Their own dire agents, and constrain the good
To acts which they abhor; though I bewail
This triumph, yet the pity of my heart
Prevents me not from owning, that the law,
By which mankind now suffers, is most just.
For by superior energies; more strict
Affiance in each other; faith more firm
In their unhallowed principles; the bad
Have fairly earned a victory o'er the weak,
The vacillating, inconsistent good.
Therefore, not unconsoled, I wait-in hope
To see the moment, when the righteous cause
Shall gain defenders zealous and devout

As they who have opposed her; in which Virtue
Will, to her efforts, tolerate no bounds
That are not lofty as her rights; aspiring
By impulse of her own ethereal zeal.
That spirit only can redeem mankind;
And when that sacred spirit shall appear,
Then shall our triumph be complete as theirs.
Yet, should this confidence prove vain, the wise
Have still the keeping of their proper peace;
Are guardians of their own tranquillity.
They act, or they recede, observe, and feel;
'Knowing the heart of man is set to be
The centre of this world, about the which
Those revolutions of disturbances
Still roll; where all the aspects of misery
Predominate; whose strong effects are such

As he must bear, being powerless to redress;
And that unless above himself he can
Erect himself, how poor a thing is Man ! ' *

Happy is he who lives to understand, Not human nature only, but explores All natures,-to the end that he may find The law that governs each; and where begins The union, the partition where, that makes Kind and degree, among all visible Beings; The constitutions, powers, and faculties, Which they inherit,-cannot step beyond,And cannot fall beneath; that do assign To every class its station and its office, Through all the mighty commonwealth of things; Up from the creeping plant to sovereign Man. Such converse, if directed by a meek, Sincere, and humble spirit, teaches love: For knowledge is delight; and such delight Breeds love: yet, suited as it rather is To thought and to the climbing intellect, It teaches less to love, than to adore; If that be not indeed the highest love!"

"Yet," said I, tempted here to interpose, "The dignity of life is not impaired By aught that innocently satisfies

The humbler cravings of the heart; and he

* Danicl.

Is a still happier man, who, for those heights
Of speculation not unfit, descends;

And such benign affections cultivates

Among the inferior kinds; not merely those
That he may call his own, and which depend,
As individual objects of regard,

Upon his care, from whom he also looks
For signs and tokens of a mutual bond;
But others, far beyond this narrow sphere,
Whom, for the very sake of love, he loves.
Nor is it a mean praise of rural life
And solitude, that they do favour most,
Most frequently call forth, and best sustain,
These pure sensations; that can penetrate
The obstreperous city; on the barren seas
Are not unfelt; and much might recommend,
How much they might inspirit and endear,
The loneliness of this sublime retreat!"

"Yes," said the Sage, resuming the discourse Again directed to his downcast Friend, "If, with the froward will and grovelling soul Of man, offended, liberty is here,

And invitation every hour renewed,

To mark their placid state, who never heard
Of a command which they have power to break,
Or rule which they are tempted to transgress :
These, with a soothed or elevated heart,
May we behold; their knowledge register;

Observe their ways; and, free from envy, find
Complacence there:-but wherefore this to you?
I guess that, welcome to your lonely hearth,
The redbreast, ruffled up by winter's cold
Into a 'feathery bunch,' feeds at your hand:
A box, perchance, is from your casement hung
For the small wren to build in ;-not in vain,
The barriers disregarding that surround
This deep abiding place, before your sight
Mounts on the breeze the butterfly; and soars,
Small creature as she is, from earth's bright flowers,
Into the dewy clouds. Ambition reigns

In the waste wilderness: the Soul ascends
Drawn towards her native firmament of heaven,
When the fresh eagle, in the month of May,
Upborne, at evening, on replenished wing,
This shaded valley leaves; and leaves the dark
Empurpled hills, conspicuously renewing
A proud communication with the sun

Low sunk beneath the horizon!-List !-I heard,
From yon huge breast of rock, a voice sent forth
As if the visible mountain made the cry.
Again!"-The effect upon the soul was such
As he expressed: from out the mountain's heart
The solemn voice appeared to issue, startling
The blank air-for the region all around
Stood empty of all shape of life, and silent
Save for that single cry, the unanswer'd bleat

Of a poor lamb-left somewhere to itself,
The plaintive spirit of the solitude!

He paused, as if unwilling to proceed,
Through consciousness that silence in such place
Was best, the most affecting eloquence.

But soon his thoughts returned upon themselves,
And, in soft tone of speech, thus he resumed.

"Ah! if the heart, too confidently raised,
Perchance too lightly occupied, or lulled
Too easily, despise or overlook

The vassalage that binds her to the earth,
Her sad dependence upon time, and all
The trepidations of mortality,

What place so destitute and void-but there
The little flower her vanity shall check;

The trailing worm reprove her thoughtless pride?

These craggy regions, these chaotic wilds,
Does that benignity pervade, that warms
The mole contented with her darksome walk
In the cold ground; and to the emmet gives
Her foresight, and intelligence that makes
The tiny creatures strong by social league;
Supports the generations, multiplies

Their tribes, till we behold a spacious plain
Or grassy bottom, all, with little hills-
Their labour, covered, as a lake with waves;
Thousands of cities, in the desert place