Skiddaw

Was it for this that one, the fairest of all rivers, loved to blend his murmurs with my nurse's song, and from his alder shays and rocky falls, and from his fords and shallows, sent a voice that flowed along my dreams? For this did fair old Derwent, winding among grassy homes where I was looking on, a babe in arms, make ceaseless music that composed my thoughts to more than infant softness: giving me, amid the fretful dwellings of mankind, a foretaste, a dim earnest of the calm that nature breathes among the hills and groves.

When he had left the mountains, and received on his smooth breast the shadow of those towers that yet survive, a shattered monument of feudal sway, the bright blue river passed along the margin of our terrace walk, a tempting playmate whom we dearly loved Oh! many a time have I, a five years' child In a small mill-race, severed from his stream, Made one long bathing of a summer's day; Bask'd in the sun, and plunged and bask'd again Alternate, all a summer's day; or scoured The sandy fields, leaping through flowery groves Of yellow rag-wort; or, when rock and hill, The woods and distant Skiddaw's lofty height Were bronzed with deepest radiance, stood alone Beneath the sky, as if I had been born On Indian plains, and from my mother's hut Had run abroad in wantonness to sport A naked savage in the thunder-shower.

Fair seed-time had my soul; and I grew up Foster'd alike by beauty and by fear: Much favoured in my birth-place, and no less In that beloved Vale to which ere long We were transplanted: there were we let loose For sports of wider range.

Ere I had told Ten birth-days, when among the mountain-slopes Frost and the breath of frosty wind had snapped The last autumnal crocus, 'twas my joy With store of springs o'er my shoulder hung To range the open heights where woodcocks run Along the smooth green turf: through half the night Scudding away from snare to snare, I plied That anxious visitation: moon and stars Were shining o'er my head; I was alone, And seemed to be a trouble to the peace That dwelt among them.

While not an English mountain we behold By the celestial Muses glorified, Yet round our sea-girt shore they rise in crowds.

What was the great Parnassus' self to thee, Mount Skiddaw? In his natural sovereignty Our British hill is nobler far: he shrouds His double front among Atlantic clouds, And pours forth streams more sweet than Castaly.

End of poem.

This recording is in the public domain.

When he had left the mountains, and received On his smooth breast the shadow of those towers That yet survive, a shattered monument Of feudal sway, the bright blue river passed Along the margin of our terrace walk, A tempting playmate whom we dearly loved.

Oh! many a time have I, a five years' child, In a small mill-race, severed from his stream, Made one long bathing of a summer's day; Bask'd in the sun, and plunged and bask'd again, Alternate, all a summer's day; or scour'd The sandy fields, leaping through flowery groves Of yellow ragwort; or, when rock and hill, The woods, and distant Skiddaw's lofty height, Were bronzed with deepest radiance, stood alone Beneath the sky, as if I had been born On Indian plains, and, from my mother's hut, Had run abroad in wantonness to sport, A naked savage, in the thunder-shower.

Fair seed-time had my soul; and I grew up Foster'd alike by beauty and by fear: Much favour'd in my birth-place, and no less In that beloved vale to which ere long We were transplanted.

There were we let loose For sports of wider range.

When he had left the mountains, and received On his smooth breast the shadow of those towers That yet survive, a shattered monument Of feudal sway, the bright blue river passed Along the margin of our terrace walk, A tempting playmate whom we dearly loved.

Oh! many a time have I, a five years' child, In a small mill-race severed from his stream, Made one long bathing of a summer's day; Basked in the sun, and plunged and basked again, Alternate, all a summer's day; or scoured The sandy fields, leaping through flowery groves Of yellow ragwort; or, when rock and hill, The woods, and distant Skiddaw's lofty height, Were bronzed with deepest radiance, stood alone Beneath the sky, as if I had been born On Indian plains, and from my mother's hut Had run abroad in wantonness to sport, A naked savage, in the thunder-shower.

Fair seed-time had my soul; and I grew up Fostered alike by beauty and by fear: Much favoured in my birth-place, and no less In that beloved vale to which ere long We were transplanted.

There were we let loose For sports of wider range.