[393] “Bird-nest” was the old name of Brougham Hall.--ED. PLACARD FOR A POLL BEARING AN OLD SHIRT Wordsworth was deeply interested in the successive parliamentary elections for Westmoreland (see his “Addresses to the Freeholders of Westmorland, 1818,” in the Prose Works.) He particularly disliked Lord Brougham’s candidature. The following squib is in MS. at Lowther Castle. He wrote on the MS.--“For a version of part of B.’s famous London Tower Speech see opposite page.”--ED. If money’s slack, The shirt on my back Shall off, and go to the hammer: Though I sell shirt and skin By Jove I’ll be in, And raise up a radical clamor! “CRITICS, RIGHT HONOURABLE BARD, DECREE” I have found this in a catalogue of Autograph Letters, and have no knowledge of its date, or of the Bard referred to. Solomon Gesner wrote a poem on _The Death of Abel_, which was translated into English. See footnote to _The Prelude_, book vii. l. 564.--ED. “Critics, right honourable Bard, decree Laurels to some, a night-shade wreath to thee, Whose muse a sure though late revenge hath ta’en Of harmless Abel’s death, by murdering Cain.” On Cain, a Mystery, dedicated to Sir Walter Scott:-- “A German Haggis from receipt Of him who cooked the death of Abel, And sent ‘warm-reeking, rich and sweet,’ From Venice to Sir Walter’s table.” 1819 “THROUGH CUMBRIAN WILDS, IN MANY A MOUNTAIN COVE” In 1819 Wordsworth wrote the sonnet beginning, “Grief, thou hast lost an ever ready friend.” In the note to that sonnet (vol. vi. p. 196) I have given a different version of its last six lines, from a MS. sonnet. But as these six lines also form the conclusion of another unpublished sonnet, it may be given in full by itself, in this Appendix.--ED. Through Cumbrian wilds, in many a mountain cove, The pastoral Muse laments the Wheel--no more Engaged, near blazing hearth on clean-swept floor, In tasks which guardian Angels might approve, Friendly the weight of leisure to remove, 5 And to beguile the lassitude of ease; Gracious to all the dear dependencies Of house and field,--to plenty, peace, and love. There too did _Fancy_ prize the murmuring wheel; For sympathies, inexplicably fine, 10 Instilled a confidence--how sweet to feel! That ever in the night-calm, when the Sheep Upon their grassy beds lay couch’d in sleep, The quickening spindle drew a trustier line. “MY SON! BEHOLD THE TIDE ALREADY SPENT” The following sonnet occurs after the above in the same MS. whence both are extracted.--ED.