Wherewith to cheer him in the winter time."
Thus talking of that Peasant, we approached
Close to the spot where with his rod and line
He stood alone; whereat he turned his head
To greet us and we saw a Man worn down
By sickness, gaunt and lean, with sunken cheeks
And wasted limbs, his legs so long and lean
That for my single self I looked at them,
Forgetful of the body they sustained.-
Too weak to labour in the harvest field,
The Man was using his best skill to gain
A pittance from the dead unfeeling lake
That knew not of his wants.
I will not say
What thoughts immediately were ours, nor how
The happy idleness of that sweet morn,
With all its lovely images, was changed
To serious musing and to self-reproach.
Nor did we fail to see within ourselves
What need there is to be reserved in speech,
And temper all our thoughts with charity.
-Therefore, unwilling to forget that day,
My Friend, Myself, and She who then received
The same admonishment, have called the place
By a memorial name, uncouth indeed

As e'er by mariner was given to bay

Or foreland, on a new-discovered coast;

And POINT RASH-JUDGMENT is the name it bears.

The text of this and the following poem reached its final state in the edition of 1827.

In Wordsworth's early days at Grasmere, a wild woodland path of quiet beauty led from Dove Cottage along the margin of the lake to the "Point" referred to in this poem, leaving the eastern shore truly "safe in its own privacy "—a "retired and difficult way"; the highway road for carriages being at that time over White Moss Common. The late Dr Arnold, of Rugby and Foxhowe, used to name the

three roads from Rydal to Grasmere thus: the highest, "Old Corruption"; the intermediate, "Bit by bit Reform"; the lowest and most level, "Radical Reform." Wordsworth was never quite reconciled to the radical reform effected on a road that used to be so delightfully wild and picturesque. The spot which the three friends rather infelicitously named "Point Rash-Judgment" is easily identified; although, as Wordsworth remarks, the character of the shore is changed by the public road being carried along its side. The friends were quite aware that the "memorial name" they gave it was "uncouth." In spite of its awkwardness, however, it will probably survive; if not for Browning's reason

The better the uncouther;

Do roses stick like burrs?

at least because of the incident which gave rise to the poem. The date of composition is fixed by Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, "10th Oct. 1800, Wm. sat up after me, writing 'Point Rash-Judgment."-Ed.

[To Mary Hutchinson, two years before our marriage. The pool alluded to is in Rydal Upper Park.]

OUR walk was far among the ancient trees:
There was no road, nor any woodman's path;
But a thick umbrage-checking the wild growth
Of weed and sapling, along soft green turf1
Beneath the branches-of itself had made
A track, that brought us to a slip of lawn,

And a small bed of water in the woods.

All round this pool both flocks and herds might drink

On its firm margin, even as from a well,

Or some stone basin which the herdsman's hand

Had shaped for their refreshment; nor did sun,

Or wind from any quarter, ever come,

But as a blessing to this calm recess,

This glade of water and this one green field.

1 1827.

on the soft green turf

1800.

The spot was made by Nature for herself;
The travellers know it not, and 'twill remain.
Unknown to them; but it is beautiful;

And if a man should plant his cottage near,
Should sleep beneath the shelter of its trees,
And blend its waters with his daily meal,
He would so love it that in his death hour
Its image would survive among his thoughts:
And therefore, my sweet MARY, this still Nook,
With all its beeches, we have named from You!

To find the pool referred to in the Fenwick note, I have carefully examined the course of Rydal beck, all the way up to the foot of the Fell. There is a pool beyond the enclosures of the Hall property, about five hundred feet above Rydal Mount, which partly corresponds to the description in the poem, but there is no wood around it now; and the trees which skirt its margin are birch, ash, oak, and hazel, but there are no beeches. It is a short way below, some fine specimens of iceworn rocks, which are to the right of the stream as you ascend it, and above these rocks is a well-marked moraine. It is a deep crystal pool, and has a "firm margin" of (artificially placed) stones. This may be the spot described in the poem; or another, within the grounds of the Hall, may be the place referred to. It is a sequestered nook, beside the third waterfall as you ascend the beck-this third cascade being itself a treble fall. Seen two or three days after rain, when the stream is full enough to break over the whole face of the rock in showers of snowy brightness, yet low enough to shew the rock behind its transparent veil, it is specially beautiful. Trees change so much in eighty years that the absence of "beeches" now would not make this site impossible. In a MS. copy of the poem (of date Dec. 28, 1799), the last line of the poem is "with all its poplars, we have named from you." Of the circular pool beneath this fall it may be said, as Wordsworth describes it, that both flocks and herds might drink

On its firm margin, even as from a well;

and a "small slip of lawn" might easily have existed there in his time. We cannot, however, be confident as to the locality, and I add the opinion of several, whose judgment may be deferred to. Dr Cradock writes: "As to Mary Hutchinson's pool, I think that it was not on the beck anywhere, but some detached little pool, far up the hill, to the eastwards of the Hail, in 'the woods.' The description does not well suit any part of Rydal beck; and no spot thereon could long 'remain unknown,' as the brook was until lately much haunted by anglers." [My difficulty as to a site "far up the hill" is, that it must

have been a pool of some size, if "both flocks and herds might drink" all round it; and there is no stream, scarce even a rill that joins Rydal beck on the right, all the way up from its junction with the Rothay.] The late Mr Hull of Rydal Cottage, wrote: "Although closely acquainted with every nook about Rydal Park, I have never been able to discover any spot corresponding to that described in Wordsworth's lines to M. H. It is possible, however, that the 'small bed of water' may have been a temporary rain pool, such as sometimes lodges in the hollows on the mountain-slope after heavy rain." Mr F. M. Jones, the agent of the Rydal property, writes: "I do not know of any pool of water in the Upper Rydal Park. There are some pools up the river, 'Mirror Pool' among them; but I hardly think there can ever have been 'beech-trees' growing near them." There are many difficulties, and the place may now be past identification. Possibly Wordsworth's wish may be fulfilled,—

The travellers know it not, and 'twill remain
Unknown to them.

ED.

THE WATERFALL AND THE EGLANTINE

Comp. 1800.

Pub. 1800.

[Suggested nearer to Grasmere, in the same mountain track as that referred to in the following note. The Eglantine remained many years afterwards, but is now gone.]

I.

"BEGONE, thou fond presumptuous Elf,"

Exclaimed an angry Voice,1

"Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self
Between me and my choice!"

A small Cascade fresh swoln with snows
Thus threatened a poor Briar-rose,2
That, all bespattered with his foam,
And dancing high and dancing low,
Was living, as a child might know,
In an unhappy home.

Exclaimed a thundering Voice,

A falling Water swoln with snows

Thus spake to a poor Briar-rose,

1800.

1800.

II.

"Dost thou presume my course to block?
Off, off! or, puny Thing!

I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock

To which thy fibres cling."

The flood was tyrannous and strong;

The patient Briar suffered long,
Nor did he utter groan or sigh,

Hoping the danger would be past;
But, seeing no relief, at last,

He ventured to reply.

III.

"Ah!" said the Briar, " blame me not;

Why should we dwell in strife?

We who in this sequestered spot1

Once lived a happy life!

You stirred me on my rocky bed—

What pleasure through my veins you spread

The summer long, from day to day,

My leaves you freshened and bedewed;

Nor was it common gratitude

That did your cares repay.

IV.

When spring came on with bud and bell,

Among these rocks did I

Before you hang my wreaths to tell

That gentle days were nigh!

And in the sultry summer hours,

I sheltered you with leaves and flowers;

We who in this, our natal spot

1800