“FORTH FROM A JUTTING RIDGE, AROUND WHOSE BASE”
Composed 1845.—Published 1845
One of the “Poems upon the Naming of Places.”—Ed.
Forth from a jutting ridge, around whose base
Winds our deep Vale, two heath-clad Rocks ascend[284][285]
In fellowship, the loftiest of the pair
Rising to no ambitious height; yet both,
O’er lake[286] and stream, mountain and flowery mead, 5
Unfolding prospects fair as human eyes[287]
Ever beheld. Up-led with mutual help,
To one or other brow of those twin Peaks
Were two adventurous Sisters wont to climb,
And took no note of the hour while thence they gazed, 10
The blooming heath their couch, gazed, side by side,
In speechless admiration. I, a witness
And frequent sharer of their calm[288] delight
With thankful heart, to either Eminence
Gave the baptismal name each Sister bore. 15
Now are they parted,[289] far as Death’s cold hand
Hath power to part the Spirits of those who love
As they did love. Ye kindred Pinnacles—
That, while the generations of mankind
Follow each other to their hiding-place 20
In time’s abyss, are privileged to endure
Beautiful in yourselves, and richly graced
With like command of beauty—grant your aid
For Mary’s humble, Sarah’s silent, claim,
That their pure joy in nature may survive 25
From age to age in blended memory.
[284] 1845.
Winds our sequestered vale, two rocks ascend
MS.
[285] These two rocks rise to the left of the lower high-road from Grasmere to Rydal, after it leaves the former lake and turns eastwards towards the latter. They are still “heath-clad,” and covered with the coppice of the old Bane Riggs Wood, so named because the shortest road from Ambleside to Grasmere used to pass through it; “bain” or “bane” signifying, in the Westmoreland dialect, a short cut. Dr. Cradock wrote of them thus:—“They are now difficult of approach, being enclosed in a wood, with dense undergrowth, and surrounded by a high, well-built wall. They can be well seen from the lower road, from a spot close to the three-mile stone from Ambleside. They are some fifty or sixty feet above the road, about twenty yards apart, and separated by a slight depression of, say, ten feet. The view from the easterly one is now much preferable, as it is less encumbered with shrubs; and for that reason also is more heath-clad. The twin rocks are also well seen, though at a farther distance, from the hill in White Moss Common between the roads, which Dr. Arnold used to call ‘Old Corruption,’ and ‘Bit-by-bit Reform.’ Doubtless the rocks were far more easily approached fifty years ago, when walls, if any, were low and ill-built. It is probable, however, that even then they were enclosed and protected; for heath will not grow on the Grasmere hills, on places much frequented by sheep.” The best view of these “heath-clad” rocks from the lower carriage road is at a spot two or three yards to the west of a large rock on the road-side near the milestone. The view of them from the Loughrigg Terrace walks is also interesting. The two sisters were Mary and Sarah Hutchinson (Mrs. Wordsworth and her Sister); and, in the Rydal household, the rocks were respectively named “Mary-Point,” and “Sarah-Point.”—Ed.
[286] 1845.
O’er wood …
MS.
[287] 1845.
… eye
MS.
[288] 1845.
… that deep …
MS.
[289] 1845.
Gone to a common home, their duty done,
In this dear vale the Sisters lived, but long
Have they been parted …
C.
True to a common love, their early choice
In this dear Vale, the sisters lived, but long
Have they been parted— …
C.
THE WESTMORELAND GIRL[290]
To my Grandchildren
Composed June 6, 1845.—Published 1845
One of the “Poems referring to the Period of Childhood.”—Ed.
Part I
Seek who will delight in fable
I shall tell you truth. A Lamb
Leapt from this steep bank to follow
’Cross the brook its thoughtless dam.[291]
Far and wide on hill and valley 5
Rain had fallen, unceasing rain,
And the bleating mother’s Young-one
Struggled with the flood in vain:
But, as chanced, a Cottage-maiden
(Ten years scarcely had she told) 10
Seeing, plunged into the torrent,
Clasped the Lamb and kept her hold.
Whirled adown the rocky channel,
Sinking, rising, on they go,
Peace and rest, as seems, before them 15
Only in the lake below.
Oh! it was a frightful current
Whose fierce wrath the Girl had braved;
Clap your hands with joy my Hearers,
Shout in triumph, both are saved; 20
Saved by courage that with danger
Grew, by strength the gift of love,
And belike a guardian angel
Came with succour from above.
Part II
Now, to a maturer Audience, 25
Let me speak of this brave Child
Left among her native mountains
With wild Nature to run wild.
So, unwatched by love maternal,
Mother’s care no more her guide, 30
Fared this little bright-eyed Orphan
Even while at her father’s side.
Spare your blame,—remembrance makes him
Loth to rule by strict command;
Still upon his cheek are living 35
Touches of her infant hand,
Dear caresses given in pity,
Sympathy that soothed his grief,
As the dying mother witnessed
To her thankful mind’s relief. 40
Time passed on; the Child was happy,
Like a Spirit of air she moved,
Wayward, yet by all who knew her
For her tender heart beloved.
Scarcely less than sacred passions, 45
Bred in house, in grove, and field,
Link her with the inferior creatures,
Urge her powers their rights to shield.
Anglers, bent on reckless pastime,
Learn how she can feel alike 50
Both for tiny harmless minnow
And the fierce and sharp-toothed pike.
Merciful protectress, kindling
Into anger or disdain;
Many a captive hath she rescued, 55
Others saved from lingering pain.
Listen yet awhile;—with patience
Hear the homely truths I tell,
She in Grasmere’s old church-steeple
Tolled this day the passing-bell. 60
Yes, the wild Girl of the mountains
To their echoes gave the sound,
Notice punctual as the minute,
Warning solemn and profound.
She, fulfilling her sire’s office, 65
Rang alone the far-heard knell,
Tribute, by her hand, in sorrow,
Paid to One who loved her well.
When his spirit was departed
On that service she went forth; 70
Nor will fail the like to render
When his corse is laid in earth.[292]
What then wants the Child to temper,
In her breast, unruly fire,
To control the froward impulse 75
And restrain the vague desire?
Easily a pious training
And a stedfast outward power
Would supplant the weeds and cherish,
In their stead, each opening flower. 80
Thus the fearless Lamb-deliv’rer,
Woman-grown, meek-hearted, sage,
May become a blest example
For her sex, of every age.[293]
Watchful as a wheeling eagle, 85
Constant as a soaring lark,
Should the country need a heroine,
She might prove our Maid of Arc.
Leave that thought; and here be uttered
Prayer that Grace divine may raise 90
Her humane courageous spirit
Up to heaven, thro’ peaceful ways.[294]
[290] This Westmoreland Girl was Sarah Mackereth of Wyke Cottage, Grasmere. She married a man named Davis, and died in 1872 at Broughton in Furness. The swollen “flood” from which she rescued the lamb, was Wyke Gill beck, which descends from the centre of Silver Howe. The picturesque cottage, with round chimney,—a yew tree and Scotch fir behind it,—is on the western side of the road from Grasmere over to Langdale by Red Bank. The Mackereths have been a well-known Westmoreland family for some hundred years. They belong to the “gentry of the soil,” and have been parish clerks in Grasmere for generations. One of them was the tenant of the Swan Inn referred to in The Waggoner—the host who painted, with his own hand, the “famous swan,” used as a sign. (See vol. iii. p. 81.)
The story of The Blind Highland Boy, which gave rise to the poem bearing that name, was told to Wordsworth by one of these Mackereths of Grasmere. (See the Fenwick note, vol. ii. p. 420.) In a letter to Professor Henry Reed (31st July 1845) Wordsworth said this poem might interest him “as exhibiting what sort of characters our mountains breed. It is truth to the letter.”—Ed.
[291] 1845.
… its simple dam.
MS.
[292] 1845.
… must lie in earth.
MS.
[293] Compare Grace Darling, p. 311 in this volume.—Ed.
[294] 1845.
Leave that word—and here be offered
Prayer that Grace divine would raise
This humane courageous spirit
Up to Heaven through peaceful ways.
In a letter to Henry Reed, July 1845.