S   O   N   N   E   T


    Is there no nook of English ground secure
    From rash assault ?  Schemes of retirement sown
    In youth;  and mid the busy world kept pure
    As when their earliest flowers of hope were blown,
    Must perish:  how can they this blight endure ?
    And must he too his old delights disown
    Who scorns a false utilitarian lure
    'Mid his paternal fields at random thrown ?
    Baffle the threat, bright scene, from Orresthead
    Given to the pausing traveller's rapturous glance.
    Plead for thy peace, thou beautiful romance
    Of nature;  and if human hearts be dead,
    Speak passing winds, ye torrents, with our strong
    And constant voice, protest against the wrong !

Rydal Mount, October 12, 1844  WM. WORDSWORTH.

        Let not the above be considered as merely a poetical effusion.  The
degree and kind of attachment which many of the yeomanry feel to their small
inheritance can scarcely be over-rated.  Near the house of one of them
stands a magnificent tree, which a neighbour of the owner advised him to
fell for profit's sake.  "Fell it, exclaimed the yeoman, "I had rather fall
on my knees and worship it."  It happens, I believe, that the intended
railway would pass through this little property, and I hope that an apology
for the answer will not be thought necessary by one who enters into the
strength of the feeling.
                                                                    W. W.