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 vaie.
'Tis 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 seen
With transient observation; and thence caught
An image fair, which, brightening in his soul
When joy of war and pride of chivalry
Languished beneath accumulated years,

Had power to draw him from the world-resolved To make that paradise his chosen home

To which his peaceful fancy oft had turned.

Vague thoughts are these; but, if belief may rest Upon unwritten story fondly traced

From sire to son, in this obscure retreat

The knight arrived, with pomp of spear and shield. And borne upon a charger covered o'er

With gilded housings. And the lofty steed

His sole companion, and his faithful friend,
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 Erthing, 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 gray-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 courteous knight, whose bones are here interred,
Lived in an age conspicuous as our own

For strife and 'erment 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 the 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 seemlier 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 VIII.

ARGUMENT.

Pastor's apprehensions that he might have detained his auditors too long-Invitation to his house -Solitary disinclined to comply-rallies the Wanderer; and somewhat 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 picture, and chiefly as it has affected the humbler classes-Wandered asserts the hollowness of all national grandeur if unsupported by moral worth-gives instances -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-millIgnorance and degradation of children among the agricultural population reviewed-Conversation broken off by a renewed invitation by the pastor-Path leading to his house-Its appearance described-His daughter-His wife-His son (a boy) enters with his companionTheir happy appearance-The Wanderer how affected by the sight of them.

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 `:nown and understood;
And such as my best judgment could select
From what the place afforded have been given;
Though apprehensions crossed me, in the course
Of this self-pleasing exercise, that ye
My zeal to his would liken, who unlocks
A cabinet with gems or pictures stored,
And draws them forth-soliciting regard
To this, and this, as worthier than the last,
Till the spectator, who a while 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 they seek
Than honest maintenance, by irksome toil
Full oft procured, yet such may 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 men
(As I have heard you boast with honest pride)
Nature is bountiful, where'er they go;
Kind nature's various wealth is all their own.
Versed in the characters of men; and bound,
By tie 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,
Counsel is given; contention they appease
With gentle language; in remotest wilds,
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, 'tis 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 interchange,
Glistening along the low and woody dale,
Or on the naked mountain's lofty side.
Meanwhile, at social industry's command,

How quick, how vast an increase! From the germ

Of some poor hamlet, rapidly produced

Here a huge town, continuous and compact,

Hiding the face of earth for leagues—and there,

Where not a habitation stood before,

Abodes of men irregularly massed

Like trees in forests- spread through spacious tracts, O'er which the smoke of unremitting fires

Hangs permanent, and plentiful as wreaths