With thy own scorn of tyrants they advance, The shrill defiance of the young crusade 1843. In 1843 were written the lines to Grace Darling, two Sonnets, and the Inscription for a monument to Southey. WHILE beams of orient light shoot wide and high, Deep in the vale a little rural Town* Breathes forth a cloud-like creature of its own, That mounts not toward the radiant morning sky, But, with a less ambitious sympathy, Hangs o'er its Parent waking to the cares, Endears that Lingerer. And how blest her sway Jan. 1, 1843. * Ambleside.-W. W. Wordsworth's lines on Grace Darling were printed privately, before they were included in the 1845 edition of his works. A copy was sent to Mr Dyce, and is preserved in the Dyce Library at South Kensington. Another was sent to Professor Reid (March 27, 1843), with a letter, in which the following occurs: "I threw it off two or three weeks ago, being in a great measure impelled to it by the desire I felt to do justice to the memory of a heroine, whose conduct presented, some time ago, a striking contrast to the inhumanity with which our countrymen, shipwrecked lately upon the French coast, have been treated."-ED. AMONG the dwellers in the silent fields The natural heart is touched, and public way Favour divine, exalting human love; Whom, since her birth on bleak Northumbria's coast, A single Act endears to high and low Through the whole land—to Manhood, moved in spite Save in the rolls of heaven, where hers may live A theme for angels, when they celebrate The high-souled virtues which forgetful earth Has witness'd. Oh that winds and waves could speak Of things which their united power called forth * Grace Darling was the daughter of William Darling, the lighthouse keeper on Longstone, one of the Farne islands on the Northumbrian coast. On the 7th of September 1838, the Forfarshire steamship was wrecked on these islands. At the instigation of his daughter, and accompanied by her, Darling went out in his lifeboat through the surf, to the wreck, and—by their united strength and daring-rescued the nine survivors.-Ed. From the pure depths of her humanity! Firm and unflinching, as the Lighthouse reared As when it guarded holy Cuthbert's cell.* All night the storm had raged, nor ceased, nor paused, When, as day broke, the Maid, through misty air, Espies far off a Wreck, amid the surf, Beating on one of those disastrous isles Half of a Vessel, half-no more; the rest Where every parting agony is hushed, And hope and fear mix not in further strife. "But courage, Father! let us out to sea A few may yet be saved." The Daughter's words, *St Cuthbert of Durham, born about 635, was first a shepherd boy, then a monk in the monastery of Melrose, and afterwards its prior. He left Melrose for the island monastery of Lindisfarne; but desiring an austerer life than the monastic, he left Lindisfarne, and became an anchorite, in a hut which he built with his own hands, on one of the Farne islands. He was afterwards induced to accept the bishopric of Hexham, but soon exchanged it for the see in his old island home at Lindisfarne, and after two years there resigned his bishopric, returning to his cell in Farne island, where he died in 687. His remains were carried to Durham, and placed within a costly shrine.-ED. + Fifty-four persons had perished, before Darling's lifeboat reached the wreck.-ED. Her earnest tone, and look beaming with faith, To launch the boat; and with her blessing cheered, Together they put forth, Father and Child! Each grasps an oar, and struggling on they go- Here to elude and there surmount, they watch True to the mark, They stem the current of that perilous gorge, Their arms still strengthening with the strengthening heart, Incessantly conflicting, thrills the frames And difficulty mastered, with resolve That no one breathing should be left to perish, Placed in the little boat, then o'er the deep Are safely borne, landed upon the beach, And, in fulfilment of God's mercy, lodged Within the sheltering Lighthouse.-Shout, ye Waves! Exult in this deliverance wrought through faith In Him whose Providence your rage hath served! And would that some immortal Voice-a Voice Fitly attuned to all that gratitude Breathes out from floor or couch, through pallid lips Yea, to celestial Choirs, GRACE DARLING'S name! INSCRIPTION FOR A MONUMENT IN CROSTHWAITE CHURCH, IN THE VALE OF KESWICK. YE vales and hills whose beauty hither drew The poet's steps, and fixed them here, on you, His eyes have closed! And ye, loved books, no more To works that ne'er shall forfeit their renown, For the State's guidance, or the Church's weal, |