Flora in Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal
27 July 2017
Today we walked into town to work at the Jerwood Center. I presented my inaturalist guide to Jeff Cowton, the curator of The Wordsworth Trust, and he seemed quite pleased. We had lunch at the Collins Gallery in town. After lunch we walked to Rydal to see the church, Rydal Mount, Rydal Hall, and Rydal Water. We walked down to Rydal Water, just across from the island, to discuss “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,
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
Or Pleasure-house, once destined to be built
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
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,
Bled 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.
It was particularly interesting to read the poem having just seen Sir Fleming mansion at Rydal Hall. The gardens around the area were glorious. I did notice brambles along the road to Rydal, very tall with pink blossoms. I wonder how their fruit differs from the ordinary brambles. We had dinner at the “Potted Out” café in town. Then headed home for evening prayers and bed.
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