Far from St Cuthbert his beloved friend,

Those holy Men both died in the same hour.

1800.

The versions of 1802 and 1807, which are identical, omit one line of the text of 1800, as under

He dwelt in solitude. But he had left

A Fellow-labourer, &c.

1802, 1807.

The text of 1815, which is continued in 1820, begins thus-
This island, guarded from profane approach

By mountains high and waters widely spread,
Is that recess to which St Herbert came
In life's decline; a self-secluded man,
After long exercise in social cares

And offices humane, intent to adore

The Deity, with undistracted mind,

And meditate on everlasting things.

Stranger this shapeless heap of stones and earth
(Long be its mossy covering undisturbed)

Is reverenced as a vestige of the abode

In which, through many seasons, from the world
Removed, and the affections of the world,

He dwelt in solitude.

A Fellow-labourer, &c.

But he had left

In 1827 the poem began thus—

1815 and 1820.

Stranger! this shapeless heap of stones and earth

Is the last relic of St Herbert's Cell.

Here stood his threshold; here was spread the roof
That sheltered him, a self-secluded man,

After long exercise, &c.

1827.

"The shapeless heap of stones" in St Herbert's Island, which were "desolate ruins" in 1800, are even more "shapeless" and "desolate" now, but they can easily be identified. The island is near the centre of the lake, and is in area about four acres. The legend of St Herbert dates from the middle of the seventh century. The rector of Clifton, Westmoreland, Dr Robinson, writing in 1819, says :-"The remains of his hermitage are still visible, being built of stone and mortar, and formed into two apartments, one of which, about twenty feet long and sixteen feet wide, seems to have been his chapel; the other, of less dimensions, his cell. Near these ruins the late Sir Wilfred Lawson (to whose representative the island at present belongs) erected some years ago a small octagonal cottage, which, being built of unhewn stone, and artificially mossed over, has a venerable appearance." (See Guide to the Lakes, by John Robinson, D.D., 1819). This cottage has now disappeared.—ED.

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL UPON A STONE IN THE WALL
OF THE HOUSE (AN OUT-HOUSE), ON THE ISLAND AT
GRASMERE.

RUDE is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen
Buildings, albeit rude, that have maintained
Proportions more harmonious, and approached
To closer fellowship with ideal grace.1
But take it in good part:-alas! the poor2
Vitruvius of our village had no help
From the great City; never, upon leaves3
Of red Morocco folio, saw displayed,
In long succession, pre-existing ghosts*
Of Beauties yet unborn-the rustic Lodge
Antique, and Cottage with verandah graced,
Nor lacking, for fit company, alcove,
Green-house, shell-grot, and moss-lined hermitage.5
Thou see'st a homely Pile, yet to these walls
The heifer comes in the snow-storm, and here

Snug Cot, with Coach-house, Shed, and Hermitage, 1800.

6

1815.

It is a homely pile.

1800.

The new-dropped lamb finds shelter fom the wind.
And hither does one Poet sometimes row

His pinnance, a small vagrant barge, up-piled
With plenteous store of heath and withered fern,
(A lading which he with his sickle cuts,
Among the mountains) and beneath this roof

He makes his summer couch, and here at noon
Spreads out his limbs, while, yet unshorn, the Sheep,
Panting beneath the burthen of their wool,

Lie round him, even as if they were a part

Of his own Household; nor, while from his bed
He looks, through the open door-place, toward the lake 1
And to the stirring breezes, does he want
Creations lovely as the work of sleep-

Fair sights, and visions of romantic joy!

This "homely pile" on the island of Grasmere-very homely-still remains.--ED.

WRITTEN WITH A SLATE PENCIL UPON A STONE, THE LARGEST OF A HEAP LYING NEAR A DESERTED QUARRY, UPON ONE OF THE ISLANDS AT RYDAL.

STRANGER! this hillock of mis-shapen stones

Is not a Ruin spared or made by time,2

Nor, as perchance thou rashly deem'st, the Cairn
Of some old British Chief: 'tis nothing more

Than the rude embryo of a little Dome

He through that door-place looks toward the lake. 1800.

Is not a ruin of the ancient time.

1800.

Or Pleasure-house, once destined to be built 1
Among the birch-trees of this rocky isle

But, as it chanced, Sir William having learned
That from the shore a full-grown man might wade
And make himself a freeman of this spot.

At any hour he chose, the prudent Knight 2
Desisted, and the quarry and the mound

Are monuments of his unfinished task.

The block on which these lines are traced, perhaps,
Was once selected as the corner-stone

Of that intended Pile, which would have been
Some quaint odd plaything of elaborate skill,
So that, I guess, the linnet and the thrush,
And other little builders who dwell here,
Had wondered at the work. But blame him not
For old Sir William was a gentle Knight,
Bred in this vale, to which he appertained
With all his ancestry. Then peace to him,
And for the outrage which he had devised
Entire forgiveness-But if thou art one
On fire with thy impatience to become
An inmate of these mountains,-if, disturbed
By beautiful conceptions, thou hast hewn
Out of the quiet rock the elements

Of thy trim Mansion destined soon to blaze
In snow-white splendour, think again; and, taught
By old Sir William and his quarry, leave
Thy fragments to the bramble and the rose;
There let the vernal slow-worm sun himself,
And let the redbreast hop from stone to stone.

Or pleasure-house, which was to have been built.

the Knight forthwith.

1800.

1800,

1801.

The chronological table in the first volume of this edition was printed before I discovered, from the perusal of Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, that it was during the year 1801 that her brother wrote his versions of Chaucer. They were not published till the years 1820, and 1842; and, in the absence of other evidence, they were assigned by me to these years respectively. But there is no doubt that they were written in December 1801. Only two other poems belong to 1801, viz. :—The Sparrow's Nest, and the Sonnet on Skiddaw. During this year, however, The Excursion was in progress. In its earlier stages, and before the plan of The Recluse was matured, the introductory part was known in the Wordsworth household by the name of The Pedlar; and the following extracts from the Journal of 1801 will show the progress that was being made with it :-"Dec. 21.-Wm. sate beside me, and wrote the Pedlar. 22d.-W. composed a few lines of the Pedlar. 23d.— William worked at the Ruined Cottage (which was the name of the first part of the Excursion), and made himself very ill," &c.--ED.

[Written in the orchard, Town-end, Grasmere. At the end of the garden of my father's house at Cockermouth was a high terrace that commanded a fine view of the river Derwent and Cockermouth Castle. This was our favourite play-ground. The terrace wall, a low one, was covered with closely-clipt privet and roses, which gave an almost impervious shelter to birds who built their nests there. The latter of these stanzas alludes to one of those nests.]