At every moment, and, with strength, increase Of fury; or, while snow is at the door, Assaulting and defending, and the wind, A sightless labourer, whistles at his work- Fearful, but resignation tempers fear, And piety is sweet to infant minds.
The shepherd lad, who in the sunshine carves, On the green turf, a dial, to divide
The silent hours; and who to that report Can portion out his pleasures, and adapt His round of pastoral duties, is not left With less intelligence for moral things Of gravest import. Early he perceives, Within himself, a measure and a rule, Which to the sun of truth he can apply,
That shines for him, and shines for all mankind. Experience daily fixing his regards
On nature's wants, he knows how few they are, And where they lie, how answer'd and appeased. This knowledge ample recompense affords For manifold privations; he refers
His notions to this standard, on this rock Rests his desires; and hence, in after life, Soul-strengthening patience, and sublime content. Imagination-not permitted here
To waste her powers, as in the worldling's mind, On fickle pleasures, and superfluous cares And trivial ostentation-is left free And puissant to range the solemn walks Of time and nature, girded by a zone That, while it binds, invigorates and supports. Acknowledge, then, that whether by the side Of his poor hut, or on the mountain top, Or in the cultured field, a man so bred (Take from him what you will upon the score Of ignorance or illusion) lives and breathes For noble purposes of mind: his heart Beats to the heroic song of ancient days; His eye distinguishes, his soul creates. And those illusions, which excite the scorn Or move the pity of unthinking minds, Are they not mainly outward ministers Of inward conscience? with whose service charged They came and go, appear'd and disappear, Diverting evil purposes, remorse Awakening, chastening an intemperate grief Or pride of heart abating: and, whene'er For less important ends those phantoms move Who would forbid them, if their presence serve Among wild mountains and unpeopled heaths, Filling a space, else vacant, to exalt The forms of nature, and enlarge her powers? "Once more to distant ages of the world Let us revert, and place before our thoughts The face which rural solitude might wear To th' unenlighten'd swains of pagan Greece. In that fair clime, the lonely herdsman, stretch'd On the soft grass through half a summer's day, With music lull'd his indolent repose: And in some fit of weariness, if he, When his own breath was silent, chanced to hear A distant strain, far sweeter than the sounds Which his poor skill could make, his fancy fetch'd, E'en from the blazing chariot of the sun A beardless youth, who touch'd a golden lute, And fill'd th' illumined groves with ravishment.
The nightly hunter, lifting up his eyes Towards the crescent moon, with grateful heart Call'd on the lovely wanderer who bestow'd That timely light, to share his joyous sport: And hence, a beaming goddess with her nymphs, Across the lawn and through the darksome grove (Not unaccompanied with tuneful notes
By echo multiplied from rock or cave)
Swept in the storm of chase, as moon and stars Glance rapidly along the clouded heaven, When winds are blowing strong. The traveller slaked
His thirst from rill or gushing fount, and thank'd The naiad. Sunbeams, upon distant hills Gliding apace, with shadows in their train, Might, with small help from fancy, be transform'd Into fleet oreads sporting visibly.
The zephyrs, fanning as they pass'd, their wings, Lack'd not, for love, fair objects whom they woo'd With gentle whisper. Wither'd boughs grotesque, Stripp'd of their leaves and twigs by hoary age, From depth of shaggy covert peeping forth In the low vale, or on steep mountain side; And, sometimes, intermix'd with stirring horns Of the live deer, or goat's depending beard- These were the lurking satyrs, a wild brood Of gamesome deities; or Pan himself, The simple shepherd's awe-inspiring god!" As this apt strain proceeded, I could mark Its kindly influence, o'er the yielding brow Of our companion, gradually diffused
While, listening he had paced the noiseless turf, Like one whose untired ear a murmuring stream Detains; but tempted now to interpose, He with a smile exclaim'd-
At a safe distance from our native land, And from the mansions where our youth was taught. The true descendants of those godly men Who swept from Scotland, in a flame of zeal, Shrine, altar, image, and the massy piles That harbour'd them, the souls retaining yet The churlish features of that after race Who fled to caves, and woods, and naked rocks, In deadly scorn of superstitious rites,
Or what their scruples construed to be such- How, think you, would they tolerate this scheme Of fine propensities, that tends, if urged Far as it might be urged, to sow afresh The weeds of Roman phantasy, in vain Uprooted; would re-consecrate our wells To good Saint Fillan and to fair Saint Anne; And from long banishment recall Saint Giles, To watch again with tutelary love O'er stately Edinborough throned on crags ? A blessed restoration, to behold
The patron, on the shoulders of his priests, Once more parading through her crowded streets; Now simply guarded by the sober powers Of science, and philosophy, and sense!"
This answer follow'd. "You have turn'd my thoughts
Upon our brave progenitors, who rose Against idolatry with warlike mind, And shrunk from vain observances, to lurk In caves, and woods, and under dismal rocks,
Deprived of shelter, covering, fire, and food; Why? for this very reason that they felt, And did acknowledge, wheresoe'er they moved, A spiritual presence, ofttimes misconceived; But still a high dependence, a divine Bounty and government, that fill'd their hearts With joy, and gratitude, and fear, and love: And from their fervent lips drew hymns of praise, That through the desert rang. Though favour'd less,
Far less, than these, yet such, in their degree, Were those bewilder'd pagans of old time. Beyond their own poor natures and above
They look'd were humbly thankful for the good Which the warm sun solicited-and earth
And twice ten thousand interests, do yet prize This soul, and the transcendent universe, No more than as a mirror that reflects To proud self-love her own intelligence; That one, poor, infinite object, in the abyss Of infinite being, twinkling restlessly!
"Nor higher place can be assign'd to him And his compeers-the laughing sage of France. Crown'd was he, if my memory do not err, With laurel planted upon hoary hairs, In sign of conquest by his wit achieved, And benefits his wisdom had conferr'd, His tottering body was with wreaths of flowers Opprest, far less becoming ornaments
Than spring oft twines about a mouldering tree;
Bestow'd; were gladsome, and their moral sense Yet so it pleased a fond, a vain old man,
They fortified with reverence for the gods And they had hopes that overstepp'd the grave. "Now, shall our great discoverers," he exclaim'd, Raising his voice triumphantly, "obtain From sense and reason less than these obtain'd, Though far misled? Shall men for whom our age Unbaffled powers of vision hath prepared, T'explore the world without and world within, Be joyless as the blind? Ambitious souls- Whom earth, at this late season, hath produced To regulate the moving spheres, and weigh The planets in the hollow of their hand; And they who rather die than soar, whose pains Have solved the elements, or analyzed The thinking principle-shall they in fact Prove a degraded race? and what avails Renown, if their presumption make them such? O! there is laughter at their work in heaven! Inquire of ancient wisdom: go, demand Of mighty nature, if 'twas ever meant That we should pry far off yet be unraised; That we should pore, and dwindle as we pore, Viewing all objects unremittingly In disconnexion dead and spiritless ; And still dividing, and dividing still, Break down all grandeur, still unsatisfied With the perverse attempt, while littleness May yet become more little; waging thus An impious warfare with the very life Of our own souls! And if indeed there be An all-pervading spirit, upon whom Our dark foundations rest, could he design That this magnificent effect of power, The earth we tread, the sky that we behold By day, and all the pomp which night reveals, That these-and that superior mystery, Our vital frame, so fearfully devised, And the dread soul within it-should exist Only to be examined, ponder'd, search'd, Probed, vex'd, and criticised? Accuse me not Of arrogance, unknown wanderer as I am, If, having walk'd with nature threescore years, And offer'd, far as frailty would allow,
My heart a daily sacrifice to truth, I now affirm of nature and of truth, Whom I have served, that their DIVINITY Revolts, offended at the ways of men
Sway'd by such motives, to such end employ'd; Philosophers, who, though the human soul Be of a thousand faculties composed,
And a most frivolous people. Him I mean Who penn'd, to ridicule confiding faith, This sorry legend; which by chance we found Piled in a nook, through malice, as might seem, Among more innocent rubbish." Speaking thus, With a brief notice when, and how, and where, We had espied the book, he drew it forth; And courteously, as if the act removed, At once, all traces from the good man's heart Of unbenign aversion or contempt, Restored it to its owner. "Gentle friend," Herewith he grasp'd the solitary's hand,
You have known better lights and guides than
Ah! let not aught amiss within dispose
A noble mind to practise on herself, And tempt opinion to support the wrongs Of passion: whatsoe'er be felt or fear'd, From higher judgment seats make no appeal To lower can you question that the soul Inherits an allegiance, not by choice To be cast off, upon an oath proposed By each new upstart notion? In the ports Of levity no refuge can be found,
No shelter, for a spirit in distress. He, who by wilful disesteem of life, And proud insensibility to hope, Affronts the eye of solitude, shall learn That her mild nature can be terrible; That neither she nor silence lack the power T' avenge their own insulted majesty. O blest seclusion! when the mind admits The law of duty; and can therefore move Through each vicissitude of loss and gain, Link'd in entire complacence with her choice; When youth's presumptuousness is mellow'd down, And manhood's vain anxiety dismiss'd; When wisdom shows her seasonable fruit, Upon the boughs of sheltering leisure hung In sober plenty; when the spirit stoops To drink with gratitude the crystal stream Of unreproved enjoyment; and is pleased To muse, and be saluted by the air Of meek repentance, wafting wall-flower scents From out the crumbling ruins of fall'n pride And chambers of transgression now forlorn.
O, calm, contented days, and peaceful nights Who, when such good can be obtain'd, would strive To reconcile his manhood to a couch
Soft, as may seem, but, under that disguise
Stuff'd with the thorny substance of the past, For fix'd annoyance; and full oft beset With floating dreams, disconsolate and black, The vapory phantoms of futurity?
"Within the soul a faculty abides, That with interpositions, which would hide And darken, so can deal, that they become Contingencies of pomp ; and serve t'exalt Her native brightness. As the ample moon, In the deep stillness of a summer even Rising behind a thick and lofty grove, Burns like an unconsuming fire of light, In the green trees; and, kindling on all sides Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil Into a substance glorious as her own, Yea, with her own incorporated, by power Capacious and serene; like power abides In man's celestial spirit; virtue thus Sets forth and magnifies herself; thus feeds A calm, a beautiful, and silent fire, From the encumbrances of mortal life, From error, disappointment,-nay, from guilt: And sometimes, so relenting justice wills, From palpable oppressions of despair."
The solitary by these words was touch'd
With manifest emotion, and exclaim'd,
For you, assuredly, a hopeful road Lies open we have heard from you a voice At every moment soften'd in its course By tenderness of heart; have seen your eye, Even like an altar lit by fire from heaven, Kindle before us. Your discourse this day, That, like the fabled lethe, wish'd to flow In creeping sadness, through oblivious shades Of death and night, has caught at every turn The colours of the sun. Access for you Is yet preserved to principles of truth, Which the imaginative will upholds In seats of wisdom, not to be approach'd By the inferior faculty that moulds, With her minute and speculative pains, Opinion, ever changing! I have seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipp'd shell; To which, in silence hush'd, his very soul Listen'd intensely; and his countenance soon Brighten'd with joy; for murmurings from within Were heard, sonorous cadences! whereby To his belief, the monitor express'd Mysterious union with its native sea. E'en such a shell the universe itself
"But how begin? and whence? The mind is free; Is to the ear of faith: and there are times,
Resolve, the haughty moralist would say,
This single act is all that we demand.
Alas such wisdom bids a creature fly
Whose very sorrow is, that time hath shorn His natural wings! To friendship let him turn For succour; but perhaps he sits alone On stormy waters, in a little boat
That holds but him, and can contain no more! Religion tells of amity sublime
Which no condition can preclude: of one Who sees all suffering, comprehends all wants, All weakness fathoms, can supply all needs; But is that bounty absolute? His gifts, Are they not still, in some degree, rewards
For acts of service? Can his love extend
I doubt not, when to you it doth impart Authentic tidings of invisible things; Of ebb and flow, and ever during power; And central peace, subsisting at the heart Of endless agitation. Here you stand, Adore, and worship, when you know it not; Pious beyond the intention of your thought; Devout above the meaning of your will. Yes, you have felt, and may not cease to feel. Th' estate of man would be indeed forlorn If false conclusions of the reasoning power Made the eye blind, and closed the passages Through which the ear converses with the heart. Has not the soul, the being of your life, Received a shock of awful consciousness,
To hearts that own not him? Will showers of In some calm season, when these lofty rocks
When in the sky no promise may be seen, Fall to refresh a parch'd and wither'd land? Or shall the groaning spirit cast her load At the Redeemer's feet?"
In rueful tone, With some impatience in his mien he spake; Back to my mind rush'd all that had been urged To calm the sufferer when his story closed; I look'd for counsel as unbending now; But a discriminating sympathy Stoop'd to this apt reply-
"As men from men Do, in the constitution of their souls, Differ, by mystery not to be explain'd; And as we fall by various ways, and sink One deeper than another, self-condemn'd, Through manifold degrees of guilt and shame, So manifold and various are the ways Of restoration, fashion'd to the steps Of all infirmity, and tending all To the same point,-attainable by all;
Peace in ourselves, and union with our God.
At night's approach bring down the unclouded sky To rest upon their circumambient walls;
A temple framing of dimensions vast, And yet not too enormous for the sound Of human anthems,-choral song, or burst Sublime of instrumental harmony
To glorify th' Eternal! What if these Did never break the stillness that prevails Here, if the solemn nightingale be mute, And the soft woodlark here did never chant Her vespers, nature fails not to provide Impulse and utterance. The whispering air Sends inspiration from the shadowy heights, And blind recesses of the cavern'd rocks; The little hills, and waters numberless, Inaudible by daylight, blend their notes With the loud streams: and often, at the hour When issue forth the first pale stars, is heard, Within the circuit of this fabric huge, One voice-the solitary raven, flying Athwart the concave of the dark-blue dome, Unseen, perchance above all power of sight- An iron knell! with echoes from afar
Faint-and still fainter-as the cry, with which The wanderer accompanies her flight Through the calm region, fades upon the ear, Diminishing by distance till it seem'd T'expire, yet from th' abyss is caught again, And yet again recover'd.
From these imaginative heights, that yield Far-stretching views into eternity, Acknowledge that in nature's humbler power Your cherish'd sullenness is forced to bend E'en here, where her amenities are sown With sparing hand. Then trust yourself abroad To range her blooming bowers, and spacious fields, Where on the labours of the happy throng She smiles, including in her wide embrace City, and town, and tower, and sea with ships Sprinkled; be our companion while we track Her rivers populous with gliding life;
While, free as air, o'er printless sands we march, Or pierce the gloom of her majestic woods; Roaming, or resting under grateful shade In peace and meditative cheerfulness; Where living things, and things inanimate, Do speak, at heaven's command, to eye and ear, And speak to social reason's inner sense, With inarticulate language.
"For the man, Who, in this spirit, communes with the forms Of nature, who with understanding heart Doth know and love such objects as excite No morbid passions, no disquietude,
No vengeance, and no hatred, needs must feel The joy of that pure principle of love So deeply, that, unsatisfied with aught Less pure and exquisite, he cannot choose But seek for objects of a kindred love In fellow natures and a kindred joy. Accordingly he by degrees perceives His feelings of aversion soften'd down; A holy tenderness pervade his frame. His sanity of reason not impair'd,
Say rather, all his thoughts now flowing clear, From a clear fountain flowing, he looks round And seeks for good; and finds the good he seeks; Until abhorrence and contempt are things He only knows by name; and, if he hear, From other mouths, the language which they speak, He is compassionate; and has no thought, No feeling, which can overcome his love. "And further; by contemplating these forms In the relations which they bear to man, He shall discern, how, through the various means Which silently they yield, are multiplied The spiritual presences of absent things. Trust me, that for the instructed, time will come When they shall meet no object but may teach Some acceptable lesson to their minds Of human suffering, or of human joy.
So shall they learn, while all things speak of man, Their duties from all forms; and general laws, And local accidents, shall tend alike
To rouse, to urge; and, with the will, confer Th' ability to spread the blessings wide Of true philanthropy. The light of love Not failing, perseverance from their steps
Departing not, for them shall be confirm'd The glorious habit by which sense is made Subservient still to moral purposes, Auxiliar to divine. That change shall clothe The naked spirit, ceasing to deplore The burden of existence. Science then Shall be a precious visitant; and then, And only then, be worthy of her name, For then her heart shall kindle; her dull eye, Dull and inanimate, no more shall hang Chain'd to its object in brute slavery; But taught with patient interest to watch The processes of things, and serve the cause Of order and distinctness, not for this Shall I forget that its most noble use, Its most illustrious province, must be found In furnishing clear guidance, a support Not treacherous to the mind's excursive power. So build we up the being that we are; Thus deeply drinking in the soul of things, We shall be wise perforce; and while inspired By choice, and conscious that the will is free, Unswerving shall we move, as if impell'd By strict necessity, along the path Of order and of good. Whate'er we see, Whate'er we feel, by agency direct Or indirect, shall tend to feed and nurse Our faculties, shall fix in calmer seats Of moral strength, and raise to loftier heights Of love divine, our intellectual soul."
Here closed the sage that eloquent harangue, Pour'd forth with fervour in continuous stream; Such as, remote, 'mid savage wilderness, An Indian chief discharges from his breast Into the hearing of assembled tribes, In open circle seated round, and hush'd As the unbreathing air, when not a leaf Stirs in the mighty woods. So did he speak : The words he utter'd shall not pass away; For they sank into me-the bounteous gift Of one whom time and nature had made wise. Gracing his language with authority Which hostile spirits silently allow; Of one accustom'd to desires that feed On fruitage gather'd from the tree of life; To hopes on knowledge and experience built; Of one in whom persuasion and belief Had ripen'd into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition; whence the soul, Though bound to earth by ties of pity and love, From all injurious servitude was free.
The sun, before his place of rest were reach'd, Had yet to travel far, but unto us,
To us who stood low in that hollow dell, He had become invisible,-a pomp Leaving behind of yellow radiance spread Upon the mountain sides, in contrast bold With ample shadows, seemingly, no less Than those resplendent lights, his rich bequest, A dispensation of his evening power. Adown the path that from the glen had led The funeral train, the shepherd and his mate Were seen descending; forth to greet them ran Our little page; the rustic pair approach; And in the matron's aspect may be read A plain assurance that the words which told
How that neglected pensioner was sent Before his time into a quiet grave, Had done to her humanity no wrong:
But we are kindly welcomed-promptly served With ostentatious zeal. Along the floor Of the small cottage in the lonely dell
A grateful couch was spread for our repose; Where, in the guise of mountaineers, we slept, Stretch'd upon fragrant heath, and lull'd by sound Of far-off torrents charming the still night, And to tired limbs and over-busy thoughts Inviting sleep and soft forgetfulness.
Farewell to the valley. Reflections. Sight of a large and populous vale. Solitary consents to go forward. Vale described. The pastor's dwelling, and some account of him. The churchyard. Church and monuments. The solitary musing, and where. Roused. In the churchyard the solitary communicates the thoughts which had recently passed through his mind. Lofty tone of the wanderer's discourse of yesterday adverted to. Rite of baptism, and the professions accompanying it, contrasted with the real state of human life. Inconsistency of the best men. Acknowledgment that practice falls far below the injunctions of duty as existing in the mind. General complaint of a falling off in the value of life after the time of youth. Outward appearances of content and happiness in degree illusive. Pastor approaches Appeal made to him. His answer. Wanderer in sympathy with him. Suggestion that the least ambitious inquirers may be most free from error. The pastor is desired to give some portraits of the living or dead from his own obAnd for servation of life among these mountains. what purpose. Pastor consents. Mountain cottage. Excellent qualities of its inhabitants. Solitary expresses his pleasure; but denies the praise of virtue to worth of this kind. Feelings of the priest before he enters upon his account of persons interred in the churchyard. Graves of unbaptized infants. What sensations they excite. Funeral and sepulchral observances, whence. Ecclesiastical establishments,
whence derived. Profession of belief in the doctrine of immortality.
FAREWELL, deep valley, with thy one rude house, And its small lot of life-supporting fields, And guardian rocks! Farewell, attractive seat! To the still influx of the morning light Open, and day's pure cheerfulness, but veil'd From human observation, as if yet Primeval forests wrapp'd thee round with dark Impenetrable shade; once more farewell, Majestic circuit, beautiful abyss,
By nature destined from the birth of things For quietness profound!
Of that brown slope, the outlet of the vale, Lingering behind my comrades, thus I breathed A parting tribute to a spot that seem'd Like the fix'd centre of a troubled world. And now, pursuing leisurely my way, How vain, thought I, it is by change of place To seek that comfort which the mind denies; Yet trial and temptation oft are shunn'd Wisely; and by such tenure do we hold
Frail life's possessions, that even they whose fate Yields no peculiar reason of complaint, Might, by the promise that is here, be won To steal from active duties, and embrace Obscurity, and calm forgetfulness. Knowledge, methinks in these disorder'd times, Should be allow'd a privilege to have Her anchorites, like piety of old; Men, who, from faction sacred, and unstain'd By war, might, if so minded, turn aside Uncensured, and subsist, a scatter'd few Living to God and nature, and content With that communion. Consecrated be The spots where such abide! But happier still The man, whom, furthermore, a hope attends That meditation and research may guide His privacy to principles and powers Discover'd or invented: or set forth, Through his acquaintance with the ways of truth, In lucid order; so that, when his course Is run, some faithful eulogist may say, He sought not praise, and praise did overlook His unobtrusive merit; but his life, Sweet to himself, was exercised in good That shall survive his name and memory.
Acknowledgments of gratitude sincere Accompanied these musings: fervent thanks For my own peaceful lot and happy choice; A choice that from the passions of the world Withdrew, and fix'd me in a still retreat, Shelter'd, but not to social duties lost, Secluded, but not buried; and with song Cheering my days, and with industrious thought, With ever-welcome company of books, By virtuous friendship's soul-sustaining aid, And with the blessings of domestic love.
Thus occupied in mind I paced along, Following the rugged road, by sledge or wheel Worn in the moorland, till I overtook My two associates, in the morning sunshine Halting together on a rocky knoll, From which the road descended rapidly To the green meadows of another vale.
Here did our pensive host put forth his hand In sign of farewell. "Nay," the old man said, "The fragrant air its coolness still retains ; The herds and flocks are yet abroad to crop The dewy grass; you cannot leave us now, We must not part at this inviting hour." He yielded, though reluctant; for his mind Instinctively disposed him to retire To his own covert; as a billow, heaved Upon the beach, rolls back into the sea, So we descend; and winding round a rock Attain a point that show'd the valley-stretch'd In length before us; and, not distant far, Upon a rising ground a gray church tower, Whose battlements were screen'd by tufted trees, And, towards a crystal mere, that lay beyond Among steep hills and woods embosom'd, flow'd A copious stream with boldly winding course; Here traceable, there hidden-there again To sight restored, and glittering in the sun, On the stream's bank, and every where, appear'd Fair dwellings, single, or in social knots; Some scatter'd o'er the level, others perch'd
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