To lower can you question that the Soul Inherits an allegiance, not by choice To be cast off, upon an oath proposed
By each new upstart Notion? In the ports Of levity no refuge can be found, No shelter, for a spirit in distress. He, who by wilful disesteem of life, And proud insensibility to hope, Affronts the eye of Solitude, shall learn That her mild nature can be terrible; That neither she nor Silence lack the power To avenge their own insulted Majesty.
O blest seclusion! when the Mind admits The law of duty; and can therefore move Through each vicissitude of loss and gain, Linked in entire complacence with her choice; When Youth's presumptuousness is mellowed down, And Manhood's vain anxiety dismissed; When Wisdom shows her seasonable fruit, Upon the boughs of sheltering Leisure hung In sober plenty; when the spirit stoops To drink with gratitude the crystal stream Of unreproved enjoyment; and is pleased. To muse, and be saluted by the air Of meek repentance, wafting wall-flower scents From out the crumbling ruins of fallen Pride And chambers of Transgression, now forlorn. O, calm contented days, and peaceful nights! Who, when such good can be obtained, would strive To reconcile his Manhood to a couch Soft, as may seem, but, under that disguise, Stuffed with the thorny substance of the past, For fixed annoyance; and full oft beset With floating dreams, disconsolate and black, The vapoury phantoms of futurity? "Within the soul a Faculty abides, That with interpositions, which would hide And darken, so can deal, that they become Contingencies of pomp; and serve to exalt Her native brightness. As the ample Moon, In the deep stillness of a summer Even Rising behind a thick and lofty grove, Burns like an unconsuming fire of light, In the green trees; and, kindling on all sides Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil Into a substance glorious as her own, Yea with her own incorporated, by power, Capacious and serene; like power abides In Man's celestial Spirit; Virtue thus Sets forth and magnifies herself; thus feeds A calm, a beautiful, and silent fire, From the encumbrances of mortal life, From error, disappointment, — nay, from guilt And sometimes, so relenting Justice wills, From palpable oppressions of Despair." The Solitary by these words was touched With manifest emotion, and exclaimed,
This single act is all that we demand. Alas! such wisdom bids a Creature fly Whose very sorrow is, that time hath shorn His natural wings! - To Friendship let him turn For succour; but perhaps he sits alone
On stormy waters, in a little Boat
That holds but hin, and can contain no more! Religion tells of amity sublime
Which no condition can preclude; of One Who sees all suffering, comprehends all wants, All weakness fathoms, can supply all needs; But is that bounty absolute? - His gifts, Are they not still, in some degree, rewards For acts of service? Can his Love extend
To hearts that own not Him? Will showers of grace When in the sky no promise may be seen,
Fall to refresh a parched and withered land? Or shall the groaning Spirit cast her load At the Redeemer's feet?"
With some impatience in his mien, he spake; Back to my mind rushed all that had been urged To calm the Sufferer when his story closed; I looked for counsel as unbending now; But a discriminating sympathy Stooped to this apt reply,-
Do, in the constitution of their Souls, Differ, by mystery not to be explained; And as we fall by various ways, and sink One deeper than another, self-condemned, Through manifold degrees of guilt and shame, So manifold and various are the ways Of restoration, fashioned to the steps Of all infirmity, and tending all
To the same point, attainable by all; Peace in ourselves, and union with our God. For you, assuredly, a hopeful road
Lies open: we have heard from You a voice At every moment softened in its course By tenderness of heart; have seen your Eye, Even like an Altar lit by fire from Heaven, Kindle before us. — Your discourse this day, That, like the fabled Lethe, wished to flow In creeping sadness, through oblivious shades Of death and night, has caught at every turn The colours of the Sun. Access for you Is yet preserved to principles of truth, Which the Imaginative Will upholds In seats of wisdom, not to be approached By the inferior faculty that moulds, With her minute and speculative.pains, Opinion, ever changing! - I have seen A curious Child, who dwelt upon a tract
Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped Shell; To which, in silence hushed, his very soul
Listened intensely; and his countenance soon Brightened with joy; for murmurings from within Were heard, sonorous cadences! whereby To his belief, the Monitor expressed Mysterious union with its native Sea.* Even such a Shell the Universe itself
Is to the ear of Faith; and there are times, I doubt not, when to You it doth impart Authentic tidings of invisible things; Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power; And central peace, subsisting at the heart Of endless agitation. Here you stand, Adore, and worship, when you know it not; Pious beyond the intention of your thought; Devout above the meaning of your will.
Yes, you have felt, and may not cease to feel. The estate of Man would be indeed forlorn If false conclusions of the reasoning Power Made the Eye blind, and closed the passages Through which the Ear converses with the heart. Has not the Soul, the Being of your Life, Received a shock of awful consciousness, In some calm scuson, when these lofty Rocks
At night's approach bring down the unclouded Sky, To rest upon their circumambient walls; A Temple framing of dimensions vast, And yet not too enormous for the sound Of human anthems, · choral song, or burst Sublime of instrumental harmony, To glorify the Eternal!
Did never break the stillness that prevails Here, if the solemn Nightingale be mute, And the soft Woodlark here did never chant Her vespers, Nature fails not to provide Impulse and utterance. The whispering Air Sends inspiration from the shadowy heights, And blind recesses of the caverned rocks; The little Rills, and Waters numberless, Inaudible by daylight, blend their notes With the loud Streams: and often, at the hour When issue forth the first pale Stars, is heard, Within the circuit of this Fabric huge, One Voice the solitary Raven, flying Athwart the concave of the dark-blue dome, Unseen, perchance above all power of sight- An iron knell! with echoes from afar
Who, in this spirit, communes with the Forms Of Nature, who with understanding heart Doth know and love such Objects as excite No morbid passions, no disquietude,
No vengeance, and no hatred, needs must feel The joy of that pure principle of Love So deeply, that, unsatisfied with aught Less pure and exquisite, he cannot choose But seek for objects of a kindred love In Fellow-natures and a kindred joy. Accordingly he by degrees perceives His feelings of aversion softened down; A holy tenderness pervade his frame. His sanity of reason not impaired,
Say rather, all his thoughts now flowing clear, From a clear Fountain flowing, he looks round And seeks for good; and finds the good he seeks: Until abhorrence and contempt are things He only knows by name; and, if he hear,
From other mouths, the language which they speak, He is compassionate; and has no thought,
No feeling, which can overcome his love.
"And further; by contemplating these Forms
In the relations which they bear to Man,
He shall discern, how, through the various means Which silently they yield, are multiplied The spiritual Presences of absent Things.
Trust me, that for the Instructed, time will come When they shall meet no object but may teach Some acceptable lesson to their minds Of human suffering, or of human joy.
So shall they learn, while all things speak of Man, Their duties from all forms; and general laws, And local accidents, shall tend alike
To rouse, to urge; and, with the will, confer The ability to spread the blessings wide Of true philanthropy. The light of love Not failing, perseverance from their steps Departing not, for them shall be confirmed The glorious habit by which Sense is made Subservient still to moral purposes, Auxiliar to divine. That change shall clothe The naked Spirit, ceasing to deplore The burthen of existence. Science then Shall be a precious Visitant; and then, And only then, be worthy of her name.
For then her Heart shall kindle; her dull Eye, Dull and inanimate, no more shall hang Chained to its object in brute slavery; But taught with patient interest to watch The processes of things, and serve the cause Of order and distinctness, not for this Shall it forget that its most noble use, Its most illustrious province, must be found In furnishing clear guidance, a support
Not treacherous to the Mind's excursive Power. So build we up the Being that we are; Thus deeply drinking-in the Soul of Things, We shall be wise perforce; and while inspired By choice, and conscious that the Will is free, Unswerving shall we move, as if impelled By strict necessity, along the path Of order and of good. Whate'er we see, Whate'er we feel, by agency direct Or indirect, shall tend to feed and nurse Our faculties, shall fix in calmer seats Of moral strength, and raise to loftier heights Of love divine, our intellectual soul."
Here closed the Sage that eloquent harangue, Poured forth with fervour in continuous stream; Such as, remote, 'inid savage wilderness, An Indian Chief discharges from his breast
Into the hearing of assembled Tribes, In open circle seated round, and hushed As the unbreathing air, when not a leaf Stirs in the mighty woods. So did he speak: The words he uttered shall not pass away; For they sank into me—the bounteous gift Of One whom time and nature had made wise, Gracing his language with authority Which hostile spirits silently allow; Of One accustomed to desires that feed On fruitage gathered from the Tree of Life; To hopes on knowledge and experience built; Of One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition; whence the Sou!, Though bound to Earth by ties of pity and love, From all injurious servitude was free.
The Sun, before his place of rs were reached Had yet to travel far, but unto us,
To us who stood low in that hollow Dell, He had become invisible, a pomp Leaving behind of yellow radiance spread Upon the mountain sides, in contrast bold With ample shadows, seemingly, no less Than those resplendent lights, his rich bequest, A dispensation of his evening power. -Adown the path that from the Glen har led The funeral Train, the Shepherd and his Mete Were seen descending; - forth to greet them ra Our little Page; the rustic Pair approach; And in the Matron's aspect may be read
A plain assurance that the words which told How that neglected Pensioner was sent Before his time into a quiet grave,
Had done to her humanity no wrong: But we are kindly welcomed - promptly served With ostentatious zeal. Along the floor
Of the small Cottage in the lonely Dell
A grateful Couch was spread for our repose; Where, in the guise of Mountaineers, we slept, Stretched upon fragrant heath, and lulled by sound Of far-off torrents charming the still night, And to tired limbs and over-busy thoughts Inviting sleep and soft forgetfulness,
Farewell to the Valley - Reflections-Sight of a large and populous Vale-Solitary consents to go forwardVale described - The Pastor's Dwelling, and some account of him - The Churchyard Church and Monuments -The Solitary musing, and where — Roused—In the Church-yard the Solitary communicates the thoughts which had recently passed through his mind - Lofty tone of the Wanderer's discourse of yesterday adverted to-Rite of Baptism, and the professions accompanying it, contrasted with the real state of human life - Inconsistency of the best men-Acknowledgment that practice falls far below the injunctions of duty as existing in the mind-General complaint of a falling-off in the value of life after the time of youth-Outward appearances of content and happiness in degree illusive - Pastor approaches - Appeal made to him-His answer- Wanderer in sympathy with him — Suggestion that the least ambitious Inquirers may be most free from error - The Pastor is desired to give some Por traits of the living or dead from his own observations of life among these Mountains-and for what purpose-Pastor consents - Mountain Cottage - Excellent qualities of its Inhabitants - Solitary expresses his pleasure; but denies the praise of virtue to worth of this kind-Feelings of the Priest before he enters upon his account of Persons interred in the Church-yard-Graves of unbaptized Infants-What sensations they excite Funeral and sepulchral Observances, whence - Ecclesiastical Establishments, whence derived-Profession of Belief in the doctrine of Immortality.
Might, by the promise that is here, be won To steal from active duties, and embrace Obscurity, and calm forgetfulness.
- Knowledge, methinks, in these disordered times Should be allowed a privilege to have
Her Anchorites, like Piety of old;
Men, who, from faction sacred, and unstained By war, might, if so minded, turn aside Uncensured, and subsist, a scattered few Living to God and Nature, and content With that communion. Consecrated be The Spots where such abide! But happier still The Man, whom, furthermore, a hope attends That meditation and research may guide His privacy to principles and powers Discovered or invented; or set forth, Through his acquaintance with the ways of truth, In lucid order; so that, when his course
Is run, some faithful Eulogist may say,
He sought not praise, and praise did overlook
His unobtrusive merit; but his life, Sweet to himself, was exercised in good
That shall survive his name and memory. 50*
Acknowledgments of gratitude sincere Accompanied these musings; - fervent thanks For my own peaceful lot and happy choice; A choice that from the passions of the world Withdrew, and fixed me in a still retreat, Sheltered, but not to social duties lost, Secluded, but not buried; and with song Cheering my days, and with industrious thought, With ever-welcome company of books,
By virtuous friendship's soul-sustaining aid, And with the blessings of domestic love.
Thus occupied in mind I paced along, Following the rugged road, by sledge or wheel Worn in the moorland, till I overtook
My two Associates, in the morning sunshine Halting together on a rocky knoll, From which the road descended rapidly To the green meadows of another Vale.
Here did our pensive Host put forth his hand In sign of farewell. "Nay," the Old Man said, "The fragrant Air its coolness still retains; The Herds and Flocks are yet abroad to crop The dewy grass; you cannot leave us now, We must not part at this inviting hour." He yielded, though reluctant; for his Mind Instinctively disposed him to retire To his own Covert; as a billow, heaved Upon the beach, rolls back into the Sea.
So we descend; and winding round a rock Attain a point that showed the Valley - stretched In length before us; and, not distant far, Upon a rising ground a gray Church-tower, Whose battlements were screened by tufted trees. And, towards a crystal Mere, that lay beyond Among steep hills and woods embosomed, flowed A copious Stream with boldly-winding course; Here traceable, there hidden - there again To sight restored, and glittering in the Sun. On the Stream's bank, and everywhere, appeared Fair Dwellings, single, or in social knots; Some scattered o'er the level, others perched On the hill sides, a cheerful quiet scene, Now in its morning purity arrayed.
"As, 'mid some happy Valley of the Alps," Said I, once happy, ere tyrannic Power, Wantonly breaking in upon the Swiss, Destroyed their unoffending Commonwealth, A popular equality reigns here,
Save for one House of State beneath whose roof A rural Lord might dwell."-"No feudal pomp," Replied our Friend, a Chronicler who stood Where'er he moved upon familiar ground, "Nor feudal power is there; but there abides, In his allotted Home, a genuine Priest, The Shepherd of his Flock; or, as a King
This said, oft halting we pursued our way; Nor reached the Village Churchyard till the sun, Travelling at steadier pace than ours, had risen Above the summits of the highest hills, And round our path darted oppressive beams.
As chanced, the Portals of the sacred Pile Stood open, and we entered. On my frame, At such transition from the fervid air, A grateful coolness fell, that seemed to strike The heart, in concert with that temperate awe And natural reverence, which the Place inspired. Not raised in nice proportions was the Pile, But large and massy; for duration built; With pillars crowded, and the roof upheld
By naked rafters intricately crossed,
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