THE BROWNIE'S CELL

Composed 1814.—Published 1820

To barren heath, bleak moor, and quaking fen,[14]

Or depth of [15] labyrinthine glen;

Or into trackless forest set

With trees, whose lofty umbrage met;

World-wearied Men withdrew of yore;

(Penance their trust, and prayer their store;)

And in the wilderness were bound

To such apartments as they found;

Or with a new ambition raised;

That God might suitably be praised.

High lodged the Warrior,[16] like a bird of prey;

Or where broad waters round him lay:

But this wild Ruin is no ghost

Of his devices—buried, lost!

Within this little lonely isle

There stood a consecrated Pile;

Where tapers burned, and mass was sung,

For them whose timid Spirits clung

To mortal succour, though the tomb

Had fixed, for ever fixed, their doom!

III

Upon [17] those servants of another world

When madding Power [18] her bolts had hurled,

Their habitation shook;—it fell,

And perished, save one narrow cell;

Whither, at length, a Wretch retired

Who neither grovelled nor aspired:

He, struggling in the net of pride,

The future scorned, the past defied;

Still tempering, from the unguilty forge

Of vain conceit, an iron scourge!

Proud Remnant was he of a fearless Race,[19]

Who stood and flourished face to face

With their perennial hills;—but Crime,

Hastening the stern decrees of Time,

Brought low a Power, which from its home

Burst, when repose grew wearisome;

And, taking impulse from the sword,

And, mocking its own plighted word,

Had found, in ravage widely dealt,

Its warfare's bourn, its travel's belt![20]

All, all were dispossessed, save him whose smile

Shot lightning through this lonely Isle!

No right had he but what he made

To this small [21] spot, his leafy shade;

But the ground lay within that ring

To which he only dared to cling;

Renouncing here,[22] as worse than dead,

The craven few who bowed the head

Beneath the change; who heard a claim

How loud! yet lived in peace with shame.

From year to year [23] this shaggy Mortal went

(So seemed it) down a strange descent:

Till they, who saw his outward frame,

Fixed on him an unhallowed name;

Him, free from all malicious taint,

And guiding, like the Patmos Saint,

A pen unwearied—to indite,

In his lone Isle,[24] the dreams of night;

Impassioned dreams, that strove to span

The faded glories of his Clan!

VII

Suns that through blood their western harbour sought,

And stars that in their courses fought;

Towers rent, winds combating with woods,

Lands deluged by unbridled floods;

And beast and bird that from the spell

Of sleep took import terrible;—

These types mysterious (if the show

Of battle and the routed foe

Had failed) would furnish an array

Of matter for the dawning day!

VIII

How disappeared He?—ask the newt and toad,

Inheritors of his abode;

The otter crouching undisturbed,

In her dank cleft;—but be thou curbed,

O froward Fancy! 'mid a scene

Of aspect winning and serene;

For those offensive creatures shun

The inquisition of the sun!

And in this region flowers delight,

And all is lovely to the sight.

Spring finds not here a melancholy breast,

When she applies her annual test

To dead and living; when her breath

Quickens, as now, the withered heath;—

Nor flaunting [25] Summer—when he throws

His soul into the briar-rose;

Or calls the lily from her sleep

Prolonged beneath the bordering deep;

Nor Autumn, when the viewless wren

Is warbling near the Brownie's Den.

Wild Relique! beauteous as the chosen spot

In Nysa's isle, the embellished grot;[G]

Whither, by care of Libyan Jove,

(High Servant of paternal Love)

Young Bacchus was conveyed—to lie

Safe from his step-dame Rhea's eye;

Where bud, and bloom, and fruitage, glowed,

Close-crowding round the infant-god;

All colours,—and the liveliest streak

A foil to his celestial cheek!

The text of this poem was unaltered in the successive editions with a single exception, occurring in the first line. It was suggested by, and was a reminiscence of the tour in Scotland of 1814; but in 1803 Wordsworth visited the same spot alluded to in the Fenwick note, accompanied by his sister, who thus describes it: "The most remarkable object we saw was a huge single stone, I believe three or four times the size of Bowder Stone. The top of it, which on one side was sloping like the roof of a house, was covered with heather.... The ferryman told us that a preaching was held there once in three months by a certain minister—I think of Arrochar—who engages, as a part of his office, to perform the service. The interesting feelings we had connected with the Highland Sabbath and Highland worship returned here with double force. The rock, though on one side a high perpendicular wall, in no place overhung so as to form a shelter, in no place could it be more than a screen from the elements. Why then had it been selected for such a purpose? Was it merely from being a central situation and a conspicuous object? Or did there belong to it some inheritance of superstition from old times? It is impossible to look at the stone without asking, How came it hither? Had then that obscurity and unaccountableness, that mystery of power which is about it, any influence over the first persons who resorted hither for worship? Or have they now on those who continue to frequent it? The lake is in front of the perpendicular wall, and behind, at some distance, and totally detached from it, is the continuation of the ridge of mountain which forms the Vale of Loch Lomond—a magnificent temple, of which this spot is a noble Sanctum Sanctorum." (Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland, A.D. 1803, pp. 225-6.) The late Rev. William Macintosh of Buchanan supplied me with the following information in reference to the Brownie's Cell and the Pulpit Rock:—"I have little doubt that the Brownie's Cell is the name given by Wordsworth to a small vault, itself a ruin among the ruins of an old stronghold of the Macfarlanes in Eilan Vhow, an islet about three miles from the head of the Loch. The name of the islet is spelt in different ways; sometimes as I have given it, sometimes Eilan Vow, or Eilan-a Vhu; no one whom I consulted could tell me the right spelling. In the early part of this century, the vault was the headquarters of a pedlar of the name of Macfarlane. He may have been the Hermit; and there is a story of his having been frightened by the sudden apparition of a negro, (probably the first he had ever seen), who had been ordered by his master—an English officer—to swim across for that purpose: and it is said that he never again visited the cell.

The Pulpit Rock, also called by a Gaelic name meaning the Bull Stone, is a very large boulder, or detached rock, which is likely to 'stand' as long as Ben Lomond. In the face of it, there is an artificial doorway and recess, which at one time the Parish Minister used to occupy as a Pulpit for occasional services. The audience sat on turf seats ranged round the foot of the Rock. The pulpit was reached by a few steps cut out, I suppose, in the Rock: but it has never been used for the last twenty years. The 'occasional' services are now held in a neighbouring schoolroom."

Mr. Malcolm M'Farlane, a very intelligent sheep farmer in Buchanan parish, supplies the following additional information about the Cell and the Rock:—"The 'Pulpit Rock' is a cell in the face of a large stone, blasted out with gunpowder. The proper appellation is, in Gaelic, 'Clach-nan-Tairbh,' literally translated the 'Stone of the Bulls.' It was formed about 50 or 60 years ago, the then minister of Arrochar, Mr. Proudfoot, had promised to preach in that part of his parish, on several occasions during the year, provided they would get up a place for his reception.... It was capable of containing three or four persons inside, was done up with wood work, an outer and inner door, with stone steps leading to the recess. They were not formed out of the rock, but other stones got up for the purpose, and turf seats laid out for the hearers, who were all exposed to the weather, except so far as they might be sheltered by the rock. The service has been discontinued at the rock for about twenty-five years, and is now held at a schoolhouse. The doors are gone, and no portion of the wood work remains. The cell is now used only as a nightly retreat for mendicants, tinkers," etc. Wordsworth's reference, in the Fenwick note, to Burns's Holy Fair induces me to quote what follows in Mr. M'Farlane's letter:—"Open air preaching was then very general in the Highlands: the people came long distances, travelled over hills, even in inclement weather, to attend them. An individual who kept a small inn, on the loch side opposite Inversnaid, used regularly to attend the meetings with a supply of whisky; but he remained behind the 'rock' till the services were over, when the people partook of his refreshments. Also, on the north side of Loch Katrine, the minister of Callander used to conduct services in the open air, on several occasions during the year, in that distant part of his parish. An old man, who lived near the Trossachs, whom I remember very well, regularly attended with a supply of whisky. Dr. Robertson, who was then minister, after concluding the sermon, had gone to an adjoining farm house. The people had indulged too freely, so that a fight commenced (the same thing had happened on several occasions before). The Doctor had to leave his dinner in order to get them separated, and to put an end to the battle, but he never allowed any more whisky to be brought to the place afterwards.... These may be irrelevant matters, but they might illustrate a chapter in Lecky's History of Morals, as there is more decorum now observed. Since writing the above, I have thought that if the pulpit-rock is mentioned in Miss Wordsworth's Tour, Mr. M'Nicol, my informant, must have made a mistake in stating the time it was made, as about 50 or 60 years ago; but it cannot have been much more than 80 years, as it is not very long since some of the people who were engaged in the operation died.

"Regarding the island near the head of Loch Lomond which is termed 'Eilan (Island) Vow' in Black's Guide, and somewhat differently spelt in others, in the original Gaelic it is 'Eilan a Bhūth.' Būth is a Gaelic name for a shop, so that it is 'the island of the shop.' The English Vow has no connection whatever with the Gaelic, and is perfectly unintelligible. It is part of undoubted traditional history that the chiefs of the Clan M'Farlane, who owned a considerable portion of the adjoining lands, had their residence here. In these turbulent times islands were considered more secure, as surrounded with water. They kept a 'shop' in the island, from which they supplied the little wants of the surrounding population, so that it is perfectly clear how the Island derived its name. A good portion of the stronghold is still in good preservation. A part of the wall is about thirty feet high. It is a very old building. Mr. M'Nicol states that he had learned from his grandfather, by the tradition in the family, that it was erected between the eleventh and the twelfth century. The late Sir James Colquhoun, about twelve years ago, laid out some money for keeping the walls in preservation. At the bottom of the Fort, and below the level of the floor, is the 'Brownie's Cell,' several steps leading down to it, and it is partly underground. It is about twelve feet wide, and sixteen feet long, with an arched roof, the mason work being still in good repair. There is some glimmering light emitted by two small apertures formed in the walls at each end. I have been unable to obtain any specific information what purpose it served in connection with the other building. Some said that it must have been a prison, and others a store for the shop. It might have been a prison at first, and afterwards, in more pacific times, used as a store.

"About the beginning of this century, the Island was occupied by a very eccentric individual, who led the life of a hermit, and took up his abode in this recess. He made frequent excursions out of it, but always returned to his Island-home before the end of the week. It was not then planted with wood, so that he cultivated a part of the ground, raised some crops, kept some poultry. He trained the poultry to fly on the approach of any stranger, so that they could not be got hold of, or taken away in his absence from the Island. He also kept a curious diary, in which local events, his own doings and opinions, were recorded in great detail, expressed in very quaint language. It was by the age of the moon, and not by the days of the month, that events were entered in the diary. He also cultivated astrology, and believed in the evil influence of some of the stars. He had a firm belief in ghosts; but he never was so frightened as when the Black Man (that is the negro), who he thought belonged to the invisible world, swam to the island. Of that adventure I have not been able to obtain a more detailed account, but his landing there very nearly put him out of his wits. The grandfather of the present Duke of Montrose had, on one occasion, visited the Island; and, when landing, the Hermit addressed him, 'James Graham, the Duke of Montrose, you are welcome to come and see my Island.'..."

There is no evidence that the ruin was once "a consecrated Pile," as stated in the poem. Wordsworth had evidently heard of the Hermit's writings, as mentioned by Mr. M'Farlane. See stanza vi., "guiding a pen unwearied."

In the Diary, Reminiscences, and Correspondence of Henry Crabb Robinson, there is an entry, dated January 2, 1820:—"Went to Lamb's, where I found Mr. and Mrs. Wordsworth.... Not much was said about his (W.'s) new volume of Poems. He himself spoke of The Brownie's Cell as his favourite" (vol. ii. p. 162). In the following year Mr. Crabb Robinson himself visited Scotland, and wrote thus on the 16th September:—"Being on the western side of Loch Lomond, opposite the Mill at Inversnaid, some women kindled a fire, the smoke of which was to be a signal for a ferryboat. No ferryman came; and a feeble old man offering himself as a boatman, I intrusted myself to him. I asked the women who he was. They said, 'That's old Andrew.' According to their account he lived a hermit's life in a lone island on the lake; the poor peasantry giving him meal, and what he wanted, and he picking up pence. On my asking him whether he would take me across the lake, he said, 'I wull, if you'll gi'e me saxpence.' So I consented. But before I was half over I repented of my rashness, for I feared the oars would fall out of his hands. A breath of wind would have rendered half the voyage too much for him. There was some cunning mixed up with the fellow's seeming imbecility, for when his strength was failing he rested, and entered into talk, manifestly to amuse me. He said he could see things before they happened. He saw the Radicals before they came, etc. He had picked up a few words of Spanish and German, which he uttered ridiculously, and laughed. But when I put troublesome questions he affected not to understand me; and was quite astonished, as well as delighted, when I gave him two sixpences instead of the one he had bargained for. The simple-minded women, who affected to look down on him, seemed, however, to stand in awe of him, and no wonder. On my telling Wordsworth this history, he exclaimed, 'That's my "Brownie!"' His Brownie's Cell is by no means one of my favourite poems. My sight of old Andrew showed me the stuff out of which a poetical mind can weave such a web" (vol. ii. pp. 212, 213).

Compare the sequel to this poem, The Brownie, in the "Yarrow Revisited and other Poems," of the Tour made in Scotland in the autumn of 1831.—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[13] 1820.

ms.

individual, a sketch of whose character is given in the Poem,

[14] 1837.

1820.

To barren heath, and quaking fen,

ms.

To {swampy} heath, and quaking fen,

{sandy }

[15] 1820.

ms.

Dark moor and . . .

[16] Italics were first used in 1827.

[17] 1820.

ms.

When on . . .

[18] 1820.

ms.

Distempered Power . . .

[19] 1820.

Last of an else extinguished Highland clan,

Last glimmering spark, was this rude man;

Sole remnant of a haughty race,

[20] 1820.

With their perennial hills; but Time

Brought low a power that could not climb,

Though, from its well-defended Home,

When, sword in hand, it chose to roam,

Its warfare's bourne, its travel's belt,

Was devastation widely dealt.

With their perennial hills; but Crime,

That hastens the decrees of time,

Brought low a Power, which, when it chose

To spurn confinement and repose,

Made devastation widely dealt,

Its warfare's bourne, its travel's belt.

[21] 1820.

ms.

. . . lone . . .

[22] 1820.

ms.

For he renounc'd . . .

ms.

For less than exiled, . . .

[23] 1820.

ms.

Here lodged and fed . . .

ms.

In Being's scale . . .

[24] 1820.

. . . . . . descent;

Till he—half dreaded, half disdained,

The title of a Brownie gained:

{He who} to no malicious taint

{But he}

Was subject—like the Patmos Saint;

His ruling case, his chief delight,

To pen by day

[25] 1820.

ms.

Nor wanton . . .

FOOTNOTES:

[F] Compare Wordsworth's Letter to a Friend of Burns (passim).—Ed.

[G] Diodorus mentions this tradition (see his History, book iii. chap. 4), that the infant Bacchus was carried by Ammon, the Libyan Jupiter, to a cave on an island near Mount Nysa, from fear of Rhea, and that he was handed over to the care and the tuition of Nysa, the daughter of Aristæus. From this mountain the young Bacchus was supposed to have derived his name, Dionysus.—Ed.

II
COMPOSED AT CORA LINN,

In sight of Wallace's Tower

—How Wallace fought for Scotland, left the name

Of Wallace to be found, like a wild flower,

All over his dear Country; left the deeds

Of Wallace, like a family of ghosts,

To people the steep rocks and river banks,

Her natural sanctuaries, with a local soul

Of independence and stern liberty. ms.[H]

Composed 1814.—Published 1820

[I had seen this celebrated Waterfall twice before; but the feelings to which it had given birth were not expressed till they recurred in presence of the object on this occasion.—I.F.]

Lord of the vale! astounding Flood;

The dullest leaf in this thick wood

Quakes—conscious of thy power;

The caves reply with hollow moan;

And vibrates, to its central stone,

Yon time-cemented Tower![I]

And yet how fair the rural scene!

For thou, O Clyde, hast ever been

Beneficent as strong;

Pleased in refreshing dews to steep

The little trembling flowers that peep

Thy shelving rocks among.

Hence all who love their country, love

To look on thee—delight to rove

Where they thy voice can hear;

And, to the patriot-warrior's Shade,

Lord of the vale! to Heroes laid

In dust, that voice is dear!

Along thy banks, at dead of night

Sweeps visibly the Wallace Wight;

Or stands, in warlike vest,

Aloft, beneath the moon's pale beam,

A Champion worthy of the stream,

Yon grey tower's living crest!

But clouds and envious darkness hide

A Form not doubtfully descried:—

Their transient mission o'er,

O say to what blind region flee

These Shapes of awful phantasy?

To what untrodden shore?

Less than divine command they spurn;

But this we from the mountains learn,

And this the valleys show;

That never will they deign to hold

Communion where the heart is cold

To human weal and woe.

The man of abject soul in vain

Shall walk the Marathonian plain;

Or thrid the shadowy gloom,

That still invests the guardian Pass,

Where stood, sublime, Leonidas

Devoted to the tomb.[J]

And let no Slave his head incline,

Or kneel, before the votive shrine

By Uri's lake, where Tell

Leapt, from his storm-vext boat, to land,[K]

Heaven's Instrument, for by his hand

That day the Tyrant fell.[26]

VARIANT:

[26] 1845.

Nor deem that it can aught avail

For such to glide with oar or sail

Beneath the piny wood,

Where Tell once drew, by Uri's lake,

His vengeful shafts—prepared to slake

Their thirst in Tyrants' blood!

FOOTNOTES:

[H] Compare The Prelude (vol. iii. p. 139), to which may be added the following Wallace Memorials:—"The barrel, or cave, in Bothwell parish; caves in Lasswade, Torphichen, and Lesmahagow parishes; chair at Bonniton, near Lanark; cradle on hill, two miles south by west of Linlithgow; house at Elderslie, in Renfrewshire; larder at Ardrossan; leap in Roseneath parish; monument on Abbey Craig, near Stirling; oaks at Elderslie and at Torwood; seats in Biggar, Kilbarchan, and Dumbarton parishes; statues at Lanark, and adjacent to the Tweed, near Dryburgh; stone in Polmont parish; towers in Ayr town, Roxburgh parish, Auchterhouse parish, and Kirkmichael parish, Dumfriesshire; trench in Kincardine-in-Monteith parish; and well in Biggar parish."—Wilson's Gazetteer of Scotland, 1882 (article, "Wallace Memorials").—Ed.

[I] The "time-cemented Tower" of the old castle of Cora still overlooks the waterfall. Compare the Address to Kilchurn Castle in the "Memorials of a Tour in Scotland," 1803 (vol. ii. p. 400); and, with

The dullest leaf in this thick wood

Quakes—conscious of thy power,

compare the Lines written in Early Spring (vol. i. p. 268).—Ed.

[J] Leonidas, king of Sparta, killed in the heroic defence of the pass of Thermopylæ, B.C. 480.—Ed.

[K] On the western side of the bay of Uri, in the lake of Lucerne, is Tell's Platte, where on a ledge of rock stands the chapel—rebuilt in 1880, but said to have been originally built in 1388—on the spot where the Swiss Patriot leapt out of Gessler's boat, and shot the tyrant.—Ed.

III
EFFUSION,

In the Pleasure-Ground on the Banks of the Bran, near Dunkeld

Composed 1814.—Published 1827

[I am not aware that this condemnatory effusion was ever seen by the owner of the place. He might be disposed to pay little attention to it; but were it to prove otherwise I should be glad, for the whole exhibition is distressingly puerile.—I.F.]

"The waterfall, by a loud roaring, warned us when we must expect it. We were first, however, conducted into a small apartment, where the Gardener desired us to look at a picture of Ossian, which, while he was telling the history of the young Artist who executed the work, disappeared, parting in the middle—flying asunder as by the touch of magic—and lo! we are at the entrance of a splendid apartment, which was almost dizzy and alive with waterfalls, that tumbled in all directions; the great cascade, opposite the window, which faced us, being reflected in innumerable mirrors upon the ceiling and against the walls."—Extract from the Journal of my Fellow-Traveller.[L]

What He—who, mid the kindred throng

Of Heroes that inspired his song,

Doth yet frequent the hill of storms,

The stars dim-twinkling through their forms!

What! Ossian here—a painted Thrall,

Mute fixture on a stuccoed wall;

To serve—an unsuspected screen

For show that must not yet be seen;

And, when the moment comes, to part

And vanish by mysterious art;

Head, harp, and body, split asunder,

For ingress to a world of wonder;

A gay saloon, with waters dancing

Upon the sight wherever glancing;

One loud cascade in front, and lo!

A thousand like it, white as snow—

Streams on the walls, and torrent-foam

As active round the hollow dome,

Illusive cataracts! of their terrors

Not stripped, nor voiceless in the mirrors,

That catch the pageant from the flood

Thundering adown a rocky wood.

What pains to dazzle and confound!

What strife of colour, shape and sound

In this quaint medley, that might seem

Devised out of a sick man's dream![27]

Strange scene, fantastic and uneasy

As ever made a maniac dizzy,

When disenchanted from the mood

That loves on sullen thoughts to brood!

O Nature—in thy changeful visions,

Through all thy most abrupt transitions [28]

Smooth, graceful, tender, or sublime—

Ever averse to pantomime,

Thee neither do they know nor us

Thy servants, who can trifle thus;

Else verily [29] the sober powers

Of rock that frowns, and stream that roars,

Exalted by congenial sway

Of Spirits, and the undying Lay,

And Names that moulder not away,

Had wakened [30] some redeeming thought

More worthy of this favoured Spot;

Recalled some feeling—to set free

The Bard from such indignity!

[M]The Effigies of a valiant Wight

I once beheld, a Templar Knight;

Not prostrate, not like those that rest

On tombs, with palms together prest,

But sculptured out of living stone,

And standing upright and alone,

Both hands with rival energy

Employed in setting his sword free

From its dull sheath—stern sentinel

Intent to guard St. Robert's cell;[N]

As if with memory of the affray

Far distant, when, as legends say,

The Monks of Fountain's [O] thronged to force

From its dear home the Hermit's corse,

That in their keeping it might lie,

To crown their abbey's sanctity.

So had they rushed into the grot

Of sense despised, a world forgot,

And torn him from his loved retreat,

Where altar-stone and rock-hewn seat

Still hint that quiet best is found,

Even by the Living, under ground;

But a bold Knight, the selfish aim

Defeating, put the Monks to shame,

There where you see his Image stand

Bare to the sky, with threatening bran

Which lingering Nid is proud to show

Reflected in the pool below.

Thus, like the men of earliest days,

Our sires set forth their grateful praise:

Uncouth the workmanship, and rude!

But, nursed in mountain solitude,

Might some aspiring artist dare

To seize whate'er, through misty air,

A ghost, by glimpses, may present

Of imitable lineament,

And give the phantom an array

That less [31] should scorn the abandoned clay;

Then let him hew with patient stroke

An Ossian out of mural rock,

And leave the figurative Man—

Upon thy margin, roaring Bran!—

Fixed, like the Templar of the steep,

An everlasting watch to keep;

With local sanctities in trust,

More precious than a hermit's dust;

And virtues through the mass infused,

Which old idolatry abused.

What though the Granite would deny

All fervour to the sightless eye;

And touch from rising suns in vain

Solicit a Memnonian strain;[P]

Yet, in some fit of anger sharp,

The wind might force the deep-grooved harp

To utter melancholy moans

Not unconnected with the tones

Of soul-sick flesh and weary bones;

While grove and river notes would lend,

Less deeply sad, with these to blend!

105

Vain pleasures of luxurious life,

For ever with yourselves at strife;

Through town and country both deranged

By affectations interchanged,

And all the perishable gauds

That heaven-deserted man applauds;

When will your hapless patrons learn

To watch and ponder—to discern

The freshness, the everlasting youth,[32]

Of admiration sprung from truth;

From beauty infinitely growing

Upon a mind with love o'erflowing—

To sound the depths of every Art

That seeks its wisdom through the heart?

Thus (where the intrusive Pile, ill-graced

With baubles of theatric taste,

O'erlooks the torrent breathing showers

On motley bands of alien flowers

In stiff confusion set or sown,

Till Nature cannot find her own,

Or keep a remnant of the sod

Which Caledonian Heroes trod)

I mused; and, thirsting for redress,

Recoiled into the wilderness.

VARIANTS:

[27] The preceding four lines were added in the edition of 1837.

[28] 1827.

Through all thy numberless transitions

Throughout thy infinite transitions

[29] 1832.

1827.

Else surely had . . .

[30] 1832.

1827.

Awakened . . .

[31] 1837.

. . . such array

As less . . .

And so inspired in shape display

That less . . .

[32] 1837.

1827.

. . . the eternal youth,

FOOTNOTES:

[L] See the Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland, 1803, by Dorothy Wordsworth, p. 210.—Ed.

[M] On the banks of the River Nid, near Knaresborough.—W. W. 1827.

[N] "The cliffs overhanging the Nid have been hollowed out into numerous cavities, some of which serve as dwellings, walled in front, and some having chimneys carried out at the tops; sometimes with windows and doors let into the rock itself. The most remarkable of these is St. Robert's Chapel, scooped out, and inhabited (it is said) by the same St. Robert, whose cave is farther down the river. An altar has been cut out of the rock, and one or two rude figures carved within this so-called chapel. The figure of an armed man with his sword in his hand is sculptured outside, as if guarding the entrance."—Murray's Yorkshire, p. 240 (edition 1867).—Ed.

[O] Fountains Abbey, near Studley Royal, in Yorkshire.—Ed.

[P] The statue of Amenophis in the vicinity of Thebes—called by the Greeks the statue of Memnon—was fabled to give forth a musical strain, when touched by the first ray of sunrise.—Ed.