Faint-and still fainter-as the cry, with which
The wanderer accompanies her flight
Through the calm region, fades upon the ear,
Diminishing by distance till it seem'd
T'expire, yet from th' abyss is caught again,
And yet again recover'd.

"But descending
From these imaginative heights, that yield
Far-stretching views into eternity,
Acknowledge that in nature's humbler power
Your cherish'd sullenness is forced to bend
E'en here, where her amenities are sown
With sparing hand. Then trust yourself abroad
To range her blooming bowers, and spacious fields,
Where on the labours of the happy throng
She smiles, including in her wide embrace
City, and town, and tower,-and sea with ships
Sprinkled; be our companion while we track
Her rivers populous with gliding life;

While, free as air, o'er printless sands we march,
Or pierce the gloom of her majestic woods;
Roaming, or resting under grateful shade
In peace and meditative cheerfulness;
Where living things, and things inanimate,
Do speak, at heaven's command, to eye and ear,
And speak to social reason's inner sense,
With inarticulate language.

"For the man,
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 soften'd down;
A holy tenderness pervade his frame.
His sanity of reason not impair'd,

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
Th' 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 confirm'd
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 burden 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
Chain'd 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 I 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 ercursive 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 impell'd
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,
Pour'd forth with fervour in continuous stream;
Such as, remote, 'mid savage wilderness,
An Indian chief discharges from his breast
Into the hearing of assembled tribes,
In open circle seated round, and hush'd
As the unbreathing air, when not a leaf
Stirs in the mighty woods. So did he speak:
The words he utter'd 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 accustom'd to desires that feed
On fruitage gather'd from the tree of life;
To hopes on knowledge and experience built;
Of one in whom persuasion and belief
Had ripen'd into faith, and faith become
A passionate intuition; whence the soul,
Though bound to earth by ties of pity and love,
From all injurious servitude was free.

The sun, before his place of rest were reach'd, 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 had led The funeral train, the shepherd and his mate Were seen descending; forth to greet them ran 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,
Stretch'd upon fragrant heath, and lull'd by sound
Of far-off torrents charming the still night,
And to tired limbs and over-busy thoughts
Inviting sleep and soft forgetfulness.

BOOK V.

THE PASTOR.

ARGUMENT.

Farewell to the valley. Reflections. Sight of a large and populous vale. Solitary consents to go forward. Vale described. The pastor's dwelling, and some account of him. The churchyard. Church and monuments. The solitary musing, and where. Roused. In the churchyard 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 buran 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. Octward appearances of content and happiness in degree illusive. Pastor approaches Appeal made to him. His answer. Wanderer in sympathy with him. Suzgestion that the least ambitious inquirers may be mest free from error. The pastor is desired to give

some portraits of the living or dead from his own observation 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

churchyard. 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.

FAREWELL, deep valley, with thy one rude house,
And its small lot of life-supporting fields,
And guardian rocks! Farewell, attractive seat!
To the still influx of the morning light
Open, and day's pure cheerfulness, but veil'd
From human observation, as if yet
Primeval forests wrapp'd thee round with dark
Impenetrable shade; once more farewell,
Majestic circuit, beautiful abyss,

By nature destined from the birth of things
For quietness profound!

Upon the side

Of that brown slope, the outlet of the vale,
Lingering behind my comrades, thus I breathed
A parting tribute to a spot that seem'd
Like the fix'd centre of a troubled world.
And now, pursuing leisurely my way,
How vain, thought I, it is by change of place
To seek that comfort which the mind denies ;
Yet trial and temptation oft are shunn'd
Wisely; and by such tenure do we hold

Frail life's possessions, that even they whose fate
Yields no peculiar reason of complaint,
Might, by the promise that is here, be won
To steal from active duties, and embrace
Obscurity, and calm forgetfulness.
Knowledge, methinks in these disorder'd times,
Should be allow'd a privilege to have
Her anchorites, like piety of old;
Men, who, from faction sacred, and unstain'd
By war, might, if so minded, turn aside
Uncensured, and subsist, a scatter'd 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
Discover'd 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.

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 fix'd me in a still retreat,
Shelter'd, 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 show'd the valley-stretch'd
In length before us; and, not distant far,
Upon a rising ground a gray church tower,
Whose battlements were screen'd by tufted trees
And, towards a crystal mere, that lay beyond
Among steep hills and woods embosom'd, flow'd
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 every where, appear'd

Fair dwellings, single, or in social knots;
Some scatter'd o'er the level, others perch'd

On the hill sides, a cheerful quiet scene, Now in its morning purity array'd.

"As, 'mid some happy valley of the Alps,"
Said I," once happy, ere tyrannic power
Wantonly breaking in upon the Swiss,
Destroy'd their unoffending commonwealth,
A popular equality reigns here,

Save for one house of state bencath 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
Is styled, when most affectionately praised,
The father of his people. Such is he;

And rich and poor, and young and old, rejoice
Under his spiritual sway. He hath vouchsafed
To me some portion of a kind regard;
And something also of his inner mind
Hath he imparted-but I speak of him
As he is known to all. The calm delights
Of unambitious piety he chose,
And learning's solid dignity; though born
Of knightly race, nor wanting powerful friends.
Hither, in prime of manhood, he withdrew
From academic bowers. He loved the spot,
Who does not love his native soil? he prized
The ancient rural character, composed
Of simple manners, feelings unsuppress'd
And undisguised, and strong and serious thought;
A character reflected in himself,

With such embellishment as well beseems
His rank and sacred function. This deep vale
Winds far in reaches hidden from our eyes,
And one a turreted manorial hall
Adorns, in which the good man's ancestors
Have dwelt through ages, patrons of this cure.
To them, and to his own judicious pains,
The vicar's dwelling, and the whole domain,
Owes that presiding aspect which might well
Attract your notice; statelier than could else
Have been bestow'd, through course of common
chance,

On an unwealthy mountain benefice."

This said, oft halting we pursued our way;
Nor reach'd 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 enter'd. On my frame,
At such transition from the fervid air,
A grateful coolness fell, that seem'd 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 cross'd,

Like leafless underboughs, 'mid some thick grove,
All wither'd by the depth of shade above.
Admonitory texts inscribed the walls,
Each, in its ornamental scroll, enclosed,
Each also crown'd with winged heads, a pair
Of rudely painted cherubim. The floor

Of nave and aisle, in unpretending guise,
Was occupied by oaken benches, ranged
In seemly rows; the chancel only show'd
Some inoffensive marks of earthly state
And vain distinction. A capacious pew

Of sculptured oak stood here, with drapery lined;
And marble monuments were here display'd
Thronging the walls; and on the floor beneath
Sepulchral stones appear'd, with emblems graven
And foot-worn epitaphs, and some with small
And shining effigies of brass inlaid.

The tribute by these various records claim'd,
Without reluctance did we pay; and read
The ordinary chronicle of birth,
Office, alliance, and promotion, all
Ending in dust; of upright magistrates,
Grave doctors strenuous for the mother churc
And uncorrupted senators, alike
To king and people true.

A brazen plate,

Not easily decipher'd, told of one

Whose course of earthly honour was begun
In quality of page among the train

Of the eighth Henry, when he cross'd the seas
His royal state to show, and prove his strength
In tournament, upon the fields of France.
Another tablet register'd the death,

And praised the gallant bearing, of a knight
Tried in the sea fights of the second Charles.
Near this brave knight his father lay entomb'd;
And, to the silent language giving voice,

I read, how in his manhood's earlier day
He, 'mid th' afflictions of intestine war
And rightful government subverted, found
One only solace; that he had espoused
A virtuous lady tenderly beloved

For her benign perfections; and yet more
Endear'd to him, for this, that in her state
Of wedlock richly crown'd with Heaven's regard,
She with a numerous issue fill'd his house,
Who throve, like plants, uninjured by the storm
That laid their country waste. No need to speak
Of less particular notices assign'd

To youth or maiden gone before their time,
And matrons and unwedded sisters old;
Whose charity and goodness were rehearsed
In modest panegyric. "These dim lines,
What would they tell?" said I; but from the task
Of puzzling out that faded narrative,
With whispers soft my venerable friend
Call'd me; and, looking down the darksome aisle
I saw the tenant of the lonely vale
Standing apart; with curvèd arm reclined
On the baptismal font; his pallid face
Upturn'd, as if his mind were wrapt, or lost
In some abstraction; gracefully he stood,
The semblance bearing of a sculptured form
That leans upon a monumental urn
In peace, from morn to night, from year to year.
Him from that posture did the sexton rouse ;
Who enter'd, humming carelessly a tune,
Continuation haply of the notes

That had beguiled the work from which he came,
With spade and mattock o'er his shoulder hung,
To be deposited, for future need,
In their appointed place. The pale recluse
Withdrew; and straight we follow'd, to a spot

Where sun and shade were intermix'd; for there
A broad oak, stretching forth its leafy arms
From an adjoining pasture, overhung

Small space of that green churchyard with a light
And pleasant awning. On the moss-grown wall
My ancient friend and I together took
Our seats; and thus the solitary spake,
Standing before us. "Did you note the mien
Of that self-solaced, easy-hearted churl,
Death's hireling, who scoops out his neighbour's
grave,

Or wraps an old acquaintance up in clay,
As unconcern'd as when he plants a tree?
I was abruptly summon'd by his voice
From some affecting images and thoughts,
And from the company of serious words.
Much, yesterday, was said in glowing phrase
Of our sublime dependencies, and hopes
For future states of being; and the wings
Of speculation, joyfully outspread,
Hover'd above our destiny on earth;

But stoop, and place the prospect of the soul
In sober contrast with reality,

And man's substantial life. If this mute earth
Of what it holds could speak, and every grave
Were as a volume, shut, yet capable
Of yielding its contents to eye and ear,
We should recoil, stricken with sorrow and shame
To see disclosed, by such dread proof, how ill
That which is done accords with what is known
To reason, and by conscience is enjoin'd;
How idly, how perversely, life's whole course,
To this conclusion, deviates from the line,
Or of the end stops short, proposed to all
At her aspiring outset. Mark the babe
Not long accustom'd to this breathing world;
One that hath barely learn'd to shape a smile;
Though yet irrational of soul to grasp
With tiny fingers, to let fall a tear;
And, as the heavy cloud of sleep dissolves,
To stretch his limbs, bemocking, as might seem,
Th' outward functions of intelligent man;
A grave proficient in amusive feats
Of puppetry, that from the lap declare
His expectations, and announce his claims
To that inheritance which millions rue
That they were ever born to! In due time
A day of solemn ceremonial comes;
When they, who for this minor hold in trust
Rights that transcend the humblest heritage
Of mere humanity, present their charge,
For this occasion daintily adorn'd,
At the baptismal font. And when the pure
And consecrating element hath cleansed
Th' original stain, the child is there received
Into the second ark, Christ's church, with trust
That he, from wrath redeem'd, therein shall float
Over the billows of this troublesome world
To the fair land of everlasting life.
Corrupt affections, covetous desires,

Are all renounced; high as the thought of man
Can carry virtue, virtue is profess'd;

A dedication made, a promise given
For due provision to control and guide,
And unremitting progress to ensure
In holiness and truth."

"You cannot blame,"

Here interposing fervently I said,
"Rites which attest that man by nature lies
Bedded for good and evil in a gulf
Fearfully low; nor will your judgment scorn
Those services, whereby attempt is made
To lift the creature toward that eminence
On which, now fall'n, erewhile in majesty
He stood; or if not so, whose top serene
At least he feels 'tis given him to descry;
Not without aspirations, evermore
Returning, and injunctions from within
Doubt to cast off and weariness; in trust
That what the soul perceives, if glory lost,
May be, through pains and persevering hope,
Recover'd; or, if hitherto unknown,

Lies within reach, and one day shall be gain'd."
"I blame them not," he calmly answer'd, "no;
The outward ritual and establish'd forms
With which communities of men invest
These inward feelings, and th' aspiring vows
To which the lips give public utterance,
Are both a natural process; and by me
Shall pass uncensured; though the issue prove,
Bringing from age to age its own reproach,
Incongruous, impotent, and blank. But, oh!
If to be weak is to be wretched-miserable,
As the lost angel by a human voice
Hath mournfully pronounced, then, in my mind,
Far better not to move at all than move
By impulse sent from such illusive power,
That finds and cannot fasten down; that grasps
And is rejoiced, and loses while it grasps;
That tempts, imboldens--doth a while sustain,
And then betrays; accuses and inflicts
Remorseless punishment; and so retreads
Th' inevitable circle: better far

Than this, to graze the herb in thoughtless peace,
By foresight or remembrance, undisturbed !
Philosophy and thou more vaunted name,
Religion with thy statelier retinue,
Faith, hope, and charity-from the visible world
Choose for your emblems whatsoe'er ye find
Of safest guidance and of firmest trust,-
The torch, the star, the anchor; nor except
The cross itself, at whose unconscious feet
The generations of mankind have knelt
Ruefully seized, and shedding bitter tears,
And through that conflict seeking rest-of you
High titled powers, am I constrain❜d to ask,
Here standing, with th' unvoyageable sky
In faint reflection of infinitude

Stretch'd overhead, and at my pensive feet
A subterraneous magazine of bones,
In whose dark vaults my own shall soon be laid,
Where are your triumphs? your dominion where?
And in what age admitted and confirm'd?
Not for a happy land do I inquire,
Island or grove, that hides a blessed few
Who, with obedience willing and sincere,
To your serene authorities conform ;"
But whom, I ask, of individual souls,

Have ye withdrawn from passion's crooked ways,
Inspired, and thoroughly fortified? If the heart
Could be inspected to its inmost folds

By sight undazzled with the glare of praise,