Part Ii

Now, to a maturer Audience, Let me speak of this brave Child Left among her native mountains With wild Nature to run wild.

So, unwatched by love maternal, Mother’s care no more her guide, Fared this little bright-eyed Orphan Even while at her father’s side.

Spare your blame,--remembrance makes him Loth to rule by strict command; Still upon his cheek are living Touches of her infant hand,

Dear caresses given in pity, Sympathy that soothed his grief, As the dying mother witnessed To her thankful mind’s relief.

Time passed on; the Child was happy, Like a Spirit of air she moved, Wayward, yet by all who knew her For her tender heart beloved.

Scarcely less than sacred passions, Bred in house, in grove, and field, Link her with the inferior creatures, Urge her powers their rights to shield.

Anglers, bent on reckless pastime, Learn how she can feel alike Both for tiny harmless minnow And the fierce and sharp-toothed pike.

Merciful protectress, kindling Into anger or disdain; Many a captive hath she rescued, Others saved from lingering pain.

Listen yet awhile;--with patience Hear the homely truths I tell, She in Grasmere’s old church-steeple Tolled this day the passing-bell.

Yes, the wild Girl of the mountains To their echoes gave the sound, Notice punctual as the minute, Warning solemn and profound.

She, fulfilling her sire’s office, Rang alone the far-heard knell, Tribute, by her hand, in sorrow, Paid to One who loved her well.

When his spirit was departed On that service she went forth; Nor will fail the like to render When his corse is laid in earth.

What then wants the Child to temper, In her breast, unruly fire, To control the froward impulse And restrain the vague desire?

Easily a pious training And a stedfast outward power Would supplant the weeds and cherish, In their stead, each opening flower.

Thus the fearless Lamb-deliv’rer, Woman-grown, meek-hearted, sage, May become a blest example For her sex, of every age.

Watchful as a wheeling eagle, Constant as a soaring lark, Should the country need a heroine, She might prove our Maid of Arc.

Leave that thought; and here be uttered Prayer that Grace divine may raise Her humane courageous spirit Up to heaven, thro’ peaceful ways.

This Westmoreland Girl was Sarah Mackereth of Wyke Cottage, Grasmere. She married a man named Davis, and died in 1872 at Broughton in Furness. The swollen “flood” from which she rescued the lamb, was Wyke Gill beck, which descends from the centre of Silver Howe. The picturesque cottage, with round chimney,--a yew tree and Scotch fir behind it,--is on the western side of the road from Grasmere over to Langdale by Red Bank. The Mackereths have been a well-known Westmoreland family for some hundred years. They belong to the “gentry of the soil,” and have been parish clerks in Grasmere for generations. One of them was the tenant of the Swan Inn referred to in The Waggoner--the host who painted, with his own hand, the “famous swan,” used as a sign. (See vol. iii. p. 81.)

The story of The Blind Highland Boy, which gave rise to the poem bearing that name, was told to Wordsworth by one of these Mackereths of Grasmere. (See the Fenwick note, vol. ii. p. 420.) In a letter to Professor Henry Reed (31st July 1845) Wordsworth said this poem might interest him “as exhibiting what sort of characters our mountains breed. It is truth to the letter.”--ED.

1845.

… its simple dam.

MS.

1845.

… must lie in earth.

MS.

Compare Grace Darling, p. 311 in this volume.--ED.

1845.

Leave that word--and here be offered Prayer that Grace divine would raise This humane courageous spirit Up to Heaven through peaceful ways.

In a letter to Henry Reed, July 1845.