“He said there was some foundation in fact, however slight, for every poem he had written of a narrative kind; ...  ‘The Brothers’ was founded on a young shepherd, in his sleep, having fallen down a crag, his staff remaining suspended mid-way.”

(See the ‘Memoirs of Wordsworth’, by the late Bishop of Lincoln, vol. ii. p. 305.) It should be added that the character of Leonard Ewbank was drawn in large part from that of the poet’s brother John—­Ed.

* * * * *

THE SEVEN SISTERS; OR, THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE [A]

Composed 1800. [B]—­Published 1807

The Story of this Poem is from the German of Frederica Brun. [C]—­W.  W. 1807.

One of the “Poems of the Fancy.”—­Ed.

  I Seven Daughters had Lord Archibald,
          All children of one mother: 
          You could [1] not say in one short day
          What love they bore each other. 
          A garland, of seven lilies, wrought! 5
          Seven Sisters that together dwell;
          But he, bold Knight as ever fought,
          Their Father, took of them no thought,
          He loved the wars so well. 
          Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, 10
          The solitude of Binnorie!

  II Fresh blows the wind, a western wind,
          And from the shores of Erin,
          Across the wave, a Rover brave
          To Binnorie is steering:  15
          Right onward to the Scottish strand
          The gallant ship is borne;
          The warriors leap upon the land,
          And hark! the Leader of the band
          Hath blown his bugle horn. 20
          Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
          The solitude of Binnorie.

  III Beside a grotto of their own,
          With boughs above them closing,
          The Seven are laid, and in the shade 25
          They lie like fawns reposing. 
          But now, upstarting with affright
          At noise of man and steed,
          Away they fly to left, to right—­
          Of your fair household, Father-knight, 30
          Methinks you take small heed! 
          Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
          The solitude of Binnorie.

  IV Away the seven fair Campbells fly,
          And, over hill and hollow, 35
          With menace proud, and insult loud,
          The youthful Rovers [2] follow. 
          Cried they, “Your Father loves to roam: 
          Enough for him to find
          The empty house when he comes home; 40
          For us your yellow ringlets comb,
          For us be fair and kind!”
          Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
          The solitude of Binnorie.