POEMS ON THE NAMING OF PLACES.17

I.

Ir was an April morning: fresh and clear
The Rivulet, delighting in its strength,

Ran with a young man's speed; and yet the voice
Of waters, which the winter had supplied,

Was softened down into a vernal tone.

The spirit of enjoyment and desire,

And hopes and wishes, from all living things
Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.
The budding groves appeared as if in haste
To
spur the steps of June; as if their shades
Of various green were hindrances that stood
Between them and their object: yet, meanwhile,
There was such deep contentment in the air
That every naked ash, and tardy tree

Yet leafless, seemed as though the countenance
With which it looked on this delightful day
Were native to the summer. Up the brook

I roam'd in the confusion of my heart,
Alive to all things and forgetting all.
At length I to a sudden turning came
In this continuous glen, where down a rock
The Stream, so ardent in its course before,
Sent forth such sallies of glad sound, that all
Which I till then had heard, appeared the voice
Of common pleasure: beast and bird, the lamb,
The shepherd's dog, the linnet and the thrush,
Vied with this waterfall, and made a song
Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth,

Or like some natural produce of the air,

That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here; But 'twas the foliage of the rocks--the birch,

By any who should look beyond the dell,
A single mountain-cottage might be seen.
I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said,
"Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook,
My Emma, I will dedicate to thee."

-Soon did the spot become my other home,
My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode.
And of the shepherds who have seen me there,

To whom I sometimes in our idle talk

Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps,
Years after we are gone and in our graves,

When they have cause to speak of this wild place,
May call it by the name of Emma's Dell.

II.

TO JOANNA.

AMID the smoke of cities did you pass

Your time of early youth; and there you learned,

From years of quiet industry, to love

The living beings from your own fireside

With such a strong devotion, that your heart

Is slow towards the sympathies of them

Who look upon the hills with tenderness,

And make dear friendships with the streams and groves.

Yet we, who are transgressors in this kind,

Dwelling retired in our simplicity

Among the woods and fields, we love you well,

Joanna and I guess, since you have been

So distant from us now for two long years,

That you will gladly listen to discourse,
However trivial, if you thence are taught

That they, with whom you once were happy, talk
Familiarly of you and of old times.

While I was seated, now some ten days past, Beneath those lofty firs, that overtop Their ancient neighbour, the old steeple tower, The Vicar from his gloomy house hard by Came forth to greet me; and when he had asked, "How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted Maid! And when will she return to us?" he paused; And, after short exchange of village news, He with grave looks demanded, for what cause, Reviving obsolete idolatry,

I, like a Runic Priest, in characters

Of formidable size had chiselled out

Some uncouth name upon the native rock,
Above the Rotha, by the forest side.
-Now, by those dear immunities of heart
Engendered betwixt malice and true love,
I was not loth to be so catechized,
And this was my reply:-" As it befel,
One summer morning we had walked abroad
At break of day, Joanna and myself.
'Twas that delightful season, when the broom,
Full-flowered, and visible on every steep,
Along the copses runs in veins of gold.

Our pathway led us on to Rotha's banks;

And when we came in front of that tall rock

Which looks towards the east, I there stopped short,

And traced the lofty barrier with my eye

From base to summit; such delight I found

To note in shrub and tree, in stone and flower,

That intermixture of delicious hues,

Along so vast a surface, all at once,

In one impression, by connecting force

Of their own beauty, imaged in the heart.
-When I had gazed perhaps two minutes' space,
Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld

That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud.
The Rock, like something starting from a sleep,
Took up the Lady's voice, and laughed again:
That ancient Woman seated on Helm-crag
Was ready with her cavern: Hammar-sear,
And the tall Steep of Silver-how, sent forth
A noise of laughter; southern Loughrigg heard,
And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone :
Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky
Carried the Lady's voice,-old Skiddaw blew
His speaking-trumpet ;-back out of the clouds
Of Glaramara southward came the voice;
And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head.
-Now whether (said I to our cordial Friend,
Who in the hey-day of astonishment

Smiled in my face) this were in simple truth
A work accomplished by the brotherhood
Of ancient mountains, or my ear was touched
With dreams and visionary impulses,

Is not for me to tell; but sure I am

That there was a loud uproar in the hills s;

And, while we both were listening, to my side.
The fair Joanna drew, as if she wished

To shelter from some object of her fear.

-And hence, long afterwards, when eighteen moons
Were wasted, as I chanced to walk alone
Beneath this rock, at sun-rise, on a calm
And silent morning, I sat down, and there,
In memory of affections old and true,

I chiselled out in those rude characters

Joanna's name upon the living stone:-
And I, and all who dwell by my fire-side,
Have called the lovely rock, Joanna's Rock."1