"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 birth-place! 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—
Hereafter, not escaping self-reproach, If from my poor retirement ye had gone Leaving this nook unvisited: but, in sooth, Your unexpected presence had 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 pendent rocks
Confines the shrill-voiced whirlwind, round and round Eddying within its vast circumference,
On Sarum'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 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 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 a leaky dam
Raised for enabling this penurious stream
To turn a slender 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 allurement, for the Soul
To quit the beaten track of life, and soar Far as she finds a yielding element
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