Yanwath Hall

.... with a very autumnal cloak developing. Taken from Rheged where I went in search of a birthday present from the Community Action Nepal stand at the Mountain Festival. After a quick bolt up Little Mell Fell I cooked some supper and took it round to my friend's whilst their kitchen is being sorted. Seeing Yanwath made me think of Wordsworth's poem to his friend, Thomas Wilkinson, and his rather poignant story.

To the Spade of a Friend - William Wordsworth

SPADE! with which Wilkinson hath tilled his lands, 
And shaped these pleasant walks by Emont's side, 
Thou art a tool of honour in my hands; 
I press thee, through the yielding soil, with pride. 

Rare master has it been thy lot to know; 
Long hast Thou served a man to reason true; 
Whose life combines the best of high and low, 
The labouring many and the resting few; 

Health, meekness, ardour, quietness secure, 
And industry of body and of mind; 
And elegant enjoyments, that are pure 
As nature is; too pure to be refined. 

Here often hast Thou heard the Poet sing 
In concord with his river murmuring by; 
Or in some silent field, while timid spring 
Is yet uncheered by other minstrelsy. 

Who shall inherit Thee when death has laid 
Low in the darksome cell thine own dear lord? 
That man will have a trophy, humble Spade! 
A trophy nobler than a conqueror's sword. 

If he be one that feels, with skill to part 
False praise from true, or, greater from the less, 
Thee will he welcome to his hand and heart, 
Thou monument of peaceful happiness! 

He will not dread with Thee a toilsome day-- 
Thee his loved servant, his inspiring mate! 
And, when thou art past service, worn away, 
No dull oblivious nook shall hide thy fate. 

His thrift thy uselessness will never scorn; 
An 'heir-loom' in his cottage wilt thou be:-- 
High will he hang thee up, well pleased to adorn 
His rustic chimney with the last of Thee!