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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-

""Tis well you speak

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,

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You have known better lights and guides than

these

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

grace,

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.

57

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

2 P 2

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.

"But descending

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.

BOOK V.

THE PASTOR.

ARGUMENT.

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!

Upon the side

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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