"THE STARS ARE MANSIONS BUILT BY NATURE'S HAND"
Composed 1820.—Published 1820
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
The stars are mansions built by Nature's hand,
And, haply, there the spirits of the blest
Dwell, clothed in radiance, their immortal vest;[398]
Huge Ocean shows, within his yellow strand,[399]
A habitation marvellously planned,
For life to occupy in love and rest;
All that we see—is dome, or vault, or nest,
Or fortress, reared at Nature's sage command.[400]
Glad thought for every season! but the Spring[401]
Gave it while cares were weighing on my heart,
'Mid song of birds, and insects murmuring;
And while the youthful year's prolific art—
Of bud, leaf, blade, and flower—was fashioning
Abodes where self-disturbance hath no part.
VARIANTS:
[398] 1845 and c.
And, haply, there the spirits of the blest
Live, clothed in radiance, their immortal vest;
The Sun is peopled; and with Spirits blest,
Say, can the gentle Moon be unpossest?
The Sun, perchance, a Palace where the blest
Live clothed in radiance, their immortal vest;
The text of 1840 returns to that of 1820.
[399] 1827.
1820.
Huge Ocean frames, . . .
[400] 1837.
1820 and ms. 1817.
Or fort, erected at her sage command.
[401] 1832.
Is this a vernal thought? Even so, the Spring
TO THE LADY MARY LOWTHER[EJ]
With a selection from the Poems of Anne, Countess of Winchelsea; and extracts of similar character from other Writers; transcribed[402] by a female friend.
Composed 1820.—Published 1820
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Lady! I rifled a Parnassian cave
(But seldom trod) of mildly-gleaming ore;
And culled, from sundry beds, a lucid store
Of genuine crystals, pure as those that pave
The azure brooks, where Dian joys to lave
Her spotless limbs; and ventured to explore
Dim shades—for reliques, upon Lethe's shore,
Cast up at random by the sullen wave.
To female hands the treasures were resigned;
And lo this Work!—a grotto bright and clear
From stain or taint; in which thy blameless mind
May feed on thoughts though pensive not austere;
Or, if thy deeper spirit be inclined
To holy musing, it may enter here.
In the "Essay Supplementary to the Preface" of the Second Edition of Lyrical Ballads (see "Prose Works," vol. ii. p. 240), Wordsworth wrote, "it is remarkable that, excepting The Nocturnal Reverie of Lady Winchelsea, and a passage or two in the Windsor Forest of Pope, the Poetry of the period intervening between the publication of Paradise Lost and The Seasons does not contain a single new image of external nature." The Nocturnal Reverie was written by Anne, Countess of Winchelsea, daughter of Sir William Kingsmill, Southampton.—Ed.
VARIANT:
[402] 1827.
1820.
the whole transcribed . . .
FOOTNOTE:
[EJ] In 1820 (first edition) the title was "To ——."—Ed.
ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED
THE PUBLICATION OF A CERTAIN POEM
Composed 1820.—Published 1820
See Milton's Sonnet, beginning, "A book was writ of late called Tetrachordon."
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
A book came forth of late, called Peter Bell;
Not negligent the style;—the matter?—good
As aught that song records of Robin Hood;
Or Roy, renowned through many a Scottish dell;
But some (who brook those hackneyed themes full well,
Nor heat,[403] at Tam o' Shanter's name, their blood)
Waxed wroth, and with foul claws, a harpy brood,
On Bard and Hero clamorously fell.
Heed not, wild Rover once through heath and glen,
Who mad'st at length the better life thy choice,
Heed not such onset! nay, if praise of men
To thee appear not an unmeaning voice,
Lift up that grey-haired forehead, and rejoice
In the just tribute of thy Poet's pen!
It may be useful, for comparison, to quote Milton's sonnet in full.
On the Detraction which followed upon my writing certain Treatises
A book was writ of late called Tetrachordon,
And woven close, both matter, form, and style;
The subject new: it walked the town a while,
Numbering good intellects; now seldom pored on.
Cries the stall-reader, "Bless us! what a word on
A title-page is this!"; and some in file
Stand spelling false, while one might walk to Mile-
End Green. Why, is it harder, sirs, than Gordon,
Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp?
Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek,
That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.
Thy age, like ours, O soul of Sir John Cheek,
Hated not learning worse than toad or asp,
When thou taught'st Cambridge and King Edward Greek.
Ed.
VARIANT:
[403] 1820.
1 vol. edition.
. . . (who brook these hacknied themes full well,
Nor chafe, . . .
Edition 1827 returns to text of 1820, 1 vol. edition.