_Poet's Address to the State and Church of England--The Pastor
not inferior to the ancient Worthies of the Church--He begins his
Narratives with an instance of unrequited Love--Anguish of mind
subdued, and how--The lonely Miner--An instance of perseverance--Which
leads by contrast to an example of abused talents, irresolution, and
weakness--Solitary, applying this covertly to his own case, asks for an
instance of some Stranger, whose dispositions may have led him to end
his days here--Pastor, in answer, gives an account of the harmonising
influence of Solitude upon two men of opposite principles, who had
encountered agitations in public life--The rule by which Peace may
be obtained expressed, and where--Solitary hints at an overpowering
Fatality--Answer of the Pastor--What subjects he will exclude from his
Narratives--Conversation upon this--Instance of an unamiable character,
a Female, and why given--Contrasted with this, a meek sufferer, from
unguarded and betrayed love--Instance of heavier guilt, and its
consequences to the Offender--With this instance of a Marriage Contract
broken is contrasted one of a Widower, evidencing his faithful affection
towards his deceased wife by his care of their female Children._[510]
Hail to the crown by Freedom shaped--to gird
An English Sovereign's brow! and to the throne
Whereon he sits! Whose deep foundations lie
In veneration and the people's love;
Whose steps are equity, whose seat is law. 5
--Hail to the State of England! And conjoin
With this a salutation as devout,
Made to the spiritual fabric of her Church;
Founded in truth; by blood of Martyrdom
Cemented; by the hands of Wisdom reared 10
In beauty of holiness, with ordered pomp,
Decent and unreproved. The voice, that greets
The majesty of both, shall pray for both;
That, mutually protected and sustained,[HA]
They may endure long as the sea[511] surrounds 15
This favoured Land, or sunshine warms her soil.
And O, ye swelling hills, and spacious plains!
Besprent from shore to shore with steeple-towers,
And spires whose 'silent finger points to heaven;'[HB]
Nor wanting, at wide intervals, the bulk 20
Of ancient minster lifted above the cloud
Of the dense air, which town or city breeds
To intercept the sun's glad beams--may ne'er
That true succession fail of English hearts,
Who, with ancestral feeling, can perceive[512] 25
What in those holy structures ye possess
Of ornamental interest, and the charm
Of pious sentiment diffused afar,
And human charity, and social love.
--Thus never shall the indignities of time 30
Approach their reverend graces, unopposed;
Nor shall the elements be free to hurt
Their fair proportions; nor the blinder rage
Of bigot zeal madly to overturn;
And, if the desolating hand of war 35
Spare them, they shall continue to bestow,
Upon the thronged abodes of busy men
(Depraved, and ever prone to fill the mind[513]
Exclusively with transitory things)
An air and mien of dignified pursuit; 40
Of sweet civility, on rustic wilds.
The Poet, fostering for his native land
Such hope, entreats that servants may abound
Of those pure altars worthy; ministers
Detached from pleasure, to the love of gain 45
Superior, insusceptible of pride,
And by ambitious[514] longings undisturbed;
Men, whose delight is where their duty leads
Or fixes them; whose least distinguished day
Shines with some portion of that heavenly lustre 50
Which makes the sabbath lovely in the sight
Of blessed angels, pitying human cares.
--And, as on earth it is the doom of truth
To be perpetually attacked by foes
Open or covert, be that priesthood still, 55
For her defence, replenished with a band
Of strenuous champions, in scholastic arts
Thoroughly disciplined; nor (if in course
Of the revolving world's disturbances
Cause should recur, which righteous Heaven avert!
To meet such trial) from their spiritual sires 61
Degenerate; who, constrained to wield the sword
Of disputation, shrunk not, though assailed
With hostile din, and combating in sight
Of angry umpires, partial and unjust; 65
And did, thereafter, bathe their hands in fire,[HC]
So to declare the conscience satisfied:
Nor for their bodies would accept release;
But, blessing God and praising him, bequeathed 69
With their last breath, from out the smouldering flame,
The faith which they by diligence had earned,
Or,[515] through illuminating grace, received,
For their dear countrymen, and all mankind.
O high example, constancy divine!
Even such a Man (inheriting the zeal 75
And from the sanctity of elder times
Not deviating,--a priest, the like of whom,
If multiplied, and in their stations set,
Would o'er the bosom of a joyful land
Spread true religion and her genuine fruits) 80
Before me stood that day; on holy ground
Fraught with the relics of mortality,
Exalting tender themes, by just degrees
To lofty raised; and to the highest, last;
The head and mighty paramount of truths,-- 85
Immortal life, in never-fading worlds,
For mortal creatures, conquered and secured.
That basis laid, those principles of faith
Announced, as a preparatory act
Of reverence done to the spirit of the place,[516] 90
The Pastor cast his eyes upon the ground;
Not, as before, like one oppressed with awe,
But with a mild and social cheerfulness;
Then to the Solitary turned, and spake.
"At morn or eve, in your retired domain, 95
Perchance you not unfrequently have marked
A Visitor--in quest of herbs and flowers;[517]
Too delicate employ, as would appear,
For one, who, though of drooping mien, had yet
From nature's kindliness received a frame 100
Robust as ever rural labour bred."
The Solitary answered: "Such a Form
Full well I recollect. We often crossed
Each other's path; but, as the Intruder seemed
Fondly to prize the silence which he kept, 105
And I as willingly did cherish mine,
We met, and passed, like shadows. I have heard,
From my good Host, that being crazed in brain
By unrequited love, he scaled the rocks,[518]
Dived into caves, and pierced the matted woods, 110
In hope to find some virtuous herb of power
To cure his malady!"
The Vicar smiled,--
"Alas! before to-morrow's sun goes down
His habitation will be here: for him
That open grave is destined."[HD]
"Died he then
Of pain and grief?" the Solitary asked, 116
"Do not believe it; never could that be!"[519]
"He loved," the Vicar answered, "deeply loved,
Loved fondly, truly, fervently; and dared
At length to tell his love, but sued in vain;[520] 120
Rejected, yea repelled; and, if with scorn
Upon the haughty maiden's brow, 'tis but
A high-prized plume which female Beauty wears
In wantonness of conquest, or puts on
To cheat the world, or from herself to hide 125
Humiliation, when no longer free,
_That_ he could brook,[521] and glory in;--but when
The tidings came that she whom he had wooed
Was wedded to another, and his heart
Was forced to rend away its only hope; 130
Then, Pity could have scarcely found on earth
An object worthier of regard than he,
In the transition of that bitter hour!
Lost was she, lost; nor could the Sufferer say
That in the act of preference he had been 135
Unjustly dealt with; but the Maid was gone!
Had vanished[522] from his prospects and desires;
Not by translation to the heavenly choir
Who have put off their mortal spoils--ah no!
She lives another's wishes to complete,-- 140
'Joy be their lot, and happiness,' he cried,
'His lot and hers, as misery must be mine!'[523]
"Such was that strong concussion; but the Man,
Who trembled, trunk and limbs, like some huge oak
By a fierce tempest shaken, soon resumed 145
The stedfast quiet natural to a mind
Of composition gentle and sedate,
And, in its movements, circumspect and slow.
To books, and to the long-forsaken desk,
O'er which enchained by science he had loved 150
To bend, he stoutly re-addressed himself,
Resolved to quell his pain, and search for truth[524]
With keener appetite (if that might be)
And closer industry. Of what ensued
Within the heart[525] no outward sign appeared 155
Till a betraying sickliness was seen
To tinge his cheek; and through his frame it crept
With slow mutation unconcealable;
Such universal change as autumn makes
In the fair body of a leafy grove 160
Discoloured, then divested.
"'Tis affirmed
By poets skilled in nature's secret ways
That Love will not submit to be controlled
By mastery:--and the good Man lacked not friends
Who strove to instil this truth into his mind, 165
A mind in all heart-mysteries unversed.
'Go to the hills,' said one, 'remit a while
'This baneful diligence:--at early morn
'Court the fresh air, explore the heaths and woods;
'And, leaving it to others to foretell, 170
'By calculations sage, the ebb and flow
'Of tides, and when the moon will be eclipsed,
'Do you, for your own benefit, construct
'A calendar of flowers, plucked as they blow
'Where health abides, and cheerfulness, and peace.' 175
The attempt was made;--'tis needless to report
How hopelessly; but innocence is strong,
And an entire simplicity of mind
A thing most sacred in the eye of Heaven;
That opens, for such sufferers, relief 180
Within the soul, fountains of grace divine;[526]
And doth commend their weakness and disease
To Nature's care, assisted in her office
By all the elements that round her wait
To generate, to preserve, and to restore; 185
And by her beautiful array of forms
Shedding sweet influence from above; or pure
Delight exhaling from the ground they tread."
"Impute it not to impatience, if," exclaimed
The Wanderer, "I infer that he was healed 190
By perseverance in the course prescribed."
"You do not err: the powers, that[527] had been lost
By slow degrees, were gradually regained;
The fluttering nerves composed; the beating heart
In rest established; and the jarring thoughts 195
To harmony restored.--But yon dark mould
Will cover him, in the fulness of his strength,[528]
Hastily smitten by a fever's force;
Yet not with stroke so sudden as refused
Time to look back with tenderness on her 200
Whom he had loved in passion; and to send
Some farewell words--with one, but one, request;[529]
That, from his dying hand, she would accept
Of his possessions that which most he prized;
A book, upon whose leaves some chosen plants, 205
By his own hand disposed with nicest care,[530]
In undecaying beauty were preserved;[HE]
Mute register, to him, of time and place,
And various fluctuations in the breast;
To her, a monument of faithful love 210
Conquered, and in tranquillity retained!
"Close to his destined habitation, lies
One who achieved a humbler victory,
Though marvellous in its kind. A place there is[531]
High in these mountains, that allured a band 215
Of keen adventurers to unite their pains
In search of precious ore: they tried, were foiled--[532]
And all desisted, all, save him alone.
He,[533] taking counsel of his own clear thoughts,
And trusting only to his own weak hands, 220
Urged unremittingly the stubborn work,
Unseconded, uncountenanced; then, as time
Passed on, while still his lonely efforts found
No recompense, derided; and at length,
By many pitied, as insane of mind; 225
By others dreaded as the luckless thrall
Of subterranean Spirits feeding hope
By various mockery of sight and sound;
Hope after hope, encouraged and destroyed.
--But when the lord of seasons had matured 230
The fruits of earth through space of twice ten years,
The mountain's entrails offered to his view
And trembling grasp the long-deferred reward.[534]
Not with more transport did Columbus greet
A world, his rich discovery![HF] But our Swain, 235
A very hero till his point was gained,
Proved all unable to support the weight
Of prosperous fortune. On the fields he looked
With an unsettled liberty of thought,
Wishes and endless schemes; by daylight walked[535]
Giddy and restless; ever and anon 241
Quaffed in his gratitude immoderate cups;
And truly might be said to die of joy!
He vanished; but conspicuous to this day
The path remains that linked his cottage-door 245
To the mine's mouth; a long and slanting track,
Upon the rugged mountain's stony side,
Worn by his daily visits to and from
The darksome centre of a constant hope.
This vestige, neither force of beating rain, 250
Nor the vicissitudes of frost and thaw
Shall cause to fade, till ages pass away;
And it is named, in memory of the event,
The PATH OF PERSEVERANCE."
"Thou from whom
Man has his strength," exclaimed the Wanderer, "oh!
Do thou direct it! To the virtuous grant 256
The penetrative eye which can perceive
In this blind world the guiding vein of hope;
That, like this Labourer, such may dig their way,
'Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified;'[HG] 260
Grant to the wise _his_ firmness of resolve!"
"That prayer were not superfluous," said the Priest,
"Amid the noblest relics, proudest dust,
That Westminster, for Britain's glory, holds
Within the bosom of her awful pile, 265
Ambitiously collected. Yet the sigh,
Which wafts that prayer to heaven, is due to all,
Wherever laid, who living fell below
Their virtue's humbler mark; a sigh of _pain_
If to the opposite extreme they sank. 270
How would you pity her who yonder rests;
Him, farther off; the pair, who here are laid;
But, above all, that mixture of earth's mould[HH]
Whom sight of this green hillock to my mind
Recals!
"_He_ lived not till his locks were nipped 275
By seasonable frost of age; nor died
Before his temples, prematurely forced
To mix the manly brown with silver grey,
Gave obvious instance of the sad effect
Produced, when thoughtless Folly hath usurped 280
The natural crown that[536] sage Experience wears.
Gay, volatile, ingenious, quick to learn,
And prompt to exhibit all that he possessed
Or could perform; a zealous actor, hired
Into the troop of mirth, a soldier, sworn 285
Into the lists of giddy enterprise--
Such was he;[HI] yet, as if within his frame
Two several souls alternately had lodged,
Two sets of manners could the Youth put on;
And, fraught with antics as the Indian bird 290
That writhes and chatters in her wiry cage,
Was graceful, when it pleased him, smooth and still
As the mute swan that floats adown the stream,
Or, on the waters of the unruffled lake,
Anchors her placid beauty. Not a leaf, 295
That flutters on the bough, lighter than he;[537]
And not a flower, that droops in the green shade,
More winningly reserved! If ye enquire
How such consummate elegance was bred
Amid these wilds, this answer may suffice; 300
'Twas Nature's will;[538] who sometimes undertakes,
For the reproof of human vanity,
Art to outstrip in her peculiar walk.
Hence, for this Favourite--lavishly endowed
With personal gifts, and bright instinctive wit, 305
While both, embellishing each other, stood
Yet farther recommended by the charm
Of fine demeanour, and by dance and song,
And skill in letters--every fancy shaped
Fair expectations; nor, when to the world's 310
Capacious field forth went the Adventurer, there
Were he and his attainments overlooked,
Or scantily rewarded; but all hopes,
Cherished for him, he suffered to depart,
Like blighted buds; or clouds that mimicked land 315
Before the sailor's eye; or diamond drops
That sparkling decked the morning grass; or aught
That _was_ attractive, and hath ceased to be!
"Yet, when this Prodigal returned, the rites
Of joyful greeting were on him bestowed, 320
Who, by humiliation undeterred,
Sought for his weariness a place of rest
Within his Father's gates.--Whence came he?--clothed
In tattered garb, from hovels where abides
Necessity, the stationary host 325
Of vagrant poverty; from rifted barns
Where no one dwells but the wide-staring owl
And the owl's prey; from these bare haunts, to which[539]
He had descended from the proud saloon,
He came, the ghost of beauty and of health, 330
The wreck of gaiety! But soon revived
In strength, in power refitted, he renewed
His suit to Fortune; and she smiled again
Upon a fickle Ingrate. Thrice he rose,
Thrice sank[540] as willingly. For he--whose nerves 335
Were used to thrill with pleasure, while his voice
Softly accompanied the tuneful harp,
By the nice finger of fair ladies touched
In glittering halls--was able to derive
No[541] less enjoyment from an abject choice. 340
Who happier for the moment--who more blithe
Than this fallen Spirit? in those dreary holds
His talents lending to exalt the freaks
Of merry-making beggars,--now, provoked
To laughter multiplied in louder peals 345
By his malicious wit; then, all enchained
With mute astonishment, themselves to see
In their own arts outdone, their fame eclipsed,
As by the very presence of the Fiend
Who dictates and inspires illusive feats, 350
For knavish purposes! The city, too,
(With shame I speak it) to her guilty bowers
Allured him, sunk so low in self-respect
As there to linger, there to eat his bread,
Hired minstrel of voluptuous blandishment; 355
Charming the air with skill of hand or voice,
Listen who would, be wrought upon who might,
Sincerely wretched hearts, or falsely gay.
--Such the too frequent tenour of his boast[542]
In ears that relished the report;--but all 360
Was from his Parents happily concealed;
Who saw enough for blame and pitying love.
They also were permitted to receive
His last, repentant breath; and closed his eyes,
No more to open on that irksome world 365
Where he had long existed in the state
Of a young fowl beneath one mother hatched,
Though from another sprung, different in kind:[543]
Where he had lived, and could not cease to live,
Distracted in propensity; content 370
With neither element of good or ill;
And yet in both rejoicing; man unblest;
Of contradictions infinite the slave,
Till his deliverance, when Mercy made him
One with himself, and one with them that sleep."[544] 375
"'Tis strange," observed the Solitary, "strange
It seems, and scarcely less than pitiful,
That in a land where charity provides
For all that[545] can no longer feed themselves,
A man like this should choose to bring his shame 380
To the parental door; and with his sighs
Infect the air which he had freely breathed
In happy infancy. He could not pine,
Through lack of converse;[546] no--he must have found
Abundant exercise for thought and speech, 385
In his dividual being, self-reviewed,
Self-catechised, self-punished.--Some there are
Who, drawing near their final home, and much
And daily longing that the same were reached,
Would rather shun than seek the fellowship 390
Of kindred mould.--Such haply here are laid?"
"Yes," said the Priest, "the Genius of our hills--
Who seems, by these stupendous barriers cast
Round his domain, desirous not alone
To keep his own, but also to exclude 395
All other progeny--doth sometimes lure,
Even by his[547] studied depth of privacy,
The unhappy alien hoping to obtain
Concealment, or seduced by wish to find,
In place from outward molestation free, 400
Helps to internal ease. Of many such
Could I discourse; but as their stay was brief,
So their departure only left behind
Fancies, and loose conjectures. Other trace
Survives, for worthy mention, of a pair 405
Who, from the pressure of their several fates,
Meeting as strangers, in a petty town[HJ]
Whose blue roofs ornament a distant reach
Of this far-winding vale,[HJ] remained as friends 409
True to their choice; and gave their bones in trust
To this loved cemetery, here to lodge
With unescutcheoned privacy interred
Far from the family vault.--A Chieftain one[HK]
By right of birth; within whose spotless breast
The fire of ancient Caledonia burned: 415
He, with the foremost whose impatience hailed
The Stuart, landing to resume, by force
Of arms, the crown which bigotry had lost,
Aroused his clan; and, fighting at their head,
With his brave sword endeavoured to prevent 420
Culloden's fatal overthrow. Escaped
From that disastrous rout, to foreign shores
He fled; and when the lenient hand of time
Those troubles had appeased, he sought and gained,
For his obscured condition, an obscure 425
Retreat, within this nook of English ground.
"The other, born in Britain's southern tract,
Had fixed his milder loyalty, and placed
His gentler sentiments of love and hate,
There, where _they_ placed them who in conscience prized
The new succession, as a line of kings 431
Whose oath had virtue to protect the land
Against the dire assaults of papacy
And arbitrary rule. But launch thy bark
On the distempered flood of public life, 435
And cause for most rare triumph will be thine
If, spite of keenest eye and steadiest hand,
The stream, that bears thee forward, prove not, soon
Or late, a perilous master. He--who oft,
Beneath[548] the battlements and stately trees 440
That round his mansion cast a sober gloom,
Had moralised on this, and other truths
Of kindred import, pleased and satisfied--
Was forced to vent his wisdom with a sigh
Heaved from the heart in fortune's bitterness, 445
When he had crushed a plentiful estate
By ruinous contest, to obtain a seat
In Britain's senate. Fruitless was the attempt:
And while the uproar of that desperate strife
Continued yet to vibrate on his ear, 450
The vanquished Whig,[HL] under a borrowed name,[549]
(For the mere sound and echo of his own
Haunted him with sensations of disgust
That[550] he was glad to lose) slunk from the world
To the deep shade of those[551] untravelled Wilds; 455
In which the Scottish Laird had long possessed
An undisturbed abode. Here, then, they met,
Two doughty champions; flaming Jacobite
And sullen Hanoverian! You might think
That losses and vexations, less severe 460
Than those which they had severally sustained,
Would have inclined each to abate his zeal
For his ungrateful cause; no,--I have heard
My reverend Father tell that, 'mid the calm
Of that small town encountering thus, they filled, 465
Daily, its bowling-green with harmless strife;
Plagued with uncharitable thoughts the church;
And vexed the market-place. But in the breasts
Of these opponents gradually was wrought,
With little change of general sentiment, 470
Such leaning towards[552] each other, that their days
By choice were spent in constant fellowship;
And if, at times, they fretted with the yoke,
Those very bickerings made them love it more. 474
"A favourite boundary to their lengthened walks
This Church-yard was. And, whether they had come
Treading their path in sympathy and linked
In social converse, or by some short space
Discreetly parted to preserve the peace,
One spirit seldom failed to extend its sway 480
Over both minds, when they awhile had marked
The visible quiet of this holy ground,
And breathed its soothing air;--the spirit of hope
And saintly magnanimity; that--spurning
The field of selfish difference and dispute, 485
And every care which transitory things,
Earth and the kingdoms of the earth, create--
Doth, by a rapture of forgetfulness,
Preclude forgiveness, from the praise debarred,
Which else the Christian virtue might have claimed. 490
"There live who yet remember here to have seen
Their courtly figures, seated on the stump
Of an old yew, their favourite resting-place.
But as the remnant of the long-lived tree
Was disappearing by a swift decay, 495
They, with joint care, determined to erect,
Upon its site, a dial,[HM] that might stand
For public use preserved, and thus survive[553]
As their own private monument: for this
Was the particular spot, in which they wished 500
(And Heaven was pleased to accomplish the desire)
That, undivided, their remains should lie.
So, where the mouldered tree had stood, was raised
Yon structure, framing, with the ascent of steps
That to the decorated pillar[HN] lead, 505
A work of art more sumptuous than might seem
To suit this place;[554] yet built in no proud scorn
Of rustic homeliness; they only aimed
To ensure for it respectful guardianship.
Around the margin of the plate, whereon 510
The shadow falls to note the stealthy hours,
Winds an inscriptive legend."--At these words
Thither we turned; and gathered, as we read,
The appropriate sense, in Latin numbers couched:
'_Time flies; it is his melancholy task 515
To bring, and bear away, delusive hopes,
And re-produce the troubles he destroys.
But, while his blindness thus is occupied,
Discerning Mortal! do thou serve the will
Of Time's eternal Master, and that peace, 520
Which the world wants, shall be for thee confirmed!_'[555]
"Smooth verse, inspired by no unlettered Muse,"
Exclaimed the Sceptic, "and the strain of thought
Accords with nature's language;--the soft voice
Of yon white torrent falling down the rocks[HO] 525
Speaks, less distinctly, to the same effect.
If, then, their blended influence be not lost
Upon our hearts, not wholly lost, I grant,
Even upon mine, the more are we required
To feel for those among our fellow-men, 530
Who, offering no obeisance to the world,
Are yet made desperate by 'too quick a sense
Of constant infelicity,'[HP] cut off
From peace like exiles on some barren rock,
Their life's appointed prison; not more free 535
Than sentinels, between two armies, set,
With nothing better, in the chill night air,
Than their own thoughts to comfort them. Say why
That ancient story of Prometheus[HQ] chained
To the bare rock, on frozen Caucasus; 540
The vulture,[556] the inexhaustible repast
Drawn from his vitals? Say what meant the woes
By Tantalus[HR] entailed upon his race,
And the dark sorrows of the line of Thebes?[HS]
Fictions in form, but in their substance truths, 545
Tremendous truths! familiar to the men
Of long-past times, nor obsolete in ours.
Exchange the shepherd's frock of native grey
For robes with regal purple tinged; convert
The crook into a sceptre; give the pomp 550
Of circumstance; and here the tragic Muse
Shall find apt subjects for her highest art.
Amid the groves, under the shadowy hills,[557]
The generations are prepared; the pangs,
The internal pangs, are ready; the dread strife 555
Of poor humanity's afflicted will
Struggling in vain with ruthless destiny."
"Though," said the Priest in answer, "these be terms
Which a divine philosophy rejects,
We, whose established and unfailing trust 560
Is in controlling Providence, admit
That, through all stations, human life abounds
With mysteries;--for, if Faith were left untried,
How could the might, that lurks within her, then
Be shown? her glorious excellence--that ranks 565
Among the first of Powers and Virtues--proved?
Our system is not fashioned to preclude
That sympathy which you for others ask;
And I could tell, not travelling for my theme
Beyond these humble graves, of grievous crimes 570
And strange disasters;[558] but I pass them by,
Loth to disturb what Heaven hath hushed in peace.
--Still less, far less, am I inclined to treat
Of Man degraded in his Maker's sight
By the deformities of brutish vice: 575
For, in such portraits, though a vulgar face[559]
And a coarse outside of repulsive life
And unaffecting manners might at once[560]
Be recognised by all--" "Ah! do not think,"
The Wanderer somewhat eagerly exclaimed, 580
"Wish could be ours that you, for such poor gain,
(Gain shall I call it?--gain of what?--for whom?)
Should breathe a word tending to violate
Your own pure spirit. Not a step we look for
In slight of that forbearance and reserve 585
Which common human-heartedness inspires,
And mortal ignorance and frailty claim,
Upon this sacred ground, if nowhere else."
"True," said the Solitary, "be it far
From us to infringe the laws of charity. 590
Let judgment here in mercy be pronounced;
This, self-respecting Nature prompts, and this
Wisdom enjoins; but if the thing we seek
Be genuine knowledge, bear we then in mind
How, from his lofty throne, the sun can fling 595
Colours as bright on exhalations bred
By weedy pool or pestilential swamp,
As by the rivulet sparkling where it runs,
Or the pellucid lake."
"Small risk," said I,
"Of such illusion do we here incur; 600
Temptation here is none to exceed the truth;
No evidence appears that they who rest
Within this ground, were covetous of praise,
Or of remembrance even, deserved or not.
Green is the Church-yard, beautiful and green, 605
Ridge rising gently by the side of ridge,
A heaving surface, almost wholly free
From interruption of sepulchral stones,
And mantled o'er with aboriginal turf
And everlasting flowers.[HT] These Dalesmen trust 610
The lingering gleam of their departed lives
To oral record,[561] and the silent heart;
Depositories[562] faithful and more kind
Than fondest epitaph: for, if those fail,[563]
What boots the sculptured tomb? And who can blame,
Who rather would not envy, men that feel 616
This mutual confidence; if, from such source,
The practice flow,--if thence, or from a deep
And general humility in death?
Nor should I much condemn it, if it spring 620
From disregard of time's destructive power,
As only capable to prey on things
Of earth, and human nature's mortal part.
"Yet--in less simple districts, where we see
Stone lift its forehead emulous of stone[HU] 625
In courting notice; and the ground all paved
With commendations of departed worth;
Reading, where'er we turn, of innocent lives,
Of each domestic charity fulfilled,
And sufferings meekly borne--I, for my part, 630
Though with the silence pleased that[564] here prevails,
Among those fair recitals also range,
Soothed by the natural spirit which they breathe.
And, in the centre of a world whose soil
Is rank with all unkindness, compassed round 635
With such memorials, I have sometimes felt,
It was[565] no momentary happiness
To have _one_ Enclosure where the voice that speaks
In envy or detraction is not heard;
Which malice may not enter; where the traces 640
Of evil inclinations are unknown;
Where love and pity tenderly unite
With resignation; and no jarring tone
Intrudes, the peaceful concert to disturb
Of amity and gratitude."
"Thus sanctioned," 645
The Pastor said, "I willingly confine
My narratives to subjects that excite
Feelings with these accordant; love, esteem,
And admiration; lifting up a veil,
A sunbeam introducing among hearts 650
Retired and covert; so that ye shall have
Clear images before your gladdened eyes
Of nature's unambitious underwood,
And flowers that prosper in the shade. And when
I speak of such among my flock as swerved 655
Or fell, those only shall be singled out[566]
Upon whose lapse, or error, something more
Than brotherly forgiveness may attend;
To such will we restrict our notice, else
Better my tongue were mute.
"And yet there are, 660
I feel, good reasons why we should not leave
Wholly untraced a more forbidding way.
For, strength to persevere and to support,
And energy to conquer and repel--
These elements of virtue, that declare 665
The native grandeur of the human soul--
Are oft-times not unprofitably shown
In the perverseness of a selfish course:
Truth every day exemplified, no less
In the grey cottage by the murmuring stream 670
Than in[567] fantastic conqueror's roving camp,
Or 'mid[568] the factious senate unappalled
Whoe'er may sink, or rise--to sink again,[569]
As[570] merciless proscription ebbs and flows.
"There," said the Vicar, pointing as he spake, 675
"A woman rests in peace; surpassed by few
In power of mind, and eloquent discourse.
Tall was her stature; her complexion dark
And saturnine;[HV] her head not raised to hold[571] 679
Converse with heaven, nor yet deprest towards earth,
But in projection carried, as she walked
For ever musing. Sunken were her eyes;
Wrinkled and furrowed with habitual thought
Was her broad forehead; like the brow of one
Whose visual nerve shrinks from a painful glare 685
Of overpowering light.--While yet a child,
She, 'mid the humble flowerets of the vale,
Towered like the imperial thistle, not unfurnished
With its appropriate grace, yet rather seeking[572]
To be admired, than coveted and loved. 690
Even at that age she ruled, a sovereign queen,
Over her comrades;[573] else their simple sports,
Wanting all relish for her strenuous mind,
Had crossed her only to be shunned with scorn.[574]
--Oh! pang of sorrowful regret for those[575] 695
Whom, in their youth, sweet study has enthralled,
That they have lived for harsher servitude,
Whether in soul, in body, or estate!
Such doom was hers; yet nothing could subdue
Her keen desire of knowledge, nor efface[576] 700
Those brighter images by books imprest
Upon her memory, faithfully as stars
That occupy their places, and, though oft
Hidden by clouds, and oft bedimmed by haze,
Are not to be extinguished, nor impaired.[577] 705
"Two passions, both degenerate, for they both
Began in honour, gradually obtained
Rule over her, and vexed her daily life;
An unremitting,[578] avaricious thrift;
And a strange thraldom of maternal love, 710
That held her spirit, in its own despite,
Bound--by vexation, and regret, and scorn,
Constrained forgiveness, and relenting vows,
And tears, in pride suppressed, in shame concealed--
To a poor dissolute Son, her only child. 715
--Her wedded days had opened with mishap,
Whence dire dependence. What could she perform
To shake the burthen off? Ah! there was felt,
Indignantly, the weakness of her sex.
She mused, resolved, adhered to her resolve; 720
The hand grew slack in alms-giving, the heart[579]
Closed by degrees to charity; heaven's blessing
Not seeking from that source, she placed her trust[580]
In ceaseless pains--and strictest parsimony
Which sternly hoarded all that could be spared, 725
From each day's need, out of each day's least gain.[581]
"Thus[582] all was re-established, and a pile
Constructed, that sufficed for every end,
Save the contentment of the builder's mind;
A mind by nature indisposed to aught 730
So placid, so inactive, as content;
A mind intolerant of lasting peace,
And cherishing the pang her heart deplored.[583]
Dread life of conflict! which I oft compared
To the agitation of a brook that runs 735
Down a rocky mountain, buried now and lost
In silent pools, now in strong eddies chained;[584]
But never to be charmed to gentleness:
Its best attainment fits of such repose
As timid eyes might shrink from fathoming.[585][HW] 740
"A sudden illness seized her in the strength
Of life's autumnal season.--Shall I tell
How on her bed of death the Matron lay,
To Providence submissive, so she thought;
But fretted, vexed, and wrought upon, almost 745
To anger, by the malady that griped
Her prostrate frame with unrelaxing power,
As the fierce eagle fastens on the lamb?
She prayed, she moaned;--her husband's sister watched
Her dreary pillow, waited on her needs; 750
And yet the very sound of that kind foot
Was anguish to her ears! 'And must she rule,'
This was the death-doomed[586] Woman heard to say
In bitterness, 'and must she rule and reign,
'Sole Mistress of this house, when I am gone? 755
'Tend what I tended,[587] calling it her own!'
Enough;--I fear, too much.--One vernal evening,[588]
While she was yet in prime of health and strength,
I well remember, while I passed her door
Alone,[589] with loitering step, and upward eye 760
Turned towards the planet Jupiter that hung
Above the centre of the Vale, a voice
Roused me, her voice; it said, 'That glorious star
'In its untroubled element will shine
'As now it shines, when we are laid in earth 765
'And safe from all our sorrows.' With a sigh
She spake, yet, I believe, not unsustained
By faith in glory that shall far transcend
Aught by these perishable heavens disclosed
To sight or mind. Nor less than care divine 770
Is divine mercy. She, who had rebelled,
Was into meekness softened and subdued;
Did, after trials not in vain prolonged,
With resignation sink into the grave;
And her uncharitable acts,[590] I trust, 775
And harsh unkindnesses are all forgiven,
Tho', in this Vale, remembered with deep awe."
* * * * *
The Vicar paused; and toward a seat advanced,
A long stone-seat, fixed in the Church-yard wall;[HX]
Part shaded by cool sycamore, and part 780
Offering a sunny resting-place to them[591]
Who seek the House of worship, while the bells
Yet ring with all their voices, or before
The last hath ceased its solitary knoll.
Beneath the shade we all sate down;[592] and there 785
His office, uninvited, he resumed.
"As on a sunny bank, a tender lamb
Lurks in safe shelter from the winds of March,
Screened by its parent, so that little mound
Lies guarded by its neighbour; the small heap 790
Speaks for itself; an Infant there doth rest;
The sheltering hillock is the Mother's grave.[HY]
If mild discourse, and manners that conferred
A natural dignity on humblest rank;
If gladsome spirits, and benignant looks, 795
That for a face not beautiful did more
Than beauty for the fairest face can do;
And if religious tenderness of heart,
Grieving for sin, and penitential tears
Shed when the clouds had gathered and distained 800
The spotless ether of a maiden life;
If these may make a hallowed spot of earth
More holy in the sight of God or Man;
Then, o'er that mould,[593] a sanctity shall brood
Till the stars sicken at the day of doom. 805
"Ah! what a warning for a thoughtless man,
Could field or grove, could[594] any spot of earth,
Show to his eye an image of the pangs
Which it hath witnessed;[HZ] render back an echo
Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod! 810
There, by her innocent Baby's precious grave,
And on the very turf[595] that roofs her own,
The Mother oft was seen to stand, or kneel
In the broad day, a weeping Magdalene.[596]
Now she is not; the swelling turf reports 815
Of the fresh shower, but of poor Ellen's tears
Is silent; nor is any vestige left
Of the path worn by mournful tread of her
Who, at her heart's light bidding, once had moved
In virgin fearlessness, with step that seemed[597] 820
Caught from the pressure of elastic turf
Upon the mountains gemmed[598] with morning dew,
In the prime hour of sweetest scents and airs.
--Serious and thoughtful was her mind; and yet,
By reconcilement exquisite and rare, 825
The form, port, motions, of this Cottage-girl
Were such as might have quickened and inspired
A Titian's hand, addrest to picture forth
Oread or Dryad glancing through the shade
What time the hunter's earliest horn is heard 830
Startling the golden hills.
"A wide-spread elm
Stands in our valley, named THE JOYFUL TREE;[599]
From dateless usage which our peasants hold
Of giving welcome to the first of May
By dances round its trunk.--And if the sky 835
Permit, like honours, dance and song, are paid
To the Twelfth Night, beneath the frosty stars
Or the clear moon. The queen of these gay sports,
If not in beauty yet in sprightly air,
Was hapless Ellen.--No one touched the ground 840
So deftly, and the nicest maiden's locks
Less gracefully were braided;--but this praise,
Methinks, would better suit another place.
"She loved, and fondly deemed herself beloved.
--The road is dim, the current unperceived, 845
The weakness painful and most pitiful,
By which a virtuous woman, in pure youth,
May be delivered to distress and shame.
Such fate was hers.--The last time Ellen danced,
Among her equals, round THE JOYFUL TREE, 850
She bore a secret burthen; and full soon
Was left to tremble for a breaking vow,--
Then, to bewail a sternly-broken vow,
Alone, within her widowed Mother's house.
It was the season of unfolding leaves, 855
Of days advancing toward their utmost length,
And small birds singing happily to mates
Happy as they. With spirit-saddening power
Winds pipe through fading woods; but those blithe notes[600]
Strike the deserted to the heart; I speak 860
Of what I know, and what we feel within.
--Beside the cottage in which Ellen dwelt
Stands a tall ash-tree; to whose topmost twig
A thrush resorts, and annually chants,
At morn and evening from that naked perch, 865
While all the undergrove is thick with leaves,
A time-beguiling ditty, for delight
Of his fond partner, silent in the nest.
--'Ah why,' said Ellen, sighing to herself,
'Why do not words, and kiss, and solemn pledge; 870
And nature that is kind in woman's breast,
And reason that in man is wise and good,
And fear of him who is a righteous judge;
Why do not these prevail for human life,
To keep two hearts together, that began 875
Their spring-time with one love, and that have need
Of mutual pity and forgiveness, sweet
To grant, or be received; while that poor bird--
O come and hear him! Thou who hast to me
Been faithless, hear him, though a lowly creature,
One of God's simple children that yet know not 881
The universal Parent, how he sings
As if he wished the firmament of heaven
Should listen, and give back to him the voice
Of his triumphant constancy and love; 885
The proclamation that he makes, how far
His darkness doth transcend our fickle light!'
"Such was the tender passage, not by me
Repeated without loss of simple phrase,
Which I perused, even as the words had been 890
Committed by forsaken Ellen's hand
To the blank margin of a Valentine,
Bedropped with tears. 'Twill please you to be told
That, studiously withdrawing from the eye
Of all companionship, the Sufferer yet 895
In lonely reading found a meek resource:
How thankful for the warmth of summer days,
When she could slip into the cottage-barn,
And find a secret oratory there;
Or, in the garden, under friendly veil 900
Of their long twilight, pore upon her book[601]
By the last lingering help of the open sky
Until dark night[602] dismissed her to her bed!
Thus did a waking fancy sometimes lose
The unconquerable pang of despised love.[IA] 905
"A kindlier passion opened[603] on her soul
When that poor Child was born. Upon its face
She gazed[604] as on a pure and spotless gift
Of unexpected promise, where a grief
Or dread was all that had been thought of,--joy 910
Far livelier than bewildered traveller feels,
Amid a perilous waste that all night long
Hath harassed him toiling through fearful storm,[605]
When he beholds the first pale speck serene
Of day-spring, in the gloomy east, revealed, 915
And greets it with thanksgiving. 'Till this hour,'
Thus, in her Mother's hearing Ellen spake,
'There was a stony region in my heart;
'But He, at whose command the parched rock
'Was smitten, and poured forth a quenching stream,
'Hath softened that obduracy, and made 921
'Unlooked-for gladness in the desert place,
'To save the perishing; and, henceforth, I breathe
'The air with cheerful spirit, for thy sake[606]
'My Infant! and for that good Mother dear, 925
'Who bore me; and hath prayed for me in vain;--
'Yet not in vain; it shall not be in vain.'
She spake, nor was the assurance unfulfilled;
And if heart-rending thoughts would oft return,
They stayed not long.--The blameless Infant grew;
The Child whom Ellen and her Mother loved 931
They soon were proud of; tended it and nursed;
A soothing comforter, although forlorn;
Like a poor singing-bird from distant lands;
Or a choice shrub, which he, who passes by 935
With vacant mind, not seldom may observe
Fair-flowering in a thinly-peopled house,
Whose window, somewhat sadly, it adorns.
"Through four months' space the Infant drew its food
From the maternal breast; then scruples rose; 940
Thoughts, which the rich are free from, came and crossed
The fond affection.[607] She no more could bear
By her offence to lay a two-fold weight
On a kind parent willing to forget
Their slender means: so, to that parent's care 945
Trusting her child, she left their common home,
And undertook with dutiful content[608]
A Foster-mother's office.
"'Tis, perchance,
Unknown to you that in these simple vales
The natural feeling of equality 950
Is by domestic service unimpaired;[IB]
Yet, though such service be, with us, removed
From sense of degradation, not the less
The ungentle mind can easily find means
To impose severe restraints and laws unjust, 955
Which hapless Ellen now was doomed to feel:
For (blinded by an over-anxious dread
Of such excitement and divided thought[609]
As with her office would but ill accord)[610]
The pair, whose infant she was bound to nurse, 960
Forbad her all communion with her own:
Week after week, the mandate they enforced.[611]
--So near! yet not allowed, upon that sight
To fix her eyes-alas! 'twas hard to bear!
But worse affliction must be borne--far worse; 965
For 'tis Heaven's will--that, after a disease
Begun and ended within three days' space,
Her child should die; as Ellen now exclaimed,
Her own--deserted child!--Once, only once,
She saw it in that mortal malady; 970
And, on the burial-day, could scarcely gain
Permission to attend its obsequies.
She reached the house, last of the funeral train;
And some one, as she entered, having chanced
To urge unthinkingly their prompt departure, 975
'Nay,' said she, with commanding look, a spirit
Of anger never seen in her before,
'Nay, ye must wait my time!' and down she sate,
And by the unclosed coffin kept her seat
Weeping and looking, looking on and weeping, 980
Upon the last sweet slumber of her Child,
Until at length her soul was satisfied.
"You see the Infant's Grave; and to this spot,
The Mother, oft as she was sent abroad,
On whatsoever errand, urged her steps: 985
Hither she came; here stood, and sometimes knelt[612]
In the broad day, a rueful Magdalene!
So call her; for not only she bewailed
A mother's loss, but mourned in bitterness
Her own transgression; penitent sincere 990
As ever raised to heaven a streaming eye!
--At length the parents of the foster-child,
Noting that in despite of their commands
She still renewed and could not but renew
Those visitations, ceased to send her forth; 995
Or, to the garden's narrow bounds, confined.
I failed not to remind them that they erred;
For holy Nature might not thus be crossed,
Thus wronged in woman's breast: in vain I pleaded--
But the green stalk of Ellen's life was snapped, 1000
And the flower drooped; as every eye could see,
It hung its head in mortal languishment.
--Aided by this appearance, I at length
Prevailed; and, from those bonds released, she went
Home to her mother's house.
"The Youth was fled; 1005
The rash betrayer could not face the shame
Or sorrow which his senseless guilt had caused;
And little would his presence, or proof given
Of a relenting soul, have now availed;
For, like a shadow, he was passed away 1010
From Ellen's thoughts; had perished to her mind
For all concerns of fear, or hope, or love,
Save only those which to their common shame,
And to his moral being appertained:
Hope from that quarter would, I know, have brought 1015
A heavenly comfort; there she recognised
An unrelaxing bond, a mutual need;
There, and, as seemed, there only.
"She had built,[613]
Her fond maternal heart had built, a nest
In blindness all too near the river's edge; 1020
That work a summer flood with hasty swell
Had swept away; and now her Spirit longed
For its last flight to heaven's security.
--The bodily frame wasted from day to day;[614]
Meanwhile, relinquishing all other cares, 1025
Her mind she strictly tutored to find peace
And pleasure in endurance. Much she thought,
And much she read; and brooded feelingly
Upon her own unworthiness. To me,
As to a spiritual comforter and friend, 1030
Her heart she opened; and no pains were spared
To mitigate, as gently as I could,
The sting of self-reproach, with healing words.
Meek Saint! through patience glorified on earth!
In whom, as by her lonely hearth she sate, 1035
The ghastly face of cold decay put on
A sun-like beauty, and appeared divine!
May I not mention--that, within those[615] walls,
In due observance of her pious wish,
The congregation joined with me in prayer 1040
For her soul's good? Nor was that office vain.
--Much did she suffer: but, if any friend,
Beholding her condition, at the sight
Gave way to words of pity or complaint,
She stilled them with a prompt reproof, and said, 1045
'He who afflicts me knows what I can bear;
'And, when I fail, and can endure no more,
'Will mercifully take me to himself.'
So, through the cloud of death, her Spirit passed
Into that pure and unknown world of love 1050
Where injury cannot come:--and here is laid
The mortal Body by her Infant's side."
The Vicar ceased; and downcast looks made known
That each had listened with his inmost heart.
For me, the emotion scarcely was less strong 1055
Or less benign than that which I had felt
When seated near my venerable Friend,
Under[616] those shady elms, from him I heard
The story that retraced the slow decline
Of Margaret, sinking on the lonely heath 1060
With the neglected house to which she clung.[617]
--I noted that the Solitary's cheek
Confessed the power of nature.--Pleased though sad,
More pleased than sad, the grey-haired Wanderer sate;
Thanks to his pure imaginative soul 1065
Capacious and serene; his blameless life,
His knowledge, wisdom, love of truth, and love
Of human kind! He was it who first broke
The pensive silence, saying:--
"Blest are they
Whose sorrow rather is to suffer wrong 1070
Than to do wrong, albeit[618] themselves have erred.
This tale gives proof that Heaven most gently deals
With such, in their affliction.--Ellen's fate,
Her tender spirit, and her contrite heart,
Call to my mind dark hints which I have heard 1075
Of one who died within this vale, by doom
Heavier, as his offence was heavier far.
Where, Sir, I pray you, where are laid the bones
Of Wilfred Armathwaite?"
The Vicar answered,
"In that green nook, close by the Church-yard wall, 1080
Beneath yon hawthorn, planted by myself
In memory and for warning, and in sign
Of sweetness where dire anguish had been known,
Of reconcilement after deep offence--
There doth he rest. No theme his fate supplies 1085
For the smooth glozings of the indulgent world;
Nor need the windings of his devious course
Be here retraced;--enough that, by mishap
And venial error, robbed of competence,
And her[619] obsequious shadow, peace of mind, 1090
He craved a substitute in troubled joy;
Against his conscience rose in arms, and, braving
Divine displeasure, broke the marriage-vow.[620]
That which he had been weak enough to do
Was misery in remembrance; he was stung, 1095
Stung by his inward thoughts, and by the smiles
Of wife and children stung to agony.
Wretched at home, he gained no peace abroad;
Ranged through the mountains, slept upon the earth,
Asked comfort of the open air, and found 1100
No quiet in the darkness of the night,
No pleasure in the beauty of the day.
His flock he slighted: his paternal fields
Became a clog to him, whose spirit wished
To fly--but whither! And this gracious Church, 1105
That wears a look so full of peace and hope
And love, benignant mother of the vale,
How fair amid her brood of cottages!
She was to him a sickness and reproach.
Much to the last remained unknown: but this 1110
Is sure, that through remorse and grief he died;
Though pitied among men, absolved by God,
He could not find forgiveness in himself;
Nor could endure the weight of his own shame.
"Here rests a Mother. But from her I turn 1115
And from her grave.--Behold--upon that ridge,
That,[621] stretching boldly from the mountain side,
Carries into the centre of the vale
Its rocks and woods--the Cottage where she dwelt;
And where yet dwells her faithful Partner, left 1120
(Full eight years past) the solitary prop
Of many helpless Children. I begin
With words that[622] might be prelude to a tale
Of sorrow and dejection; but I feel
No sadness, when I think of what mine eyes 1125
See daily in that happy family.
--Bright garland form they for the pensive brow
Of their undrooping Father's widowhood,
Those six fair Daughters, budding yet--not one,
Not one of all the band, a full-blown flower. 1130
Deprest, and desolate of soul, as once
That Father was, and filled with anxious fear,
Now, by experience taught, he stands assured,
That God, who takes away, yet takes not half
Of what he seems to take; or gives it back, 1135
Not to our prayer, but far beyond our prayer;
He gives it--the boon produce of a soil
Which our endeavours have refused to till,
And hope hath never watered. The Abode,
Whose grateful owner can attest these truths, 1140
Even were the object nearer to our sight,
Would seem in no distinction to surpass
The rudest habitations. Ye might think
That it had sprung self-raised from earth, or grown
Out of the living rock, to be adorned 1145
By nature only; but, if thither led,
Ye would discover, then, a studious work
Of many fancies, prompting many hands.
"Brought from the woods the honeysuckle twines
Around the porch, and seems, in that trim place, 1150
A plant no longer wild; the cultured rose
There blossoms, strong in health, and will be soon
Roof-high; the wild pink crowns the garden-wall,
And with the flowers are intermingled stones
Sparry and bright, rough scatterings[623] of the hills. 1155
These ornaments, that fade not with the year,
A hardy Girl continues to provide;
Who, mounting fearlessly the rocky heights,
Her Father's prompt attendant, does for him
All that a boy could do, but with delight 1160
More keen and prouder daring; yet hath she,
Within the garden, like the rest, a bed
For her own flowers and favourite herbs, a space,
By sacred charter, holden for her use.
--These, and whatever else the garden bears 1165
Of fruit or flower, permission asked or not,
I freely gather; and my leisure draws
A not unfrequent pastime from the hum
Of bees around their range of sheltered hives
Busy in that enclosure; while the rill,[624] 1170
That sparkling thrids the rocks, attunes his voice
To the pure course of human life which there
Flows on in solitude. But, when the gloom
Of night is falling round my steps, then most
This Dwelling charms me; often I stop short,[625] 1175
(Who could refrain?) and feed by stealth my sight
With prospect of the company within,
Laid open through the blazing window:--there
I see the eldest Daughter at her wheel
Spinning amain, as if to overtake 1180
The never-halting time; or, in her turn,
Teaching some Novice of the sisterhood
That skill in this or other household work,
Which, from her Father's honoured hand, herself,
While she was yet a little-one, had learned. 1185
Mild Man! he is not gay, but they are gay;
And the whole house seems filled with gaiety.
--Thrice happy, then, the Mother may be deemed,
The Wife, from whose consolatory grave[626]
I turned, that ye in mind might witness where, 1190
And how, her Spirit yet survives on earth!"
_Book Sixth, continued in Editions of 1814 and 1820 only_
"The next three Ridges--those upon the left--
By close connexion with our present thoughts
Tempt me to add, in praise of humble worth,
Their brief and unobtrusive history. 1195
--One Hillock, ye may note, is small and low,
Sunk almost to a level with the plain
By weight of time; the Others, undepressed,
Are bold and swelling. There a Husband sleeps,
Deposited, in pious confidence 1200
Of glorious resurrection with the just,
Near the loved Partner of his early days;
And, in the bosom of that family mold,
A second Wife is gathered to his side;
The approved Assistant of an arduous course 1205
From his mid noon of manhood to old age!
He also of his Mate deprived, was left
Alone--'mid many Children; One a Babe
Orphaned as soon as born. Alas! 'tis not
In course of nature that a Father's wing 1210
Should warm these Little-ones; and can he _feed_?
That was a thought of agony more keen.
For, hand in hand with Death, by strange mishap
And chance-encounter on their diverse road,
The ghastlier shape of Poverty had entered 1215
Into that House, unfeared and unforeseen.
He had stepped forth, in time of urgent need,
The generous Surety of a Friend: and now
The widowed Father found that all his rights
In his paternal fields were undermined. 1220
Landless he was and pennyless.--The dews
Of night and morn that wet the mountain sides,
The bright stars twinkling on their dusky tops,
Were conscious of the pain that drove him forth
From his own door, he knew not when--to range 1225
He knew not where; distracted was his brain,
His heart was cloven; and full oft he prayed,
In blind despair, that God would take them all.
--But suddenly, as if in one kind moment
To encourage and reprove, a gleam of light 1230
Broke from the very bosom of that cloud
Which darkened the whole prospect of his days.
For He, who now possessed the joyless right
To force the Bondsman from his house and lands,
In pity, and by admiration urged 1235
Of his unmurmuring and considerate mind
Meekly submissive to the law's decree,
Lightened the penalty with liberal hand.
--The desolate Father raised his head, and looked
On the wide world in hope. Within these walls, 1240
In course of time was solemnized the vow
Whereby a virtuous Woman, of grave years
And of prudential habits, undertook
The sacred office of a wife to him,
Of Mother to his helpless family. 1245
--Nor did she fail, in nothing did she fail,
Through various exercise of twice ten years,
Save in some partial fondness for that Child
Which at the birth she had received, the Babe
Whose heart had known no Mother but herself. 1250
--By mutual efforts; by united hopes;
By daily-growing help of boy and girl,
Trained early to participate that zeal
Of industry, which runs before the day
And lingers after it; by strong restraint 1255
Of an economy which did not check
The heart's more generous motions tow'rds themselves
Or to their neighbours; and by trust in God;
This Pair insensibly subdued the fears
And troubles that beset their life: and thus 1260
Did the good Father and his second Mate
Redeem at length their plot of smiling fields.
These, at this day, the eldest Son retains:
The younger Offspring, through the busy world,
Have all been scattered wide, by various fates; 1265
But each departed from the native Vale,
In beauty flourishing, and moral worth."