POEMS
COMPOSED OR SUGGESTED DURING A TOUR IN THE SUMMER OF 1833
XXIII
IN THE FRITH OF CLYDE, AILSA CRAG
DURING AN ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, JULY 17
The morning of the eclipse was exquisitely beautiful while we
passed the Crag as described in the Sonnet. On the deck of the
steamboat were several persons of the poor and labouring class,
and I could not but be struck by their cheerful talk with each
other, while not one of them seemed to notice the magnificent
objects with which we were surrounded; and even the phenomenon of
the eclipse attracted but little of their attention. Was it right
not to regret this? They appeared to me, however, so much alive in
their own minds to their own concerns that I could not look upon
it as a misfortune that they had little perception for such
pleasures as cannot be cultivated without ease and leisure. Yet if
one surveys life in all its duties and relations, such ease and
leisure will not be found so enviable a privilege as it may at
first appear. Natural Philosophy, Painting, and Poetry, and
refined taste, are no doubt great acquisitions to society; but
among those who dedicate themselves to such pursuits it is to be
feared that few are as happy, and as consistent in the management
of their lives, as the class of persons who at that time led me
into this course of reflection. I do not mean by this to be
understood to derogate from intellectual pursuits, for that would
be monstrous: I say it in deep gratitude for this compensation to
those whose cares are limited to the necessities of daily life.
Among them, self-tormentors so numerous in the higher classes of
society, are rare.
SINCE risen from ocean, ocean to defy,
Appeared the crag of Ailsa, ne'er did morn
With gleaming lights more gracefully adorn
His sides, or wreathe with mist his forehead high:
Now, faintly darkening with the sun's eclipse,
Still is he seen, in lone sublimity,
Towering above the sea and little ships;
For dwarfs the tallest seem while sailing by,
Each for her haven; with her freight of Care,
Pleasure, or Grief, and Toil that seldom looks
Into the secret of to-morrow's fare;
Though poor, yet rich, without the wealth of books,
Or aught that watchful Love to Nature owes
For her mute Powers, fixed Forms, or transient Shows.
