No More Learning

To rest and . . . 1815. ]


[Variant 11:

1815.

One night the Wind came from the North
And blew a furious blast, 1800. ]



The spot is fixed within narrow limits by the Fenwick note. It is,
beyond doubt, on the wooded part of Nab-Scar, through which the upper
path from Grasmere to Rydal passes. There is one huge block of stone
high above the path, which answers well to the description in the second
stanza. Crabb Robinson wrote in his 'Diary' (Sept. 11, 1816):

"The poem of 'The Oak and the Broom' proceeded from his" (Wordsworth)
"beholding a tree in just such a situation as he described the broom
to be in. "

Ed.





* * * * *





"'TIS SAID, THAT SOME HAVE DIED FOR LOVE"


Composed 1800. --Published 1800


One of the "Poems founded on the Affections. "--Ed.
'Tis said, that some have died for love:
And here and there a church-yard grave is found
In the cold north's unhallowed ground,
Because the wretched man himself had slain,
His love was such a grievous pain. 5
And there is one whom I five years have known;
He dwells alone
Upon Helvellyn's side:
He loved--the pretty Barbara died;
And thus he makes his moan: 10
Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid
When thus his moan he made:

"Oh, move, thou Cottage, from behind that oak!
Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,
That in some other way yon smoke 15
May mount into the sky!
The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart:
I look--the sky is empty space;
I know not what I trace;
But when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart. 20

"O! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves,
That murmur once so dear, when will it cease?
Your sound my heart of rest bereaves,
It robs my heart of peace. [1]
Thou Thrush, that singest loud--and loud and free, 25
Into yon row of willows flit,
Upon that alder sit;
Or sing another song, or choose another tree.

"Roll back, sweet Rill! back to thy mountain-bounds,
And there for ever be thy waters chained! 30
For thou dost haunt the air with sounds
That cannot be sustained;
If still beneath that [2] pine-tree's ragged bough
Headlong yon waterfall must come,
Oh let it then be dumb! 35
Be anything, sweet Rill, but that which thou art now.

"Thou Eglantine, so bright with sunny showers,
Proud as a rainbow spanning half the vale, [3]
Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers,
And stir not in the gale. 40
For thus to see thee nodding in the air,
To see thy arch thus stretch and bend,
Thus rise and thus descend,--
Disturbs me till the sight is more than I can bear.