"CHATSWORTH! THY STATELY MANSION, AND THE PRIDE"
I have reason to remember the day that gave rise to this Sonnet,
the 6th of November 1830. Having undertaken, a great feat for me,
to ride my daughter's pony from Westmoreland to Cambridge, that
she might have the use of it while on a visit to her uncle at
Trinity Lodge, on my way from Bakewell to Matlock I turned aside
to Chatsworth, and had scarcely gratified my curiosity by the
sight of that celebrated place before there came on a severe storm
of wind and rain which continued till I reached Derby, both man
and pony in a pitiable plight. For myself, I went to bed at noon-
day. In the course of that journey I had to encounter a storm,
worse if possible, in which the pony could (or would) only make
his way slantwise. I mention this merely to add that
notwithstanding this battering I composed, on horseback, the lines
to the memory of Sir George Beaumont, suggested during my recent
visit to Coleorton.
CHATSWORTH! thy stately mansion, and the pride
Of thy domain, strange contrast do present
To house and home in many a craggy rent
Of the wild Peak; where new-born waters glide
Through fields whose thrifty occupants abide
As in a dear and chosen banishment,
With every semblance of entire content;
So kind is simple Nature, fairly tried!
Yet He whose heart in childhood gave her troth
To pastoral dales, thin-set with modest farms,
May learn, if judgment strengthen with his growth,
That, not for Fancy only, pomp hath charms;
And, strenuous to protect from lawless harms
The extremes of favoured life, may honour both.