ON A HIGH PART OF THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND Easter Sunday, April 7 THE AUTHOR'S SIXTH-THIRD BIRTHDAY The lines were composed on the road between Moresby and Whitehaven while I was on a visit to my son, then rector of the former place. This and some other Voluntaries originated in the concluding lines of the last paragraph of this poem. With this coast I have been familiar from my earliest childhood, and remember being struck for the first time by the town and port of Whitehaven, and the white waves breaking against its quays and piers, as the whole came into view from the top of the high ground down which the road (it has since been altered) then descended abruptly. My sister, when she first heard the voice of the sea from this point, and beheld the scene spread before her, burst into tears. Our family then lived at Cockermouth, and this fact was often mentioned among us as indicating the sensibility for which she was so remarkable. THE Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire, Flung back from distant climes a streaming fire, Whose blaze is now subdued to tender gleams, Teach me with quick-eared spirit to rejoice In admonitions of thy softest voice! Whate'er the path these mortal feet may trace, Breathe through my soul the blessing of thy grace, Glad, through a perfect love, a faith sincere Drawn from the wisdom that begins with fear, Glad to expand; and, for a season, free From finite cares, to rest absorbed in Thee! 1833. (BY THE SEASIDE) THE sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest, And the wild storm hath somewhere found a nest; Air slumbers-wave with wave no longer strives, Only a heaving of the deep survives, Prelude of night's approach with soothing Where, now, the ships that drove before dreams. Look round;-of all the clouds not one is moving; 'Tis the still hour of thinking, feeling, loving. Silent, and stedfast as the vaulted sky, The boundless plain of waters seems to lie: Comes that low sound from breezes rustling o'er The grass-crowned headland that conceals the shore? No; 'tis the earth-voice of the mighty sea, Whispering how meek and gentle he can be! Thou Power supreme! who, arming to rebuke Offenders, dost put off the gracious look, And clothe thyself with terrors like the flood Of ocean roused into its fiercest mood, remain ; the blast, Threatened by angry breakers as they passed; And by a train of flying clouds bemocked; Or, in the hollow surge, at anchor rocked As on a bed of death? Some lodge in peace, Saved by His care who bade the tempest cease; And some, too heedless of past danger, court Fresh gales to waft them to the far-off port But near, or hanging sea and sky between, Not one of all those winged powers is seen, Seen in her course, nor 'mid this quiet heard; Yet oh! how gladly would the air be stirred By some acknowledgment of thanks and praise, Soft in its temper as those vesper lays Till into one loved vision all things melt: Or like those hymns that soothe with graver sound The gulfy coast of Norway iron-bound; And, from the wide and open Baltic, rise With punctual care, Lutherian harmonies. Hush, not a voice is here! but why repine, Now when the star of eve comes forth to shine On British waters with that look benign? Ye mariners, that plough your onward way, Or in the haven rest, or sheltering bay, May silent thanks at least to God be given With a full heart; 44 'our thoughts are heard in heaven." 1833. POEMS COMPOSED OR SUGGESTED DURING A TOUR IN THE SUMMER OF 1833 My companions were H. C. Robinson and my son John. Having been prevented by the lateness of the season, in 1831, from visiting Staffa and Iona, the author made these the principal objects of a short tour in the summer of 1833, of which the following series of poems is a Memorial. The course pursued was down the Cumberland river Derwent, and to Whitehaven; thence (by the Isle of Man, where a few days were passed) up the Frith of Clyde to Greenock, then to Oban, Staffa, Iona; and back towards England, by Loch Awe, Inverary, Loch Goil-head, Greenock, and through parts of Renfrewshire, Ayrshire, and Dumfriesshire to Carlisle, and thence up the river Eden, and homewards by Ullswater. I ADIEU, Rydalian Laurels! that have grown And spread as if ye knew that days might come When ye would shelter in a happy home, On this fair Mount, a Poet of your own, One who ne'er ventured for a Delphic crown To sue the God; but, haunting your green shade All seasons through, is humbly pleased to braid Ground-flowers, beneath your guardianship, self-sown. Farewell! no Minstrels now with harp new strung And to those graves looking habitually We breathed together for a moment's space, The wrong, by love provoked, let love arraign, And only love keep in your hearts a place. VII ADDRESS FROM THE SPIRIT OF COCKERMOUTH CASTLE "THOU look'st upon me, and dost fondly think, Poet! that, stricken as both are by years, We, differing once so much, are now Com peers, Prepared, when each has stood his time, to sink Into the dust. Erewhile a sterner link United us; when thou, in boyish play, Entering my dungeon, didst become a prey To soul-appalling darkness. Not a blink Of light was there;-and thus did I, thy Tutor, Make thy young thoughts acquainted with the grave; While thou wert chasing the winged butterfly Through my green courts; or climbing, a bold suitor, Up to the flowers whose golden progeny Still round my shattered brow in beauty wave. VIII NUN'S WELL, BRIGHAM So named from the religious House which stood close by. I have rather an odd anecdote to relate of the Nun's Well. One day the landlady of a public-house, a field's length from the well, on the road side, said to me-"You have been to see the Nun's Well, Sir?"-"The Nun's Well! what is that?" said the Postman, who in his royal livery stopt his mail-car at the door. LANDING AT THE MOUTH OF THE DERWENT, WORKINGTON I will mention for the sake of the friend who is writing down these notes, that it was among the fine Scotch firs near Ambleside, and particularly those near Green Bank, that I have over and over again paused at the sight of this image. Long may they stand to afford a like gratification to others! This wish is not uncalled for, several of their brethren having already disappeared. DEAR to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed, The Queen drew back the wimple that she wore; And to the throng, that on the Cumbrian shore Her landing hailed, how touchingly she bowed! And like a Star (that, from a heavy cloud Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts, When a soft summer gale at evening parts The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud) She smiled; but Time, the old Saturnian Has roused the lion; no one plucks the rose, Whose proffered beauty in safe shelter blows 'Mid a trim garden's summer luxuries, "Cruel of heart were they, bloody of hand," Who in these Wilds then struggled for command; With joy like his who climbs, on hands The strong were merciless, without hope And, from her vow well weighed in Heaven's Sickened, or died) in pious memory kept. Chantry of St. Bees. |