Volume 6 — 1817
Reading edition
The year 1817 was not specially productive of new poems. They may be arranged thus, The Vernal Ode, The Ode to Lycoris, its Sequel, The Longest Day, The Pass of Kirkstone, Hints from the Mountains, and the Lament of Mary Queen of Scots.
VERNAL ODE[220]
Composed 1817.—Published 1820
[Composed at Rydal Mount, to place in view the immortality of succession where immortality is denied, as far as we know, to the individual creature.—I. F.][CI]
Rerum Natura tota est nusquam magis quam in minimis. Plin. Nat. Hist.[CJ]
This Vernal Ode was first published in the volume entitled "The River Duddon, a series of Sonnets: Vaudracour and Julia: and other poems. To which is annexed, a Topographical Description of the Country of the Lakes, in the north of England." In that volume its title was Ode.—1817. In 1820 it was placed among the "Poems of the Imagination." Its title was merely Ode, and in the table of contents it was called "Beneath the Concave"; the page heading "Vernal Ode" being given to it on the last three of its six pages. In 1827, and 1832, it was transferred to the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection." In 1836 it was returned to the class of "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.
I
Beneath the concave of an April sky, When all the fields with freshest green were dight, Appeared, in presence of the[221] spiritual eye That aids or supersedes our grosser sight, 5 The form and rich habiliments of One Whose countenance bore resemblance to the sun, When it reveals, in evening majesty, Features half lost amid their own pure light. Poised like a weary cloud, in middle air[222] 10 He hung,—then floated with angelic ease (Softening that bright effulgence by degrees) Till he had reached a summit sharp and bare,[223] Where oft the venturous heifer drinks the noontide[224] breeze. Upon the apex of that lofty cone 15 Alighted, there the Stranger stood alone; Fair as a gorgeous Fabric of the east Suddenly raised by some enchanter's power, Where nothing was; and firm as some old Tower Of Britain's realm, whose leafy crest 20 Waves high, embellished by a gleaming shower!
II
Beneath the shadow of his purple wings Rested a golden harp;—he touched the strings; And, after prelude of unearthly sound Poured through the echoing hills around, He sang— 25 "No wintry desolations, Scorching blight or noxious dew, Affect my native habitations; Buried in glory, far beyond the scope Of man's inquiring gaze, but to his hope 30 Imaged, though faintly, in the hue[225] Profound of night's ethereal blue; And in the aspect of each radiant orb:— Some fixed, some wandering with no timid curb: But wandering star[226] and fixed, to mortal eye, 35 Blended in absolute serenity, And free from semblance of decline;— Fresh as if Evening brought their natal hour, Her darkness splendour gave, her silence power, To testify of Love and Grace divine.[227]
III[CK]
40 What if those bright fires Shine subject to decay, Sons haply of extinguished sires, Themselves to lose their light, or pass away 44 Like clouds before the wind, Be thanks poured out to Him whose hand bestows, Nightly, on human kind That vision[228] of endurance and repose. —And though to every draught of vital breath Renewed throughout the bounds of earth or ocean, 50 The melancholy gates of Death Respond with sympathetic motion;[229] Though all that feeds on nether air, Howe'er magnificent or fair, Grows but to perish, and entrust 55 Its ruins to their kindred dust: Yet, by the Almighty's[230] ever-during care, Her procreant vigils[231] Nature keeps Amid the unfathomable deeps; And saves the peopled[232] fields of earth 60 From dread[233] of emptiness or dearth. Thus, in their stations, lifting tow'rd[234] the sky The foliaged head in cloud-like majesty, The shadow-casting race of trees survive: Thus, in the train of Spring, arrive 65 Sweet flowers;—what living eye hath viewed Their myriads?[235]—endlessly renewed, Wherever strikes the sun's glad ray; Where'er the subtle[236] waters stray; Wherever sportive breezes[237] bend 70 Their course, or genial showers descend![238] Mortals, rejoice![239] the very Angels quit Their mansions unsusceptible of change, Amid your pleasant bowers to sit, And through your sweet vicissitudes to range!"
IV
75 O, nursed at happy distance from the cares Of a too-anxious world, mild pastoral Muse! That, to the sparkling crown Urania wears, And to her sister Clio's laurel wreath,[CL] Prefer'st a garland culled from purple heath, 80 Or blooming thicket moist with morning dews; Was such bright Spectacle vouchsafed to me? And was it granted to the simple ear Of thy contented Votary Such melody to hear! 85 Him rather suits it, side by side with thee, Wrapped in a fit of[240] pleasing indolence, While thy tired lute hangs on the hawthorn-tree, To lie and listen—till o'er-drowsèd sense Sinks,[241] hardly conscious of the influence— 90 To the soft murmur of the vagrant Bee. —A slender sound! yet hoary Time Doth to the Soul exalt it with the chime Of all his years;—a company Of ages coming, ages gone; 95 (Nations from before them sweeping, Regions in destruction steeping,) But every awful note in unison[242] With that faint utterance, which tells Of treasure sucked from buds and bells, 100 For the pure keeping of those waxen cells;[243] Where She—a statist prudent to confer Upon the common[244] weal; a warrior bold, Radiant all over with unburnished gold, And armed with living spear for mortal fight;[245] 105 A cunning forager That spreads no waste; a social builder; one In whom all busy offices unite With all fine functions that afford delight— Safe through the winter[246] storm in quiet dwells!
V
110 And is She brought within the power Of vision?—o'er this tempting flower Hovering until the petals stay Her flight, and take its voice away!— Observe[247] each wing!—a tiny van! 115 The structure of her laden thigh, How fragile! yet of ancestry Mysteriously remote and high; High as the imperial front of man; The roseate bloom on woman's cheek; 120 The soaring eagle's curvèd beak; The white plumes of the floating swan; Old as the tiger's paw, the lion's mane Ere shaken by that mood of stern disdain 124 At which the desert trembles.—Humming Bee! Thy sting was needless then, perchance unknown, The seeds of malice were not sown; All creatures met in peace, from fierceness free, And no pride blended with their dignity.[248] —Tears had not broken from their source; 130 Nor Anguish strayed from her Tartarean den; The golden years maintained a course Not undiversified though smooth and even; We were not mocked with glimpse and shadow then, 134 Bright Seraphs mixed familiarly with men; And earth and stars composed a universal heaven!
A MS. copy of this Ode commences with the following stanza, and goes on to "And what if his presiding breath," stanza iii. text of 1820.—Ed.
Forsake me not, Urania, but when Ev'n Fades into night, resume the enraptur'd song That shadowed forth the immensity of Heav'n In music—uttered surely without wrong (For 'twas thy work) though here the Listener lay Couch'd on green herbage 'mid the warmth of May —A parting promise makes a bright farewell: Empow'r'd to wait for thy return Voice of the Heav'ns I will not mourn; Content that holy peace and mute remembrance dwell Within the bosom of the chorded shell Tuned 'mid those seats of love and joy, concealed By day, by night imperfectly revealed; Thy native mansions that endure Beyond their present seeming—pure From taint of dissolution or decay. —No blights, no wintry desolations, Affect those blissful habitations, Built such as hope might gather from the hue Profound of the celestial blue, And from the aspect of each radiant orb, Some fix'd, some wandering, with no timid curb, Yet both permitted to proclaim Their Maker's glory with unaltered frame. Ed.
VARIANTS:
FOOTNOTES:
ODE TO LYCORIS
May, 1817
Composed 1817.—Published 1820
[The discerning reader—who is aware that in the poem of Ellen Irwin I was desirous of throwing the reader at once out of the old ballad, so as if possible, to preclude a comparison between that mode of dealing with the subject and the mode I meant to adopt—may here perhaps perceive that this poem originated in the four last lines of the first stanza. Those specks of snow, reflected in the lake and so transferred, as it were, to the subaqueous sky, reminded me of the swans which the fancy of the ancient classic poets yoked to the car of Venus. Hence the tenor of the whole first stanza, and the name of Lycoris, which—with some readers who think my theology and classical allusion too far fetched and therefore more or less unnatural and affected—will tend to unrealise the sentiment that pervades these verses. But surely one who has written so much in verse as I have done may be allowed to retrace his steps in the regions of fancy which delighted him in his boyhood, when he first became acquainted with the Greek and Roman poets. Before I read Virgil I was so strongly attached to Ovid, whose Metamorphoses I read at school, that I was quite in a passion whenever I found him, in books of criticism, placed below Virgil. As to Homer, I was never weary of travelling over the scenes through which he led me. Classical literature affected me by its own beauty. But the truths of Scripture having been entrusted to the dead languages, and these fountains having recently been laid open at the Reformation, an importance and a sanctity were at that period attached to classical literature that extended, as is obvious in Milton's Lycidas for example, both to its spirit and form in a degree that can never be revived. No doubt the hacknied and lifeless use into which mythology fell towards the close of the 17th century, and which continued through the 18th, disgusted the general reader with all allusion to it in modern verse; and though, in deference to this disgust, and also in a measure participating in it, I abstained in my earlier writings from all introduction of pagan fable, surely, even in its humble form, it may ally itself with real sentiment, as I can truly affirm it did in the present case.—I. F.]
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection." In 1847 Wordsworth wrote to Mr. Fletcher that this poem was "suggested to him one day at Ullswater, in the year 1817, by seeing two white, snowy clouds reflected in the lake. 'They looked' (he said), 'like two swans.'"—Ed.
I
An age hath been when Earth was proud Of lustre too intense To be sustained; and Mortals bowed The front in self-defence. 5 Who then, if Dian's crescent gleamed, Or Cupid's sparkling arrow streamed While on the wing the Urchin played, Could fearlessly approach the shade? —Enough for one soft vernal day, 10 If I, a bard of ebbing time, And nurtured in a fickle clime, May haunt this hornèd bay;[CM] Whose amorous water multiplies The flitting halcyon's vivid dyes;[CN] 15 And smooths her[249] liquid breast—to show These swan-like specks of mountain snow,[CO] White as the pair that slid along the plains Of heaven, when Venus held the reins!
II
In youth we love the darksome lawn 20 Brushed by the owlet's wing; Then, Twilight is preferred to Dawn, And Autumn to the Spring.[CP] Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect 25 To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness. Lycoris (if such name befit Thee, thee my life's celestial sign!)[CQ] When Nature marks the year's decline, 30 Be ours to welcome it; Pleased with the harvest hope that runs Before the path of milder suns;[250] Pleased while the sylvan world displays Its ripeness to the feeding gaze; Pleased when the sullen winds resound the knell 36 Of the resplendent miracle.
III
But something whispers to my heart That, as we downward tend, Lycoris! life requires an art 40 To which our souls must bend; A skill—to balance and supply; And, ere the flowing fount be dry, As soon it must, a sense to sip, Or drink, with no fastidious lip. 45 Then welcome, above all, the Guest Whose smiles, diffused o'er land and sea, Seem to recal the Deity Of youth into the breast:[251] May pensive Autumn ne'er present 50 A claim to her disparagement! While blossoms and the budding spray Inspire us in our own decay; Still, as we nearer draw to life's dark goal, Be hopeful Spring the favourite of the Soul!
VARIANTS:
FOOTNOTES:
TO THE SAME
Composed 1817.—Published 1820
[This, as well as the preceding and the two that follow,[CR] were composed in front of Rydal Mount, and during my walks in the neighbourhood. Nine-tenths of my verses have been murmured out in the open air: and here let me repeat what I believe has already appeared in print. One day a stranger having walked round the garden and grounds of Rydal Mount asked one of the female servants, who happened to be at the door, permission to see her master's study. "This," said she, leading him forward, "is my master's library where he keeps his books, but his study is out of doors." After a long absence from home it has more than once happened that some one of my cottage neighbours has said—"Well, there he is; we are glad to hear him booing about again." Once more in excuse for so much egotism let me say, these notes are written for my familiar friends, and at their earnest request. Another time a gentleman whom James had conducted through the grounds asked him what kind of plants throve best there: after a little consideration he answered—"Laurels." "That is," said the stranger, "as it should be; don't you know that the laurel is the emblem of poetry, and that poets used on public occasions to be crowned with it?" James stared when the question was first put, but was doubtless much pleased with the information.—I.F.]
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."—Ed.
Enough of climbing toil!—Ambition treads Here, as 'mid[252] busier scenes, ground steep and rough, Or slippery even to peril![253] and each step, As we for most uncertain recompence 5 Mount toward the empire of the fickle clouds, Each weary step, dwarfing the world below,[254] Induces, for its old familiar sights, Unacceptable feelings of contempt, With wonder mixed—that Man could e'er be tied, 10 In anxious bondage, to such nice array And formal fellowship of pretty things! —Oh! 'tis the heart that magnifies this life, Making a truth and beauty of her own; And moss-grown alleys, circumscribing shades, 15 And gurgling rills, assist her in the work More efficaciously than realms outspread, As in a map, before the adventurer's gaze— Ocean and Earth contending for regard. The umbrageous woods are left—how far beneath! 20 But lo! where darkness seems to guard the mouth Of yon wild cave, whose jaggèd brows are fringed With flaccid threads of ivy, in the still And sultry air, depending motionless. Yet cool the space within, and not uncheered 25 (As whoso enters shall ere long perceive) By stealthy influx of the timid day Mingling with night, such twilight to compose As Numa loved; when, in the Egerian grot, From the sage Nymph appearing at his wish, 30 He gained whate'er a regal mind might ask, Or need, of counsel breathed through lips divine.[CS] Long as the heat shall rage, let that dim cave Protect us, there deciphering as we may Diluvian records; or the sighs of Earth 35 Interpreting; or counting for old Time His minutes, by reiterated drops, Audible tears,[CT] from some invisible source That deepens upon fancy—more and more Drawn toward the centre whence those sighs creep forth 40 To awe the lightness of humanity. Or, shutting up thyself within thyself, There[255] let me see thee sink into a mood Of gentler thought,[256] protracted till thine eye Be calm as water when the winds are gone, 45 And no one can tell whither. Dearest Friend![CU] We too have known such happy hours together That, were power granted to replace them (fetched From out the pensive shadows where they lie) In the first warmth of their original sunshine, 50 Loth should I be to use it: passing sweet Are the domains of tender memory!
The spot described in this sequel to Lycoris is, I think, the bower in the rock on Nab Scar, alluded to in Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal (see note to The Waterfall and the Eglantine, vol. ii. p. 172). The description in that Journal, taken in connection with the text of this poem, warrants the suggestion that the "Friend" with whom he had "known such happy hours together" was his own sister Dorothy. The extreme probability that it was on Nab Scar that the snow patches lay, which were reflected in Rydal mere, and which his imagination transformed into the swans that carried Venus' car through heaven, adds to the likelihood of this conjecture. The following extracts from the Sister's journal may be compared with passages in the poem:—"We pushed on to the foot of the Scar. It was very grand when we looked up, very stony.... Coleridge went to search for something new. We saw him climbing up towards a rock. He called us, and we found him in a bower,—the sweetest that was ever seen. The rock on one side is very high, and all covered with ivy, which hung loosely about, and bore bunches of brown berries." With this compare—
Yon wild cave, whose jaggèd brows are fringed With flaccid threads of ivy, in the still And sultry air, depending motionless.
And with the following, "We looked down on the Ambleside vale, that seemed to wind away from us, the village lying under the hill," compare—
Mount toward the empire of the fickle clouds, Each weary step, dwarfing the world below.
With the following, "It is scarce a bower, a little parlour only, not enclosed by walls, but shaped out for a resting-place by the rocks, and the ground rising about it. It had a sweet moss carpet," compare l. 14—
Moss-grown alleys, circumscribing shades.
Doubtless Wordsworth drew on his imagination, "making a truth and beauty of his own," in this, as in every other description of place, which has a local colouring in it; but to connect "the dim cave" of the Ode to Lycoris with these conversations between Coleridge and the Wordsworths—mentioned in the Grasmere Journal of the latter, and hinted at in the closing passage of the Ode—is certainly permissible.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
FOOTNOTES:
THE LONGEST DAY
Addressed to my Daughter, Dora[257]
Composed 1817.—Published 1820
[Suggested by the sight of my daughter (Dora) playing in front of Rydal Mount; and composed in a great measure the same afternoon. I have often wished to pair this poem upon the longest, with one upon the shortest, day, and regret even now that it has not been done.—I. F.]
One of the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood."—Ed.
Let us quit the leafy arbour, And the torrent murmuring by; For the sun is in his harbour,[258] Weary of the open sky. 5 Evening now unbinds the fetters Fashioned by the glowing light; All that breathe are thankful debtors To the harbinger of night. Yet by some grave thoughts attended 10 Eve renews her calm career; For the day that now is ended, Is the longest of the year. Dora![259] sport, as now thou sportest, On this platform, light and free; 15 Take thy bliss, while longest, shortest, Are indifferent to thee! Who would check the happy feeling That inspires the linnet's song? Who would stop the swallow, wheeling 20 On her pinions swift and strong? Yet at this impressive season, Words which tenderness can speak From the truths of homely reason, Might exalt the loveliest cheek; 25 And, while shades to shades succeeding Steal the landscape from the sight, I would urge this moral pleading, Last forerunner of "Good-night!" Summer ebbs;—each day that follows 30 Is a reflux from on high, Tending to the darksome hollows Where the frosts of winter lie. He who governs the creation, In his providence, assigned 35 Such a gradual declination To the life of human kind. Yet we mark it not;—fruits redden, Fresh flowers blow, as flowers have blown, And the heart is loth to deaden 40 Hopes that she so long hath known. Be thou wiser, youthful Maiden! And when thy decline shall come, Let not flowers, or boughs fruit-laden, Hide the knowledge of thy doom. 45 Now, even now, ere wrapped in slumber, Fix thine eyes[260] upon the sea That absorbs time, space, and number; Look thou to Eternity![261] Follow thou the flowing river 50 On whose breast are thither borne All deceived, and each deceiver, Through the gates of night and morn; Through the year's successive portals; Through the bounds which many a star 55 Marks, not mindless of frail mortals, When his[262] light returns from far. Thus when thou with Time hast travelled Toward[263] the mighty gulf of things, And the mazy stream unravelled[264] 60 With thy best imaginings;[265] Think, if thou on beauty leanest, Think how pitiful that stay, Did not virtue give the meanest Charms superior to decay. 65 Duty, like a strict[266] preceptor, Sometimes frowns, or seems to frown; Choose her thistle for thy sceptre, While youth's roses are thy crown.[267] Grasp it,—if thou shrink and tremble, 70 Fairest damsel of the green, Thou wilt lack the only symbol That proclaims a genuine queen; And ensure those palms of honour Which selected spirits wear, 75 Bending low before the Donor, Lord of heaven's unchanging year!
VARIANTS:
HINT FROM THE MOUNTAINS,
For certain Political Pretenders[268]
Composed 1817.—Published 1820
[Bunches of fern may often be seen wheeling about in the wind as here described. The particular bunch that suggested these verses was noticed in the Pass of Dunmail Raise. The verses were composed in 1817, but the application is for all times and places.—I. F.]
Included among the "Poems of the Fancy."—Ed.
"Who but hails the sight with pleasure[269] When the wings of genius rise, Their ability to measure With great enterprise; 5 But in man was ne'er such daring As yon Hawk exhibits, pairing His brave spirit with the war in The stormy skies! "Mark him, how his power he uses, 10 Lays it by, at will resumes! Mark, ere for his haunt he chooses Clouds and utter glooms! There, he wheels in downward mazes; Sunward now his flight he raises, 15 Catches fire, as seems, and blazes With uninjured plumes!"—
ANSWER
"Stranger,[270] 'tis no act of courage Which aloft thou dost discern; No bold bird gone forth to forage 20 'Mid the tempest stern; But such mockery as the nations See, when public perturbations[271] Lift men from their native stations, Like yon Tuft of fern; 25 "Such it is; the aspiring creature[272] Soaring on undaunted wing, (So you fancied) is by nature A dull helpless thing,[273] Dry and withered, light and yellow;— 30 That to be the tempest's fellow! Wait—and you shall see how hollow Its endeavouring!"
VARIANTS:
THE PASS OF KIRKSTONE[CV]
Composed June 27, 1817.—Published 1820
[Written at Rydal Mount. Thoughts and feelings of many walks in all weathers, by day and night, over this Pass, alone and with beloved friends.—I. F.]
Included among the "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.
I
Within the mind strong fancies work, A deep delight the bosom thrills, Oft as I pass along the fork Of these fraternal hills: 5 Where, save the rugged road, we find No appanage of human kind, Nor hint of man; if stone or rock Seem not his handy-work to mock By something cognizably shaped; 10 Mockery[274]—or model roughly hewn, And left as if by earthquake strewn, Or from the Flood escaped: Altars for Druid service fit; (But where no fire was ever lit, 15 Unless the glow-worm to the skies Thence offer nightly sacrifice) Wrinkled Egyptian monument; Green moss-grown tower; or hoary tent; Tents of a camp that never shall be razed—[275] 20 On which four thousand years have gazed!
II
Ye plough-shares sparkling on the slopes! Ye snow-white lambs that trip Imprisoned 'mid the formal props Of restless ownership! 25 Ye trees, that may[276] to-morrow fall To feed the insatiate Prodigal![277] Lawns, houses, chattels, groves, and fields, All that the fertile valley shields;[278] Wages of folly—baits of crime, 30 Of life's uneasy game the stake, Playthings that keep the eyes awake Of drowsy, dotard Time;— O care! O guilt!—O vales and plains, Here, 'mid[279] his own unvexed domains, 35 A Genius dwells, that can subdue At once all memory of You,— Most potent when mists veil the sky, Mists that distort and magnify; While the coarse rushes, to the sweeping breeze, 40 Sigh forth their ancient melodies!
III
List to those shriller notes!—that march Perchance was on the blast, When, through this Height's inverted arch, Rome's earliest legion passed![CW] 45 —They saw, adventurously impelled, And older[280] eyes than theirs beheld, This[281] block—and yon, whose church-like frame Gives to this[282] savage Pass its name.[CX] Aspiring Road! that lov'st to hide 50 Thy daring in a vapoury bourn, Not seldom may the hour return When thou shalt be my guide: And I (as all men may find cause,[283] When life is at a weary pause, 55 And they[284] have panted up the hill Of duty with reluctant will) Be thankful, even though tired and faint, For the rich bounties of constraint; Whence oft invigorating transports flow 60 That choice lacked courage to bestow!
IV
My[285] Soul was grateful for delight That wore a threatening brow; A veil is lifted—can she slight The scene that opens now? 65 Though habitation none appear,[CY] The greenness tells, man must be there;[286] The shelter—that the pérspective Is of the clime[287] in which we live; Where Toil pursues his daily round; 70 Where Pity sheds sweet tears[288]—and Love, In woodbine bower or birchen grove, Inflicts his tender wound. —Who comes not hither ne'er shall know How beautiful the world below; 75 Nor can he guess how lightly leaps The brook adown the rocky steeps,[CZ] Farewell, thou desolate Domain! Hope, pointing to the cultured plain, Carols like a shepherd-boy; 80 And who is she?—Can that be Joy![DA] Who, with a sunbeam for her guide, Smoothly skims the meadows wide; While Faith, from yonder opening cloud, To hill and vale proclaims aloud, 85 "Whate'er the weak may dread, the wicked dare, Thy lot, O Man, is good, thy portion fair!"[289]
A copy of this poem, sent in MS. to the Beaumonts at Coleorton, contains the following preface—"Composed chiefly in a walk from the top of Kirkstone to Patterdale, by W. Wordsworth, 1817"; and on the back of this MS. (in which those variations from the earliest published version occur, which are printed as "MS." readings in the previous footnotes, and which ends with stanza iii.), the date is given, "Mr. Wordsworth's verses, June 27, 1817."—Ed.
VARIANTS:
FOOTNOTES:
LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS
On the Eve of a New Year
Composed 1817.—Published 1820
[This arose out of a flash of moonlight that struck the ground when I was approaching the steps that lead from the garden at Rydal Mount to the front of the house. "From her sunk eyes a stagnant tear stole forth" is taken, with some loss, from a discarded poem, The Convict, in which occurred, when he was discovered lying in the cell, these lines:—
But now he upraises the deep-sunken eye, The motion unsettles a tear; The silence of sorrow it seems to supply, And asks of me—why I am here.—I. F.]
This was first published in "The River Duddon," etc., in 1820, but was omitted from the four-volume edition of the "Poems" of 1820. In 1827 it was placed among the "Poems founded on the Affections."—Ed.
I
Smile of the Moon!—for so I name That silent greeting from above; A gentle flash of light that came From her whom drooping captives love; 5 Or art thou of still higher birth? Thou that didst part the clouds of earth, My torpor to reprove!
II
Bright boon of pitying Heaven!—alas, I may not trust thy placid cheer! 10 Pondering that Time to-night will pass The threshold of another year; For years to me are sad and dull; My very moments are too full Of hopelessness and fear.
III
15 And yet, the soul-awakening gleam, That struck perchance the farthest cone Of Scotland's rocky wilds, did seem To visit me, and me alone; Me, unapproached by any friend, 20 Save[290] those who to my sorrows lend Tears due unto their own. [291]
IV
To-night the church-tower bells will ring Through these wide[292] realms a festive peal; To the new year a welcoming; 25 A tuneful offering[293] for the weal Of happy millions lulled in sleep; While I am forced to watch and weep,[294] By wounds that may not heal.
V
Born all too high, by wedlock raised 30 Still higher—to be cast thus low! Would that mine eyes had never gazed On aught of more ambitious show Than the sweet flowerets of the fields! —It is my royal state that yields 35 This bitterness of woe.
VI
Yet how?—for I, if there be truth In the world's voice, was passing fair; And beauty, for confiding youth, Those shocks of passion can prepare 40 That kill the bloom before its time; And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.[295]
VII
Unblest distinction! showered on me To bind a lingering life in chains: 45 All that could quit my grasp, or flee,[296] Is gone;—but not the subtle stains Fixed in the spirit; for even here Can I be proud that jealous fear Of what I was remains.[297]
VIII
50 A woman rules my prison's key; A sister Queen,[298] against the bent Of law and holiest sympathy, Detains me, doubtful of the event; Great God, who feel'st for my distress,[299] 55 My thoughts are all that I possess, O keep them innocent!
IX
Farewell desire of[300] human aid, Which abject mortals vainly[301] court! By friends deceived, by foes betrayed, 60 Of fears the prey, of hopes the sport; Nought but the world-redeeming Cross Is able to supply my loss, My burthen to support.
X
Hark! the death-note of the year 65 Sounded by the castle-clock! From her sunk eyes a stagnant tear Stole forth, unsettled by the shock; But oft the woods renewed their green, Ere the tired head of Scotland's Queen 70 Reposed upon the block!
Compare the sonnet entitled Captivity, Mary Queen of Scots, composed and published in 1819 (p. 191); also the sonnet, composed in 1833, entitled Mary Queen of Scots (Landing at the mouth of the Derwent, Workington).—Ed.
VARIANTS: