Poor Robin[214]

Composed March 1840.--Published 1842

[I often ask myself what will become of Rydal Mount after our day. Will the old walls and steps remain in front of the house and about the grounds, or will they be swept away with all the beautiful mosses and ferns and wild geraniums and other flowers which their rude construction suffered and encouraged to grow among them?--This little wild flower--“Poor Robin”--is here constantly courting my attention, and exciting what may be called a domestic interest with the varying aspects of its stalks and leaves and flowers. Strangely do the tastes of men differ according to their employment and habits of life. “What a nice well would that be,” said a labouring man to me one day, “if all that rubbish was cleared off.” The “rubbish” was some of the most beautiful mosses and lichens and ferns and other wild growths that could possibly be seen. Defend us from the tyranny of trimness and neatness showing itself in this way! Chatterton says of freedom--“Upon her head wild weeds were spread,” and depend upon it if “the marvellous boy” had undertaken to give Flora a garland, he would have preferred what we are apt to call weeds to garden flowers. True taste has an eye for both. Weeds have been called flowers out of place. I fear the place most people would assign to them is too limited. Let them come near to our abodes, as surely they may, without impropriety or disorder.--I.F.]

One of the “Miscellaneous Poems.”--ED.

Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, Poor Robin is yet flowerless; but how gay With his red stalks upon this sunny day! And, as his tufts of leaves he spreads, content With a hard bed and scanty nourishment, Mixed with the green, some shine not lacking power To rival summer’s brightest scarlet flower; And flowers they well might seem to passers-by If looked at only with a careless eye; Flowers--or a richer produce (did it suit The season) sprinklings of ripe strawberry fruit. But while a thousand pleasures come unsought, Why fix upon his wealth or want a thought? Is the string touched in prelude to a lay Of pretty fancies that would round him play When all the world acknowledged elfin sway? Or does it suit our humour to commend Poor Robin as a sure and crafty friend, Whose practice teaches, spite of names to show Bright colours whether they deceive or no?-- Nay, we would simply praise the free good-will With which, though slighted, he, on naked hill Or in warm valley, seeks his part to fill; Cheerful alike if bare of flowers as now, Or when his tiny gems shall deck his brow: Yet more, we wish that men by men despised, And such as lift their foreheads overprized, Should sometimes think, where’er they chance to spy This child of Nature’s own humility, What recompense is kept in store or left For all that seem neglected or bereft; With what nice care equivalents are given, How just, how bountiful, the hand of Heaven.

March, 1840.

The small wild Geranium known by that name.--W.W. 1842.

These things remain comparatively unaltered. Rydal Mount has suffered little in picturesqueness since Wordsworth’s death; while the house, and the grounds, have gained in many ways by what the present tenant has done for them. It is impossible to keep such a place exactly as it was left by its greatest tenant; and Mr. Crewdson has certainly not injured, but wisely improved the place.--ED.

Compare what is said of it in the Memoirs of Wordsworth, by his nephew, vol. i. p. 20.--ED.

1849.

… tuft

1842.

1845.

… want or wealth

1842.

ON A PORTRAIT OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON UPON THE FIELD OF WATERLOO, BY HAYDON

Composed August 31, 1840.--Published 1842

[This was composed while I was ascending Helvellyn in company with my daughter and her husband. She was on horseback, and rode to the top of the hill without once dismounting, a feat which it was scarcely possible to perform except during a season of dry weather; and a guide, with whom we fell in on the mountain, told us he believed it had never been accomplished before by any one.--I.F.]

One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets”; but first published in the “Poems chiefly of Early and Late Years.”--ED.

By Art’s bold privilege Warrior and War-horse stand On ground yet strewn with their last battle’s wreck; Let the Steed glory while his Master’s hand Lies fixed for ages on his conscious neck; But by the Chieftain’s look, though at his side Hangs that day’s treasured sword, how firm a check Is given to triumph and all human pride! Yon trophied Mound shrinks to a shadowy speck In his calm presence! Him the mighty deed Elates not, brought far nearer the grave’s rest, As shows that time-worn face, for he such seed Has sown as yields, we trust, the fruit of fame In Heaven; hence no one blushes for thy name, Conqueror, ’mid some sad thoughts, divinely blest!

Haydon worked at this picture of Wellington from June to November, 1839. (See his Autobiography, vol. iii. pp. 108-131.) He writes under date, Sept. 4, 1840:--“Hard at work. I heard from dear Wordsworth, with a glorious sonnet on the Duke, and Copenhagen.† It is very fine, and I began a new journal directly, and put in the sonnet. God bless him.” The following is part of Wordsworth’s letter:--

“MY DEAR HAYDON,--We are all charmed with your etching. It is both poetically and pictorially conceived, and finely executed. I should have written immediately to thank you for it, and for your letter and the enclosed one, which is interesting, but I wished to gratify you by writing a sonnet. I now send it, but with an earnest request that it may not be put into circulation for some little time, as it is warm from the brain, and may require, in consequence, some little retouching. It has this, at least, remarkable attached to it, which will add to its value in your eyes, that it was actually composed while I was climbing Helvellyn last Monday.”--ED.

† Wellington’s war-horse.--ED.

1842.

… Since the mighty deed Him years have brought far nearer the grave’s rest, He shows that face time-worn. But he such seed Has sowed that bears, we trust, the fruit of fame In Heaven.…

From a copy sent to Haydon.

1841