No More Learning

The Stream came thundering down the dell 1836. ]



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FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Compare 'The Ancient Mariner' (part I. stanza II. ):

And now the Storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong.

Ed. ]


[Footnote B: Compare 'A Farewell', p. 325, l. 17. --Ed. ]



The spot referred to in this poem can be identified with perfect
accuracy. The Eglantine grew on the little brook that runs past two
cottages (close to the path under Nab Scar), which have been built since
the poet's time, and are marked Brockstone on the Ordnance Map.

"The plant itself of course has long disappeared: but in following up
the rill through the copse, above the cottages, I found an unusually
large Eglantine, growing by the side of the stream. "

(Dr Cradock to the editor, in 1877. ) It still grows luxuriantly there.

The following extract from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal illustrates both
this and the next poem:

"Friday, 23rd April 1802.
--It being a beautiful morning, we set off at
eleven o'clock, intending to stay out of doors all the morning. We
went towards Rydal, under Nab Scar. The sun shone and we were lazy.
Coleridge pitched upon several places to sit down upon; but we could
not be all of one mind respecting sun and shade, so we pushed on to
the foot of the Scar. It was very grand when we looked up, very stony;
here and there a budding tree. William observed that the umbrella
Yew-tree that breasts the wind had lost its character as a tree, and
had become like solid wood. Coleridge and I pushed on before. We left
William sitting on the stones, feasting with silence, and I sat down
upon a rocky seat, a couch it might be, under the Bower of William's
'Eglantine,' 'Andrew's Broom. ' He was below us, and we could see him.
He came to us, and repeated his Poems, while we sat beside him. We
lingered long, looking into the vales; Ambleside Vale, with the
copses, the village under the hill, and the green fields; Rydale, with
a lake all alive and glittering, yet but little stirred by breezes;
and our own dear Grasmere, making a little round lake of Nature's own,
with never a house, never a green field, but the copses and the bare
hills enclosing it, and the river flowing out of it. Above rose the
Coniston Fells, in their own shape and colour, . . . the sky, and the
clouds, and a few wild creatures. Coleridge went to search for
something new.