Whose oath had virtue to protect the land Against the dire assaults of papacy
And arbitrary rule. But launch thy bark On the distempered flood of public life, And cause for most rare triumph will be thine If, spite of keenest eye and steadiest hand, The stream, that bears thee forward, prove not, soon Or late, a perilous master. He-who oft, Beneath the battlements and stately trees That round his mansion cast a sober gloom, Had moralised on this, and other truths Of kindred import, pleased and satisfied— Was forced to vent his wisdom with a sigh Heaved from the heart in fortune's bitterness, When he had crushed a plentiful estate By ruinous contest, to obtain a seat
In Britain's senate. Fruitless was the attempt : And while the uproar of that desperate strife Continued yet to vibrate on his ear,
The vanquished Whig, under a borrowed name, (For the mere sound and echo of his own Haunted him with sensations of disgust That he was glad to lose) slunk from the world To the deep shade of those untravelled Wilds; In which the Scottish Laird had long possessed An undisturbed abode. Here, then, they met, Two doughty champions; flaming Jacobite And sullen Hanoverian ! You might think That losses and vexations, less severe
Than those which they had severally sustained, Would have inclined each to abate his zeal For his ungrateful cause; no,—I have heard My reverend Father tell that, 'mid the calm Of that small town encountering thus, they filled, Daily, its bowling-green with harmless strife; Plagued with uncharitable thoughts the church; And vexed the market-place. But in the breasts Of these opponents gradually was wrought, With little change of general sentiment, Such leaning towards each other, that their days By choice were spent in constant fellowship; And if, at times, they fretted with the yoke, Those very bickerings made them love it more.
A favourite boundary to their lengthened walks This Church-yard was. And, whether they had come Treading their path in sympathy and linked In social converse, or by some short space Discreetly parted to preserve the peace,
One spirit seldom failed to extend its sway Over both minds, when they awhile had marked The visible quiet of this holy ground,
And breathed its soothing air ;—the spirit of hope And saintly magnanimity; that-spurning The field of selfish difference and dispute,
And every care which transitory things, Earth and the kingdoms of the earth, create--- Doth, by a rapture of forgetfulness,
Preclude forgiveness, from the praise debarred,
Which else the Christian virtue might have claimed.
There live who yet remember here to have seen Their courtly figures, seated on the stump Of an old yew, their favourite resting-place. But as the remnant of the long-lived tree Was disappearing by a swift decay, They, with joint care, determined to erect, Upon its site, a dial, that might stand For public use preserved, and thus survive As their own private monument: for this Was the particular spot, in which they wished (And Heaven was pleased to accomplish the desire) That, undivided, their remains should lie.
So, where the mouldered tree had stood, was raised Yon structure, framing, with the ascent of steps That to the decorated pillar lead,
A work of art more sumptuous than might seem To suit this place; yet built in no proud scorn Of rustic homeliness; they only aimed To ensure for it respectful guardianship. Around the margin of the plate, whereon The shadow falls to note the stealthy hours, Winds an inscriptive legend."—At these words Thither we turned; and gathered, as we read, The appropriate sense, in Latin numbers couched : 'Time flies; it is his melancholy task
To bring, and bear away, delusive hopes,
And re-produce the troubles he destroys. But, while his blindness thus is occupied, Discerning Mortal! do thou serve the will Of Time's eternal Master, and that peace, Which the world wants, shall be for thee confirmed!
"Smooth verse, inspired by no unlettered Muse." Exclaimed the Sceptic," and the strain of thought Accords with nature's language ;—the soft voice Of yon white torrent falling down the rocks Speaks, less distinctly, to the same effect. If, then, their blended influence be not lost Upon our hearts, not wholly lost, I grant, Even upon mine, the more are we required To feel for those among our fellow-men, Who, offering no obeisance to the world, Are yet made desperate by 'too quick a sense Of constant infelicity,' cut off
From peace like exiles on some barren rock, Their life's appointed prison; not more free Than sentinels, between two armies, set, With nothing better, in the chill night air, Than their own thoughts to comfort them. Say why That ancient story of Prometheus chained
To the bare rock, on frozen Caucasus ;
The vulture, the inexhaustible repast
Drawn from his vitals? Say what meant the woes
By Tantalus entailed upon his race,
And the dark sorrows of the line of Thebes?
Fictions in form, but in their substance truths,
Tremendous truths! familiar to the men Of long-past times, nor obsolete in ours. Exchange the shepherd's frock of native grey For robes with regal purple tinged; convert The crook into a sceptre; give the pomp Of circumstance; and here the tragic Muse Shall find apt subjects for her highest art. Amid the groves, under the shadowy hills, The generations are prepared; the pangs, The internal pangs, are ready; the dread strife Of poor humanity's afflicted will
Struggling in vain with ruthless destiny."
Though," said the Priest in answer, "these be terms Which a divine philosophy rejects,
We, whose established and unfailing trust Is in controlling Providence, admit
That, through all stations, human life abounds With mysteries ;-for, if Faith were left untried, How could the might, that lurks within her, then Be shown? her glorious excellence—that ranks Among the first of Powers and Virtues-proved? Our system is not fashioned to preclude That sympathy which you for others ask; And I could tell, not travelling for my theme
Beyond these humble graves, of grievous crimes
And strange disasters; but I
Loth to disturb what Heaven hath hushed in peace. -Still less, far less, am I inclined to treat
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