[Variant 9: 

1802.

  ... on me ... 1800.]

[Variant 10: 

1827.

  To feed and ... 1800.

  To rest and ... 1815.]

[Variant 11: 

1815.

  One night the Wind came from the North
  And blew a furious blast, 1800.]

The spot is fixed within narrow limits by the Fenwick note.  It is, beyond doubt, on the wooded part of Nab-Scar, through which the upper path from Grasmere to Rydal passes.  There is one huge block of stone high above the path, which answers well to the description in the second stanza.  Crabb Robinson wrote in his ‘Diary’ (Sept. 11, 1816): 

  “The poem of ‘The Oak and the Broom’ proceeded from his” (Wordsworth)
  “beholding a tree in just such a situation as he described the broom
  to be in.”

Ed.

* * * * *

“’TIS SAID, THAT SOME HAVE DIED FOR LOVE”

Composed 1800.—­Published 1800

One of the “Poems founded on the Affections.”—­Ed.

  ’Tis said, that some have died for love: 
  And here and there a church-yard grave is found
  In the cold north’s unhallowed ground,
  Because the wretched man himself had slain,
  His love was such a grievous pain. 5
  And there is one whom I five years have known;
  He dwells alone
  Upon Helvellyn’s side: 
  He loved—­the pretty Barbara died;
  And thus he makes his moan:  10
  Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid
  When thus his moan he made: 

  “Oh, move, thou Cottage, from behind that oak! 
  Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,
  That in some other way yon smoke 15
  May mount into the sky! 
  The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart: 
  I look—­the sky is empty space;
  I know not what I trace;
  But when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart. 20

  “O! what a weight is in these shades!  Ye leaves,
  That murmur once so dear, when will it cease? 
  Your sound my heart of rest bereaves,
  It robs my heart of peace. [1]
  Thou Thrush, that singest loud—­and loud and free, 25
  Into yon row of willows flit,
  Upon that alder sit;
  Or sing another song, or choose another tree.

  “Roll back, sweet Rill! back to thy mountain-bounds,
  And there for ever be thy waters chained! 30
  For thou dost haunt the air with sounds
  That cannot be sustained;
  If still beneath that [2] pine-tree’s ragged bough
  Headlong yon waterfall must come,
  Oh let it then be dumb! 35
  Be anything, sweet Rill, but that which thou art now.