A Protest against the Extension of Railways in the Lake District/Lady of the Lake Loquitur
LADY OF THE LAKE LOQUITUR.
Reprinted by permission from 'Punch' of February 5, 1876.
'Mr Ruskin has issued an invitation to all persons "who have any regard" for him or his writings, to sign a petition to Parliament to prevent the extension of railroads across the Lake country. It appears that longing eyes have been cast by those who desire to develop the material, and especially the mineral, resources of the district, upon the route which passes through Ambleside to Keswick. The ostensible reason assigned is to bring the most attractive parts of Westmorland within reach of the tourist, who now has to walk long distances or go to the expense of hiring a trap. But behind this the author of Modern Painters detects, and no doubt rightly, the intention of converting these pleasant places of rest into a mining region.'—The Academy, January 22, 1876.
List! Let my silver voice at least be heard,
Echoing that eloquence which oft hath stirred
Even Philistine feeling!
Let not the Trade-Gnome further still intrude
Within the sweet sequestered solitude,
Where Nature's coyest charms may yet be wooed
To full revealing.
Can you not keep one inch of all your isle
In the unsullied light of Beauty's smile,
Which dirt and discord banish?
Must your swart Titans thrust their iron arms
Till, scared by driving reek and rude alarms,
From their fouled path Pan's brood with all their charms
Shall wholly vanish?
If Progress its far aims to reach, must fill
The air with poison, choke the babbling rill,
And dye the limpid river,
And such compulsion, as a rule, 'tis vain
To challenge, yet some haunts should sure remain,
Which wiser Man to Mammon's grasping reign
Will scarce deliver.
Seeing all-liberal Heaven has given you here
Vales soft as those of Tempè or Cashmere,
Still lakes and solemn mountains,
Spurn not such largess! Do not drive away
All Solitude's shy nymphs, whose hands array
My banks with bowers, and keep in joyous play
My floods and fountains.
I am the Lady of the Silver Lake;
I would not have my mountain echoes wake
To shriek and snort incessant.
And you whose steps have strayed along my marge
Would Steam-Fiend's roar, gush of foul mines' discharge,
Fit the still scene where my smooth-shining targe
Reflects the crescent?
Even to cold Utilitaria's self—
Sole regent in these days to thirst of pelf
Given by self-dedication,—
I make appeal! Prudence forbids to spoil
The few fair spots on your sea-straitened soil,
Where poet-passion and o'erburdened toil
Find consolation.
Here have been nourished sons of Art whose song
Or storied canvas shall your fame prolong,
And swell your pride and pleasure.
Where Wordsworth roved let not the wheels of Trade,
Unresting as Ixion's, make fresh raid,
Till Fancy flees her loveliest, best-loved shade,
And needful leisure!
Grant in these crowded times men's needs are more
Than broad meres, mountains high, and forests hoar,
Birds' song, or rose, or lily;
For these, too, higher human yearnings crave:
Were it not well source of such joys to save,
Nor wholly yield old Pan a helpless slave
To Puffing Billy?
Though Commerce claim free course, and subtle Greed
In mask of Progress, her convenience plead
Should Wisdom not be chary
In casting Nature's dearest dowers away?
Leave Lakeland still to elf, and faun, and fay,
For Art and Thought and Toil self's place of play,
And sanctuary!