Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)

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.