Through the long winter, reckless and alone;
Until her house by frost, and thaw, and rain,
Was sapped; and while she slept, the nightly damps
Did chill her breast; and in the stormy day
Her tattered clothes were ruffled by the wind,
Even at the side of her own fire. Yet still

She loved this wretched spot, nor would for worlds
Have parted hence; and still that length of road,
And this rude bench, one torturing hope endeared,
Fast rooted at her heart: and here, my Friend,-
In sickness she remained; and here she died;
Last human tenant of these ruined walls!"

The old Man ceased: he saw that I was moved; From that low bench, rising instinctively I turned aside in weakness, nor had power

To thank him for the tale which he had told.

I stood, and leaning o'er the garden wall
Reviewed that Woman's sufferings; and it seemed
To comfort me while with a brother's love
I blessed her in the impotence of grief.

Then towards the cottage I returned; and traced
Fondly, though with an interest more mild,
That secret spirit of humanity

Which, 'mid the calm oblivious tendencies

Of nature, 'mid her plants, and weeds, and flowers, And silent overgrowings, still survived.

The old Man, noting this, resumed, and said,

"My Friend! enough to sorrow you have given,

The purposes of wisdom ask no more:

Nor more would she have craved as due to One
Who, in her worst distress, had ofttimes felt

The unbounded might of prayer; and learned, with soul Fixed on the Cross, that consolation springs,

From sources deeper far than deepest pain,

x

For the meek Sufferer. Why then should we read
+
The forms of things with an unworthy eye?

She sleeps in the calm earth, and peace is here.

I well remember that those very plumes,

Those weeds, and the high spear-grass on that wall,
By mist and silent rain-drops silvered o'er,
As once I passed, into my heart conveyed
So still an image of tranquillity,

So calm and still, and looked so beautiful
Amid the uneasy thoughts which filled my mind,
That what we feel of sorrow and despair
From ruin and from change, and all the grief
That passing shows of Being leave behind,
Appeared an idle dream, that could maintain,
Nowhere, dominion o'er the enlightened spirit
Whose meditative sympathies repose
Upon the breast of Faith. I turned away,
And walked along my road in happiness."

He ceased. Ere long the sun declining shot
A slant and mellow radiance, which began
To fall upon us, while, beneath the trees,
We sate on that low bench: and now we felt,

Admonished thus, the sweet hour coming on.
A linnet warbled from those lofty elms,
A thrush sang loud, and other melodies,
At distance heard, peopled the milder air.
The old Man rose, and, with a sprightly mien
Of hopeful preparation, grasped his staff;
Together casting then a farewell look
Upon those silent walls, we left the shade;
And, ere the stars were visible, had reached
A village-inn, our evening resting-place.

END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

THE EXCURSION.

BOOK II.

THE SOLITARY.

ARGUMENT.

Page 42, The Author describes his travels with the Wanderer, whose character is further illustrated-44, Morning scene, and view of a Village Wake-47, Wanderer's account of a Friend whom he purposes to visit-53, View, from an eminence, of the Valley which his Friend had chosen for his retreat-54, Sound of singing from below-a funeral procession-55, Descent into the Valley-57, Observations drawn from the Wanderer at sight of a book accidentally discovered in a recess in the Valley-59, Meeting with the Wanderer's friend, the Solitary-61, Wanderer's description of the mode of burial in this mountainous district-62, Solitary contrasts with this, that of the individual carried a few minutes before from the cottage; 64, The cottage entered-65, Description of the Solitary's apartment-65, Repast there-66, View, from the window, of two mountain summits; and the Solitary's description of the companionship they afford him-67, Account of the departed inmate of the cottage -71, Description of a grand spectacle upon the mountains, with its effect upon the Solitary's mind--73, Leave the house.