MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS

349

PASTOR and Patriot !—at whose bidding rise
These modest walls, amid a flock that need,
For one who comes to watch them and to feed,
A fixed Abode-keep down presageful sighs.1
Threats, which the unthinking only can despise,
Perplex the Church; but be thou firm,—be true
To thy first hope, and this good work pursue,
Poor as thou art. A welcome sacrifice
Dost Thou prepare, whose sign will be the smoke 2
Of thy new hearth; and sooner shall its wreaths,
Mounting while earth her morning incense breathes,
From wandering fiends of air receive a yoke,
And straightway cease to aspire, than God disdain
This humble tribute as ill-timed or vain.

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MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS

(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

1 1835.

2

1835.

foreboding sighs.

MS. Letter to Lady Beaumont.

To Him who dwells in Heaven will be the smoke
MS. Letter to Lady Beaumont.

Fenwick note to the lines, Composed by the Sea-shore, p. 340.
Wordsworth wrote to Lady Beaumont :-

In 1833

"Were you ever told that my son is building a parsonage-house upon a small living, to which he was lately presented by the Earl of Lonsdale. The situation is beautiful, commanding the windings of the Derwent both above and below the site of the house; the mountain Skiddaw terminating the view one way, at a distance of six miles, and the ruins of Cockermouth Castle appearing nearly in the centre of the same view. In consequence of some discouraging thoughts expressed by my son when he had entered upon this undertaking, I addressed to him the following Sonnet, which you may perhaps read with some interest at the present crisis."-ED.

The fears and impatience of Mary were so great," says Robertson, that she got into a fisher-boat, and with about twenty attendants landed

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.-I. F.]

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! 1
And like a Star (that, from a heavy cloud 2
Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts,3
When a soft summer gale at evening parts
The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud)
She smiled; but Time, the old Saturnian seer,
Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand,
With step prelusive to a long array

1

Of woes and degradations hand in hand-
Weeping captivity, and shuddering fear

Stilled by the ensanguined block of Fotheringay! 4

1837.

And to the throng how touchingly she bowed
That hailed her landing on the Cumbrian shore ;

2 1840.

Bright as a star (that, from a sombre cloud

1835.

1835.

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High poised in air of pine-tree foliage, darts,

1835.

Thenceforth he saw a long and long array
Of miserable seasons hand in hand-

Weeping, captivity, and pallid fear,

And last, the ensanguined block of Fotheringay.

MS.

MS.

at Workington, in Cumberland; and thence she was conducted with many marks of respect to Carlisle.' The apartment in which the Queen had slept at Workington Hall (where she was received by Sir Henry Curwen as became her rank and misfortunes) was long preserved, out of respect to her memory, as she had left it; and one cannot but regret that some necessary alterations in the mansion could not be effected without its destruction.W. W. 1835.

* Compare The Triad, ll. 189, 190 (p. 188)

So gleams the crescent moon, that loves
To be descried through shady groves.

ED.

STANZAS suggested IN A STEAM-BOAT

351

ΧΙ

STANZAS SUGGESTED IN A STEAM-BOAT OFF SAINT BEES' HEADS, ON THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND *

IF Life were slumber on a bed of down,
Toil unimposed, vicissitude unknown,
Sad were our lot: no hunter of the hare
Exults like him whose javelin from the lair
Has roused the lion; no one plucks the rose,
Whose proffered beauty in safe shelter blows

5

* St. Bees' Heads, anciently called the Cliff of Baruth, are a conspicuous sea-mark for all vessels sailing in the N. E. parts of the Irish Sea. In a bay, one side of which is formed by the southern headland, stands the village of St. Bees; a place distinguished, from very early times, for its religious and scholastic foundations.

St. Bees," say Nicholson and Burns, "had its name from Bega, an holy woman from Ireland, who is said to have founded here, about the year of our Lord 650, a small monastery, where afterwards a church was built in memory of her.

"The aforesaid religious house, being destroyed by the Danes, was restored by William de Meschiens, son of Ranulph, and brother of Ranulph de Meschiens, first Earl of Cumberland after the Conquest; and made a cell of a prior and six Benedictine monks to the Abbey of St. Mary at York."

Several traditions of miracles, connected with the foundation of the first of these religious houses, survive among the people of the neighbourhood; one of which is alluded to in these Stanzas; and another, of a somewhat bolder and more peculiar character, has furnished the subject of a spirited poem by the Rev. R. Parkinson, M.A., late Divinity Lecturer of St. Bees' College, and now Fellow of the Collegiate Church of Manchester.

After the dissolution of the monasteries, Archbishop Grindal founded a free school at St. Bees, from which the counties of Cumberland and Westmoreland have derived great benefit; and recently, under the patronage of the Earl of Lonsdale, a college has been established there for the education of ministers for the English Church. The old Conventual Church has been repaired under the superintendence of the Rev. Dr. Ainger, the Head of the College; and is well worthy of being visited by any strangers who might be led to the neighbourhood of this celebrated spot.

The form of stanza in this Poem, and something in the style of versification, are adopted from the St. Monica, a poem of much beauty upon a monastic subject, by Charlotte Smith: a lady to whom English verse is under greater obligations than are likely to be either acknowledged or remembered. She wrote little, and that little unambitiously, but with true feeling for rural nature,1 at a time when nature was not much regarded by English Poets; for in point of time her earlier writings preceded, I believe, those of Cowper and Burns.2-W. W. 1835.

1 1837.

but with true feeling for nature.

2 From "at a time" to "Burns" was added in 1837.

1835.

'Mid a trim garden's summer luxuries,

With joy like his who climbs, on hands and knees,
For some rare plant, yon Headland of St. Bees,

This independence upon oar and sail,
This new indifference to breeze or gale,
This straight-lined progress, furrowing a flat lea,
And regular as if locked in certainty—
Depress the hours. Up, Spirit of the storm!
That Courage may find something to perform ;
That Fortitude, whose blood disdains to freeze
At Danger's bidding, may confront the seas,
Firm as the towering Headlands of St. Bees.

Dread cliff of Baruth! that wild wish may sleep,
Bold as if men and creatures of the Deep
Breathed the same element; too many wrecks
Have struck thy sides, too many ghastly decks
Hast thou looked down upon, that such a thought
Should here be welcome, and in verse enwrought :
With thy stern aspect better far agrees
Utterance of thanks that we have past with ease,
As millions thus shall do, the Headlands of St. Bees.

Yet, while each useful Art augments her store,
What boots the gain if Nature should lose more?
And Wisdom, as she holds1 a Christian place
In man's intelligence sublimed by grace?
When Bega sought of yore the Cumbrian coast,
Tempestuous winds her holy errand cross'd:

*

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She 2 knelt in prayer—the waves their wrath appease ;

And Wisdom, that once held

1 1845.

1835.

21837.

cross'd;

As high and higher heaved the billows, faith
Grew with them, mightier than the powers of death.

1835.

She .

* See the note, p. 351.-ED.

STANZAS SUGGESTED IN A STEAM-BOAT

353

And, from her vow well weighed in Heaven's decrees, Rose, where she touched the strand, the Chantry of St. Bees.

“Cruel of heart were they, bloody of hand,"

Who in these Wilds then struggled for command ;
The strong were merciless, without hope the weak;
Till this bright Stranger came, fair as day-break,
And as a cresset true that darts its length
Of beamy lustre from a tower of strength;
Guiding the mariner through troubled seas,

And cheering oft his peaceful reveries,

*

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Like the fixed Light that crowns yon Headland of St. Bees.

To aid the Votaress, miracles believed

Wrought in men's minds, like miracles achieved;
So piety took root; and Song might tell
What humanising virtues near her cell1

Sprang up, and spread their fragrance wide around;
How savage bosoms melted at the sound
Of gospel-truth enchained in harmonies

Wafted o'er waves, or creeping through close trees,
From her religious Mansion of St. Bees.

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When her sweet Voice, that instrument of love,
Was glorified, and took its place, above

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The silent stars, among the angelic quire,

Her chantry blazed with sacrilegious fire,

And perished utterly; but her good deeds

Had sown the spot, that witnessed them, with seeds
Which lay in earth expectant, till a breeze
With quickening impulse answered their mute pleas,
And lo! a statelier pile, the Abbey of St. Bees.†

1 1837.

round her Cell

* The Danes, and the Cymric aborigines.-Ed.

1835.

61

See the extract from Nicholson and Burn's History of Cumberland, in Wordsworth's note, p. 351.-ED.

VOL. VII

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