hear (with a sigh) of the fall of the giant Scotch firs opposite the little Scafell Inn at Rosthwaite, and that Watendlath had lost its pines; but who could spare those ancient Yews, the great 'Fraternal Four of Borrowdale, Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; Hugh trunks! and each particular trunk a growth Of intertwisted fibres serpentine Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved.' "For beneath their pillared shade since Wordsworth wrote his poem, that Yew-tree grove has suggested to many a wanderer up Borrowdale, and visitant to the Natural Temple, 'an ideal grove in which the ghostly masters of mankind meet, and sleep, and offer worship to the Destiny that abides above them, while the mountain flood, as if from another world, makes music to which they dimly listen.' "These Yew-trees, seemingly 'Produced too slowly ever to decay, have been ruthlessly overthrown. One has been uprooted bodily; all "Never again can 'trembling Hope' meet there 'at noontide' with 'Time the Shadow;' but the 'ghostly shapes' of 'Fear' and 'Silence,' with 'Death the Skeleton,' can still celebrate 'united worship; and much more now than ever before-since the winds will pass the tree-stumps, bare of leafage-the readers of Wordsworth's poem on the Borrowdale Yews may sadly, and 'in mute repose Still lie, and listen to the mountain flood Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves.' "A sense that something has passed away from the earth will possess all feeling hearts, who learn that the fraternal four' of Borrowdale have fallen victims to the merciless winds; and that pilgrims to the Seathwaite valley can never again behold that 'solemn and capacious grove' as the poet knew it, when he peopled it with his imagination." A TRILOGY OF Sonnets on THE YEWS OF BORROWDALE. In Memoriam. I. Blind was the storm, from wild Atlantic brought, Woe irremediable, in worlds of thought Must grieve that to our poet was denied To keep one grove-the 'great Fraternal Four '— II. Now from the sacred grove of Borrowdale Must Fear, and Hope the Trembler, steal away, Silence and Foresight, and the Shadow pale Cast o'er the face of nations like a veil With that twin spectre Time; while blank dismay Cowers by the roofless Temple in decay, And moss-grown altars blasted by the gale. Still where the unaccustomed sunlight gleams III. Ill could we spare the Tree St Patrick knew,* Or Time's vast hollow monument, the Yew+ Hope and mute Prayer and Love and Mystery throng; Was Temple for the music of the world. This Yew-tree Grove is doubtless immortal in English literature, and will live as long as Wordsworth is studied, and when every memorial of the man is a thing of the past. It has been suggested that other yew trees should be planted on the spot, on the principle, Le roi est mort: vive le roi! But such a continuity is scarcely to be wished. It may be as undesirable to restore the "natural temple" that has fallen in Borrowdale, as to rebuild Stonehenge or Stennis. Immortality belongs to nothing physical. NOTE K. The following extracts from Miss Wordsworth's Journal, kept at Alfoxden, will illustrate these passages of The Excursion :— "Jan. 21, 1798.-Walked on the hill tops: a warm day: sate under the firs in the park. The tops of the beeches of a brown red or crimson. The oaks, fended from the sea-breeze, thick with feathery sea-green moss, as a grove not stripped of its leaves. Moss cups more proper than acorns for fairy goblets.. “23d.—The sound of the sea distinctly heard on the tops of the hills, * The Patterdale yew went down in the same storm. which we could never hear in summer. We attribute this partly to the bareness of the trees, but chiefly to the absence of the singing of birds, and the hum of insects, and that noiseless noise which lives in the summer air. The villages marked out by beautiful beds of smoke; the turf fading into the mountain road: the scarlet flowers of the moss. "26th.-Walked upon the hill tops: followed the sheep-tracks till we overlooked the larger coombe. Sat in the sunshine, the distant sheepbells, the sound of the stream: the woodman winding along the half marked road, with his laden pony: locks of wool still spangled with the dew-drops the blue-grey sea shaded with immense masses of cloud, not streaked. The sheep glittering in the sunshine. Returned through the wood: the trees skirting the wood being exposed more directly to the action of the sea-breeze, stripped of the net-work of their upper boughs, which are stiff and erect like black skeletons. The ground strewed with the red berries of the holly. "February 3d. A mild morning, the windows open at breakfast, the redbreasts singing in the garden. Walked with Coleridge over the hills. The sea at first obscured by vapour. That vapour afterwards slid in one mighty mass along the sea-shore: the islands, and one point of land clear beyond it. The distant country (which was purple in the clear dull air) overhung by straggling clouds that sailed over it, appeared like the darker clouds which are often seen at a great distance, apparently motionless, while the nearer ones pass quickly over them, driven by the lower winds. I never saw such a union of earth, sky, and sea. The clouds beneath our feet spread themselves to the water, and the clouds of the sky almost joined them. "8th.-Went up the Park, and over the tops of the hills till we came to a new and very delicious pathway, which conducted us, to the Coombe; sat a considerable time upon the heath; its surface restless and glittering with the motion of the scattered piles of withered grass, and the waving of the spiders' threads. "26th. .. Walked with Coleridge nearly to Stowey after dinner. A very clear afternoon. We lay sidelong upon the turf, and gazed upon the landscape, till it melted into more than natural loveliness. The sea very uniform-of a pale greyish blue, only one distant bay bright and blue as the sky, a perfect image of delight. Walked to the top of a high hill, to see a fortification; again sat down to feed upon the prospect; a magnificent scene curiously spread out for minute inspection, though so extensive. A winter prospect shows every cottage, every farm, and the forms of distant trees, such as in summer have no distinguishable mark. "2d April.—Coleridge came, and staid all night. We walked in the wood, and sat under the trees: one half of the wood perfectly still, while the wind was making a loud noise behind us. The still trees only gently bowed their heads as if listening to the wind: the hollies in the thick wood unshaken by the blast," &c., &c. NOTE L. (See pp. 141 and 418.) Since the foregoing sheets had gone to press, I have had access to the original MSS. of The Excursion; and have found that the point which is discussed-both in the note to p. 141 and in note E in this Appendix-is set conclusively at rest, by one of the earlier (discarded) readings of the text in Wordsworth's own handwriting. "and verily was cheered By the blithe Mocking Bird, and heard alone Another version of the last line is also given, "The plaintive cry repeated whip-poor-will." I now entertain no doubt that Wordsworth had first of all met with the name of this bird, whip-pow-will, in Waterton's Wanderings (a copy of which he possessed), and that he afterwards exchanged it-before sending his Excursion to press, in 1814-for the more musical Indian name, Muccawiss. |