The study of such matters as these does other harm than merely poisoning the mind in one direction; it renders us sceptical of virtue in others, and we lose the power of pure perception. So —reading the glorious tale of Griselda and looking about you, you say there never was such a woman; your wise men say she was a fool; are there no such fools round about you? pray look close:—so the result of this is, you see no lesson in such things, or at least cannot apply it, and therefore the powers of the author are thrown away. Do you think God made Boccaccio and Chaucer to amuse you in your idle hours, only that you might sit listening like crowned idiots, and then debate concerning their faithfulness to truth? You never can imagine but they knew more of nature than any of us, or that they had less reverence for her.
In reference to Painting, the Public are taught to look with delight upon murky old masters, with dismally demoniac trees, and dull waters of lead, colourless and like ice; upon rocks that make geologists wonder, their angles are so impossible, their fractures are so new. Thousands are given for uncomfortable Dutch sun-lights; but if you are shown a transcript of day itself, with the purple shadow upon the mountains, and across the still lake, you know nothing of it because your fathers never bought such: so you look for nothing in it; nay, let me set you in the actual place, let the water damp your feet, stand in the chill of the shadow itself, and you will never tell me the colour on the hill, or where the last of the crows caught the sinking sunlight. Letting observation sleep, what can you know of nature? and you are a judge of landscape indeed. So it is that the world is taught to think of nature, as seen through other men's eyes, without any reference to its own original powers of perception, and much natural beauty is lost.
To the Castle Ramparts
The Castle is erect on the hill's top, To moulder there all day and night: it stands With the long shadow lying at its foot. That is a weary height which you must climb Before you reach it; and a dizziness Turns in your eyes when you look down from it, So standing clearly up into the sky.
I rose one day, having a mind to see it. 'Twas on a clear Spring morning, and a blackbird Awoke me with his warbling near my window: My dream had fashioned this into a song That some one with grey eyes was singing me, And which had drawn me so into myself That all the other shapes of sleep were gone: And then, at last, it woke me, as I said. The sun shone fully in on me; and brisk Cool airs, that had been cold but for his warmth, Blow thro' the open casement, and sweet smells Of flowers with the dew yet fresh upon them,— Rose-buds, and showery lilacs, and what stayed Of April wallflowers.
I set early forth, Wishing to reach the Castle when the heat Should weigh upon it, vertical at noon. My path lay thro' green open fields at first, With now and then trees rising statelily Out of the grass; and afterwards came lanes Closed in by hedges smelling of the may, And overshadowed by the meeting trees. So I walked on with none but pleasant thoughts; The Spring was in me, not alone around me, And smiles came rippling o'er my lips for nothing. I reached at length,—issuing from a lane Which wound so that it seemed about to end Always, yet ended not for a long while,— A space of ground thick grassed and level to The overhanging sky and the strong sun: Before me the brown sultry hill stood out, Peaked by its rooted Castle, like a part Of its own self. I laid me in the grass, Turning from it, and looking on the sky, And listening to the humming in the air That hums when no sound is; because I chose To gaze on that which I had left, not that Which I had yet to see. As one who strives After some knowledge known not till he sought, Whose soul acquaints him that his step by step Has led him to a few steps next the end, Which he foresees already, waits a little Before he passes onward, gathering Together in his thoughts what he has done.
Rising after a while, the ascent began. Broken and bare the soil was; and thin grass, Dry and scarce green, was scattered here and there In tufts: and, toiling up, my knees almost Reaching my chin, one hand upon my knee, Or grasping sometimes at the earth, I went, With eyes fixed on the next step to be taken, Not glancing right or left; till, at the end, I stood straight up, and the tower stood straight up Before my face. One tower, and nothing more; For all the rest has gone this way and that, And is not anywhere, saving a few Fragments that lie about, some on the top, Some fallen half down on either side the hill, Uncared for, well nigh grown into the ground. The tower is grey, and brown, and black, with green Patches of mildew and of ivy woven Over the sightless loopholes and the sides: And from the ivy deaf-coiled spiders dangle, Or scurry to catch food; and their fine webs Touch at your face wherever you may pass. The sun's light scorched upon it; and a fry Of insects in one spot quivered for ever, Out and in, in and out, with glancing wings That caught the light, and buzzings here and there; That little life which swarms about large death; No one too many or too few, but each Ordained, and being each in its own place. The ancient door, cut deep into the wall, And cramped with iron rusty now and rotten, Was open half: and, when I strove to move it That I might have free passage inwards, stood Unmoved and creaking with old uselessness: So, pushing it, I entered, while the dust Was shaken down upon me from all sides. The narrow stairs, lighted by scanty streaks That poured in thro' the loopholes pierced high up, Wound with the winding tower, until I gained, Delivered from the closeness and the damp And the dim air, the outer battlements.
There opposite, the tower's black turret-girth Suppressed the multiplied steep chasm of fathoms, So that immediately the fields far down Lay to their heaving distance for the eyes, Satisfied with one gaze unconsciously, To pass to glory of heaven, and to know light. Here was no need of thinking:—merely sense Was found sufficient: the wind made me free, Breathed, and returned by me in a hard breath: And what at first seemed silence, being roused By callings of the cuckoo from far off, Resolved itself into a sound of trees That swayed, and into chirps reciprocal On each side, and revolving drone of flies.
Then, stepping to the brink, and looking sheer To where the slope ceased in the level stretch Of country, I sat down to lay my head Backwards into a single ivy-bush Complex of leaf. I lay there till the wind Blew to me, from a church seen miles away, Half the hour's chimes.
Great clouds were arched abroad Like angels' wings; returning beneath which, I lingered homewards. All their forms had merged And loosened when my walk was ended; and, While yet I saw the sun a perfect disc, There was the moon beginning in the sky.