Mr. William Vernon Harcourt (later Sir William) to Lady
    Russell

    September 28, 1863

I hope you will excuse my taking the liberty to write you a line of admiration and satisfaction at Lord Russell’s speech at Meiklour [in Scotland], which I have just read.  I take so deep and lively an interest in the great American question and all that concerns it that I looked forward to the authorized exposition of English policy by the Foreign Secretary with the greatest anxiety.  Lord Russell’s speech, will, I am sure, be of immense service both to Europe and to America.  It has the juste milieu, and withal does not suppress the sympathy which every good man must feel for the cause of freedom, in a manner which more than ever justifies the Loch Katrine boatman’s opinion of his “terrible judgment.”

I cannot help feeling that this speech has for the first time publicly placed the position of England in its true light before the world, and I with many another one am very grateful for it.  Among all Lord Russell’s many titles to fame and to public gratitude, the manner in which he has steered the vessel of the State through the Scylla and Charybdis of the American War will, I think, always stand conspicuous....  Now I am going to ask a great favour.  I saw at Minto a copy of verses written for the summer-house at Pembroke Lodge, of which I formed the highest opinion.  May I have a copy of them?  I should really be most sincerely grateful and treasure them up amongst the things I really value.

These are the lines referred to by Mr. Harcourt: 

    To J.R.  PEMBROKE LODGE, June 30, 1850

      Here, statesman, rest, and while thy ranging sight
      Drinks from old sources ever new delight
      Unbind the weary shackles of the week,
      And find the Sabbath thou art come to seek. 
      Here lay the babbling, lying Present by,
      And Past and Future call to counsel high;
      To Nature’s worship say thy loud Amen,
      And learn of solitude to mix with men. 
      Here hang on every rose a thorny care,
      Bathe thy vexed soul in unpolluted air,
      Fill deep from ancient stream and opening flower,
      From veteran oak and wild melodious bower,
      With love, with awe, the bright but fleeting hour. 
      Here bid the breeze that sweeps dull vapours by,
      Leaving majestic clouds to deck the sky,
      Fan from thy brow the lines unrest has wrought,
      But leave the footprint of each nobler thought. 
      Now turn where high from Windsor’s hoary walls,
      To keep her flag unstained thy Sovereign calls;
      Now wandering stop where wrapt in mantle dun,
      As if her guilty head Heaven’s light would shun,
      London, gigantic parent, looks to thee,
      Foremost of million sons her guide to be;
      On the fair land