Tuesday night. July 24.
Westbury.
I should long ere this have written to acknowledge the hospitality I found at Norwich, but that I thought the mere
formality of a letter of thanks would be as little agreable to you as to myself. I therefore copy for you an Eclogue just written; for
two reasons, as a plea for writing – & because it was suggested by your conversation. What you told me of the German Eclogues
revived some almost forgotten plans, & enabled me to correct them. I purpose writing some which may be called English, as sketching
features peculiar to England: not like the one which you read to me of Goethe [1] which would suit any country with Roman ruins. like the Germans I would aim at somewhat of dramatic
interest. & some of my plans will allow me to introduce that quiet sedition which the Anti-Jacobine [2] has denounced me for,
in that which is already written there is nothing of this merit. it rather favours old prejudices. I like it myself – perhaps because
it is newly written – perhaps because I drew from the recollection of such a scene. If I were near you I should profit by your opinions
& your knowledge; – & I should be sorry if a two days journey should totally xxtx cut off my
intercourse with one whom I highly respect, & whom if the age of our acquaintance justified me, I should gladly call friend.
The Old Mansion House.
There was a Traveller to the village came,
And as he past its ancient manor house
Upon whose scaffolded front the labourers stood
Urging their toil, he pausd & watchd their work;
And to an old grey-headed man, whose back
Already bent by age, was now bowd down
Breaking the high-way stones, a task that ill
Beseemd his years, “my friend” he cried “they have made
“Strange alterations here!
O. Man – Aye strange indeed!
And if my poor old Lady could rise up, –
God rest her soul! twould grieve her to behold
The wicked work is here!
Traveller. I saw it once
And thought it was a venerable place, –
Some six years gone. – were there not yew-trees stood
Here in the court?
O.M. – Aye Master. fine old trees!
My grandfather could just remember back
When they were planted there. it was my task
To keep them trimmd, & twas a pleasure to me, –
All straight & smooth & like a great green wall.
My poor old Lady many a time would come
And tell me where to shear, for she had playd
In childhood under them, & twas her pride
To keep them in her beauty. plague I say
On their new-fangled whimsies! we shall have
A modern shrubbery here stuck full of firs
And your pert poplar-trees. – I could as soon
Have ploughd my fathers grave as cut them down.
Traveller. “And yonder windows –
O.Man. – They’re demolished too –
As if they could not see thro casement glass.
The very redbreasts that so regular
Come to my Lady for her morning crumbs
Wo’nt know the window now.
Tr. – Who owns the place?
He was not born here?
O.Man. – Oh no no! what tis
To have a stranger come to an old house!
If he had playd about here when a child
In that fore court, & eat the yewberries,
And sat in the porch threading the jessamine flowers
That fell so thick, he could’nt have had the heart
To mar all thus!
Traveller. – When last I went this way
Twas eve, & an old Lady sat in the porch
In the evening sun, she had her spectacles on,
Her knitting in her hand. I stopt to look.
Did not the jessamine tree grow in & line
The porch?
O.Man.
All over it: it did one good
To pass within ten yards when twas in flower.
There was a sweet brier too that grew beside – .
My Lady loved at evening to sit there
And knit; & her old dog lay at her feet
And slept in the sun. twas an old favourite dog –
She did not love him less that he was old
And feeble, & he always had a place
By the fire side, & when he died at last
She made me dig a grave in the garden for him.
Ah! she was good to all! a woful day
Twas for the poor when to her grave she went!
Traveller. They lost a friend then?
O. Man. – You’re a stranger here
Or would not ask that question. were they sick?
She had rare cordial waters, & for herbs –
She could have taught the Doctors. then at winter
When weekly she distributed the bread
There where the poor old porch stood; – to have heard
The blessings on her! – & I warrant them
They were a comfort to her when her wealth
Had been no comfort else. At Xmas Sir!
It would have warmed your heart if you had seen
Her Xmas kitchen; – how the blazing fire
Made her fine pewter shine, – & holly boughs
So chearful red. – &
then <as> for misseltoe!
The finest bush that grew in the country round
Was markd for Madam. then her old ale went
So bountiful about! a Xmas cask,
And twas a noble one. – God help me, Sir,
But I shall never see such days again.
Traveller. –– Things may be better yet than you suppose –
Tis well to hope the best.
O. Man. – It do’nt look well
These alterations Sir! I’m an old man
And love the good old fashions. we don’t find
Old bounty in new houses. they’ve destroyd
All that my Lady lovd; – her favourite walk
Grubbd up, & they do say that the great row
Of elms behind the house that meet a-top,
They must fall too. well – well! I did not think
To live to see all this, & tis perhaps
A comfort I sha’nt live to see it long.
Traveller. But sure all changes are not needs for the worse
My friend.
O. Man. – May-hap they maynt Sir. for all that,
I like what I’ve been usd too. I remember
All this from a child up, & now to lose it, –
Tis losing an old friend. theres nothing left
As twas; I go abroad & only meet
With men whose fathers I remember boys.
The brook that used to run before my door,
That’s gone to the great pond. the trees I learnt
To climb are down; & I see nothing now
That tells me of old times except the stones
In the churchyard. you are young Sir & I trust
Have many years in store. but pray to God
You may’nt be left the last of all your friends!
[3]
My others will be better than this as they will be sprinkled with seditionizing feelings. I know not enough of the
German Eclogues to say that this is in the same stile, for, except what I learnt from you, I only remember one of Gessners [4] in a Devon & Cornwall collection of poems, & I
have forgotten every thing of that except that it is there. [5] remember me
thankfully to your mother & to all your friends whose civilities I experienced at Norwich.
if you have leisure – & not disinclination, it will give me great pleasure to hear from you. my direction is at Mr Cottles. Bristol
God bless you.
Robert Southey.
