XXVIII

THE COLUMN INTENDED BY BUONAPARTE FOR A TRIUMPHAL EDIFICE IN MILAN,
NOW LYING BY THE WAY-SIDE IN THE SIMPLON PASS[540]

Ambition—following down this far-famed slope

Her Pioneer, the snow-dissolving Sun,

While clarions prate of kingdoms to be won—

Perchance, in future ages, here may stop;

Taught to mistrust her flattering horoscope

By admonition from this prostrate Stone!

Memento uninscribed of Pride o'erthrown;

Vanity's hieroglyphic; a choice trope

In Fortune's rhetoric. Daughter of the Rock,

Rest where thy course was stayed by Power divine!

The Soul transported sees, from hint of thine,

Crimes which the great Avenger's hand provoke,

Hears combats whistling o'er the ensanguined heath:

What groans! what shrieks! what quietness in death!

Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal contains the following reference to this "column":—"Sat., 9th Sept. (From Bavana to Domo d'Ossola.)—... The fine column—Buonaparte's—seen to-day, arrested here by the news of his overthrow, on its way to form a part of the triumphal arch at Milan!"

"Sunday, 9th September. Domo d'Ossola.—At a considerable height from the river's bed an immense column of granite lies by the wayside, as if its course had been stopped there by tidings of Napoleon's overthrow. It was intended by him for his unfinished triumphal arch at Milan; and I wish it may remain prostrate on the mountain for ages to come. His bitterest foe could scarcely contrive a more impressive record of disappointed vanity and ambition. The sledge upon which it has been dragged from the quarry is rotted beneath it, while the pillar remains as fresh and sparkling as if hewn but yesterday. W., who came after us, said he had named it the 'weary stone,' in memory of that immense stone in the wilds of Peru, so called by the Indians because after 20,000 of them had dragged it over heights and hollows, it tumbled down a precipice, and rested immovable at the bottom, where it must forever remain. Ere long we come to the first passage through the rocks, near the River's bed, and 'Road and River'[IO] for some time fill the bottom of the valley. We miss the bright torrents that stream down the hills bordering the Tesino; but here is no want of variety. We are in closer neighbourhood with the crags; hence their shapes are continually changing, and their appearance is the more commanding; and, wherever an old building is seen, it is overspread with the hues of the natural crags, and is in form of accordant irregularity. The very road itself, however boldly it may bestride the hills or pierce the rocks, is yet the slave of nature, its windings often being governed as imperiously as those of the Vedra within the chasm of the glen." (Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal.)

Another extract from Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal will farther illustrate this sonnet:—

Milan, Sept. 20.—... "Been to see the Bibliotheca Ambrosia.... Petrarch's Virgil delighted us more than all. It had been clawed by Buonaparte; and he had had the audacity to new-bind this book, and place four odious N's upon its back. When he revisited this library, as the animated old librarian related to us, he had this volume under his arm, saying, 'This is mine,' and walked off with it himself. It is well it did not remain in possession of so unworthy a master."—Ed.

VARIANT:

[540] 1827.

SONNET. The Column . . .

. . . Semplon Pass.—W. W.

FOOTNOTE:

[IO] Compare The Simplon Pass (vol. ii. p. 69)—

Brook and road

Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy Pass.

XXIX
STANZAS

Composed in the Simplon Pass[541]

Vallombrosa! I longed in thy shadiest wood

To slumber, reclined on the moss-covered floor,

To listen to Anio's precipitous flood,

When the stillness of evening hath deepened[542] its roar;

To range through the Temples of Pæstum, to muse

In Pompeii preserved by her burial in earth;

On pictures to gaze where they drank in their hues;

And murmur sweet songs on the ground of their birth!

The beauty of Florence, the grandeur of Rome,

Could I leave them unseen, and not yield to regret?[IP]

With a hope (and no more) for a season to come,

Which ne'er may discharge the magnificent debt?

Thou fortunate Region! whose Greatness inurned

Awoke to new life from its ashes and dust;

Twice-glorified fields! if in sadness I turned

From your infinite marvels, the sadness was just.

Now, risen ere the light-footed Chamois retires

From dew-sprinkled grass to heights guarded with snow,

Toward the mists that hang over the land of my Sires,

From the climate of myrtles contented I go.

My thoughts become bright like yon edging of Pines

On the steep's lofty verge: how it blacken'd the air!

But, touched from behind by the Sun, it now shines[543]

With threads that seem part of his own silver hair.

25

Though the toil of the way[544] with dear Friends we divide,

Though by the same zephyr our temples be fanned[545]

As we rest in the cool orange-bower side by side,

A yearning survives which few hearts shall withstand:

Each step hath its value while homeward we move;—

O joy when the girdle of England appears!

What moment in life is so conscious of love,

Of love in the heart made more happy by tears?[546]

Wordsworth and his friends did not visit any of the places mentioned in the first two stanzas, but recrossed the Alps by the Simplon route after their brief visit to the Italian Lakes. Mrs. Wordsworth writes thus of their walk from Domo d'Ossola to the Simplon Hospice:—"Sunday, Sept. 20.—... We had great pleasure in discovering traces of a more difficult ascent (in one instance, with the remains of an oratory), down which William and Jones came thirty years ago. William pointed out to us an ancient, high, many windowed edifice, by the roadside, as the Hospital where they had lodged; a wild and solemn harbour! On the opposite side of the road, a neat little church, as clean as any English chapel, standing in its tiny enclosure of burial ground; below, the Tusa; but its murmur, or rather raving, could not be heard for the riotous din of a torrent, tumbling from the stupendous mountain above, a tumultuous sound, distinctly remembered by William, an unchangeable object! Bonaparte's words, 'Be thou fettered,' would have been of no avail here.... As we advance, Pines climbing up to the skies, in some places clothing the very pinnacles of the highest rocks. The road cut and carried through masses of the solid rock.... Symptoms of desolation as we advance. Mountains crumbling gradually, or brought down by force of waters. Blasted pines standing or torn up, and lying in a decaying state, in the torrent's bed. In the midst of such scenes to come in view of one of those lovely green Prairies is an enlivening sight, with its little cottage.... Watching as we did all the way snatches of the old road, we traced it as we thought across the river and up the ascent on the other side; and afterwards Wm. told us that there was the very point where he and Jones had committed the same mistake, had taken that road (as recorded in his poem) and had to retrace their steps—and bend downwards with the stream, under a sort of depression from the feeling that 'he had crossed the Alps.'..."

Compare The Prelude, book vi. 1. 562, etc.—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[541] 1827.

1822.

. . . Semplon Pass.

[542] 1827.

1822.

. . . had softened . . .

[543] 1837.

. . . . . . Pine,

Black fringe to a precipice lofty and bare,

Which, as from behind the Sun strikes it, doth shine

. . . . . . pines,

How black was its hue in the region of air!

But, touched from behind by the sun, it now shines

[544] 1837.

1822.

Tho' the burthen of toil . . .

[545] 1837.

1822.

. . . are fann'd,

[546] 1837.

1822.

So rich in the tenderest sweetness of tears?

FOOTNOTE:

[IP] Compare Yarrow Unvisited (vol. ii. p. 411).—Ed.

XXX
ECHO, UPON THE GEMMI

What beast of chase hath broken from the cover?

Stern Gemmi listens to as full a cry,

As multitudinous a harmony

Of sounds as rang[547] the heights of Latmos over,

When, from the soft couch of her sleeping Lover,

Up-starting, Cynthia skimmed the mountain-dew

In keen pursuit—and gave, where'er she flew,[IQ]

Impetuous motion to the Stars above her.[IR]

A solitary Wolf-dog, ranging on

Through the bleak concave, wakes this wondrous chime

Of aëry voices locked in unison,—

Faint—far-off—near—deep—solemn and sublime!—

So, from the body of one guilty deed,[548]

A thousand ghostly fears, and haunting thoughts, proceed!

They went up the Gemmi Pass from Leukerbad, passed the Dauben See and the Schwarenbach Inn, looked into the valley of Kandersteg, and returned to the baths of Leuk. Mrs. Wordsworth writes:—"Wed., 13th Sept. Baths of Leuk.—... On our right we looked down from an immense height into Gastern Thal, a huge cleft, between the snowy Giants, Altels and Blumlis Alp. The Kandor rises out of this rocky recess, makes a bend at the foot of our high station, and takes a direct course down the valley before us.... We were very loath to return, without measuring the tempting vale through which this river flows. Returned by the same path. On drawing towards the little mountain Inn, the mastiff, hearing our footsteps before we could see him, or hear his voice, raised such a tumult in the mountains as produced the effect of a large pack of well-toned hounds in full cry. It was a grand sound. And this reminds me of the fine echoes called forth by a traveller or his guide in the morning. They were before us, as we clomb the Gemmi. The voice was a universal one; and the prolonged and re-echoed notes could not have been more harmonious had they proceeded from the sweetest instrument."

"Wednesday, 12th September. Baths of Leuk.—The total absence of all sound of living creature was very striking: silent moths in abundance flew about in the sunshine, and the muddy Lake weltered below us; the only sound when we checked our voices to listen. Hence we continued to journey over rocky and barren ground till we suddenly looked down into a warm, green nook, into which we must descend. Twelve cattle were there enclosed by the crags, as in a field of their own choosing. We passed among them, giving no disturbance, and again came upon a tract as barren as before. After about two leagues from the top of the Gemmi crags, the summer Chalet, our promised resting-place, was seen facing us, reared against the stony mountain, and overlooking a desolate round hollow. Winding along the side of the hill (that deep hollow beneath us to the right) a long half-mile brought us to the platform before the door of the hut. It was a scene of wild gaiety. Half-a-score of youthful travellers (military students from the College of Thun) were there regaling themselves. Mr. Robinson became sociable; and we, while the party stood round us talking with him, had our repast spread upon the same table where they had finished theirs. They departed; and we saw them winding away towards the Gemmi on the side of the precipice above the dreary hollow—a long procession, not less interesting than the group at our approach. But every object connected with animated nature (and human life especially) is interesting on such a road as this; we meet no one with a stranger's heart! I cannot forget with what pleasure, soon after leaving the hut, we greeted two young matrons, one with a child in her arms, the other with hers, a lusty babe, ruddy with mountain air, asleep in its wicker cradle on her back. Thus laden they were to descend the Gemmi Rocks, and seemed to think it no hardship, returning us chearful looks while we noticed the happy burthens which they carried. Those peasant travellers out of sight, we go on over the same rocky ground, snowy pikes and craggy eminences still bounding the prospect. But ere long we approach the neighbourhood of trees, and overlooking a long smooth level covered with poor yellowish grass, saw at a distance, in the centre of the level, a group of Travellers of a different kind—a party of gentry, male and female, on mules. On meeting I spoke to the two Ladies in English, by way of trying their nation, and was pleased at being answered in the same tongue. The lawn here was prettily embayed, like a lake, among little eminences covered with dwarf trees, aged or blighted; thence, onward to another open space, where was an encampment of cattle sheds, the large plain spotted with heaps of stones at irregular distances.... The turf was very poor, yet so lavishly overspread with close-growing flowers it reminded us of a Persian Carpet. The silver thistle, as we then named it, had a singularly beautiful effect; a glistering star lying on the ground, as if enwrought upon it. An avalanche had covered the surface with stones many years ago, and many more will it require for nature, aided by the mountaineers' industry, to restore the soil to its former fertility. On approaching the destined termination of our descent, we were led among thickets of Alpine Shrubs, a rich covering of berry-bearing plants over-spreading the ground. We followed the ridge of this wildly beautiful tract, and it brought us to the brink of a precipice. On our right, when we looked into the savage valley of Gastron—upwards toward its head, and downwards to the point where the Gastron joins the Kandor, their united streams thence continuing a tumultuous course to the Lake of Thun. The head of the Kandor Thal was concealed from us, to our left, by the ridge of the hill on which we stood. By going about a mile further along the ridge to the brow of its northern extremity, we might have seen the junction of the two rivers, but were fearful of being overtaken by darkness in descending the Gemmi, and were, indeed, satisfied with the prospect already gained. The river Gastron winds in tumult over a stony channel, through the apparently level area of a grassless Vale, buried beneath stupendous mountains—not a house or hut to be seen. A roaring sound ascended to us on the eminence so high above the Vale. How awful the tumult when the River carries along with it the spring tide of melted snow! We had long viewed in our journey a snow-covered pike, in stateliness and height surpassing all the other eminences. The whole mass of the mountain now appeared before us, on the same side of the Gastron vale on which we were. It seemed very near to us, and as if a part of its base rose from that vale. We could hardly believe our Guide when he told us that pike was one of the summits of the Jungfrau, took out maps and books, and found it could be no other mountain. I never before had a conception of the space covered by the bases of these enormous piles. After lingering as long as time would allow, we began to remeasure our steps, thankful for the privilege of again feeling ourselves in the neighbourhood of the Jungfrau, and of looking upon those heights that border the Lake of Thun, at the feet of which we had first entered among the inner windings of Switzerland. Our journey back to the Chalet was not less pleasant than in the earlier part of the day. The Guide, hurrying on before us, roused the large house-dog to give us a welcoming bark, which echoed round the mountains like the tunable voices of a full pack of hounds—a heart-stirring concert in that silent place where no waters were heard at that time—no tinkling of cattle-bells; indeed, the barren soil offers small temptation for wandering cattle to linger there. In a few weeks our rugged path would be closed up with snow, the hut untenanted for the winter, and not a living creature left to rouse the echoes—echoes which our Bard would not suffer to die with us." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. ii.)—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[547] 1837.

1822.

As e'er did ring . . .

[548] 1827.

1822.

. . . of a single deed,

FOOTNOTES:

[IQ] Professor Lewis Campbell sent me the following note on the Gemmi sonnet:—"Cynthia is here (1) the moon, who "sleeps with Endymion," (2) the huntress Artemis (or Diana), roaming the forest glades in pursuit of game. In imagining her as giving motion to the stars, it is possible that the poet may have had in his mind a false echo of Ovid's lines addressed to Aurora, Amores, i. l. 27—

Optavi quoties, ne nox tibi cedere vellet,

Neu fugerent vultus sidera mota tuos."

[IR] Compare the Ode to Duty, stanza 6 (vol. iii. p. 40).—Ed.

XXXI
PROCESSIONS

Suggested on a Sabbath Morning in the Vale Of Chamouny

To appease the Gods; or public thanks to yield;

Or to solicit knowledge of events,

Which in her breast Futurity concealed;

And that the past might have its true intents

Feelingly told by living monuments—

Mankind of yore were prompted to devise

Rites such as yet Persepolis presents

Graven on her cankered walls, solemnities

That moved in long array before admiring eyes.[IS]

10

The Hebrews thus, carrying in joyful state

Thick boughs of palm, and willows from the brook,[IT]

Marched round the altar—to commemorate

How, when their course they through the desert took,

Guided by signs which ne'er the sky forsook,

They lodged in leafy tents and cabins low;

Green boughs were borne, while, for the blast that shook

Down to the earth the walls of Jericho,

Shouts rise, and storms of sound from lifted trumpets blow![549]

And thus, in order, 'mid the sacred grove

Fed in the Libyan waste by gushing wells,

The priests and damsels of Ammonian Jove

Provoked responses with shrill canticles;[IU]

While, in a ship begirt with silver bells,

They round his altar bore the hornèd God,

Old Cham, the solar Deity,[IV] who dwells

Aloft, yet in a tilting vessel rode,[IW]

When universal sea the mountains overflowed.

Why speak of Roman Pomps?[IX] the haughty claims

Of Chiefs triumphant after ruthless wars;

The feast of Neptune[IY]—and the Cereal Games,[IZ]

With images, and crowns, and empty cars;

The dancing Salii—on the shields of Mars

Smiting with fury;[JA] and a[551] deeper dread

Scattered on all sides[JB] by the hideous jars

Of Corybantian cymbals, while the head

Of Cybelè was seen, sublimely turreted![JC]

At length a Spirit more subdued and soft

Appeared—to govern Christian pageantries:

The Cross, in calm procession, borne aloft

Moved to the chant of sober litanies.

Even such, this day, came wafted on the breeze

From a long train—in hooded vestments fair

Enwrapt—and winding, between Alpine trees

Spiry and dark, around their House of prayer,

Below the icy bed of bright Argentiere.

Still in the vivid freshness of a dream,

The pageant haunts me as it met our eyes!

Still, with those white-robed Shapes—a living Stream,

The glacier Pillars join in solemn guise[552]

For the same service, by mysterious ties;

Numbers exceeding credible account

Of number, pure and silent Votaries

Issuing or issued[553] from a wintry fount;

The impenetrable heart of that exalted Mount!

55

They, too, who send[554] so far a holy gleam

While they the Church engird[555] with motion slow,

A product of that awful Mountain seem,[556]

Poured from his vaults of everlasting snow;

Not virgin lilies marshalled in bright row,

Not swans descending with the stealthy tide,

A livelier sisterly resemblance show

Than the fair Forms, that in long order glide,

Bear to the glacier band—those[557] Shapes aloft descried.

Trembling, I look upon the secret springs

Of that licentious craving in the mind

To act the God among external things,

To bind, on apt suggestion, or unbind;[558]

And marvel not that antique Faith inclined

To crowd the world with metamorphosis,

Vouchsafed in pity or in wrath assigned;

Such insolent temptations wouldst thou miss,

Avoid these sights; nor brood o'er Fable's dark abyss!

Still, with those white-robed Shapes—a living Stream,
The glacier Pillars join in solemn guise.

This Procession is a part of the sacramental service performed once a month. In the valley of Engelberg we had the good fortune to be present at the Grand Festival of the Virgin—but the Procession on that day, though consisting of upwards of 1000 persons, assembled from all branches of the sequestered valley, was much less striking (notwithstanding the sublimity of the surrounding scenery): it wanted both the simplicity of the other and the accompaniment of the Glacier-columns, whose sisterly resemblance to the moving Figures gave it a most beautiful and solemn peculiarity.—W. W. 1837.

"Sunday, Sept. 17. Chamouny.—... As we passed one of the little clustering villages in the Vale of Chamouny, standing at the foot of one of the five glaciers (the Argentière I believe), its pretty white Church at that moment was encircled by a most interesting procession—bare-headed men first carried the symbols or banners, who were followed by a train of females: two and two winding round the building; white garments thrown over their heads and covering their shoulders, like so many nuns; but in that romantic place, the situation of the Church, and the costume so peculiar, it was quite impossible not to connect the moving belt of white pyramids with the snowy ones immediately above them. We were afterwards told by a young priest, as we passed along the green meadows of Orsina, whither he was going to do duty, and with whom D. fell into conversation, that it was sacrament day, and that the ceremony we had seen occurs once a month in all the valleys, and that those pure vestments do not belong to the Church, but to the Individuals who wear them. Our genial companion told D. that he lived upon the Trient, in a village high above its banks, and where, had he been at home, he would have been glad to have received us as his guests...." (Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Sunday, 16th September. Chamouny.—There is no carriage-road further than to Argentière. When, having parted with our car and Guide, we were slowly pursuing our way to the footpath, between the mountains, which was to lead us to the Valorsine, and thence, by the Tête-Noire, to Trientz, we heard from the churchyard of Argentière, on the opposite side of the river, a sound of voices chanting a hymn, or prayer, and turning round, saw in the green enclosure a lengthening Procession,—the priest in his robes, the host, and banners uplifted, and men following two and two—and, last of all, a great number of females, in like order; the head and body of each covered with a white garment. The stream continued to flow on for a long time, till all had paced slowly round the church, the men gathering close together, to leave unencumbered space for the women, the chanting continuing, while the voice of the Arve joined in accordant solemnity. The procession was grave and simple, agreeing with the simple decorations of a village church:—the banners made no glittering show; the Females composed a moving girdle round the Church; their figures, from head to foot, covered with one piece of white cloth, resembled the small pyramids of the Glacier, which were before our eyes, and it was impossible to look at one and the other without fancifully connecting them together. Imagine the moving figures, like a stream of pyramids, the white Church, the half-concealed Village, and the Glacier close behind among pine-trees, a pure sun shining over all! and remember that these objects were seen at the base of those enormous mountains, and you may have some faint notion of the effect produced on us by that beautiful spectacle. It was a farewell to the Vale of Chamouny that can scarcely be less vividly remembered twenty years hence than when (that wondrous Vale[JD] being just out of sight) after ascending a little way between the mountains, through a grassy hollow, we came to a small hamlet under shade of trees in summer foliage. A very narrow clear rivulet, beside the cottages, was hastening with its tribute to the Arve. This simple scene transported us instantly to our valleys of Westmoreland. A few quiet children were near the doors, and we discovered a young woman in the darkest coolest nook of shade between two of the houses, seated on the ground, intent upon her prayer-book. The rest of the inhabitants were gone to join in the devotions at Argentière. The top of the ascent (not a long one) being gained, we had a second cheering companion in our downward way, another Westmoreland brook of larger size, as clear as crystal, open to the sun, and (bustling but not angry) it coursed by our side through a tract of craggy pastoral ground. I do not speak of the needles of Montanvert, behind; nor of other pikes up-rising before us. Such sights belong not to Westmoreland, and I could fancy that I then paid them little regard, it being for the sake of Westmoreland alone that I like to dwell on this short passage of our journey, which brought us in view of one of the most interesting of the valleys of the Alps. We descended with our little stream, and saw its brief life in a moment cut off, when it reached the Berard, the river of Black Water, which is seen falling, not in black but grey cataracts within the cove of a mountain that well deserves the former epithet, though a bed of snow and glacier ice is seen among its piky and jagged ridges. Below those bare summits, pine forests and crags are piled together, with lawns and cottages between.

"We enter at the side of the valley, crossing a wooden bridge; then, turning our backs on the scene just described, we bend our course downward with the River, that is hurrying away, fresh from its glacier fountains; how different a fellow-traveller from that little rivulet we had just parted from, which we had seen, still bright as silver, drop into the grey stream! The descending Vale before us beautiful, the high enclosing hills interspersed with woods, green pasturage, and cottages. The delight we had in journeying through the Valorsine is not to be imagined, sunshine and shade were alike cheering; while the very numerousness of the brown wood cottages (descried among trees, or outspread on the steep lawns), and the people enjoying their Sabbath leisure out of doors, seemed to make a quiet spot more quiet." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. ii.)

The following account of the festival of the Virgin, which occurred during the Wordsworths' visit to Engelberg, may further illustrate this poem:—"Knots of peasants going to and returning from church, all in holiday trim. We had learned the day to be a grand Festival—the Feast of the Virgin. After breakfast, the procession streamed out of church, a beautiful spectacle, as they begirt that and the monastery. Men, women, and children, Abbot, Monks, Priests, and Choristers, a thousand persons or upwards; the women as gay as glitter and colours could make them. Flat white hats, with ribbons and flowers, embroidered stomachers, red girdles, and their short black petticoats, embroidered with red ribbon, large shining pins in their hair, and lockets suspended from their necks. The men too, mostly, had some ornament upon their hats: the young generally a coloured ribbon, the elders black ones, tied with a bow: all well and curiously dressed; it was a festive scene, and the most important fête in the year. Seventeen monks belong to the convent of Engelberg, and the whole valley contains about 1700 inhabitants," etc. (Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)—ED.

VARIANTS:

[549] 1837.

1822.

They uttered loud hosannas,—let the trumpets blow!

1827.

These shout hosannas,—these the startling trumpets blow!

1832.

. . . those . . .

[551] 1837.

1822.

Striking with fury; and the . . .

1827.

Smiting with fury; and the . . .

[552] 1827.

But O the fairest pageant of a dream

Did never equal that which met our eyes!

The glacier Pillars with the living Stream

Of white-robed Shapes, seemed linked in solemn guise,

[553] 1827.

Of number, stood like spotless Votaries

Prepared to issue . . .

[554] 1827.

1822.

. . . sent . . .

[555] 1827.

1822.

. . . engirt . . .

[556] 1827.

1822.

. . . Mount did seem,

[557] 1827.

. . . that on the turf did glide,

To that unmoving band—the . . .

[558] 1827.

1822.

. . . and unbind;

FOOTNOTES:

[IS] Persepolis, the capital city of Persia, "the glory of the East," was destroyed by Alexander the Great (see Quintus Curtius, book v. chaps. 6, 7), and is now, for the most part, a mass of ruins. In the staircase leading up to the Great Hall of Xerxes, the mural decorations include "colossal warriors, combats with wild beasts, processions, and the like." Compare Fergusson's Palaces of Nineveh and Persepolis restored.—Ed.

[IT] Compare Leviticus xxiii. 34, 40-43; also Nehemiah viii. 14, 15.—Ed.

[IU] The Temple of Jupiter Ammon (or Hammon)—the ruins of which still exist—was, in the centre of an oasis of the Libyan Desert, twelve days' journey from Memphis, according to Pliny. In Diodorus Siculus (book xvii. c. 5), in Strabo (book xvii. cc. 37 and 43), and in Herodotus (book iv. 181), the Temple is described; but a fuller account—and the one which probably suggested to Wordsworth some part of his description in the text—will be found in Quintus Curtius, which records the visit of Alexander the Great to consult the oracle:—"Tandem ad sedem consecratam deo ventum est. Incredibile dictu, inter vastas solitudines sita, undique ambientibus ramis, vix in densam umbram cadente sole, contecta est, multique fontes, dulcibus aquis passim manantibus, alunt silvas. Coelique quoque mira temperies, verno tepori maxime similis, omnes anni partes pari salubritate percurrit....

"Est et aliud Hammonis nemus: in medio habet fontem (Solis aquam vocant): sub lucis ortum tepida manat, medio die, cujus vehementissimus est calor, frigida eadem fluit, inclinato in vesperam calescit, media nocte fervida exaestuat, quoque nox propius vergit ad lucem, multum ex nocturno calore decrescit, donec sub ipsum diei ortum assueto tepore languescat.... Hunc, cum responsum petitur, navigio aurato gestant sacerdotes, multis argenteis pateris ab utroque navigii latere pendentibus: sequuntur matronae virginesque, patrio more inconditum quoddam carmen canentes, quo propitiari Jovem credunt, ut certum edat oraculum."[550]—Q. Curtius Rufus, De Gestis Alex., iv. 31 (ed. Zumpt). The sentence italicised and translated makes it clear that Wordsworth was dealing in this instance with the text of Quintus Curtius, as he dealt with that of Herodotus, for example, in The Excursion, when he described the

Tower eight times planted on the top of tower,

That Belus, nightly to his splendid couch

Descending, there might rest.

(Book iv. ll. 685-687.)

For discussions on the oases and Temple of Jupiter Ammon, see Travels in Africa, Egypt, etc., by W. G. Browne (1792 to 1798), The Journal of Frederick Horneman's Travels from Cairo to Mourzouk (1797-8), Narrative of Operations and Discoveries in Egypt, etc., by G. Balzoni, and note M in Pratt's Quintus Curtius, vol. i.—Ed.

[550] "When a response was sought, it was the custom for the priests to carry the image of the god in a golden ship with many silver paterae hanging from both its sides; while matrons and virgins followed, singing, according to the custom of their country, a certain uncouth hymn, by which they believed they could propitiate the god, and induce him to return an unambiguous answer."

[IV] "Old Cham, the solar Deity," was the same as "the Ammonian Jove." The statue of the god in the Temple was ram-headed and horned, hence the Egyptian veneration for the ram.—Ed.

[IW] Compare Paradise Lost, book xi. ll. 745-747.—Ed.

[IX] "This refers to the triumphal processions along the Via Sacra, in which the fortunate general was decorated with all the insignia of Jupiter. (See Livy, book x. c. 7.) The captive princes, who were conducted in the procession, were put to death in the prison at the ascent of the Capitoline, before the triumphal offerings were made to the gods." (W. A. Heard.)

[IY] "This refers to the Ludi Circenses (Livy, book i. 9), when the gods were conducted to the circus in a magnificent procession, their images carried on a kind of frame, or placed in sacred chariots called 'tensae,' which are alluded to in the next line." (W. A. Heard.)

[IZ] "Ludi Cerealia (Livy, book xxx. 39; Ovid, Fasti, iv. 391)—

Circus erit pompa celeber numeroque deorum,

Primaque ventosis palma petetur equis.

Hinc Cereris ludi." (W. A. Heard.)

[JA] "The salii, or priests of Mars, on his festival, marched through the streets, stamping in a kind of dance and striking the sacred shields (ancilia.)

A saltu nomina dicta.

Ovid, Fasti, iii. 387." (W. A. Heard.)

[JB] "This is an allusion to 'Megalesia,' a festival of Cybele the Great Mother. In this festival there was a solemn commemoration, with processions and games, of the first entry of the goddess into Rome. The Corybantes were her Phrygian priests. See, for the whole worship, Ovid, Fasti, iv. 181." (W. A. Heard.)

[JC] "Compare Virgil, Æneid vi. 785—

Qualis Berecyntia mater

Invehitur curru Phrygias turrita per urbes.

The Great Mother is represented in works of art as wearing a crown of towers. An explanation is given in Ovid's Fasti (iv. 219), a work which Wordsworth seems to have had in his thoughts throughout this stanza.

At cur turrifera caput est onerata corona?

An primis turres urbibus illa dedit?"

(W. A. Heard.)

[JD] Compare The Prelude, book vi. 1. 528—

The wondrous Vale

Of Chamouny stretched far below. Ed.

XXXII
ELEGIAC STANZAS

The lamented Youth whose untimely death gave occasion to these elegiac verses, was Frederick William Goddard, from Boston in North America. He was in his twentieth year, and had resided for some time with a clergyman in the neighbourhood of Geneva for the completion of his education. Accompanied by a fellow-pupil, a native of Scotland, he had just set out on a Swiss tour when it was his misfortune to fall in with a friend of mine who was hastening to join our party. The travellers, after spending a day together on the road from Berne and at Soleure, took leave of each other at night, the young men having intended to proceed directly to Zurich. But early in the morning my friend found his new acquaintances, who were informed of the object of his journey, and the friends he was in pursuit of, equipped to accompany him. We met at Lucerne the succeeding evening, and Mr. G. and his fellow-student became in consequence our travelling companions for a couple of days. We ascended the Righi together; and, after contemplating the sunrise from that noble mountain, we separated at an hour and on a spot well suited to the parting of those who were to meet no more. Our party descended through the valley of our Lady of the Snow, and our late companions, to Arth. We had hoped to meet in a few weeks at Geneva; but on the third succeeding day (on the 21st of August) Mr. Goddard perished, being overset in a boat while crossing the lake of Zurich. His companion saved himself by swimming, and was hospitably received in the mansion of a Swiss gentleman (M. Keller) situated on the eastern coast of the lake. The corpse of poor Goddard was cast ashore on the estate of the same gentleman, who generously performed all the rites of hospitality which could be rendered to the dead as well as to the living. He caused a handsome mural monument to be erected in the church of Küsnacht, which records the premature fate of the young American, and on the shores too of the lake the traveller may read an inscription pointing out the spot where the body was deposited by the waves.[559]

Lulled by the sound of pastoral bells,

Rude Nature's Pilgrims did we go,

From the dread summit of the Queen[JE]

Of mountains, through a deep ravine,

Where, in her holy chapel, dwells

"Our Lady of the Snow."

The sky was blue, the air was mild;

Free were the streams and green the bowers;

As if, to rough assaults unknown,

The genial spot had ever shown

A countenance that as sweetly smiled—[560]

The face of summer-hours.

And we were gay, our hearts at ease;

With pleasure dancing through the frame

We journeyed; all we knew of care—[561]

Our path that straggled here and there;

Of trouble—but the fluttering breeze;

Of Winter—but a name.

If foresight could have rent the veil

Of three short days—but hush—no more!

Calm is the grave, and calmer none

Than that to which thy cares are gone,

Thou Victim of the stormy gale;

Asleep on Zurich's shore!

25

Oh Goddard! what art thou?—a name—

A sunbeam followed by a shade!

Nor more, for aught that time supplies,

The great, the experienced, and the wise:

Too much from this frail earth we claim,

And therefore are betrayed.

We met, while festive mirth ran wild,

Where, from a deep lake's mighty urn,

Forth slips, like an enfranchised slave,

A sea-green river, proud to lave,

With current swift and undefiled,

The towers of old Lucerne.

We parted upon solemn ground

Far-lifted towards the unfading sky;

But all our thoughts were then of Earth,

That gives to common pleasures birth;

And nothing in our hearts we found

That prompted even a sigh.

Fetch, sympathising Powers of air,

Fetch, ye that post o'er seas and lands,

Herbs moistened by Virginian dew,

A most untimely grave to strew,

Whose turf may never know the care[562]

Of kindred human hands!

Beloved by every gentle Muse

He left his Transatlantic home:

Europe, a realised romance,

Had opened on his eager glance;

What present bliss!—what golden views!

What stores for years to come!

55

Though lodged within no vigorous frame,

His soul her daily tasks renewed,

Blithe as the lark on sun-gilt wings

High poised—or as the wren that sings

In shady places, to proclaim

Her modest gratitude.

Not vain is sadly-uttered praise;

The words of truth's memorial vow

Are sweet as morning fragrance shed

From flowers 'mid Goldau's ruins bred;

As evening's fondly-lingering rays,[563]

On Righi's silent brow.

Lamented youth! to thy cold clay

Fit obsequies the Stranger paid;

And piety shall guard the Stone[564]

Which hath not left the spot unknown

Where the wild waves resigned their prey—

And that which marks thy bed.[565]

And, when thy Mother weeps for Thee,

Lost Youth! a solitary Mother;

This tribute from a casual Friend

A not unwelcome aid may lend,

To feed the tender luxury,

The rising pang to smother.

The persuasion here expressed was not groundless. The first human consolation that the afflicted Mother felt, was derived from this tribute to her son's memory, a fact which the author learned, at his own residence, from her Daughter, who visited Europe some years afterwards.—Goldau is one of the villages desolated by the fall of part of the Mountain Rossberg.—W. W. 1837.

References to Young Goddard occur in Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal, as follows:—"Lucerne, Aug. 16.—... In bounded Henry Robinson, ... with two young men he has picked up on the road...." "Aug. 17.—The two young Gentlemen, Mr. R.'s companions, called upon us to walk at 7 o'clock; and very pleasing youths we found them, one an American, the other a Scotsman, by birth, students from Geneva, come out on foot for a month's excursion." "Top of Righi, Sat. 19th.—Our pleasant ingenuous companions gone. We parted immediately after breakfast." "Lausanne, Sept. 20.—Our joy was damped by hearing from Mr. Mulloch, of the melancholy fate of that very interesting youth, Mr. Goddard, with whom we parted on the top of the Righi. He, with Mr. Trotter, descended to pursue their way to Zurich, in which lake he was unfortunately drowned two days afterwards; we towards Lauritz, but all in the hope of meeting again at Altorf.... Mr. G.'s mother is in America.... Seldom have I seen so promising a youth." "Sat. 23rd. Geneva.—Met Mr. Trotter. The loss of poor Goddard was occasioned by a sudden squall, which upset one of the worthless boats, made of thin planks, flat bottomed. Mr. T. being a good swimmer, and on the side nearest the shore, reached land, when looking for his companion, he had disappeared, had been sucked under the boat, and was never seen from the first moment. Great humanity was shown by the people in the neighbourhood on this melancholy occasion. The body was found, and afterwards buried in the churchyard at Küsnacht, a village on the east shore of the lake of Zurich. A discourse in German was delivered by an old Priest, after the interment, a copy of which Mr. T. showed us; and which Mr. R. and W. were much pleased with, for the pathetic simplicity of the expression. It was intended to be sent to the poor mother of the deceased."

The reference towards the close of the poem to the

Flowers 'mid Goldau's ruins bred;

and the concluding passage of the prefatory note to the edition of 1822, suggest another passage in Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal. "Aug. 19.—Dined at Goldau. This cottage-inn is built, as several other houses are, on the side of the road surrounded by masses of fallen rock: chapel close by: all walked to the ruins: sate for a long time upon an immense mass of the fallen mountain. It is an awful and an affecting place. We were surprised at the extent of the desolation, especially when we looked up to the mountain whence it had proceeded. The rent, high above us, appeared so trifling that we could not but wonder how all those mighty blocks had ever been piled upon so narrow a space. Huge masses of rock on every side of us. It is aptly called "the valley of Stones." A river had thridded this once lovely and still interesting valley; but this, with the green meadows which it fertilized, is buried; and the lake of Lawerz below driven into narrower compass.... Three villages, with their inhabitants, had been completely destroyed."

"Wednesday, 19th September. Lausanne.—We met with some pleasant Englishmen, from whom we heard particulars concerning the melancholy fate of our young Friend, the American, seen by us for the last time on the top of the Righi. The tidings of his death had been first communicated, but a few hours before, by Mr. Mulloch. We had the comfort of hearing that his friend had saved himself by swimming, and had paid the last duties to the stranger, so far from home and kindred, who lies quietly in the churchyard of Küsnacht on the shores of Zurich." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. ii.)

On the 24th Nov. 1821, Dorothy Wordsworth wrote to Henry Crabb Robinson:—"... Amongst the Poems (the Tour on the Continent) is one to the memory of poor Goddard, which probably never would have been written but for your suggestion. How often do I think of that night when you first introduced that interesting youth to us! At this moment I see in my mind's eye the lighted Salon, you in your great-coat, and the two slender tall figures following you!"—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[559] 1827.

On arriving at Lausanne, we heard of the fate of the Young American, whose death is here lamented. He had been our companion for three days; and we separated upon Mount Righi with mutual hope of meeting again in the course of our Tour. Goldau, mentioned towards the conclusion of this Piece, is a Village at the foot of Mount Righi, one of those overwhelmed by a mass which fell from the side of the mountain Rossberg, a few years ago.—W.W. 1822.

[560] 1837

1822.

. . . that sweetly smiled,

[561] 1827.

1822.

All that we knew of lively care,

[562] 1832.

. . . sod to strew,

That lacks the ornamental care

[563] 1827.

1822.

Sweet as Eve's fondly-lingering rays,

[564] 1832.

1827.

. . . that stone

[565] This stanza was first added in 1827.

FOOTNOTE:

[JE] Mount Righi—Regina Montium.—W. W.

XXXIII
SKY-PROSPECT—FROM THE PLAIN OF FRANCE

Lo! in the burning west, the craggy nape

Of a proud Ararat! and, thereupon,

The Ark, her melancholy voyage done!

Yon rampant cloud mimics a lion's shape;

There, combats a huge crocodile—agape

A golden spear to swallow! and that brown

And massy grove, so near yon blazing town,

Stirs and recedes—destruction to escape!

Yet all is harmless—as the Elysian shades

Where Spirits dwell in undisturbed repose—

Silently disappears, or quickly fades:

Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows

That for oblivion take their daily birth

From all the fuming vanities of Earth!

The only allusion in Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal to any noteworthy "sky-prospect from the plain of France," occurs when they rested at Fontainbleau. "Sept. 30.—... Seeing the forest rise at the end of a long vista of trees, our guide said that from that point we should have a fine view. Passed through the old-fashioned French flower garden, with its large sheet of water.... Surprised by the view from the hill, first towards the palace, and the expanse beyond, and immediately opposite this (what we so little expected to see) a rocky dell in that sandy region; most curious, the bank before us scattered thickly with rocks, by that dim light appearing like a large village. Glorious crimson light in the west, all the rest of the sky a clear cloudless blue. The evening star very large, and alone. An impressive silence in the air, so that we heard the sounds from the distant town distinctly."

"Saturday, 29th September. Fontainbleau.—In the very heart of the Alps, I never saw a more wild and lonely spot, yet curious in the extreme, and even beautiful. Thousands of white bleached rocks, mostly in appearance not much larger than sheep, lay on the steep declivities of the dell among bushes and low trees, heather, bilberries, and other forest plants. The effect of loneliness and desert wildness was indescribably increased by the remembrance of the Palace we had left not an hour before. The spot on which we stood is said to have been frequented by Henry the IVth. when he wished to retire from his court and attendants. A few steps more brought us in view of fresh ranges of the forest, hills, plains, and distant lonely dells. The sunset was brilliant—light clouds in the west, and overhead a spotless blue dome. As we wind along the top of the Steep, the views are still changing—the plain expands eastward, and again appear the white buildings of Fontainbleau, with something of romantic brightness in the fading light; for we had tarried till a star or two reminded us it was time to move away. In descending, we followed one of the long straight tracks that intersect the forest in all directions. Bewildered among those tracks, we were set right by a party of wood-cutters, going home from their labour." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. ii.)—Ed.

XXXIV
ON BEING STRANDED NEAR THE HARBOUR OF BOULOGNE

Why cast ye back upon the Gallic shore,

Ye furious waves! a patriotic Son

Of England—who in hope her coast had won,

His project crowned, his pleasant travel o'er?

Well—let him pace this noted beach once more,

That gave the Roman his triumphal shells;[JF]

That saw the Corsican his cap and bells

Haughtily shake, a dreaming Conqueror!—

Enough: my Country's cliffs I can behold,

And proudly think, beside the chafing sea,[566]

Of checked ambition, tyranny controlled,

And folly cursed with endless memory:

These local recollections ne'er can cloy;

Such ground I from my very heart enjoy!

Near the Town of Boulogne, and overhanging the Beach, are the remains of a Tower which bears the name of Caligula, who here terminated his western Expedition, of which these sea-shells were the boasted spoils. And, at no great distance from these Ruins, Buonaparte, standing upon a mound of earth, harangued his "Army of England," reminding them of the exploits of Cæsar, and, pointing towards the white cliffs upon which their standards were to float. He recommended also a subscription to be raised among the Soldiery to erect on that Ground, in memory of the Foundation of the "Legion of Honour," a Column,—which was not completed at the time we were there.—W. W. 1822.

"Embarked in a small vessel; wind contrary. The vessel struck upon a sandbank. Then was driven with violence upon a rocky road in the harbour. Tide was ebbing very fast." (Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Monday, 29th October. Boulogne.—We walked to Buonaparte's Pillar, which, on the day when he harangued his soldiers (pointing to the shores of England whither he should lead them to conquest), he decreed should be erected in commemoration of the Legion of Honour then established. The pillar is seen far and wide, unfinished, as the intricate casing of a scaffolding loftier than itself, shows at whatever distance it is seen. It is said the Bourbons intend to complete the work, and give it a new name; but I think it more probable that the scaffolding may be left to fall away, and the Pile of marble remain strewn round, as it is, with unfinished blocks, an undisputed Monument of the Founder's vanity and arrogance; and so it may stand as long as the brick towers of Caligula have done, a remnant of which yet appears on the cliffs. We walked on the ground which had been covered by the army that dreamt of conquering England, and were shown the very spot where their Leader made his boastful speech.

"On the day fixed for our departure from Boulogne, the weather being boisterous and wind contrary, the Packet could not sail, and we trusted ourselves to a small vessel, with only one effective sailor on board. Even Mary was daunted by the Breakers outside the Harbour, and I descended into the vessel as unwillingly as a criminal might go to execution, and hid myself in bed. Presently our little ship moved; and before ten minutes were gone she struck upon the sands. I felt that something disastrous had happened; but knew not what till poor Mary appeared in the cabin, having been thrown down from the top of the steps. There was again a frightful beating and grating of the bottom of the vessel, water rushing in very fast. A young man, an Italian, who had risen from a bed beside mine, as pale as ashes, groaned in agony, kneeling at his prayers. My condition was not much better than his; but I was more quiet. Never shall I forget the kindness of a little Irish woman who, though she herself, as she afterwards said, was much frightened, assured me even chearfully that there was no danger. I cannot say that her words, as assurances of safety, had much effect upon me; but the example of her courage made me become more collected; and I felt her human kindness even at the moment when I believed that we might be all going to the bottom of the sea together; and the agonizing thoughts of the distress at home were rushing on my mind." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. ii.)—Ed.

VARIANT:

[566] 1837.

1822.

. . . murmuring sea,

FOOTNOTE:

[JF] See Wordsworth's note appended to the poem.—Ed.

XXXV
AFTER LANDING—THE VALLEY OF DOVER
NOV. 1820

Where be the noisy followers of the game

Which faction breeds; the turmoil where? that passed

Through Europe, echoing from the newsman's blast,

And filled our hearts with grief for England's shame.

Peace greets us;—rambling on without an aim

We mark majestic herds of cattle, free

To ruminate, couched on the grassy lea;

And hear far-off the mellow horn proclaim

The Season's harmless pastime. Ruder sound

Stirs not; enrapt I gaze with strange delight,

While consciousnesses, not to be disowned,

Here only serve a feeling to invite

That lifts the spirit to a calmer height,

And makes this[567] rural stillness more profound.

We mark majestic herds of cattle free

To ruminate.

This is a most grateful sight for an Englishman returning to his native land. Every where one misses, in the cultivated scenery abroad, the animating and soothing accompaniment of animals ranging and selecting their own food at will.—W. W. 1822.

"Dover, Wed., 8th Nov.—At 11 o'clock we took coach and thoroughly enjoyed our journey between the green pastures of Kent, besprinkled with groups of trees, and bounded by hedgerows. The scattered cattle quietly selecting their own food was a cheering, and a home-feeling sight." (Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"It was, I think, 10 o'clock when we left Dover. The day was pleasant, and every English sight delightful, the fields sprinkled with cattle, the hedgerows, the snug small cottages, the pretty country-houses. Many a time we said to each other, 'What a pleasant country this must appear to the eyes of a Frenchman!'" (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. ii.)—Ed.

VARIANT:

[567] 1837.

1822.

. . . the . . .

XXXVI
AT DOVER[JG]

[For the impressions on which this sonnet turns, I am indebted to the experience of my daughter, during her residence at Dover with our dear friend, Miss Fenwick.—I. F.]

From the Pier's head, musing, and with increase

Of wonder, I have watched[568] this sea-side Town,

Under the white cliff's battlemented crown,

Hushed to a depth of more than Sabbath peace:

The streets and quays are thronged, but why disown

Their natural utterance:[569] whence this strange release

From social noise—silence elsewhere unknown?—

A Spirit whispered, "Let all wonder cease;

Ocean's o'erpowering murmurs have set free

Thy sense from pressure of life's common din;

As the[570] dread Voice that speaks from out the sea

Of God's eternal Word, the Voice of Time

Doth deaden, shocks of tumult,[571] shrieks of crime,

The shouts of folly, and the groans of sin."

VARIANTS:

[568] 1850.

ms.

Of wonder, long I watched . . .

[569] 1850.

. . . were thronged, but why disown

Their natural voices . . .

[570] 1850.

. . . . . . peace;

How strange thought I this orderly release

From social noise. What law elsewhere unknown

That stillness guards? Then ocean cried, "I drown

In solemn sounds; let wonder cease!

So through his spiritual ear is man set free

From conscious pressure of life's heaviest din,

When the . . . . . .

. . . . . . release

From social noise, quiet elsewhere unknown:

{ A spirit whispered }

{ Then cried a spirit } "Doth not ocean drown

In solemn sounds; let wonder cease!

So through his overpowering murmurs . . . . . .

[571] 1850.

ms.

Deadens—the shocks of { tumult }

{ passion }

FOOTNOTE:

[JG] This sonnet was first published in the edition of 1850.—Ed.

XXXVII
DESULTORY STANZAS,

Upon Receiving the Preceding Sheets from the Press

Is then the final page before me spread,

Nor further outlet left to mind or heart?

Presumptuous Book! too forward to be read,

How can I give thee licence to depart?

One tribute more: unbidden feelings start

Forth from their coverts; slighted objects rise;

My spirit is the scene of such wild art

As on Parnassus rules, when lightning flies,

Visibly leading on the thunder's harmonies.

10

All that I saw returns upon my view,

All that I heard comes back upon my ear,

All that I felt this moment doth renew;

And where the foot with no unmanly fear

Recoiled—and wings alone could travel—there

I move at ease; and meet contending themes

That press upon me, crossing the career

Of recollections vivid as the dreams

Of midnight,—cities, plains, forests, and mighty streams.

Where Mortal never breathed I dare to sit

Among the interior Alps, gigantic crew,

Who triumphed o'er diluvian power!—and yet

What are they but a wreck and residue,

Whose only business is to perish!—true

To which sad course, these wrinkled Sons of Time

Labour their proper greatness to subdue;

Speaking of death alone, beneath a clime

Where life and rapture flow in plenitude sublime.[JH]

Fancy hath flung for me an airy bridge

Across thy long deep Valley, furious Rhone!

Arch that here rests upon the granite ridge

Of Monte Rosa—there on frailer stone

Of secondary birth, the Jung-frau's cone;

And, from that arch, down-looking on the Vale

The aspect I behold of every zone;

A sea of foliage, tossing with the gale,

Blithe Autumn's purple crown, and Winter's icy mail!

Far as St. Maurice, from yon eastern Forks,[JI]

Down the main avenue my sight can range:

And all its branchy vales, and all that lurks

Within them, church, and town, and hut, and grange,

For my enjoyment meet in vision strange;

Snows, torrents;—to the region's utmost bound,

Life, Death, in amicable interchange;—

But list! the avalanche—the hush profound

That follows—yet more awful than that awful sound![572]

Is not the chamois suited to his place?

The eagle worthy of her ancestry?

—Let Empires fall; but ne'er shall Ye disgrace

Your noble birthright, ye that occupy

Your council-seats beneath the open sky,[JJ]

On Sarnen's Mount,[JK] there judge of fit and right,

In simple democratic majesty;

Soft breezes fanning your rough brows—the might

And purity of nature spread before your sight!

55

From this appropriate Court, renowned Lucerne

Calls[573] me to pace her honoured Bridge[JL]—that cheers

The Patriot's heart with pictures rude and stern,

An uncouth Chronicle of glorious years.

Like portraiture, from loftier source, endears

That work of kindred frame, which spans the lake

Just at the point of issue, where it fears

The form and motion of a stream to take;

Where it begins to stir, yet voiceless as a snake.[JM]

Volumes of sound, from the Cathedral rolled,

This long-roofed Vista penetrate—but see,

One after one, its tablets, that unfold

The whole design of Scripture history;

From the first tasting of the fatal Tree,

Till the bright Star appeared in eastern skies,

Announcing, One was born mankind to free;

His acts, his wrongs, his final sacrifice;

Lessons for every heart, a Bible for all eyes.

Our pride misleads, our timid likings kill.

—Long may these homely Works devised of old,

These simple efforts of Helvetian skill,

Aid, with congenial influence, to uphold

The State,—the Country's destiny to mould;

Turning, for them who pass, the common dust

Of servile opportunity to gold;

Filling the soul with sentiments august—

The beautiful, the brave, the holy, and the just!

No more; Time halts not in his noiseless march—

Nor turns, nor winds, as doth the liquid flood;

Life slips from underneath us, like that arch

Of airy workmanship whereon we stood,[574]

Earth stretched below, heaven in our neighbourhood.

Go forth, my little Book! pursue thy way;

Go forth, and please the gentle and the good;

Nor be a whisper stifled, if it say

That treasures, yet untouched, may grace some future Lay.

Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal of this Continental Tour contains the modest entry, made at "Paris, Monday, Oct. 2nd.—... I shall here close these very imperfect notices, commenced at D.'s request; and with a notion, on my part, that they might be useful when she wrote her Journal: but soon finding that, with such a view, mine was a superfluous labour, I should not have had the resolution to go on, except at Wm.'s desire, and from the feeling that my Daughter, and perhaps her brothers, might one day find pleasure, should they ever have the good fortune to trace our steps, in recognising objects their Mother had seen."

See Dorothy Wordsworth's Itinerary of the Tour (Note A), in the Appendix to this volume.—Ed.

VARIANTS:

[572] 1827.

. . . heart-striking sound!

Tumult by prompt repose and awful silence crown'd!

[573] 1827.

1822.

Leads . . .

[574] 1827.

And those surrounding Mountains—but no more;

Time creepeth softly as the liquid flood;

Life slips from underneath us, like the floor

Of that wide rainbow-arch whereon we stood,

FOOTNOTES:

[JH] In the third of the Desultory Stanzas I am indebted to Mr. Raymond, who has written with genuine feeling on these subjects.—W. W. 1822.

[JI] Les Fourches, the point at which the two chains of mountains part, that enclose the Valais, which terminates at St. Maurice.—W. W. 1822.

At the head of the Vallais.—W. W. 1827.

[JJ] Compare the sonnet Tynwald Hill, in the "Poems composed or suggested during a Tour in the Summer of 1833."—Ed.

[JK] In the edition of 1822 there is the following note, the reference being to "Ye who convoked in Sarnen occupy," a reading which does not occur in that or in any other edition.—Ed.

Sarnen, one of the two Capitals of the Canton of Underwalden; the spot here alluded to is close to the town, and is called the Landenberg, from the Tyrant of that name, whose chateau formerly stood there. On the 1st of Jan. 1308, the great day which the confederated Heroes had chosen for the deliverance of their Country, all the Castles of the Governors were taken by force or stratagem; and the Tyrants themselves conducted, with their Creatures, to the frontiers, after having witnessed the destruction of their Strong-holds. From that time the Landenberg has been the place where the Legislators of this division of the Canton assemble. The site, which is well described by Ebel, is one of the most beautiful in Switzerland.—W. W. 1822.

"Sarnen, Aug. 14.—... The buildings we have been to visit are Government Houses. There all business relating to the canton is transacted. The meetings are sometimes held in the open air: a green area is set apart, with steps around for this purpose. Marks to shoot at, bowls, etc., are here ready, for the days of festival," etc. (Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

[JL] The Bridges of Lucerne are roofed, and open at the sides, so that the Passenger has, at the same time, the benefit of shade, and a view of the magnificent Country. The Pictures are attached to the rafters; those from Scripture History on the Cathedral-bridge, amount, according to my notes, to 240. Subjects from the Old Testament face the Passenger as he goes towards the Cathedral, and those from the New as he returns. The pictures on these Bridges, as well as those in most other parts of Switzerland, are not to be spoken of as works of art; but they are instruments admirably answering the purpose for which they were designed.—W. W. 1822.

"Lucerne, 16th Aug.—... Crossed, at the outlet of the Lake, the long covered Bridge, along the roof of which are 240 Paintings from the Scriptures: Subjects from the Old Testament face you, as you walk one way, and from the New as you return. Two other bridges of the same kind, the Chapel-bridge, with paintings from Swiss history. Fine views from the Bridge of the Lake, and mountains," etc. (Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

[JM] Compare The Idiot Boy, ll. 405-6—

The little birds began to stir,

Though yet their tongues were still.

APPENDIX

[NOTE A]

The following Itinerary of the Continental Tour of 1820 was appended by Dorothy Wordsworth to the first volume of her Journal of that Tour. I retain her spelling of the names of places.—Ed.

N.B.—At Paris we left our carriage, which was sold some months afterwards for half its cost. Proceeded in the Diligence, after twenty-six days spent at Paris, by Chantilly and Amiens to Boulogne. Set off from Paris at 8 o'clock on Saturday morning, and arrived at Boulogne at about 9 on Sunday night.

NOTE B

The following are extracts from Henry Crabb Robinson's account of his "Swiss Tour with the Wordsworths." (See Diary, Correspondence, etc., vol. ii. pp. 167-191.)—Ed.

I left London on the 1st of August, and reached Lyons on the 9th.

On the 15th I went to Solothurn, and an acquaintance began out of which a catastrophe sprang. In the stage between Berne and Solothurn, which takes a circuit through an unpicturesque, flat country, were two very interesting young men, who I soon learned were residing with a Protestant clergyman at Geneva, and completing their education. The elder was an American, aged twenty-one, named Goddard. He had a sickly air, but was intelligent, and not ill-read in English poetry. The other was a fine handsome lad, aged sixteen, of the name of Trotter, son of the then, or late, Secretary to the Admiralty. He was of Scotch descent. They were both genteel and well-behaved young men, with the grace communicated by living in good company. We became at once acquainted,—I being then, as now, young in the facility of forming acquaintance. We spent a very agreeable day and evening together, partly in a walk to a hermitage in the neighbourhood, and took leave of each other at night,—I being bound for Lucerne, they for Zürich. But in the morning I saw, to my surprise, my young friends with their knapsacks in their hands ready to accompany me. Goddard said, with a very amiable modesty, "If you will permit us, we wish to go with you. I am an admirer of Wordsworth's poems, and I should be delighted merely to see him. Of course I expect no more." I was gratified by this proposal, and we had a second day of enjoyment, and this through a very beautiful country. My expectations were not disappointed. I had heard of the Wordsworth party from travellers with whom we met. I found my friends at the Cheval Blanc. From them I had a most cordial reception, and I was in high spirits. Mrs. Wordsworth wrote in her journal: "H. C. R. was drunk with pleasure, and made us drunk too." My companions also were kindly received.

Wordsworth and I returned to dinner, and found my young friends already in great favour with the ladies. After dinner we walked through the town, which has no other remarkable feature than the body of water flowing through it, and the several covered wooden bridges. In the angles of the roof of these bridges there are paintings on historical and allegorical subjects. One series from the Bible, another from the Swiss war against Austria, a third called the Dance of Death. The last is improperly called, for Death does not force his partner to an involuntary waltz, as in the famous designs which go by Holbein's name, but appears in all the pictures an unwelcome visitor. There are feeling and truth in many of the conceptions, but the expression is too often ludicrous, and too often coarsely didactic.

August 18th.—We sailed on the lake as far as Küsnacht, the two young men being still our companions; and between two and three we began to ascend the Righi, an indispensable achievement in a Swiss tour. We engaged beds at the Staffel, and went on to see the sun set, but we were not fortunate in the weather. Once or twice there were gleams of light on some of the lakes, but there was little charm of colouring. After an early and comfortable supper we enjoyed the distant lightning; but it soon became very severe, and some of the rooms of the hotel were flooded with rain. Our rest was disturbed by a noisy party, who, unable to obtain beds for themselves, resolved that no one else should enjoy his. The whole night was spent by them in an incessant din of laughing, singing, and shouting. We were called up between three and four A.M., but had a very imperfect view from this "dread summit of the Queen of Mountains"—Regina montium. The most beautiful part of the scene was that which arose from the clouds below us. They rose in succession sometimes concealing the country, and then opening to our view dark lakes, and gleams of very brilliant green. They sometimes descended as if into an abyss beneath us. We saw a few of the snow-mountains illuminated by the first rays of the sun.

My journal simply says: "After breakfast our young gentlemen left us." I afterwards wrote, "We separated at a spot well suited to the parting of those who were to meet no more. Our party descended through the valley of our 'Lady of the Snow,' and our late companions went to Arth. We hoped to meet in a few weeks at Geneva."

I will leave the order of time, and relate now all that appertains to this sad history. The young men gave us their address, and we promised to inform them when we should be at Geneva, on our return. But on that return we found that poor Goddard had perished in the lake of Zürich, on the third day after our leave-taking on the Righi.

I heard the story from Trotter on the 23rd of September. They had put themselves in a crazy boat; and a storm arising, the boat overset. It righted itself, but to no purpose. Trotter swam to the shore, but Goddard was not seen again. Trotter was most hospitably received by a Mr. Keller, near whose house the catastrophe took place. The body was cast ashore next day, and afterwards interred in the neighbouring churchyard of Küsnacht. An inscription was placed near the spot where the body was found, and a mural monument erected in the church. At the funeral a pathetic address was delivered by the Protestant clergyman, which I read in the Zürich paper. We were all deeply impressed by the event. Wordsworth, I knew, was not fond of drawing the subjects of his poems from occurrences in themselves interesting, and therefore, though I urged him to write on this tragic incident, I little expected he would. There is, however, a beautiful elegiac poem by him on this subject. [To the later editions there is prefixed a prose introduction. This I wrote. Mr. Wordsworth wrote to me for information, and I drew up the account in the first person.]

To go back to the 19th of August, after parting from our young companions we proceeded down the valley in which is the chapel dedicated to our Lady of the Snow, the subject of Wordsworth's nineteenth Poem. The preceding eighteen have to do with objects which had been seen before I joined the party. The elegiac stanzas are placed near the end of the collection, I know not for what reason. The stanzas on the chapel express poetically the thoughts which a prosaic mind like mine might receive from the numerous votive offerings hung on the walls. There are pictures representing accidents,—such as drowning, falling from a horse, and the Mother and the Child are in the clouds,—it being understood that the escape proceeded from her aid. Some crutches with painted inscriptions bear witness to the miracles wrought on the lame.

We passed the same day through Goldau, a desolate spot, once a populous village, overwhelmed by the slip from the Rossberg.

On the 20th at Schwytz, which Wordsworth calls the "heart" of Switzerland, as Berne is the "head." Passing through Brunnen, we reached Altorf on the 21st, the spot which suggested Wordsworth's twentieth effusion. My prose remark on the people shows the sad difference between observation and fancy. I wrote: "These patriotic recollections are delightful when genuine, but the physiognomy of the people does not speak in favour of their ancestors. The natives of the district have a feeble and melancholy character. The women are afflicted by goître. The children beg, as in other Catholic cantons. The little children, with cross-bows in their hands, sing unintelligible songs. Probably Wilhelm Tell serves, like Henri Quatre, as a name to beg by."

We next crossed the St. Gotthard. Wordsworth thinks this pass more beautiful than the more celebrated on it. It is XXII. of the collection. The young man was intelligent, and expressed pleasure in our company. We were sorry when he took French leave. We were English, and I have no doubt he feared the expense of having such costly companions. He gave a sad account of the German Universities, and said that Sand, the murderer of Kotzebue, had many apologists among the students.

We then proceeded on our half-walk and half-drive, and slept on the 25th at Bellinzona, the first decidedly Italian town.

On the 27th we had a row to Luino, on the Lago Maggiore, a walk to Ponte Tresa, and then a row to Lugano, where we went to an excellent hotel, kept by a man of the name of Rossi.

On the 28th we took an early walk up the mountain San Salvador, which produced No. XXIV. of Wordsworth's Memorial Poems. Though the weather was by no means favourable, we enjoyed a much finer view than from the Righi. The mountains in the neighbourhood are beautiful, but the charm of the prospect lies in a glimpse of distant mountains. We saw a most elegant pyramid, literally in the sky, partly black, and partly shining like silver. It was the Simplon, Mont Blanc and Monte Rosa were seen in parts. Clouds concealed the bases, and too soon also the summits. This splendid vision lasted but a few minutes. The plains of Piedmont were hardly visible, owing to the black clouds which covered this part of the horizon. We could, however, see in the midst of a dark surface a narrow ribbon of white, which we were told was the Po. We were told the direction in which Milan lay, but could not see the cathedral.

The same day we went on to Menaggio, on the Lake Como. This, in Wordsworth's estimation, is the most beautiful of the lakes. On the 29th and 30th we slept at Cadenabbia.

I wrote in my journal: "This day has been spent on the lake, and so much exquisite pleasure I never had on water. The tour, or rather excursion, we have been making surpasses in scenery all that I have ever made; and Wordsworth asserts the same. I write now from an inn where we have been served with all the promptitude of an English hotel, and with a neatness equal to that of Holland. But the pleasure can hardly be recorded. It consists in the contemplation of scenes absolutely indescribable by words, and in sensations for which no words have been even invented. We were lucky in meeting two honest fellows of watermen, who have been attentive and not extortionate. I will not enumerate the points of view and villas we visited. We saw nothing the guide-books do not speak of."

On the 31st we slept at Como, and next day went to Milan.

At the Ambrosian Library we inspected the famous copy of Virgil which belonged to Petrarch. It has in the poet's own handwriting a note, stating when and where he first saw Laura. Wordsworth was deeply interested in this entry, and would certainly have requested a copy, if he had not been satisfied that he should find it in print. The custos told us that when Buonaparte came here first, and the book was shown him, he seized it, exclaiming, "This is mine." He had it bound, and his own N. marked on it. It came back when the other plunder was restored. Another curiosity was a large book by Leonardo da Vinci, full of mechanical studies. Wordsworth was much struck with the fact that a man who had produced works of so great beauty and sublimity, had prepared himself by intense and laborious study of scientific and mathematical details. It was not till late that he ventured on beauty as exhibited in the human form.

But the great attraction of this neighbourhood is the celebrated picture of Leonardo da Vinci in the refectory of the Convent of Maria della Grazia. After sustaining every injury from Italian monks, French soldiers, wet, and the appropriation of the building to secular purposes, this picture is now protected by the public sense of its excellence from further injury. And more remains of the original than from Goethe's dissertation I expected to see. The face of our Saviour appears to have suffered less than any other part. And the countenance has in it exquisite feeling; it is all sweetness and dignity.

Some of the Apostles have a somewhat caricature expression, which has been far better preserved in the several copies existing, as well as in the engraving of Raphael Morgen. There is a sort of mawkish sentimentality in the copies of St. John, which always offended me. There is less of it in the original. That and St. Andrew are the best preserved next to the face of Christ.

On the 5th of September the Wordsworths went back to the lake of Como, in order to gratify Miss Wordsworth, who wished to see every spot which her brother saw in his first journey,—a journey made when he was young.

We rejoined the Wordsworths at Baveno on the 8th. Then we crossed the Simplon, resting successively on the 9th at Domo d'Ossola, 10th Simplon, 11th Turtman, and the 12th and 13th at the baths of Leuk. From this place we walked up the Gemmi, by far the most wonderful of all the passes of Switzerland I had ever, or have now ever, crossed. The most striking part is a mountain wall 1600 feet in perpendicular height, and having up it a zigzag path broad enough to enable a horse to ascend. The road is hardly visible from below. A parapet in the more dangerous parts renders it safe. Here my journal mentions our seeing men employed in picking up bees in a torpid state from the cold. The bees had swarmed four days before. It does not mention what I well recollect, and Wordsworth has made the subject of a sonnet, the continued barking of a dog irritated by the echo of his own voice. In human life this is perpetually occurring. It is said that a dog has been known to contract an illness by the continued labour of barking at his own echo. In the present instance the barking lasted while we were on the spot.

I say nothing of Chamouni, where we slept two nights, the 15th and 16th; nor of the roads to it, but that the Tête Noire, by which we returned, is still more interesting than the Col de Balme, by which we went. Again at Martigny on the 17th. I should not have omitted to mention that, to add to the sadness produced by the Valais, Wordsworth remarked that there the Alps themselves were in a state of decay—crumbling to pieces. His is the line:—

The human soul craves something that endures.

On the 18th we were at Villeneuve, and on the 19th and 20th at Lausanne.

At Paris I renewed my old acquaintances, and saw the old sights.

On the 8th I left the Wordsworths, who were intending to prolong their stay. On the 9th I slept at Amiens; on the 10th was on the road; on the 11th reached Dover; and on the 12th of October slept in my own chambers.

"And so," my journal says, "I concluded my tour in excellent health and spirits, having travelled farther, and seen a greater number and a greater variety of sublime and beautiful objects, and in company better calculated to make me feel the worth of these objects, than any it has been my good fortune to enjoy."

ADDENDUM

See p. 8, note[A], line 6. In this note, of which the date is 1827, Wordsworth combined two separate ones, in the editions of 1815 and 1820.—Ed.

END OF VOL. VI

Printed by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh

Transcriber's notes:

P.134. 'recal', leave as is, this word is in another volume.

P.171. Variant [318] numbering corrected.

P.211. 'Winchilsea' should be 'Winchelsea', changed.

P.230. 'Bandusia' should be 'Blandusia', changed.