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Which the mild sunbeam hath not power to pierce.

Ye Thrones that have defied remorse, and cast
Pity away, soon shall ye quake with fear!
For, not unconscious of the mighty debt
Which to outrageous wrong the sufferer owes,
Europe, through all her habitable bounds,
Is thirsting for their overthrow, who yet
Survive, as pagan temples stood of yore,
By horror of their impious rites, preserved;
Are still permitted 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,'
This hallowed grave demands, where rests in
peace

A humble champion of the better cause;
A Peasant-youth, so call him, for he asked
No higher name; in whom Our

showed,

country

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, appeared
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 day-a summer's day of annual pomp And solemn chase-from morn to sultry noon His steps had followed, fleetest of the fleet, The red-deer driven along its native heights With cry of hound and horn; and, from that

toil

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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 disturbed 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 echoed 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 turned aside;
Whether through manly instinct to conceal
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
Intent upon a monumental stone,
Whose uncouth form was grafted on the wall,
Or rather seemed to have grown into the side
Of the rude pile; as oft-times 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
Exclaimed-

"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 fixed his home in this sequestered vale.

is left untold if here he first drew breath,
Or as a stranger reached 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

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Upon unwritten story fondly traced
From sire to son, in this obscure retreat
The Knight arrived, with spear and shield, and
borne

Upon a Charger gorgeously bedecked
His sole companion, and his faithful friend,
With broidered housings. And the lofty Steed-
Whom he, in gratitude, let loose to range
In fertile pastures-was beheld with eyes
Of admiration and delightful awe,
By those untravelled 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, gathered 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 vanished, 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 Arthing, 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 grey-haired Wanderer pensively exclaimed, "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, withered 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 burthen of the old,
And placing trust in privilege confirmed
And re-confirmed-are scoffed at with a smile
Of greedy foretaste, from the secret stand
Of Desolation, aimed 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, enwraps
Their monuments and their memory. The vast
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, oh! how disproportioned to the hopes
And expectations of self-flattering minds!

THE PARSONAGE.

ARGUMENT.

The courteous Knight, whose bones are here

interred,

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, sailed
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 bowed to other laws)
Had also witnessed, in his morn of life,
That violent commotion which o'erthrew,
In town and city and sequestered glen,
Altar and cross, and church of solemn roof,
And old religious house-pile after pile;
And shook their tenants out into the fields,
Like wild beasts without home! Their hour
was come;

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 maddened 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 doomed
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 seem-
lier now

To stop, and yield our gracious Teacher thanks
For the pathetic records which his voice
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 EIGHTH.

Pastor's apology and apprehensions that he might have detained his Auditors too long, with the Pastor's invitation to his houseSolitary disinclined to comply-rallies the Wanderer-and 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 pic-1

ture, and chiefly as it has affected the humbler classes-Wanderer asserts the hollowness of all national grandeur if unsupported by moral worth-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 Cotton-mill-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 Sceptic of the lonely vale
To those acknowledgments subscribed his own,
With a sedate compliance, which the Priest
Failed not to notice, inly pleased, and said:-
"If ye, by whom invited I began
These narratives of calm and humble life,
Be satisfied, 'tis well,--the end is gained;
And, in return for sympathy bestowed
And patient listening, thanks accept from me.
-Life, death, eternity! momentous themes
Are they and might demand a seraph's tongue,
Were they not equal to their own support;
And therefore no incompetence of mine
Could do them wrong. The universal forms
Of human nature, in a spot like this,
Present themselves at once to all men's view:
Ye wished for act and circumstance, that make
The individual known and understood;
And such as my best judgment could select
From what the place afforded have been given;
Though apprehensions crossed me that my zeal
To his might well be likened who unlocks
A cabinet stored with gems and pictures-draws
His treasures forth, soliciting regard
To this, and this, as worthier than the last,
Till the spectator, who awhile was pleased
More than the exhibitor himself, becomes
Weary and faint, and longs to be released.
-But let us hence! my dwelling is in sight,
And there-"

At this the Solitary shrunk
With backward will; but, wanting not address
That inward motion to disguise, he said
To his Compatriot, smiling as he spake;
"The peaceable remains of this good Knight
Would be disturbed, I fear, with wrathful scorn,
If consciousness could reach him where he lies
That one, albeit of these degenerate times,
Deploring changes past, or dreading change
Foreseen, had dared to couple, even in thought,
The fine vocation of the sword and lance
With the gross aims and body-bending toil
Of a poor brotherhood who walk the earth
Pitied, and, where they are not known, despised.
Yet, by the good Knight's leave, the two

estates

Are graced with some resemblance. Errant those,

Exiles and wanderers-and the like are these; Who, with their burthen, traverse hill and dale, Carrying relief for nature's simple wants.

What though no higher recompense be sought
Than honest maintenance, by irksome toil
Full oft procured, yet may they claim respect,
Among the intelligent, for what this course
Enables them to be and to perform.
Their tardy steps give leisure to observe,
While solitude permits the mind to feel:
Instructs, and prompts her to supply defects
By the division of her inward self

For grateful converse: and to these poor mea
Nature I but repeat your favourite boast)
Is bountiful-go wheresoe'er they may;
Kind nature's various wealth is all their own.
Versed in the characters of men; and bound,
By ties of daily interest, to maintain
Conciliatory manners and smooth speech;

Such have been, and still are in their degree,
Examples efficacious to refine
Rude intercourse; apt agents to expel,
By importation of unlooked-for arts,
Barbarian torpor, and blind prejudice ;
Raising, through just gradation, savage life
To rustic, and the rustic to urbane.
-Within their moving magazines is lodged
Power that comes forth to quicken and exalt
Affections seated in the mother's breast,
And in the lover's fancy; and to feed
The sober sympathies of long-tried friends.
-By these Itinerants, as experienced men,
With gentle language; in remotest wilds,
Counsel is given; contention they appease
Tears wipe away, and pleasant tidings bring;
Could the proud quest of chivalry do more?'

"Happy," rejoined the Wanderer, "they who gain

A panegyric from your generous tongue!
But, if to these Wayfarers once pertained
Aught of romantic interest, it is gone.
Their purer service, in this realm at least,
Is past for ever. -An inventive Age
Has wrought, if not with speed of magic, yet
To most strange issues. I have lived to mark
A new and unforeseen creation rise
From out the labours of a peaceful Land
Wielding her potent enginery to frame
And to produce, with appetite as keen
As that of war, which rests not night or day,
Industrious to destroy! With fruitless pains
Might one like me now visit many a tract
Which, in his youth, he trod, and trod again,
A lone pedestrian with a scanty freight,
Wished-for, or welcome, wheresoe'er he came-
Among the tenantry of thorpe and vill;
Or straggling burgh, of ancient charter proud,
And dignified by battlements and towers
Of some stern castle, mouldering on the brow
Of a green hill or bank of rugged stream.
The foot-path faintly marked, the horse-track
wild,

And formidable length of plashy lane,
(Prized avenues ere others had been shaped
Or easier links connecting place with place)
Have vanished-swallowed up by stately roads.
Easy and bold, that penetrate the gloom
Of Britain's farthest glens. The Earth has lent
Her waters, Air her breezes; and the sail
Of traffic glides with ceaseless intercourse,
Glistening along the low and woody dale;
Of some bare hill, with wonder kenned from far.
Or, in its progress, on the lofty side,

Meanwhile, at social Industry's command, How quick, how vast an increase! From the

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Or disappearing; triumph that proclaims
How much the mild Directress of the plough
Owes to alliance with these new-born arts!
-Hence is the wide sea peopled,-hence the
shores

Of Britain are resorted to by ships
Freighted from every climate of the world
With the world's choicest produce. Hence that

sum

Of keels that rest within her crowded ports,
Or ride at anchor in her sounds and bays;
That animating spectacle of sails

That, through her inland regions, to and fro
Pass with the respirations of the tide,
Perpetual, multitudinous! Finally,

Hence a dread arm of floating power, a voice
Of thunder daunting those who would approach
With hostile purposes the blessed Isle,
Truth's consecrated residence, the seat
Impregnable of Liberty and Peace.

And yet, O happy Pastor of a flock Faithfully watched, and, by that loving care And Heaven's good providence, preserved from taint!

With you I grieve, when on the darker side
Of this great change I look; and there behold
Such outrage done to nature as compels
The indignant power to justify herself;
Yea, to avenge her violated rights,
For England's bane.-When soothing darkness
spreads

O'er hill and vale," the Wanderer thus expressed

His recollections, "and the punctual stars, While all things else are gathering to their

homes,

Advance, and in the firmament of heaven
Glitter-but undisturbing, undisturbed;
As if their silent company were charged
With peaceful admonitions for the heart
Of all-beholding Man, earth's thoughtful lord;
Then, in full many a region, once like this
The assured domain of calm simplicity
And pensive quiet, an unnatural light
Prepared for never-resting Labour's eyes
Breaks from a many-windowed fabric huge;
And at the appointed hour a bell is heard,
Of harsher import than the curfew-knoll
That spake the Norman Conqueror's stern
behest-

A local summons to unceasing toil!
Disgorged are now the ministers of day:
And, as they issue from the illumined pile,
A fresh band meets them, at the crowded

door

And in the courts-and where the rumbling

stream,

That turns the multitude of dizzy wheels,
Glares, like a troubled spirit, in its bed
Among the rocks below. Men, maidens,
youths,

Mother and little children, boys and girls,
Enter, and each the wonted task resumes
Within this temple, where is offered up
To Gain, the master idol of the realm,
Perpetual sacrifice. Even thus of old
Our ancestors, within the still domain
Of vast cathedral or conventual church,
Their vigils kept: where tapers day and night
On the dim altar burned continually,

In token that the House was evermore
Watching to God. Religious men were they;
Nor would their reason, tutored to aspire
Above this transitory world, allow
That there should pass a moment of the year
When in their land the Almighty's service
ceased.

Triumph who will in these profaner rites
Which we, a generation self-extolled,
As zealously perform! I cannot share
His proud complacency:-yet do I exult,
Casting reserve away, exult to see
An intellectual mastery exercised
O'er the blind elements; a purpose given,
A perseverance fed; almost a soul
Imparted-to brute matter. I rejoice,
Measuring the force of those gigantic powers
That, by the thinking mind, have been com-
pelled

To serve the will of feeble-bodied Man.
For with the sense of admiration blends
The animating hope that time may come
When, strengthened, yet not dazzled, by the
night

Of this dominion over nature gained,
Men of all lands shall exercise the same
In due proportion to their country's need;
Learning, though late, that all true glory rests,
All praise, all safety, and all happiness,
Upon the moral law. Egyptian Thebes,
Tyre, by the margin of the sounding waves,
Palmyra, central in the desert, fell;
And the Arts died by which they had been
raised.

-Call Archimedes from his buried tomb

Upon the grave of vanished Syracuse,
And feelingly the Sage shall make report
How insecure, how baseless in itself,
Is the Philosophy whose sway depends
On mere material instruments;-how weak
Those arts, and high inventions, if unpropped
By virtue. He, sighing with pensive grief,
Amid his calm abstractions, would admit
That not the slender privilege is theirs
To save themselves from blank forgetfulness!"
When from the Wanderer's lips these words

had fallen,

I said, "And, did in truth those vaunted Arts
Possess such privilege, how could we escape
Sadness and keen regret, we who revere,
And would preserve as things above all price,
The old domestic morals of the land,
Her simple manners, and the stable worth
That dignified and cheered a low estate?
Oh! where is now the character of peace,

Sobriety, and order, and chaste love,
And honest dealing, and untainted speech,
And pure good-will, and hospitable cheer;
That made the very thought of country-life
A thought of refuge, for a mind detained
Reluctantly amid the bustling crowd?
Where now the beauty of the sabbath kept
With conscientious reverence, as a day
By the almighty Lawgiver pronounced
Holy and blest? and where the winning grace
Of all the lighter ornaments attached

To time and season, as the year rolled round?" "Fled!" was the Wanderer's passionate

response.

"Fled utterly! or only to be traced

In a few fortunate retreats like this;
Which I behold with trembling, when I think
What lamentable change a year-a month-
May bring; that brook converting as it runs
Into an instrument of deadly bane

For those who, yet untempted to forsake
The simple occupations of their sires,
Drink the pure water of its innocent stream
With lip almost as pure.-Domestic bliss
(Or call it comfort, by a humbler name,)
How art thou blighted for the poor Man's

heart!

Lo! in such neighbourhood, from morn to eve,
The habitations empty! or perchance
The Mother left alone,-no helping hand
To rock the cradle of her peevish babe;
No daughters round her, busy at the wheel,
Or in dispatch of each day's little growth
Of household occupation; no nice arts
Of needle-work; no bustle at the fire,
Where once the dinner was prepared with
pride;

Nothing to speed the day, or cheer the mind;
Nothing to praise, to teach, or to command!

The Father, if perchance he still retain
His old employments, goes to field or wood,
No longer led or followed by the Sons;
Idlers perchance they were,-but in his sight:
Breathing fresh air, and treading the green
earth;

Till their short holiday of childhood ceased,
Ne'er to return! That birthright now is lost.
Economists will tell you that the State
Thrives by the forfeiture-unfeeling thought,
And false as monstrous! Can the mother thrive
By the destruction of her innocent sons
In whom a premature necessity
Blocks out the forms of nature, preconsumes
The reason, famishes the heart, shuts up
The infant Being in itself, and makes
Its very spring a season of decay!
The lot is wretched, the condition sad,
Whether a pining discontent survive,

And thirst for change; or habit hath subdued
The soul deprest, dejected-even to love
Of her close tasks, and long captivity.

Oh, banish far such wisdom as condemns
A native Briton to these inward chains,
Fixed in his soul, so early and so deep;
Without his own consent, or knowledge, fixed!
He is a slave to whom release comes not,
And cannot come. The boy, where'er he turns,
Is still a prisoner; when the wind is up
Among the clouds, and roars through the
ancient woods:

Or when the sun is shining in the east,
Quiet and calm. Behold him--in the school
Öf his attainments? no; but with the air
Fanning his temples under heaven's blue arch.
His raiment, whitened o'er with cotton-flakes
Or locks of wool, announces whence he comes.
Creeping his gait and cowering, his lip pale,
His respiration quick and audible;

And scarcely could you fancy that a gleam
Could break from out those languid eyes, or a
blush
Mantle his cheek. Is this the form,
upon
Is that the countenance, and such the port,
Of no mean Being? One who should be clothed
With dignity befitting his proud hope;

Who, in his very childhood, should appear
Sublime from present purity and joy!
The limbs increase; but liberty of mind
Is gone for ever; and this organic frame,
So joyful in its motions, is become
Dull, to the joy of her own motions dead;
And even the touch, so exquisitely poured
Through the whole body, with a languid will
Performs its functions; rarely competent
Of what there is delightful in the breeze,
To impress a vivid feeling on the mind
The gentle visitations of the sun,
Or lapse of liquid element-by hand,
Or foot, or lip, in summer's warmth-perceived.
-Can hope look forward to a manhood raised
On such foundations?"

'Hope is none for him!"
The pale Recluse indignantly exclaimed,
"And tens of thousands suffer wrong as deep.
Yet be it asked, in justice to our age,
If there were not, before those arts appeared,
These structures rose, commingling old and
young,

And unripe sex with sex, for mutual taint;
If there were not, then, in our far-famed Isle,
Multitudes, who from infancy had breathed
Air unimprisoned, and had lived at large;
Yet walked beneath the sun, in human shape,
Who sha"! enumerate the crazy huts
As abject, as degraded? At this day,
And tottering hovels, whence do issue forth
A ragged Offspring, with their upright hair
Crowned like the image of fantastic Fear;
Or wearing, (shall we say?) in that white
growth

An ill-adjusted turban, for defence

Or fierceness, wreathed around their sun-burnt

brows,

By savage Nature? Shrivelled are their lips;
Naked, and coloured like the soil, the feet
On which they stand; as if thereby they drew
Some nourishment, as trees do by their roots,
From earth, the common mother of us all.
Figure and mien, complexion and attire,
Are leagued to strike dismay; but outstretched

hand

And whining voice denote them supplicants
For the least boon that pity can bestow.
Such on the breast of darksome heaths are found;
Of furze-clad commons; such are born and
And with their parents occupy the skirts
reared

At the mine's mouth under impending rocks;
Or dwell in chambers of some natural cave;
Or where their ancestors erected huts,
For the convenience of unlawful gain,
In forest purlieus; and the like are bred,
A. England through, where nooks and slips of
ground

Purloined, in times less jealous than our own,
From the green margin of the public way,
A residence afford them, 'mid the bloom
And gaiety of cultivated fields.
Such (we will hope the lowest in the scale)
Do I remember oft-times to have seen
'Mid Buxton's dreary heights. In earnest watch,
Till the swift vehicle approach, they stand;
Then, following closely with the cloud of
dust,

An uncouth feat exhibit, and are gone
Heels over head, like tumblers on a stage.

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