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Poem by William Wordsworth

Address to Kilchurn Castle, upon Loch Awe

From the top of the hill a most impressive scene opened upon our view,a ruined castle on an island (for an island the flood had made it) at some distance from the shore, backed by a cove of the mountain Cruachan, down which came a foaming stream. The castle occupied every foot of the island that was visible to us, appearing to rise out of the water,mists rested upon the mountain-side, with spots of sunshine; there was a wild desolation in the low grounds, a solemn grandeur in the mountains, and the castle was wild, yet stately,not dismantled of turrets, nor the walls broken down, though obviously a ruin.  Extract from the Journal of my Companion.

CHILD of loud-throated War! the mountain stream
Roars in thy hearing; but thy hour of rest
Is come, and thou art silent in thy age,
Save when the wind sweeps by and sounds are caught
Ambiguous, neither wholly thine nor theirs.
O, there is life that breathes not! Powers there are
That touch each other to the quick, in modes
Which the gross world no sense hath to perceive,
No soul to dream of. What art thou, from care
Cast off, abandoned by thy rugged sire,	
Nor by soft peace adopted; though in place
And in dimension such that thou mightst seem
But a mere footstool to yon sovereign lord,
Huge Cruachan (a thing that meaner hills
Might crush, nor know that it had suffered harm),
Yet he, not loath, in favor of thy claims
To reverence, suspends his own; submitting
All that the God of nature hath conferred,
All that he holds in common with the stars,
To the memorial majesty of time	
Impersonated in thy calm decay!
Take, then, thy seat, vicegerent unreproved!
Now, while a farewell gleam of evening light
Is fondly lingering on thy shattered front,
Do thou, in turn, be paramount; and rule
Over the pomp and beauty of a scene
Whose mountains, torrents, lake, and woods unite
To pay thee homage; and with these are joined,
In willing admiration and respect,
Two hearts, which in thy presence might be called
Youthful as spring. Shade of departed power,
Skeleton of unfleshed humanity,
The chronicle were welcome that should call
Into the compass of distinct regard
The toils and struggles of thy infant years!
Yon foaming flood seems motionless as ice;
Its dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,
Frozen by distance; so, majestic pile,
To the perception of this age, appear
Thy fierce beginnings, softened and subdued
And quieted in character,the strife,
The pride, the fury uncontrollable,
Lost on the aerial heights of the Crusades!

Note. The tradition is, that the castle was built by a 
lady during the absence of her lord in Palestine. 

William Wordsworth

Poem Theme: Castles

William Wordsworth's other poems:
  1. For the Spot Where the Hermitage Stood on St. Herberts Island, Derwent Water
  2. The Brownie
  3. The Wishing-gate
  4. Suggested at Tyndrum in a Storm
  5. Tynwald Hill

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