The Poem
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| If thou in the dear love of some one Friend Hast been so happy that thou know'st what thoughts Will sometimes in the happiness of love Make the heart sink, then wilt thou reverence This quiet spot; and, Stranger! not unmoved Wilt thou behold this shapeless heap of stones, The desolate ruins of St. Herbert's Cell. Here stood his threshold; here was spread the roof That sheltered him, a self-secluded Man, After long exercise in social cares And offices humane, intent to adore The Deity, with undistracted mind, And meditate on everlasting things, In utter solitude.—But he had left A Fellow-labourer, whom the good Man loved As his own soul. And, when with eye upraised To heaven he knelt before the crucifix, While o'er the lake the cataract of Lodore Pealed to his orisons, and when he paced Along the beach of this small isle and thought Of his Companion, he would pray that both (Now that their earthly duties were fulfilled) Might die in the same moment. Nor in vain So prayed he:—as our chronicles report, Though here the Hermit numbered his last day Far from St. Cuthbert his belovèd Friend, Those holy Men both died in the same hour. [Note] [Contents: Poems on the Naming of Places] [Main Contents] | [1] | [A] | 5 10 15 20 25 |
1832.
The text of this poem underwent so many changes, which are not easily shown by the plan adopted throughout this edition—portions of the earliest version of 1800 being abandoned and again adopted, and the whole arrangement of the passages being altered—that it seems desirable to append the entire text of 1800, and extensive parts of that of subsequent years. The final text of 1832 is printed above.
| If thou in the dear love of some one friend Hast been so happy, that thou know'st what thoughts Will, sometimes, in the happiness of love Make the heart sink, then wilt thou reverence This quiet spot.—St. Herbert hither came And here, for many seasons, from the world Remov'd, and the affections of the world He dwelt in solitude. He living here, This island's sole inhabitant! had left A Fellow-labourer, whom the good Man lov'd As his own soul; and when within his cave Alone he knelt before the crucifix While o'er the lake the cataract of Lodore Peal'd to his orisons, and when he pac'd Along the beach of this small isle and thought Of his Companion, he had pray'd that both Might die in the same moment. Nor in vain So pray'd he:—as our Chronicles report, Though here the Hermit number'd his last days, Far from St. Cuthbert his beloved friend, Those holy men both died in the same hour. | 1800 |
If thou in the dear love of some one friend
Hast been so happy, that thou know'st what thoughts
Will, sometimes, in the happiness of love
Make the heart sink, then wilt thou reverence
This quiet spot.—St. Herbert hither came
And here, for many seasons, from the world
Remov'd, and the affections of the world
He dwelt in solitude. He living here,
This island's sole inhabitant! had left
A Fellow-labourer, whom the good Man lov'd
As his own soul; and when within his cave
Alone he knelt before the crucifix
While o'er the lake the cataract of Lodore
Peal'd to his orisons, and when he pac'd
Along the beach of this small isle and thought
Of his Companion, he had pray'd that both
Might die in the same moment. Nor in vain
So pray'd he:—as our Chronicles report,
Though here the Hermit number'd his last days,
Far from St. Cuthbert his beloved friend,
Those holy men both died in the same hour.
The text of the editions of 1802 and 1805 (which are identical), omits one line of the text of 1800. The passage reads:
He dwelt in solitude.—But he had left
A Fellow-labourer, whom ...
And the following variants occur in 1802 and 1805:
Make the heart sick, ....
... he would pray that both
The text of 1815, which is continued in 1820, begins thus:
| This Island, guarded from profane approach By mountains high and waters widely spread, Is that recess to which St. Herbert came In life's decline; a self-secluded Man, After long exercise in social cares And offices humane, intent to adore The Deity, with undistracted mind, And meditate on everlasting things. —Stranger! this shapeless heap of stones and earth (Long be its mossy covering undisturbed!) Is reverenced as a vestige of the Abode In which, through many seasons, from the world Removed, and the affections of the world, He dwelt in solitude.—But he had left A Fellow-labourer, ... | 1815 and 1820 |
This Island, guarded from profane approach
By mountains high and waters widely spread,
Is that recess to which St. Herbert came
In life's decline; a self-secluded Man,
After long exercise in social cares
And offices humane, intent to adore
The Deity, with undistracted mind,
And meditate on everlasting things.
—Stranger! this shapeless heap of stones and earth
(Long be its mossy covering undisturbed!)
Is reverenced as a vestige of the Abode
In which, through many seasons, from the world
Removed, and the affections of the world,
He dwelt in solitude.—But he had left
A Fellow-labourer, ...
In 1827 the poem began thus:
| Stranger! this shapeless heap of stones and earth Is the last relic of St. Herbert's Cell. Here stood his threshold; here was spread the roof That sheltered him, a self-secluded Man, | 1827 |
Stranger! this shapeless heap of stones and earth
Is the last relic of St. Herbert's Cell.
Here stood his threshold; here was spread the roof
That sheltered him, a self-secluded Man,
Compare the last stanza of "Strange fits of passion have I known," p. 79 of this volume.—Ed.
Note:
The "shapeless heap of stones" in St. Herbert's Island, which were "desolate ruins" in 1800, are even more "shapeless" and "desolate" now, but they can easily be identified. The island is near the centre of the lake, and is in area about four acres. The legend of St. Herbert dates from the middle of the seventh century. The rector of Clifton, Westmoreland, Dr. Robinson, writing in 1819, says:
"The remains of his hermitage are still visible, being built of stone and mortar, and formed into two apartments, one of which, about twenty feet long and sixteen feet wide, seems to have been his chapel; the other, of less dimensions, his cell. Near these ruins the late Sir Wilfred Lawson (to whose representative the island at present belongs) erected some years ago a small octagonal cottage, which, being built of unhewn stone, and artificially mossed over, has a venerable appearance."
(See Guide to the Lakes, by John Robinson, D.D., 1819). This cottage has now disappeared. The following version of this "Inscription" occurs in a letter from Wordsworth to Lady Beaumont, dated 26th November 1811:
This Island, guarded from profane approach
By mountains high and waters widely spread,
Gave to St. Herbert a benign retreat.
Upon a staff supported, and his Brow
White with the peaceful diadem of age.
Hither he came—a self-secluded Man,
...
Behold that shapeless Heap of stones and earth!
"Tis reverenced as a Vestige of the Abode
...
... —And when within his Cell
Alone he knelt before the crucifix,
In a previous letter to Sir George Beaumont, dated 16th November 1811:
By mountains high and waters widely spread,
Is that Seclusion which St. Herbert chose;
...
Hither he came in life's austere decline:
And, Stranger! this blank Heap of stones and earth
Is reverenced ...
Ed.
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