, as if a monstrous heart of oak 
 
 Were but an aspen leaf ; and then as if 
 
 It were a cobweb in the tempest's blow. 
 
 Thus like Penelope thou weav'st a web, 
 
 And then thou dost undo it. Thou'rt like her 
 
 Because thou'rt fair, and oft deceiving too. 
 13
 
 I 4 DERWENTWATER. 1828, 
 
 First seeming to be calm, then turning rough, 
 And thus deceiving as Penelope. 
 
 Sweet Denvent, on thy winding shore, 
 Beside thy mountain-forests hoar, 
 There would I like to wander still, 
 And drink from out the rippling rill, 
 Which from thy mountain-head doth fall 
 And mingles with the eagles' call ; 
 While on Helvellyn thunder roars, 
 Re-echoed from old Derwent's shores ; 
 And while the lightning flashes still, 
 Reflected in the mountain-rill 
 
 [Summer 1828.]
 
 AGE 9. 
 
 EUDOSIA. 
 
 At nine years old I began a poem called Eudosia, I forget 
 wholly where I got hold of this name, or what I understood by it, 
 "On the Universe," though I could understand not a little by it, 
 now. A couplet or two, as the real beginning at once of Deucalion 
 and Proserpina, may be perhaps allowed a place in this grave me- 
 moir ; the rather that I am again enabled to give accurate date 
 September 28th, 1828,* for the beginning of its " First Book," as 
 follows : 
 
 WHEN first the wrath of heaven o'erwhelmed the world, 
 And o'er the rocks, and hills, and mountains, hurl'd 
 The waters' gathering mass, and sea o'er shore, 
 Then mountains fell, and vales, unknown before, 
 Lay where they were. Far different was the Earth 
 When first the flood came down, than at its second 
 
 birth. 
 
 Now for its produce ! Queen of flowers, O rose, 
 From whose fair coloured leaves such odour flows. 
 Thou must now be before thy subjects named, 
 Both for thy beauty and thy sweetness famed. 
 Thou art the flower of England, and the flow'r 
 Of Beauty too of Venus' od'rous bower. 
 
 * [See note at end of volume.]
 
 16 EUDOSIA. 1828, 
 
 And thou wilt often shed sweet odours round, 
 And often stooping, hide thy head on ground.* 
 And then the lily, towering up so proud, 
 And raising its gay head amongst the various crowd. 
 There the black spots upon a scarlet ground, 
 And there the taper-pointed leaves are found. 
 
 In 220 lines, of such quality, the first book ascends from the rose 
 to the oak. The second begins to my surprise, and in extremely 
 exceptional violation of my above-boasted custom with an ecstatic 
 apostrophe to what I had never seen ! (Pr<zterita t Vol. I. chap. iii. ) 
 
 EUDOSIA. BOOK II. 
 
 I SING the Pine, which clothes high Switzer's f head, 
 And high enthroned, grows on a rocky bed, 
 On gulphs so deep, on cliffs that are so high, 
 He that would dare to climb them dares to die. 
 There they hang o'er the dreadful rocky steeps, 
 There they bend over and they kiss the deeps, 
 Which round the rocks do play, and raging still 
 Awake the echoes from the waving hill. 
 
 But man this pleasing picture soon would spoil, 
 Regardless both of beauty and of toil, 
 Though nature tried in vain to save them for a while. 
 In vain to save them she did place them high : 
 Alas, in vain ! for they were doomed to die. 
 
 * An awkward way chiefly for the rhyme's sake of saying that 
 roses are often too heavy for their stalks. 
 t Swiuer, clearly short for Switzerland.
 
 AGE 9. EUDOS1A. 17 
 
 Man formed a slide,* huge, pond'rous to behold ; 
 It cost much labour and it cost much gold : 
 Along the breast of Pilate's cliff it lay, 
 O'er rocks, and gulfs, and glens, it held its way, 
 And ended in Lucerne. On this the trees, 
 Roaring like thunder borne upon the breeze, 
 Rushed down ; and rushing, dreadful in their ire, 
 To their assistance such their anger dire 
 Summoned with red and flaming crown that monster, Fire ! 
 He then would have been King, and on the mount 
 The flaming forests would have spread about ; 
 Another Etna Pilate would have been, 
 O'er spacious Switzerland the fires be seen ; 
 In one sad ruin all the pines would fall, 
 In vain for help the noble forests call ! 
 
 But man had this foreseen. Ingenious man 
 Thought, " Can I this prevent? Yes, if I will, I can ! " 
 And so man made the mountain streams descend, 
 And down the trough their dang'rous course to bend : 
 This element opposed the raging fire, 
 And did prevent its great effects so dire. 
 
 Now comes the Hawthorn with its blossoms white, 
 Welcoming gaily in May's cheerful light. 
 With luscious odours it perfumes the breeze, 
 Most fair, most cheerful, sweetest of the trees ! 
 
 * "A description, verified out of ' Harry and Lucy,' of the slide of 
 Alpnach." {Prceterita, I. iii.) 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 ig EUDOSIA. 1828, 
 
 Bound up with clusters white, it doth adorn 
 The tall pole which is raised on May's first morn : 
 And, lightly bounding from the blooming green, 
 Round it the village youth are dancing seen. 
 Dandily dressed, with scarlet ribbons gay, 
 The sweeps with hawthorn welcome in the May ; 
 With fluttering rags, with yellow and with red, 
 And hawthorn blossoms waving o'er their head. 
 
 And now the Yew, a mournful tree, I sing, 
 Which pois'nous is to every living thing. 
 And meet it is that such a tree is placed 
 In the dread churchyard, where the corses waste. 
 Now, think again ! In every case the yew 
 Shows death in all its terrors to the view. 
 For lo, see there ! Just bursting from the wood, 
 The free and lawless band of Robin Hood ! 
 Look at their bows ! Tough yew confines the string, 
 And yew elastic gives the arrow wing, 
 Well aimed, and thirsting for the purple blood 
 Of tallest stag that ever ranged the wood. 
 The winged dart flies gladly through the air, 
 And quickly fixes in its body fair. 
 The tall stag fainteth with the deadly wound, 
 And, deeply sighing, sinks upon the ground. 
 
 And now, dost see yon ruined pile on high, 
 Majestic, creeping up against the sky ?
 
 AGE 9. EUDOSIA. 19 
 
 Behold the Ivy creeping o'er the stone, 
 
 Which still remains from luxury that's gone. 
 
 Where now foul weeds arise, and tempests sweep 
 
 O'er the vast hall and tower and donjon-keep, 
 
 In former times were feasts, and blazing fires, 
 
 And mirth, and everything the soul desires. 
 
 Time hath flown by with mouldering touch ; hath past, 
 
 And mirth and luxury have breathed their last.
 
 1829. 
 
 AT THE AGE OF 10 YEARS. 
 
 THE YELLOW FOG [Marc A]. 
 
 THE MOON (June 28). 
 
 ON HAPPINESS (July 19). 
 
 SABBATH MORNING (Aug. 2-16). 
 
 SHAGRAM"S FAREWELL TO SHETLAND (Oct. 18). 
 
 ETNA (Oct. 25).
 
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 ON THE APPEARANCE OF A SUDDEN 
 CLOUD OF YELLOW FOG COVERING 
 EVERYTHING WITH DARKNESS. 
 
 IT low'red upon the earth, it lay 
 A champion in the face of day : 
 It darkened all the air around, 
 It let not free a single sound : 
 A leaf stirred not : the trees stood still ; 
 The wind obeyed the darkness' will ; 
 Not a thing moved ; 'twas like the night. 
 The darkness faced the warrior, Light ; 
 They fought ; the darkness conquered ; still 
 Light obeyed not the conqueror's will, 
 But yet kept up a twilight day, 
 Though he below the darkness lay. 
 And now big drops of rain fell round, 
 And soon unloosed the chains of sound. 
 Again they fought ; new light arose, 
 And joined to fight with darkness' foes. 
 Darkness fought well, but could not stand ; 
 He cried " I want a helping hand." 
 He sunk ; and then he cried " I yield,
 
 24 ON A CLOUD OF YELLOW FOG. 1829, 
 
 I yield this well-contested field." 
 And now the birds began to sing 
 Because now sound became a king ; 
 And now the twilight went away, 
 At length arose the wished-for day. 
 
 [March.}
 
 THE MOON. 
 
 FAIR Luna, shining on thy cloudy car, 
 Riding in state, on spangled heaven afar, 
 Where, when the sun hath sunk upon the hill, 
 Thou dost dispense his light upon us still ; 
 Now, tipped with silver, messenger of night, 
 A dark, black cloud o'erhangs thy silver light, 
 Now half-obscured ; but now thy light once more 
 Doth tip with silver every mountain hoar, 
 Shines on the vale, and on the ocean's breast 
 With glittering glory doth the waves invest. 
 And, as the waves roll on to gain the shore, 
 Their white foam, silvered, glitters more and more. 
 A tide of glory spreads along the waves ; 
 Their moving breasts the flood of brightness laves. 
 But when, at last, the sun, from whom the light 
 Of the fair moon doth interrupt the night, 
 Rises once more upon that eastern gold, 
 The pale moon's story to the earth is told ; 
 And with her glittering diamonds from the skies 
 That beauteous orb of night with her attendants flies. 
 
 June 28. 
 
 25
 
 1829. 
 
 ON HAPPINESS. 
 
 O WHAT is Happiness ? that precious thing 
 
 Rare, and in great request ; yet seldom found : 
 
 Sought for in various ways in which it seems 
 
 To be within the reach. Now try ! Behold 
 
 Active, it yet eludes the searcher's grasp 
 
 And leads him, hopeful, on ; then disappoints him 
 
 And now at last he tries the paths of vice. 
 
 Happiness is not there. In vain with drink 
 
 He tries to gain a transient gleam of joy. 
 
 But soon he sinks again ; and plunged in grief 
 
 He feels the stings of conscience ; and he ends 
 
 With launching out into eternity, 
 
 While his own hands do push the boat from shore. 
 
 July 19.
 
 AGE 10. 
 
 SABBATH MORNING. 
 
 SEE where the sun doth on that hill arise, 
 
 And look where Phoebus snatches up the reins : 
 
 See where his radiance paints the morning skies, 
 And where unwillingly the darkness wanes ! 
 
 The dewdrops glitter to the rising sun, 
 
 With diamonds decking all the trees so fair ; 
 
 Frail in their beauty, melting one by one, 
 And in a vapour thickening all the air. 
 
 Above, in robe of blue adorned so fair, 
 
 Speckled with small white clouds is that fair sky, 
 
 Which gently float upon the balmy air, 
 Hiding the skylark as it warbles high. 
 
 Now, borne on waving air the church-bell rings, 
 Pleasing the ear, as tolls it, softly slow ; 
 
 Sound following sound, full heavily it swings, 
 And in sweet cadence rolls its music low. 
 
 August 2-16, 
 
 27
 
 1 829, 
 
 [THE PONY] 
 
 SHAGRAM'S FAREWELL TO 
 SHETLAND. 
 
 i. 
 
 FAREWELL, my dear country, so savage and hoar ! 
 I shall range on thy heath-covered Sumburgh no more ; 
 For lo ! I am snatched to a far distant shore, 
 To wish for my country in vain. 
 
 2. 
 
 This green dancing sea that now bears me away, 
 I have seen it with pleasure on some stormy day 
 To dash 'gainst the cliffs, and throw up its white spray, 
 Roaring, as tossed the high surge. 
 
 3- 
 
 Ah ! little I thought that its bosom so fair 
 
 Me away from my country and wild heaths should bear ; 
 
 For I hate the green fields and the warm southern air, 
 
 When compared with my dear native home. 
 
 28
 
 AGE 10. SEAGRAM'S FAREWELL. 29 
 
 4- 
 
 They say it is savage, and covered with snow ; 
 But still purple heather and grass are below ; 
 And I care not, though o'er it the cold breezes blow, 
 For still it is fertile to me ! 
 
 5- 
 
 Wild roar the waves as they dash on the rocks ; 
 And double and treble their thundering shocks ; 
 And their foam still it rolls like a thousand white flocks, 
 With their fleeces all white as the snow. 
 
 6. 
 
 But I look for my country, and round me I gaze ; 
 Yet nothing is seen, save the surge as it plays ; 
 And those fair western clouds, still illumed by the rays 
 Of the sun, as it sinks 'neath the ocean. 
 
 7- 
 
 My dear native land ! I have parted from thee ; 
 And thy high hill of Rona no more I can see : 
 From this time, woe and sorrow are destined to me, 
 Though I'm borne unto Albion's shore. 
 
 I8//4 October.
 
 I Sag, 
 
 ETNA. 
 
 ON old Sicilia's isle a mountain roars 
 In sounds re-echoed from Italia's shores. 
 Lo ! in the sable night, when mankind sleep, 
 And when each creature rests in slumber deep, 
 Oft there is heard a rumbling, rolling sound, 
 Which back Messina's rocky straits rebound. 
 Such is the thunder, that the mountains quake, 
 And the huge earth itself is felt to shake. 
 At the dread moment, houses, cities fall ; 
 The earth gapes wide ; destruction swallows all. 
 
 Then Etna from his burning crater pours 
 A fiery torrent o'er Sicilia's shores. 
 Down, down his side the lava-rivers flow, 
 And the hot streams o'envhelm all, all below ! 
 While, from the crater, gaseous vapours rise ; 
 Volcanic lightnings flash along the skies ; 
 Earth gapes again : Catania's city falls, 
 And all her people die within her walls. 
 
 And now at length the Etnaean lavas stay, 
 And cease to roll along upon their way.
 
 io. ETNA. 
 
 Etna is quiet ; but it leaves a scene 
 
 That well may fill with fear the hearts of men. 
 
 O'er all Sicilia desolation reigns, 
 
 And by the lavas burnt are fruitful plains. 
 
 But on the buried cities others rise ; 
 
 And soon again green verdure meets the eyes. 
 
 /z October.
 
 i8 3 o. 
 
 AT n YEARS OF AGE. 
 
 TRAFALGAR (Feb. 12). 
 
 MY DOG DASH (April 30). 
 
 H 'ADDON HALL [about June or July]. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MY COUSIN JESSIE (Sept. 9). 
 
 THE ASCENT OF SKID DAW [Nov.-Dec.. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 AGE II. 
 
 TRAFALGAR. 
 
 UPON the Atlantic's spacious breast 
 
 The British ships come on ; 
 Full many a soul shall go to rest, 
 
 Ere the fatal day is done. 
 The waves rose dancing at the prow, 
 
 In foaming, sparkling spray, 
 And each surge was tipped with a crest of snow 
 
 As the warships cut their way. 
 And on the waves which tossed around 
 The murderous lines of cannon frowned. 
 
 Now, with a wild and hissing sweep, 
 A ball there dashes o'er the deep. 
 Then, flash on flash, and roar on roar, 
 The British ships began the war. 
 
 There, through the volumes of the smoke, 
 The lightning flash of cannon broke ; 
 And the high-bounding, crested wave 
 Was tinged with the blood of the dying brave ; 
 And darkness, rising drear and dread, 
 On the field of death her wings outspread.
 
 36 TRAFALGAR. 1830, 
 
 Now the Spanish line gave way ; 
 Now the British won the day. 
 But the Spanish parting volley gave 
 A naval hero to the grave. 
 Fearless on the stern he stood, 
 Looking on the purple flood. 
 One parting flash, one bursting roar, 
 Trafalgar's hero rose no more ! 
 
 Then the British hearts beat high, 
 Then lightning flashed from every eye ; 
 " Revenge ! " burst wildly on the breeze, 
 " Revenge ! " it sounded o'er the seas. 
 With killing rage, with murderous roar 
 The British on the Spaniards bore. 
 Now, o'er the field of battle dread, 
 
 A sudden blaze there shone ; 
 And every bloody billow bore 
 
 A brightness not its own : 
 As when the setting sun doth lave 
 Its glories in the ocean wave ; 
 And when the gentle evening breeze 
 Curls the light ripple of the seas, 
 Which, glancing in the rays so bright, 
 Reflect a glittering line of light. 
 So, blazing high, sublime and dread 
 The flames rose flashing overhead. 
 When, sudden, to the skies arose 
 A far re-echoing sound
 
 VOE ir. TRAFALGAR. 37 
 
 And broken masts, and splintered boards, 
 
 And flames were tossed around : 
 And sinking in the ocean deep 
 The brave together calmly sleep. 
 
 And now the Spanish foemen fled 
 Full swiftly o'er the Atlantic main ; 
 And, while lamenting for their dead, 
 They sought the Spanish land again. 
 Meantime, the mourning victors bore 
 Their Nelson to his native shore ; 
 And a whole weeping nation gave 
 Funereal honours to the brave. 
 Where was the eye that did not give 
 
 One single, bitter tear ? 
 Where was the man that did not weep 
 
 Upon Lord Nelson's bier ? 
 
 February 13.
 
 1830, 
 
 MY DOG DASH. 
 
 I HAVE a dog of Blenheim birth, 
 With fine long ears, and full of mirth ; 
 And sometimes, running o'er the plain, 
 
 He tumbles on his nose : 
 But, quickly jumping up again, 
 
 Like lightning on he goes ! 
 Tis queer to watch his gambols gay ; 
 He's very loving in his way : 
 He even wants to lick your face, 
 But that is somewhat out of place. 
 'Tis well enough your hand to kiss ; 
 But Dash is not content with this ! 
 Howe'er, let all his faults be past, 
 I'll praise him to the very last. 
 
 30/A April.
 
 AGE IL 
 
 HADDON HALL. 
 
 " To my farther great benefit, as I grew older, I thus saw nearly 
 all the noblemen's houses in England ; in reverent and healthy 
 delight of uncovetous admiration. . . . And to this day, though I 
 have kind invitations enough to visit America, I could not, even for 
 a couple of months, live in a country so miserable as to possess no 
 castles." (Praterita, I. i.) 
 
 I. 
 
 OLD halls, and old walls, 
 
 They are my great delight ; 
 Rusty swords, and rotten boards, 
 
 And ivy black as night ! 
 Hey, ruination and hey, desolation, 
 Only created to spoil the creation ! 
 
 IL 
 Dry ditch, old niche, 
 
 Besides, an oaken table ; 
 On't the warriors ate, 
 From a .pewter plate, 
 
 As much as they were able ! 
 Hey, ruination and hey, desolation, 
 Only created to spoil the creation ! 
 
 [About June or July'].
 
 1 830, 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MY COUSIN JESSIE. 
 
 ..." My little cousin Jessie, then traversing a bright space 
 between her sixth and ninth year ; dark-eyed deeply, like her 
 mother, and similarly pious ; so that she and I used to compete in 
 the Sunday evening scriptural examinations ; and be as proud as two 
 little peacocks because Jessie's elder brothers, and sister Mary, used 
 to get 'put down,' and either Jessie or I was always 'Dux.' We 
 agreed upon this that we would be married when we were a little 
 older ; not considering it to be preparatorily necessary to be in any 
 degree wiser. . . . 
 
 "Not long after that, when we were back at home, my cousin 
 Jessie fell ill, and died very slowly, of water on the brain." (Prae- 
 terita, I. iii.-iv.) 
 
 OH, ye restless deeps, that continually roll on your 
 everlasting waves, swell the moaning of your waves, and 
 the harmony of your billows, to a dirge for her who is 
 departed ! 
 
 For, colder than the foam, which, not so pure as her 
 spirit, is rising on the crest of your billows, she reposes 
 in the grave. 
 
 O ye winds of heaven, breathe in melancholy notes 
 a song of death ! 
 
 Youth is departed ; beauty is withered in the grave. 
 
 She, whose step was lighter than the roe's, and whose 
 eye was brighter than the eagle's, her dust is consigned
 
 AGE it. ON THE DEATH OF MY COUSIN. 41 
 
 to the dust : she is gone to a home from which she shall 
 not return ; to a rest which is eternal, to a peace which 
 is unbroken. 
 
 She is freed from her sufferings ; she is released from 
 her pains. 
 
 Why should I mourn for her who is departed ? She 
 is not consigned to the dust, she is not given to the 
 grave ! 
 
 She is not a prey to the worms, and her beauty is not 
 departed ! 
 
 Her soul is ethereal ; her spirit is with its God. She 
 is fairer and purer than on earth. 
 
 Why should I mourn for the spirit which is returned 
 to its Maker ? 
 
 I will not mourn ; I will rejoice for her who is praising 
 her Creator, who is joining in the harmony of heaven. 
 
 gth September.
 
 1 830, 
 
 THE ASCENT OF SKIDDAW. 
 
 [THE START.] 
 
 THE hills were obscured in a curtain of cloud ; 
 Every stern, savage fell had its vapoury shroud. 
 As we looked on the clouds with great feelings of sorrow, 
 How sadly we thought, "We must wait till to-morrow ! " 
 Sometimes we did mope, as the clouds passed us by ; 
 And again we did hope, as appeared the blue sky. 
 At length into distance the vapours were borne, 
 And the dreary gloom yields to the rays of the morn : 
 On the breast of the breeze were the clouds borne away, 
 And the mountains again were revealed to the day. 
 We gazed on the sky, now so azure and bright, 
 We gazed on the sky with unmingled delight. 
 How high beat our hearts with the great expectation ! 
 And straight we began to make great preparation. 
 Cakes, sandwiches, ham, were by no means unhandy ; 
 And amongst other things we forgot not some brandy. 
 We stretch and we yawn, so impatient to go, 
 And think that the time flies amazingly slow ! 
 We pull out our watch ; put it up to our ear ; 
 "Ah well, I declare, it is going, I hear!"
 
 AOE ii. THE ASCENT OF SKIDD AW. 43 
 
 Then in comes the hostess, so prim and so neat, 
 "A very fine morning, sir !" "Tis, ma'am, indeed." 
 "I have brought, sir, some skirts for the ladies to ride 
 
 in;" 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, I declare your extremely obligin' ! " 
 " Oh, sir, pray don't speak of it ! " While saying so, 
 She maketh her exit, in curtseying low. 
 And now a loud clatter is heard in the yard, 
 Where the steeds for the journey at length were prepared. 
 Oh, what an affair of importance then made is, 
 While settling and helping and mounting the ladies ! 
 " I am sure I shall fall ! I am sure I am tumbling ! " 
 "Oh, no, ma'am, you're safe." "But my steed is a- 
 
 stumbling ! " 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, he's the surefooted'st beast upon earth ! " 
 " My saddle is loose ! " " Shall I tighten the girth ? " 
 "Oh, but look at him now; he is stopping and feeding." 
 "Pull him up, ma'am!" "I can't !"" Then I see I 
 
 must lead him." 
 
 Such pranks and such frolics our chargers displayed, 
 And such a great bustle and rumpus is made : 
 While laughing and talking swift onwards we trot, 
 And all ills and all accidents soon are forgot. 
 But some troubles still the ascending attended, 
 For the road, I must say, wanted much to be mended : 
 The quagmires were long, and the quagmires were broad, 
 And many and deep were the ruts of the road. 
 And while in the regions of heat we remained, 
 Of the heat and the flies we all loudly complained.
 
 44 THE ASCENT OF SKIDD A W. 1830, 
 
 But we cared not for mud and we cared not for mire, 
 For our bosoms beat high with a lofty desire ; 
 When the summit of Skiddaw was once in our view, 
 Through all opposition resistless we flew ! 
 Till, having arrived at the breast of the hill, 
 To rest and to breathe, we a moment stood still. 
 
 [THE VIEW FROM LATRIGG.] 
 
 The vapourless heaven shone bright overhead, 
 The valley beneath us was widely outspread ; 
 And the forests, arrayed in their clothing of green, 
 On the sides of the mountains arising were seen : 
 While, through the wide valley meandering slow, 
 The stream of the Derwent doth silently flow. 
 We gazed on the lake, oh, how calmly it lay, 
 Scarce touched by the zephyrs o'er 'ts bosom which 
 
 play ! 
 
 How bright its smooth surface deceitfully smiles, 
 Embosomed in mountains, and studded with isles, 
 Whose trees, richly clothed in a bright living green, 
 Again seemed to grow 'neath the surface serene. 
 Then we gazed down the lake, where swift rushed to the 
 
 shore 
 
 The far-sounding waters of distant Lodore ; 
 As, hurled down the chasm, how thundering it broke, 
 Rebounding from crag, and rebounding from rock ! 
 Then we looked to the south, where the dark Borrowdale 
 Frowned drear o'er the Derwent, stern, savage and fell ;
 
 AGE ii. THE ASCENT OF SKID DAW. 45 
 
 While under those cliffs e'en the surges that sweep 
 Seemed mournfully silent, dark, dismal and deep. 
 While hidden in mist, and obscured by storm, 
 Gaunt Castle-Crag rose ; oh, how dreadful its form ! 
 And it guarded those Jaws which seemed deep as the 
 
 grave, 
 As they frowned o'er the foam of broad Derwent's light 
 
 wave. 
 
 [THE CLIMB.] 
 
 Thus the beautiful prospect we all did survey ; 
 
 Then began to prepare for the rest of the way : 
 
 Some sandwiches take, and some brandy we sip, 
 
 Applying it just to the tip of the lip. 
 
 And our spirits revived, and restored our strength, 
 
 We set off on the rest of our journey at length. 
 
 How jollily onwards we all of us went ! 
 
 But our eyes to the ground we were forced to keep 
 
 bent, 
 
 For fear that our steeds in their progress should stumble, 
 And that might produce a most unlucky tumble. 
 Avoiding each hillock, each stone and each stick, 
 The steps of our ponies we carefully pick. 
 And still we ascended, still higher and higher, 
 And still to the summit came nigher and nigher. 
 And still we kept laughing and talking, and still 
 We trotted along at the side of the hill, 
 Till we reached an ascent where low hillocks of green, 
 Like mountainous molehills, were everywhere seen.
 
 46 THE ASCENT OF SKIDD AW. 1830, 
 
 We dashed on our steeds and we spurred up the 
 
 rise ; 
 
 Oh sight most delightful that greeted our eyes ! 
 A ridge we beheld ('twas of loose slaty stone) ; 
 It led to the summit we'd wished for so long. 
 But now our teeth chattered, our noses looked blue 
 And our ears were assuming a ruby-like hue. 
 Then to guard 'gainst the cold we did button our coats, 
 Protecting our bodies with mantles and cloaks ; 
 Then tight round our necks we did tie our cravats, 
 More firm to our heads we did fasten our hats : 
 Then, steady and ready, we made up our mind 
 To fight and to conquer the cold and the wind. 
 So struggling we forced o'er the ridge of loose stone, 
 Every second we thought we should over be blown ; 
 And although of its force we did loudly complain, 
 The summit of Skiddaw at last we attain. 
 
 [THE SUMMIT.] 
 
 How frowned the dark rocks which, bare, savage and 
 
 wild, 
 
 In heaps upon heaps were tremendously piled ! 
 And how vast the ravines which, so craggy and deep, 
 Down dreadful descending divided the steep ! 
 Stay ! hark to the eagle ! how shrill is its cry, 
 From the breast of the hill which re-echoes on high ! 
 Then, borne on the breezes which softly do play, 
 Tow'rd the fells of the Derwent it dieth away.
 
 AGE ii. THE ASCENT OF SKIDD AW, 47 
 
 Again from these rocks it doth suddenly break, 
 
 And sounding as shrilly, it sweeps o'er the lake ; 
 
 Then echoed again from gigantic Grassmoor, 
 
 And sharply rebounding from shore unto shore. 
 
 But where is the mountain-bird ? Where doth he spring ? 
 
 Where beats the breeze backward the flap of his wing ? 
 
 Lo, see where, impelled by his tempest-like force, 
 
 In cloud-hidden circles he wheels on his course ; 
 
 O'er the rock-beating torrent he fearless is soaring ; 
 
 Scarce hearing its thunders eternally roaring ! 
 
 Then turned we around to the maze of the mountains, 
 
 All teeming and sparkling with thousand bright fountains : 
 
 Where the brow of Helvellyn superior towered, 
 
 Where the beetling Sea- Fell so tremendously lowered, 
 
 Tost confusedly in clusters all barren and grim, 
 
 While the clouds o'er their sky-braving battlements 
 
 skim ; 
 
 Till, their scarce-discerned outlines all misty and grey, 
 On the distant horizon they faded away. 
 
 [HAEC OLIM MEMINISSE.] 
 
 Now tell me, oh reader, hast tasted repose 
 When toilings and labours have come to a close ? 
 Hast thou gloried when thou hast successfully toiled 
 In overcome dangers and difficulties foiled ? 
 Oh, then and then only thou fitly canst tell 
 How our hearts lightly beat and our proud bosoms 
 swell.
 
 48 THE ASCENT OF SKIDD A ll r . 1830. 
 
 Delighted we sat round the bright blazing fire, 
 
 And talked of our hardships, the mountain, the mire. 
 
 Though other things sink in the chaos of thought, 
 
 And fly from our mem'ry, let all be forgot, 
 
 As light chaff is borne on the face of the wind, 
 
 Yet Skiddaw shall ne'er be erased from our mind. 
 
 [Nov.-Dec.]
 
 i8 3 i. 
 
 AT 12 YEARS OF AGE. 
 
 [PASSAGES FROM} THE ITERIAD ; OR, THREE WEEKS AMONG 
 THE LAKES. 
 
 [From Kendal to Law-wood ; Sunset at Low-wood ; 
 Grasmere ; Helvellyn ; Thirlmere ; Keswick. 
 
 January-March. 
 
 Friars Crag and Castlehead ; Hero-worship ; Borrow- 
 dale in a Shower ; Honistar Crag ; Thunderstorm 
 at Buttermere. March-May. 
 
 Mythological Meteorology ; Ullswater, a digression ; Coming 
 down from Kirksione ; Excursion to Coniston. 
 
 July-September]. 
 
 To MY HEART (Jan. 26). 
 
 To POESIE (March 11). 
 
 WANT OF A SUBJECT [about March]. 
 
 To THE OCEAN-SPIRITS (June 20). 
 
 To THE FAIRIES (June 20). 
 
 BEDTIME [about September]. 
 
 To THE MEMORY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT (October). 
 
 THE ETERNAL HILLS [about October]. 
 
 THE SITE OF BABYLON (Nov. 6). 
 
 MOONLIGHT ON THE MOUNTAINS (Nov. 30). 
 
 SONNET. HARLECH CASTLE [end of 1831]. 
 
 SONNET TO A CLOUD [end of 1831]. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 AGE 12. 
 
 [PASSAGES FROM] 
 
 THE ITERIAD; 
 
 OK, THREE WEEKS AMONG THE LAKES. 
 
 [FROM KENDAL TO LOW-WOOD.] 
 
 As, eagerly waiting the dawn of the day 
 And sleeplessly counting the moments, I lay, 
 I thought of the joys that my bosom should know, 
 Of the rich tides of pleasure unmingled which flow; 
 Unmingled with grief, and unmingled with gall, 
 But draughts of delight, rapture, banquetings all ! 
 At length the time came, when, the bill being made, 
 Boots, hostler and chambermaid all duly paid, 
 Sticks, bonnets, hats, great-coats, all duly prepared ; 
 Our ' elegant carriage ' rolled out of the yard ! 
 Oh, the rapturous vision ! But cease this vain rhyme 
 Which, not at all needed, wastes paper and time, 
 Too lengthened and tiresome. Sufficient to say 
 That we entered our carriage, and rattled away. 
 
 Oh, thrice happy moment, when Windermere's sheet 
 In its bright, silvan beauty lay stretched at our feet !
 
 52 THE ITERIAD. 1831, 
 
 With uplifted hands, and with praise never-ending, 
 The hill we were slowly, most slowly, descending ; 
 And, feasting our eyes on the prospect before, 
 With lingering steps we were nearing the shore : 
 Until we were plunged, as we turned to the right, 
 In a wood that obscured the scene from our sight ; 
 Save when some opening space for a moment revealed 
 The scene, scarce perceived when again 'twas concealed. 
 
 I much love to gaze on a ven'rable wood, 
 
 Which for ages and centuries past may have stood, 
 
 Upon oaks, with their mossy trunks gnarled and knotted, 
 
 Which still are majestic, decayed though and rotted ; 
 
 With their far-spreading branches, obscuring the day 
 
 From the green, wooded glades and the birches so grey. 
 
 So fair was the wood on which now we did gaze, 
 
 Admiring the flowery, moss-carpeted maze : 
 
 And there, a small streamlet with verdant banks sung 
 
 As it laughingly sported the green-sward among. 
 
 And now, as we gladly emerged from the shade, 
 The place of our halting at length we surveyed. 
 We drove to the door, and the bell it was rung, 
 And forth from the carriage impatient we sprung. 
 Our apartment was shown, to the window we flew, 
 But oh, what a prospect awaited our view ! 
 
 We saw on the opposite side of the road 
 That four lofty poplars ' sky-scrapingly ' stood ;
 
 AGE 12. THE ITERIAD. 53 
 
 While, festooning and twining their foliage among, 
 
 The ivy so gracefully garlanded clung. 
 
 They stood on a bank which the crystalline wave 
 
 Of the wood-skirted Windermere lightly did lave, 
 
 So fresh, and so cooling, as angry it broke 
 
 On a pier that was formed of rough masses of rock. 
 
 Two barks the waves breasted, but moored by a chain 
 
 In vain that wave bore them, they struggled 'in vain. 
 
 Then wandered the eye, as deserting the shore 
 
 It roved the dark lake and its blue mountains o'er ; 
 
 Where the huge pikes of Langdale struck awe to the 
 
 mind, 
 
 With their dark and dread outlines distinctly defined ; 
 Where the pikes of Sea-fell rose so haughty and proud 
 While its battlements lofty looked down on the cloud, 
 While its sides with ravines and dark chasms were riven, 
 That huge mountain-wall seemed upholding the heaven ! 
 
 [SUNSET AT LOW-WOOD.] 
 
 THE sun, ere his glory away should be past, 
 On the brows of the mountains was shining his last. 
 The bright western clouds their rough outlines unfold, 
 Relieving their splendour and graven in gold. 
 Methought little space 'tween those hills intervened, 
 But nearer, more lofty, more shaggy they seemed. 
 The clouds o'er their summits they calmly did rest, 
 And hung on the aether's invisible breast ;
 
 54 THE ITERIAD. 1831, 
 
 Than the vapours of earth they seemed purer, more 
 
 bright, 
 
 Oh ! could they be clouds ? 'Twas the necklace of night ! 
 Then we looked on the lake, where the deep crimson 
 
 ray 
 
 Shot its light on the waters, as bloody they play ; 
 It seemed as if autumn had given its tinge 
 To the woods, which the lake's splendid ripples did 
 
 fringe : 
 
 And the islands, on which that bright rippling rolled, 
 They seemed as if lashed by the pure liquid gold. 
 Oh ! such was the scene which in glory reposed ; 
 But soon by the evening its splendour was closed : 
 Ere we reached our home, the dark shades of the night, 
 Descending, had hidden the hills from our sight ; 
 They died in the mists of the darkness away, 
 To be waked into light at the dawn of the day. 
 
 [GRASMERE.] 
 
 AND now towards the green banks of Grasmere we prest, 
 
 Where it stretched 'mid the valley its hill-shaded breast. 
 
 And now, as ere evening concluded the day 
 
 Our journey o'er many a wild mountain lay, 
 
 At the inn which is built on the banks of the lake 
 
 We determined our dinner or luncheon to take. 
 
 But, in order that we to the inn might attain, 
 
 We were forced to turn down by a long, narrow lane.
 
 AGE 12. THE ITERIAD. 55 
 
 But it twisted and turned so, to left and to right, 
 With its hedges obscuring the inn from our sight, 
 That we, all its troublesome windings not knowing, 
 Were all the time wondering where we were going ! 
 And fears which were quite of a different kind 
 Were intruding and pushing themselves on our mind. 
 Suppose, in our way that a carriage should come, 
 The road was so narrow ! what then should be done ? 
 Then 'twas certain and sure that one of us must back. 
 Back ? back ! why we might have backed into the lake ! 
 What should we say then to Miss Fortune so fickle ? 
 Then truly she'd have put us into a pickle ! 
 But these accidents only existed in thought, 
 For safely and soon to the inn we were brought. 
 
 And now an excursion we thought we would make, 
 
 A view of the lake and the valley to take ; 
 
 So, enquiring the way to a small elevation, 
 
 Whose summit we thought a most excellent station, 
 
 First, we gazed where Helm-crag to the west of the vale 
 
 Reared its cloud-splitting head, and lower'd down on the 
 
 dale. 
 
 But the terrified eye, now deserting its form 
 The abode of the tempest, the pris'n of the storm 
 To the fields of the valley beneath it would rove, 
 Which seemed sacred to peace, and to heaven-born 
 
 love; 
 
 Where the husbandman's labours repaid him tenfold, 
 All rich in their wavings and growing in gold ;
 
 56 THE ITERIAD. 1831, 
 
 And their grain-loaded heads as they bent in the breeze 
 Seemed soft, rolling waters and billowy seas. 
 And the cattle, they mingle their soft-sounding lowing 
 With the sound of the streams through the fields that are 
 
 flowing ; 
 
 Till the valley was checked by the opposite hills 
 All dotted with sheep and all sparkling with rills : 
 While far to the south, the lake spreads its fair waves, 
 And the meadows which stoop to its edges it laves. 
 
 And now, when the prospect we all had surveyed, 
 A descent we remembered at last must be made. 
 But wherever our steps we were carefully bending 
 Oh ! still that moss-path was as steep in descending, 
 So, half rolling, half going, half tumbling, half walk- 
 ing, 
 
 Half laughing, half giggling, half tittering, half talking; 
 Now surveying a streamlet, now mineralizing, 
 Now admiring the mountains, and now botanizing, 
 We came to the inn ; and set off when we'd dined, 
 And ascending a hill, we left Grasmere behind. 
 
 [HELVELLYX.] 
 
 FIRST, the giant Helvellyn arose on the right, 
 Helvellyn, Helvellyn, that mountain of might ! 
 Peaked rocks, over dark, gloomy gorges impending, 
 And a torrent down every ravine was descending.
 
 AGE 12. THE ITERIAD. 57 
 
 Cloud-born, o'er the precipice stern they did break, 
 And, tumultuously foaming, were lost in the lake ; 
 Appearing, as brightly they dashed from on high, 
 Like threads of pure silver which hung from the sky. 
 Midway on the face of the cliff the clouds rode ; 
 High above rose the mountain, the eagle's abode. 
 
 [THIRLMERE.] 
 
 So distinctly reflected the margin so green, 
 
 The wave seemed unbounded its border, unseen : 
 
 And, half-overhanging the silent, blue tide, 
 
 The opposite hills stretched their heath-covered side. 
 
 How bright, how luxuriant, looked the thick heath, 
 
 Its rich purple bells as 'twas bending beneath, 
 
 Its patches rich shaded with fern as it grew, 
 
 And mantled the hill with its Tyrian hue. 
 
 While, beyond, a dark chaos of mountains was tost, 
 
 And hills after hills in the distance were lost : 
 
 While the sun, ere he dies on the mountains away, 
 
 Was shedding his brightest, but transient ray. 
 
 Now reaching our carriage, with lingering look, 
 
 Of Helvellyn and Thirlmere our farewell we took ; 
 
 By rock and by brooklet swift galloping on, 
 
 And holding our course by the Vale of St. John, 
 
 As the sun was just setting, and late was the time, 
 
 We hastened tall Castlerig's windings to climb.
 
 THE ITERIAD. 1831, 
 
 [KESWICK.] 
 
 AND now we arrived at the brow of the hill, 
 
 Where the vast dale of Keswick lay sweetly and still. 
 
 To the right, on the north of the valley, we saw 
 
 The majestical form of the lofty Skiddaw. 
 
 In a proud amphitheatre, mountainous, dread, 
 
 Below us fair Derwent in glory was spread. 
 
 On rocky isles covered with verdure, and bays, 
 
 On capes jutting out, and on forests we gaze, 
 
 Which relieved the dark mountains in distance and gloom, 
 
 And chasms as deep and as drear as the tomb. 
 
 Now on rugged Grasmoor the red sun dies away, 
 
 And evening comes down with her mantle of grey. 
 
 [FRIAR'S CRAG AND CASTLEHEAD.] 
 
 WHEN breakfast was done on the following day, 
 As impatient we were Derwent lake to survey, 
 We determined a walk to its banks we would take, 
 And therefore enquired the way to the lake. 
 Though the Sun, in his noon and meridian glory, 
 Was seeming to tell us a different story ; 
 And that, if we attempted to walk to the lake, 
 Our faces he'd broil and our hands he would bake. 
 Now on by a path through the meadows we stray, 
 All rich with the fragrance of newly mown hay ;
 
 AGE 12. THE ITERIAD. 59 
 
 Each outracing the other, with much emulation 
 
 To arrive at the top of some small elevation ; 
 
 Till the sheet where the dark water still onward flows 
 
 Lay not at our feet but in front of our nose. 
 
 A shout burst from all, while each of us strove 
 
 He had first seen the blue billow rolling to prove, 
 
 " I first saw the lake ! " " No, no, no ! it was I ! " 
 
 Till mamma checked us all with a mum-making " fie ! " 
 
 We stood on the beach where some small piers of stone 
 
 Forth into the water some distance were thrown ; 
 
 While a fleet of small boats there at anchorage hung, 
 
 And dividing the ripples they carelessly swung. 
 
 But there on the beach, and with shame be it said ! 
 
 Some women were washing, oh, women indeed ! 
 
 Disfiguring the Derwent, their linen were washing, 
 
 And tubbing, and wetting, and splashing, and dashing. 
 
 They hung them all out on the boughs to be dried, 
 
 And clothed with a margin of linen the tide ! 
 
 Oh, Jupiter ! dost thou in calmness yet see ? 
 
 Are the shores of the Derwent as nothing to thee ? 
 
 Do these women not yet feel thy well-deserved rage ? 
 
 Oh, Jupiter, thou must be blinded with age ! 
 
 Blind ? yes, quite stark blind from the length of thy life, 
 
 Or opposing the scolds of thy crabbed old wife. 
 
 It is a complete, a most excellent sign 
 
 That the all-seeing eye it no longer is thine. 
 
 But give, Jove, oh, give thy great, God-shaking frown, 
 
 And let on these women thine anger come down !
 
 60 THE ITERIAD. 1831, 
 
 And now, having passed through a sun-shading wood, 
 On a point of rough rocks o'er the waters we stood. 
 The roots of the fir, of the elm, and the oak, 
 Through the rock-covering soil they a passage had broke ; 
 And oh ! they presented such nets for the toes, 
 We were always in danger of breaking our nose. 
 Below us, upon the dark wave-beaten rock, 
 The white, angry billows their foaming crests broke, 
 As soothing the ear with a ne'er ceasing dashing, 
 And moistening the moss and the weeds with their 
 plashing. 
 
 And now some small height we did wish to attain, 
 
 A view of the lake and the valley to gain : 
 
 And so, in returning, turned off by a way 
 
 Which we thought tow'rd a tree-covered eminence lay. 
 
 It entered a wood ; we still kept going on, 
 
 Completely shut out from the light of the sun. 
 
 No part of the scene the confused eye sees, 
 
 Save copses on copses, and trees upon trees : 
 
 Till, the path in the forest bewilderingly tost, 
 
 All points of the compass completely were lost : 
 
 North, east, west, or south, from each other not knowing, 
 
 With all kinds of conjectures how, where we were going, 
 
 Although it afforded a great deal of fun. 
 
 " We shall soon find a path through the meadows," says 
 
 one. 
 
 " Lawkadaisy, that bough nearly knocked off my hat ! " 
 One of us says this, and another says that :
 
 AGE 12. THE ITERIAD. 61 
 
 "We are nearing the lake, or at any rate ought to 
 
 be!" 
 
 " Well, I declare that a most excellent thought to be ! " 
 Thus wond'ring, we, serpent-like, twisted about, 
 Till just where we got in 'twas just there we got out. 
 And we this occurrence determined quite by 
 Not any more by-paths uncertain to try. 
 We left the fair lake where so azure it flowed, 
 And hotly set off by the Borrowdale road ; 
 And laughing, and chaffing, and gazing, and toiling, 
 Perspiring, and frying, and roasting, and broiling, 
 Glad, gladly the sheltering wood we surveyed, 
 Which promised to cool and to soothe with its shade. 
 The track it was steep, thorny, rugged and rocky, 
 As it angled and turned round the oak trees so 
 
 knotty. 
 
 Some, decaying, were but a vast, grey, hollow shell ; 
 Of former young grandeur and might they did tell : 
 And the soil which hung thick round their huge roots 
 
 far-spreading 
 
 Formed steps, trunk-supported, where'er we were treading. 
 We pulled up the hill, and we turned round about, 
 And we crossed and we recrossed within and without ; 
 To all parts of the wood we full pryingly rambled, 
 Over stone, over rock, we impatiently scrambled. 
 " Oh, we shall not get up to the summit this hour ! "- 
 " Oh, mamma, I have got such a beautiful flower ; 
 Here's a violet ! Look, mamma ! pray, papa, do ! 
 What is this of rich crimson ? this delicate blue ?
 
 62 THE ITERIAD. 1831, 
 
 This moss of a bright living green do behold ! 
 
 And here is a cowslip, the goblet of gold ! 
 
 Look under the moss, there ; it cannot be sage ! 
 
 What can that queer thing be?" "'tis a saxifrage." 
 
 " And here's Ladies Slipper, and here's Ladies-smock 
 
 And this," "Oh don't touch it, it's poison, Hemlock!" 
 
 And many more flowers 'mid the forest which grew, 
 
 Whose names I've forgot, or perhaps never knew ! 
 
 Now the rocks gave us rather more trouble to climb, 
 
 And rather more labour, and took us more time, 
 
 For the slippery moss always set us a-sliding, 
 
 Insomuch that we could not at all it confide in : 
 
 Except where, in velvety cushions, it grows, 
 
 And kindly invited our rock-fatigued toes. 
 
 "These troublesome stones, I am always a-stumbling ! " 
 
 " Hollo, what's that there ? I was nearly a-tumbling ! " 
 
 "What, do you not think we the summit are near?" 
 
 " Oh, give me your hand, do pray help me up here ! " 
 
 Till, emerging from under a thick, stunted tree, 
 
 An old rotten seat on the summit we see. 
 
 The people before to this summit who came 
 
 Had carved, or had hacked, on its surface their name, 
 
 And had covered the seat with no spaces between 
 
 each, 
 
 Oh, mighty conceit, so like Cockneys at Greenwich ! 
 But 'twas so decrepid, so old and decayed, 
 To trust to its legs we were somewhat afraid ; 
 Lest, tumbling as if we had sat upon wheels, 
 It had landed our heads in the place of our heels.
 
 AGE 12. THE ITERIAD. 63 
 
 So some on a rock that was cushioned with moss, 
 And some on the June-tinted, brown turf repose ; 
 Stretched out upon earth's verdant bosom we rest, 
 But tear her young flowers from her nourishing breast, 
 Which forth to our hands she luxuriantly poured : 
 Thou sayest that it was but a cruel reward ! 
 
 [HERO-WORSHIP.] 
 
 Now hurried we home, and while taking our tea 
 We thought Mr. Southey at church we might see ! 
 Next morning, the church how we wished to be 
 
 reaching ! 
 
 I'm afraid 'twas as much for the poet as preaching ! 
 And, oh what a shame ! were shown into a seat 
 With everything, save what was wanted, replete ; 
 And so dirty, and greasy, though many times dusted, 
 The ladies all thought it could never be trusted ; 
 First looking at seat, and again upon flounce, 
 And dusting, and gazing, for fear of their gowns ! 
 I think all the time they took such mighty care 
 They sat upon thorns, and perhaps upon air ! 
 Howe'er / forgave, 'deed, I scarcely did know it, 
 For really we were ' cheek-by-jowl ' with the poet ! 
 His hair was no colour at all by the way, 
 But half oft was black, slightly scattered with grey ; 
 His eyes were as black as a coal, but in turning 
 They flashed, ay, as much as that coal does in burning !
 
 64 THE ITEKIAD. 1831, 
 
 His nose in the midst took a small outward bend, 
 
 Rather hooked like an eagle's, and sharp at the end ; 
 
 But his dark lightning-eye made him seem half inspired, 
 
 Or like his own Thalaba, vengefully fired. 
 
 We looked, and we gazed, and we stared in his face ; 
 
 Marched out at a slow-stopping, lingering pace ; 
 
 And as towards Keswick delighted we walked, 
 
 Of his face, and his form, and his features we talked. 
 
 [BORROWDALE IN A SHOWER.] 
 
 THE morning appeared with a great face of doubt, 
 
 Or to make us keep in, or to let us go out. 
 
 We look out of window, call guides after guides, 
 
 Demand whether rain or fair weather betides. 
 
 The first puts his thumb on one side of his nose, 
 
 And looks up to the smoke, to see how the wind 
 
 blows ; 
 
 Then pronounces it after a great deal of puffing, 
 " A vara bad dai ! Why, you couldn't see nothing ! " 
 The next, " Whai, ye sees, sir, I can't hardly say ; 
 Boot I'se think that it may be a middlin' fine day." 
 Another, " For Skudda this never will do, 
 But I think's it prove fine, though not fit for a view : 
 And so if you liked it, a trip you might take 
 By Borrowdale, down unto Bootthermere lake." 
 Delighted, we heard the most capital thought, 
 And at the glad prospect we eagerly caught.
 
 AGE 12. THE ITERIAD. 65 
 
 By the road to dark Borrowdale onward we ride, 
 
 By the wave-beaten beach of the Derwent's blue tide. 
 
 But now we were roused by a few rainy pats 
 
 On the ribbon-bow'd bonnets, and crowns of the hats : 
 
 Thus adding a fresh prospect unto the view,- 
 
 The beautiful prospect of being wet through ! 
 
 So, covering our knees o'er with cloaks and shawls 
 
 plenteous, 
 
 We erected a kind of a parasol pent-house. 
 Then, after a great deal of rain-preparation, 
 We awaited the shower, with a sad expectation. 
 
 It came with a kind of " I do not know what to do ! 
 What I should, what I could, what I would, what I ought 
 
 to do ! " 
 
 We were wondering much what 'twas going to be at, 
 And now it was this, and again it was that ; 
 And the rain it was changeable as was the wind, 
 Till to shine on our journey it made up its mind. 
 But the sun when at last to peep out he would deign, 
 Looked as if he'd been troubled as much by the rain, 
 And, vexed at the clouds so incessantly storming, 
 Looked as if he'd been crying the whole of the morning ! 
 Now in front rose the cliff where, 'mid tumble and roar, 
 The quaking crags quiver 'neath angry Lodore. 
 But as long was the way, and as we were in haste, 
 Its waters, those waters of thunder, we past. 
 And then we looked back upon Keswick's sweet vale, 
 Ere we entered the gorges of dark Borrowdale. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 THE ITERIAD. 1831, 
 
 Beyond the bright space where the Denvent lake flows, 
 More majestic in distance huge Skiddaw arose ; 
 And, softened, the valley was smilingly seen, 
 The lake's azure waters and islands between. 
 A range of huge mountains rose sheer from its verge, 
 And into the lake their steep pointlets they urge ; 
 Where many a gulf, tree-surrounded, was made, 
 Where the wave placid rested, completely embayed : 
 While steep to the left the white Shepherd's crag 
 
 stood, 
 And its loose slaty sides, thinly scattered with wood. 
 
 But now in our front our low road seemed to check 
 In a chaos of hills, a dark mountainous wreck ; 
 Hanging o'er the dread dell their huge summits they 
 
 hurled, 
 
 At whose feet the fair Denvent so crystalline purled. 
 Astonished we passed through that wilderness lone, 
 Till burst on our eyesight dark Bowder's huge stone. 
 A dark rock its high summit right forward did force, 
 And altered the fierce torrent's rock-beating course. 
 High raised on its brink, frowning down on the flood, 
 A vast mass of mossy rock dreadfully stood : 
 It seemed from the hills high above as if torn, 
 And down to its wonderful resting-place borne. 
 But nature most queerly contrived has to hitch it, 
 And poised on a narrow edge managed to pitch it. 
 As when some vast ship the blue ocean divides, 
 Her keen arching bow stems the breast of the tides ;
 
 AGE 12. THE ITERIAD. 67 
 
 The wondering waves 'gainst her stern dash their spray ; 
 The waters enraged yet are forced to obey ; 
 And back from her sides the huge billows are thrown : 
 So sternly triumphing appeared Bowder Stone. 
 
 [HONISTAR CRAG.] 
 
 AND now on the peak of the mountain we stood, 
 
 Looked back upon field, upon forest, and flood. 
 
 Where sun-topped Helvellyn his summits upthrew, 
 
 Distinctly outlined on the firmament blue ; 
 
 And the few retired fields, which in Borrowdale lay, 
 
 So richly reposed in th' enlivening ray. 
 
 But no longer we now on the mountain remain, 
 
 But hasten broad Buttermere's banks to attain : 
 
 Our way down the gorge of the valley we bend, 
 
 And slowly the rough mountain-path we descend. 
 
 Vast Honistar Crag, overhanging the road, 
 
 Pushed right 'cross our path his high forehead so 
 
 broad, 
 
 Opposing our progress. We turned round his brow, 
 Encircled his cliff by the streamlet below ; 
 And gazed on the giant, as round him we wheeled, 
 As his wonderful shape was distinctly revealed. 
 He's none of your beauties, no elegant wood 
 With romantical glades on his summit upstood ; 
 No "softening the scene," or "enlivening the view," 
 No " fading in distance the mountains so blue : "
 
 68 THE ITERIAD. 1831, 
 
 No Cockneys could find in its dread rock so antique 
 
 The fair picturesque or the rural romantic ; 
 
 No silly school-bred miss just turned seventeen 
 
 Can affectedly say oft " How charming a scene ! ! ! " 
 
 But above any misses, O my admiration ! 
 
 Dark Honistar Crag rears his stern elevation. 
 
 [THUNDERSTORM AT BUTTERMERE.] 
 
 BUT now on the mountains the dark clouds assembled, 
 
 And the waves of the lake they more gloomily trembled ; 
 
 And then came a calm on its billowless breast, 
 
 As deep expectation were stilling its rest. 
 
 The air was oppressive, and sultry, and still, 
 
 And no cooling breezes swept over the hill. 
 
 When lo ! from a cloud o'er dark Honistar's head 
 
 There gleamed through the darkness a thunderbolt red. 
 
 The lake for a moment reflected the flash, 
 
 Then dreadfully heard in the distance a crash, 
 
 As if mountains on mountains that moment were hurled, 
 
 Or dashed into atoms and ruins a world, 
 
 Or rocks to their heart by the lightning were riven, 
 
 So the thunder it rolled o'er the face of the heaven. 
 
 Re-echoing from mountains, rebounding from hills, 
 
 Again the dread sound the vast aether it fills : 
 
 O'er gloomy Helvellyn sublimely it swells, 
 
 Then wakes the rude echoes of Langdale's peaked fells ; 
 
 The thunder it spoke from the crags of Lodore, 
 
 And Skiddaw's twin summits awoke to the roar.
 
 AGE 12. THE ITERIAD. 69 
 
 Then, fitful, the breeze from its mountainous hold 
 Forced all the stern thunders to peace as it rolled. 
 The winds in their anger rushed down on the deep, 
 Through every ravine, with a passionate sweep ; 
 Then woke the dark waters, and plumage of foam 
 On the lake's swelling bosom was dazzlingly thrown, 
 Reflecting the lightning ; and rattling peals 
 Again roused the mimicking sport of the hills. 
 Those chasm-hidden lions again from their caves 
 Sent back the dread sounds o'er the wondering waves ; 
 And the echoes from Black-combe, o'erhanging the main, 
 To Sea-fell in mockery growled them again. 
 And numberless flashes and numberless roars 
 Hurled all their lone terrors on deep Crummock's shores ; 
 Till the clouds, o'er the lake which so threateningly hung, 
 Flew away, the huge fells of the Derwent among. 
 
 Then first, the bright orb of the heavens appearing, 
 Again with his presence the hills he was cheering ; 
 Though a shower, yet distilling its dews on the ground, 
 Its glistering drops was outpouring around. 
 Till, high o'er the heads of the mountains below, 
 There spanned the wide heavens the wonderful bow ; 
 All glowing in purple, and crimson, and gold, 
 It grasped in its circle the waters, which rolled, 
 Returning the colours so gloriously given, 
 Returning again to the face of the heaven.
 
 70 THE ITERIAD. 183-, 
 
 [MYTHOLOGICAL METEOROLOGY.] 
 
 THE morning was lovely : the bright azure sky 
 
 With light, fleecy clouds it was studded on high, 
 
 As if Jupiter's sheep from their fold they had strayed, 
 
 And o'er their blue meadows a ramble had made. 
 
 Perhaps you will say that the gods had no sheep ! 
 
 Sir, I will not enter on argument deep. 
 
 But this I will say that you must recollect, sir, 
 
 That their goblets of gold were filled brimful of nectar : 
 
 And this to th' opinion perhaps may give rise, 
 
 They had plenty of nectarine trees in the skies ! 
 
 And as to their having a good flock of sheep, 
 
 If they drank, I should think they had something to eat : 
 
 And, although if they didn't, I care not a button, 
 
 The gods lived on something ; oh, why not on mutton ? 
 
 [ULLSWATER; A DIGRESSION.] 
 
 Now were I, oh, were I a proper lake-poet 
 
 Although you will say, " 'Tis in vain, that;" I know it! 
 
 But I cannot do what I know that I should, 
 
 Pop in an address to the nymph Solitude. 
 
 Oh, beautiful, beautiful should my muse make her, 
 
 With a " thou " and a " thee " like the words of a Quaker, 
 
 All so fine. "Thou companion of Night, the black 
 
 brow'd, 
 Who spreads o'er all Nature her star-spangled shroud
 
 AGE 12. THE ITERIAD. 71 
 
 Tis in vain, 'tis in vain ! I am not a lake-poet ! 
 
 I knew from the first on't that I couldn't do it, 
 
 Oh, pray, oh Melpomene, help me up here ! 
 
 I never shall do for the fashion, I fear : 
 
 Spite of all the endeavour by poor me that made is, 
 
 I shall miss the applause of the misses and ladies. 
 
 For contrary unto the laws that are writ 
 
 In nature's own code, every Miss makes a hit 
 
 At poor me and my rhymes, for they're not sentimental, 
 
 And so to the stop ! to oblivion they're sent all. 
 
 But the poets forget, when they praise Solitude, 
 
 That by rights upon her they should never intrude ; 
 
 And therefore, if truly and rightly 'twere known, 
 
 They praise her the best when they let her alone. 
 
 But I am digressive ! Oh, pray, do not blame me ! 
 
 In description I know it would go on but lamely. 
 
 You know that description alone it would be, sir, 
 
 A tedious thing that would tire you and me, sir. 
 
 You'd find, sir, in spite of the Grand and Sublime 
 
 A little Ridiculous wanting in time. 
 
 It's all very well to address Melancholy, 
 
 And the Night, and the Morning, and other such folly ; 
 
 Or a sonnet to night-loving, fair Philomel, 
 
 In a fine lady's album these look very well. 
 
 But though you may think me prodigiously assical 
 
 I do like some fun something that's Hudibrastical. 
 
 Let every pert miss interrupt me in middle, 
 
 With a proper, school-bred, and genteel kind of giggle
 
 72 THE ITERIAD. 1831, 
 
 " I, I " oh, dear me ! But I'll make a confession 
 I'm digressive when I do but talk of digression. 
 
 'Tis enough : I go on. By the banks of the lake 
 Towards fair Patterdale we our progress did take ; 
 [Still] hoping each house that we saw on before 
 Would turn out the inn on the waves' woody shore : 
 Though we wondering saw that our horses did trot 
 To the lake's extreme end, and that still we stopped not. 
 And when full half a mile from its verge we advance, 
 Despair threw our minds in a wondering trance. 
 And certes not less than that distance we drive, 
 Until at the house, or the inn, we arrive. 
 
 Now, though I be called an egregious sinner, 
 
 I had not forgot at Ullswater my dinner. 
 
 In the good open air it is well to be lunching, 
 
 You always see scenery best when you're munching. 
 
 You'd think the view beautiful, if in his hand each 
 
 'Tween finger and thumb had a mustarded sandwich : 
 
 The mutton alive, which away from you fled, 
 
 Would look better if you had a little on't dead. 
 
 Remember old Skiddaw ! The sandwiches there 
 
 Drove off all the cold of the rarefied air ! 
 
 Can one relish a view without any provision 
 
 Not at all fortified with the beef-ammunition ? 
 
 Impossible ! 'Tis very well, sir, for you, 
 
 Who a good appetite, sir, perhaps never knew !
 
 AGE 12. THE ITERIAD 73 
 
 [COMING DOWN FROM KIRKSTONE.] 
 
 OH, then was a time when we gazed once more 
 Upon Windermere's woody and waving shore ; 
 On the gloomy ravine where we first saw the stream 
 Dash down those rude rocks 'mid that mountainous 
 
 dream 
 
 On the smoke which curled up to a slight elevation 
 From the tree-buried lum of the inn " Salutation ; " 
 On the bridge over which lay our Keswick-bound track, 
 When we left the fair scene to which now we came back 
 On the house which we saw from our darling Low-wood 
 By the bye, 'twas a beautiful nook where it stood : 
 'Twas snugly embayed by the side of the lake, 
 Just where the two rivers do into it break. 
 I'd like such a house : and yet, no, I would not : 
 There's a circumstance I had completely forgot ; 
 If these gingerbread houses there now are but few, 
 And they rather improve, not disfigure the view, 
 But I say, if these things were allowed to increase, 
 And disturb in that landscape its own native peace, 
 No longer 'twould be all so lovelily lone, 
 And the mightiness, silence, and grandeur be gone. 
 
 But, reader, I'm slow, and you'll go on without me : 
 I was in a parenthesis, looking about me ! 
 We gazed upon all that there was to be seen, 
 On the lake that was blue, on the fields that were 
 green,
 
 74 THE ITERIAD. 1831, 
 
 On the dome of the sky, of such mighty extension, 
 
 And other small things that we needn't here mention. 
 
 But we stayed not our steps, for, the chariot entering, 
 
 We soon to our Low-wood were rapidly cantering. 
 
 And gallantly, gallantly onward we bore, 
 
 Till the driver reined up all our steeds at the door. 
 
 Bobbed out Mrs. Jackson with " How d'ye do, sir ? 
 
 I hope you're quite well ; and miss, madam, and you, sir ? 
 
 Your beds are all aired, and your rooms are all ready. 
 
 These horses are troublesome ; steady, Jack, steady ! 
 
 The flies do so tease them. But pray, sir, come in ; 
 
 It soon will be raining, sir ; do come within ! " 
 
 And then to our parlour and bedrooms she brought us, 
 
 And we, very happily, took up our quarters. 
 
 Now, reader, I spare thee ! at length will my pen 
 
 Its galloping course condescend to rein in : 
 
 For while the short week that I was not a rover 
 
 Full many adventures and things I pass over. 
 
 Let's see : I could tell more than ever you'd read, sir ; 
 
 So I'll give ye one pleasant excursion instead, sir. 
 
 [EXCURSION TO CONISTON.] 
 
 THE people of Low-wood one opening day 
 Intended to cut for the horses the hay : 
 And said, when a moment the sun chose to shine, 
 That they were quite certain the day would be fine. 
 We trusted to them ; they, again, to the sky 
 Which told, or which looked, an egregious lie !
 
 AGE 12. THE ITERIAD. 75 
 
 Quite prepared for the rain, but yet caring no less, 
 We thundered all off on the road to Bowness. 
 The lake, like the tale of the bear and the fiddle, 
 Is almost cut off by two capes in the middle. 
 That the waters may not bar the path of the rover, 
 A kind of a hobblety boat paddles over ; 
 And, in order to urge on its clumsiness fast, 
 They've got a huge oar that might do for a mast : 
 And, what is much worse, they have not got a sail, 
 That might catch in its foldings the breath of the gale. 
 So, o'er the dark waters they lump and they lumber, 
 And over the lake they do bump and they blunder ; 
 With us all behind, and the horses before, 
 And the coach in the centre, we get to the shore. 
 They tumbled us out as they bundled us in, 
 At the risk of immersing us up to the chin : 
 And instead of us paying, sir, they in a trice 
 Demanded and asked an exorbitant price ! 
 But we could not avoid it, so, paid it ; and then 
 We galloped by mountain, and torrent, and glen. 
 
 But although the wide heavens kept fair for a while, 
 Yet, ere we had passed by much more than a mile, 
 In lowering aspect began they to frown. 
 Then, then, "Well, what then?" then the shower 
 
 came down ! 
 " Oh, is that all ? " Dear sir, pray what would you have 
 
 more? 
 " Oh, that's quite enough ; but I knew it before."
 
 76 THE ITERIAD. 1831, 
 
 What, did you, sir? Dear me, 'twas much more than / 
 
 did; 
 
 I knew not at all how it would be decided. 
 But anyhow, now, the decision's a bad one 
 To pepper us 'deed, a prodigiously sad one. 
 We groaned in our hearts, but we did not complain, 
 When we knew, if we did so, the more it would rain. 
 We looked on the mountains obscured by the cloud ; 
 We looked on the streams from their summits which 
 
 flowed, 
 
 And, down into Coniston's waters careering, 
 With furrows full deep the dark mountains were searing ; 
 No outlines were seen of their rock-broken form, 
 All darkly obscured by the mist and the storm. 
 And the birds sang not now to the murmuring floods, 
 For each of them fled to his home in the woods ; 
 And the torrents in cataracts fiercely did pour, 
 And to their wild roaring re-echoed the shore ; 
 And bent to the force of the wind every tree 
 As that tempest was pouring its own melodic. 
 
 Although it was placed in a fine situation, 
 The inn did not equal our anticipation ; 
 It might be the day, and I will not deny it, 
 For really the lake was most beautiful by it. 
 Of fair-weather prophecies mind you be wary, 
 For the day made old Coniston look solitary : 
 And, what made it worse, we had nothing to do, 
 Save watching the course of the clouds as they flew,
 
 AGE 12. THE ITERIAD. 77 
 
 Or counting the ripples that rolled to the strand, 
 Or looking where lingered the slow minute-hand. 
 Sometimes we looked up at the troublesome sky, 
 And peeped through the breaks of the clouds, riding by ; 
 Though we saw that they rather grew darker than 
 
 thinner, 
 Till a respite appeared in the entrance of dinner. 
 
 When dinner was over, as still it did rain, 
 
 We thought that we scarcely need longer remain : 
 
 So, ordered the carriage, and with no good will, 
 
 We ordered that pest of all travels the bill. 
 
 May the money bear witness how quickly they made it ! 
 
 Much quicker than we were inclined to have paid it. 
 
 Though, without further grumbling, the silver we gave, 
 
 And galloped away from old Coniston's wave. 
 
 Yet, ere we should leave it in tempest and rain, 
 We, turning, looked back on its waters again. 
 All open and bare they, full lonely, did lie, 
 Exposing their breast to the shadowy sky : 
 Retiring in distance they mistily lay ; 
 And fainter each inlet, and softer each bay ; 
 Till, appearing no more, by the wild tempest tost, 
 'Mid mountains and clouds in the distance were lost. 
 These mountains, all mistily softened away, 
 Appeared like thin clouds at the dawn of the day ; 
 Still darker and deeper, in bolder relief, 
 As, nearer approaching, and rising the chief,
 
 78 THE ITERIAD. 1831, 
 
 The mighty Old Man, with his dark summit reft 
 Closing the prospect arose on our left. 
 
 Farewell to the lake, and farewell to the mountain, 
 The tarn, and the torrent, the fall, and the fountain, 
 To the deeps of the dell, and the wood-shaded shore ; 
 Thou land of the mountains, I see thee no more !
 
 THE FALBIES 
 
 And silsrLtly sJciatly rove 
 vVlae^c tkie aDaoraaljglit potwrea. 
 
 Oiatfcia dewy srwEarcL 
 
 Arui on. tbff elfirv grove 
 iwas- a. loDaai of isaxy sc 
 
 A "k-i-nj o/ai3r\r 
 
 Stioa. sJence as I o 
 
 m. tis ^voocL airo-uiic Joas 
 
 1 jpjs elfen cirdes 
 
 Joe 
 
 y jccurxtae 
 
 Atad. tlaere tbey io-oncLecL iMer 
 VVJaile sailiaag- 
 >nyia. Lrecz 
 
 zy 
 
 U T 
 
 Xiov^soitiy softly mcuri 
 
 in suakm^ caci?ince low 
 
 now tloey 
 
 Of joy to suig 
 
 -AxicL no\v to siiog of woe 
 
 yis sweetly sweetly
 
 .Lye yet tlae day 
 
 In twitgbt g*"sy 
 
 SJaalL sJiecLitsLgiit 
 
 Sprang oer. the dtew^Lrop sbxveamqg 
 
 To-cccb. not -the .g-rassKLade 
 
 ile vaulting /rcoai kie g--ouixcL 
 
 till circlmg CTI tne 
 
 abie xect 
 
 cxaooce a--way 
 
 gay 
 
 -ply your footsteps fleet 
 
 Ye s-or-ites ye e]m 
 Ai^ooiigst tlae co\ 
 rlere let yotxr dajaces ao^eet
 
 AGE 12. 
 
 TO MY HEART. 
 
 WHY leapest thou, 
 Why leapest thou 
 
 So high within my breast ? 
 Oh, stay thee now, 
 Oh, stay thee now, 
 
 Thou little bounder, rest ! 
 
 " I will not stay, 
 
 I will not stay, 
 For nought but joy I know ; 
 
 For I must stay 
 
 On a future day, 
 Not ignorant, then, of woe. 
 
 3- 
 
 " Oh, let me leap, 
 Oh, let me leap, 
 Till that sad day shall come,
 
 go TO MY HEART. 1831, 
 
 When thou shalt weep 
 In sorrow deep 
 For days of gladness gone." 
 
 Oh, say not so, 
 
 Oh, say not so, 
 My heart, Oh, do not say, 
 
 That bitter draught 
 
 Shall e'er be quaffed 
 Shall e'er be drained by me ! 
 
 5- 
 " And shalt thou not 
 
 Know mankind's lot, 
 Shalt thou from it be free ? 
 In future years 
 That lot of tears 
 Shall fix itself on thee. 
 
 6. 
 
 " Then let me leap, 
 
 Then let me leap, 
 Till that dread day shall come, 
 
 When thou shalt weep 
 
 In anguish deep 
 For paths of pleasure run.
 
 AGE 12. TO MY HEART. Si 
 
 7- 
 " When age is come 
 
 And youth is done 
 That youth so briefly given, 
 Thou then shalt trust 
 No more in dust 
 But fix thy hope on heaven. 
 
 26 January. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 1831- 
 
 TO POESIE. 
 
 i. 
 
 OH, what art thou, Oh, what art thou, 
 
 Thou thing of living fire ? 
 The laurels are twined around thy brow, 
 
 And thy hand is on the lyre, 
 Which breathes such notes of harmony 
 As make the young heart lighter leap, 
 And with greater rapture beat : 
 
 Oh, what art thou ? 
 
 2. 
 
 Thou art a thing of nothingness, 
 Thou art fancy's wayward child ; 
 
 Thou art a thing of brightest bliss ; 
 
 Thy lips are breathing happiness, 
 In thy numbers wandering wild. 
 
 3- 
 
 Thou art the burstings of the heart, 
 The language of the fiery soul ; 
 
 Thou art nature's voice and tone : 
 
 82
 
 12. TO POESIE. 83 
 
 While as thy numbers higher roll, 
 In mystic harmony, 
 
 With soundings all thine own. 
 
 4- 
 
 When the brightest gems of heaven 
 Pour their radiance on earth, 
 And all are lost in sleep, 
 Then thou, then thou dost sweep 
 The chords of thine impassioned lyre, 
 
 And unto thoughts and images give birth, 
 And pour thy lay unto the listening moon, 
 And fill the heavens with harmony 
 As pure, as high as they. 
 
 5- 
 
 When the wave doth madly fling 
 His spray, and the thunders roll in heaven, 
 And the lightnings illumine the deep, 
 And the tempests wildly sweep ; 
 Then thou dost cast thy numbers 
 
 Upon their angry wing ; 
 Mingle thy voice with the thunders, 
 And notes of woe, and notes of dread, 
 In various lyrics sing. 
 
 March it
 
 1831, 
 
 WANT OF A SUBJECT, 
 i. 
 
 I WANT a thing to write upon, 
 
 But I cannot find one ; 
 And I have wanted one so long 
 
 That I must write on none ! 
 
 2. 
 I think of speeches to the sea, 
 
 Its colour azure blue, 
 And all its moaning minstrelsy, 
 
 That a'n't it, that won't do ! 
 
 3- 
 I think of speeches to the ground, 
 
 And all its flowers too, 
 And all the treasures in it found, 
 
 That a'n't it, that won't do ! 
 
 4- 
 I think of speeches to the sky, 
 
 Its far expanse so blue, 
 And all its starry majesty, 
 
 That a'n't it, that won't do !
 
 AGE 12. WANT OF A SUBJECT. 85 
 
 5- 
 I think of Saturday's dread night, 
 
 Its apparatus too, 
 Beside its bason blue and white, 
 
 That a'n't it, that won't do ! 
 
 6. 
 
 Think of the poultry ; how the cock 
 
 To's dames the morsel threw 
 How to the dainty bit they flock, 
 
 That a'n't it, that won't do ! 
 
 7- 
 I think of New-Year's-day, replete 
 
 With joys and pleasures new, 
 When parties gay with parties meet 
 
 That a'n't it, that won't do ! 
 
 Though many, many, many a thing 
 
 Doth flit my brain about, 
 As quickly as they scamper in, 
 
 So quickly they're.kicked out ! 
 
 9- 
 And following thoughts on thoughts so fleet, 
 
 But still none of them suit ; 
 And I I am almost asleep, 
 
 And still my muse is mute.
 
 86 WANT OF A SUBJECT. 1831, 
 
 10. 
 And lest she urge her airy flight 
 
 From my so drowsy brain, 
 Upon no subject I will write, 
 
 That so she may remain. 
 
 [About March.}
 
 AGE 12. 
 
 TO THE OCEAN-SPIRITS. 
 
 YE, who dwell in the coral caves, 
 Where the billows ever sleep ; 
 
 Ye, who ride on the briny waves, 
 Spirits of the deep 
 
 Of the mighty and dark and unsearchable deep- 
 Hither, come hither all ! 
 
 Glide ye and sail ye and sport ye there, 
 
 Mermaids all with golden hair ? 
 
 Or do ye silence the sounding sea, 
 
 Do ye sing him to sleep with your melody ? 
 
 Do ye lie on the weedy rocks so cold, 
 
 Where the greedy surge has ever rolled ? 
 
 Or braid ye your flowing hair with pearls, 
 
 Strewing them all in the golden curls ? 
 Hither, come hither all ! 
 
 Mingle your voices with the sea, 
 
 Sing me a joyous melody. 
 
 Let the waves from your breath rebounding 
 
 Dash on the vocal rocks resounding. 
 
 Now is the hour ere the red sun bathes 
 His sides in the rosy deep ; 
 
 Ere he nods his head to the laughing waves, 
 
 To his rolling couch of sleep. 
 87
 
 88 TO THE OCEAN-SPIRITS. 1831,' 
 
 MERMAIDS (sing). 
 
 We are capricious ocean's daughters, 
 
 Children of the inconstant waters ; 
 
 In our coral caverns, we 
 
 Live in mirth and minstrelsy : 
 
 Sport we all in depths unknown, 
 
 In places silent, dark and lone. 
 
 We have seen the dead man's skull 
 
 With pearly shells and seaweeds full ; 
 
 But ever he grasped with convulsive hold 
 
 The chest where lay the mouldy gold. 
 
 Oh, well we love to swim the deep, 
 
 And cut the foam so fast and fleet ; 
 
 While Tritons with the vocal shell 
 
 In our train their music swell. 
 
 The very sharks lift up their head 
 
 From crunching and crashing the bones of the dead ; 
 
 And, as we pass them swiftly by, 
 
 List to the shelly harmony. 
 
 Enough, enough ! the song is done ; 
 Sinks beneath the deep the sun, 
 
 Down, down, down, 
 To the depths of the ocean down. 
 Away, away, ye nymphs, away ! 
 Darkness shrouds the closing day. 
 
 20 June,
 
 AGE 12. 
 
 TO THE FAIRIES. 
 
 YE, who sport in the lone midnight, 
 By the paly round moon's flickering light 
 Ye, who dance in your forests lone, 
 Till the pale glow-worm lights you home, 
 
 Hither, come hither all ! 
 Do ye sing to the nightingale ? 
 Do ye lie in a cowslip's bell ? 
 Or do ye drink from the acorn-cups 
 The dew ye love so well ? 
 Ere the day, the rosy day, 
 
 From forth its couch shall rise, 
 And throw aside its mantle grey 
 
 For a red one in the skies, 
 Hither, come hither all ! 
 And, like the gentle, peaceful dove, 
 Who to his mate now coos his love ; 
 Or like the plaintive nightingale, 
 Who telleth now his lonely tale, 
 Sing ye your carols unto me 
 With midnight mirth and melody.
 
 90 TO THE FAIRIES. 1831, 
 
 FAIRIES (sing). 
 
 Evil spirits, black and dun, 
 To our revels do not come, 
 In the church-yards dark and lone, 
 By the pale, inscriptioned stone. 
 Fly ye from this sacred ground, 
 Nor be in our circles found ! 
 Riding on the grey bat's wings, 
 Hum ye from our dancing-rings 
 
 Away, away, away ! 
 Oh, how we love to sport us now, 
 When all unclouded is the brow 
 Of the bright, benignant moon 
 'Mid a half-enlightened gloom ; 
 And every tree doth bend its head, 
 As lightly o'er the grass we tread ; 
 And, as we dance on dewy mounds, 
 They list to hear the jocund sounds 
 That whisper round their aged roots. 
 For oh, we love to lie 'mid flowers, 
 And sleep amid the violets, 
 Until the dawning hours. 
 Till the sun lights the morning dew 
 That glisters on the ground, 
 Amid the forests we are found, 
 Frolicking all the woodlands through ! 
 
 Stay, stay, stay ! 
 The dawn upon the hills appears,
 
 AGE 12. TO THE FAIRIES. 91 
 
 The dew shines on the grass like tears. 
 At the approach of day 
 
 Silence ! 
 Vanish, every elf and fay ! 
 
 20 June.
 
 [BED-TIME.] 
 
 Now go, my dear. 'Tis time to go to bed." 
 Oh, direful sentence ; all so full of woe ! 
 
 Oh dear ! how mournfully those words are said, 
 So contradictory, " Come, dear, and^tf/" 
 
 When anything had come into my head 
 To all composing 'tis the fiercest foe. 
 
 I wish Mamma a little less would load us 
 
 With so much of imperativus modus. 
 
 When Mr. What d'ye call him ? Bottom-roe ? 
 
 No, that's not it ... Oh ay, it is Roebotham 
 Has ceased his parallelograms to show 
 
 And t'other thingumbobs I have forgot 'em ! 
 With latitude and longitude, you know, 
 
 And all the other things there's such a lot on, 
 Why, then I cannot have a little play, sir ; 
 For, " Go away to bed " Mamma doth say, sir. 
 
 When I have drudged all day at dry perspective, 
 
 And some nice clever book I have begun, 
 Against those words there must be no invective, 
 
 I cannot have a little bit of fun ; 
 92
 
 AGE 12. BED-TIME. 93 
 
 For of the time Mamma's so recollective, 
 
 You might as well attempt to cheat the sun ! 
 And nothing pleasant can I then begin it, 
 Mamma so regularly counts each minute ! 
 
 [About September^}
 
 1831, 
 
 [TO THE MEMORY OF SIR 
 WALTER SCOTT.] 
 
 'TwAS night. I stood by Tweed's fair stream. 
 
 Methought it sang a dirge for him 
 
 Who once on its green borders drew 
 
 The fanciful, the fairy crew : 
 
 And seemed a voice, in measured tone, 
 
 To breathe a melancholy moan. 
 
 And, whispering, sullen soundings sighed, 
 
 As mingling with the murmuring tide ; 
 
 And sorrowing notes of woe they gave, 
 
 As floating on the mystic wave. 
 
 And, with the waters borne along, 
 
 They joined with every zephyr's song. 
 
 The billows wept that they no more, 
 
 When rolling tow'rds the hallowed shore, 
 
 Might dance into the living lays 
 
 That minstrel's magic voice could raise ; 
 
 Where every mocking mountain rang 
 
 With the rich numbers that he sang ;
 
 AGE 12. TO THE MEMORY OF SIR W. SCOTT. 95 
 
 Where piny forests, when he spoke. 
 Their hoary locks in wonder shook ; 
 And bent their spiry heads, when he 
 Charmed Scotland's hills with harmony. 
 
 October.
 
 [THE ETERNAL HILLS.] 
 
 I LOVE ye, ye eternal hills, 
 
 With the mists all wreathed around ye ; 
 I love ye, all ye cloud-born rills, 
 
 As ye beat the rocks that bound ye. 
 I've seen ye when the huge storm-fiend 
 
 From his peaceful sleep doth rouse, 
 And the misty coronet doth bind 
 
 On your mighty, shagged brows ; 
 A thing of might 
 In his gloomy flight, 
 
 As he buries ye, hills, in his stormy night. 
 
 I love ye, I love ye, mighty things, 
 With your huge and frowning fells ; 
 
 When the eagle flaps his nervous wings, 
 And the tempest round ye swells. 
 
 I've seen ye with your forests hoar, 
 As they nod o'er your crags all lone, 
 
 And your crags do shake 'neath the torrent's roar, 
 
 9 6
 
 THE ETERNAL HILLS. 97 
 
 And are snowed with rock-borne foam, 
 
 As they wake from their sleep 
 
 When those waters leap 
 Into your caverns dark and deep. 
 
 [About October.} 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 1831, 
 
 THE SITE OF BABYLON. 
 
 i. 
 
 THE desert stretched its ocean sweep, 
 All vast and boundless as the deep 
 
 In mighty solitude ; 
 Night, like a lion o'er his prey, 
 Above the vast, the desert way, 
 
 In silence stern did brood. 
 I stood beside one tree that flung 
 A gloomy shadow, where it hung ; 
 And not a column, not a stone 
 Marked out the site of Babylon. 
 
 2. 
 
 Where art thou now, thou haughty one, 
 Whose mighty walls so often rung 
 
 With the proud feasts of kings ? 
 And foaming wine in golden bowls 
 Has flowed, where now the lion prowls 
 
 And the hoarse night-breeze sings.
 
 AGE 12. THE SITE OF BABYLON. 99 
 
 Alas ! that mightiness is fled, 
 Barbaric pomp is withered ; 
 And o'er the eastern glory's grave 
 Euphrates rolls his gloomy wave. 
 
 6 November.
 
 1831, 
 
 [MOONLIGHT ON THE MOUNTAINS.] 
 
 i. 
 
 CURTAINED in cloudy drapery 
 The stars were glimmering on high, 
 All with a light festoonery 
 Round their fulgent centre queen, 
 Fleecily, as veiled between 
 Sate she, and with them did roll 
 Round the fixed, eternal pole. 
 
 Folding, like an airy vest, 
 
 The very clouds had sunk to rest ; 
 
 Light gilds the rugged mountain's breast, 
 
 Calmly as they lay below ; 
 
 Every hill seemed topped with snow, 
 
 As the flowing tide of light 
 
 Broke the slumbers of the night. 
 
 30 November,
 
 AGE 12. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 HARLECH CASTLE. 
 
 PVE seen thy mighty towers and turrets high, 
 Like crown imperial on some rocky head, 
 'Mid the eternal hills so darkly spread 
 
 Round the huge Snowdon's mountain-majesty, 
 
 Shunning the earth, enamoured of the sky, 
 Ruined remembrance of the silent dead, 
 Now sleeping in a mountain-guarded bed, 
 
 That once did stir these walls with revelry. 
 
 And all and aught that once was great is gone ! 
 
 Doth the cold ivy round thy ruins fling 
 Its twining arms to clothe the naked stone : 
 
 Flaps round the keep the lazy owlet's wing. 
 So mighty, so majestic, and so lone ! 
 
 And all thy music, now, the ocean's murmuring ! 
 
 [End 0/1831.]
 
 1831. 
 
 SONNET TO A CLOUD. 
 
 THOU little roamer of the northern blast, 
 
 Mantling the brow of ruby-fringed morn, 
 
 So swift, so transient, whither art thou borne ? 
 Hither and thither by the breezes cast, 
 Hast shadowed sultry Araby, or past 
 
 Lumed by the lightning on the gloomy storm ? 
 
 Or dimmed the lustre of the moone's horn ? 
 Or swept o'er mountain-summit, fleet and fast ? 
 Or darkened o'er the bosom of the brine ? 
 
 Or, wanton, fled the summer breeze's sigh, 
 And floated o'er a thirsty, scorching clime, 
 
 Fading upon the clear and azure sky ? 
 Methinks I see thee, like the wing of time 
 
 Melting away into Eternity ! 
 
 [End 0/1831.]
 
 l8 3 2. 
 
 AT 13 YEARS OF AGE. 
 
 SONNET TO THE MORNING (Feb. 5). 
 THE SONG OF THE SOUTHERN BREEZE (Feb. 12). 
 THE DESTRUCTION OF PHARAOH {about March}. 
 THE GRAVE OF THE POET (September}. 
 
 103
 
 AGE 13. 
 
 SONNET 
 
 TO THE MORNING. 
 
 SEE, where she comes, the mountain-mists of night 
 Scarce yet unwreathing their fantastic shapes 
 Of pinnacle and tower, when morn awakes 
 
 Fainter and fainter in confusing flight 
 
 Leave hill and vale, all wrapt in rosy light. 
 She comes : she looks upon the silent lakes ; 
 The last long-lingering cloud the hill forsakes 
 
 Far in the clear blue sky that heaves his height. 
 
 The choral choirs that people every tree 
 
 Join with the music of the stream, that flows 
 
 Adown the mountain-side with jocund glee. 
 There is a simple softness in those lays 
 
 That wakes the heart of man to piety, 
 
 To hymn his Father's, his Creator's praise. 
 
 (Feb. 5.) 
 
 105
 
 1832, 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SOUTHERN BREEZE. 
 
 OH, what is the voice of the wind that flies 
 
 All by the waste and wintry skies ? 
 
 What is the voice of the breeze that swells 
 
 Down by the darksome and dreary dells ? 
 
 Where has it been, 
 
 And what has it seen, 
 
 As it sailed, the high crest of the billows between ? 
 
 Sweeping the heather that girdles the mountain, 
 
 And circling the waves as they foam on the fountain. 
 
 For the tempest-child 
 
 It singeth so wild 
 
 'Mongst the hills that are heavenward piled ; 
 
 " Lullaby, lullaby ! " 
 
 Has it sung above the wave ; 
 
 " Lullaby, lullaby ! " 
 
 O'er the sailor's ocean-grave. 
 
 Where hast thou been 
 
 By the ocean green ? 
 
 Tell me, wild wind, where thou hast been ? 
 
 BREEZE. 
 
 I have come from the southern land, 
 All by India's pearly strand ; 
 
 106
 
 AGE 13. SONG OF THE SOUTHERN BREEZE. 107 
 
 And the spicy gales they were following me, 
 
 As I swept across the boundless sea. 
 
 I have raised the flag of the war-ship's mast, 
 
 As it hung down lazilie ; 
 
 I have sung my song with the midnight blast, 
 
 With a mournful melodic. 
 
 Oh, I have gone so fleet and fast, 
 
 By the rocks of the sounding sea ; 
 
 And the waves, they smiled as I by them past, 
 
 And they smiled with their foam on me. 
 
 I have fanned the skies of Araby, 
 
 Across the lonely sand ; 
 
 And I have seen the pilgrim die 
 
 In a far and foreign land. 
 
 I've seen full many a mountain-height 
 
 Uprear his giant form of might ; 
 
 And I have flown 
 
 By the desert lone, 
 
 By Chimborazo's mountain-throne. 
 
 I have borne the red bolt on my breast, 
 
 As it fiercely crackled by ; 
 
 I have lulled the ocean into rest, 
 
 With my soft and soothing sigh. 
 
 I have caught the clouds from the golden west 
 
 Where the sun delights to die ; 
 
 And I've been by the crags of the mountain's crest, 
 
 That reareth himself on high. 
 
 E'en now there's a cloud that is waiting for me, 
 
 To carry him over the northern sea.
 
 io8 SONG OF THE SOUTHERN BREEZE. 1832, 
 
 I must away 
 
 Over the ocean away,- 
 
 Full far and full far I must urge my flight ; 
 
 Ere that day shall be drowned in the mists of the night, 
 
 I am gone by the crests of foam and snow 
 
 That hide the waters' depth below, 
 
 Away, and away ! 
 
 February 12.
 
 AGE 13. 
 
 [THE DESTRUCTION OF PHARAOH.] 
 
 MOURN, Mizraim, mourn ! The weltering wave 
 Wails loudly o'er Egyptia's brave 
 
 Where lowly laid they sleep ; 
 The salt sea rusts the helmet's crest ; 
 The warrior takes his ocean-rest, 
 
 Full far below the deep. 
 The deep, the deep, the dreary deep ! 
 Wail, wail, Egyptia ! mourn and weep ! 
 For many a mighty legion fell 
 Before the God of Israel. 
 
 Wake, Israel, wake the harp. The roar 
 Of ocean's wave on Mizraim's shore 
 
 Rolls now o'er many a crest. 
 Where, now, the iron chariot's sweep ? . 
 Where Pharaoh's host ? Beneath the deep 
 
 His armies take their rest. 
 Shout, Israel ! Let the joyful cry 
 Pour forth the notes of victory ; 
 High let it swell across the sea, 
 For Jacob's weary tribes are free ! 
 
 [About MarcK\. 
 
 109
 
 1832, 
 
 [THE GRAVE OF THE POET.] 
 
 THE grass grows green on the banks of Tweed, 
 
 The river rolls clear over pebble and weed ; 
 
 The wave is bright, and the foam is light, 
 
 All in the eddies gurgling white. 
 
 Shall the grass grow green on the banks of Tweed 
 
 When the grave has seized its lord ? 
 
 Shall the river roll clear over pebble and weed 
 
 When he lies 'neath the cold green-sward ? 
 
 Heavily lieth the sod on his breast, 
 
 Low is his pillow and long his rest ; 
 
 Cold on his grave may the moonbeam shiver, 
 
 The soul of the minstrel is parted for ever ! 
 
 Doth he lie on the mountain-heath 
 
 Where the tempest sings his dirge of death ? 
 
 Or is his shroud 
 
 The misty cloud, 
 
 Clothing the cliffs that are rising proud ? 
 
 Meet were a grave so waste and wild, 
 
 Meet for the grave of a mountain-child ! 
 
 Shall the cloistered pile receive him, 
 
 Where the ivy round is weaving ? 
 
 Where shall he be laid ? 
 
 Where his last sad requiem said ?
 
 AGE 13. THE GRAVE OF THE POET, 
 
 For the ivy's enwreathing 
 The harp and the chord, 
 And the worm is entwining 
 The brow of the bard. 
 
 September,
 
 1 833- 
 
 AT 14 YEARS OF AGE. 
 
 SONG. "I WEARY FOR THE TORRENT LEAPING " [winter 1832-3]. 
 
 MY FATHER'S BIRTHDAY (May 10, 1833). 
 
 ACCOUNT OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT IN 1833 : 
 
 Calais ; Cassel ; Lille ; Brussels ; The Meuse ; Cologne; Andernach; 
 Ehrenbreitstein ; St. Goar ; Heidelberg; The Black Forest; 
 Entrance to Schaffhausen ; the Alps from Schaffhausen ; the 
 Rhine ; Via Mala ; Spliigen ; the Summit ; Chiavenna; Lago 
 di Como ; Cadenabbia ; Milan Cathedral ; Lago Maggiore ; 
 Genoa; Passing the Alps; Chamouni ; the Arve at Cha- 
 mouni ; Evening at Chamouni; the Source of the Arveron 
 [winter 1833-4]. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 AGE 14. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I WEARY for the torrent leaping 
 From off the scar's rough crest ; 
 My muse is on the mountain sleeping, 
 My harp is sunk to rest. 
 
 I weary for the fountain foaming, 
 For shady holm and hill ; 
 My mind is on the mountain roaming, 
 My spirit's voice is still. 
 
 I weary for the woodland brook 
 That wanders through the vale ; 
 I weary for the heights that look 
 Adown upon the dale. 
 
 The crags are lone on Coniston, 
 And Loweswater's dell ; 
 And dreary on the mighty one, 
 The cloud-enwreathed Sea-fell. 
 
 Oh ! what although the crags be stern 
 Their mighty peaks that sever, 
 Fresh flies the breeze on mountain fern, 
 And free on mountain heather.
 
 n6 SONG. 1833, 
 
 I long to tread the mountain head 
 Above the valley swelling ; 
 I long to feel the breezes sped 
 From grey and gaunt Helvellyn. 
 
 I love the eddying, circling sweep, 
 The mantling and the foam 
 Of murmuring waters dark and deep, 
 Amid the valleys lone. 
 
 It is a terror, yet 'tis sweet, 
 Upon some broken brow 
 To look upon the distant sweep 
 , Of ocean spread below. 
 
 There is a thrill of strange delight 
 That passes quivering o'er me, 
 When blue hills rise upon the sight 
 Like summer clouds before me. 
 
 [ Winter, 1832-3. ]
 
 AGE 14. 
 
 MY FATHER'S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 THE month of May, the month of May, 
 
 I love it for its jocund hours ; 
 
 The merry hours that fly away 
 
 As swiftly as its flowers. 
 
 I love it for the laugh so light 
 
 It throws o'er all the face of nature, 
 
 A something gladdening and bright 
 
 That glistens on her every feature. 
 
 I see it where the grass grows green 
 
 On daisied mead, by sparkling stream ; 
 
 I hear it in the roundelay 
 
 The birds pour forth at dawn of day. 
 
 The brook that to and fro meanders 
 Bears gladness in its crystal springs ; 
 There's gladness in the wind that wanders 
 Among the hawthorn-blossomings. 
 But doubly pure each glancing stream, 
 More gaily decked each tree, 
 And brighter every noontide beam, 
 And lovelier to me, -
 
 n8 MY FATHER'S BIRTHDAY. 1833, 
 
 More deeply blue thy sky above, 
 More soft each songster's lay of love, 
 For in thy blooming month, fair May, 
 I hail my father's natal day ! 
 
 loth May.
 
 AGE 14. 
 
 ACCOUNT OF A TOUR ON THE 
 CONTINENT. 
 
 "Early in the spring of 1833 Prout published his Sketches in 
 Flanders and Germany. I well remember going with my father 
 into the shop where subscribers entered their names, and being 
 referred to the specimen print, the turreted window over the 
 Moselle, at Coblentz. We got the book home to Herne Hill 
 before the time of our usual annual tour ; and as my mother 
 watched my father's pleasure and mine in looking at the wonderful 
 places, she said, why should we not go and see some of them in 
 reality? My father hesitated a little, then with glittering eyes 
 said why not ? And there were two or three weeks of entirely 
 rapturous and amazed preparation. . . . 
 
 "We went by Calais and Brussels to Cologne; up the Rhine 
 to Strasburg, across the Black Forest to Schaffhausen, then made 
 a sweep through North Switzerland by Basle, Berne, Unterlachen, 
 Lucerne, Zurich, to Constance, following up the Rhine still to 
 Coire, then over Spliigen to Como, Milan, and Genoa ; meaning, 
 as I now remember, for Rome. But, it being June already, the 
 heat of Genoa warned us of imprudence : we turned, and came 
 back over the Simplon to Geneva, saw Chamouni, and so home 
 by Lyons and Dijon." (Praterita, I. iv.) 
 
 CALAIS. 
 
 THE sands are in the sunlight sleeping, 
 [The tide upon the bar is leaping ;] 
 Again, again for evermore 
 Haste the light curlings to the shore,
 
 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 And yet advance and yet retreat 
 On playful childhood's daring feet, 
 That seeks within its sandy cell 
 The pebble bright, or purple shell. 
 Far in its clear expanse, lay wide 
 Unruffledly that ocean tide, 
 Stretching away where paler grew 
 The heaven's bright unclouded blue. 
 And, far away in distance dying, 
 Old England's cliffy coast was lying ; 
 And beautiful as summer cloud 
 By the low sun empurpled proud. 
 
 Strange, that a space from shore to shore 
 So soon, so easily passed o'er, 
 Should yet a wide distinction place 
 'Twixt man and man, 'twixt race and race ! 
 Sudden and marked the change you find, 
 Religion, language, even mind ; 
 That you might think that narrow span 
 Marked the varieties of man. 
 
 CASSEL. 
 
 THE way was long, and yet 'twas sweet, 
 Through many a shady, soft retreat, 
 Where the broad willow semblance gave 
 Of weeping beauty to the wave ; 
 And elm, with massy foliage prest, 
 And feathery aspen's quivering crest ;
 
 AGE 14- A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 
 
 And many a spiry poplar glade, 
 
 And hazel's rich entangled shade : 
 
 While, onward as advancing still 
 
 From Omer's plain to Cassel's hill, 
 
 Far yet more far the landscape threw 
 
 Its deep, immeasurable blue. 
 
 Oh, beautiful those plains were showing, 
 
 Where summer sun was hotly glowing ! 
 
 Many a battlefield lay spread 
 
 Once the dark dwelling of the dead : 
 
 But fruitful now their champaigns wave 
 
 With bending grain on soldier's grave. 
 
 While far beneath in long array 
 
 The priestly orders wound their way ; 
 
 Heavy the massive banners rolled, 
 
 Rich wrought with gems, and stiff with gold : 
 
 While, as the cross came borne on high 
 
 Beneath its crimson canopy, 
 
 Many the haughty head that bowed, 
 
 Sunk his high crest the warrior proud, 
 
 The priest his glance benignant cast, 
 
 And murmured blessings as he past ; 
 
 While, round the hillside echoing free, 
 
 Rung the loud-hymning melody. 
 
 Many a monkish voice was there, 
 
 Many a trumpet rent the air, 
 
 And softer, sweeter, yet the same, 
 
 The sounds in failing cadence came.
 
 122 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 LILLE. 
 
 OH, red the blushing east awoke, 
 And bright the morn on Cassel broke ; 
 Along the green hillside we flew ; 
 Flashed the clear sunshine in the dew 
 That on the clustering herbage hung, 
 That to the tangled copsewood clung, 
 That shot like stars through every shade, 
 And glanced on every wildwood glade. 
 At length, by many a wind descending 
 That ever to the plain were bending 
 Farther, and farther still, we pressed 
 From Cassel's insulated crest, 
 That, back retiring, fainter still 
 Showed the rich outlines of its hill, 
 And faded in the purple haze 
 That spoke the coming noontide blaze. 
 That noontide blaze delayed not long ; 
 On Tournay's tow'rs 'twas fierce and strong, 
 And, ere we gained the middle way, 
 The glow was like an Afric day. 
 Full upon Lille's high ramparts round, 
 On massive wall and moated mound, 
 Shot the fierce sun his glaring ray, 
 As bent we on our burning way : 
 Till past the narrow drawbridge-length 
 The massive gates' portcullised strength,
 
 AGE 14- A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 
 
 And moat, whose waves found steepy shore 
 
 Where forward huge the bastion bore ; 
 
 And where the sentinels were set 
 
 High on the dizzy parapet : 
 
 Till the last portal's echoes woke, 
 
 And Lille upon us sudden broke, 
 
 Giving to view another scene, 
 
 So clear, so noble, so serene, 
 
 'Twould seem enchantment's varied hue 
 
 On palace, street, and avenue. 
 
 Those ancient piles rose huge and high 
 
 In rich irregularity ; 
 
 Colossal form and figure fair 
 
 Seemed moving, breathing, living there. 
 
 The vaulted arch, where sunlight pure 
 
 Might never pierce the deep obscure, 
 
 Where broadly barred, the ancient door 
 
 Was with such carving imaged o'er, 
 
 The bending Gothic gable-roof 
 
 Of past magnificence gave proof; 
 
 The modern window's formal square 
 
 With Saxon arch was mingled there, 
 
 Whose stern recesses, dark and deep, 
 
 The figured iron stanchions keep. 
 
 BRUSSELS. 
 
 THE racking clouds were fleeting fast 
 Upon the bosom of the blast ;
 
 124 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 In wild confusion fiercely driven 
 
 Fled they across the face of heaven. 
 
 The fitful gust came shrieking high ; 
 
 The rattling rain flew driving by ; 
 
 But where the horizon stretched away 
 
 Towards the couch of parting day, 
 
 A streak of paly light was seen, 
 
 The heaped and darkling clouds between. 
 
 Against that light, for time full brief, 
 
 Brussels arose in dark relief. 
 
 Colossal on the western fire 
 
 Seemed massive tow'r and slender spire. 
 
 Nearer, and nearer as we drew, 
 
 More strongly marked the outlines grew, 
 
 Till of the buildings you might see 
 
 Distinct, the Gothic tracerie. 
 
 The drawbridge rung, we passed the gate, 
 
 And regal Brussels entered straight. 
 
 It stirs, to see the human tide 
 That marks a city in its pride ! 
 That fitful ocean's eddying sweep 
 Is still more changeful than the deep : 
 For those dark billows as they roll 
 Mark movements of the human soul. 
 Yet in that city there was none 
 Of that confused and busy hum, 
 That tells of traffic and of trade ; 
 No, Brussels' time of power was sped :
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 125 
 
 Yet in her streets was something seen 
 Spoke what the city once had been. 
 
 Our rapid course as now we wheel 
 Where rose the huge Hotel de ville, 
 The noble spire's proportions high 
 Stood forth upon the cloudy sky 
 In all its fretted majesty : 
 And his last light the sun had sent 
 On buttress and on battlement ; 
 That, while the houses were arrayed 
 In all the depth of twilight shade, 
 Yet shot there, faint, a yellow glow 
 Where the tall arches shafted show ; 
 Glimmered a moment there the ray, 
 Then fainter grew, and past away. 
 
 Brussels, thy battlements have been 
 Of many an action strange the scene ! 
 Thou saw'st, on July's dreadful night, 
 The veterans rushing to the fight : 
 Thou heardest when the word was spoken ; 
 At midnight thy repose was broken 
 By tramp of men and neigh of steed, 
 Battalions bursting forth to bleed ; 
 Till the dark phalanx' waving crest 
 Forth from thy gates was forward prest, 
 And breaking with the morning mild 
 The distant roar of battle wild.
 
 126 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 And, later still, the rabble shout, 
 And revolution's riot rout ; 
 Leaving such marks as long shall tell 
 Of dark destruction fierce and fell. 
 
 THE MEUSE. 
 
 THE sky was clear, the morn was gay 
 
 In promise of a cloudless day. 
 
 Fresh flew the breeze, with whose light wing 
 
 Aspen and oak were quivering : 
 
 From flow'ret dank it dashed the dew, 
 
 The harebell bent its blossom blue, 
 
 And from the Meuse the mist-wreaths grey 
 
 That morning breeze had swept away, 
 
 Showing such scenes as well might seem 
 
 The fairy vision of a dream. 
 
 For changing still, and still as fair 
 
 Rock, wave, and wood were mingled there ; 
 
 Peak over peak, fantastic ever, 
 
 The lofty crags deep chasms sever : 
 
 And, grey and gaunt, their lichened head 
 
 Rose sheerly from the river's bed, 
 
 Whose mantling wave, in foamy sheet, 
 
 Their stern, projecting bases beat ; 
 
 And, lashed to fury in his pride, 
 
 In circling whirlpools swept the tide, 
 
 As threatening, on some future day, 
 
 Those mighty rocks to tear away,
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 127 
 
 What though their front should seem to be 
 
 A barrier, to eternity ! 
 
 And on its side, the cliffs between, 
 
 Were mazy forests ever seen, 
 
 That the tall cliff's steep flanks so grey 
 
 Were clothed in mantle green and gay. 
 
 Long time along that dell so deep, 
 
 Beside the river's bed, we sweep ; 
 
 So steep the mighty crests inclined, 
 
 None other pathway you might find ; 
 
 Till the tall cliff's gigantic grace 
 
 To undulating hills gave place, 
 
 And vineyards clothe the bending brow, 
 
 'Stead of the clinging copsewood now. 
 
 COLOGNE. 
 
 .THE noon was past, the sun was low, 
 Yet still we felt his arid glow ; 
 From the red sand, reflected glare 
 Deadened the breeze, and fired the air. 
 The open sky was misty grey ; 
 The clouds in mighty masses lay, 
 That, heaped on the horizon high, 
 Marked Alpine outlines on the sky. 
 Long had we toiled to gain a brow 
 On which we stood triumphant now,* 
 
 [Two lines following are completely erased in the MS.]
 
 128 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 While the white mist was certain sign 
 Where took his course the mighty Rhine. 
 Hills in the distant haze were seen, 
 And wide expanse of plain between, 
 Whose desert length, without a tree, 
 Was stretched in vast monotony. 
 We drove adown that hill amain ; 
 We past along the shadeless plain ; 
 Rested we now where, uncontrolled, 
 The Rhine his bursting billows rolled ; 
 And ever, ever fierce and free 
 Bore broadly onward to the sea. 
 
 ANDERNACH. 
 
 TWILIGHT'S mists are gathering grey 
 Round us on our winding way ; 
 Yet the mountain's purple crest 
 Reflects the glories of the west. 
 Rushing on with giant force 
 Rolls the Rhine his glorious course ; 
 Flashing, now, with flamy red, 
 O'er his jagg'd basaltic bed ; 
 Now, with current calm and wide 
 Sweeping round the mountain's side ; 
 Ever noble, proud, and free, 
 Flowing in his majesty. 
 Soon upon the evening skies 
 Andernach's grim ruins rise ;
 
 AGE 14- A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 129 
 
 Buttress, battlement and tower 
 Remnants hoar of Roman power, 
 Monuments of Caesar's sway, 
 Piecemeal mouldering away. 
 Lo, together loosely thrown 
 Sculptured head and lettered stone 
 Guardless now the archway keep 
 To rampart huge and frowning keep. 
 The empty moat is gay with flowers, 
 The night-wind whistles through the towers, 
 And, flapping in the silent air, 
 The owl and bat are tenants there. 
 
 EHRENBREITSTEIN. 
 
 OH ! warmly down the sunbeams fell 
 
 Along the broad and fierce Moselle ; 
 
 And on the distant mountain ridge, 
 
 And on the city and the bridge, 
 
 So beautiful that stood. 
 
 Tall tower and spire, and gloomy port 
 
 Were made and shattered in the sport 
 
 Of that impetuous flood, 
 
 That, on the one side, washed the wall 
 
 Of Gothic mansion fair and tall ; 
 
 And, on the other side, was seen, 
 
 Checked by broad meadows rich and green ; 
 
 And scattering spray that sparkling flew, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 130 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1833, 
 
 And fed the grass with constant dew. 
 With broader stream and mightier wrath, 
 The Rhine had chosen bolder path, 
 All yielding to his forceful will ; 
 Through basalt gorge, and rock-ribbed hill, 
 Still flashed his deep right on. 
 It checked not at the battled pride, 
 Where Ehrenbreitstein walled his side ; 
 Stretching across with giant stride, 
 The mighty waves the rock deride, 
 And on the crag, like armies, ride ; 
 Flinging the white foam far and wide, 
 Upon the rough grey stone. 
 Beneath the brow of yon dark fell 
 Join the two brothers ; the Moselle, 
 Greeting the Rhine in friendly guise, 
 To mingle with his current flies. 
 Together down the rivers go, 
 Resistless o'er their rocky foe, 
 As lovers, joining hand in hand ; 
 Towards the west, beside their strand 
 They pass together playfully, 
 Like allied armies' mingled band : 
 Towards the east white whirls of sand 
 The torrent tosses by. 
 
 The morning came, and rosy light 
 Blushed on the bastions and the height, 
 Where traitor never stood ;
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 
 
 While, far beneath in misty night, 
 
 The waters wheeled their sullen flight, 
 
 Till o'er them far, for many a rood, 
 
 The red sun scattered tinge of blood ; 
 
 Then, broadening into brighter day, 
 
 On the rich plain the lustre lay ; 
 
 And distant spire and village white 
 
 Confessed the kiss of dawn, 
 
 Amid the forests shining bright, 
 
 Still multiplying on the sight, 
 
 As sunnier grew the morn. 
 
 We climbed the crag, we scaled the ridge, 
 
 On Coblentz looked adown ; 
 
 The tall red roofs, the long white bridge, 
 
 And on the eye-like frown 
 
 Of the portals of her palaces, 
 
 And on her people's busy press. 
 
 There never was a fairer town, 
 
 Between two rivers as it lay, 
 
 Whence morning mist was curling grey 
 
 On the plain's edge beside the hill. 
 
 Oh ! it was lying calm and still 
 
 In morning's chastened glow : 
 
 The multitudes were thronging by, 
 
 But we were dizzily on high, 
 
 And we might not one murmur hear 
 
 Nor whisper tingling on the ear, 
 
 From the far depth below.
 
 132 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 The bridge of boats, the bridge of boats 
 
 Across the swift tide how it floats 
 
 In one dark bending line ! 
 
 For other bridge were swept away ; 
 
 Such shackle loveth not the play 
 
 Of the impetuous Rhine ; 
 
 The feeble bridge that bends below 
 
 The tread of one weak man, 
 
 It yet can stem the forceful flow, 
 
 Which nought unyielding can. 
 
 The bar of shingle stems the sea, 
 
 The granite cliffs are worn away ; 
 
 The bending reed can bear the blast, 
 
 When English oak were downward cast ; 
 
 The bridge of boats the Rhine can chain 
 
 Where strength of stone were all in vain. 
 
 Oh ! fast and faster on the stream 
 
 An island driveth down ; 
 
 The Schwartzwald pine hath shed its green 
 
 But not at Autumn's frown ; 
 
 A sharper winter stripped them there, 
 
 The tall, straight trunks are bald and bare : 
 
 The peasant, on some Alpine brow, 
 
 Hath cut the root and lopped the bough ; 
 
 The eagle heard the echoing fall, 
 
 And soared away to his high eyrie ; 
 
 The chamois gave his warning call, 
 
 And higher on the mountain tall
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 133 
 
 Pursued his way unweary. 
 
 They come, they come the long pine floats ! 
 
 Unchain the bridge, throw loose the boats, 
 
 Lest, by the raft so rudely driven, 
 
 The iron bolts be burst and riven ! 
 
 They come, they come, careering fast ! 
 
 The bridge is gained, the bridge is past, 
 
 Before the flashing foam they flee, 
 
 Towards the ocean rapidly ; 
 
 There, firmly bound by builder's care, 
 
 The rage of wave and wind to dare, 
 
 Or burst of battle-shock to bear, 
 
 Upon the boundless sea. 
 
 ST. GOAR. 
 
 PAST a rock with frowning front, 
 
 Wrinkled by the tempest's brunt, 
 
 By the Rhine we downward bore 
 
 Upon the village of St. Goar. 
 
 Bosomed deep among the hills, 
 
 Here old Rhine his current stills ; 
 
 Loitering the banks between, 
 
 As if, enamoured of the scene, 
 
 He had forgot his onward way 
 
 For a live-long summer day. 
 
 Grim the crags through whose dark cleft, 
 
 Behind, he hath a passage reft ;
 
 134 .A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 While, gaunt as gorge of hunted boar, 
 Dark yawns the foaming pass before, 
 Where the tormented waters rage, 
 Like demons in their Stygian cage ; 
 In giddy eddies whirling round 
 With a sullen choking sound ; 
 Or flinging far the scattering spray, 
 O'er the peaked rocks that bar his way. 
 No marvel that the spell-bound Rhine, 
 Like giant overcome with wine, 
 Should here relax his angry frown, 
 And, soothed to slumber, lay him down 
 Amid the vine-clad banks that lave 
 Their tresses in his placid wave. 
 
 HEIDELBERG. 
 
 Now from the smiling afternoon 
 
 The rain had past away ; 
 
 And glimmered forth the pallid moon, 
 
 Amid the heavens grey. 
 
 Brake, and bush, and mead, and flower 
 
 Were glistening with the sunny shower ; 
 
 Where, from the tangled, viny wreath, 
 
 The clustered grape looked out beneath, - 
 
 Climbing up the southern side 
 
 Of the round hills' bosom wide, 
 
 Branches of the chain that bound
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 135 
 
 All the south horizon round. 
 Far towards the western day 
 Mannheim's towers softened lay. 
 But a moment : darkly down 
 Came the thunder, heaven's frown ! 
 'Mong the trees, a fitful shaking 
 Told the hoarse night-wind was waking. 
 Grey upon his mountain throne, 
 Heidelberg his ruins lone 
 Reared colossally ; 
 All begirt with mighty trees, 
 Whistling with the even's breeze, 
 Flapping faintly by. 
 
 It was morning : from the height 
 Cumbered with its ruins hoar, 
 All that lovely valley bright 
 We were looking o'er, 
 With its silver river bending, 
 Vineyards to its banks descending. 
 Many a distant mountain chain 
 Girded round the mighty plain. 
 Here the sky was clear and bright ; 
 But upon their distant height, 
 Like a monster o'er his prey, 
 Rain and tempest scowling lay ; 
 Like a mighty ocean-wave, 
 All along the horizon sweeping, 
 Flinging far its cloudy spray,
 
 136 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 O'er the peaceful heaven beating. 
 
 But climbed the cloud yet more and more, 
 
 Into the heaven dancing, 
 
 Till, like the scouring bands before 
 
 Embattled armies' path advancing, 
 
 Circling the sun with mazy ring, 
 
 They wildly on came scattering. 
 
 Then deeper, darker, heavier grew 
 
 The fitful light the red sun threw 
 
 On the gaunt ruin's ghostly wall ; 
 
 And, coursing o'er the sloping meadow, 
 
 Strong was the light, and deep the shadow. 
 
 Till, rustling through the pine-trees tall, 
 
 Came quick the sound of raindrop-fall. 
 
 Fast increased, the leafy rattle 
 
 Spoke the coming tempest-battle. 
 
 Enter then the chambers cold 
 Cold and lifeless, bald and bare ; 
 Though with banners decked of old, 
 Ivy tendrils' flickering flare 
 Are the only banners there. 
 Thou wouldst start to hear thy tread 
 Given back by echoes dead ! 
 Thou wouldst look around to see 
 If a sprite were watching thee ! 
 Yet a vision would come o'er thee 
 Of the scenes had past before thee ; 
 Of the time when many a guest
 
 AGE 14- A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 137 
 
 Blessed the baron for his feast ; 
 
 When the peasant, homeward stealing, 
 
 Dusky night the hills concealing 
 
 Heard the swell of wassail wild, 
 
 Cadence from the castle coming, 
 
 Mingling with the night-breeze humming ; 
 
 And, until the morning mild 
 
 Lightened upon wall and tower, 
 
 Beacon-light from hour to hour 
 
 Streaming from the windows tall 
 
 Of the barons' ancient hall : 
 
 Where the shout around was ringing, 
 
 And the troubadour was singing 
 
 Ancient air and ancient rhyme 
 
 Legend of the ancient time : 
 
 Of some knight's blood, nobly spilt 
 
 In the melee or the tilt ; 
 
 Of the deeds of some brave band, 
 
 Oath-bound in the Holy Land, 
 
 Such as iron Richard led, 
 
 Steeled without and steeled within, 
 
 True in hand and heart and head, 
 
 Worthy foes of Saladin. 
 
 Or, if pleased, a darker theme ; 
 
 Of spectres huge, at twilight seen 
 
 Above some battle-field, 
 
 Mimicking with motion dread 
 
 Past combat of those lying dead 
 
 Beneath their cloudy pinions spread
 
 138 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 Crested helm, and spear, and shield, 
 In the red cloud blazoned. 
 
 Thus with feast and revelry 
 Oft the huge halls rang with glee ; 
 All reckless of the withering woe 
 Reigned in their dungeons dank below, 
 Where, in the lone hours' sullen flight, 
 The masked day mingled with the night ; 
 Until the captive's practised eye 
 Could pierce the thick obscurity 
 Could see his fetters glance, or tell 
 The stones which walled his narrow cell : 
 Till, at the time the warder came, 
 His dusky lamp's half-smothered flame 
 Flashed on him like that sun whose ray, 
 And all the smile of lightsome day, 
 He has almost forgotten. 
 
 [THE BLACK FOREST.] 
 
 OH ! the morn looked bright on hill and dale, 
 
 As we left the walls of merry [Kehl], 
 
 And tow'rd the long hill-ridges wound 
 
 That ramparted the plain around, 
 
 That, greener growing as we neared, 
 
 At length with meadows decked appeared, 
 
 Fair as our fields in May ; and then
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 139 
 
 We entered on a little glen, 
 
 Those miniature Alps among, 
 
 All smiling with a morning sun ; 
 
 Grassy, and woody, and most sweet 
 
 As ever fairy her retreat 
 
 Formed for her midnight dances. Through 
 
 Tracing, in mazy winds anew, 
 
 The spots it had passed o'er, as fain 
 
 To run its sweet course o'er again, 
 
 Flowed a small tributary stream 
 
 That the Rhine levied. All between 
 
 The frontlets of the fair, fresh hills 
 
 Leaped merrily the glad, young rills, 
 
 Smiling in silver as they sprang, 
 
 And merry were the notes they sang : 
 
 For they were joyful at their birth 
 
 From the cold prisons of the earth 
 
 To the warm sun, and open sky ; 
 
 And their song was all of liberty. 
 
 But the dell narrowed as we went ; 
 
 Till, 'twixt the promontories pent 
 
 It upward ran ; and the clear stream 
 
 Now forward shot, its banks between, 
 
 Fast flashing ; till from the obscure 
 
 Emerged we on a lofty moor, 
 
 Open, and shelterless, and bare, 
 
 And gently undulating far ; 
 
 With here and there a patch of pine 
 
 Breaking the smoothness of its line.
 
 140 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 [ENTRANCE TO SCHAFFHAUSEN.] 
 
 THE eve was darkening, as we climbed 
 
 The summit of the hill ; 
 
 And, cradled 'mid the mountain-pine, 
 
 The wind was lying still. 
 
 Beneath the forests shadowy 
 
 Long time our path wound on ; 
 
 One narrow strip of starry sky 
 
 Between the dark firs shone. 
 
 The drowsy gnats had ceased their song, 
 
 The birds upon the boughs were sleeping, 
 
 And stealthily across our path 
 
 The leveret was leaping. 
 
 THE ALPS FROM SCHAFFHAUSEN. 
 
 " It was drawing towards sunset when we got up to some sort of 
 garden promenade west of the town, I believe ; and high above 
 the Rhine, so as to command the open country across it to the south 
 and west. At which open country of low undulation, far into blue, 
 gazing as at one of our own distances from Malvern of Worcester- 
 shire, or Dorking of Kent, suddenly behold beyond ! 
 
 " There was no thought in any of us for a moment of their being 
 clouds. They were clear as crystal, sharp on the pure horizon sky, 
 and already tinged with rose by the sinking sun. Infinitely beyond 
 all that we had ever thought or dreamed, the seen walls of lost 
 Eden could not have been more beautiful to us ; not more awful, 
 round heaven, the walls of sacred Death." (Praterita y I. vi.) 
 
 SABBATH eve is sinking low 
 O'er the blue Rhine's sullen flow.
 
 AGE 14- A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 141 
 
 He has worn a prisoned way 
 
 'Neath the round hills' bending sway. 
 
 Far and near their sides you see 
 
 Gay with vivid greenery. 
 
 Many a branch and bough is bending 
 
 O'er the grey rocks, grim impending. 
 
 Danced the leaves on the bent twigs high, 
 
 Skeleton-like on the evening sky. 
 
 And the oaks threw wide their jagged spray 
 
 On their old, straight branches mossed and grey, 
 
 And the foam drove down on the water's hue 
 
 Like a wreath of snow on the sapphire's blue. 
 
 And a wreath of mist curled faint and far, 
 
 Where the cataract drove his dreadful war. 
 
 The Alps ! the Alps ! it is no cloud 
 
 Wreathes the plain with its paly shroud ! 
 
 The Alps ! the Alps ! Full far away 
 
 The long successive ranges lay. 
 
 Their fixed solidity of size 
 
 Told that they were not of the skies. 
 
 For could that rosy line of light, 
 
 Of unimaginable height, 
 
 The moony gleam, so far that threw 
 
 Its fixed flash above the blue 
 
 Of the far hills and Rigi's crest 
 
 Yet russet from the flamy west, 
 
 Were they not clouds, whose sudden change 
 
 Had bound them down, an icy range ? 
 
 Was not the wondrous battlement
 
 142 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 A thing of the domy firmament ? 
 
 Are they of heaven, are they of air ? 
 
 Or can earth bring forth a thing so fair ? 
 
 There's beauty in the sky-bound sea, 
 
 With its noble sweep of infinity : 
 
 There's beauty in the sun's last fire, 
 
 When he lighteth up his funeral pyre : 
 
 There is loveliness in the heaven's hue, 
 
 And there's beauty in the mountain's blue ; 
 
 But look on the Alps by the sunset quiver 
 
 And think on the moment thenceforward for ever ! 
 
 THE RHINE. 
 
 WE saw it where its billow swells 
 Beneath the ridge of Drachenfels ; 
 We saw it where its ripples ride 
 'Neath Ehrenbreitstein's beetling pride ; 
 We saw it where its whirlpools roar 
 Among the rocks of gaunt St. Goar 
 In all its aspects 'tis as fair ! 
 That aspect changes everywhere. 
 From Rhaetian and Dinaric crest, 
 From the wild waters to the west, 
 From fearful Spliigen's glaciered head, 
 The mighty torrent dashes, dread ; 
 And, swelled by every Alpine snow, 
 Now see it chase these cliffs below,
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 143 
 
 On whose high summits deeply rent 
 Rise many a fortress battlement, 
 Seeming the lords of rock and hill, 
 And mighty in their ruin still. 
 
 VIA MALA. 
 
 OUR path is on the precipice ! 
 
 How far, far down those waters hiss 
 
 That like an avalanche below 
 
 Whirl on a stream of foamy snow ! 
 
 I've seen the Rhine when in his pride, 
 
 All unresisted, undefied, 
 
 Rolled smoothly on his aged tide. 
 
 I've seen the Rhine with younger wave 
 
 O'er every obstacle to rave. 
 
 I see the Rhine in his native wild 
 
 Is still a mighty mountain-child, 
 
 How rocked upon his tortuous bed ! 
 
 Came up, from the abyss of dread, 
 
 The deafening roar with softened sound, 
 
 Murmuring up from the profound 
 
 Of distance dark, where light of day 
 
 Pierced not the thick, damp, twilight grey, 
 
 To the precipices sharp and sheer 
 
 Whence the white foam looked up so clear. 
 
 On looking o'er the barrier 
 
 From that rock-shelf, that hung so high
 
 144 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1833, 
 
 Twixt the far depth and the blue sky, 
 
 Above, beside, around there stood 
 
 The difficult crags in order rude 
 
 Soaring to the thin, cold upper air, 
 
 Looked forth unnaturally clear, 
 
 Jagged with many a piny spear. 
 
 And here and there a patch of snow 
 
 Contrasted strangely with the glow 
 
 Of the red, rough, mighty cliffs, and shed 
 
 A strange, cold light through the yawning dread 
 
 Of the abyssy gulph below. 
 
 SPLUGEN. 
 
 A LITTLE cultivated space 
 Amid the rocky wilderness, 
 It was not so conspicuous seen, 
 Where every mountain-top was green ; 
 But that a little hamlet lay, 
 With its enclosures, 'mid the array 
 Of the dark pines, most peacefully : 
 And a few cattle strayed along, 
 Browsing the grass the rocks among, 
 Ringing their bells ; and here and there, 
 Poised on rock-pinnacles i' the air, 
 Looked out from his round glassy eye 
 The mountain-goat suspiciously. 
 And, drop by drop, a little spring
 
 AGE 14- A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 145 
 
 Down the smooth crag came glistering, 
 With a sweet, tinkling sound, and fell 
 Into a mossed receptacle, 
 The long trunk of an aged fir. 
 You scarce could see the water there, 
 So clear it ran, and sparkled round, 
 Then gurgled o'er the grassy ground, 
 Marking its course by the fresh green 
 Of the grass-blades it danced between. 
 I drank, and rested, and would fain 
 Have stopped to gaze, and gaze again, 
 And rest awhile the wearied eye, 
 Wearied with wild sublimity. 
 No ! on ! the peaceful bourne is past, 
 The rocks around are closing fast : 
 Higher and higher tow'rds the heaven 
 Betwixt the cliffs our road is riven ; 
 Or twining round the hillside bare 
 With many a bend, where the high air 
 'Gan to blow cold, and damp, and keen, 
 But sharp, and pressureless. The green, 
 Though fresh upon the mountain-side, 
 Was now more thinly scattered. 
 Now might you see, in sheltered nook, 
 The snow-arch o'er the icy brook, 
 With strange, white, delicate, bridgy curve 
 That the green light shot through above. 
 And round, beneath, beside, there grew 
 The Alpine rose's heathery hue, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 A TO UK ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 That blushed along the mountain-head. 
 Was never flower so regal-red ! 
 It climbed the scathed old rocks along, 
 Looked out, the cold, white snow among, 
 And, where no other flower would blow, 
 There you might see the red rose grow. 
 
 THE SUMMIT. 
 
 OH, we are on the mountain-top ! 
 
 The clouds float by in fleecy flock, 
 
 Heavy, and dank. Around, below, 
 
 A wilderness of turf and snow, 
 
 Scanty rock -turf, or marble bare, 
 
 Without a living thing ; for there 
 
 Not a bird clove the thin, cold air 
 
 With labouring wing : the very goat 
 
 To such a height ascendeth not ; 
 
 And if the cloud's thick drapery 
 
 Clove for a moment, you would see 
 
 The long, white snow-fields on each side 
 
 Clasping the mountain-breast, or heaped 
 
 In high, wreathed hills, whence torrents leaped, 
 
 And gathering force, as down they well 
 
 To aid the swift Rhine's headlong swell. 
 
 And here and there a mouldering cross 
 
 Of dark pine, matted o'er with moss, 
 
 Hung on the precipice, to tell
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 147 
 
 Where some benighted traveller fell ; 
 
 Or where the avalanche's leap 
 
 Hurled down, with its wild thunder-sweep, 
 
 Him unexpecting ; and to pray 
 
 The passing traveller to stay, 
 
 And, looking from the precipice 
 
 Dizzily down to the abyss, 
 
 To wing to heaven one short prayer, 
 
 One, for the soul that parted there. 
 
 CHIAVENNA. 
 
 OH, softly blew the mounting breeze 
 Through Chiavenna's myrtle trees, 
 And o'er the green hills' viny spread, 
 That rose in many a rounded head 
 Beneath the Alpine rocks of red. 
 And the fresh snow had fall'n that night, 
 And sprinkled with its mantle white 
 The mountain-amphitheatre 
 That rose around us far and near, 
 Though in such far confusion hurled 
 They looked to rule o'er all the world ; 
 And the white clouds seemed to immerse 
 Another ruined universe.
 
 148 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 LAGO DI COMO. 
 
 "We took boat on the little recessed lake of Chiavenna, and 
 rowed down the whole way of waters, passing another Sunday at 
 Cadenabbia, and then, from villa to villa, across the lake, and 
 across to Como, and so to Milan by Monza. " (Pr&terita, I. vi. ) 
 
 ALL along that quiet bay 
 
 A range of little shipping lay, 
 
 With their red flags drooped downward right, 
 
 And sheltered by their awnings white 
 
 From the high sun's red, scorching look, 
 
 That o'er the living waters shook 
 
 A blaze of hot and swarthy glow. 
 
 When we had launched from below 
 
 The shade of the tall cliffs, and came 
 
 Where Como rolled his breast of flame, 
 
 Down southward winding far away, 
 
 The olive's tints of gentle grey 
 
 Stooped to his borders, from between 
 
 The hills' uncultivated green. 
 
 And orange-groves him girded round, 
 
 Blossoming o'er him fragrantly ; 
 
 And in the sleep of his profound 
 
 White villages shone silently. 
 
 And from our prow the ripple's flash 
 
 Threw forth its little sparkles paly ; 
 
 The light sound of the oar [blades'] dash 
 
 Came dancing on the waters gaily.
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 149 
 
 There was blue above, and blue below, 
 
 And the gleam of the eternal snow. 
 
 And all along the shore, where'er 
 
 The storm-winds wont to chafe the wave, 
 
 The crucifix is shrined there ; 
 
 That Christ may hear the passioned prayer 
 
 May hear, may pity, and may save ! 
 
 CADENABBIA. 
 
 OH ! coolly came, on Como's lake, 
 The lovely beams of morning mild, 
 That o'er the Lecco mountains break, 
 And red their summits piled ; 
 That, high above their olive shore 
 Their weary winter garments bore. 
 The broad boat lay along the tide ; 
 The light waves lapped its sloping side, 
 And soft perfume of orange-trees 
 By fits came on the landward breeze. 
 The trouts shot through the waters blue, 
 Like small stars in the heaven glancing ; 
 Or hid them where the broad weeds grew, 
 With wavy motion dancing. 
 Away, away, across the lake 
 How fast retires yon myrtle brake, 
 All sprinkled with a silver shower, 
 Through the dark leaves of lemon-flower.
 
 ISO A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 Clear, as if near, nor faint, though far, 
 Shines on the mountain, like a star, 
 The rock-born torrent's milky spray. 
 And many a small boat on its way 
 Urged by a breeze that bore them well, 
 Though unfelt as invisible, 
 With sunshine on their winglike sail 
 Past, like young eaglets on the gale. 
 
 The steps were broken, mossed, and steep ; 
 
 The waters sparkling, clear, and deep ; 
 
 The rock was high, the cavern dark, 
 
 Scarce lit up by the jewelled spark 
 
 Of the cold stream that under earth 
 
 Was, darkling, buried at its birth ; 
 
 Nor once its wave had sunned, nor seen 
 
 Aught but dark rock, and ice-caves green, 
 
 W'here the dark waters, as a home, 
 
 Received the torrent's churned foam. 
 
 We launched again, and downward bore 
 
 A while beside the centre shore ; 
 
 Then left the shadowy eastern lake, 
 
 Crossed through thick vines the wooded cape, 
 
 Struck the clear wave with long, light oar, 
 
 Left a white wake that sought the shore ; 
 
 High o'er the boat the awning spread, 
 
 And, quick as sunned waves flashed before, 
 
 Toward the southward fled.
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 151 
 
 MILAN CATHEDRAL. 
 
 THE heat of summer day is sped ; 
 On far Mont Rose the sun is red ; 
 And mark you Milan's marble pile 
 Glow with the mellow rays awhile ! 
 Lo, there relieved, his front so high 
 On the blue sky of Italy ! 
 While higher still above him bear, 
 And slender in proportion fair, 
 Fretted with Gothic carving well, 
 Full many a spiry pinnacle ; 
 And dazzling bright as Rosa's crest, 
 Each with his sculptured statue prest, 
 They seem to stand in that thin air 
 As on a thread of gossamer. 
 You think the evening zephyr's play 
 Could sweep them from their post away, 
 And bear them on its sportful wing 
 As autumn leaves, wild scattering. 
 
 [LAGO MAGGIORE.] 
 
 IT was an eve of summer, mild 
 
 As ever looked the pale moon through, 
 
 That the deep waters were beguiled 
 
 Into such rest, that, as the blue, 
 
 The moveless blue of the high heaven, 
 
 Such sleep was to the low lake given
 
 152 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 That, as in lethargy, it lay 
 
 Waveless and tideless, soft and grey 
 
 As chasmless glacier. Voicelessly 
 
 The little barks came gliding by 
 
 Apparently without a wind, 
 
 Leaving long ripply wakes behind. 
 
 It would have seemed a lifeless sea, 
 
 But there arose colossally, 
 
 Beyond the mist-horizon, where 
 
 The waters mingled with the air, 
 
 The spirits of gigantic things, 
 
 Lords of the earth, and air, and sky, 
 
 Where, while heaven's cloud around them flings 
 
 Concealment everlastingly, 
 
 The mountain-snow, like scattered flocks, 
 
 Speckled on high the red-ribbed rocks, 
 
 Or down the ravine's rolling blue 
 
 Its crisped surge o'er the green fields threw, 
 
 Flinging the ice-waves far and wide, 
 
 Like the tortured spray of the ocean-tide 
 
 Breaking broad on the mountain-side. 
 
 Yet was there such a softness shed 
 
 Upon the rude Alps' stormy head, 
 
 On massive wood and russet brake, 
 
 Flashing river and polished lake 
 
 So broadly stretched in sapphire sheet, 
 
 Another heaven beneath our feet 
 
 Of deeper, darker, lovelier blue, 
 
 It seemed that we were looking through
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 153 
 
 Those sether fields, so pure, so high, 
 Above the concave of the sky, 
 Where nor storm nor tempest cometh nigh, 
 And the moon she sits in her majesty. 
 
 GENOA. 
 
 Now rouse thee, ho ! For Genoa straight ! 
 
 We did not for the dawning wait ; 
 
 The stars shone pale on Novi's gate, 
 
 And on the airy Apennine, 
 
 Whose towery steeps, with morn elate, 
 
 Lay southward in a lengthened line. 
 
 And we knew, and we knew, and we knew 
 
 That from Elba to the Alps, o'er the broad sea's blue, 
 
 Where the wild waves wander and white ripples shine, 
 
 Looked the cloudy crest of the tall Apennine ! 
 
 From the torrent's barren bed, 
 
 Bound by blocks of granite red, 
 
 Came the gay cicada's song ; 
 
 Wheresoe'er the dew was dank 
 
 On the tree, the shrub, the bank, 
 
 All our scorching road along 
 
 Came the gay cicada's song. 
 
 While, beside our path, was seen 
 
 Of various trees a vista green, 
 
 Into the streamlet looking down, 
 
 Whose living crystal shot between,
 
 154 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 All trembling with the leafy gleam. 
 
 And coolly on a high arch-span 
 
 The sportive light reflected ran 
 
 Hither and thither fast ; and through 
 
 That natural-arched avenue 
 
 There showed a rich and mighty plain, 
 
 Rolling its wooded waves away ; 
 
 And, through the stretch of that champaign, 
 
 A noble river wound its way. 
 
 And on the horizon to the north 
 
 Pale gleams of icy sun came forth 
 
 From the St Bernard's fastnesses ; 
 
 White as the wreathed salt sea-spray, 
 
 With the snow-wreaths that ever press 
 
 Upon that heaven-girt boundary, 
 
 Boundary meet for Italy, 
 
 Most meet for such a lovely clime, 
 
 As it looks o'er Marengo's sea 
 
 Unto the Apennine. 
 
 'Tis sweet, a topmost mountain-ridge 
 
 Impatiently to climb, 
 
 And there to stand, and dream away 
 
 A little space of time. 
 
 Oh ! is there one remembers not 
 
 When first he saw the living deep, 
 
 With panting bosom, crimson-shot, 
 
 Call its smooth billows from their sleep, 
 
 That shout " the morn ! " from steep to steep ? 
 
 Whoe'er thou art, who hast not felt
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 155 
 
 Thou loved'st to be where sea-birds dwelt, 
 
 To wander on the weary beach, 
 
 Just on the line the wild waves reach, 
 
 Or watch the petrels flit before 
 
 The marching tempest's warning roar, 
 
 And ocean-eagles dark and proud, 
 
 And white-winged ospreys skim the cloud ; 
 
 And if thou ne'er hast felt as if 
 
 The ocean had a mind, 
 
 Nor held communion with the deep, 
 
 And converse with the wind, 
 
 When broad, black waves before it roll, 
 
 I would not think thou had'st a soul. 
 
 PASSING THE ALPS. 
 
 TO-DAY we pass the Alps, to-day 
 High o'er the barrier winds our way, 
 The barrier of boundless length ! 
 The Queen of nations, in her strength, 
 Considered its recesses lone 
 Beseeming bulwark for her throne ; 
 Until her Carthaginian foe 
 Had soiled the yet unsullied snow, 
 The eagle drove from her retreat, 
 And woke the echoes from their sleep, 
 That ne'er had answered before 
 Save to the avalanche's roar.
 
 156 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 Methinks upon the mountain-side 
 I see the billows of that tide, 
 Of men and horses headlong driven 
 As clouds before the blast of heaven, 
 That ever change their hurrying form 
 In dark foreboding of the storm ; 
 When the low sun's last light is shed 
 In glowing streaks of swarthy red ; 
 And from his cave with fitful swell 
 Wakes the wild tempest's sounding shell. 
 So see the plumes, in dark array, 
 Roll on their yet untrodden way, 
 Unbroken yet with dreadful sweep ! 
 Mark you that stormy, changeful deep ? 
 Wave after wave is eddying on 
 And crested casque and morion 
 Flash frequent as the lightning flies 
 Among the armies of the skies. 
 But fiercer storm is gathering now 
 Than ever broke on Alpine brow ; 
 And wild shall the confusion be, 
 The strife of that tremendous sea 
 When, bursting from the Alpine chain, 
 It meets the storm on Cannae's plain. 
 
 CHAMOUNI. 
 
 THE wreathing clouds are fleeting fast, 
 Deep shade upon the hills they cast,
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 157 
 
 While through their openings ever show 
 
 Enormous pyramids of snow ; 
 
 Scarce can you tell in middle air 
 
 If cloud or mountain rises there, * 
 
 Yet may you mark the glittering light 
 
 That glances from the glaciered height ; 
 
 And you may mark the shades that sever 
 
 The throne where winter sits for ever, 
 
 The avalanche's thunder rolling, 
 
 No summer heat his reign controlling ; 
 
 The gloomy tyrant in his pride 
 
 Spreads his dominion far and wide, 
 
 Till, set with many an icy gem, 
 
 Rises his cliffy diadem. 
 
 Above a steepy crag we wound 
 
 Where gloomy pines his forehead crowned ; 
 
 And heard we, with a sullen swell, 
 
 The turbid Arve dash through the dell ; 
 
 You might have thought it, moaning by, 
 
 Wail for the loss of liberty ; 
 
 For high the rocks whose mighty screen 
 
 Confined the narrow pass between, 
 
 And many a mass of granite grey 
 
 Opposed the torrent's forceful way ; 
 
 So headlong rushed the lightning tide, 
 
 No pass was there for aught beside ; 
 
 And we high o'er those cliffs so sheer 
 
 Must climb the mountain barrier,
 
 158 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 Until unfolded to the eye 
 
 The fruitful fields of Chamouni. 
 
 It lay before us, as a child 
 
 Of beauty in the desert wild ; 
 
 Full strange it seemed that thing so fair, 
 
 So fairy-like, could harbour there ; 
 
 For fields of bending corn there grew 
 
 Close to the glacier's wintry blue ; 
 
 And saw we the same sun-ray shine 
 
 On pasture gay and mountain pine, 
 
 Whose dark and spiry forests rose 
 
 Till mingled with eternal snows 
 
 That climbed into the clear blue sky 
 
 In peaked, impending majesty. 
 
 'Tis passing strange that such a place 
 
 In all its native loveliness 
 
 Should, pent within those wilds so lone, 
 
 For many ages pass unknown 
 
 Unknown save by a simple few 
 
 Who their own valley only knew, 
 
 Nor dared the mountain ridge that bound 
 
 That lovely vale with terrors round ; 
 
 That lived secluded from mankind, 
 
 Contented yet in heart and mind ; 
 
 That lived within that world alone, 
 
 A world of beauty of their own. 
 
 And now Helvetia's cliffy reign 
 
 Contains not in her Alpine chain,
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 159 
 
 In valley deep, on mountain high, 
 
 A race like those of Chamouni ; 
 
 For they have loved, at dawn of day, 
 
 To trace the chamois' fearful way, 
 
 Or on the toppling shelf of snow 
 
 With crags above and clouds below ; 
 
 Or on the peak whose spiry head 
 
 Is beetling o'er abysses dread, 
 
 Where place for foot, and grasp for hand, 
 
 Is all the hunter can command ; 
 
 Or on the glacier's rigid wave 
 
 Where he may find a chasmy grave ; 
 
 Returning with his spoils at even 
 
 Ere the red sun hath left the heaven. 
 
 [THE ARVE AT CHAMOUNI.] 
 
 I WOKE to hear the lullaby 
 
 Of the swift river rolling by, 
 
 Monotonous yet beautiful 
 
 Ever the gentle pebbly swell ! 
 
 And every ripple lent his plash 
 
 Joining in chorus with the dash 
 
 Of every mighty mountain stream 
 
 That joyful sung his morning hymn, 
 
 His iris-glory round him quivering 
 
 Where his white showery falls were shivering. 
 
 There is a melancholy smile
 
 160 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 On Nature's features fair the while, 
 
 When the dank dews descending grey 
 
 Weep for the loss of parting day ; 
 
 There is a sad and soft complaining 
 
 In the light breeze when day is waning ; 
 
 The evening star is fair and full, 
 
 But it is passing sorrowful ; 
 
 And merry is the laughing light 
 
 That blushes o'er the heaven's height, 
 
 That stream and bird and breeze and tree 
 
 For very joy sing merrily, 
 
 When wakes the mom the mountain snows 
 
 From their cold, fixed, pale repose. 
 
 It was a most enchanting vision ! 
 
 The morning mists had upward risen 
 
 And, floating in the fields of air, 
 
 Lay in long lines most calmly there. 
 
 You could not call them clouds, I wist, 
 
 They were not smoke, they were not mist ; 
 
 They were a sort of visible breeze 
 
 Touching the tops of the pine-trees 
 
 That, as we passed beneath and strook 
 
 Their stretching branches, ever shook 
 
 The laughing showers of dancing dew 
 
 Reflecting every rainbow hue, 
 
 Or clinging to the clusters dank 
 
 Of bright green moss upon the bank. 
 
 And where those pines their crests had cloven 
 
 How rich the sun was interwoven !
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. i6r 
 
 And smiling through the leafy shade 
 Among the spangled grass it played, 
 And drank the dew from flower and blade, 
 Melting the heavy drops to air 
 That so dragged down the gossamer. 
 
 [EVENING AT CHAMOUNI.j 
 
 NOT such the night whose stormy might 
 Heroic Balmat braved, 
 When, darkening on the Goute's height, 
 The tempest howled and raved. 
 Upon the mighty hill, forlorn, 
 He stood alone amid the storm ; 
 Watching the last day-gleams decay, 
 Supposing its returning ray 
 Should see him lying there asleep, 
 With Alpine snow for winding-sheet. 
 Methinks I see him, as he stood 
 Upon the ridge of snow ; 
 The battering burst of winds above, 
 The cloudy precipice below, 
 Watching the dawn. With proud delight 
 He saw that long, tempestuous night 
 Drive to the westward, and unfold 
 The ocean snow-fields, upward rolled, 
 Bright with the morning's glance of gold. 
 It past away, the tossing flood 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 162 A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1833, 
 
 Of changing vapour, headlong riding ; 
 And lo ! the untrodden summit stood 
 Accessibly beside him. 
 
 [THE SOURCE OF THE ARVERON.] 
 
 THE foam-globes round come riding fast, 
 Like snow upon the eddies cast. 
 Forth from his cold and silent tomb, 
 Forth flies the river from the gloom. 
 The bars that echoed to his roaring 
 Those icy bars have burst before him. 
 And now his chafed surges see 
 Bound high in laughing liberty ! 
 Oh, frigidly the glacier pale 
 Bears broadly to the nether vale ! 
 Right in his cliffy, shivered side 
 Yawneth a chasm high and wide, 
 And from the portal arched and strong 
 Springs gladsome forth the Arveron. 
 Seems it an ancient forteresse, 
 All shattered in its mightiness ; 
 The higher towers all rent and riven 
 The battlements are downward driven 
 And, that its form thou now couldst trace, 
 Froze to a mighty wilderness : 
 And that, its portal vast and old, 
 All arched by the crisp ice cold,
 
 AGE 14. A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 163 
 
 And through whose chasms of paly green 
 
 The shivery sunshine shot between, 
 
 Or trembling with a meteor light, 
 
 Or dancing in the billows bright, 
 
 Smiling ethereally through 
 
 The ghost-lights of the crystal blue.
 
 1 834- 
 
 AT 15 YEARS OF AGE. 
 
 THE CRYSTAL-HUNTER (May). 
 
 THE INVENTION OF QUADRILLES [Late in 1834]. 
 
 THE MONTHS (December). 
 
 165
 
 THE CRYSTAL-HUNTER. 
 
 [A FANTASY.] 
 
 THE Crystal-hunter leaped aloft, 
 
 Who shall climb so high as he 
 
 By the ribbed rock or the frozen sea ? 
 
 And he hath past the avalanche, 
 
 New-fallen though it be. 
 
 The rock-moraine he heedeth not, 
 
 Nor torrent fierce and free ; 
 
 Of these, and more, he bears the brunt ; 
 
 That granite wall upreared in front 
 
 To him no barrier must hold. 
 
 With morning strength, and bearing bold, 
 
 High on the mist-crag he must dare 
 
 A pathway in the middle air, 
 
 Where the white quartz with snowy streak 
 
 Marbles the frontlet of the peak. 
 
 ii. 
 
 One effort more ! He gains the top. 
 A moment on yon hanging rock
 
 168 THE CRYSTAL-HUNTER. 1834, 
 
 He stands to rest him, and to breathe, 
 Yet dares not cast his glance beneath ; 
 But fixed his eye, and nerved his limb, 
 To make the last decisive spring. 
 
 in. 
 
 A troubled glance the hunter threw ; 
 
 " My limb hath scaled the Cervin, Dru, 
 
 Doth it here fail me ? Rather may 
 
 The shivering granite fall away ! " 
 
 And he spoke truth. The fearful ledge, 
 
 Projecting from its parent ridge, 
 
 Wavered beneath him. One more roll ; 
 
 Ave Maria, for his soul ! 
 
 It hung a moment. Nerve thee well ! 
 
 It trembled, toppled, forward fell, 
 
 And bounded like a young gazelle 
 
 Into the air. Six thousand feet 
 
 The roaring fragment down the steep 
 
 Dashed, like a meteor. Once, twice, thrice, 
 
 Loud crashed the echoes o'er the ice. 
 
 When the last thunder died away, 
 
 The hills seemed white with ocean spray. 
 
 An avalanche from every peak 
 
 Cut the pine-forests, fierce and fleet 
 
 As whetted scythe, and downward drew 
 
 A winter's snow upon the blue 
 
 Of the calm glacier, and the sound 
 
 Rang on the wild air-waves around.
 
 AGE 15. THE CRYSTAL-HUNTER, 169 
 
 IV. 
 
 And is he fallen ? No ! as yet 
 His foot is on the smooth crag set. 
 Yet wages he the awful strife 
 Sans fear of death, or hope of life. 
 Flashes his eye with bolder flame, 
 He shakes the palsy from his frame, 
 Springs from his rock-support unsure, 
 And on the summit stands secure. 
 
 v. 
 
 In safety now, he cast his eye 
 
 Upon that spot of treachery. 
 
 Lo ! whence the falling fragment flew 
 
 A cavern ran, the granite through, 
 
 Gloomy and vast ; and from its sleep 
 
 Came sound of waters dark and deep, 
 
 Working a subterranean way. 
 
 The hunter hesitated not ; 
 
 He dashed him headlong from the rock ; 
 
 Lost at one plunge the light of day, 
 
 And through the darkness wound a way. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Lo ! gleams of pale, phosphoric light 
 Flashed broad and wavy, clear and bright ; 
 Red, purple, blue, the pointed flame 
 From many a crystal cavern came.
 
 i jo THE CRYSTAL-HUNTER. 1834, 
 
 Fretting the arched roof was seen 
 
 The speary, jet-black tourmaline ; 
 
 'Mid the white amianthus' twist 
 
 Shone rose and purple amethyst ; 
 
 And fresh the verdure, bright the green, 
 
 Where tree-like chlorite branched between. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " It is, and yet it cannot be 
 
 The daylight in this cavern cold ! " 
 
 Pierre advanced. " It is ! and see 
 
 The burnished sunbeam's glow of gold 
 
 Upon the floor of granite old ! " 
 
 Yet a step farther ; and behold 
 
 Such scene as has been dreamed of, told, 
 
 But never once believed to be ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Anzasca's vale is passing fair ; 
 
 Its chalets peaceful, meadows green ; 
 
 And who has past his childhood tjiere, 
 
 Beneath its heaven serene, 
 
 That will not think his valley-dwelling 
 
 Above all earth beside excelling ? 
 
 Oh, would that I had never seen 
 
 The smiling of these pastures green, 
 
 Nor the snow-peaks that round them rise, 
 
 These crystal streams, nor sapphire skies,
 
 AGE 15. THE CRYSTAL-HUNTER. 171 
 
 Nor lived to see a fairer wild 
 
 Than that I played in, when a child ! " 
 
 IX. 
 
 There reigned a magic silence there 
 
 Of rock and valley, earth and air. 
 
 No tinkling of the cattle-bell, 
 
 Nor song of shepherd on the fell. 
 
 The torrents waved and spoke ; the breeze 
 
 Gave sound of life among the trees ; 
 
 And one blue lake : its gentle sweep 
 
 Owned, by the ripple on its deep, 
 
 All else was slumbering and sleep. 
 
 x. 
 
 The place had no inhabitant ; 
 
 Nor through its coverts came 
 
 The step of any living thing. 
 
 It had nor memory nor name 
 
 Though a more heaven-like dwelling-place 
 
 Had never man's corrupted race. 
 
 XI. 
 
 There was a gathering of the Swiss, 
 When young Pierre had told his tale. 
 But clouds were on the mountain-brow, 
 And mist upon the vale.
 
 172 THE CRYSTAL-HUNTER. 1834, 
 
 And who shall dare the granite now 
 Amid the cloud to scale ? 
 
 XII. 
 
 And still the silver hills put on 
 Their white and cloudy girth : 
 Impenetrably dark, the heaven 
 Stooped down upon the earth ; 
 As if 'twould ne'er again be given 
 To man to see the birth 
 Of dawn upon the snowy hill, 
 Breaking broad and beautiful. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Long time had past away before 
 
 The wild east wind awoke, 
 
 And rushing on the mountain top 
 
 The cloudy phalanx broke. 
 
 Then lustrously the ruby morn 
 
 Upon the chalets rose, 
 
 And gaily o'er the glacier 
 
 The crystal-hunter goes. 
 
 A hundred men they followed him, 
 
 As firm of foot as he ; 
 
 And through the cleft and cavern cold 
 
 Past onward merrily. 
 
 And loud the shout that rang around 
 
 When opened to their view
 
 AGE 15. THE CRYSTAL-HUNTER, 173 
 
 The meadows by the icebergs bound, 
 The water's quiet blue ; 
 And up and down the silver sound 
 Along the mountain flew. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The meadows might have marvelled then 
 
 To see the chalets rise amain ; 
 
 The woods might wonder, there to see 
 
 The people of the hill-countrie 
 
 Gathered together in a spot 
 
 Till then by mankind trodden not ! 
 
 And now, who knows not Chamouni ? 
 
 Is there an eye by which its fame 
 
 Hath never once been read ? 
 
 Is there an eye to which its name 
 
 Hath not been blazoned ? 
 
 Yet this, the peopled wilderness, 
 
 The beautiful, the lone, 
 
 Was once a very dreary place, 
 
 One of the mountain-fastnesses, 
 
 Undreamed of, and unknown. 
 
 xv. 
 
 I think that nature meant it not 
 To be a celebrated spot : 
 That glacier blue, or cloudy rock, 
 Should be a sort of gazing-stock ;
 
 174 THE CRYSTAL-HUNTER. 1834, 
 
 Or that her mountain-solitude 
 
 Be broken by intrusion rude. 
 
 Oh ! I would dream, and sit, and see 
 
 The avalanches foaming free, 
 
 And watch the white and whirling cloud, 
 
 And hear the icebergs crashing loud ; 
 
 And when the silver dawning shone, 
 
 Oh ! I would climb a peak of snow, 
 
 And sit upon its topmost stone, 
 
 And see that I was all alone ! 
 
 Before May 10.
 
 AGE 15. 
 
 [THE INVENTION OF QUADRILLES.] 
 
 ONCE on a time, the wight Stupidity 
 
 For his throne trembled, 
 
 When he discovered in the brains of men 
 
 Something like thoughts assembled. 
 
 And so he searched for a plausible plan 
 
 One of validity, 
 
 And racked his brains, if rack his brains he can 
 
 None having, or a very few ! 
 
 At last he hit upon a way 
 
 For putting to rout, 
 
 And driving out 
 
 From our dull clay 
 
 These same intruders new 
 
 This Sense, these Thoughts, these Speculative ills. 
 
 What could he do ? He introduced quadrilles ! 
 
 [Late in 1834.]
 
 THE MONTHS, 
 i. 
 
 FROM your high dwellings in the realms of snow 
 
 And cloud, where many an avalanche's fall 
 Is heard resounding from the mountain's brow, 
 
 Come, ye cold winds ! at January's call, 
 On whistling wings ; and with white flakes bestrew 
 
 The earth, till February's reign restore 
 The race of torrents to their wonted flow, 
 
 Whose waves shall stand in silent ice no more ; 
 But, lashed by March's maddened winds, shall roar 
 With voice of ire, and beat the rocks on every shore. 
 
 ii. 
 Bow down your heads, ye flowers ! in gentle guise, 
 
 Before the dewy rain that April sheds, 
 Whose sun shines through her clouds with quick surprise, 
 
 Shedding soft influences on your heads ; 
 And wreathe ye round the rosy month that flies 
 
 To scatter perfumes on the path of June : 
 Till July's sun upon the mountains rise 
 
 Triumphant, and the wan and weary moon 
 Mingle her cold beams with the burning lume 
 
 That Sirius shoots through all the dreary midnight gloom. 
 
 176
 
 AGE 15. THE MONTHS. 177 
 
 III. 
 
 Rejoice ! ye fields, rejoice ! and wave with gold, 
 
 When August round her precious gifts is flinging. 
 Lo ! the crushed wain is slowly homeward rolled ; 
 
 The sunburnt reapers jocund lays are singing : 
 September's steps her juicy stores unfold, 
 
 If the Spring blossoms have not blushed in vain : 
 October's foliage yellows with his cold : 
 
 In rattling showers dark November's rain, 
 From every stormy cloud, descends amain, 
 Till keen December's snows close up the year again. 
 
 December. 
 
 VOI.. I.
 
 1 835- 
 
 AT 16 YEARS OF AGE. 
 
 JOURNAL OF A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE TO CHAMOUNI. 
 A LETTER FROM ABROAD (June 14 to September 2). 
 VENICE. [ October. ] 
 SALZBURG. [ October. ] 
 THE AVALANCHE. [Winter.} 
 THE EMIGRATION OF THE SPRITES. [Winter.} 
 THE INVASION OF THE ALPS. [Winter.} 
 CONVERSATION SUPPOSED TO BE HELD ON NEV/~ YEAR'S MORN- 
 ING, 1836 [Written December 1835].
 
 AGE 1 6, 
 
 JOURNAL OF A TOUR, 
 THROUGH FRANCE TO CHAMOUNI, 1835. 
 
 "I determined that the events and sentiments of this journey 
 should be described in a poetic diary in the style of Don Juan, art- 
 fully combined with that of Childe Harold. Two cantos of this 
 work were indeed finished carrying me across France to Chamouni 
 where I broke down, finding that I had exhausted on the Jura all 
 the descriptive terms at my disposal, and that none were left for the 
 Alps." (Prczterita, I. viii.) 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 " Now, as you need not ride with whip and spur, I 
 
 Beg very seriously to advise 
 That you should never travel in a hurry." 
 
 Thus slowly spoke the doctor,* looking wise. 
 We took the hint, and stopped at Canterbury. 
 
 Then in the morning early did we rise, 
 
 * " I had a sharp attack of pleurisy in the spring of '35, which gave 
 me much gasping pain, and put me in some danger for three or four 
 days, during which our old family physician, Dr. Walshman, and my 
 mother, defended me against the wish of all the scientific people to 
 have me bled. ' He wants all the blood he has in him to fight the 
 illness,' said the old doctor, and brought me well through, weak enough, 
 however, to claim a fortnight's nursing and petting afterwards." (Prcz- 
 terita, I. viii.)
 
 182 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 But not to see the place where old Tom Becket is, 
 Nor where the monks have heaped such heaps of 
 bones 
 
 I'm sure, enough to make any one sick it is 
 Under the old cathedral paving-stones, 
 
 Nor any other similar antiquities, 
 
 Nor the museum, rich by gifts and loans : 
 
 But 'twas to trot to cliff-encircled Dover, 
 
 And think how we could get the carriage over. 
 
 2. 
 I'm sure enough to fluster anybody 'tis 
 
 To step upon the stones of Calais quay ; 
 You meet with such a curious set of oddities ; 
 
 This way and that you turn yourself to see, 
 And then you bawl out, " Dear ! how very hot it is ! " 
 
 Then you're hauled off for they make very free, 
 Those interfering officers of custom 
 
 For they will search, ay, and they will examine ; 
 It's very impolite, but then, they must, ma'am ! 
 
 " They should not be so rough, and rout, and ram in 
 My things so ! " But they're used to it ; only trust 'em ; 
 
 You will make all things right by dint of cramming. 
 Now, sir, I hope you've finished with that box ; 
 See, here's the key ; and that's the way it locks ! 
 
 3- 
 
 There is a monument beneath the wall 
 Of Calais, as you pass along the pier,
 
 AGE 16. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 183 
 
 A plain, unsculptured, low memorial ; 
 
 Yet pass not by it, stranger ; for 'tis dear 
 A thing most precious in the sight of all 
 
 Who dwell upon the deep. There lie not here 
 The bones of those whose names thereon you see ; 
 
 But 'tis a tomb for such as have no tomb, 
 Memory of those who have no memory, 
 
 Nor even a burial-place, except the gloom 
 And ceaseless roll of the relentless sea ; 
 
 For whom no hymn was sung except the boom 
 Of waves innumerable, and the roar 
 That their grave makes upon their native shore. 
 
 Weep not for those who in their honours die, 
 
 Whom fame forbids to perish, for the brave ! 
 The mighty and the glorious ajl pass by, 
 
 All must go down into the voiceless grave. 
 Weep not for those for whom whole nations sigh, 
 
 But we will weep for those who died to save 
 The stranger perishing. Approach and read ! 
 
 There's not a name upon yon simple stone 
 But of a hero. What although the dead 
 
 Have all gone down into the deep unknown, 
 And what although their bones be scattered 
 
 All underneath the deep, salt surges thrown ? 
 They speak, for whom their being was surrendered : 
 They have been wept, and they shall be remembered.
 
 184 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 5- 
 Then by Montreuil to Abbeville we went, 
 
 An ancient place, and picturesque indeed all ; 
 The ramparts round enclose a large extent. 
 
 We put our noses into the cathedral 
 (Much tempted by the outside) with intent 
 
 To wander through the nave inside, and see 't all ; 
 But started back, and instant sought the door, 
 
 Nought seeing there but dirt and dirty people. 
 The marble chequers of the ancient floor, 
 
 Oh, citizens of Abbeville, why not sweep well ? 
 We stared about, the Gothic front before, 
 
 Surveyed the porch, and criticised the steeple, 
 Marvelled to see the carving rich, and talked of 
 The figures standing with their noses knocked off.* 
 
 6. 
 
 And so we wandered on, until the Seine 
 
 Glistened along the distance mistily, 
 Floating among the azure of the plain 
 
 Like Milky Way along the midnight sky ; 
 Which wooded hills surrounded with a chain 
 
 Of silver cliffs ; and Rouen's minster high, 
 
 * " In this journey of 1835 I first saw Rouen and Venice Pisa not 
 till 1840 ; nor could I understand the full power of any of those greater 
 scenes till much later. But for Abbeville, which is the preface and 
 interpretation of Rouen, I was ready on that sth of June, and felt 
 that here was entrance for me into immediately healthy labour and 
 joy." (Praterita, I. ix.)
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 18= 
 
 Uplifted in the air its Gothic flight 
 
 In rich array of spiry pinnacle. 
 The river, that we looked on from the height 
 
 Was full of islands green, and wooded well, 
 Like fairy dwellings in the misty light 
 
 That o'er the city and the waters fell, 
 Throwing a beautifully golden shower 
 On minster grey and tall St. Ouen's fretted tower. 
 
 7- 
 Now, every street in Rouen without fail is 
 
 Traversed by gutters of enormous size 
 (The joke about the Grecian quite stale is), 
 
 But, in such occupation of your eyes 
 Beware lest you endure the fate of Thales 
 
 Ditched in philosophising on the skies. 
 For, as you pass each antiquated street 
 
 Diverging from the Place de la Pucelle, 
 Over your head the Norman houses meet, 
 
 Black with old beams, and ornamented well 
 With huge, broad roofs to shade them from the heat ; 
 
 And you enjoy variety of smell 
 Quite infinite, in fact, you can't suppose 
 Better amusement for the eyes and nose ! 
 
 8. 
 
 Rouen is full of holes and corners curious ; 
 
 What thing you are to see next, there's no knowing ;
 
 186 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 And churches two, applied to use injurious, 
 
 Sounded with anvil-stroke and bellows blowing. 
 The rascally canaille ! it makes one furious ! 
 
 What English mob would ever think of stowing 
 Old iron 'neath the Gothic portals grey 
 
 Of holy shrine, whose niches, statueless, 
 But carved and sculptured in a wondrous way, 
 
 Remained to tell how sacred once the place? 
 Indignant at the deed, we turned away 
 
 Toward the huge Cathedral's western face. 
 I stood, upstaring at the lofty steeple 
 And ran against a dozen market-people ! 
 
 It is a marvel, though the statues cramp are, 
 
 How beautifully rich the tower is ! 
 But 'tis amazing what a sudden damper 
 
 Of all enthusiasm a shower is ! 
 Down came a thunder-cloud, which made us scamper 
 
 Under the arch that shows what hour it is. 
 I don't admire the plan of elevating 
 
 A clock upon a steeple huge and high, 
 Where really nobody can see it, bating 
 
 Those who have got a very practised eye ; 
 And people in a hurry can't stand waiting 
 
 Until the clappers tell how time goes by : 
 Besides, on Gothic work, the great, flat face 
 Looks quite incongruous, and out of place.
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 187 
 
 10 
 
 So, as the Rouen architects thought fit 
 
 To go upon a plan entirely new, 
 They built an arch on purpose, every bit ; 
 
 Chiselled it over, till gay garlands grew 
 Beneath their hands, where'er their mallets hit, 
 
 And open flowers along the granite blew 
 Unwitheringly. On the arching wide 
 
 Stood up the dial, bridging over quite 
 The narrow Norman street from side to side. 
 
 Long distance down the street the dial white 
 By every passer-by might be espied, 
 
 And looked exceeding picturesque and light. 
 In fact, there never was a plan projected 
 By which a clock could better be erected. 
 
 ii. 
 
 So, as I said before, past this we ran, 
 
 (For, in this clime, when thunder-clouds come blowing, 
 Always retire as quickly as you can) ; 
 
 Reached the hotel, and scarce had time to go in 
 Before the thunder and the rain began ; 
 
 So we sat at the window, and cried " Oh ! " when 
 There came a brilliant flash along the sky. 
 
 We, from the next day's morn till day departed, 
 Went up and down in Rouen constantly ; 
 
 Admired, and wondered that in every part it
 
 188 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 Presented rich street-pictures to the eye. 
 
 And then we ordered horses, and we darted 
 Many a long look at beautiful St. Ouen, 
 Climbing a verdant hill, the last that looks on Rouen.* 
 
 12. 
 St. Germain is a pleasant place to mope at 
 
 Uninteresting as a place may be. 
 There's a fine view 'twould be as well to stop at 
 
 Near the old palace ; and they say you see, 
 Beyond, the spires of Paris ; and I hope that 
 
 It's true, but it is only an "on dit." 
 When you've walked up the Rue la Paix at Paris, 
 
 Been to the Louvre, and the Tuileries, 
 And to Versailles, although to go so far is 
 
 A thing not quite consistent with your ease, 
 And but the mass of objects quite a bar is 
 
 To my describing what the traveller sees. 
 You who have ever been to Paris, know : 
 And you who have not been to Paris, go ! 
 
 13- 
 
 By Soissons, and by Rheims, which is much spoken of ; 
 
 There's very little in it to admire, 
 The statues' heads [indeed] are not all broken off, 
 
 The thing is well preserved, from porch to spire ; 
 
 * "Of Rouen, and its cathedral, my saying remains yet to be said, 
 if days be given me, in ' Our Fathers have told us.' The sight of them, 
 and following journey up the Seine to Paris, and then to Soissons and 
 Rheims, determined the first centre and circle of future life-work." 
 (Prceterita, I. ix.)
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 189. 
 
 And clean and neat, which is a [welcome] token of 
 
 Good order here. But many spires are higher : 
 The carving is not rich, the Gothic heavy ; 
 
 The statues miserable, not a fold 
 Of drapery well-disposed in all the bevy 
 
 Of saints, and bishops, and archbishops old 
 That line the porches grey. But in the nave I 
 
 Stared at the windows, purple, blue, and gold : 
 And the perspective's wonderfully fine, 
 When you look down the long columnar line.* 
 
 14. 
 
 So on by Chalons, where no lions are 
 
 Save four on the Hotel de Ville, we past 
 Plains in abominable flatness far 
 
 Extending westward, till we dropped at last 
 Down in a hole upon the town of Bar. 
 
 I love to see a streamlet flashing past 
 Down some still valley, in a sportive mood ; 
 
 Where the winds come to bathe themselves, and sing, 
 And dip their breezy tresses in the flood. 
 
 Tis sweet to stand and watch the quivering 
 Of wave-embarrassed beams, where pebbles strewed 
 
 Brightly along the bottom of the spring 
 
 * " By the ' carving ' I meant the niche-work, which is indeed curi- 
 ously rude at Rheims ; by the ' Gothic ' the structure and mouldings 
 of arch, which I rightly call ' heavy ' as compared with later French 
 types ; while the condemnation of the draperies meant that they were 
 not the least like those either of Rubens or Roubillac. And ten years 
 had to pass over me before I knew better." (Praterita, II. vi.)
 
 190 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 Fling, back and forward, flashes constant play 
 Of silver sunbeams that have lost their way. 
 
 Therefore we went along the river's bank 
 
 Shaded by many a broad tree, branching wide 
 Where the cool ripple made the borders dank. 
 
 And everywhere along the valley-side 
 The hill, upon its brown and sunburnt flank, 
 
 Bore full and verdant vineyards in the pride 
 Of fruitfulness. But though we hear a deal of 
 
 Italian vineyards, and the juice delightful 
 Which Spanish peasantry make every meal of; 
 
 And though a glass looks pretty when it's quite full 
 Of sparkling wine ; and though we like the feel of 
 
 A bunch of grapes just gathered with a slight pull ; 
 And though the Grecian poets praised a foamer 
 Of wine, when they were thirsty (witness Homer) ; 
 
 1 6. 
 
 Yet, sir, you would by no means think it fun, 
 
 And all your fine romantic feelings fly off, 
 When you are stewed beneath a burning sun 
 
 Panting with heat which you are like to die of, 
 The stones beneath you scorching, every one, 
 
 The walls around you white and hot, a sky of 
 Untempered, sultry, and continual blue, 
 
 The air without a motion or a sound ;
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 191 
 
 'T would put a salamander in a stew 
 
 To feel the dry reflection from the ground ! 
 
 Vine, vine, still vine, the only thing in view, 
 All vine, monotonously roasting round ! 
 
 'T would make you cry, as up the hills you scramble, 
 
 " Oh, for an English hedge of shady bramble ! " 
 
 From Bar-le-Duc we made a dash at Nancy, 
 
 Whose beautiful arcades we walked about. 
 Its buildings are, as everybody can see, 
 
 By revolutionists much knocked about. 
 There are two fountains spouting on a plan we 
 
 Admired, the triumphal arch is talked about. 
 But if you wish to see a foreign town, 
 
 Look out for every narrow, dirty street, 
 As you walk diligently up and down ; 
 
 Pop into it directly ; you will meet 
 Such combinations, houses tumbling down, 
 
 Old fragments, Gothic morsels, quite a treat, 
 Columns and cloisters, old boutiques which stink of 
 Garlic, and everything that you can think of 1 
 
 1 8. 
 
 Long had I looked, and long I looked in vain 
 For the pale mountains in the distance showing. 
 
 It was a hill that we had climbed : the plain 
 Beneath lay brightly, beautifully glowing.
 
 192 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 Is it a cloud, that yon pale, azure chain 
 
 The whole, wide, low horizon round is throwing ? 
 Oh no ! the peaks are high on Jura's crest, 
 
 The plains do worship to their distant might, 
 The clouds by day couch, drowsy, on their breast, 
 
 And the stars gleam along their flanks by night ; 
 There comes the storm to dwell, the mist to rest ; 
 
 There, like commencing spirits, from their height 
 They echo at the thunderbolt's behest, 
 That gleams with lightning eye from east to west. 
 
 19. 
 We saw them all the way to Plombieres, 
 
 Which is a pretty place ; but it is not that 
 Which makes the crowds of invalids go there. 
 
 The springs are so abominably hot, that 
 They steam and bubble in the open air, 
 
 Which makes the place look like a boiling pot, that 
 Smokes from the valley. There the baths are seen, 
 
 The water, through distilling drop by drop there, 
 Fills from large tubs with liquid warm and green. 
 
 There sit the social invalids and pop their 
 Thin yellow, noses out like lobsters lean 
 
 Boiling for dinner. Hour to hour they stop there, 
 Sleeping or reading, subjects lean and bony, 
 Engaging in a conversazione. 
 
 20. 
 
 I'm on the Jura. Lo ! the rocks are dun, 
 Although the opposite of heaven [is] bright,
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 193 
 
 And all the glare of gaudy day [is] done ; 
 
 And there is shadow mingled with the light. 
 The dazzled world is weary of the sun ; 
 
 Her eyes are shaded by the hand of night. 
 Yet beautiful, oh ! beautiful the beam 
 
 Along the azure of the plain [is] sleeping : 
 The distant hills are veiled as with a dream 
 
 Of mist, of dewy mist, their foreheads steeping. 
 The heaven is parting with the dying gleam, 
 
 And lo ! the heaven is sad, the heaven is weeping. 
 The voice of streams is heard upon the hill ; 
 No murmur from the plain, and all the world is still. 
 
 21. 
 
 Farewell, ye plains ; ye champaigns wide, farewell ! 
 
 The cloud, the storm, the mountain now for me ! 
 Mine be the deserts where the chamois dwell, 
 
 And the wide eagle soars at liberty ! 
 For Meditation on the pinnacle 
 
 Of the lone mountain sits, and loves to see 
 The beauty of the living solitude ; 
 
 And music floats around ; the mountain air 
 With a rich spirit of music is imbued ; 
 
 And every sound becomes harmonious there ; 
 The streamlet's plash, the thunder of the flood, 
 
 The flock's low tinkle o'er the pastures bare, 
 And the long roar and echo never-ending 
 
 Of distant avalanches, terrible, descending. 
 
 VOL. i. N *
 
 194 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 So, on the heights of Jura, as I said, 
 
 I stood, admiring much the setting sun 
 Taking a bath before he went to bed 
 
 Out of the mists, that, indistinct and dun, 
 And dark, and grey, and colourless as lead 
 
 Along the horizon's farthest outline run 
 Like velvet cushions for his weary head ; 
 
 Or like a sort of scene, for him to slip off 
 Behind : and a long line of ruby red 
 
 Zigzag'd along their summits, like a strip of 
 Dutch gold upon a piece of gingerbread 
 
 After the happy urchin's gnawed the tip off 
 The finger, after long deliberation 
 Between his appetite and admiration. 
 
 2 3- 
 
 So, on the heights of Jura, as I said, 
 
 I stood, and rocks around in quantities, 
 In cliffs quite high enough to turn your head, 
 
 And make you cry " How very grand it is ! " 
 Especially after coming through the dead 
 
 And stupid plains of France, where scant it is 
 Of beauty, and monotonously low. 
 
 These are those famous rocks by which the stone- 
 Examiners have all been puzzled so. 
 
 For here and there the granite blocks are strown
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 195 
 
 Over the bending mountain's softer brow ; 
 
 And some affirm that here they have been thrown 
 By mighty floods, quite large enough to heave a 
 Mountain across the valley of Geneva ! 
 
 24. 
 
 When o'er the world the conquering deluge ran, 
 
 Rolling its monster surges, far and wide, 
 O'er many an ancient mountain's lofty span, 
 
 And when upon the all-devouring tide 
 Wallowed the bulk of the leviathan 
 
 Where cultivated plains are now descried ; 
 And when the toppling peaks of mountains old 
 
 Were shook from their foundations into ruin, 
 Like shingle at the ocean's mercy rolled, 
 
 That worked, and worked, ever its work undoing, 
 Heaping up hills beneath its bosom cold, 
 
 Then wide again the devastation strewing, 
 Then the dark waves, with nothing to obstruct 'em, 
 Carried these blocks from far, and here it chucked 'em ! 
 
 25- 
 Such are the dreams of the geologist ! 
 
 He sees past ages of the world arise ; 
 Strange sounds salute his ears, prepared to list, 
 
 And wondrous sights, his rock-inspired eyes. 
 Before him solid mountains wave and twist, 
 
 And forms of life within them fossilise ;
 
 196 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 The flint invades each member as it dies, 
 
 And through the quivering corse on creeps the stone, 
 Till in the mountain's hardened heart it lies, 
 
 In nature, rock, in form, a skeleton ; 
 Much for the feature valued by the wise, 
 
 Or in some huge museum to be shown, 
 A mystery, as wonderful, at least, 
 As that of apples conjured into paste ! 
 
 26 
 
 Thus on the Jura dreamed I, with nice touch 
 
 Discriminating stones ; till, which was teasing, 
 The evening mists rolled round, with dampness such. 
 
 That, though they brought a coolness not unpleasing, 
 They made me sneeze ! Now, nothing half so much 
 
 Disturbs a person's sentiment as sneezing : 
 It takes you impudently by the nose ; 
 
 Throws your component parts into confusion ; 
 And shakes you up, as doctors shake a dose 
 
 In which they've put some villainous infusion ; 
 And the shrill echo in at both ears goes 
 
 With such a sharp [so] startling an intrusion 
 Like a fell thunder-clap by tempest brought, 
 Breaking the deep, still silence of your thought. 
 
 27. 
 
 And so I wished myself good luck, you know, 
 As many people do on like occasion :
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 197 
 
 The Swiss takes off his hat with a low bow 
 
 To you, though in the midst of conversation ; 
 And if you've caught a little cold or so, 
 
 You keep your friend just in the situation 
 Of the caparisoned dragoon, with sword on 
 
 His side, well carved in wood, with wooden steed, 
 Placed the extremest limit of a board on : 
 
 Still up and down he goes, by ball of lead 
 Which slowly swings beneath him, ever spurred on : 
 
 Thus at each sneeze your friend still bows his head ; . 
 In fact, the courteous Swiss puts off and on his 
 Hat, like a master of the ceremonies. 
 
 28. 
 A mountain walk by moonlight, people say, 
 
 Is interesting and poetical. 
 Some like to walk while twilight wastes away , 
 
 Some choose to be Peripatetic all 
 Night, and a very Stoic during day. 
 
 I am not given to be ecstatical 
 When I can't see, and therefore I descended ; 
 
 Although the night that came was scarcely night, 
 So softly with the air was starlight blended, 
 
 Like the sea's phosphor lustre, coldly bright ; 
 The peaks above me, as I downward wended, 
 
 Grew misty in the ray so faint and white ; 
 You could have thought, as, veil-like, you did view them, 
 That the moonbeams were shining through and through 
 them.
 
 198 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 29. 
 
 Then did we leave Poligny, and to Morez 
 
 We went, which is an odd place in a hole, 
 Under huge cliffs built in successive stories 
 
 Of limestone, very pretty on the whole, 
 Swiss-ish, and picturesque, and so on : nor is 
 
 It far from the green summit of the Dole 
 Which groves of tall and spiry pine embrace, 
 
 [And], like a mantle of the deepest green, 
 Shadow its sides and darken round its base : 
 
 But grassily doth rise its crest ; between 
 Its ridges and in every sheltered place 
 
 The wavy lines of whitest snow are seen : 
 Through the first summer months it wears them yet, 
 Like a large emerald in silver set. 
 
 Reader, if you are trigonome -- , no ! I 
 
 Can't manage that long word, which is a bother ; 
 Trigonometrical, I'll tell you how high 
 
 It is above the Medi - , there's another ! 
 Mediterranean ; and that will show why 
 
 The snow, although it melts some time or other, 
 Continues there so long. I've calculated 
 
 It is [five] thousand and [five] hundred feet 
 Above the sea. A summit, insulated 
 
 So high, is seldom subject to much heat ;
 
 AGE 16. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 199 
 
 And therefore, as above I have related, 
 
 Although the sun's rays may appear to beat 
 Warmly upon the grass with towering glow, 
 They cannot melt the hard heart of the snow. 
 
 3 1 - 
 And when the day is hot, at two o'clock, 
 
 And trees and flowers are loaded with the heat, 
 And walnuts tall give shelter to the flock 
 
 That cowers beneath their branches, then 'tis sweet 
 To seek the shadow of some lofty rock 
 
 With a cool streamlet gurgling at your feet ; 
 And when you've scaped the power and the might 
 
 Of the fierce sun, and coolness fills your breast, 
 Then, to look up to some enormous height 
 
 Where winter sits for ever, and whose crest 
 Is lovely with the kisses of the light, 
 
 The ruby light that loves on it to rest, 
 And to feel breezes o'er your features blown, is 
 Like eating raspberry ices at Tortoni's ! 
 
 3 2 - 
 The meadows of these hills are like the robe, 
 
 Bedight with gems, of some high emperor : 
 There's not a spot in all this lovely globe 
 
 That's more abundant in its flowery store. 
 The Alpine rose along its ridges glowed, 
 
 The mountains burning with the fiery flower.
 
 200 .-/ TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 Queen of the blossoms in the fields below, 
 
 The silver lily lifted its pale head, 
 The emulation of the mountain-snow. 
 
 Fresh emerald moss along the rocks was spread, 
 And harebells trembling as the breezes blow, 
 
 And many another flower, of blue and red, 
 Purple and gold, " too numerous to mention," 
 Half-drowned in dew, "solicited attention." 
 
 33- 
 Attention difficult to give, when we 
 
 Saw such a scene of loveliness around ; 
 Yet 'twas not much amiss to stoop, and see 
 
 The beauty of that flower-enamelled ground : 
 First, to behold the mountain's majesty, 
 
 Then, the fresh green of yonder mossy mound. 
 As when you enter some enormous pile 
 
 Gothic cathedral very ancient, 
 First, you admire what people call the style 
 
 And massive wholeness of the monument, 
 Magnificent effect of dome and aisle : 
 
 And next, you view the lavish ornament 
 That's carved on every part, but all intended 
 To make the general effect more splendid. 
 
 34- 
 
 Thus on the Jura did we gaze, beholding 
 A monument enormous everywhere :
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE, 2< 
 
 The hills, that on their shoulders seemed upholding 
 
 The high blue dome that looked above the air ; 
 Groves of dark pines their scarped crags enfolding ; 
 
 Rocks raised like castles from their summits bare, 
 In many a varied form : and then did look 
 
 At the most rich and intricate detail ; 
 The coloured marks in yonder marble rock, 
 
 The green moss that hangs o'er it like a veil, 
 The turf inlaid with flowers, the crystal brook 
 
 That ever tells its never varied tale 
 Unto the air, that sporteth with its spray, 
 And sings, and sings, and sings to it all day. 
 
 35- 
 
 Give me a broken rock, a little moss, 
 
 A barberry-tree with fixed branches clinging, 
 A stream that clearly at its bottom shows 
 
 The polished pebbles with its ripples ringing ; 
 These to be placed at Nature's sweet dispose, 
 
 And decked with grass and flowers of her bringing ;- 
 And I would ask no more ; for I would dream 
 
 Of greater things associated with these, 
 Would see a mighty river in my stream, 
 
 And, in my rock, a mountain clothed with trees. 
 For Nature's work is lovely to be seen ; 
 
 Her finished part as finished whole will please ; 
 And this should be a mountain-scene to me 
 My broken rock, my stream, and barberry-tree.
 
 202 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 36. 
 
 I'm going to turn a corner, which I've done 
 
 A hundred or a thousand times before ! 
 But this is really a distinguished one, 
 
 
 
 And needs a little preparation, for 
 The shock of it is quite enough to stun 
 
 You, like a box upon the ear, and floor 
 Your very feelings, that you will not move 
 
 A muscle of your body, nor will dare 
 To breathe the breezes that about you rove. 
 
 You could chastise the movement of the air 
 While drinking in the beauty that you love ! 
 
 Some cannot that delicious rapture share ; 
 Those who feel little, talk, and rant, and vapour, 
 Kick up their heels, prance, frisk, curvet and caper. 
 
 37- 
 
 Mighty Mont Blanc, thou hast been with me still 
 
 Wherever I have been ! In the dark night 
 I've walked upon thy visionary hill, 
 
 And have been filled with infinite delight : 
 And when I woke, it was against my will. 
 
 Though then I did not have thee in my sight, 
 Still wert thou like a guiding star, and all 
 
 My hope was to be with thee once again, 
 Hearing thy avalanches' fearful fall. 
 
 I was bound to thee by a pleasant chain,
 
 AGE 16. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 203 
 
 And I am here in answer to thy call ! 
 
 I see thee rise o'er yonder lordly plain, 
 Like nothing else i' the world ; for thou hast stood 
 Unrivalled still, thine own similitude ! 
 
 38. 
 
 Nobly the hills are set on Leman's shore, 
 
 Like to a dark and most tempestuous deep 
 Petrified into mountains ; and the power 
 
 Of silence on the lake laid it asleep 
 In the arms of the mountains, evermore 
 
 Embracing it. Down, down the torrents leap 
 Into the calm waters, with a rush immense, 
 
 Like headlong passion which appeased is straight 
 When it is met by gentle patience. 
 
 And on the other side, in purple state 
 The plains spread out their broad magnificence, 
 
 And gorgeously enrobed, and all elate 
 With corn, and vine, and forests deeply green : 
 It was a lovely sight and beauteous to be seen ! 
 
 39- 
 Now down the hill we heard our carriage roll, 
 
 In our enthusiasm sent away. 
 ' Enthusiasm is a parasol 
 
 When the sun's hot ; and on a rainy day 
 As [an] umbrella doth the rain control : 
 
 A carriage, on a long and weary way,
 
 204 A TO UR THR OUGH FR ANCE. 1 83 5 , 
 
 A cloak when it is cold, a fan in heat, 
 Patience when you are out of patience. Oh ! 
 
 Down the hillside with still delaying feet 
 How merrily and lightly did we go ! 
 
 Although the sun did fiercely on us beat, 
 And though it was some seven miles or so, 
 
 Our hearts were merry, and our limbs elastic, 
 
 Only because we were enthusiastic ! 
 
 40. 
 
 Thus we went down the Jura, and before 
 
 Our road had led us a long way past Gex, it 
 Showed us the villa, beautiful no more, 
 
 Voltaire's, and the low, humble chapel next it, 
 With this inscription placed above the door 
 
 Conspicuous, Deo Voltaire erexit, 
 Which reads a little oddish ! This we past ; 
 
 The hills increasing, nearer as we drew, 
 Till fair Geneva raised its spires at last, 
 
 Sitting beside the waters bright and blue, 
 On which, though trembling with the noontide blast, 
 
 Mont Blanc from far his silver image threw ; 
 And, nearer us, the waters did receive a 
 Clear image of the city of Geneva. 
 
 41. 
 Geneva is a rather curious town, 
 
 And few its public edifices are. How
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 205 
 
 The streets upon each side come sloping down, 
 
 Too steep for carriages, and rather narrow. 
 It has two bridges o'er the double Rhone, 
 
 Which darts beneath as swiftly as an arrow : 
 Forth from the lake it comes, with swirl and sweep, 
 
 Fed by the distant glaciers on high 
 The reservoirs that hang on every steep 
 
 And giddily the billows dance you by. 
 Thirty or forty feet the stream is deep ; 
 
 Strong as a giant ; azure as the sky ; 
 And clear and swift as a tempestuous wind they go, 
 And very like a painter's pot of indigo. 
 
 42. 
 
 Many a philosopher has scratched his pate, 
 
 Pronouncing it incomprehensible, 
 While standing on that bridge, and looking at 
 
 The waters passing by with ceaseless swell, 
 So richly, so intensely azure, that 
 
 You could imagine, ay, and very well, 
 That heaven, 'neath the sun's excessive ray, 
 
 Was melting ! All the pebbles may be counted 
 Thirty feet down, it is so clear ; some say 
 
 That even from the river's icy fount it 
 Preserves its azure colour all the way. 
 
 By this, the circumstance is not accounted 
 For, that green (like the sea-green beard of Neptune), 
 Is nothing but an optical deception.
 
 206 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 43- 
 
 In fact, it cannot be accounted for ; 
 
 And nothing on the subject can be said ! 
 There is no reason for it, any more 
 
 Than that a cherry should be white or red, 
 Or a plum blue. On all Lake Leman's shore 
 
 The waves beat bluely, save just at its head, 
 Where the Rhone rushes from its glacier-fountains, 
 
 It is a little turbid : that's no matter, 
 Only a little granite from the mountains, 
 
 Which torrents wear and tear, and lightnings shatter. 
 The river is soon cleared, nor far around stains 
 
 The purity of Leman's crystal water. 
 I'd say 'twas like a sapphire, but I've more 
 Than once used that similitude before ! 
 
 44- 
 
 The scenery about Geneva's rich. 
 
 On one side is the Jura, blue and bare ; 
 Opposite, is a valley, out of which 
 
 From huge Mont Blanc and tall Argentiere 
 Rushes the Arve, as dirty as a ditch. 
 
 And if you ask for it, they'll take you where 
 The river, in romantic situation 
 
 Between high banks of gravel, gushes down, 
 By its most foul " evil communication " 
 
 Corrupting the " good manners " of the Rhone,
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 207 
 
 Which holds aloof from all the perturbation 
 
 Of its foul neighbour, and goes down alone. 
 Some time it so continues : long it can't, 
 Which I could moralise upon, but shan't. 
 
 45- 
 And in this valley which I have just spoken of 
 
 Appears Mont Blanc, with silver summits three, 
 Whose wavy, domelike outlines finish, broken off 
 
 Into aiguilles, which by his side you see 
 Splintered, and crushed, and rent, a direful token of 
 
 Ancient convulsions of their majesty. 
 There is Jorasse, Midi, and spiry Dru, 
 
 And the Ge"ant, and high Argentiere : 
 And dark and scowlingly they look at you. 
 
 There's not a spot of vegetation there- 
 Even where the hand of winter cannot strew 
 
 Snows on the sides, so splintered and so bare, 
 With granite points upon their rugged flanks, 
 Like spears of the archangels' military ranks. 
 
 46. 
 
 But on your left a softer scene appears, 
 
 Where the lake spreads out its metallic glow. 
 
 No mountain there its craggy outline rears, 
 But all is peaceful, beautifully so ! 
 
 Some little bark in distance fades, or nears 
 With forked canvas flitting to and fro
 
 208 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 Over the dimples of its polished face. 
 
 Many a field and many a garden gay 
 Bedeck the Voirons' gently sloping base ; 
 
 At these you look and wonder, day by day, 
 So that Geneva is a pleasant place 
 
 Wherein to make a week's or fortnight's stay, 
 To rest and to enjoy yourself at ; and to 
 End a long journey, and a tiresome canto. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 WE left Geneva. 'Tis " against the grain " 
 
 From such a lovely place yourself to sever, 
 Knowing that you will not be there again 
 
 For a long time at least, and perhaps never. 
 I must confess I crossed the bridge with pain, 
 
 The bridge that arches o'er the rushing river. 
 But up my heart leaped with a bound once more 
 
 When, full in front, increasing as we went, 
 The ancient mountain stood, with glaciers hoar. 
 
 And entering the valley, which is rent 
 Between the Mole and Brezon (I before 
 
 Have spoken of it), I grew quite content, 
 And ceased to sigh, though I no more could see of 
 Geneva's spires, which there are two or three of.
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 209 
 
 2. 
 
 Our road fast brings us nearer to the Mole, 
 
 And we shall pass beneath it presently. 
 The Mole now don't confuse it with the Dole, 
 
 There is a difference between M and D 
 The Mole, I say, sir, is upon the whole 
 
 A lovely mountain as you'd wish to see. 
 Those who for height alone inclined to stickle are 
 
 May say that it is nothing of a height ; 
 " [Six] thousand feet, or something, perpendicular : 
 
 That's quite contemptible ! " and they are right ! 
 But I myself am not at all particular, 
 
 So that a mountain's aspect please the sight ; 
 And even to look up so high makes one feel 
 Stiff in the neck, from such a place as Bonneville. 
 
 And on the other side appears the Brezon, 
 
 A lofty precipice of limestone hoar. 
 Monsieur Saussure, who used to lay much stress on 
 
 Necessity of practising, before 
 You venture into danger (and with reason), 
 
 Used to climb up, and poke his numskull o'er 
 Couched on his breast, a ticklish situation 
 
 For those who are not thorough mountain-bred ! 
 Oh, Shakespeare ! when the paltry elevation 
 
 Of Dover's promontory filled thy head 
 
 VOL. i. o
 
 210 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 With dizziness and instant inspiration, 
 
 Oh, Master Shakespeare, what would'st thou have said 
 If, 'stead of poor four hundred, as at Dover, 
 Thou hadst lookt down four thousand feet, and over ? 
 
 4- 
 Tell me of crows and choughs, a pretty thing ! 
 
 Why, man, you could not see a flying cow 
 A quarter down ! or samphire-gatherer swing, 
 
 Such nonsense ! here were room and height enow 
 To hang a dozen of 'em in a string, 
 
 Nor see the topmost from the mountain's brow. 
 " Not leap upright for all beneath the moon ? " 
 
 No, nor leap backward from the verge of fear 
 For all beneath the shine of stars or sun. 
 
 " Not hear the sea ? " * why, here you could not hear 
 The echo of the chamois-hunter's gun 
 
 Fired at the bottom of the cliff so sheer ! 
 The valleys lying in the mountain's lap 
 Look like a pretty little pocket-map ! 
 
 5- 
 
 Onward we went ; and as we went, the cloud 
 Fretted the sunny sky with silver white, 
 
 * Edgar. Hark ! do you hear the sea ? 
 
 Gloucester. No, truly. . . . 
 
 Edgar. The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air 
 Show scarce so gross as beetles. Half-way down 
 Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade ! . . . 
 You are now within a foot of the extreme verge ; 
 For all beneath the moon I would not leap 
 Upright. (Kin S Lear, IV. v.)
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 211 
 
 Like Gothic carving on a temple proud ; 
 
 Pale at the first, and shadowy, and light ; 
 Then darker and distincter, like a shroud 
 
 Stooped upon each surrounding wintry height. 
 For these, where'er in heaven the clouds are lost, 
 
 Do gather them together, and wrap over 
 Their naked sides, all comfortless with frost. 
 
 Above us, wreathed like smoke the cloudy cover, 
 And half-way down the higher hills were lost ; 
 
 But here and there by chance you might discover 
 A spire of ice, incredibly on high, 
 Start like a meteor through the misty sky. 
 
 6. 
 
 Onward we went, in what's the name of it ? I 
 
 Really don't know if it has any name, 
 The vale 'twixt Cluse and Bonneville, which looks pretty 
 
 At summer's early glow ; though at the same 
 Time it is liable which is a pity 
 
 To the attacks of water, wind, and flame. 
 You ask, at its wild beauty wondering, 
 
 How can the place be such &flat as to 
 Permit the Arve its turbid wave to fling 
 
 Over its greenest fields, and to renew 
 An annual devastation ? till some king * 
 
 (A monument's built to him) passing through 
 Bonneville (just at the bridge-end mark you it ?) 
 "Aggerilnts haec flumina coercuit." 
 
 * [Charles Felix of Sardinia.]
 
 212 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 But when the fierce and unrelenting heat 
 
 Of summer doth oppress the weary stream, 
 Along the hills the rays, all burning, beat, 
 
 And the hot valley pants beneath the beam. 
 The glowing soil beneath you fires your feet 
 
 And tires your eyesight with an arid gleam. 
 Once, 'twas a marvellous and fearful thing, 
 
 The trees took fire beneath the glowing soil ; 
 Wide Conflagration spread his purple wing : 
 
 Vainly the frighted peasants pant and toil, 
 Vainly dig channels for the crystal spring ; 
 
 The helpless waters in their channel [boil], 
 And a red Autumn in an instant came, 
 And Nature withered 'neath her glance of flame. 
 
 8. 
 
 But when, in furry robe of whitest snow, 
 
 The Winter spreads her desolate dominion, 
 Forth come the winds, and loudly do they blow, 
 
 And, like an eagle poised on threatening pinion, 
 Swoop in wide circles round the plain below. 
 
 And when a tempest once begins within one 
 Of these low mountain-valleys, many a tree 
 
 That long firm-rooted in their earth has stood 
 Bows his old head before it painfully ; 
 
 And all the plain, obscured with hoary wood,
 
 AGE 16. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 213 
 
 Undulates like the variable sea : 
 
 The very river backward rolls his flood, 
 Shakes the far mountains with his echoing roar, 
 Heaves his white crest on high, and deluges his shore. 
 
 9- 
 And now the bridge of Cluse is gained and past : 
 
 Sharp turns the road to enter the ravine 
 Cloven in the hills as by some weapon vast. 
 
 The river takes his rushing path between ; 
 I would not be the Arve, to fly so fast 
 
 Through the variety of such a scene ! 
 From side to side, from crag to crag rebounding, 
 
 Sheeted with foam, as is the spurred war-horse, 
 So leaps the river, that the rocks [surrounding] 
 
 Are formed and chiselled by his constant force. 
 With bursting echoes quake the cliffs resounding, 
 
 No deepness stills, no barrier checks his course ; 
 On, ever on, the maddened billows sweep, 
 Rest in no pool, nor by their border sleep. 
 
 10. 
 
 The castellated cliffs stand o'er your head 
 
 Broken, as is the war-worn battlement. 
 But, as if its defenders were not fled, 
 
 Bristle the pines above their summits rent 
 Like a well-ordered army. Bare and red 
 
 Gleam their high flanks, and beautifully blent
 
 214 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 Are moss, and turf, and crag, wet with the spray 
 
 Of yon aerial stream, which long ago 
 We saw in distance glittering down, and gay 
 
 ^'ith its broad, beautiful, perpetual bow 
 Belted about its column, as the ray 
 
 Shoots through the dissipated drops below, 
 Like dew descending, or soft April showers 
 Bathing in sunshine the delighted flowers.* 
 
 Oh, gently sinks the eve, and red [doth] set 
 
 The sun above Sallenche's mountains blue ; 
 Like regal robes, the purple clouds beset 
 
 Mont Blanc ; but on his crest, still breaking through, 
 The last bright western rays are lingering yet, 
 
 And the white snow glows with a rosy hue. 
 And now it fades, and now is past away ; 
 
 The highest dome among the stars is white ; 
 It seems to wake, and watch the night [decay] 
 
 And kindle at the first gleam of the light, 
 A mighty beacon, to proclaim the day, 
 
 A beacon fit to meet the gladdened sight 
 Of half the world, from Gallia's plains of vine 
 Unto the distant ridge of the blue Apennine. 
 
 12. 
 
 The morning came ; delightful was the weather. 
 Up to the door with rattling rumble daundered 
 * [The Nant d'Arpenaz].
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 215 
 
 Those very strange compounds of wood and leather : 
 
 Oh, char-&-banc, thou vehicle most honoured 
 Of all the vehicles e'er put together ! 
 
 What though thy cushions be to sit upon hard, 
 And though they scarce can hold their well-squeezed 
 three, 
 
 And though thou lookest ancient, worn and brown, 
 What coach and chariot can compete with thee 
 
 That knead the mud of Pali-Mall up and down, 
 Or traverse and re-traverse constantly 
 
 The loud monotony of London-town, 
 With gilded panels, arms upon the door, 
 Footmen behind and coachmen cocked before ? 
 
 I love to see, with stately gait advancing, 
 
 The City coach, that vehicle historical, 
 With golden glare the vulgar eyes entrancing ! 
 
 I love to see the darting gig or curricle, 
 With pawing greys and harness brightly glancing ! 
 
 I love to see, with swiftness meteorical, 
 The mail-coach spurn the dust like clouds behind, 
 
 Eyes watching for it, expectation strung, 
 When " Troo, taroo, taraw ! " comes on the wind ! 
 
 I love to see a chariot float along 
 On softest springs for luxury designed, 
 
 Yieldingly firm, and delicately strong, 
 With whirling wheel divide the lagging air, 
 Steeds pant, dogs bark, boys shout, and rustics stare !
 
 2i6 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 
 
 14. 
 
 But thou, of all to me the sweetest sight, 
 
 Made for the mountain, servant of the hill, 
 Contemner of bad roads, who tak'st delight 
 
 In crushing rock and stone, be with me still, 
 Friend of my wearied limb ! For visions bright 
 
 Rise on me when I see thee ; by the rill, 
 The river, and the precipice I've past 
 
 Safely and most delightfully in thee ! 
 Thus thought I, while around me progressed fast 
 
 Bustling and packing : " Where could that thing be ? 
 And where could this have got to ? " till at last 
 
 The things must be tied on, and steadily 
 Some twenty minutes were at last allotted 
 Ere the last cord was stretched, and tightly knotted. 
 
 For the interior how we could pack into 
 
 So small a space so many things, I can't tell : 
 Baskets, and covered things that bore one's back into ; 
 
 Boxes and bundles, everything one can't well 
 Want, or may possibly require : twines cracking, too, 
 
 Things tumbling down because they cannot stand 
 
 well : 
 And "Tie that there," and then, "Tie that thing to it, 
 
 And tie this on the top of them ; and that thing 
 Must go between your legs ; ay, so you'll do it ; 
 
 And this behind your back, it is a flat thing ;
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 217 
 
 This on your knee." No, thank ye ; I'll give you it ! 
 " This in your pocket." How that bottle's rattling ! 
 
 " Dear me, it's loose ; how lucky you have spoken ! " 
 Smash ! " That's the tumbler ; hope it is not broken ! " 
 
 1 6. 
 
 We'd sixteen miles to go, or thereabout. 
 
 That, among hills, is something appetising. 
 Hadst seen us, you'd have said, I make no doubt, 
 
 Our provend-preparation was surprising : 
 With lemonade (you cannot get brown stout, 
 
 The creamy bubbles through its crystal rising), 
 Bottles of wine and brandy, butter, bread, 
 
 Cheese of the finest, cream and rich Gruyere ; 
 Strawberry jam upon our crusts to spread, 
 
 And many a purple plum, and golden pear, 
 And polished apples, blushing rosy red ; 
 
 Ham, beef, and bacon, slices rich and rare ; 
 We found our knives and dishes useful ; you 
 On carrying them may find them useful too. 
 
 Thus from St. Martin's gate we made a start, I 
 Following in the second char-a-banc, 
 
 Behind us in a third there came a party 
 Who, dashing down for Italy point-blank, 
 
 Here from their route had ventured to depart ; we 
 Found them agreeable, and free, and frank.
 
 2iS A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835 
 
 The day was very hot, and quite a smotherer, 
 That makes one drowsy, which is very odd. 
 
 Some of us, who inclined to make a pother were, 
 Quite disturbed those who were inclined to nod 
 
 By playing at bopeep with those in t'other char, 
 Popping behind the leathern curtains broad. 
 
 I was ashamed, and told them " no more gammon ! I 
 
 Think that a shocking way of going to Chamouni ! " 
 
 1 8. 
 
 There is a little and a quiet lake, 
 
 And lovely are its waters, hardly seen, 
 Lying beneath the shelter of a brake, 
 
 Like the spring turf beneath its foliage green ; 
 And where the sunbeams through the leavage break 
 
 They dive beneath its waters, with a sheen 
 Such as the moon sheds on the midnight deep, 
 
 When mermaids, issuing from their coral caves, 
 With shelly voices sing the seas to sleep, 
 
 And scatter wayward lustre o'er the waves. 
 Forth the stream issues with a hurried leap 
 
 Down its rock-girded channel, which it paves 
 With many a ball of alabaster white, 
 And marble gay, and crystal clear and bright : 
 
 19. 
 
 Not clearer than its waters, which receive 
 The image of Mont Blanc upon their breast,
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 219 
 
 Nor, with the motion of one ripple, heave 
 
 The quiet snow on his reversed crest, 
 So beautiful the scene, you might believe 
 
 A limner, 'mid the fairies deemed the best, 
 Had painted it with natural colours fair, 
 
 And put the water o'er it for a glass, 
 And framed it in, with fretwork rich and rare 
 
 Of jewel-flowers, and moss, and daisied grass. 
 How sweetly sounds the gurgle through the air 
 
 Of the cool, dancing streamlet, as you pass : 
 There is no music pleases you so truly 
 As gush of waters in the heat of July. 
 
 20. 
 
 By slow degrees and winding pathway mounting, 
 Onward we went the ancient pines among ; 
 
 By many a trickling stream and gushing fountain 
 O'er the rough bed of many a torrent strong, 
 
 Amid the wreck of Servoz' ruined mountain * 
 So beautiful in ruins. Far along, 
 
 * [" L'aiguille de la De'roche'e ou D6rotzia, a cdte" du col de ce nom. 
 C'est de la que partit en 1751 le gigantesque e'boulement, qui fit croire 
 atix gens de la vallde de Servoz que la fin du monde approchait. 
 D'autres, plus instruits, crurent qu'il s'e'tait ouvert un volcan dans cette 
 locality, et le savant Donati fut envoy6 de Turin pour 1'examiner, a ce 
 que raconte de Saussure, Voyages, 493. Des eboulements plus ou 
 moins grands ne sont pas tres-rares dans ces montagnes ; ce fut 1'un 
 d'eux qui, en 1837, combla le petit lac de Chede, 1'un des plus jolis 
 endroits de la route de Geneve a Chamonix." (Alphonse Favre, Re- 
 cherches, II. 418.) The landslip of stanza 20 is therefore that which 
 happened in 1751 ; and the lake, described in stanzas 18 and 19, was 
 destroyed by another landslip only two years after Mr. Ruskin's visit.]
 
 220 A TO UK THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 And up the ridge, amid whose granites grey 
 Struggles the Arve, you hear the constant cry 
 
 Of waters, though unseen they wind their way 
 A hundred fathom down. In front, on high 
 
 The glacier flashes in the noontide ray, 
 In the deep azure of the Alpine sky. 
 
 And now the ridge is won : rest, rest, and see 
 
 What lies beneath you now ; for there is Chamouni ! 
 
 21. 
 
 Like the Elysian fields where rove the blest, 
 
 Though round them reaches the Tartarean wild, 
 Thus lies the enchanted vale, and all that's best 
 
 Of Spring and Summer's lavished on their child. 
 While, round the space where those green meadows rest, 
 
 Is mountain-chaos, like a barrier, piled, 
 And Winter holds an undisputed reign ; 
 
 The chilly-fingered tempest-winds that go 
 On waving wings along the hills amain 
 
 Shake not a blossom in the fields below ; 
 And every sunbeam that, with effort vain, 
 
 Strikes on the cold and unrelenting snow, 
 Seeks the sweet covert of the sheltered plain 
 And lies delighted upon flowers again. 
 
 22. 
 
 The King of mountains, clothed in cloudy veil, 
 Asserts his rule upon the meadows green,
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 221 
 
 And lays his sceptre on the subject dale 
 
 Sceptre of silver ice, whose spires were seen 
 And many a minaret of crystal pale 
 
 Rising above the pines with silver sheen. 
 Oh, beautiful, how beautiful to see 
 
 The summer sun on tower and bastion beaming, 
 Their bases beaten by a frozen sea, 
 
 The moveless foam upon its breakers gleaming ; 
 And from a mighty portal constantly 
 
 A sparkling river through the valley streaming ; 
 For here's the " company " of glaciers, that is 
 " Supplying " all the world with water, gratis ! 
 
 23- 
 
 Then we descended, through the valley going, 
 
 Till the small village in the front was seen 
 With its low spire conspicuously glowing, 
 
 (For here they cover all their spires with tin, 
 Which makes them sparkle in the distance, showing 
 
 Like diamond in gentleman's breast-pin). 
 Here there are several hotels ; but which of them 
 
 May be the best, is difficult to say. 
 Accommodation may be found at each of them ; 
 
 But don't believe those fellows on the way, 
 They'll recommend the worst, if you trust speech of them ! 
 
 The " Union " seems the largest and most gay ; 
 Of which I'll give you an exact description, 
 Because it was the place of our reception.
 
 222 A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 1835, 
 
 24. 
 
 The " Union " is a building large and strong, 
 
 And somewhat English ; and its sides are graced 
 With triple row of windows broad and long ; 
 
 But at its end are wooden galleries placed, 
 Well carved and ornamented all along : 
 
 The Swiss in such things have a deal of taste. 
 And there the guides assemble, when the sun 
 
 Is red upon the mountain's topmost snow, 
 And all the labours of the day are done, 
 
 To smoke a sociable pipe or so, 
 Telling their feats of peril, one by one ; 
 
 And happiest he who oftenest below 
 His foot hath trod that crest where none can stand 
 Save in a shadow of death, his life laid in his hand. 
 
 2 5- 
 
 In the interior are lobbies three 
 
 Above each other, windows at each end, 
 From which I will not tell you what you see 
 
 At present, in a minute I intend 
 To take the panorama properly. 
 
 And in these passages I'd recommend 
 A walk for exercise in rainy weather, 
 
 They are so long, they're quite a promenade. 
 I've tramped away in them for hours together, 
 
 And measured miles before I dreamed I had.
 
 AGE 1 6. A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE. 223 
 
 And in them there are pictures which are rather 
 
 Well executed, or at least not bad, 
 Of ibex, deer, and chamois, bisons, buffaloes, 
 Which those who hunt 'em say are rather tough fellows. 
 
 26. 
 
 From this the bedrooms open, clean and neat, 
 
 Well furnished ; and which often furnish you 
 With much amusement. It is quite a treat 
 
 When you have nothing in the world to do, 
 Close to the window oped to take your seat, 
 
 And feast upon the magic of the view. 
 I went to one ; 'twas at the lobby-end, 
 
 Full opening on the gigantic hill, 
 Up went the casement : there I took my stand, 
 
 Stupidly of the scene to take my fill : 
 My head dropped somehow down upon my hand 
 
 Sleep-like ; and I became exceeding still. 
 Sometimes, when such a glory you espy, 
 The body seems to sleep, the soul goes to the eye. 
 
 2 7- 
 
 The noonday clouds across the heaven were rolled 
 
 With many a lengthened vista opening through 
 Where many a gorgeous wave of white and gold 
 [No more was written.]
 
 1835, 
 
 [A LETTER FROM ABROAD.] 
 
 PARIS, 14 June. 
 DEAR RICHARD,* 
 
 AT Paris, in the Rue la Paix, 
 
 Last Midsummer I sit reviewing ; 
 
 And think of you, now far away, 
 
 And wonder what you may be doing : 
 
 If after church at school you stay, 
 
 Not yet come back from Wales ; 
 
 Or if at Herne Hill glad and gay, 
 
 Returned from Doctor Dale's. 
 
 I love to write to you, and so, 
 
 Our journey hither well digesting 
 
 I write, altho' I hardly know 
 
 What may be chiefly interesting. 
 
 * " Some six or seven gates down the hill, a pretty lawn, shaded by 
 a low-spreading cedar, opened before an extremely neat and carefully 
 kept house, where lived two people, modest in their ways as my father 
 and mother themselves, Mr. and Mrs. Fall. Their son, Richard, was 
 a year younger than I, but already at school at Shrewsbury. . . . 
 Richard Fall was entirely good-humoured, sensible, and practical ; but 
 had no particular tastes ; a distaste, if anything, for my styles both of 
 art and poetry. . . . We got gradually accustomed to be together, 
 and far on into life were glad when any chance brought us together 
 again." (Prceterita, I. viii.) 
 
 224
 
 AGE 1 6. A LETTER FROM ABROAD. 22$ 
 
 You'll guess the time went very slow 
 
 When I was being closed and stewed up,* 
 
 But then there was a pretty go 
 
 When I escaped from being mewed up ! 
 
 The day was fine as day might be ; 
 
 We cantered down to Canterbury ; 
 
 Then on to Dover ; crossed the sea ; 
 
 Stopped, as we were not in a hurry, 
 
 At Calais ; walked about to see 
 
 The Gothic steeple, and the people : 
 
 I sketched, in manner bold and free, 
 
 A sketch at which you'll like to peep well. 
 
 Next morn was thick and dark with rain ; 
 
 But on the next we braved the weather. 
 
 Thinks I, " Oh, this is just the same, 
 
 Their harness is as bad as ever ! 
 
 Their horses still, in tail and mane, 
 
 Uncombed, unornamented brutes ! " 
 
 But soon I saw, and saw with pain, 
 
 There was a falling off in boots ! 
 
 And so to Rouen on we went, 
 
 By many a hill full gay and green ; 
 
 The evening was magnificent ; 
 
 The noble city, like a queen, 
 
 Sat in silence on the Seine 
 
 That here and there about was bent, 
 
 * [During the illness and convalescence described in the note on 
 p. 1 8 1.] 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 226 A LETTER FROM ABROAD. 1835, 
 
 With islands bright his waves between, 
 Like an emerald ornament. 
 
 HOSPICE OF GREAT ST. BERNARD : July 21. 
 9000 //. above sea. 
 
 And there I sketched me sketches three, 
 
 Though Mr. Prout has nearly spent all ! 
 
 Two of his pictures you may see 
 
 In the Annual Continental. 
 
 Up to Paris next we went all, 
 
 Seeing many an English face ; 
 
 No wonder that they there are bent all ! 
 
 'Tis a wondrous pleasant place. 
 
 On we went, enjoying rarely 
 
 Soissons, Rheims, and Bar, and Nancy, 
 
 -'Tis quite an itinerary ; 
 We saw all that people can see. 
 But nothing pleased so much my fancy 
 As when we went to Plombieres ; 
 Far as the quickest eye could scan, we 
 Saw the Jura, blue and bare. 
 And now the sun is shining bright 
 On many a lofty crag of grey ; 
 And sheets of deep snow, silver white, 
 Beating back the flashing ray. 
 Mont Velan in his white array 
 Looks o'er the little lake of blue, 
 Whose verdant waves transparent play 
 With ice and blue snow shining thro'.
 
 AGE 1 6. A LETTER FROM ABROAD. 227 
 
 SCHAFFHAUSEN, 5 August. 
 
 The afternoon was clear and fair ; 
 
 The sun shot warm along the snow ; 
 
 The clearness of the mountain air 
 
 Like crystal gleamed, above, below. 
 
 And nearer drew the Velan's glow ; 
 
 While on the mountain-side were seen 
 
 Mosses most rich, of emerald green, 
 
 Sprinkled o'er with fairy show 
 
 Of Alpine flowers ; you cannot think 
 
 How sapphire-like the gentian blue 
 
 Mixed with stars of paly pink ! 
 
 How humbly, and how low they grew 
 
 On every shadowy spot ! 
 
 And I did think of home and you, 
 
 When from beneath a rock I drew 
 
 A yo\mg forget-me-not. 
 
 The dogs all out, ay, every snout, 
 
 Upon the snow they romped and rolled ; 
 
 How they pulled each other about ! 
 
 How the young did plague the old ! 
 
 They can't bear heat, as we were told, 
 
 But love to feel the constant cold. 
 
 They welcome you, altho' they're mute, 
 
 There's such a manner in the brute ! 
 
 Aosta ! oh, how thick it is 
 
 With buildings, ancient, strange and rare :
 
 228 A LETTER FROM ABROAD. 1835, 
 
 I know you like antiquities ; 
 
 Full twelve feet thick of brick laid bare, 
 
 The ancient city-walls are there, 
 
 With a marble ornament 
 
 By the chisel sculptured fair. 
 
 Broadly are the arches bent ; 
 
 Tho', as the facings are defaced, 
 
 The old inscription is replaced. 
 
 It runs in French, to this intent : 
 
 " Stranger, respect this monument ! 
 
 Augustus Caesar in the space 
 
 Of three short twelvemonths built this place, 
 
 And called it by his name. Pass on ! " 
 
 An arch of most triumphal span 
 
 Is there, of brick as hard as stone, 
 
 With this inscription thereupon 
 
 I give it you as best I can : 
 
 " Rome, in many a weary fight 
 
 O'er the Salassians victorious,* 
 
 Built this arch, remembrance glorious 
 
 And memorial of her might." 
 
 Much were we pleased, you may be sure, 
 
 When we set off for Cormayeur ; 
 
 Fortresses arising round ; 
 
 Rocks, with ruined castles crowned ; 
 
 Vineyards green with trellised rail ; 
 
 Villages in every vale : 
 
 Alps on high of granite grey 
 
 * Anno urbis 724.
 
 AGE 1 6. A LETTER FROM ABROAD. 229 
 
 (Snow on every point appearing), 
 
 That, capped with cloud, seem far away, 
 
 Or vision-like, in heaven clearing. 
 
 Oh, the wild and worn array 
 
 Of the huge aiguilles you see 
 
 Waiting on the majesty 
 
 Of their monarch ! Oh, the gleam 
 
 Of his silver diadem ! 
 
 With a thousand glaciers set 
 
 In his summer coronet : 
 
 All the mountain's brow, they span it, 
 
 Barred about with spires of granite. 
 
 Avalanches, one and all, 
 
 Down they fall in what they call 
 
 'Tis a sort of lonely valley 
 
 Full of ice which they call " Alle"e 
 
 Blanche," but blanche it an't at all ! 
 
 Mont Blanc is lifted up on high 
 
 And shakes his snowy head into it ; 
 
 Broken ice and granite strew it, 
 
 'Tis confusion constantly. 
 
 TOP OF RIG r. 
 
 I hope all this is entertaining ! 
 I think, if lesson-time's gone by 
 And play-time's come, and it is raining, 
 It may be so, at Shrewsbury. 
 But if the sun is shining bright, 
 And games agog, when you receive it
 
 230 A LETTER FROM ABROAD. 1835, 
 
 Then fold it up, say "That's all right," 
 
 And take your cricket-bat, and leave it. 
 
 When you're knocked up, and wickets down, 
 
 And when you panting, tired, and worn are, 
 
 Then in the school-room pray sit down 
 
 In that comfortable corner. 
 
 Then will you read, while you repose, 
 
 All that I am going to tell you, 
 
 Nor think the letter is verbose, 
 
 Nor say that I'm a tiresome fellow. 
 
 From Cormayeur we backward bore, 
 
 O'er St. Bernard's Alps again, 
 
 Down upon Lake Leman's shore 
 
 Where blue waves on Chillon roar. 
 
 Round by Neufchatel we came, 
 
 By ancient Granson's towers of fame ; 
 
 And where the Rhine for evermore 
 
 'Mid columnar rocks of grey 
 
 Thunders down with lightning spray, 
 
 Underneath an iris bright, 
 
 That arches o'er with trembling light. 
 
 Tis sweet to see the peaceful thing 
 
 Around the warring waters cling, 
 
 With a sort of fearful quivering ! 
 
 Then to Zurich, where I grew sick, 
 
 Almost thought I should have stayed a 
 
 Day on purpose, but we made a 
 
 Dash at Zug, and heard fine music 
 
 Played by landlord and landlady.
 
 AGE 16. A LETTER FROM ABROAD. 231 
 
 Mont St. Gothard next we drew nigh, 
 
 By Altorf and the Lake of Uri. 
 
 The Swiss, as you know very well, 
 
 Are very fond of William Tell : 
 
 To show they've not forgot him, 
 
 A chapel's built where from the prow 
 
 Of Gessler's boat he leapt ashore, 
 
 And ditto where he shot him. 
 
 Up we went wondrous high 
 
 In the midst of the beautiful dark-blue sky, 
 
 'Mid St. Gothard's granites tall. 
 
 Down we went, 'twas fair and fine, 
 
 Down by zigzags twenty-nine, 
 
 Built upon the top of a wall 
 
 Close by a torrent's flashing fall. 
 
 HOSPICE OF THE GRIMSEL, 6000 feet high. 
 25 August, a terrible day. 
 
 I wonder much what sort of day 
 This 25th of August may be 
 In dear old England far away ! 
 Perhaps the sun is shining gaily, 
 And you may see, by Severn's stream, 
 The city basking in the beam, 
 And sloping fields with harvest white, 
 And distant mountains, bluely bright. 
 Now turn your gladdened eyes away 
 From all this landscape warmly gay ;
 
 232 A LETTER FROM ABROAD. 1835, 
 
 And read, and think, and try to see 
 The scene that August brings to me. 
 I see around me, far and wide, 
 A weary waste of mountain-side, 
 Strewed with blocks of granite bare, 
 With scanty grass-blades here and there. 
 Above, the summits tall and proud 
 Are buried in a veil of cloud ; 
 But through the misty mantle show 
 The frosty fields of new-fall'n snow. 
 Thick and constant everywhere 
 The snow-flakes ride the rolling air. 
 The mountain-torrents loudly call 
 And fret the crags with constant fall. 
 The river that receives them all 
 Lifts up his voice on high : 
 On, onward still, with constant gush, 
 The foam-flakes on his billows rush 
 Monotonously by. 
 
 The fire is bright ; the window-pane 
 Is thick with mist, and wet with rain. 
 My corner-seat, quite warm and cosy, 
 Makes me feel talkative and prosy. 
 So, where was I ? Can't tell at all, 
 So long and tiresomely I've pottered ! 
 Oh yes, descending the St. Gothard, 
 " Close by a torrent's flashing fall." 
 The interest of that pass to me 
 Lay in its mineralogy.
 
 AGE 16. A LETTER FROM ABROAD, 233 
 
 For that you do not care a fig. I 
 Will take you to the top of Rigi. 
 
 The vapours came with constant crowd ; 
 
 The hill was wrapt up in the cloud. 
 
 Hour after hour 'twas misty still, 
 
 As evening darkened on the hill. 
 
 Before the sun had left the sky 
 
 The wind stretched out his mighty hand, 
 
 And back recoiled the clouds, and nigh 
 
 Out looked the sunset luridly, 
 
 Like smoulder of a dying brand ; 
 
 And white-edged thunder-clouds around 
 
 Gave forth a hollow, groaning sound. 
 
 Then onward came the cloudy tide ; 
 
 Again it met from either side ; 
 
 And darkness came, and darkness dire, 
 
 But cleft by constant sheets of fire. 
 
 Broad blazed the lightning's blinding flash, 
 
 With following thunder's instant crash : 
 
 A pleasant night on which to be 
 
 Five thousand feet above the sea ! 
 
 At half-past three we first looked out ; 
 
 The stars were sprinkled all about \ 
 
 The sky was blue, the air was clear, 
 
 And the white moon looked wondrous near. 
 
 The golden streaks of breaking dawn 
 
 Across the smiling east were drawn. 
 
 Relieved against the brilliant light
 
 234 A LETTER FROM ABROAD. 1835, 
 
 Dark purple outlines met the sight ; 
 Which, brighter still as grew the flame, 
 Darker and purpler still became. 
 Round all the south, eternal snows 
 On dark horizon palely rose ; 
 And it was beautiful to see 
 The light increasing constantly, 
 To search the gloom in valleys deep, 
 And wake the flowers on mead and steep. 
 Come, stand upon the Kulm with me ! 
 The sun is up ; on what shines he ? 
 Mountain on mountain rosy red 
 With glacier helmet lifts his head. 
 Oh, the long chain of snow-fields white, 
 Like the pale moon of summer night, 
 Peak over peak with wondrous glow ! 
 While wreathing vapours brew below ; 
 And on the other side were seen 
 Innumerable champaigns green. 
 Far, and more far, and faint they grew, 
 Expansive, beautiful, and blue ! 
 Many a large lake beneath us set, 
 Without a breeze its waves to fret, 
 Like silver mirror distant lay 
 In many a lovely creek and bay ; 
 Reflected, sank beneath its strand 
 Dark woods and flowery meadow-land. 
 And, farther down, the mountains high, 
 And underneath, the morning sky. 
 By Pilate's side you might discern
 
 AGE 16. A LETTER FROM ABROAD 235 
 
 The glittering towers of fair Lucerne. 
 
 City, and hill, and waving wood, 
 
 Blue glaciers cold, and sparkling flood, 
 
 All that was marvellous or fair 
 
 Seen at a single glance was there. 
 
 THUN, 2 September. 
 
 I sit me down to make a whole 
 Of this long-winded rigmarole : 
 To put in order its confusion, 
 And bring the tale to a conclusion. 
 I've written it at different stations, 
 From very different elevations. 
 By writing as the journey goes on, 
 My dates are wondrously well chosen. 
 You see I've taken in its turn all ; 
 In fact, I've kept a sort of journal ; 
 Hoping it may be in my power 
 To interest a leisure hour, 
 And make your fancy cross the sea, 
 And roam in Switzerland with me.
 
 VENICE. 
 
 THE moon looks down with her benignant eyes 
 
 On the blue Apennine's exulting steep ; 
 Many a large star is trembling in the skies 
 
 Lifting its glory from the distant deep. 
 How high the marble-carved rocks arise, 
 
 Like to a lovely thought in dreamy sleep ! 
 Along the weedy step and washen door 
 
 The green and drowsy surges, moving slow, 
 Dash on the ancient, tesselated floor ; 
 
 Or still, and deep, and clear, and coldly flow 
 Beside their columned banks and sculptured shore ; 
 
 Or waken a low wailing, as in woe, 
 Where sleeps beneath the unbetraying water 
 The victim, unrevenged, of secret midnight slaughter. 
 
 The palaces shine palely through the dark, 
 
 Venice is like a monument, a tomb. 
 Dead voices sound along the sea ; and hark, 
 
 Methinks, the distant battle's fitful boom ! 
 Along the moonlit pavement of St. Mark 
 
 The restless dead seem flitting through the gloom. 
 
 There, melancholy, walks, the Doge's crown 
 
 236
 
 AGE 1 6. VENICE. 237 
 
 High on his gleaming hair, the warrior grey. 
 How passionless a chill has settled down 
 
 Upon the senator's brow ! A fiery ray 
 Gleams underneath the bravo's stormy frown ! 
 
 Who long ago have vanished, awake, 
 Now start together from the various grave, 
 Live in the silent night, and walk the conscious wave. 
 
 [Autumn.]
 
 1835. 
 
 SALZBURG. 
 
 ON Salza's quiet tide the westering sun 
 
 Gleams mildly ; and the lengthening shadows dun, 
 
 Chequered with ruddy streaks from spire and roof, 
 
 Begin to weave fair twilight's mystic woof, 
 
 Till the dim tissue, like a gorgeous veil, 
 
 Wraps the proud city, in her beauty pale. 
 
 A minute since, and in the rosy light 
 
 Dome, casement, spire, were glowing warm and bright ; 
 
 A minute since, St. Rupert's stately shrine, 
 
 Rich with the spoils of many a Harzwald mine,* 
 
 Flung back the golden glow ; now, broad and vast, 
 
 The shadows from yon ancient fortress cast, 
 
 Like the dark grasp of some barbaric power, 
 
 Their leaden empire stretch o'er roof and tower. 
 
 .Sweet is the twilight hour by Salza's strand, 
 Though no Arcadian visions grace the land : 
 Wakes not a sound that floats not sweetly by, 
 While day's last beams upon the landscape die ; 
 
 * The dome of the Cathedral of St. Rupert is covered with copper ; 
 and there are many altars and shrines in the interior, constructed of 
 different sorts of marble, brought from quarries in the vicinity. St, 
 Rupert, to whom the Cathedral is dedicated, was by birth a Scotch- 
 man. 
 
 238
 
 AGE 16. SALZBURG. 239 
 
 Low chants the fisher where the waters pour, 
 And murmuring voices melt along the shore ; 
 The plash of waves comes softly from the side 
 Of passing barge slow gliding o'er the tide ; 
 And there are sounds from city, field, and hill, 
 Shore, forest, flood ; yet mellow all and still. 
 
 But change we now the scene, ere night descend, 
 And through St. Rupert's massive portal wend. 
 Full many a shrine, bedeckt with sculpture quaint 
 Of steel-clad knight and legendary saint ; 
 Full many an altar, where the incense-cloud 
 Rose with the pealing anthem, deep and loud ; 
 And pavements worn before each marble fane 
 By knees devout (ah ! bent not all in vain !) 
 There greet the gaze ; with statues, richly wrought, 
 And noble paintings, from Ausonia brought, 
 Planned by those master-minds whose memory stands 
 The grace, the glory, of their native lands. 
 As the hard granite, 'midst some softer stone, 
 Starts from the mass, unbuttressed and alone, 
 And proudly rears its iron strength for aye, 
 While crumbling crags around it melt away ; 
 So midst the ruins of long eras gone, 
 Creative Genius holds his silent throne, 
 While lesser lights grow dim, august, sublime, 
 Gigantic looming o'er the gulfs of Time ! 
 
 {Autumn ?.]
 
 1835. 
 
 THE AVALANCHE. 
 
 The accident to which these lines allude occurred in the year 1822. 
 Several guides, with Dr. Hamel, a Russian, and an Englishman, 
 were ascending the Mont Blanc ; when they had crossed the plain 
 of ice above the Glacier of Bossons, an avalanche descended from 
 the Calotte of Mont Blanc, which swept away several of the guides, 
 two of whom were irrecoverably lost. 
 
 I. 
 
 THEY went away at break of day, 
 And brave hearts were about them, 
 Who led them on, but at the grey 
 Of eve returned without them. 
 
 n. 
 
 They're watched from yonder lowly spot 
 By many an anxious eye ; 
 Hearts that forebode they know not what, 
 And fear, they know not why. 
 
 in. 
 
 "Why left ye, lone upon the steep, 
 My child ? " the widow said : 
 "We cannot speak to those who sleep ; 
 We dwell not with the dead."
 
 AGE 16. THE A VALANCHE. 2 
 
 IV. 
 
 "Why comes not with you from the hill 
 My husband ? " said the bride : 
 Alas ! his limbs are cold and still 
 Upon the mountain-side. 
 
 v. 
 
 His boy, in undefined fright, 
 Stood shivering at her knee ; 
 " The wind is cold, the moon is white, 
 Where can my father be ? " 
 
 VI. 
 
 That night, through mourning Chamouni, 
 Shone many a midnight beam ; 
 And grieving voices wander by 
 The murmur of the stream. 
 
 VII. 
 
 They come not yet, they come not yet ! 
 The snows are deep above them, 
 Deep, very deep ; they cannot meet 
 The kiss of those who love them. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Ye avalanches, roar not loud 
 
 Upon the dreary hill : 
 
 Ye snows, spread light their mountain shroud ; 
 
 Ye tempests, peace, be still ! 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 242 THE A VALANCHE. 1835, 
 
 IX. 
 
 For there are those who cannot weep, 
 Who cannot smile, who will not sleep, 
 Lest, through the midnight's lonely gloom,* 
 The dead should rift their mountain-tomb, 
 With haggard look and fearful air, 
 To come and ask a sepulchre. 
 
 * This is a superstition very prevalent among the Swiss. 
 [Late in the year. ]
 
 AGE 16. 
 
 THE EMIGRATION OF THE 
 SPRITES. 
 
 THERE was a time, in Anglo-land, 
 When goblin grim and fairy fair, 
 On earth, in water, and in air, 
 Held undisturbed command. 
 Ye hills and groves ! lament, in grief 
 Lament, and say, woe worth the day, 
 When innovating disbelief 
 First drove the friendly sprites away ; 
 Then was there not a forest leaf 
 Without attendant elfin grey, 
 That sat to make the leaflet shake, 
 Whene'er the breezes chose to wake. 
 
 II. 
 
 There was not, then, a forest lawn 
 Where fairy ringlet was not made, 
 Before, through the surrounding shade, 
 The slanting sun bespoke the dawn. 
 There was no knoll beneath an oak 
 Where was not found, bestrewed around,
 
 244 THE EMIGRATION OF THE SPRITES. 
 
 By woodman's child (from slumber woke 
 By singing birds' delightful sound) 
 Pink tops, from mushroom tables broke, 
 And acorn cups upon the ground, 
 From which so fine, when fairies dine, 
 They always drink their dewy wine. 
 
 in. 
 
 There was no fell on misty mountain, 
 Beneath whose darkling cliffs, at night, 
 There brooded not some shadowy sprite : 
 There was no swiftly flowing fountain 
 Without a spirit to preside ; 
 And, on the moor, and by the fen, 
 The kelpie by the water-side, 
 (The bane of all wayfaring men) 
 Shook his bright torch, a faithless guide ; 
 The brownie wandered in the glen, 
 Or stalked upon the hill-top high, 
 Gigantic on the evening sky. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The shepherd, in an ecstasy, 
 Unearthly voices seemed to hear ; 
 Prophetic forms perceived, with fear, 
 To pass before his dreaming eye : 
 Perhaps beheld, at close of day, 
 With melancholy air beside him, 
 Those who, he knew, were far away :
 
 AGE 1 6. THE EMIGRATION OF THE SPRITES. 245 
 
 Or long procession slowly gliding, 
 Or voice of battle's bursting bray, 
 Or troops upon the mountain riding ; 
 And started back, and feared to see 
 A visible futurity. 
 
 v. 
 
 It was upon a starry night, 
 
 When winds were calm, and all around still, 
 
 The world of spirits called a council, 
 
 And every incorporeal wight 
 
 Came there his brother ghosts to greet : 
 
 Some shoot, like falling stars, through heaven ; 
 
 Some, like the Northern meteors, meet ; 
 
 Some ride the clouds by tempests driven ; 
 
 Some yoke the lightning's blazing sheet 
 
 By which the mountain-tops are riven ; 
 
 Some came veiled in vapours well, 
 
 Some voiceless and invisible. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A fairy, from the crowd advancing, 
 First in the conclave silence broke ; 
 " Because these mortals " (thus he spoke) 
 " Are far too blind to see us dancing, 
 They think, forsooth ! we never do. 
 Because we're of sethereal kind, 
 Formed out of mist and fed with dew, 
 Invisible as summer wind,
 
 246 THE EMIGRATION OF THE SPRITES. 1835, 
 
 The blundering, earth-polluted crew 
 All faith in us have quite resigned. 
 Fairies (if we could cross the sea) 
 Are more revered in Germany." 
 
 VII. 
 
 He spoke : the fairies sitting round 
 Cried " hear ! " Along the voice did pass, 
 And shook the dew upon the grass ; 
 And the gnat hummed in with the sound. 
 A brownie next arose and spoke 
 (A Bodsbeck resident of yore), 
 Uncouth his form and stern his look, 
 And thus inveighed he : " Now no more 
 For me, behind the chimney-nook, 
 The bowl of milk stands creaming o'er ; 
 No more upon the board I see 
 Some dainty morsel left for me. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "A certain shepherd, wont by night 
 To watch his flocks on Ettrick braes, 
 And who has sung a hundred lays, 
 Inspired by every mountain sprite, 
 Who well my old achievements knew, 
 Began to tell some pranks that I did ; 
 But, when his tale was half-way through, 
 Paused in the story undecided,
 
 AGE 1 6. THE EMIGRATION OF THE SPRITES. 247 
 
 Fearing that few would think it true, 
 And that the public would deride it. 
 He stopped, for fear of jest or banter, 
 And changed me to a Covenanter." 
 
 IX. 
 
 With waving plume of rushing flame, 
 
 A kelpie, leaping from his seat, 
 
 Thus to the council spoke : " Is't meet 
 
 That now no more the kelpie's name 
 
 Is named on any moorland stream ? 
 
 These mortals say, and think they're wise, 
 
 That my existence is a dream ; 
 
 And call my fickle fire, that flies 
 
 O'er every fen with brilliant beam, 
 
 Gases that from the waters rise ; 
 
 And now, because such stuff gets credit, 
 
 I'm never followed, seldom dreaded." 
 
 x. 
 
 A travelled goblin next arose ; 
 
 In foreign countries had been he, 
 
 Who thus addressed the company : 
 
 " Where Rhine beneath his castle's flows, 
 
 Full many a fairy train I met ; 
 
 Dancing beneath some ruined tower 
 
 Upon a basalt summit set ; 
 
 Or singing in a blossomed bower,
 
 THE EMIGRATION OF THE SPRITES. 1835, 
 
 Or swinging in a spider's net ; 
 And many a ghost, at evening hour ; 
 The peasants (an unpolished race) 
 Reverence the spirits of the place. 
 
 XI. 
 
 " So let us flit to yonder strand ; 
 
 Indeed you'll find it more amusing 
 
 Than to hear English boors abusing 
 
 The spirits of their native land." 
 
 Then from his seat each goblin bounded, 
 
 And each his mode of carriage chose ; 
 
 Wide murmurs through the forest sounded, 
 
 When th' incorporeal conclave rose. 
 
 Some whipped away, with speed unbounded, 
 
 In the red leaflets of the rose ; 
 
 And some chose bats and gnats to fly on, 
 
 Or mounted down of dandelion. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And, when they came where rolled the Rhine, 
 Whose mountain scenery much delighted them, 
 The native fairies all invited them, 
 On top of Drachenfels to dine. 
 And when the stars rode magnified 
 Above the steeples of Cologne, 
 And light along the river-side 
 From every cottage window shone ;
 
 AGE 1 6. THE EMIGRATION OF THE SPRITES. 249 
 
 They hovered o'er the gloomy tide, 
 Or sate upon the topmost stone 
 Of some old Roman tower, and there 
 Still do they haunt the mountain air. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Deserted England ! now no more 
 
 Inspiring spirits haunt thy hills ; 
 
 Nor spiritual being fills 
 
 Thy mountain aether as of yore. 
 
 No more shall fancy find its food 
 
 In torrent's song or tempest's roar ; 
 
 Or hear a voice in solitude, 
 
 On hill and dale, by sea or shore. 
 
 No more shall Scotland's peasant rude 
 
 Recount his legendary lore ; 
 
 The soul of Poesie is fled, 
 
 And Fancy's sacred fire is dead. 
 
 [Afout Christmas,]
 
 1835- 
 
 [THE INVASION OF THE ALPS.] 
 
 THE forest boughs and leaves are still ; 
 
 No sound disturbs the drowsy air ; 
 
 Save upon yon crag-buttressed hill ; 
 
 A motley crowd is gathered there, 
 
 The young, the fearless, and the fair : 
 
 And the old man with gleaming hair. 
 
 And there is lifting of hands in prayer : 
 
 For the foe down their valley his army hath led, 
 
 Village and hamlet in ruin are red : 
 
 Like a plague, through the night they passed o'er, 
 
 leaving only 
 The desolate hearth, and the hall very lonely. 
 
 [About December.}
 
 AGE 1 6. 
 
 CONVERSATION 
 
 SUPPOSED TO BE HELD BETWEEN MR. R., MRS. R., 
 MISS R., AND MASTER R., ON NEW YEAR'S 
 MORNING, 1836. 
 
 Mr. R. What a time, nearly nine ! 
 
 Miss R. Breakfast's been a long time ready. 
 
 Mrs. R. What a wind from behind ! 
 
 Mary can't have shut the door. 
 
 It is open, I am sure. 
 
 Go and shut it 
 
 Quickly. 
 Miss R. But it, 
 
 Ma'am, is shut already. 
 Mrs. R. Is it close ? I suppose, 
 
 Then, it's something in the kitchen, 
 
 Windows open, doors ajar. 
 
 Lucy, Lucy ! go and do see ! 
 Lucy. Ma'am, there an't. 
 Mrs. R. I'm sure there are. 
 
 Mr. R. You don't expect that at this time it 
 
 Can be any better ! 
 
 Climate, climate, only climate ! 
 
 This is English weather ! 
 
 Sharply here the winters close in ;
 
 252 CONVERSATION. 1835, 
 
 Here you know we can't complain 
 
 Of cold severe. 
 
 Master R. Ponds all frozen ! 
 
 Miss R. Hail and snow ! 
 Master R. Wind and rain ! 
 
 Mr. R. Glass and bones all brittle ! I 
 
 Vex myself with thinking how 
 
 Fine the weather may be now 
 
 Far away in Italy. 
 Master R. Sky so blue over you ! 
 Miss R. Moon so bright in the night ! 
 Mr. R. There come neither clouds nor storm ; 
 Master R. But lovely weather, 
 Miss R. Mild and warm. 
 
 Mrs. R. Ay,- and poison in the air ! 
 
 Better here than anywhere, 
 
 Sitting at the breakfast-table, 
 
 Reading in your easy-chair. 
 
 All your party 
 
 Strong and hearty, 
 
 Gathered round a cheerful fire 
 
 Warmly blazing : 
 
 Tis amazing 
 
 That you grumble constantly ! 
 
 Pray, what more would you desire ? 
 Mr. R. Softer air and sunnier sky, 
 
 And a clime where no one knows 
 
 What it is to blow one's nose. 
 
 Ever since the Alps we crossed
 
 AGE 1 6. CONVERSATION. 253 
 
 'Twas indeed a piece ot folly 
 We've been really tempest-tossed, 
 Drenched with rain and pinched with frost 
 Then the town's so melancholy ! 
 People come for hours to chatter 
 Over every little matter ; - 
 My prices and my wine run down, 
 This too pale, and that's too brown. 
 
 Mrs. R. Yet they come in every day for it, 
 
 And you know you make them pay for it ! 
 
 Mr. R. (without noticing the interruption^) 
 There behind my desk sit I, 
 Writing letters dull and dry ; 
 Or in the docks, I stand and shiver, 
 In the damp air of the river ; 
 Or in the docks where mingled are 
 Sawdust, cobwebs, oil and tar ; 
 Or on the quay, when London fog sheds 
 A yellow light on butts and hogsheads, 
 'Mid vessels, anchors, ropes, and bowsprits, 
 I often find myself in low spirits. 
 And in the midst of it all, I 
 Think how very different 
 Were my employments when we went 
 Travelling in Italy ; - 
 Seeing churches, large and fair, 
 
 Master R. Gems and marbles, rich and rare, 
 
 Miss R. Palaces, of pictures quite full, 
 
 Mr. R. Lakes and mountains,
 
 254 CONVERSA TION. 1835, 
 
 Master R. Oh, delightful ! 
 
 Mr. R. Distant Alps, and handsome cities ; 
 
 Is it not a thousand pities 
 
 That we are not there ? 
 Mrs. R. No, indeed ! I wonder to hear you ! 
 
 Don't you know, my dear, that here you 
 
 Have the same thing every day, 
 
 After getting through the first of it ? 
 Mr. R. Is not that just what I say ? 
 
 That's the very worst of it ! 
 
 Not change, indeed ! I wish it would ! 
 Mrs. R. I never knew a man so rude : 
 
 You interrupt so ! Here, I say, 
 
 You stoutly keep the cold at bay ; 
 
 But there, on whistling wings the wind blows 
 
 Through cracking walls and open windows, 
 
 Bringing o'er the Adriatic, 
 
 To the tourist so ecstatic, 
 
 Colds, catarrhs, and pains rheumatic ; 
 
 Or Sirocco from Morocco, 
 
 With its poison-heated breath, 
 
 Blows across the panting plain 
 
 Cholera, and plague, and death. 
 
 'T would be an improvement, truly, 
 
 On the cold that ends our year, 
 
 If you'd take the cold more coolly, 
 
 Spring will soon be here ! 
 Mr. R. [after a pause of reflectionl\ 
 
 Travelling, I must allow,
 
 AGE 16. CONVERSATION. 255 
 
 Sometimes is a little cloying ; 
 And has inconveniences, 
 Though perhaps they are not great, 
 Rising early, riding late, 
 Also, notes of one's expenses, 
 Which I always find annoying. 
 And though a wish for sunnier skies 
 Sometimes in one's mind will rise, 
 Vexing one a little, I 
 Think that one may spend as gay 
 A Christmas or a New-Year's-Day 
 In England, as in Italy ! 
 
 [End of December.]
 
 EDITOR'S NOTES TO VOL. I. 
 BIOGRAPHICAL DATA; 1826-1835. 
 
 1826; John Ruskin, 7 years of age on Feb. 8 : living at 
 Herne Hill, wrote ' Needless Alarm " (Jan.) : visit to 
 the English Lakes and Perth (Summer) suggested 
 "Glen of Glenfarg'and "Farewell to Scotland" (6V//.). 
 Returning to Herne Hill, studied Latin Grammar under 
 his mother ; began " Harry and Lucy " (Sept. or Oct.) ; 
 wrote "Time" (Dec.). 
 
 1827 ; age 8. At Herne Hill, continued " Harry and Lucy." 
 In the summer, visited Perth ; fever at Dunkeld ; frosty 
 morning in Glenfarg suggested " Papa, how pretty those 
 icicles are" (Autumn). At Herne Hill, wrote "The 
 Sun" (Dec.). His cousin Jessie died this winter. 
 
 1828 ; age 9. At Herne Hill, versified Scott's " Monastery ;" 
 began "Eudosia;" wrote "May," "Skiddaw," "Der- 
 wentwater" (May). Visited Plymouth and West of 
 England (Summer). Death of his aunts at Croydon 
 and Perth : his cousin Mary Richardson adopted by his 
 parents. At Herne Hill, continued "Eudosia," and 
 wrote New Year's poem, "Highland Music" (Dec. 31). 
 
 1829; age 10. At Herne Hill, wrote "The Yellow Fog." 
 Illness in spring. First sketching from nature at Seven- 
 
 VOL. I. 2 57 R
 
 258 BIOGRAPHICAL DATA. 
 
 oaks, Tunbridge {middle of July), Canterbury, Dover, 
 and Battle Abbey. During the tour, wrote " The Moon " 
 (June), "Happiness" (July), and probably "Sabbath 
 Morning" (Aug.). At Herne Hill, "Shagram" and 
 "Etna" (Oct.\ and New Year's poem (Dec. 30). 
 
 1830; age n. At Herne Hill, wrote "Trafalgar" (Feb. 12) 
 and "Dash" (Ap. 30). Left London with his parents 
 and cousin Mary (Tuesday, May 18) for the tour, partly 
 described in "The Iteriad." Saw the colleges at Ox- 
 ford, pictures at Blenheim, Worcester Cathedral, Shak- 
 spere's home, Warwick Castle, Birmingham, Lichfield 
 Cathedral, Matlock, Dovedale, and Haddon Hall (Friday, 
 June i \). Travelled by Manchester, Liverpool, Pres- 
 ton, Lancaster and Kendal to Low-wood, Windermere 
 (Tuesday, June 22) ; on the Wednesday to Keswick ; on 
 Sunday saw Southey at Crosthwaite Church ; on Mon- 
 day, excursion to Buttermere ; on Wednesday (June 30), 
 ascended Skiddaw ; on Thursday, went to Patterdale ; on 
 Friday, returned to Low-wood ; on Sunday (July 4), 
 saw Wordsworth at Rydal Chapel ; on Tuesday, took 
 excursion to Coniston. They left the Lakes on Monday, 
 July 12, for Kendal and Kirkby Lonsdale ; revisited 
 Haddon (July 16), and returned by Gloucester and 
 Cheltenham to Herne Hill (Sept). During this tour he 
 wrote a diary, collaborating with Mary Richardson ; and 
 several poems not connected with the journey ; also, 
 probably, " Haddon Hall." On returning to Herne 
 Hill, began Greek under Dr. Andrews ; copied Cruik- 
 shank's illustrations to Grimm ; wrote " On the Death of 
 my Cousin Jessie" (Sept. 9) and "Ascent of Skiddaw" 
 (Nov.-Dec.).
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL DATA. 259 
 
 1831 ; age 12. At Herne Hill, continued "Iteriad;" took 
 first drawing-lessons from Mr. Runciman ; and began to 
 read Byron. Wrote " The Fairies " and " To my Heart " 
 (Jan.}; ' : Poesie"and "Want of a Subject" (March). 
 On May 25 started with the family on the Welsh tour, 
 travelling by way of Dover, Margate, Southampton, 
 Portsmouth, Stonehenge, Hereford, Devil's Bridge, 
 Hafod, Aberystwith, Dolgelly, Cader Idris, Barmouth, 
 Harlech, Carnarvon, Snowdon, Conway, Llangollen, 
 Chepstow, Clifton, Newbury (July 21). During the 
 tour, wrote " To the Ocean Spirits '' and " To the 
 Fairies" (June 20); and, suggested by Wales, on his 
 return to Herne Hill, " The Eternal Hills " (Off.), " Moon- 
 light on the Mountains " (Nov. 30), and " Harlech Castle " 
 (Dec. ?). Began Mathematics (and probably French) 
 under Mr. Rowbotham ; wrote " Bedtime" (Sepi.) in the 
 metre of "Don Juan ;" "To the Memory of Scott" (on 
 Scott's leaving, invalided, for Italy) ; " The Site of 
 Babylon," in imitation of Byron's " Hebrew Melodies ;" 
 ( Nov. 6,) and " Sonnet to a Cloud " (end of year). 
 
 1832; age 13. At Herne Hill, wrote " Sonnet : Morning," 
 and " Southern Breeze " (Feb.) ; " Destruction of Pha- 
 raoh (March). Travelled to Sevenoaks and Dover 
 (May '22-June 30) ; was at Hastings on July 19. On 
 returning home wrote "The Grave of the Poet" (on 
 hearing of Scott's death). This year he drew trees at 
 Dulwich, and the bridge at Herne Hill ; and began a 
 friendship with Richard Fall. 
 
 1833; age 14. At Herne Hill, wrote "I weary for the 
 torrent leaping" (Winter). On his birthday (Feb. 8) 
 received Rogers' " Italy," and began to study Turner.
 
 260 BIOGRAPHICAL DATA. 
 
 About this time was introduced to James Hogg and 
 Samuel Rogers, by Thomas Pringle. For summer tour, 
 travelled with Mr. and Mrs. Ruskin, Mary Richardson, 
 Ann his nurse, and Salvador their courier, to Calais 
 (May n), Cassel, Lille, Tournay, Brussels, Heidelberg, 
 Constance, Spliigen, Milan, Genoa, Turin, Great St. 
 Bernard, Vevey, Interlachen, Chamouni, and Paris, 
 where he copied Rembrandt's "Last Supper" in the 
 Louvre, and met the Domecq family for the first time. 
 Returned to Herne Hill (Sep. 21), and began a poetical 
 account of the tour, with illustrations. Went to school 
 to the Rev. Thomas Dale. 
 
 1834; age 15. His cousin Charles Richardson, who had 
 introduced him to Pringle, drowned (Jan. 22). At 
 Herne Hill, for birthday gift, he received Saussure's 
 "Voyages dans les Alpes" (Feb. 8). Published in 
 Loudon's Mag. of Natural History a " Letter on the 
 Colour of the Rhine" and "Mont Blanc and Twisted 
 Strata" (March}. Continued the "Tour," and wrote 
 "The Crystal-Hunter" (May). This spring, he was 
 studying poetry after Byron, drawing after Turner, 
 architecture after Prout, geology after Saussure, and 
 mineralogy after Jameson and at the British Museum ; 
 beside school-work, classics under Dale, and mathe- 
 matics under Rowbotham. During the summer holi- 
 days he visited Windsor, Oxford, Cheltenham, Malvern, 
 and Salisbury (June y>-July 23) ; then returned to 
 school ; and wrote " Invention of Quadrilles " and " The 
 Months "(Dec.). 
 
 1835 5 a & e I0 - At Herne Hill ; taken from school by pleurisy 
 in Spring. Left home for summer tour (June 2) by
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL DATA. 261 
 
 Dover, Calais, Paris, Geneva, Chamouni, St. Bernard, 
 Aosta, Swiss Oberland, Bormio, Verona, Venice (Oct. 6- 
 12), Salzburg, Carlsruhe, Strasburg, Paris, London (Dec. 
 10). During the tour, sketched and wrote " Poetical 
 Journal," "Letter to R. Fall," &c. Published in 
 "Friendship's Offering" for 1835 "Salzburg," "Ander- 
 nach," " St. Goar ; " wrote " The Avalanche," " Emigra- 
 tion of the Sprites," c., and " Conversation " (Dec.} at 
 Herne Hill. With this year closes the first period of 
 his poetical activity, that of his boyhood, in which he 
 remained under the influences of a limited domestic 
 circle, and wrote verse on the models afforded him by 
 Scott and Byron.
 
 PRELIMINARY NOTE ON THE ORIGINAL 
 MSS. OF THE POEMS. 
 
 THE early writings of Mr. Ruskin were carefully preserved 
 by his parents, who encouraged, though they do not seem 
 to have supervised, the production of his juvenile attempts. 
 In only two or three instances a word has been crossed out, 
 and an emendation substituted by his father ; but in several 
 places his father and mother have inserted dates into the 
 note-books, or endorsed a loose sheet "John's Poetry, 
 (Date.)" There is no trace of subsequent revision on the 
 author's part of any poems, except those which actually 
 appeared in print during his youth. 
 
 Some of the MSS. are very beautifully written in "copper- 
 plate" or "print" hand : indeed, the fair-copying seems to 
 have been quite as important a business as the invention 
 and versification, which were apparently spontaneous, and 
 to judge from the comparatively small amount of interlinea- 
 tion almost improvisational. But in the rough original 
 drafts the writing is difficult to read ; and, as a single poem 
 was often composed in fragments, at different times, inter- 
 spersed between all sorts of other writings, the MSS. present 
 a very chaotic appearance. 
 
 After some study of these ancient Codices, and of their 
 Palaeography for they present a complete sequence of the 
 phases of Mr. Ruskin's handwriting from the earliest period 
 the Editor has been able to disentangle their contents 
 and to arrange them in chronological order ; which it may 
 262
 
 ORIGINAL MSS. 263 
 
 be worth while to note here, both for the assistance of 
 future students, and in justification of the hypothetical dates 
 assigned to some of the poems. 
 
 No. I. Ruled note-book, bound in red leather ; 6 by nearly 
 4 inches ; pp. 88, of which 77 (numbered wrongly up to 96) 
 contain " Harry and Lucy" (See Prcnterita, I. iii. p. 77), and 
 the rest, the six poems mentioned in the introduction to the 
 present work. The book was begun in September or October 
 1826, and finished in January 1827. One at least of the 
 poems had been written before the book was begun. 
 
 No. II. Home-made book of plain paper, no cover; 
 nearly 6J by 4 inches ; pp. 32 ; consisting in rough drafts of 
 poems, "Harry and Lucy," and letters to his father and Mrs. 
 Monro, also notes on sermons. This belongs to the first 
 half of 1828. 
 
 No. III. Red book, uniform with No. I., but containing 
 only 84 pp. This is confusedly put together at different 
 periods, (a.) The title-page bears " Harry and Lucy (&c.) 
 vol. 1 1.," begun in 1827 as sequel to No. I. (b.) Simultaneously 
 with the prose story, on p. 62 begins a collection of previously 
 written verses under the heading " poetry discriptive " (sic), 
 lasting to p. 70. (c.) Then the author turned back, and, about 
 New Year 1828, to judge from the writing as well as from the 
 entries, continued the same collection from p. 21 to p. 33. 
 (d.) Then he filled the end of the volume with two " Books" 
 of " The Monastery " (Scott's novel versified), (e.) Having 
 reached the last page, he turned back to p. 52 for " Book 3 ; :> 
 and "Book 4" ends incomplete on p. 58. This poem was 
 written during the first half of 1828. (/) Finally, in March 
 1829 this volume was taken up again, and pp. 36-50 were filled 
 with miscellaneous verses. No. III., therefore, dates from 
 1827 to 1829. 
 
 No. IV. Red book, similar to Nos. I. and III., containing
 
 264 ORIGINAL MSS. 
 
 title and pp. 17 of " Eudosia" (Praet. I. iii. p. 89-91) ; followed 
 by Mr. J. J. Ruskin's catalogue, compiled in after years, of 
 his son's published poems ; beginning with the entry, " On 
 Skiddaw and Derwentwater ; page 72, Spiritual Times, Feby. 
 
 1831, age ii years ;" and ending in the year 1846 with the 
 note that he had been "compared with Goethe, Coleridge, 
 J. Taylor, Burke, Juvenal." The end of the book contains 
 mineralogy-notes, as mentioned in Praet. (loc. cit.*). 
 
 No. V. Ruled note-book ; greenish marbled boards, half- 
 bound in chocolate calf, gilt ; 7j by 4| inches ; pp. 
 167 numbered, of which 138 are rilled in a very neat 
 "print" hand : no title ; p. i headed " MISCELLANEOUS 
 POETRY," to which his father has subjoined " By J. Ruskin 
 from 10 years to \ i to 1 2 to of age? The poems are 
 
 nearly all dated, and range from June 28, 1829, to February 
 
 1832. The dates are probably those of production, for 
 they are slightly inconsecutive ; which would not be the 
 case if they were dates of entry ; and, when chronologically 
 arranged, they tally with the order of the first drafts in No. VI. 
 
 No. VI. Tall ruled note-book ; 12^ by 4^ inches ; red- 
 dish marbled paper covers, of which one and 57 pp. have 
 been torn away, leaving pp. 80. This was a rough-copy 
 book, begun at the commencement of 1830. It contains first 
 drafts of poems copied into No. V., and of the " Iteriad" and 
 others ; and serves until September or October \^\. Later 
 on, in 1838, it was taken up and used for a rough copy of the 
 " Essay on the Comparative Advantages of Music and 
 Painting" (on which see Praet. I. xii. p. 409). And at the 
 end, the book being turned round, begins anew with a prose 
 story, " Macbeth." It has an incomplete Index, showing that 
 pp. 1-57 contained poems, now lost, on "Bonaparte," "Greek," 
 "Ghost of Old English Roast-beef," "Ivanhoe," "London 
 Streets," " Lion," " To Myself," " Revolution," " Senna Tea,"
 
 ORIGINAL MSS. 265 
 
 " Salamis ; " as well as a number of poems preserved in No. 
 V., dating from February i, 1830, to January 5, 1831. 
 
 No. VII. (in the possession of Mrs. Arthur Severn). 
 Ruled note-book, greenish marbled paper boards, half-bound 
 in dark blue leather ; 10 by 8 inches : pp. 1-115 occupied 
 by the " Iteriad," and six more by an unfinished poem on 
 "Athens." The whole is written in a fair "copperplate" 
 hand, with flourished Gothic titles. The book, being 
 reversed, contains pp. 23 of Mr. Ruskin's writings copied in 
 a female hand, perhaps Mary Richardson's, beginning with 
 "The Rhine" and "Chamouni" from the tour of 1833 ; also 
 part of " Mont Blanc " and the " Rhyming Letter to Richard 
 Fall '' (end of Oct. 1836). It contains also an essay which I 
 make no doubt is the long-lost Reply to the Criticism on 
 Turner in Blackwood^s Magazine, " of which," its author said 
 in 1886, " I wish I could now find any fragment " (Prast. I. xii. 
 p. 400). It bears date Oct. i. 1836, and is highly interesting 
 as the germ, both in subject and style, of " Modern Painters." 
 I am happy in the permission to print this and other early 
 unpublished prose writings in a companion volume to these 
 Poems. 
 
 No. VIII. Ruled note-book ; reddish paper boards, half- 
 bound in black leather ; 9^ by 5| inches ; pp. 272 and fly- 
 leaves. This contains rough copies of poems, beginning at 
 the end of September or early in October 1831, and ending in 
 1 838, including the prose story of " Leoni " in first draft. The 
 volume is very confused in its stratification ; but I believe 
 the following to be the true sequence of the formations 
 unconformably exposed in it : (a.) Pp. 1-53 contain verses 
 ranging from the later part of " Iteriad, Book 4," up to " The 
 Month of May" (May 10, 1833). (6.) After the summer tour 
 to Switzerland and Italy it was taken up again, and the prose 
 and verse description of that tour was begun on p. 54. (c.)
 
 266 ORIGINAL MSS. 
 
 But before half the projected quantity had been composed, 
 the author had occasion to write the New Year's address to 
 his father for 1835 ; and so, leaving as many pages as he 
 calculated would be full space for the remainder of the 
 "Tour," he began afresh on p. 168 with the poem from 
 which " The Months " is extracted ; following with other 
 occasional verse, including "The Avalanche" and "The 
 Emigration of the Sprites," and ending with the Birthday 
 Address to his Father, May 10, 1836. (d.} Meanwhile, the 
 1833 "Tour" was abandoned, and was followed on p. 106 by 
 some poems descriptive of anew Tour that of 1835 ; an< 3, 
 on entering 1836, by the poems to "Adele" and "Leoni." 
 This section ends, on p. 167, with " Memory ; The Summer 
 Wind is soft and kind," dated in " Poems. J. R." &tat. 19 
 (z.., 1838). It is a surprise to go on from that, on the next 
 page, to section (c.) in earlier handwriting, and a poem 
 indubitably written in 1834! (e.) Farther, on p. 194, the un- 
 finished play of " Marcolini " was begun, in the summer of 
 1 836, and occupies the next section of the volume. (/) Lastly, 
 the book, being reversed, contains occasional poems which I 
 attribute to May-December, 1834 ; i.e., written after the 
 Birthday-poem of 1834, which occurs in the middle of 
 the 1833 "Tour," and before he began his plan of the fresh 
 section (c.). This section (/) includes "The Invention of 
 Quadrilles." 
 
 No. IX. (in the possession of Mrs. Arthur Severn). 
 Thick, ruled note-book ; brown marbled boards, half-bound 
 in bluish-green leather ; 8 by 6\ inches. Pp. 1-21 are prepared 
 for alphabetical index : pp. 22-23 contain quotations in Mrs. 
 J. J. Ruskin's handwriting, " Advice of his mother to the 
 Chevalier Bayard," and I. Chronicles xxviii. 9. Pp. 25-111, 
 about a third of the book, were filled with prose and verse in 
 a good "copperplate" hand, and with inserted drawings
 
 ORIGINAL MSS. 267 
 
 illustrating his tour of the year before. It is about this book 
 that he says (Prast. I. iv. p. 130), "The winter of '33, and 
 what time I could steal to amuse myself in, out of '34, were 
 spent in composing, writing fair, and drawing vignettes for 
 the decoration of the aforesaid poetical account of our tour, 
 in imitation of Rogers' Italy. The drawings were made on 
 separate pieces of paper and pasted into the books [book] ; 
 many have since been taken out, others are there for which 
 the verses were never written, for I had spent my fervour 
 before I got up the Rhine. I leave the unfinished folly in 
 Joanie's care, that none but friends may see it." The " folly " 
 I understand to refer, not to the literary quality of the verse, 
 but to the miscalculation and miscarriage of an ambitious 
 project ; for, as I find from a list at the end of No. VIII., he 
 had intended this volume to contain about 150 pieces of 
 prose and poetry, and at least as many drawings ! And in 
 saying he did not follow his tour beyond the Rhine, Mr. 
 Ruskin refers only to this volume, No. IX. I am pretty 
 certain that he was not aware of the amount of material 
 existing in rough copies at the back of his book-shelves. 
 
 No. X. (in the possession of Mrs. Arthur Severn). A 
 cover containing : 
 
 (a.) "Journal [by John Ruskin and Mary Richardson] of a 
 Tour to the Lakes in 1830;" in two paper books = 44 + 20 
 pages. 
 
 (b.) The Poetical Tour of 1835, in two paper books ; Canto 
 I. = pp. 26 ; Canto II. as far as carried = pp. 10. 
 
 (c.} Letter from Abroad to Richard Fall (1835) > 5 large 
 pages, double columns. 
 
 (d.) " Conversation supposed to be held on New Year's Day 
 1836"; pp. 6. 
 
 (<?.) Letter to his Father in verse ; the original, with post- 
 mark (MR. 31, 1836).
 
 268 ORIGINAL J/.V.S. 
 
 (/) Part of " The Exile of St. Helena ; " a poem sent in for 
 the Newdigate Prize, 1838; lines i-i85 = pp. 7. 
 
 And other papers, not in verse. 
 
 No. XI. An envelope containing collected loose papers, 
 including poems ; fair-copied by the author as presents, 
 chiefly to his father ; or copied by others. These are 
 useful as fixing dates in some cases ; e.g., the New Year's 
 Address, 1827 ; and as supplying corrections or additions in 
 other instances. 
 
 Of the published poems, only a few exist in MS. Most of 
 them have been transcribed by Miss Allen from Mr. George 
 Allen's copy of "Poems. J. R. "; privately printed, 1850; 
 now excessively rare. " Salzburg," " Andernach," and " St. 
 Goar" have been taken from " Friendship's Offering" (1835) 
 the copy inscribed " To John Ruskin from the Publishers." 
 Full account of the published poems has been given by Mr. 
 Thomas J. Wise in his " Bibliography of the Writings, &c., of 
 John Ruskin," part i, Sept. 1889 (printed for subscribers 
 only) ; of which I have gladly availed myself.
 
 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 
 
 Note I. "Glenfarg" (p. 4). In "The Queen of the Air" 
 (iii. 12) Mr. Ruskin gives January I, 1828, as the date (and Mr. 
 Wise follows him ; " Bibliography," p. 29). But this is the 
 date of the next poem in Note-book No. III. ; from the 
 description of which, above, it appears that section (c.) in 
 which " Glenfarg " occurs though written about January 
 1828, contains poems of earlier periods; that preceding 
 " Glenfarg " goes so far back as Jamiary i , 1827,35 proved by a 
 copy in No. XI. Now "The Sun," though dated January I, 
 1828, was prepared beforehand as a New Year's Address to 
 his father ; and thus the earlier piece, " Glenfarg," is put at 
 any rate into 1827. The occasion was some autumnal frost, 
 occurring before the author had left Scotland after his 
 summer visit ; though the poem was probably written on 
 his return to Herne Hill for the winter. (See Biographical 
 Data for 1827.) 
 
 Note II. "The Sun" (p. ^). "Constantly in the garden 
 when the weather was fine, my time there was passed chiefly 
 in close watching of the ways of plants. I had not the 
 smallest taste for growing them, or taking care of them. . . . 
 The old gardener only came once a week, for what sweeping 
 and weeding needed doing ; I was fain to learn to sweep 
 the walks with him, but was discouraged and shamed by his 
 always doing the bits that I had done over again. I was 
 extremely fond of digging holes, but that form of gardening 
 was not allowed." (Prceterita, I. iii. p. 88.) 
 
 269
 
 270 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 
 
 Note III. "May" (p. 9). Under the instructions which 
 have been given him, the Editor prints only such verses as 
 are of sufficient completeness to stand alone. Birthday 
 Addresses usually need lopping to be presentable as 
 "poems;" and the right place to print these fragments in 
 extenso, if ever this be called for, would be in a detailed 
 biography. One piece, sketched in the spring of 1828, 
 before May, and fair-copied in No. III. section (f.\ March 
 1829, contains some lines appreciating the British man-of- 
 war as in " Harbours of England," and too prophetic of 
 " The Crown of Wild Olive " to be altogether omitted : 
 
 " Those sails that sometimes pleasing zephyrs fill, 
 And sometimes Boreas blows with all his force, 
 Now at the present time look fair and sweet ; 
 But who can tell the future in a day ? 
 Perhaps those sails are tattered rags, shot through 
 With many a ball, half dropping from their yards. 
 Then those destructive rows of huge machines, 
 Destructive in their making, in their use I 
 O War, what causes thee the curse of man ? 
 'Tis avarice and ambition, kindred vices ; 
 'Tis vice, not war, that is the curse of man." 
 
 Note IV. "Skiddaw" (p. 11), "Derwentwater" (p. 13). 
 These are deciphered from note-book No. II., where they 
 occur in a childish and almost illegible scribble. I have not 
 mended them, except by omission of incomplete parts, and 
 by the insertion of the author's own after-thoughts : e.g. 
 line 19 of " Skiddaw " in its final state occurs among the lines 
 of " Derwentwater." These pieces were written at Herne 
 Hill, I think in May, as part of the Birthday Address ; for 
 after them comes the conclusion of the Birthday letter : 
 ... "a letter on your birthday, but this is merely wasting 
 paper when there is no need for it. But, papa, alas I have 
 just been up to mama, and she says not to make such a long
 
 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 271 
 
 letter. So, papa, good-bye, Mr. papa, your affectionate son 
 John Ruskin." 
 
 The references to Eolus and Penelope seem to show that 
 he was familiar not only with Pope's Iliad (Prset. I. iii. p. 76), 
 but with the Odyssey also. The octosyllabics concluding 
 "Derwentwater" show the early influence of Scott, as the 
 heroic couplets of " Eudosia " betray that of Pope. Mr. 
 Ruskin does not say anything of Southey as an influence of 
 his early years ; no doubt he received no impulse of thought 
 from the then Laureate, but he admired him (see " Iteriad," 
 p. 63), and probably caught the anapaestic metres from him. 
 
 To the poems of this year must be added the New Year's 
 gift to his father, dated December 31, 1828, facsimiled in 
 the Illustrated Edition as specimen of handwriting ; perhaps 
 a fragment of "The Monastery" (see the novel, chap. 35). 
 
 [HIGHLAND Music.] 
 
 But frightened was the preacher when 
 
 He heard all echoed down the glen 
 
 The music of the clans. 
 
 'Twas martial music, and around 
 
 Well echoed was the beauteous sound 
 
 By valley, rock, and hill. 
 
 It died away upon his ear, 
 
 And spread abroad, now there, now here, 
 
 And gathered strength again. (Qy. for amain ?) 
 
 And now the flute, and now the drum, 
 
 Mingling upon the winds they come, 
 
 And die away again. 
 
 Another strain, another sound, 
 
 And now 'tis silence all around ; 
 
 The martial music's gone ! 
 
 Note in his father's handwriting : " See Chronicles of the 
 Canongate ; the Flute & Drum& Bagpipe ; the latter having 
 no Beauty."
 
 272 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 
 
 Note V. " Eudosia " (p. 15). The date given by the author 
 (Prset. I. iii. p. 89) is that of the beginning of the fair copy. 
 As far as Book I. line 160 was drafted before the Birthday 
 Address in Note-book No. II. "Eudosia" must therefore 
 have been commenced in March or April 1828. The name 
 no doubt refers to the " good gifts " of creation, as the 
 motto on the title-page is " These are Thy glorious works, 
 Parent of good, Almighty ! Thine this universal frame, Thus 
 wondrous fair. Milton/' The author's account of Book I. 
 quoted on p. 15 and in notes pp. 16, 17, is fully sufficient ; 
 for the rest of it is simply a versified catalogue of flowers 
 and trees ; perorating, however, in a description of the oak 
 and its uses, not without a touch of epic feeling : 
 
 " Now the broad Oak displays its arms around ; 
 Its brawny branches, spreading, sweep the ground : 
 Its kingly arms their giant strength display, 
 With their great breadth e'en hide the face of day, 
 Broad round the mother-trunk they throw their arms, 
 And dare encounter dreadful war's alarms. 
 To their assistance England owes her strength ; 
 The spoils of nations come from their dread length. 
 Of them are formed PIngland's wooden walls ; 
 With them surrounded, England loves Mars' calls. . . . 
 In vain the waves attempt to break their sides, 
 And to o'erwhelm them with the rushing tides. . . . 
 Foaming with rage that mortals should surmount 
 The wat'ry deep, and sail the seas about. 
 Unheeding of their rage, the Oak sails on ; 
 And Britons triumphing o'er seas are borne." 
 
 Note VI. " The Yellow Fog " (p. 23). This may have been 
 written at any time during the winter of 1828-29. It was 
 copied in March 1829 in Note-book No. III. section (/.). In 
 line 15, "new light " may be read " now light." 
 
 Note VII. "The Moon" (p. 25). Now begins Note-book
 
 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 273 
 
 No. V., in which the materials are carefully written and 
 frequently dated. 
 
 Note VIII. "Shagram"(p. 28). A Shetland pony: the 
 name is taken from Sir W. Scott's " Monastery," chap iii., 
 and occurs in the paraphrase of the novel, a childish 
 production of the early part of 1828, already mentioned ; of 
 which the following is a sufficient specimen : 
 
 " There was a bog, and o'er this part, 
 Where even the light-footed hart 
 Go could not, for his feet in clay 
 Sank as he sped him on his way, 
 Not only Martin had to pass, 
 But e'en good Shagram with the lass. . . . 
 He to Shagram began to say 
 ' Come on, good horse, and let us see 
 Whether thou'lt obey thy master, me ! 
 Come on ! ' But Shagram would not ?o ; 
 Though mute, he very well said ' No ! ' " 
 
 Note IX. "Trafalgar" (p. 35). In the last line but one, 
 "weep" may be a clerical error for "grieve." There is no 
 rough copy. In the early part of 1830 the author's poetical 
 activity was great ; but "Trafalgar" and "Dash" are much 
 the most presentable pieces of this period. 
 
 Note X. " Dash " (p. 38). Dash was the brown and white 
 spaniel belonging to Mrs. Richardson of Croydon, the 
 author's aunt. At her death, he lay beside her body and on 
 her coffin till they were taken away from him ; then he was 
 brought to Herne Hill in 1828 (Praet. I. v. p. 140). He was 
 still in existence in 1836 ; see the "Letter" of March 31 in 
 that year (vol. ii. of these Poems), and was several times 
 commemorated in verse. One bit of doggerel, though not 
 finding a place among the poems of 1831, may be admitted 
 
 VOL I. s *
 
 274 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 
 
 here, as illustrating Mr. Ruskin's fondness for dogs (and 
 compare the story of Wisie, Prast. II. ii. pp. 52-57) : 
 
 DASH. 
 
 Was there ever like Dashy 
 
 A dog half so splashy, 
 Amid all the species canine? 
 
 Or even so good ? 
 
 Though he sometimes with mud 
 Defiles his hair, white as the foam of the brine : 
 Xo other dog equals the dog that is mine ! 
 
 There never was one 
 
 Half so good at a bone, 
 So nicely and neatly he gnaws it, 
 
 As if he were starving ! 
 
 He don't care a farthing 
 
 For the spit and the phiz [fizzj of the cat as she claws it ; 
 But from her our Dash most successfully paws it. 
 
 3- 
 
 Upon his hind-legs 
 Most politely he begs 
 For any nice stray bit of meat, sir ! 
 You cannot resist him, 
 He has such a system, 
 
 As he looks in your face, and jumps up on your seat, sir, 
 That you give him a nice bit of something to eat, sir ! 
 
 4- 
 
 With looks quite appealing, 
 It quite hurts his feeling 
 If you but attempt for to fondle the cat, sir ; 
 Kicks up such a row ; 
 And he will not allow 
 
 That you should but give her a comforting pat, sir, 
 Or stroke, while she's purring, the fur of her back, sir !
 
 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 275 
 
 5- 
 
 He has been a fine round ; 
 For twice lost and twice found 
 In the city of London the dogy has been. 
 And you may opine, sir, 
 How tedious the time, sir, 
 
 Appeared, that rolled on those same periods between ! 
 What a pity he can't tell us what he has seen ! 
 
 But I've said enough, 
 Lest you think this a puff, 
 
 Though he really deserveth to be, sir, a bust in ; * 
 And if you want my name, 
 Why, dear sir, I remain 
 A praiser of Dash, who delighteth a crust in, 
 And your most obedient, wee Johnny Ruskin. 
 16 November, 1831, 
 
 Note XI. "Haddon Hall" (p. 39). The itinerary and 
 dates of this tour of 1830 are given in the Biographical 
 Notes above. The author in his prose journal mentions the 
 old armour at Haddon, and "the dishes which were served 
 up to table, of which the largest was about two feet long, and 
 the smallest about a foot. These were soup-plates, which at 
 a moderate computation were about eight inches deep. We 
 then," he continues, " saw the great dining-hall. There were 
 originally three large tables, but only one remains." 
 
 Note XII. "On the Death of my Cousin Jessie" (p. 40.) 
 She died nearly three years earlier. The poem is Ossianic 
 in form, as being intended for the ' coronach ' of a Highland 
 girl (Prset. I. iii. 95). 
 
 Note XIII. "Ascent of Skiddaw" (p. 42). Wednesday, 
 
 * i.e. " to be put in a bust," sculptured.
 
 276 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 
 
 June 30, 1830. In his journal the author notes, "We were 
 very fortunate in the day, as we might have gone up a 
 hundred times, and not have had the view we had that day." 
 The brandy (pp. 42, 45), chronicled with juvenile roguishness, 
 was in those times indispensable to so adventurous an ascent. 
 Jonathan Otley in his guide-book (1834) describing Skiddaw, 
 mentions " the brandy, which with a few biscuits or sand- 
 wiches a provident guide will not fail to recommend." The 
 poem was written at Herne Hill in November and December, 
 and copied into Note-book No. V. above the date of Dec. 26, 
 1830. Afterwards the rest of the tour was versified and 
 the whole copied into No. VII., under the title of "The 
 Iteriad ; or, Three Weeks among the Lakes." This, if printed 
 without omissions, would occupy a space quite dispropor- 
 tionate to its value. I have selected the passages " From 
 Kendal to Low-wood" as far as " Keswick " from Book I., 
 written January to March; " Friar's Crag" as far as " Butter- 
 mere" from Book II., written March to May; and the rest 
 from Book IV., written July to September, 
 
 Note XIV. "Kendal to Low-wood " (p. 51). Tuesday, June 
 22, 1830. "Low-wood Inn was then little more than a 
 country cottage, and Ambleside a rural village ; and the 
 absolute peace and bliss which any one who cared for grassy 
 hills and for sweet waters might find at every footstep, and 
 at every turn of crag or bend of bay, was totally unlike any- 
 thing I ever saw, or read of elsewhere " (Prast. I. v. p. 155). 
 
 Note XV. " Grasmere " (p. 54). The journey from Low- 
 wood by Grasmere and Thirlmere to Keswick was taken on 
 Wednesday, June 23, 1 830. They put up at the " Royal 
 Oak," at Keswick.
 
 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 
 
 277 
 
 Note XVI. "Friar's Crag and Castle-head" (p. 58) were 
 visited on Thursday, June 24, 1830. The author had already 
 received strong impressions of the same scenery. "The 
 first thing which I remember as an event in life (meaning, 
 I suppose, my first memory of things afterwards chiefly 
 precious to me, Prset. I. v. p. 154) was being taken by my 
 nurse to the brow of Friar's Crag on Derwentwater ; the 
 intense joy, mingled with awe, that I had in looking through 
 the hollows in the mossy roots, over the crag, into the dark 
 lake, has associated itself more or less with all twining roots 
 of trees ever since " (Modern Painters, vol. iii. part iv. chap. 
 I 7i J 3)- The next day they visited Crosthwaite's museum, 
 and the Saturday was wet. 
 
 Note XVII. "Hero-worship" (p. 63). Mary Richardson 
 writes in the Journal : " On Sunday we went to Crosthwaite 
 Church, which is about a mile from the town of Keswick. 
 We were put into a seat that would have been a disgrace 
 to any church, it was so dirty." At this point her cousin 
 John takes up the story, and continues : "But we easily put 
 up with that, as in the seat directly opposite Mr. Southey 
 sat. We saw him very nicely. He seemed extremely 
 attentive ; and by what we saw of him, we should think him 
 very pious. He has a very keen eye, and looks extremely 
 like a poet." On the next Sunday, they saw Wordsworth 
 at Rydal Chapel, and "were rather disappointed in this 
 gentleman's appearance." 
 
 Note XVIII. "Borrowdale" (p. 64), and "Buttermere" 
 (p. 68). This excursion was taken on Monday, June 28. 
 There is no mention in the Journal of the thunderstorm, 
 but only of the wet.
 
 278 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 
 
 Note XIX. "Ullswater" (p. 70). The journey to Patter- 
 dale from Keswick was made on Thursday, July i. 
 
 Note XX. " Kirkstone " (p. 73). They returned to Low- 
 wood on Friday, July 2, and stayed there until July 10 : 
 leaving the Lakes on the I2th. "The house which we 
 saw," Brathay Hall. Forty years later, Mr. Ruskin got 
 " such a house," and got it without stultifying his early 
 ideal ; for though he has added to Brantwood, the original 
 house is an old one. 
 
 Note XXI. " Coniston" (p. 74). This was not the author's 
 first introduction to Coniston ; he had visited it in 1824 and 
 1826, if not oftener : indeed, the minuteness and accuracy 
 of the descriptions in the "Iteriad" evince more familiarity 
 with the Lake District than could have been gained in this 
 hasty tour, at least they are much ampler than the descrip- 
 tions in the Journal. " The inn at Coniston was then actually 
 at the upper end of the lake, the road from Ambleside to the 
 village passing just between it and the water ; and the view 
 of the long reach of lake, with its loftly wooded lateral hills, 
 had for my father a tender charm which excited the same 
 feeling as that with which he afterwards regarded the lakes 
 of Italy" (Praet. I. v. p. 155). On this visit, July 6, 1830, the 
 Journal notes : " We had some very fine char for dinner. . . . 
 Although it was a wet day, we enjoyed ourselves very much." 
 The char satisfactorily accounts for the heavy bill. 
 
 Note XXII. "To Poesie" (p. 82). Next in chronological 
 order before this poem comes a piece facsimiled in the Illus- 
 trated Edition as follows :
 
 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 279 
 
 THE FAIRIES. 
 
 I wandered forth at midnight, 
 And silently, silently rove 
 Where the moonlight poured 
 On the dewy sward, 
 And on the elfin grove. 
 'Twas a kind of fairy scenery, 
 A kind of airy dreamery, 
 Such silence as I love. 
 
 When from the wood around me 
 The elfin circles skim, 
 Hand in hand 
 They join the band, 
 And in the dances swim. 
 And there they bounded merrily, 
 While sailing round me giddily, 
 And breezy numbers sing. 
 
 3- 
 
 How softly, softly murmuring 
 In sinking cadence low ! 
 And now they seem 
 Of joy to sing, 
 And now to sing of woe : 
 As sweetly, sweetly whispering, 
 Those carols greet me listening, 
 And harmoniously flow. 
 
 4- 
 
 Thus rang the song : " Ye fairies, 
 Now swiftly, swiftly bound, 
 Ere yet the day 
 In twilight grey
 
 28o NOTES TO THE POEMS. 
 
 Shall send its light around ! 
 Spring o'er the dewdrop shivering ; 
 Touch not the grass-blade quivering, 
 While vaulting from the ground ! 
 
 5- 
 
 "Still circling on the green-sward, 
 Exert your nimble feet ! 
 Dance, dance away, 
 Ye fairies gay, 
 
 And ply your footsteps fleet ! 
 Ye sprites, ye elfins, wantoning, 
 Amongst the cowslips frolicking, 
 Here let your dances meet." 
 January 5, 1831. 
 
 Note XXIII. "To the Ocean-Spirits" (p. 87). This and 
 the following were written in Wales (see Biographical Notes 
 for 1831). "The Eternal Hills," written at Herne Hill about 
 October, was probably inspired by Snowdon. " My first 
 sight of bolder* scenery was in Wales . . . We went . . . 
 to Llanberis and up Snowdon " (Praet. I. v. p. 157). " Harlech 
 Castle " was another reminiscence of this tour ; and " Moon- 
 light on the Mountains" is quite Snowdonian in character. 
 
 Note XXIV. "Bed-Time" (p. 92). " A master was found 
 for me to teach me mathematics. Mr. Rowbotham was an 
 extremely industrious, deserving, and fairly well-informed 
 person in his own branches, who . . . kept a ' young 
 gentlemen's Academy ' near the Elephant and Castle. . . . 
 Under the tuition, twice a week in the evening, of Mr. 
 Rowbotham, I prospered fairly in 1834" (Prst. I. iv. p. 133). 
 I venture to suggest that it must have been before 1834 that 
 
 * Bolder, that is, than Skiddaw or Coniston Old Man as seen from 
 below. He had not seen the grander mountain-crags of the Lake Dis- 
 trict at close quarters from the Eskdale or Wastdale side.
 
 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 2 8i 
 
 Mr. Rowbotham began to teach the author, since this poem, 
 from its style, handwriting, and position in Note-book No. VI., 
 must certainly be dated about September 1831. The mis- 
 spelling of the name (Roebotham) looks as though he were 
 quite a new acquaintance. The metre shows the first definite 
 trace of Byron's influence ; he had begun to read Byron 
 early in this year. 
 
 Note XXV. "To the Memory of Sir W. Scott" (p. 94). 
 Sir Walter had left Scotland in the previous month, September 
 1831 ; and was not expected to survive long. His death is 
 commemorated in "The Grave of the Poet" (p. no). 
 
 Note XXVI. "The Destruction of Pharaoh" (p. 109). 
 This and " The Site of Babylon " seem to be modelled on 
 the " Hebrew Melodies," and exhibit a more sonorous and 
 intellectual style, derived from Byron (Praet. I. viii. pp. 257- 
 266), which displaces the earlier juvenile jingle. After writing 
 " The Site of Babylon " on Nov. 6, he began " The Destruction 
 of Nineveh;" but gave that up for "The Destruction of 
 Pharaoh ; " the first attempt at which was a failure, and was 
 dropped for a translation from Anacreon, whom he was 
 reading with Dr. Andrews at the time (Praet. I. iv. p. 117). 
 Then, after "The Southern Breeze," occurs "Mourn, Mizraim, 
 Mourn," not dated, but earlier than the Birthday Address 
 of the year (May). It is worth while precising the date of so 
 fine a fragment. 
 
 Note XXVII. " I weary for the torrent leaping " (p. 115). 
 The earliest published poem ; not the first published. It 
 begins " Poems. J. R." (pp. 3-4), and is quoted at length in 
 "John Ruskin," &c., by W. E. A. Axon, 1879, PP- &-5 ( 2nd 
 edit., 1 88 1, pp. 6-7) ; also in Papers of "the Manchester Literary
 
 282 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 
 
 Club, vol. v., 1879, pp. 156-157. It is dated in "Poems. J. 
 R." Aetat. 14 ; but from the position of the rough draft in Note- 
 book No. VIII., it seems to have been written some time before 
 the author actually reached the age of fourteen, i.e., in his 
 fourteenth year. In Stanza 4, Lowes-water's dell reads in the 
 original draft Glaramarcis dell ; a reading which I wish I 
 could restore, for the sake both of the sound and of the sense. 
 The dells or coves of Glaramara are its striking features. 
 Wordsworth's line should surely read " Murmuring from 
 Glaramara's inmost coves" not caves, of which there are none. 
 This song was suggested by the fact that the author had not 
 been among mountains that year, but only to Dover and 
 Hastings. It is curious that his mountain-yearning does not 
 carry him back to Snowdon, but to earlier visions of the 
 Lake Country, his first and last mountain-love. 
 
 Note XXVIII. "Tour on the Continent, 1833" (p. 119). 
 The various sources, and the projected illustrated edition of 
 these poems, are described in the Preliminary Notes under 
 Nos. VII., VIII., IX., and XI. The poems were not all 
 written in 1833, nor in the order of places visited ; nor is 
 the account of the tour in Prceterita quite accurate ; for 
 the travellers went to the west of Switzerland and the 
 Oberland after being in Italy. The second line of " Calais " 
 reads in the original, " The ocean barrier is beating," which 
 must be a mis-transcription of an insufficiently altered rough 
 copy, now lost, as the reading is neither rhyme nor reason. 
 The very few emendations I have presumed to make are 
 marked by square brackets. 
 
 Note XXIX. " Cassel" (p. 120). Omer=St. Omer, where 
 is the Seminary, which suggests the religious procession. 
 In the next piece "Lille," on p. 123, the "Saxon arch"
 
 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 283 
 
 betrays the student, till then, of architecture exclusively 
 English. In "Brussels," on p. 125, "July's dreadful night" 
 refers to Quatre Bras and Waterloo ; a reminiscence of 
 " Childe Harold." 
 
 Note XXX. " Andernach " (p. 128), first printed in " Friend- 
 ship's Offering," 1835, pp. 3 17-318; omitted in "Poems. J. R.;" 
 printed in the American edition of Ruskin's Poems, pp. 4-5. 
 It is so much altered from the original draft that it may be 
 interesting to compare the two versions. 
 
 FIRST SKETCH OF "ANDERNACH." 
 
 We have wound a weary way ; 
 Twilight's mists are gathering grey. 
 Purple now the hills are showing ; 
 Bright the western clouds are glowing. 
 Lashing on with giant force, 
 Rolls the Rhine his sullen course ; 
 Flash his waves with flamy red, 
 Eddying o'er their basalt bed ; 
 Now with wide expanded breast, 
 Now between the hills compressed : 
 Ever noble, ever free, 
 Flows his river-majesty. 
 Now upon the evening skies 
 Andernach's grey ruins rise, 
 Memorials of the Roman power ; 
 Buttress and battlement and tower, 
 Decaying, falling fast away, 
 The monuments of Caesar's sway, 
 In heaps together loosely thrown, 
 The sculptured head, inscriptioned stone : 
 Unguarded now the bridge's length, 
 And failing fast its arches' strength ; 
 The green sod in the moat is growing, 
 The cold wind in the chambers blowing, 
 And, flapping through the thin night-air, 
 The owl and bat, the tenants there.
 
 284 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 
 
 Note XXXI. " Ehrenbreitstein " (p. 129). Printed in 
 " Poems. J. R." (pp. 8-12), and dated ^Etat. 16 ; but certainly 
 written earlier, as it occurs in Note-book VII., dated 1833. 
 
 Note XXXII. " St. Goar " (p. 133). Published in " Friend- 
 ship's Offering," 1835, PP- 3 J 8-3I9- Omitted in "Poems. 
 J. R." Published in the American edition, pp. 5-6. With 
 this, as in the case of Andernach, it may be interesting to 
 compare the first draft ; if for nothing else, to show that 
 the young poet could polish when he chose, and that he 
 would have eliminated the slipshod grammar and faulty 
 rhymes if he had prepared the rest of his juvenile verses for 
 publication. 
 
 FIRST SKETCH OF "ST. GOAR." 
 
 We past a rock, whose bare front ever 
 
 Had borne the brunt of wind and weather ; 
 
 And downwards by the Rhine we bore 
 
 Upon the village of St. Goar, 
 
 That, 'mid the hills embosomed, lay 
 
 Where the Rhine checked his onward way, 
 
 And lay the mighty crags between ; 
 
 As if, enamoured of the scene. 
 
 He loved not on his way to wind, 
 
 And leave a scene so fair behind. 
 
 For grim the chasm through whose cleft 
 
 The waters had a passage reft ; 
 
 And gaunt the gorge that yawned before. 
 
 Through which, emerging, they must roar. 
 
 No marvel they should love to rest. 
 
 And peaceful spread their placid breast, 
 
 Before in fury driving dread, 
 
 Tormented on their rocky bed ; 
 
 Or flinging far their scattering spray 
 
 O'er the peaked rocks, that barred their way, 
 
 Wave upon wave at random tossed, 
 
 Or in the giddy whirlpool lost,
 
 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 285 
 
 And now are undisturbed sleeping, 
 No more on rocks those billows beating ; 
 But, lightly laughing, laps the tide, 
 Where stoop the vineyards to his side. 
 
 Note XXXIII. "Heidelberg" (p. 134). The passage on 
 p. 136, "But climbed the cloud the pine-trees tall," is in 
 the rough draft, but not in the fair copy. I restore it for the 
 sake of the fine " Turner " sky and effect. This poem is 
 apparently unfinished. 
 
 Note XXXIV. "The Black Forest" (p. 138). " Kehl," 
 line 2, is my conjecture ; the word in the original is illegible. 
 The poem must refer to the day's journey described in Praet. 
 I. vi. pp. 190-193 : "Earliest morning saw us trotting over 
 the bridge of boats to Kehl, and in the eastern light I well 
 remember watching the Black Forest hills enlarge and rise 
 as we crossed the plain of the Rhine." 
 
 Note XXXV. "Entrance to Schaffhausen " (p. 140). See 
 Pret. I. vi. p. 193. " It was past midnight when we reached 
 her closed gates," &c. The whole tour is well re-told in 
 Prceterita; and the two accounts are worth comparing, 
 written as they are at an interval of more than fifty years 
 apart, the one in verse and the other in prose, and the 
 latter with a power of recollective imagination resembling 
 that of Turner. 
 
 Note XXXVI. "Evening at Chamouni" (p. 161). It is 
 hardly necessary to remind the reader that this refers to the 
 first ascent of Mont Blanc in 1786 by Jacques Balmat. 
 
 Note XXXVII. "The Crystal-Hunter ''(p. 167). Written 
 for his father's birthday ; a sort of fantasia upon the scenery
 
 286 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 
 
 and mineralogy in which the author had revelled the year 
 before. The ''Argument" seems to be that a crystal-hunter 
 from a valley in the neighbourhood of Mont Blanc born 
 in Val Anzasca, but not necessarily starting thence finds 
 a cavern through which he penetrates into the valley of 
 Chamouni, unknown before, but thereupon colonised. With 
 this argument it is inconsistent that he claims to have anti- 
 cipated Mr. Dent on the Dm ; but the letter introducing the 
 poem (in the original MS.) offers it as "fables, froth ;" and 
 it is worthy of a place, though unpolished in style, as an 
 enthusiastic myth with a sober moral. 
 
 Note XXXVIII. " The Months " (p. 176). Part of a New 
 Year's address to his father. Published in " Friendship's 
 Offering," 1836, pp. 290-291. Printed in "Poems. J. R.," 
 pp. 23-24. Published in the American edition, pp. 7-8. 
 
 Note XXXIX. "Journal" (p. 181). For the dates of this 
 tour, see Biographical Notes for 1835, above. A reason for 
 abandoning this poem, still stronger than any exhaustion of 
 his descriptive powers, was that, before the author had been 
 many weeks at home after this journey, he had discovered a 
 new motive for poetry his first love-affair (see the poems to 
 Adele, 1836, vol. ii. of these poems) ; and he had adopted a 
 new model Shelley (Praet. I. x. p. 336). This journal was 
 written during the tour, as is implied in a remark in the 
 prose postscript to the "Letter from Abroad" "I have 
 poetry interminable, which you must not sleep over." 
 
 Note XL. " Canto I." stanza 13, (p. 188). In lines 3. and 5 
 I have supplied words to fill out the metre, which, with the 
 dactylic rhyme, needs 12 syllables. In stanza 17, lines 2, 4, 
 and 6, alteration is less called for, as the scant metre is
 
 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 287 
 
 hardly noticed till you come to line 6. In stanzas 23 and 24, 
 lines 2, 4, and 6 are all too short. This poem was never 
 revised ; there is only the one copy. 
 
 Note XLI. " Canto I." stanza 18 (p. 192). In the last line 
 "gleams" is a correction by the author's father, the only 
 one of its kind, for " looks." 
 
 Note XLI I. "Canto I." stanzas 23-25 (pp. 194). Geo- 
 logists must remember that in 1835 diluvian theories were 
 still in vogue. 
 
 Note XLIII. "Canto I." stanza 30 (p. 198). The D61e 
 is 5505 feet above the sea. The MS. reads very indistinctly, 
 " 3300" or "3900," an obvious clerical error, as 3900 feet do 
 not nearly reach the snow-level. 
 
 Note XLIV. " Canto I." stanza 42 (p. 205). Mr. Ruskin's 
 first published writing is a letter to Loudon's Mag. of Natural 
 History (March 1834), entitled " Enquiries on the Causes of 
 the Colour of the Water of the Rhine," in which he describes 
 the colour-phenomena of the Rhone and Lake of Geneva, 
 and asks for an explanation from the scientific people. He 
 appears to have got none, as usual. 
 
 Note XLV. " Canto II." stanza 2 (p. 209). The Mole is 6125 
 feet above the sea, and 4665 above Bonneville : the Brezon is 
 6142 feet above the sea, and 4682 above Bonneville. 
 
 Note XLVI. "Canto II." stanza 7 (p. 212). In line 12, 
 " boil " in the original is " came," which belongs to the next 
 line. In stanza 9, line 9, the original reads "rocks around 
 him ; " but to rhyme with " rebounding " and " resounding "
 
 288 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 
 
 the word wanted is "surrounding." In stanza II, line 9, 
 "watch the night decay" is in the original "watch the night 
 away ; " the last word evidently belongs to line 7. 
 
 Note XLVII. "Letter from Abroad," Paris (p. 224). 
 The "last midsummer" (1834) the two boys had spent 
 together at Herne Hill. 
 
 Note XLVIII. "Letter," St. Bernard (p. 226). " In the 
 Annual Continental" refers to Prout's " Continental Annual/' 
 The visit to Chamouni is ignored in this Letter. 
 
 NoteXLIX. "Letter," Schaffhausen (p. 227). " Aosta " 
 was the Augusta Pretoria Salassiorum of the Romans, the 
 Salassi being the old Gaulish inhabitants of the valley of 
 the Duria (Doire). 
 
 Note L. " Letter," Rigi (p. 230)." Granson " (Grandson), 
 on the Lake of Neuchatel, was the scene of the decisive 
 victory of the Swiss over Charles the Bold, March 3, 1476 ; 
 interesting to the author from the description in Sir W- 
 Scott's " Anne of Geierstein " (chap, xxxii.). " Gessler " in 
 the original is " Gesner," obviously a slip of the pen. 
 
 Note LI. "Letter," Hospice of Grimsel (p. 231). "By 
 Severn's stream." R. Fall would have returned to school 
 by the 25th of August, according to the time of the old- 
 fashioned holidays. Dr. Dale, his schoolmaster, is not the 
 Mr. Dale to whom the author went to school in 1834, and 
 lectures in 1836. 
 
 Note LI I. "Letter," Hospice of Grimsel (p. 232). "St. 
 Gothard mineralogy." De Saussure, already, as afterward,
 
 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 289 
 
 the author's " master in geology " (Prset. I. vii. p. 206 ; 
 Modern Painters, vol. iv. p. 175 note\ describes the St. 
 Gothard minerals and rock structure with care (M. P., vol. 
 iv. p. 301, and Appendix 2) ; regarding as mineralogical 
 phenomena the contortion and brecciation which others 
 regard as geological, and trying to account for them by 
 aqueous crystallisation ; as if the agatescent minerals con- 
 tained within the rock-masses were epilomes or microcosms 
 of the whole mountain-chain. 
 
 Note LI 1 1. "Letter," Hospice of Grimsel (p. 233) "The 
 vapours came with constant crowd. " In " Modern Painters," 
 vol. I. ii. 3, 4, 31-34 (pp. 258-260), a famous passage begins 
 " Stand upon the peak of an isolated mountain at daybreak," 
 and goes on to describe an Alpine morning, storm, sun- 
 set, moonlight, and sunrise : asking " Has Claude given 
 this ?" and, in notes, introducing various works of Turner as 
 illustrating the sky effects of nature. The passage is quoted 
 in "Frondes Agrestes," 25, where in a note the author 
 remarks," I have seen such a storm on the Rigi." In this 
 letter we get the actual occasion, in the middle of August 
 1835; an d find that the "Modern Painters" passage is a 
 reminiscence of matter of fact. Beginning it with 32, and 
 keeping 31 for the conclusion, we can compare it with this 
 passage in the " Letter," and find, in both, the gathering 
 storm, the sweeping apart of the clouds by sudden wind, 
 the lurid sunset and thunderstorm, gradually clearing up 
 to moonlight ; the purple dawn and sunrise on snow-peaks ; 
 and fine morning with mist in the valleys. 
 
 Note LIV. "Venice" (p. 236) Intended for the Journal, 
 and possibly written at Venice, Oct. 6-17, 1835, or at an y 
 rate soon after. 
 
 VOL. i. x
 
 290 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 
 
 NoteLV. "Salzburg" (p. 238). The author visited Salzburg 
 for the first time in Oct. 1835. This piece was published in 
 "Friendship's Offering," 1835, pp. 37-38, with an engraving 
 by E. Goodall of "Saltzburg" (sic) from a drawing by 
 W. Purser. It was omitted in " Poems. J. R," and is the 
 first piece in the American edition (pp. 1-3). In the note in 
 both editions, " St. Rupert " reads " St. Hubert " twice over, 
 wrongly, for it was Hruadprecht or Rupert, Bishop of 
 Worms, who, at the close of the seventh century, established 
 the monastic colony of Salzburg among the ruins of the Roman 
 city of Juvava. Towards the middle of the eighth century the 
 monk Virgilius from Ireland built a church at Salzburg, 
 dedicated it to St. Rupert, and became first Archbishop of 
 Salzburg. Many of the apostles of Germany, both before and 
 after Rupert, were English, like Boniface, or Scots from 
 Ireland or lona, like Columban and Gall ; but I confess I 
 have not been able to assure myself of Rupert's Scottish 
 origin ; while St. Hubert was a native of Aquitaine. 
 
 Note LVI. " The Avalanche" (p. 240). Printed in " Poems. 
 J. R.," pp. 5-7. 
 
 Note LVII. "The Emigration of the Sprites" (p. 243). 
 Printed in " Poems. J. R.," pp. 13-19. The original occurs 
 with "The Avalanche" and "The Invasion of the Alps" in 
 Note-book No. VIII. ; they are dated from their position in 
 section (c.) (see Preliminary Note). Stanzas VII. and VIII. 
 refer to " The Brownie of Bodsbeck," a story by the author's 
 friend James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd. 
 
 Note LVIII. " Conversation " (p. 251)." Miss R.," Mary 
 Richardson, the author's cousin and adopted sister (Praet. 
 I. iv. p. 1 1 1). " Mary " was Mary Stone, cook at Herne Hill,
 
 NOTES TO THE POEMS. 291 
 
 1827-36. " I have never seen a fillet of veal rightly roasted, 
 nor a Yorkshire pudding rightly basted, since Mary Stone 
 left us to be married in 1836." "Lucy," "Our perennial 
 parlour maid, Lucy Tovey, came to us in 1829, remaining with 
 us till 1875" (Prset. II. vi. p. 191). Mr. Ruskin says (Praet. 
 I. vii. p. 237), " I can scarcely account to myself, on any of 
 the ordinary principles of resignation, for the undimmed 
 tranquillity of pleasure with which, after these infinite ex- 
 citements in foreign lands, my father would return to his desk 
 opposite the brick wall of the brewery, and I to my niche 
 behind the drawing-room chimney-piece. But to both of 
 us, the steady occupations, the beloved samenesses, and the 
 sacred customs of home were more precious than all the 
 fervours of wonder in things new to us, or delight in scenes 
 of incomparable beauty." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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