Written with a slate-pencil, on a stone, on the side of the moun- tain of Black Comb, Cumberland In the grounds of Coleorton, the seat of Sir George Beaumont, Written at the request of Sir George Beaumont, Bart., and in his name, for an urn, placed by him at the termination of a The Matron of Jedburgh and her Husband "Though narrow be that old man's cares, and near" For the spot where the Hermitage stood on St. Herbert's Island, "Perhaps some needful service of the state" "O thou who movest onward with a mind" Lines composed at Grasmere during a walk, one evening, after a stormy day, the Author having just read in a newspaper that the dissolution of Mr. Fox was hourly expected Lines written November 13, 1814, on a blank leaf, in a copy of the Author's poem "The Excursion," upon hearing of the death Elegiac Stanzas, suggested by a picture of Peele Castle in a storm, THE ambitious spirit of Philosophy attempts continually to reduce to its laws even co-ordinate powers. In vain it seeks to obtain universal dominion. The imagination by which it soars will not consent to be thus monopolized. Other operations of the human spirit demand its aid. Poetry prefers its claims to be independent of the usurped dominion. The canons of poetry, therefore, promulgated by philosophy, are made to be broken. Generalizations, founded upon past examples, are found to be defective as soon as formed. New modes are discovered for the expression of thought and affection. A new poet starts up to carry his art into regions beyond any previous experience. Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main, Their lustrous dyes participate in the changes both of the element whence they emerge and of the skies that diffuse upon them an altered light. A poet of original genius is a welcome gift to this rigid world. He should be forgiven many faults. Such a poet was William Wordsworth. Born at Cockermouth on the 7th April 1770, he appeared to the world more than a year before Sir Walter Scott, and nearly eighteen years before Lord Byron. Both of these quickly attained to a fame far beyond any that has yet blazoned their elder contemporary. But the influence of Wordsworth, as it certainly points to greater issues in an humbler spirit, may yet be wider and more powerful than theirs. The age which delighted to honour the glowing and romantic fictions of Scott, and which ran greedily after the morbid but impassioned creations of Byron, was not prepared to receive Wordsworth into the family which these distinguished men were elevating into the feudal aristocracy and the peerage. Wordsworth's father was an attorney at Cockermouth, employed professionally as the agent of Sir James Lowther, afterwards Earl of Lonsdale. His mother was the only daughter of William Cookson, mercer of Penrith. Their family consisted of four sons and a daughter. The second son was William. He exhibited in childhood a disposition which somewhat perplexed his mother. She declared him the only one of her children about whom she had any anxiety. His moody and violent temper gave but doubtful promise of a well regulated manhood. He once projected suicide in a fit of childish spleen, but resolution failed when he took in hand the foil which he had imagined suitable for his purpose. Impatient though he was of punishment, he was yet adventurous in transgression. Once in the drawing room, after daring his elder brother to the attempt, he wantonly dashed his whip through the rotten canvas of a family portrait. One would scarcely have expected that his steady manhood should have been fathered by such acts of impetuous childhood. Yet there is apparent throughout his life a persistency in carrying out his purposes, and an adventurous originality in conception that could not but have passed through a childhood marked by force of will. In his ninth year he was sent with his elder brother to Hawks head school, in Lancashire. Here he was permitted to enjoy a liberty now unusual with lads so young. The boys were boarded in the cottages of village dames, where, if there was much care of them, there was little control. The liberty of the place was grateful. Not only could the youth indulge to the full in the books that boys delight in, but every excursion compatible with attendance at school hours might be made without restraint. There is to boys an intense enjoyment in a life of this sort. The animalism of youth develops itself vigorously under such a liberty. The love of nature is then alive, for the life of youth is thoroughly in unison with the life of nature. The village green is a happy provision for the use of cricketers and ball players. The fairs which occupy it for three or four days out of the twelvemonth are tolerated, indeed, for the sake of cheap-Johns and travelling exhibitions. And every field, every copse, every streamlet has its uses and its pleasures. Here are to be found wild roots that please the palate, not yet taught to scorn any real dainty. Yonder the varied population of the woods "inhabit lax." The vagrant urchin knows every habitat of the songsters, every peculiarity of their notes and plumage. And angling is his holiday delight. Every streamlet has its own reputation. The triumphs of distant expeditions are recounted over the spoils laid out to view after the lengthened trudge has been retraced. "Ah, happy years! once more, who would not be a boy?" Hawkshead, although in Lancashire, stands amidst scenery properly belonging to Cumberland and Westmorland. The poet's boyhood was spent amongst associations very different from those which attach to the modern Lancashire. From the heights around the village, Esthwaite Water and Windermere lie open to the eye. The becks which tumble down the vales are bright in the sunshine, or turbid with flood, but unpolluted with dye stuffs. Fields and woods, slopes and crags mingle with lakes and streams in picturesque confusion. Amidst these dear objects the young admirer would fain have wandered all the day and all his days. He and his companions roved far and wide as their hours permitted. Night was not safe from their intrusions. Whether it were skating on the lakes in the clear frosty moonlight of winter, or wandering on the hills setting snares for woodcocks, the boys were on the alert during every waking hour. If confined within doors by storms, they employed their time in occupations little approved of by educationists. Story telling and cards are not considered the best recreations for youth, but in this case they fostered a poet. They rendered Wordsworth a hearty sympathizer with the lowly companions who shared the |