A thankful heart, all lawless wishes quell’d,
To joy, to praise, to love alike compell’d,
Whatever boon be granted or withheld.
August, 1844.—Ed.
[276] The following account of the circumstance which gave rise to the preceding poem is from the Memoir of Professor Archer Butler, by Mr. Woodward, prefixed to the “First Series” of his Sermons. The late Rev. Archdeacon Graves, of Dublin (in 1849 of Windermere), in writing to Mr. Woodward, gives an interesting account of a walk, in July 1844, from Windermere, by Rydal and Grasmere, to Loughrigg Tarn, etc., in which Butler was accompanied by Wordsworth, Julius Charles Hare, Sir William Hamilton, etc. He says, “The day was additionally memorable as giving birth to an interesting minor poem of Mr. Wordsworth’s. When we reached the side of Loughrigg Tarn (which you may remember he notes for its similarity, in the peculiar character of its beauty, to the Lago di Nemi—Dianae Speculum), the loveliness of the scene arrested our steps and fixed our gaze. The splendour of a July noon surrounded us and lit up the landscape, with the Langdale Pikes soaring above, and the bright tarn shining beneath; and when the poet’s eyes were satisfied with their feast on the beauties familiar to them, they sought relief in the search, to them a happy vital habit, for new beauty in the flower-enamelled turf at his feet. There his attention was arrested by a fair smooth stone, of the size of an ostrich’s egg, seeming to imbed at its centre, and at the same time to display a dark star-shaped fossil of most distinct outline. Upon closer inspection this proved to be the shadow of a daisy projected upon it with extraordinary precision by the intense light of an almost vertical sun. The poet drew the attention of the rest of the party to the minute but beautiful phenomenon, and gave expression at the time to thoughts suggested by it, which so interested our friend Professor Butler, that he plucked the tiny flower, and, saying that “it should be not only the theme but the memorial of the thought they had heard,” bestowed it somewhere carefully for preservation. The little poem, in which some of these thoughts were afterwards crystallised, commences with the stanza—
So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive,
Would that the little flowers were born to live,
Conscious of half the pleasure that they give.”
Memoir, pp. 27, 28.—Ed.