“John Wilson walked off to Cumberland, a fortnight ago, in the midst of the storm, in spite of his wife, whereupon Mr. Wordsworth wrote two sonnets which I have seen printed at a private press here. One of them runs thus:—
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“‘And could thy gentle spirit endure no more
The solemn prating of that ignorant town?
And would’st thou come in spite of frost and frore
And border-torrents leaping furious down,
The spirit of the mountains to adore,
And human converse hold with thy calm ake?
O Wilson! I am glad for the
world’s sake
The reign of virtuous impulse is not o’er.
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Domestic duties we must all partake,
And wife and children should to man be dear—
But thou did’st well, my Wilson, to forsake
Thy little ones, and bear thy spouse’s tear!
(When) holier duties call, these might not shake
The (resolute) worshipper of this lone Mere.’
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| PARODIES OF WORDSWORTH | 105 |
“Wilson went on the top of the Carlisle coach part of the way; it overturned, and Wilson’s head was broken—whence sonnet the second:—
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“‘An outside place my Wilson did prefer,
Tho’ warmth and bodily ease within were found,
So well befits it nature’s worshipper!
To gaze more widely o’er the snow-clad ground,
Like the world’s joys in barren coldness shining;
To list the unseen streamlets’ innocent sound
Beneath the snow a small path undermining.
Like the poetic eye which moveth slowly,
And feeds itself in darkness on things holy—
To scatter crumbs, it may be, now and then,
To the small redbreast and pure-minded wren.
These things were worthy of thy soul’s desire,
And, if I know thee, spite of scoffing men,
Who have no part in the celestial fire,
And spite of this thy bruise, thou wilt seek these again.
W. W.’”
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