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 grey-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 hath 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
Leapt 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 skiey fount,

Even so deduce the stream of human life

From seats of power divine; and hope, or trust,
That our existence winds her stately course
Beneath the sun, like Ganges, to make part
Of a living ocean; or, to sink engulfed,

Like Niger, in impenetrable sands

And utter darkness: thought which may be faced, Though comfortless!

Not of myself I speak ;

Such acquiescence neither doth imply,

In me, a meekly-bending spirit soothed
By natural piety; nor a lofty mind,
By philosophic discipline prepared

For calm subjection to acknowledged law;

Pleased to have been, contented not to be.

Such palms I boast not ;-no! to me, who find,
Reviewing my past way, much to condemn,
Little to praise, and nothing to regret,
(Save some remembrances of dream-like joys
That scarcely seem to have belonged to me)
If I must take my choice between the pair
That rule alternately the weary hours,
Night is than day more acceptable; sleep
Doth, in my estimate of good, appear

A better state than waking; death than sleep:
Feelingly sweet is stillness after storm,
Though under covert of the wormy ground!

Yet be it said, in justice to myself,
That in more genial times, when I was free
To explore the destiny of human kind
(Not as an intellectual game pursued
With curious subtilty, from wish to cheat
Irksome sensations; but by love of truth
Urged on, or haply by intense delight

In feeding thought, wherever thought could feed)
I did not rank with those (too dull or nice,
For to my judgment such they then appeared,
Or too aspiring, thankless at the best)
Who, in this frame of human life, perceive
An object whereunto their souls are tied
In discontented wedlock; nor did e'er,

From me, those dark impervious shades, that hang

Upon the region whither we are bound,
Exclude a power to enjoy the vital beams
Of present sunshine.-Deities that float
On wings, angelic Spirits! I could muse
O'er what from eldest time we have been told
Of your bright forms and glorious faculties,
And with the imagination be content,
Not wishing more; repining not to tread
The little sinuous path of earthly care,

By flowers embellished, and by springs refreshed.
- Blow winds of autumn!-let your chilling breath
'Take the live herbage from the mead, and strip
'The shady forest of its green attire,—
'And let the bursting clouds to fury rouse
'The gentle brooks!-Your desolating sway,
Sheds,' I exclaimed, 'no sadness upon me,
'And no disorder in your rage I find.
'What dignity, what beauty, in this change
'From mild to angry, and from sad to gay,
Alternate and revolving! How benign,
'How rich in animation and delight,
How bountiful these elements-compared
'With aught, as more desirable and fair,
Devised by fancy for the golden age;
'Or the perpetual warbling that prevails
'In Arcady, beneath unaltered skies,

Through the long year in constant quiet bound,

Night hushed as night, and day serene as day!' -But why this tedious record ?—Age, we know,

Is garrulous; and solitude is apt
To anticipate the privilege of Age.

From far ye come; and surely with a hope
Of better entertainment :-let us hence!"

Loth to forsake the spot, and still more loth
To be diverted from our present theme,
I said, "My thoughts agreeing, Sir, with yours,
Would push this censure farther ;-for, if smiles
Of scornful pity be the just reward
Of Poesy thus courteously employed

In framing models to improve the scheme
Of Man's existence, and recast the world,
Why should not grave Philosophy be styled,
Herself, a dreamer of a kindred stock,
A dreamer yet more spiritless and dull ?
Yes, shall the fine immunities she boasts
Establish sounder titles of esteem

For her, who (all too timid and reserved
For onset, for resistance too inert,

Too weak for suffering, and for hope too tame)
Placed, among flowery gardens curtained round
With world-excluding groves, the brotherhood
Of soft Epicureans, taught-if they

The ends of being would secure, and win
The crown of wisdom-to yield up their souls
To a voluptuous unconcern, preferring
Tranquillity to all things. Or is she,"

I cried, "more worthy of regard, the Power,