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Which all acknowledged. The dark winter night,
The stormy day, had each its own resource;
Song of the muses, sage historic tale,
Science severe, or word of holy writ
Announcing immortality and joy
To the assembled spirits of the just,
From imperfection and decay secure.

Thus soothed at home, thus busy in the field,
To no perverse suspicion he gave way,
No languor, peevishness, nor vain complaint:
And they who were about him did not fail
In reverence, or in courtesy; they prized
His gentle manners; and his peaceful smiles,
The gleams of his slow-varying countenance,
Were met with answering sympathy and love.
"At length, when sixty years and five were told,
A slow disease insensibly consumed

The powers of nature; and a few short steps
Of friends and kindred bore him from his home
(Yon cottage shaded by the woody crags)
To the profounder stillness of the grave.
Nor was his funeral denied the grace

Of many tears, virtuous and thoughtful grief;
Heart sorrow rendered sweet by gratitude.
And now that monumental stone preserves
His name, and unambitiously relates
How long, and by what kindly outward aids,
And in what pure contentedness of mind,
The sad privation was by him endured.

And yon tall pine tree, whose composing sound
Was wasted on the good man's living ear,
Hath now its own peculiar sanctity;
And, at the touch of every wandering breeze,
Murmurs, not idly, o'er his peaceful grave.
"Soul-cheering light, most bountiful of things!

Guide of our way, mysterious comforter!

With eloquence, and such authentic power,
That, in his presence, humbler knowledge stood
Abash'd, and tender pity overawed."

"A noble, and, to unreflecting minds,
A marvellous spectacle," the wanderer said,
"Beings like these present! But proof abounds
Upon the earth that faculties which seem
Extinguish'd, do not, therefore, cease to be.
And to the mind among her powers of sense
This transfer is permitted, not alone
That the bereft their recompense may win,
But for remoter purposes of love
And charity; nor last nor least for this,
That to th' imagination may be given
A type and shadow of an awful truth;
How, likewise, under sufferance divine,
Darkness is banish'd from the realms of death,
By man's imperishable spirit quell'd.
Unto the men who see not as we see,
Futurity was thought, in ancient times,
To be laid open, and they prophesied.

And know we not that from the blind have flow'd
The highest, holiest raptures of the lyre;
And wisdom married to immortal verse ?"

Among the humbler worthies, at our feet
Living insensible to human praise,
Love, or regret, whose lineaments would next
Have been portray'd, I guess not; but it chanced
That, near the quiet churchyard where we sate,
A team of horses, with a ponderous freight
Pressing behind, adown a rugged slope,
Whose sharp descent confounded their array
Came at that moment, ringing noisily.

"Here," said the pastor, "do we muse, and.

mourn

The waste of death: and lo! the giant oak

Whose sacred influence, spread through earth and Stretch'd on his bier, that massy timber wain;

heaven,

We all too thanklessly participate,
Thy gifts were utterly withheld from him
Whose place of rest is near yon ivied porch.
Yet, of the wild brooks ask if he complained;
Ask of the channell'd rivers if they held
A safer, easier, more determined course.
What terror doth it strike into the mind

To think of one who cannot see, advancing
Toward some precipice's airy brink!

Nor fail to note the man who guides the team."
He was a peasant of the lowest class:
Gray locks profusely round his temples hung
In clustering curls, like ivy, which the bite
Of winter cannot thin; the fresh air lodged
Within his cheek, as light within a cloud;
And he returned our greeting with a smile.
When he had pass'd, the solitary spake:
"A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays.
And confident to-morrows; with a face

But, timely warn'd, he would have stay'd his steps, Not worldly-minded, for it bears too much

Protected, say enlighten'd, by his ear,
And on the very edge of vacancy
Not more endanger'd than a man whose eye
Beholds the gulf beneath. No floweret blooms
Throughout the lofty range of these rough hills,
Or in the woods, that could from him conceal
Its birthplace; none whose figure did not live
Upon his touch. The bowels of the earth
Enrich'd with knowledge his industrious mind;
The ocean paid him tribute from the stores
Lodged in her bosom; and, by science led,
His genius mounted to the plains of heaven.
Methinks I see him; how his eyeballs roll'd
Beneath his ample brow, in darkness pair'd,
But each instinct with spirit; and the frame
Of the whole countenance alive with thought,
Fancy, and understanding; while the voice
Discoursed of natural or moral truth

Of nature's impress-gayety and health,
Freedom and hope; but keen withal, and shrewd
His gestures note; and hark! his tones of voice
Are all vivacious as his mien and looks."

The pastor answered: "You have read him well.
Year after year is added to his store
With silent increase; summers, winters-past,
Past or to come; yea, boldly might I say,
Ten summers and ten winters of a space
That lies beyond life's ordinary bounds,
Upon his sprightly vigour cannot fix
The obligation of an anxious mind,
A pride in having, or a fear to lose;
Possess'd like outskirts of some large domain,
By any one more thought of than by him
Who holds the land in fee, its careless lord!
Yet is the creature rational, endow'd

With foresight; hears, too, every Sabbath-day,

The Christian promise with attentive ear;
Nor will, I trust, the Majesty of heaven
Reject the incense offered up by him,
Though of the kind which beasts and birds present
In grove or pasture-cheerfulness of soul,
From trepidation and repining free.
How many scrupulous worshippers fall down
Upon their knees, and daily homage pay
Less worthy, less religious even, than his!

"This qualified respect, the old man's due,
Is paid without reluctance; but in truth"
(Said the good vicar with a fond half-smile)
"I feel at times a motion of despite

Towards one, whose bold contrivances and skill,

As

you have seen, bear such conspicuous part

In works of havoc; taking from these vales,
One after one, their proudest ornaments.

Full oft his doings leave me to deplore

Tall ash tree, sown by winds, by vapours nursed,
In the dry crannies of the pendant rocks;
Light birch, aloft upon the horizon's edge,
A veil of glory for th' ascending moon;

Felt to the centre of that heavenly calm
With which by nature every mother's soul
Is stricken, in the moment when her throes
Are ended, and her ears have heard the cry
Which tells her that a living child is born,
And she lies conscious, in a blissful rest,
That the dread storm is weather'd by them both.
"The father-him at this unlook'd-for gift
A bolder transport seizes. From the side
Of his bright hearth, and from his open door,
Day after day the gladness is diffused
To all that come, and almost all that pass;
Invited, summon'd, to partake the cheer
Spread on the never-empty board, and drink
Health and good wishes to his new-born girl,
From cups replenish'd by his joyous hand.
Those seven fair brothers variously were moved
Each by the thoughts best suited to his years
But most of all and with most thankful mind
The hoary grandsire felt himself enrich'd;
A happiness that ebb'd not, but remain'd
To fill the total measure of the soul!

Whither, as to a little private cell,

And oak whose roots by noontide dew were damp'd, From the low tenement, his own abode,
And on whose forehead inaccessible
The raven lodged in safety. Many a ship
Launch'd into Morecamb Bay, to him hath owed
Her strong knee-timbers, and the mast that bears
The loftiest of her pendants. He, from park
Or forest, fetch'd the enormous axletree
That whirls (how slow itself!) ten thousand spindles:
And the vast engine labouring in the mine,
Content with meaner prowess, must have lack'd
The trunk and body of its marvellous strength,
If his undaunted enterprise had fail'd
Among the mountain coves.

Yon household fir,
A guardian planted to fence off the blast.
But towering high the roof above, as if
Its humble destination were forgot;
That sycamore, which annually holds
Within its shade, as in a stately tent
On all sides open to the fanning breeze,
A grave assemblage, seated while they shear
The fleece-encumber'd flock; the joyful elm,
Around whose trunk the maidens dance in May;
And the lord's oak,-would plead their several
rights

In vain, if he were master of their fate:
His sentence to the axe would doom them all.
But, green in age and lusty as he is,
And promising to keep his hold on earth
Less, as might seem, in rivalship with men
Than with the forest's more enduring growth,
His own appointed hour will come at last;
And, like the haughty spoilers of the world,
This keen destroyer in his turn must fall.

"Now from the living pass we once again; From age," the priest continued, "turn your thoughts;

From age, that often unlamented drops,
And mark that daisied hillock, three spans long!
Seven lusty sons sate daily round the board
Of Gold-rill side; and, when the hope had ceased
Of other progeny, a daughter then
Was given, the crowning bounty of the whole;
And so acknowledged with a tremulous joy

60

He had withdrawn from bustle, care, and noise,
To spend the Sabbath of old age in peace,
Once every day he duteously repair'd
To rock the cradle of the slumbering babe:
For in that female infant's name he heard
The silent name of his departed wife;
Heart-stirring music! hourly heard that name;
Full blest he was, Another Margaret Green,'
Oft did he say, was come to Gold-rill side.'
Oh! pang unthought of, as the precious boon
Itself had been unlook'd for; oh! dire stroke
Of desolating anguish for them all!

Just as the child could totter on the floor,

And, by some friendly finger's help upstay'd,
Range round the garden walk, while she perchance
Was catching at some novelty of spring,
Ground-flower, or glossy insect from its cell
Drawn by the sunshine-at that hopeful season
The winds of March, smiting insidiously,
Raised in the tender passage of the throat
Viewless obstruction; whence, all unforewarn'd,
The household lost their pride and soul's delight.
But time hath power to soften all regrets,
And prayer and thought can bring to worst distress
Due resignation. Therefore, though some tears
Fail not to spring from either parent's eye
Oft as they hear of sorrow like their own,
Yet this departed little one, too long
The innocent troubler of their quiet, sleeps
In what may now be call'd a peaceful grave.
"On a bright day, the brightest of the year,
These mountains echo'd with an unknown sound,
A volley, thrice repeated o'er the corse
Let down into the hollow of that grave,
Whose shelving sides are red with naked mould.
Ye rains of April, duly wet this earth!
Spare, burning sun of midsummer, these sods,
That they may knit together, and therewith
Our thoughts unite in kindred quietness!
Nor so the valley shall forget her loss.
Dear youth, by young and old alike beloved,
To me as precious as my own! Green herbs
2 R2

May creep (I wish that they would softly creep)
Over thy last abode, and we may pass
Reminded less imperiously of thee;
The ridge itself may sink into the breast
Of earth, the great abyss, and be no more;
Yet shall not thy remembrance leave our hearts,
Thy image disappear!

"The mountain ash

No eye can overlook, when 'mid a grove
Of yet unfaded trees she lifts her head,
Deck'd with autumnal berries, that outshine
Spring's richest blossoms; and ye may have mark'd,
By a brook side or solitary tarn,

How she her station doth adorn; the pool
Glows at her feet, and all the gloomy rocks
Are brighten'd round her. In his native vale
Such and so glorious did this youth appear;
A sight that kindled pleasure in all hearts
By his ingenuous beauty, by the gleam
Of his fair eyes, by his capacious brow,
By all the graces with which nature's hand
Had lavishly array'd him. As old bards
Tell in their idle songs of wandering gods,
Pan or Apollo, veil'd in human form ;
Yet, like the sweet-breath'd violet of the shade,
Discover'd in their own despite to sense
Of mortals, (if such fables without blame
May find chance mention on this sacred ground,)
So, through a simple rustic garb's disguise,
And through th' impediment of rural cares,
In him reveal'd a scholar's genius shone;
And so, not wholly hidden from men's sight,
In him the spirit of a hero walk'd
Our unpretending valley. How the coit

And yet a modest comrade, led them forth
From their shy solitude, to face the world
With a gay confidence and seemly pride;
Measuring the soil beneath their happy feet,
Like youths released from labour, and yet bound
To most laborious service, though to them
A festival of unencumber'd ease;
The inner spirit keeping holyday,

Like vernal ground to sabbath sunshine left.
"Oft have I mark'd him at some leisure hour,
Stretch'd on the grass or seated in the shade
Among his fellows, while an ample map
Before their eyes lay carefully outspread,
From which the gallant teacher would discourse,
Now pointing this way and now that. Here flows,'
Thus would he say, the Rhine, that famous stream!
Eastward, the Danube toward this inland sea,
A mightier river, winds from realm to realm,
And, like a serpent, shows his glittering back
Bespotted with innumerable isles :

Here reigns the Russian, there the Turk; observe
His capital city!' Thence, along a tract
Of livelier interest to his hopes and fears
His finger moved, distinguishing the spots
Where wide-spread conflict then most fiercely raged;
Nor left unstigmatized those fatal fields
On which the sons of mighty Germany
Were taught a base submission. 'Here behold
A nobler race, the Switzers, and their land;
Vales deeper far than these of ours, huge woods
And mountains white with everlasting snow!'
And, surely, he, that spake with kindling brow,
Was a true patriot, hopeful as the best
Of that young peasantry, who, in our days,

Whizz'd from the stripling's arm! If touch'd by Have fought and perish'd for Helvetia's rights,

him,

Th' inglorious football mounted to the pitch

Of the lark's flight, or shaped a rainbow curve,
Aloft, in prospect of the shouting field!
The indefatigable fox had learn'd
To dread his perseverance in the chase.
With admiration would he lift his eyes
To the wide-ruling eagle, and his hand
Was loath to assault the majesty he loved;
Else had the strongest fastnesses proved weak
To guard the royal brood. The sailing glead,
The wheeling swallow, and the darting snipe,
The sportive sea-gull dancing with the waves,
And cautious water-fowl from distant climes,
Fix'd at their seat, the centre of the mere,
Were subject to young Oswald's steady aim.
"From Gallia's coast a tyrant hurl'd his threats;
Our country mark'd the preparation vast
Of hostile forces; and she call'd, with voice
That fill'd her plains, that reach'd her utmost shores,
And in remotest vales was heard,-To arms!
Then, for the first time, here you might have seen
The shepherd's gray to martial scarlet changed,
That flash'd uncouthly through the woods and fields.
Ten hardy striplings, all in bright attire,
And graced with shining weapons, weekly march'd
From this lone valley, to a central spot,
Where, in assemblage with the flower and choice
Of the surrounding district, they might learn
The rudiments of war; ten-hardy, strong,
And valiant; but young Oswald, like a chief,

Ah, not in vain !-or those who, in old time,
For work of happier issue to the side

Of Tell came trooping from a thousand huts,
When he had risen alone! No braver youth
Descended from Judean heights, to march
With righteous Joshua; or appear'd in arms
When grove was fell'd, and altar was cast down,
And Gideon blew the trumpet, soul-inflamed,
And strong in hatred of idolatry."

This spoken, from his seat the pastor rose,
And moved towards the grave. Instinctively
His steps we follow'd; and my voice exclaim'd,
"Power to th' oppressors of the world is given,
A might of which they dream not. O! the curse,
To be th' awakener of divinest thoughts,
Father and Founder of exalted deeds,
And to whole nations bound in servile straits
The liberal donor of capacities
More than heroic! this to be, nor yet
Have sense of one connatural wish, nor yet
Deserve the least return of human thanks;
Winning no recompense but deadly hate
With pity mix'd, astonishment with scorn!"

When these involuntary words had ceased,
The pastor said, "So Providence is served;
The forked weapon of the skies can send
Illumination into deep, dark holds,
Which the mild sunbeam hath not power to pierce.
Why do ye quake, intimidated thrones ?
For, not unconscious of the mighty debt
Which to outrageous wrong the sufferer owes,

Europe, through all her habitable seats,
Is thirsting for their overthrow, who still
Exist, as pagan temples stood of old,
By very horror of their impious rites
Preserved; are suffer'd to extend their pride,
Like cedars on the top of Lebanon

Darkening the sun. But less impatient thoughts,
And love all hoping and expecting all,'

Tender emotions spreading from the heart
To his worn cheek; or with uneasy shame
For those cold humours of habitual spleen,
That fondly seeking in dispraise of man
Solace and self-excuse, had sometimes urged
To self-abuse a not ineloquent tongue.
Right toward the sacred edifice his steps
Had been directed; and we saw him now

This hallow'd grave demands, where rests in peace Intent upon a monumental stone,

A humble champion of the better cause;

A peasant youth, so call him, for he ask'd

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No higher name; in whom our country show'd,
As in a favourite son, most beautiful.
In spite of vice, and misery, and disease,
Spread with the spreading of her wealthy arts,
England, the ancient and the free, appear'd
In him to stand before my swimming eyes,
Unconquerably virtuous and secure.
No more of this, lest I offend his dust:
Short was his life, and a brief tale remains.
"One summer's day-a day of annual pomp
And solemn chase-from morn to sultry noon
His steps had follow'd, fleetest of the fleet,
The red deer, driven along its native heights
With cry of hound and horn; and, from that toil
Return'd with sinews weaken'd and relax'd,
This generous youth, too negligent of self,
Plunged-'mid a gay and busy throng convened
To wash the fleeces of his father's flock-
Into the chilling flood.

"Convulsions dire

Whose uncouth form was grafted on the wall,
Or rather seem'd to have grown into the side
Of the rude pile; as ofttimes trunks of trees,
Where nature works in wild and craggy spots,
Are seen incorporate with the living rock,
To endure for aye. The vicar, taking note
Of his employment, with a courteous smile
Exclaim'd, "The sagest antiquarian's eye
That task would foil;" then, letting fall his voice
While he advanced, thus spake: "Tradition tells
That, in Eliza's golden days, a knight
Came on a war-horse sumptuously attired,
And fix'd his home in this sequester'd vale.
'Tis left untold if here he first drew breath,
Or as a stranger reach'd this deep recess,
Unknowing and unknown. A pleasing thought
I sometimes entertain, that, haply bound
To Scotland's court in service of his queen,
Or sent on mission to some northern chief
Of England's realm, this vale he might have seen,
With transient observation; and thence caught
An image fair, which brightening in his soul

Seized him that selfsame night; and through the When joy of war and pride of chivalry

space

Of twelve ensuing days his frame was wrench'd,
Till nature rested from her work in death.
To him, thus snatch'd away, his comrades paid
A soldier's honours. At his funeral hour
Bright was the sun, the sky a cloudless blue;
A golden lustre slept upon the hills;
And if by chance a stranger, wandering there,
From some commanding eminence had look'd
Down on this spot, well pleased would he have seen
A glittering spectacle; but every face
Was pallid; seldom hath that eye been moist
With tears, that wept not then; nor were the few
Who from their dwellings came not forth to join
In this sad service, less disturb'd than we.
They started at the tributary peal
Of instantaneous thunder, which announced
Through the still air the closing of the grave;
And distant mountains echo'd with a sound
Of lamentation never heard before!"

The pastor ceased. My venerable friend
Victoriously upraised his clear bright eye;
And, when that eulogy was ended, stood
Enrapt, as if his inward sense perceived
The prolongation of some still response,
Sent by the ancient soul of this wide land,
The spirit of its mountains and its seas,
Its cities, temples, fields, its awful power,
Its rights and virtues-by that Deity
Descending, and supporting his pure heart
With patriotic confidence and joy.
And, at the last of those memorial words,
The pining solitary turn'd aside,
Whether through manly instinct to conceal

Languish'd beneath accumulated years,
Had power to draw him from the world, resolved
To make that paradise his chosen home
To which his peaceful fancy oft had turn'd.
Vague thoughts are these; but, if belief may rest
Upon unwritten story fondly traced
From sire to son, in this obscure retreat
The knight arrived, with pomp of spear and shield,
And borne upon a charger cover'd o'er
With gilded housings. And the lofty steed,
His sole companion, and his faithful friend,
Whom he, in gratitude, let loose to range
In fertile pastures, was beheld with eyes
Of admiration, and delightful awe,
By those untravell'd dalesmen. With less pride,
Yet free from touch of envious discontent,
They saw a mansion at his bidding rise,
Like a bright star amid the lowly band

Of their rude homesteads. Here the warrior dwelt;
And, in that mansion, children of his own,
Or kindred, gather'd round him. As a tree
That falls and disappears, the house is gone;
And, through improvidence or want of love
For ancient worth and honourable things,
The spear and shield are vanish'd, which the knight
Hung in his rustic hall. One ivied arch
Myself have seen, a gateway, last remains
Of that foundation in domestic care
Raised by his hands. And now no trace is left
Of the mild-hearted champion, save this stone,
Faithless memorial! and his family name
Borne by yon clustering cottages, that sprang
From out the ruins of his stately lodge:
These, and the name and title at full length-

SIR ALFRED IRTHING, with appropriate words
Accompanied, still extant, in a wreath
Or posy, girding round the several fronts
Of three clear-sounding and harmonious bells
That in the steeple hang, his pious gift."

"So fails, so languishes, grows dim, and dies,"
The gray-hair'd wanderer pensively exclaim'd,
"All that this world is proud of. From their spheres
The stars of human glory are cast down;
Perish the roses and the flowers of kings,*
Princes, and emperors, and the crowns and palms
Of all the mighty, wither'd and consumed!
Nor is power given to lowliest innocence
Long to protect her own. The man himself
Departs; and soon is spent the line of those
Who, in the bodily image, in the mind,
In heart or soul, in station or pursuit,
Did most resemble him. Degrees and ranks,
Fraternities and orders-heaping high
New wealth upon the burden of the old,
And placing trust in privilege confirm'd
And reconfirm'd-are scoff'd at with a smile
Of greedy foretaste, from the secret stand
Of desolation, aim'd: to slow decline
These yield, and these to sudden overthrow;
Their virtue, service, happiness, and state
Expire; and nature's pleasant robe of green,
Humanity's appointed shroud, inwraps

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But why no softening thought of gratitude,
No just remembrance, scruple, or wise doubt?
Benevolence is mild; nor borrows help,
Save at worst need, from bold impetuous force,
Fitliest allied to anger and revenge.
But human kind rejoices in the might
Of mutability, and airy hopes,
Dancing around her, hinder and disturb
Those meditations of the soul that feed
The retrospective virtues. Festive songs
Break from the madden'd nations at the sight
Of sudden overthrow; and cold neglect

Is the sure consequence of slow decay.

Even," said the wanderer, "as that courteous

knight,

Bound by his vow to labour for redress

Of all who suffer wrong, and to enact
By sword and lance the law of gentleness,
(If I may venture of myself to speak,
Trusting that not incongruously I blend
Low things with lofty,) I too shall be doom'd
To outlive the kindly use and fair esteem
Of the poor calling which my youth embraced
With no unworthy prospect. But enough;
Thoughts crowd upon me, and 'twere seemlier now
To stop, and yield our gracious teacher thanks

Their monuments and their memory. The vast For the pathetic records which his voice

frame

Of social nature changes evermore
Her organs and her members with decay
Restless, and restless generation, powers
And functions dying and produced at need;
And by this law the mighty whole subsists:
With an ascent and progress in the main,
Yet, O! how disproportion'd to the hopes
And expectations of self-flattering minds!
The courteous knight whose bones are here interr'd,
Lived in an age conspicuous as our own
For strife and ferment in the minds of men ;
Whence alteration, in the forms of things,
Various and vast. A memorable age!
Which did to him assign a pensive lot-
To linger 'mid the last of those bright clouds,
That, on the steady breeze of honour, sail'd
In long procession, calm and beautiful.
He who had seen his own bright order fade,
And its devotion gradually decline,
(While war, relinquishing the lance and shield,
Her temper changed, and bow'd to other laws,)
Had also witnessed, in his morn of life,
That violent commotion which o'erthrew,
In town, and city, and sequester'd glen,
Altar, and cross, and church of solemn roof,
And old religious house-pile after pile;
And shook the tenants out into the fields,

The "transit gloria mundi" is finely expressed in the introduction to the foundation charters of some of the ancient abbeys. Some expressions here used are taken from that of the abbey of St. Mary's Furness, the translation of which is as follows:

"Considering every day the uncertainty of life, that the roses and flowers of kings, emperors, and dukes, and the crowns and palms of all the great wither and decay; and that all things, with an uninterrupted course, tend to dissolution and death: 1 therefore," &c.

Hath here delivered; words of heartfelt truth,
Tending to patience when affliction strikes;
To hope and love; to confident repose
In God; and reverence for the dust of man."

BOOK VIII.

THE PARSONAGE.

ARGUMENT.

Pastor's apprehensions that he might have detained his auditors too long. Invitation to his house. Solitary disinclined to comply, rallies the wanderer; and somewhat playfully draws a comparison between his itinerant profession and that of the knight-errant; which leads to wanderer's giving an account of changes in the country from the manufacturing spirit. Favourable effects. The other side of the picture, and chiefly as it has affected the humbler classes. Wanderer asserts the hollowness of all national grandeur if unsupported by moral worth; gives instances. Physical science unable to support itself. Lamentations over an excess of manufacturing industry among the humbler classes of society. Picture of a child employed in a cottonmill. Ignorance and degradation of children among the agricultural population reviewed. Conversation broken off by a renewed invitation from the pastor. Path leading to his house. Its appearance described. His daughter. His wife. His son (a boy) enters with his companion. Their happy appearance. The wanderer, how affected by the sight of them.

THE pensive skeptic of the lonely vale
To those acknowledgments subscribed his own,
With a sedate compliance, which the priest
Fail'd not to notice, inly pleased, and said,
"If ye, by whom invited I commenced
These narratives of calm and humble life,
Be satisfied, 'tis well; the end is gain'd;
And in return for sympathy bestow'd

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