"We left Sockburn last Tuesday morning. We crossed the Tees by moonlight in the Sockburn fields, and after ten good miles riding came in sight of the Swale. It is there a beautiful river, with its green banks and flat holms scattered over with trees. Four miles further brought us to Richmond, with its huge ivied castle, its friarage steeple, its castle tower resembling a huge steeple.... We were now in Wensleydale, and D. and I set off side by side to foot it as far as Kendal.... We reached Askrigg, twelve miles, before six in the evening, having been obliged to walk the last two miles over hard frozen roads.... Next morning the earth was thinly covered with snow, enough to make the road soft and prevent its being slippery. On leaving Askrigg we turned aside to see another waterfall. It was a beautiful morning, with driving snow showers, which disappeared by fits, and unveiled the east, which was all one delicious pale orange colour. After walking through two small fields we came to a mill, which we pa.s.sed, and in a moment a sweet little valley opened before us, with an area of gra.s.sy ground, and a stream dashing over various laminae of black rocks close under a bank covered with firs; the bank and stream on our left, another woody bank on our right, and the flat meadow in front, from which, as at b.u.t.termere, the stream had retired, as it were, to hide itself under the shade. As we walked up this delightful valley we were tempted to look back perpetually on the stream, which reflected the orange lights of the morning among the gloomy rocks, with a brightness varying with the agitation of the current. The steeple of Askrigg was between us and the east, at the bottom of the valley; it was not a quarter of a mile distant.... The two banks seemed to join before us with a facing of rock common to them both. When we reached this bottom the valley opened out again; two rocky banks on each side, which, hung with ivy and moss, and fringed luxuriantly with brushwood, ran directly parallel to each other, and then approaching with a gentle curve at their point of union, presented a lofty waterfall, the termination of the valley. It was a keen frosty morning, showers of snow threatening us, but the sun bright and active. We had a task of twenty-one miles to perform in a short winter's day.... On a nearer approach the waters seemed to fall down a tall arch or niche that had shaped itself by insensible moulderings in the wall of an old castle. We left this spot with reluctance, but highly exhilarated.... It was bitter cold, the wind driving the snow behind us in the best style of a mountain storm. We soon reached an inn at a place called Hardrane, and descending from our vehicles, after warming ourselves by the cottage fire, we walked up the brook-side to take a view of a third waterfall. We had not walked above a few hundred yards between two winding rocky banks before we came full upon the waterfall, which seemed to throw itself in a narrow line from a lofty wall of rock, the water, which shot manifestly to some distance from the rock, seeming to be dispersed into a thin shower scarcely visible before it reached the bason. We were disappointed in the cascade itself, though the introductory and accompanying banks were an exquisite mixture of grandeur and beauty.... After cautiously sounding our way over stones of all colours and sizes, encased in the clearest water formed by the spray of the fall, we found the rock, which before had appeared like a wall, extending itself over our heads, like the ceiling of a huge cave, from the summit of which the waters shot directly over our heads into a bason, and among fragments wrinkled over with ma.s.ses of ice as white as snow, or rather, as Dorothy says, like congealed froth. The water fell at least ten yards from us, and we stood directly behind it, the excavation not so deep in the rock as to impress any feeling of darkness, but lofty and magnificent; but in connection with the adjoining banks excluding as much of the sky as could well be spared from a scene so exquisitely beautiful. The spot where we stood was as dry as the chamber in which I am now sitting, and the inc.u.mbent rock, of which the groundwork was limestone, veined and dappled with colours which melted into each other with every possible variety of colour. On the summit of the cave were three festoons, or rather wrinkles, in the rock, run up parallel like the folds of a curtain when it is drawn up.

Each of these was hung with icicles of various length, and nearly in the middle of the festoon, in the deepest valley of the waves that ran parallel to each other, the stream shot from the rows of icicles in irregular fits of strength, and with a body of water that varied every moment. Sometimes the stream shot into the bason in one continued current; sometimes it was interrupted almost in the midst of its fall, and was blown towards part of the waterfall at no great distance from our feet like the heaviest thunder shower. In such a situation you have at every moment a feeling of the presence of the sky. Large fleecy clouds drove over our heads above the rush of the water, and the sky appeared of a blue more than usually brilliant. The rocks on each side, which, joining with the side of this cave, formed the vista of the brook, were chequered with three diminutive waterfalls, or rather courses of water. Each of these was a miniature of all that summer and winter can produce of delicate beauty. The rock in the centre of the falls, where the water was most abundant, a deep black, the adjoining parts yellow, white, purple, and dove colour, covered with water--plants of the most vivid green, and hung with streaming icicles, that in some places seem to conceal the verdure of the plants and the violet and yellow variegation of the rocks; and in some places render the colours more brilliant. I cannot express to you the enchanting effect produced by this Arabian scene of colour as the wind blew aside the great waterfall behind which we stood, and alternately hid and revealed each of these fairy cataracts in irregular succession, or displayed them with various gradations of distinctness as the intervening spray was thickened or dispersed. What a scene too in summer! In the luxury of our imagination we could not help feeding upon the pleasure which this cave, in the heat of a July noon, would spread through a frame exquisitely sensible. That huge rock on the right, the bank winding round on the left with all its living foliage, and the breeze stealing up the valley, and bedewing the cavern with the freshest imaginable spray. And then the murmur of the water, the quiet, the seclusion, and a long summer day."

Ed.

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT:

[Footnote A: This is a fragment of 'The Recluse', ll. 152-167; but it was originally published in the 'Memoirs of Wordsworth' by his nephew (1851).--Ed.]

ELLEN IRWIN; OR, THE BRAES OF KIRTLE [A]

Composed 1800.--Published 1800

[It may be worth while to observe that as there are Scotch Poems on this subject in simple ballad strain, I thought it would be both presumptuous and superfluous to attempt treating it in the same way; and, accordingly, I chose a construction of stanza quite new in our language; in fact, the same as that of Burger's 'Leonora', except that the first and third lines do not, in my stanzas, rhyme. At the outset I threw out a cla.s.sical image to prepare the reader for the style in which I meant to treat the story, and so to preclude all comparison.--I.F.]

In the editions of 1815 and 1820 this was included among the "Poems founded on the Affections." In 1827 it was placed in the "Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1803."--Ed.

Fair Ellen Irwin, when she sate Upon the braes of Kirtle, Was lovely as a Grecian maid Adorned with wreaths of myrtle; Young Adam Bruce beside her lay, 5 And there did they beguile the day With love and gentle speeches, Beneath the budding beeches.

From many knights and many squires The Bruce had been selected; 10 And Gordon, fairest of them all, By Ellen was rejected.

Sad tidings to that n.o.ble Youth!

For it may be proclaimed with truth, If Bruce hath loved sincerely, 15 That Gordon [1] loves as dearly.

But what are Gordon's form and face, His shattered hopes and crosses, To them, 'mid Kirtle's pleasant braes, Reclined on flowers and mosses? [2] 20 Alas that ever he was born!

The Gordon, couched behind a thorn, Sees them and their caressing; Beholds them blest and blessing.

Proud Gordon, maddened by the thoughts [3] 25 That through his brain are travelling, Rushed forth, and at the heart of Bruce [4]

He launched a deadly javelin!

Fair Ellen saw it as it came, And, starting up to meet the same, [5] 30 Did with her body cover The Youth, her chosen lover.

And, falling into Bruce's arms, Thus died the beauteous Ellen, Thus, from the heart of her True-love, 35 The mortal spear repelling.

And Bruce, as soon as he had slain The Gordon, sailed away to Spain; And fought with rage incessant Against the Moorish crescent. 40

But many days, and many months, And many years ensuing, This wretched Knight did vainly seek The death that he was wooing.

So, coming his last help to crave, 45 Heart-broken, upon Ellen's grave [6]

His body he extended, And there his sorrow ended.

Now ye, who willingly have heard The tale I have been telling, 50 May in Kirkonnel churchyard view The grave of lovely Ellen: By Ellen's side the Bruce is laid; And, for the stone upon his head, May no rude hand deface it, 55 And its forlorn Hic jacet.

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1815.

The Gordon ... 1800.]

[Variant 2:

1837.

But what is Gordon's beauteous face?

And what are Gordon's crosses To them who sit by Kirtle's Braes Upon the verdant mosses? 1800.]

[Variant 3:

1837.

Proud Gordon cannot bear the thoughts 1800.]

[Variant 4:

1837.

And, starting up, to Bruce's heart 1800.]

[Variant 5:

1837.

Fair Ellen saw it when it came, And, stepping forth ... 1800.]

[Variant 6: