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THE WATERFALL AND THE EGLANTINE

Composed 1800.-Published 1800

[Suggested nearer to Grasmere, in the same mountain track as that referred to in the following note. The Eglantine remained many years afterwards, but is now gone.-I. F.]

Included among the "Poems of the Fancy."-Ed.

I

"BEGONE, thou fond presumptuous Elf,"
Exclaimed an angry Voice,1

"Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self

Between me and my choice!"

A small Cascade fresh swoln with snows
Thus threatened a poor Briar-rose,2
That, all bespattered with his foam,
And dancing high and dancing low,
Was living, as a child might know,
In an unhappy home.

II

"Dost thou presume my course to block?
Off, off! or, puny Thing!

I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock

ΙΟ

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* Compare The Ancient Mariner (part 1. stanza II.)—

And now the Storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong.

ED.

Nor did he utter groan or sigh,

Hoping the danger would be past;

But, seeing no relief, at last,

He ventured to reply.

III

"Ah!" said the Briar, "blame me not;

Why should we dwell in strife?
We who in this sequestered spot1

Once lived a happy life!

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You stirred me on my rocky bed-

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What pleasure through my veins you spread

The summer long, from day to day,

My leaves you freshened and bedewed ;
Nor was it common gratitude

That did your cares repay.

IV

"When spring came on with bud and bell,*

Among these rocks did I

Before you hang my wreaths 2 to tell
That gentle days were nigh!

And in the sultry summer hours,

I sheltered you with leaves and flowers;
And in my leaves-now shed and gone,
The linnet lodged, and for us two

Chanted his pretty songs, when you
Had little voice or none.

V

"But now proud thoughts are in your breast-
What grief is mine you see,

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Ah! would you think, even yet how blest

Together we might be !

Though of both leaf and flower bereft,

Some ornaments to me are left

Rich store of scarlet hips is mine,
With which I, in my humble way,
Would deck you many a winter day,1
A happy Eglantine!"

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VI

What more he said I cannot tell,
The Torrent down the rocky dell
Came thundering loud and fast ;2
I listened, nor aught else could hear;
The Briar quaked—and much I fear
Those accents were his last.

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The spot referred to in this poem can be identified with perfect accuracy. The Eglantine grew on the little brook that runs past two cottages (close to the path under Nab Scar), which have been built since the poet's time, and are marked Brockstone on the Ordnance Map. "The plant itself of course has long disappeared: but in following up the rill through the copse, above the cottages, I found an unusually large Eglantine, growing by the side of the stream." (Dr Cradock to the editor, in 1877.) It still grows luxuriantly there.

The following extract from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal illustrates both this and the next poem :-"Friday, 23rd April 1802. It being a beautiful morning, we set off at eleven

1 1836.

Winter's day,

1800.

2 1840.

The stream came thundering down the dell
And gallop'd loud and fast;

1800.

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We

o'clock, intending to stay out of doors all the morning. went towards Rydal, under Nab Scar. The sun shone and we were lazy. Coleridge pitched upon several places to sit down upon; but we could not be all of one mind respecting sun and shade, so we pushed on to the foot of the Scar. It was very grand when we looked up, very stony; here and there a budding tree. William observed that the umbrella Yew-tree that breasts the wind had lost its character as a tree, and had become like solid wood. Coleridge and I pushed on before. We left William sitting on the stones, feasting with silence, and I sat down upon a rocky seat, a couch it might be, under the Bower of William's 'Eglantine,' Andrew's Broom.' He was below us, and we could see him. He came to us, and repeated his Poems, while we sat beside him. We lingered long, looking into the vales; Ambleside Vale, with the copses, the village under the hill, and the green fields; Rydale, with a lake all alive and glittering, yet but little stirred by breezes ; and our own dear Grasmere, making a little round lake of Nature's own, with never a house, never a green field, but the copses and the bare hills enclosing it, and the river flowing out of it. Above rose the Coniston Fells, in their own shape and colour, . . . the sky, and the clouds, and a few wild creatures. 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. On the other side, it was higher than my head. We looked down on the Ambleside vale, that seemed to wind away from us, the village lying under the hill. The fir tree island was reflected beautifully. About this bower there is mountain-ash, common ash, yew tree, ivy, holly, hawthorn, roses, flowers, and a carpet of moss. Above at the top of the rock there is another spot. It is scarce a bower, a little parlour, 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. We resolved to go and plant flowers, in both these places to

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THE OAK AND THE BROOM

A PASTORAL

Composed 1800.-Published 1800

[Suggested upon the mountain pathway that leads from Upper Rydal to Grasmere. The ponderous block of stone, which is mentioned in the poem, remains, I believe, to this day, a good way up Nab-Scar. Broom grows under it, and in

many places on the side of the precipice.-I. F.]

One of the "Poems of the Fancy."-ED.

I

HIS simple truths did Andrew glean
Beside the babbling rills;

A careful student he had been

Among the woods and hills.

One winter's night, when through the trees
The wind was roaring,1 on his knees
His youngest born did Andrew hold:
And while the rest, a ruddy quire,

Were seated round their blazing fire,
This Tale the Shepherd told.

II

"I saw a crag, a lofty stone

As ever tempest beat!

Out of its head an Oak had grown,

A Broom out of its feet.

The time was March, a cheerful noon-
The thaw-wind, with the breath of June,
Breathed gently from the warm south-west :
When, in a voice sedate with age,
This Oak, a giant and a sage,2

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