Was the commodious walk; a careful hand Had mark'd the line, and strown the surface o'er With pure cerulean gravel, from the heights Fetch'd by the neighbouring brook. The stately fence accompanied our steps; And thus the pathway, by perennial green Guarded and graced, seem'd fashion'd to unite, As by a beautiful yet solemn chain,
The Pastor's mansion with the house of prayer. Like image of solemnity conjoin'd With feminine allurement soft and fair, The mansion's self display'd; a reverend pile With bold projections and recesses deep; Shadowy, yet gay and lightsome as it stood Fronting the noontide sun. We paused to admire The pillar'd porch, elaborately emboss'd; The low wide windows with their mullions old; The cornice richly fretted, of grey stone;
And that smooth slope from which the dwelling rose, By beds and banks Arcadian of gay flowers And flowering shrubs, protected and adorn'd. Profusion bright! and every flower assuming A more than natural vividness of hue, From unaffected contrast with the gloom Of sober cypress, and the darker foil Of yew, in which survived some traces, here Not unbecoming, of grotesque device And uncouth fancy. From behind the roof Rose the slim ash and massy sycamore, Blending their diverse foliage with the green Of ivy, flourishing and thick, that clasp'd The huge round chimneys, harbour of delight For wren and redbreast, where they sit and sing Their slender ditties when the trees are bare. Nor must I pass unnoticed (leaving else The picture incomplete, as it appear'd Before our eyes) a relique of old times Happily spared, a little Gothic niche
Of nicest workmanship; which once had held The sculptured image of some patron saint, Or of the blessed Virgin, looking down On all who enter'd those religious doors.
But lo! where from the rocky garden mount, Crown'd by its antique summer-house, descends, Light as the silver fawn, a radiant girl; For she hath recognized her honour'd friend The Wanderer, ever welcome! A prompt kiss The gladsome child bestows at his request, And, up the flowery lawn as we advance, Hangs on the old man with a happy look, And with a pretty restless hand of love. We enter; need I tell the courteous guise In which the lady of the place received
Our little band, with salutation meet To each accorded? Graceful was her port; A lofty stature undepress'd by time, Whose visitation had not spared to touch The finer lineaments of frame and face;
To that complexion brought which prudence trusts ir And wisdom loves. But when a stately ship Sails in smooth weather by the placid coast On homeward voyage, what if wind and wave, And hardship undergone in various climes, Have caused her to abate the virgin pride, And that full trim of inexperienced hope With which she left her haven-not for this, Should the sun strike her, and the impartial breeze Play on her streamers, doth she fail to assume Brightness and touching beauty of her own, That charm all eyes-so bright to us appear'd This goodly matron, shining in the beams Of unexpected pleasure. Soon the board Was spread, and we partook a plain repast.
Here in cool shelter, while the scorching heat Oppress'd the fields, we sate, and entertain'd The mid-day hours with desultory talk; From trivial themes to general argument Passing, as accident or fancy led,
Or courtesy prescribed. While question rose And answer flow'd, the fetters of reserve
Dropp'd from our minds; and even the shy Recluse Resumed the manners of his happier days;
He in the various conversation bore
A willing, and, at times, a forward part; Yet with the grace of one who in the world Had learn'd the art of pleasing, and had now Occasion given him to display his skill, Upon the stedfast 'vantage ground of truth. He gazed with admiration unsuppress'd Upon the landscape of the sun-bright vale, Seen, from the shady room in which we sate, In soften'd perspective; and more than once Praised the consummate harmony serene Of gravity and elegance, diffused
Around the mansion and its whole domain; Not, doubtless, without help of female taste And female care. "A blessed lot is yours! He said, and with that exclamation breathed A tender sigh; but, suddenly the door Opening, with eager haste two lusty boys Appear'd, confusion checking their delight. Not brothers they in feature or attire, But fond companions, so I guess'd, in field, And by the river side-from which they come, A pair of anglers, laden with their spoil. One bears a willow pannier on his back,
The boy of plainer garb, and more abash'd In countenance-more distant and retired. Twin might the other be to that fair girl Who bounded towards us from the garden mount. Triumphant entry this to him!-for see,
Between his hands he holds a smooth blue stone, On whose capacious surface is outspread Large store of gleaming crimson-spotted trouts ; Ranged side by side, in regular ascent, One after one, still lessening by degrees Up to the dwarf that tops the pinnacle. Upon the board he lays the sky-blue stone With its rich spoil: their number he proclaims; Tells from what pool the noblest had been dragg'd; And where the very monarch of the brook, After long struggle, had escaped at last- Stealing alternately at them and us (As doth his comrade too) a look of pride. And, verily, the silent creatures made A splendid sight, together thus exposed; Dead-but not sullied or deform'd by death, That seem'd to pity what he could not spare.
But oh! the animation in the mien
Of those two boys !-yea in the very words With which the young narrator was inspired, When, as our questions led, he told at large Of that day's prowess! Him might I compare, His look, tones, gestures, eager eloquence, To a bold brook which splits for better speed, And, at the self-same moment, works its way Through many channels, ever and anon Parted and reunited: his compeer
To the still lake, whose stillness is to the eye As beautiful, as grateful to the mind. But to what object shall the lovely girl Be liken'd? She whose countenance and air Unite the graceful qualities of both,
E'en as she shares the pride and joy of both.
My grey-hair'd friend was moved; his vivid eye Glisten'd with tenderness; his mind, I knew, Was full, and had, I doubted not, return'd, Upon this impulse, to the theme erewhile Abruptly broken off. The ruddy boys
Did now withdraw to take their well-earn'd meal; And he (to whom all tongues resign'd their rights With willingness-to whom the general ear Listen'd with readier patience than to strain Of music, lute, or harp,-a long delight,
That ceased not when his voice had ceased), as one Who from truth's central point serenely views The compass of his argument, began
Mildly, and with a clear and steady tone.
DISCOURSE OF THE WANDERER, AND AN EVENING VISIT TO THE LAKE.
Wanderer asserts that an active principle pervades the universe-Its noblest seat the human soul-How lively this principle is in childhood-Hence the delight in old age of looking back upon childhood-The dignity, powers, and privileges of age asserted These not to be looked for generally, but under a just government-Right of a human creature to be exempt from being considered as a mere instrument-Vicious inclinations are best kept under by giving good ones an opportunity to show themselves-The condition of multitudes deplored from want of due respect to this truth on the part of their superiors in society-Former conversation recurred to, and the Wanderer's opinions set in a clearer light-Genuine principles of equality-Truth_placed within reach of the humblest-Happy state of the two boys again adverted to-Earnest wish expressed for a system of national education established universally by govern ment-Glorious effects of this foretold-Wanderer breaks off-Walk to the lake-Embark -Description of scenery and amusements -Grand spectacle from the side of a hillAddress of Priest to the Supreme Being, in the course of which he contrasts with ancient barbarism the present appearance of the scene before him-The change ascribed to Christianity-Apostrophe to his dock, living and dead-Gratitude to the AlmightyReturn over the lake-Parting with the Solitary-Under what circumstances.
"To every form of being is assign'd," Thus calmly spake the venerable sage, "An active principle: howe'er removed From sense and observation, it subsists In all things, in all natures, in the stars Of azure heaven, the unenduring clouds, In flower and tree, in every pebbly stone That paves the brooks, the stationary rocks, The moving waters, and the invisible air. Whate'er exists hath properties that spread Beyond itself, communicating good, A simple blessing, or with evil mix'd; Spirit that knows no insulated spot, No chasm, no solitude; from link to link It circulates, the soul of all the worlds. This is the freedom of the universe; Unfolded still the more, more visible,
The more we know, and yet is reverenced least, And least respected, in the human mind, Its most apparent home. The food of hope Is meditated action; robb'd of this, Her sole support, she languishes and dies. We perish also; for we live by hope And by desire; we see by the glad light, And breathe the sweet air of futurity; And so we live, or else we have no life. To-morrow, nay, perchance, this very hour (For every moment has its own to-morrow),
Those blooming boys, whose hearts are almost sick With present triumph, will be sure to find A field before them freshen'd with the dew Ot other expectations; in which course
Their happy year spins round. The youth obeys A like glad impulse; and so moves the man 'Mid all his apprehensions, cares, and fears; Or so he ought to move. Ah! why in age Do we revert so fondly to the walks
Of childhood, but that there the soul discerns The dear memorial footsteps unimpair'd Of her own native vigour-but for this, That it is given her thence in age to hear Reverberations, and a choral song,
Commingling with the incense that ascends, Undaunted, towards the imperishable heavens, From her own lonely altar? Do not think That good and wise will ever be allow'd, Though strength decay, to breathe in such estat As shall divide them wholly from the stir Of hopeful nature. Rightly is it said That man descends into the vale of years; Yet have I thought that we might also speak, And not presumptuously, I trust, of age, As of a final eminence, though bare In aspect and forbidding, yet a point On which 'tis not impossible to sit In awful sovereignty; a place of power- A throne, which may be liken'd unto his, Who, in some placid day of summer, looks Down from a mountain-top,-say one of those High peaks, that bound the vale where now we are Faint and diminish'd to the gazing eye, Forest and field, and hill and dale, appear, With all the shapes upon their surface spread. But while the gross and visible frame of things Relinquishes its hold upon the sense,
Yea, almost on the mind itself, and seems All unsubstantialized-how loud the voice Of waters, with invigorated peal From the full river in the vale below Ascending! For on that superior height Who sits is disencumber'd from the press Of near obstructions, and is privileged To breathe in solitude, above the host Of ever-humming insects, 'mid thin air That suits not them. The murmur of the leaves, Many and idle, touches not his ear:
This he is freed from, and from thousand notes Not less unceasing, not less vain than these,
By which the finer passages of sense
Are occupied; and the soul, that would incline To listen, is prevented or deterr'd.
"And may it not be hoped that, placed by age In like removal, tranquil, though severe,
We are not so removed for utter loss, But for some favour, suited to our need?
What more than this, that we thereby should gain
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