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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
195
Scurfell[77]
from
the
sky,
That
Anadale[78]
doth
crown,
with
a
most
amorous
eye,
Salutes
me
every
day,
or
at
my
pride
looks
grim,
Oft
threat'ning
me
with
clouds,
as
I
oft
threat'ning
him.
[Footnote
77:
Criffel.--J.
C.
S.]
[Footnote
78:
Annandale.--J.
C.
S.]
These
lines
recurred
to
William's
memory,
and
we
talked
of
Burns,
and
of
the
prospect
he
must
have
had,
perhaps
from
his
own
door,
of
Skiddaw
and
his
companions,
indulging
ourselves
in
the
fancy
that
we
might
have
been
personally
known
to
each
other,
and
he
have
looked
upon
those
objects
with
more
pleasure
for
our
sakes.
We
talked
of
Coleridge's
children
and
family,
then
at
the
foot
of
Skiddaw,
and
our
own
new-born
John
a
few
miles
behind
it;
while
the
grave
of
Burns's
son,
which
we
had
just
seen
by
the
side
of
his
father,
and
some
stories
heard
at
Dumfries
respecting
the
dangers
his
surviving
children
were
exposed
to,
filled
us
with
melancholy
concern,
which
had
a
kind
of
connexion
with
ourselves.
In
recollection
of
this,
William
long
afterwards
wrote
the
following
Address
to
the
sons
of
the
ill-fated
poet:--
Ye
now
are
panting
up
life's
hill,
'Tis
twilight
time
of
good
and
ill,
And
more
than
common
strength
and
skill
Must
ye
display,
If
ye
would
give
the
better
will
Its
lawful
sway.
Strong-bodied
if
ye
be
to
bear
Intemperance
with
less
harm,
beware,
But
if
your
Father's
wit
ye
share,
Then,
then
indeed,
Ye
Sons
of
Burns,
for
watchful
care
There
will
be
need.
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