That it is ended." At these words he turned-
And, with blithe air of open fellowship,
Brought from the cupboard wine and stouter cheer,
Like one who would be merry. Seeing this.
My gray-haired friend said courteously-"ay, nay,
You have regaled us as a hermit ought;
Now let us forth into the sun!"-Our host
Rose, though reluctantly, and forth we went.
Images in the valley-Another recess in it entered and described-Wanderer's sensations-Soll tary's excited by the same objects-Contrast between these-Despondency of the Solitary gently reproved-Conversation exhibiting the Solitary's past and present opinions and feelings till he enters upon his own history at length-His domestic felicity-Afflictions-DejectionRoused by the French Revolution-Disappointment and disgust-Voyage to America-Dis appointment and disgust pursue him-His return-His languor and depression of mind, from want of faith in the great truths of religion, and want of confidence in the virtue of mankind.
A HUMMING bee-a little tinkling rill-
A pair of falcons wheeling on the wing,
In clamorous agitation, round the crest
Of a tall rock, their airy citadel
By each and all of these the pensive ear
Was greeted in the silence that ensued,
When through the cottage threshold we had passed,
And, deep within that lonesome valley, stood
Once more, beneath the concave of a blue
And cloudless sky. -Anon ! exclaimed our host,
Triumphantly dispersing with the taunt
The shade of discontent which on his brow
Had gathered,-"Ye have left my cell,-but see
How nature hems you in with friendly arms!
And by her help ye are my prisoners still.
But which way shall I lead you?-how contrive,
In spot so parsimoniously endowed,
That the brief hours, which yet remain, may reap
Some recompense of knowledge or delight?"
So saying, round he looked as if perplexed;
And, to remove those doubts, my gray-haired friend
Said "Shall we take this pathway for our guide -
Upward it winds, as if, in summer heats,
Its line had first been fashioned by the flock
A place of refuge seeking at the root
Of yon black yew-tree; whose protruded boughs
Darken the silver bosom of the crag,
From which she draws her meagre sustenance.
There in commcdious shelter may we rest,
Or let us trace this streamlet to its source;
Feebly it tinkles with an earthy sound,
And a few steps may bring us to the spot
Where, haply, crowned with flowerets and green herbs,
The mountain infant to the sun comes forth,⚫
Like human life from darkness."—A quick turn
Through a strait passage of encumbered ground
Proved that such hope was vain :-for now we stood
Shut out from prospect of the open vale,
And saw the water that composed this rill,
Descending, disembodied and diffused
O'er the smooth surface of an ample crag,
Lofty and steep, and naked as a tower,
All further progress here was barred ;-And whc,
Thought I, if master of a vacant hour,
Here would not linger, willingly detained?
Whether to such wild objects he were led
When copious rains have magnified the stream
Into a loud and white-robed waterfall,
Or introduced at this more quiet time.
Upon a semicirque of turf-clad ground,
The hidden nook discovered to our view
A mass of rock resembling, as it lay
Right at the foot of that moist precipice,
A stranded ship, with keel upturned,-that rests
Fearless of winds and waves. Three several stones
Stood near, of smaller size, and not unlike
To monumental pillars: and from these
Some little space disjoined, a pair were seen,
That with united shoulders bore aloft
A fragment, like an altar, flat and smooth:
Barren the table, yet thereon appeared
A tall and shining holly, that had found
A hospitable chink, and stood upright,
As if inserted by some human hand
In mockery, to wither in the sun,
Or lay its beauty flat before a breeze,
The first that entered. But no breeze did now
Find entrance; high, or low, appeared no trace
Of motion, save the water that descended,
Diffused adown that barrier of steep rock,
And softly creeping, like a breath of air,
Such as is sometimes seen, and hardly seen,
To brush the still breast of a crystal lake.
"Behold a cabinet for sages built,
Which kings might envy!' -Praise to this effect
Broke from the happy old man's reverend lip;
Who to the Solitary turned, and said,
"In sooth, with love's familiar privilege,
You have decried the wealth which is your own,
Among these rocks and stones, methinks, I see
More than the heedless impress that belongs
To lonely nature's casual work they bear
A semblance strange of power intelligent,
And of design not wholly worn away.
Boldest of plants that ever faced the wind,
How gracefully that slender shrub looks forth
From its fantastic birthplace! And I own,
Some shadowy intimations haunt me here,
That in these shows a chronicle survives
Of purposes akin to those of man,
But wrought with mightier arm than now prevails.
Voiceless the stream descends into the gulf
With timid lapse;-and lo! while in this strait
I stand-the chasm of sky above my head
Is heaven's profoundest azure; no domain
For fickle, short-lived clouds to occupy.
Or to pass through, but rather an abyss
In which the everlasting stars abide;
And whose soft gloom, and boundless depth, might tempt
The curious eye to look for them by day.
Hail contemplation! from the stately towers,
Reared by the industrious hand of human art
To lift thee high above the misty air,
And turbulence of murmuring cities vast;
From academic groves, that have for thee
Been planted, hither come and find a lodge
To which thou mayst resort for holier peace,-
From whose calm centre thou, through height or depth
Mayst penetrate, wherever truth shall lead ;
Measuring through all degrees, until the scale
Of time and conscious nature disappear,
Lost in unsearchable eternity!"
A pause ensued; and with minuter care
We scanned the various features of the scene:
And soon the tenant of that lonely vale
With courteous voice thus spake-
"I should have grieved
Hereafter, not escaping self-reproach,
If from my poor retirement ye had gone
Leaving this nook unvisited: but, in sooth,
Your unexpected presence has so roused
My spirits, that they were bent on enterprise;
And, like an ardent hunter, I forgot,
Or, shall I say?—disdained, the game that lurks
At my own door. The shapes before our eyes,
And their arrangement, doubtless must be deemed
The sport of nature, aided by blind chance,
Rudely to mock the works of toiling man.
And hence, this upright shaft of unhewn stone,
From fancy, willing to set off her stores
By sounding titles, hath acquired the name
Of Pompey's pillar; that I gravely style
My Theban obelisk; and, there, behold
A Druid cromlech !-thus I entertain
The antiquarian humour, and am pleased
To skim along the surfaces of things,
Beguiling harmlessly the listless hours.
But, if the spirit be oppressed by sense
Of instability, revolt, decay,
And change, and emptiness, these freaks of nature
And her blind helper chance, do then suffice
To quicken, and to aggravate-to feed
Pity and scorn, and melancholy pride,
Not less than that huge pile (from some abyss
Of mortal power unquestionably sprung)
Whose hoary diadem of pendant rocks
Confines the shrill-voiced whirlwind, round and round
Eddying within its vast circumference,
On Šarum's naked plain ;-than pyramid
Of Egypt, unsubverted, undissolved;
Or Syria's marble ruins towering high
Above the sandy desert, in the light
Of sun or moon.- Forgive me, if I say
That an appearance, which hath raised your minds
To an exalted pitch, (the self-same cause
Different effect producing) is for me
Fraught rather with depression than delight,
Though shame it were, could I not look around,
By the reflection of your pleasure, pleased.
Yet happier, in my judgment, even than you
With your bright transports fairly may be deemed,
The wandering herbalist,-who, clear alike
From vain, and, that worse evil, vexing thoughts,
Casts, if he ever chance to enter here,
Upon these uncouth forms a slight regard
Of transitory interest, and peeps round
For some rare floweret of the hills, or plant
Of craggy fountain; what he hopes for wins,
Or learns, at least, that 'tis not to be won :
Then, keen and eager, as a fine-nosed hound
By soul-engrossing instinct driven along
Through wood or open field, the harmless man
Departs, intent upon his onward quest !
Nor is that fellow-wanderer, so deem I,
Less to be envied, (you may trace him oft
By scars which his activity has left
Beside our roads and pathways, though, thank Heaven!
This covert nook reports not of his hand,)
He, who with pocket hammer smites the edge
Of luckless rock or prominent stone, disguised
In weather-stains, or crusted o'er by nature
With her first growths-detaching by the stroke
A chip, or splinter-to resolve his doubts;
And, with that ready answer satisfied,
The substance classes by some barbarous name,
And hurries on; or from the fragments picks
His specimen, if but haply interveined
With sparkling mineral, or should crystal cube
Lurk in its cells-and thinks himself enriched,
Wealthier, and doubtless wiser, than before !
Intrusted safely-each to his pursuit
Earnest alike, let both from hill to hill
Range; if it please them, speed from clime to clime;
The mind is full-no pain is in their sport."
"Then," said I, interposing; "one is near,
Who cannot but possess in your esteem
Place worthier still of envy. May I name,
Without offence, that fair-faced cottage-boy?
Dame nature's pupil of the lowest form,
Youngest apprentice in the school of art!
Him, as we entered from the open glen,
You might have noticed, busily engaged,
Heart, soul, and hands,-in mending the defects
Left in the fabric of the leaky dam,
Raised for enabling this penurious stream
To turn a siender mill (that new-made plaything)
For his delight-the happiest he of all !"
"Far happiest,' answered the desponding man,
"If such as now he is, he might remain !
Ah! what avails imagination high
Or question deep? what profits all that earth,
Or heaven's blue vault, is suffered to put forth
Of impulse or aliurement, for the soul
To quit the beaten track of life, and soar
Far as she finds a yielding element
In past or future; far as she can go
Through time or space; if neither in the one,
Nor in the other region, nor in aught
That fancy, dreaming o'er the map of things,
Hath placed beyond these penetrable bounds,
Words of assurance can be heard; if nowhere
A habitation for consummate good,
Nor for progressive virtue, by the search
Can be attained, a better sanctuary
From doubt and sorrow, than the senseless grave?"
"Is this," the gray-haired wanderer mildly said, "The voice, which we so lately overheard, To that same child, addressing tenderly The consolations of a hopeful mind?
His body is at rest, his soul in heaven.'
These were your words; and, verily, methinks
Wisdom is oft-times nearer when we stoop
Than when we soar."
The other, not displeased,
Promptly replied,-"My notion is the same.
And I, without reluctance, could decline
All act of inquisition whence we rise,
And what, when breath had ceased, we may become. Here are we, in a bright and breathing world
Our origin, what matters it? In lack
Of worthier explanation, say at once
With the American (a thought which suits
The place where now we stand) that certain men
Leap out together from a rocky cave;
And these were the first parents of mankind :
Or, if a different image be recalled
By the warm sunshine, and the jocund voice
Of insects-chirping out their careless lives
On these soft beds of thyme-besprinkled turf,
Choose, with the gay Athenian, a conceit
As sound-blithe race! whose mantles were bedecked
With golden grasshoppers, in sign that they
Had sprung, like those bright creatures, from the soil Whereon their endless generations dwelt.
But stop!-these theoretic fancies jar
On serious minds; then, as the Hindoos draw
Their holy Ganges from a skyey fount,
Even so deduce the stream of human life
From seats of power divine; and hope, or trust,
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