William Wordsworth (1770-1850) is so closely associated with other parts of Britain, that it would be churlish to claim much of him for Kent. However, the few poems he wrote that do refer explicitly to this area covered over three decades of his career and are significant because of the way they speak of Kent as a symbolic landscape, and in particular, as one which is part of a geography of defiance and freedom. They are products, of course, of his personal circumstances at the time each was written, but also of the large national predicament, with the earlier ones in particular referring indirectly to deterioration of the situation in France, and of the tensions with Britain during the period of the rise of Napoleon
Wordsworth’s early enthusiastic support for the revolution of 1789 in France, which happened while he was a student at Cambridge, was replaced by far more conservative views in his later life, something these poems, in miniature, testify to. The larger movement of his mind is best represented in `The Prelude’ with the 1805 and 1850 texts showing significant differences as Wordsworth’s ideas and his sense of his own development and growth shifted. The Kent poems (not their standard name, but one used here for convenience) are from 1802 to 1837, ranging from a little after his more radical phase to his later one. The first two below were composed on returning from a tour of the continent, during which he had split with his French lover and made the decision to marry Mary Hutchinson. They speak of an ideal of England, and of its associations with freedom and liberty, which, of course, were to be reinforced by his later works about this symbolic geography. These in turn, with many other works and events, constructed a narrative of Kent as a frontier with a specific political meaning and location in the national story, a place of encounter and fight, against threats from the continent. The culmination of this was the struggle during the Second World War. The poems can stand best for themselves. Wordsworth’s greatest work was of course about the landscape of the Lake District and its spiritual meaning. But these are important minor pieces, in themselves, and for their place in a genre of literature about the symbolic meaning of Kent’s geographical location.
Composed in the Valley Near Dover, on the Day of Landing 1802
Here, on our native soil, we breathe once more.
The cock that crows, the smoke that curls, that sound
Of bells; those boys who in yon meadow-ground
In white-sleeved shirts are playing; and the roar
Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore;–
All, all are English. Oft have I looked round
With joy in Kent’s green vales; but never found
Myself so satisfied in heart before.
Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass,
Thought for another moment. Thou art free,
My Country! and ’tis joy enough and pride
For one hour’s perfect bliss, to tread the grass
Of England once again, and hear and see,
With such a dear Companion at my side.
September 1802 – Near Dover
Inland, within a hollow vale, I stood;
And saw, while sea was calm and air was clear,
The coast of France,—the coast of France how near!
Drawn almost into frightful neighborhood.
I shrunk; for verily the barrier flood
Was like a lake, or river bright and fair,
A span of waters: yet what power is there!
What mightiness for evil and for good!
Even so doth God protect us, if we be
Virtuous and wise. Winds blow, and waters roll,
Strength to the brave, and power, and Deity;
Yet in themselves are nothing! One decree
Spake laws to them, and said that by the soul
Only, the nations shall be great and free.
To The Men Of Kent – October 1803
Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent,
Ye children of a Soil that doth advance
Her haughty brow against the coast of France,
Now is the time to prove your hardiment!
To France be words of invitation sent!
They from their fields can see the countenance
Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance
And hear you shouting forth your brave intent.
Left single, in bold parley, ye, of yore,
Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath;
Confirmed the charters that were yours before;–
No parleying now! In Britain is one breath;
We all are with you now from shore to shore:–
Ye men of Kent, ’tis victory or death!
After Landing – The Valley of Dover November 1820
Where be the noisy followers of the game
Which faction breeds; the turmoil where, that passed
Through Europe, echoing from the newsman’s blast,
And filled our hearts with grief for England’s shame?
Peace greets us;—rambling on without an aim
We mark majestic herds of cattle, free
To ruminate, couched on the grassy lea;
And hear far-off the mellow horn proclaim
The Season’s harmless pastime. Ruder sound
Stirs not; enrapt I gaze with strange delight,
While consciousnesses, not to be disowned,
Here only serve a feeling to invite
That lifts the spirit to a calmer height,
And makes this rural stillness more profound.
At Dover 1837
From the Pier’s head, musing, and with increase
Of wonder, I have watched this sea-side Town,
Under the white cliff’s battlemented crown,
Hushed to a depth of more than Sabbath peace:
The streets and quays are thronged, but why disown
Their natural utterance: whence this strange release
From social noise—silence elsewhere unknown?—
A Spirit whispered, ‘Let all wonder cease;
Ocean’s o’erpowering murmurs have set free
Thy sense from pressure of life’s common din;
As the dread Voice that speaks from out the sea
Of God’s eternal Word, the Voice of Time
Doth deaden, shocks of tumult, shrieks of crime,
The shouts of folly, and the groans of sin.’