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.
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 monu. ments. 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 observation of life among these mountains. And for 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
On the hill sides, a cheerful quiet scene, Now in its morning purity array'd.
"As, 'mid some happy valley of the Alps," Said I," once happy, ere tyrannic power Wantonly breaking in upon the Swiss, Destroy'd their unoffending commonwealth, A popular equality reigns here,
Save for one house of state beneath whose roof A rural lord might dwell." "No feudal pomp," Replied our friend, a chronicler who stood Where'er he moved upon familiar ground, "Nor feudal power is there; but there abides, In his allotted home, a genuine priest, The shepherd of his flock; or, as a king Is styled, when most affectionately praised, The father of his people. Such is he;
And rich and poor, and young and old, rejoice Under his spiritual sway. He hath vouchsafed To me some portion of a kind regard; And something also of his inner mind Hath he imparted-but I speak of him As he is known to all. The calm delights Of unambitious piety he chose, And learning's solid dignity; though born Of knightly race, nor wanting powerful friends. Hither, in prime of manhood, he withdrew From academic bowers. He loved the spot, Who does not love his native soil? he prized The ancient rural character, composed Of simple manners, feelings unsuppress'd And undisguised, and strong and serious thought; A character reflected in himself,
With such embellishment as well beseems His rank and sacred function. This deep vale Winds far in reaches hidden from our eyes, And one a turreted manorial hall Adorns, in which the good man's ancestors Have dwelt through ages, patrons of this cure. To them, and to his own judicious pains, The vicar's dwelling, and the whole domain, Owes that presiding aspect which might well Attract I your notice; statelier than could else Have been bestow'd, through course of common chance,
On an unwealthy mountain benefice."
This said, oft halting we pursued our way; Nor reach'd the village churchyard till the sun, Travelling at steadier pace than ours, had risen Above the summits of the highest hills, And round our path darted oppressive beams.
As chanced, the portals of the sacred pile Stood open, and we enter'd. On my frame, At such transition from the fervid air,
A grateful coolness fell, that seem'd to strike The heart, in concert with that temperate awe And natural reverence, which the place inspired. Not raised in nice proportions was the pile, But large and massy; for duration built; With pillars crowded, and the roof upheld By naked rafters intricately cross'd,
Like leafless underboughs, 'mid some thick grove, All wither'd by the depth of shade above. Admonitory texts inscribed the walls, Each, in its ornamental scroll, enclosed, Each also crown'd with winged heads, a pair Of rudely painted cherubim. The floor
Of nave and aisle, in unpretending guise, Was occupied by oaken benches, ranged In seemly rows; the chancel only show'd Some inoffensive marks of earthly state And vain distinction. A capacious pew
Of sculptured oak stood here, with drapery lined; And marble monuments were here display'd Thronging the walls; and on the floor beneath Sepulchral stones appear'd, with emblems graven And foot-worn epitaphs, and some with small And shining effigies of brass inlaid.
The tribute by these various records claim'd, Without reluctance did we pay; and read The ordinary chronicle of birth, Office, alliance, and promotion, all Ending in dust; of upright magistrates, Grave doctors strenuous for the mother church, And uncorrupted senators, alike
To king and people true. A brazen plate, Not easily decipher'd, told of one Whose course of earthly honour was begun In quality of page among the train
Of the eighth Henry, when he cross'd the seas His royal state to show, and prove his strength In tournament, upon the fields of France. Another tablet register'd the death,
And praised the gallant bearing, of a knight Tried in the sea fights of the second Charles. Near this brave knight his father lay entomb'd; And, to the silent language giving voice,
I read, how in his manhood's earlier day He, 'mid th' afflictions of intestine war And rightful government subverted, found One only solace; that he had espoused A virtuous lady tenderly beloved
For her benign perfections; and yet more Endear'd to him, for this, that in her state Of wedlock richly crown'd with Heaven's regard, She with a numerous issue fill'd his house, Who throve, like plants, uninjured by the storm That laid their country waste. No need to speak Of less particular notices assign'd
To youth or maiden gone before their time, And matrons and unwedded sisters old; Whose charity and goodness were rehearsed In modest panegyric. "These dim lines, What would they tell?" said I; but from the task Of puzzling out that faded narrative,
With whispers soft my venerable friend
Call'd me; and, looking down the darksome aisle
I saw the tenant of the lonely vale Standing apart; with curvèd arm reclined On the baptismal font; his pallid face Upturn'd, as if his mind were wrapt, or lost In some abstraction; gracefully he stood, The semblance bearing of a sculptured form That leans upon a monumental urn In peace, from morn to night, from year to year. Him from that posture did the sexton rouse; Who enter'd, humming carelessly a tune, Continuation haply of the notes
That had beguiled the work from which he came, With spade and mattock o'er his shoulder hung, To be deposited, for future need, In their appointed place. The pale recluse Withdrew; and straight we follow'd, to a spot
Where sun and shade were intermix'd; for there A broad oak, stretching forth its leafy arms From an adjoining pasture, overhung
Small space of that green churchyard with a light And pleasant awning. On the moss-grown wall My ancient friend and I together took Our seats; and thus the solitary spake, Standing before us. "Did you note the mien Of that self-solaced, easy-hearted churl, Death's hireling, who scoops out his neighbour's grave,
Or wraps an old acquaintance up in clay, As unconcern'd as when he plants a tree? I was abruptly summon'd by his voice From some affecting images and thoughts, And from the company of serious words. Much, yesterday, was said in glowing phrase Of our sublime dependencies, and hopes For future states of being; and the wings Of speculation, joyfully outspread, Hover'd above our destiny on earth; But stoop, and place the prospect of the soul In sober contrast with reality,
And man's substantial life. If this mute earth Of what it holds could speak, and every grave Were as a volume, shut, yet capable Of yielding its contents to eye and ear, We should recoil, stricken with sorrow and shame To see disclosed, by such dread proof, how ill That which is done accords with what is known To reason, and by conscience is enjoin'd; How idly, how perversely, life's whole course, To this conclusion, deviates from the line, Or of the end stops short, proposed to all At her aspiring outset. Mark the babe Not long accustom'd to this breathing world; One that hath barely learn'd to shape a smile; Though yet irrational of soul to grasp With tiny fingers, to let fall a tear; And, as the heavy cloud of sleep dissolves, To stretch his limbs, bemocking, as might seem, Th' outward functions of intelligent man; A grave proficient in amusive feats Of puppetry, that from the lap declare His expectations, and announce his claims To that inheritance which millions rue That they were ever born to! In due time A day of solemn ceremonial comes; When they, who for this minor hold in trust Rights that transcend the humblest heritage Of mere humanity, present their charge, For this occasion daintily adorn'd,
At the baptismal font. And when the pure And consecrating element hath cleansed Th' original stain, the child is there received Into the second ark, Christ's church, with trust That he, from wrath redeem'd, therein shall float Over the billows of this troublesome world To the fair land of everlasting life. Corrupt affections, covetous desires,
Are all renounced; high as the thought of man Can carry virtue, virtue is profess'd; A dedication made, a promise given For due provision to control and guide, And unremitting progress to ensure In holiness and truth."
Here interposing fervently I said, "Rites which attest that man by nature lies Bedded for good and evil in a gulf Fearfully low; nor will your judgment scorn Those services, whereby attempt is made To lift the creature toward that eminence On which, now fall'n, erewhile in majesty He stood; or if not so, whose top serene At least he feels 'tis given him to descry; Not without aspirations, evermore Returning, and injunctions from within Doubt to cast off and weariness; in trust That what the soul perceives, if glory lost, May be, through pains and persevering hope, Recover'd; or, if hitherto unknown,
Lies within reach, and one day shall be gain'd." "I blame them not," he calmly answer'd, "no; The outward ritual and establish'd forms With which communities of men invest These inward feelings, and th' aspiring vows To which the lips give public utterance, Are both a natural process; and by me Shall pass uncensured; though the issue prove, Bringing from age to age its own reproach, Incongruous, impotent, and blank. But, oh! If to be weak is to be wretched-miserable, As the lost angel by a human voice Hath mournfully pronounced, then, in my mind, Far better not to move at all than move By impulse sent from such illusive power, That finds and cannot fasten down; that grasps And is rejoiced, and loses while it grasps; That tempts, imboldens-doth a while sustain, And then betrays; accuses and inflicts Remorseless punishment; and so retreads Th' inevitable circle: better far
Than this, to graze the herb in thoughtless peace, By foresight or remembrance, undisturbed!
"Philosophy! and thou more vaunted name, Religion with thy statelier retinue, Faith, hope, and charity-from the visible world Choose for your emblems whatsoe'er ye find Of safest guidance and of firmest trust,- The torch, the star, the anchor; nor except The cross itself, at whose unconscious feet The generations of mankind have knelt Ruefully seized, and shedding bitter tears, And through that conflict seeking rest-of you High titled powers, am I constrain❜d to ask, Here standing, with th' unvoyageable sky In faint reflection of infinitude
Stretch'd overhead, and at my pensive feet A subterraneous magazine of bones, In whose dark vaults my own shall soon be laid, Where are your triumphs? your dominion where? And in what age admitted and confirm'd? Not for a happy land do I inquire, Island or grove, that hides a blessed few Who, with obedience willing and sincere, To your serene authorities conform; But whom, I ask, of individual souls,
Have ye withdrawn from passion's crooked ways, Inspired, and thoroughly fortified? If the heart Could be inspected to its inmost folds
By sight undazzled with the glare of praise,
Who shall be named-in the resplendent line Of sages, martyrs, confessors-the man
On humble life, forbid the judging mind To trust the smiling aspect of this fair
Whom the best might of conscience, truth and hope, And noiseless commonwealth. The simple race
For one day's little compass has preserved From painful and discreditable shocks Of contradiction, from some vague desire Culpably cherish'd, or corrupt relapse To some unsanction'd fear?"
And man," said I, "be in his noblest shape Thus pitiably infirm; then, He who made, And who shall judge the creature, will forgive. Yet, in its general tenor, your complaint
Is all too true; and surely not misplaced:
Of mountaineers (by nature's self removed From foul temptations, and by constant care Of a good shepherd tended as themselves
Do tend their flocks) partake man's general lot With little mitigation. They escape, Perchance, guilt's heavier woes; and do not feel The tedium of fantastic idleness;
Yet life, as with the multitude, with them,
Is fashion'd like an ill-constructed tale; That on the outset wastes its gay desires, Its fair adventures, its enlivening hopes,
For, from this pregnant spot of ground, such And pleasant interests-for the sequel leaving
Rise to the notice of a serious mind
By natural exhalation. With the dead In their repose, the living in their mirth, Who can reflect, unmoved, upon the round Of smooth and solemnized complacencies, By which, on Christian lands, from age to age Profession mocks performance. Earth is sick, And heaven is weary, of the hollow words Which states and kingdoms utter when they talk Of truth and justice. Turn to private life And social neighbourhood; look we to ourselves; A light of duty shines on every day
For all; and yet how few are warm'd or cheer'd! How few who mingle with their fellow men And still remain self-govern'd, and apart, Like this our honour'd friend: and thence acquire Right to expect his vigorous decline, That promises to th' end a blest old age!" "Yet," with a smile of triumph thus exclaim'd The solitary," in the life of man, If to the poetry of common speech Faith may be given, we see as in a glass A true reflection of the circling year, With all its seasons. Grant that spring is there, In spite of many a rough, untoward blast, Hopeful and promising with buds and flowers; Yet where is glowing summer's long rich day, That ought to follow faithfully express'd? And mellow autumn, charged with bounteous fruit, Where is she imaged? in what favour'd clime Her lavish pomp, and ripe magnificence? Yet, while the better part is miss'd, the worse In man's autumnal season is set forth With a resemblance not to be denied, And that contents him; bowers that hear no more The voice of gladness, less and less supply Of outward sunshine and internal warmth; And, with this change, sharp air and falling leaves, Foretelling total winter, blank and cold.
"How gay the habitations that bedeck This fertile valley! Not a house but seems To give assurance of content within; Imbosom'd happiness, and placid love; As if the sunshine of the day were met With answering brightness in the hearts of all Who walk this favour'd ground.
And notice forced upon incurious ears; These, if these only, acting in despite
Of the encomiums by my friend pronounced
Old things repeated with diminish'd grace; And all the labour'd novelties at best Imperfect substitutes, whose use and power Evince the want and weakness whence they spring." While in this serious mood we held discourse, The reverend pastor toward the churchyard gate Approach'd; and, with a mild, respectful air Of native cordiality, our friend Advanced to greet him. With a gracious mien Was he received, and mutual joy prevail'd. Awhile they stood in conference, and I guess That he, who now upon the mossy wall Sate by my side, had vanish'd, if a wish Could have transferr'd him to his lonely house Within the circuit of those guardian rocks. For me, I look'd upon the pair, well pleased Nature had framed them both, and both were mark'd By circumstance, with intermixture fine Of contrast and resemblance. To an oak Hardy and grand, a weather-beaten oak, Fresh in the strength and majesty of age, One might be liken'd: flourishing appear'd, Though somewhat past the fulness of his prime, The other-like a stately sycamore, That spreads, in gentler pomp, its honey'd shade. A general greeting was exchanged: and soon The pastor learn'd that his approach had given A welcome interruption to discourse Grave, and in truth too often sad. A child of hope? Do generations press On generations, without progress made? Halts the individual, ere his hairs be gray, Perforce? Are we a creature in whom good Preponderates, or evil? Doth the will Acknowledge reason's law? A living power Is virtue, or no better than a name, Fleeting as health, or beauty, and unsound? So that the only substance which remains, (For thus the tenor of complaint hath run,) Among so many shadows, are the pains And penalties of miserable life,
« ՆախորդըՇարունակել » |