# 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!