If but the Cedar thrive that near them stands,
Planted by Beaumont's and by Wordsworth's hands.*
One wooed the silent Art with studious pains :
These groves have heard the Other's pensive strains;
Devoted thus, their spirits did unite
By interchange of knowledge and delight.
May Nature's kindliest powers sustain the Tree,
And Love protect it from all injury!
And when its potent branches, wide out-thrown,
Darken the brow of this memorial Stone,†
Here may some Painter sit in future days,
Some future Poet meditate his lays;
Not mindless of that distant age renowned
When Inspiration hovered o'er this ground,
The haunt of him who sang how spear and shield
In civil conflict met on Bosworth-field ; ‡
And of that famous Youth,§ full soon removed
From earth, perhaps by Shakspeare's self approved,
Fletcher's Associate, Jonson's Friend beloved.
OFT is the medal faithful to its trust
When temples, columns, towers, are laid in dust;
*This tree, the Poet said, was thriving and spreading when he saw it in the summer of 1841.
Here followed in the Edition of 1815, this couplet
"And to a favourite resting-place invite,
For coolness grateful, and a sober light."
Sir John Beaumont, who died in 1628.
§ Francis Beaumont, the literary associate of Fletcher. He was brother of Sir John, was born in 1586, and died in 1616.
And 'tis a common ordinance of fate
That things obscure and small outlive the great :
Hence, when yon mansion and the flowery trim
Of this fair garden, and its alleys dim,
And all its stately trees, are passed away,
This little Niche, unconscious of decay,
Perchance may still survive. And be it known
That it was scooped within the living stone,—
Not by the sluggish and ungrateful pains
Of labourer plodding for his daily gains,
But by an industry that wrought in love;
With help from female hands,* that proudly strove
To aid the work, what time these walks and bowers
Were shaped to cheer dark winter's lonely hours.
WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT,
BART., AND IN HIS NAME, FOR AN URN, PLACED BY
HIM AT THE TERMINATION OF A NEWLY-PLANTED
AVENUE, IN THE SAME GROUNDS.
YE Lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed Urn,
Shoot forth with lively power at Spring's return;
And be not slow a stately growth to rear
Of pillars, branching off from year to year,
Till they have learned to frame a darksome aisle ;-
That may recal to mind that awful Pile †
Where Reynolds, 'mid our country's noblest dead,
In the last sanctity of fame is laid.
* Mrs. and Miss Wordsworth. In 1806-7 the Poet and his family resided at Coleorton.
Like a recess within that awful Pile.-Edit. 1815.
-There, though by right the excelling Painter sleep
Where Death and Glory a joint sabbath keep,
Yet not the less his Spirit would hold dear
Self-hidden praise, and Friendship's private tear:
Hence, on my patrimonial grounds, have I
Raised this frail tribute to his memory;
From youth a zealous follower of the Art
That he professed; attached to him in heart;
Admiring, loving, and with grief and pride
Feeling what England lost when Reynolds died.*
FOR A SEAT IN THE GROVES OF COLEORTON.†
BENEATH yon eastern ridge, the craggy bound,
Rugged and high, of Charnwood's forest ground
Stand yet, but, Stranger! hidden from thy view,
The ivied Ruins of forlorn GRACE DIEU;
Erst a religious House, which day and night
With hymns resounded, and the chanted rite:
And when those rites had ceased, the Spot gave birth
To honourable Men of various worth :
There, on the margin of a streamlet wild,
Did Francis Beaumont sport, an eager child;
There, under shadow of the neighbouring rocks,
Sang youthful tales of shepherds and their flocks;
Unconscious prelude to heroic themes,
Heart-breaking tears, and melancholy dreams
* That greatest of British painters died in 1792, and was buried in Saint Paul's Cathedral.
† Composed in 1811, during a walk from Brathay to Grasmere.
Of slighted love, and scorn, and jealous rage,
With which his genius shook the buskined stage.
Communities are lost, and Empires die,
And things of holy use unhallowed lie ;
They perish ;-but the Intellect can raise,
From airy words alone, a Pile that ne'er decays.
WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL UPON A STONE IN THE WALL
OF THE HOUSE (AN OUT-HOUSE), ON THE ISLAND AT
RUDE is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen
Buildings, albeit rude, that have maintained
Proportions more harmonious, and approached
To closer fellowship with ideal grace.
But take it in good part :-alas! the poor
Vitruvius of our village had no help
From the great City; never, upon leaves
Of red Morocco folio saw displayed,
In long succession, pre-existing ghosts
Of Beauties yet unborn-the rustic Lodge
Antique, and Cottage with verandah graced,
Nor lacking, for fit company, alcove,
Green-house, shell-grot, and moss-lined hermitage.*
* In the Edition of 1815, the text from the third line to this point was differently worded. It runs thus
To somewhat of a closer fellowship
With the ideal grace. Yet as it is,
Do take it in good part: alas! -the poor
Vitruvius of our village, had no help
From the great city: never on the leaves
Thou see'st a homely Pile, yet to these walls
The heifer comes in the snow-storm, and here
The new-dropped lamb finds shelter from the wind.
And hither does one Poet sometimes row
His pinnace, a small vagrant barge, up-piled
With plenteous store of heath and withered fern,
(A lading which he with his sickle cuts,
Among the mountains) and beneath this roof
He makes his summer couch, and here at noon
Spreads out his limbs, while, yet unshorn, the Sheep,
Panting beneath the burthen of their wool,
Lie round him, even as if they were a part
Of his own Household: nor, while from his bed
He looks, through the open door-place, toward the lake
And to the stirring breezes, does he want
Creations lovely as the work of sleep-
Fair sights, and visions of romantic joy! *
Of red Morocco folio saw displayed,
The skeletons and pre-existing ghosts
Of Beauties yet unborn, the rustic box,
Snug cot, with coach-house, shed and hermitage."
* This poem shows in what places and in what manner the Poet studied his art. In truth it must have seemed a very lazy life.
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