Rejoice, brave Land, though pride's perverted ire For creatures doomed to breathe terrestrial air: Rich guerdons, and to them alone are due.2 Great God by whom the strifes of men are weighed In an impartial balance, give thine aid To the just cause; and, oh! do thou preside So shall its waters, from the heavens supplied In copious showers, from earth by wholesome springs, Brood o'er the long-parched lands with Nile-like wings! 3 Bid from on high his lonely cannon sound, Yet, yet rejoice, though Pride's perverted ire Nature, as in her prime, her virgin reign Oh give, great God, to Freedom's waves to ride 1820. 1820. 1820. To sweep where Pleasure decks her guilty bowers 182 And grant that every sceptred child of clay Who cries presumptuous, "Here the flood shall stay," To-night, my Friend, within this humble cot Be scorn and fear and hope alike forgot? GUILT AND SORROW; OR, INCIDENTS UPON SALISBURY PLAIN. Comp. 1793-4. Pub. 1842. ADVERTISEMENT, PREFIXED TO THE FIRST EDITION OF THIS POEM, PUBLISHED IN 1842. Not less than one-third of the following poem, though it has from time to time been altered in the expression, was published so far back as the year 1798, under the title of "The Female Vagrant." The extract is of such length that an apology seems to be required for reprinting it here but it was necessary to restore it to its original Swept in their anger from the affrighted shore, 1820. 3 To-night, my friend, within this humble cot 1820. 1836. Renewing, when the rosy summits glow At morn, our various journey, sad and slow. 1820. With lighter heart 1827. position, or the rest would have been unintelligible. The whole was written before the close of the year 1794, and I will detail, rather as a matter of literary biography than for any other reason, the circumstances under which it was produced. During the latter part of the summer of 1793, having passed a month in the Isle of Wight, in view of the fleet which was then preparing for sea off Portsmouth at the commencement of the war, I left the place with melancholy forebodings. The American war was still fresh in memory. The struggle which was beginning, and which many thought would be brought to a speedy close by the irresistible arms of Great Britain being added to those of the allies, I was assured in my own mind would be of long continuance, and productive of distress and misery beyond all possible calculation. This conviction was pressed upon me by having been a witness, during a long residence in revolutionary France, of the spirit which prevailed in that country. After leaving the Isle of Wight, I spent two days in wandering on foot over Salisbury Plain, which, though cultivation was then widely spread through parts of it, had upon the whole a still more impressive appearance than it now retains. The monuments and traces of antiquity, scattered in abundance over that region, led me unavoidably to compare what we know or guess of those remote times with certain aspects of modern society, and with calamities, principally those consequent upon war, to which, more than other classes of men, the poor are subject. In those reflections, joined with particular facts that had come to my knowledge, the following stanzas originated. In conclusion, to obviate some distraction in the minds of those who are well acquainted with Salisbury Plain, it may be proper to say, that of the features described as belonging to it, one or two are taken from other desolate parts of England. [Unwilling to be unnecessarily particular, I have assigned this poem to the dates 1793 and '94; but, in fact, much of the Female Vagrant's story was composed at least two years before. All that relates to her sufferings as a soldier's wife in America, and her condition of mind during her voyage home, were faithfully taken from the report made to me of her own case by a friend who had been subjected to the same trials, and affected in the same way. Mr Coleridge, when I first became acquainted with him, was so much impressed with this poem, that it would have encouraged me to publish the whole as it then stood; but the mariner's fate appeared to me so tragical, as to require a treatment more subdued, and yet more strictly applicable in expression, than I had at first given to it. This fault was corrected nearly sixty years afterwards, when I determined to publish the whole. It may be worth while to remark, that, though the incidents of this attempt do only in a small degree produce each other, and it deviates accordingly from the general rule by which narrative pieces ought to be governed, it is not, therefore, wanting in continuous hold upon the mind, or in unity, which is effected by the identity of moral interest that places the two personages upon the same footing in the reader's sympathies. My ramble over many parts of Salisbury Plain put me, as mentioned in the preface, upon writing this poem, and left upon my mind imaginative impressions, the force of which I have felt to this day. From that district I proceeded to Bath, Bristol, and so on to the banks of the Wye; where I took again to travelling on foot. In remembrance of that part of my journey, which was in '93, I began the verses,-" Five years have passed," &c.] The foregoing is the Fenwick note to "Guilt and Sorrow." The note to "the Female Vagrant,"-which was the title under which onethird of the longer poem appeared in all the editions prior to 1842 --is as follows, [I find the date of this is placed in 1792, in contradiction, by mistake, to what I have asserted in "Guilt and Sorrow." The correct date is 1793-4. The chief incidents of it, more particularly her description of her feelings on the Atlantic, are taken from life.] Stanzas I. to XXII., XXXV. to XXXVII., and LI. to LXXIV. occur only in the edition of 1845, and subsequent ones. -ED. I. A TRAVELLER on the skirt of Sarum's Plain Help from the staff he bore; for mien and air Were hardy, though his cheek seemed worn with care Down fell in straggling locks his thin grey hair; But faded, and stuck o'er with many a patch and shred. II. While thus he journeyed, step by step led on, No board inscribed the needy to allure Hung there, no bush proclaimed to old and poor III. The gathering clouds grew red with stormy fire, And scarce could any trace of man descry, Save cornfields stretched, and stretching without bound; But where the sower dwelt was nowhere to be found. IV. No tree was there, no meadow's pleasant green No brook to wet his lip or soothe his ear; Long files of corn-stalks here and there were seen, But not one dwelling-place his heart to cheer. Some labourer, thought he, may perchance be near; No voice made answer, he could only hear Winds rustling over plots of unripe grain, Or whistling thro' thin grass along the unfurrowed plain. V. Long had he fancied each successive slope |