DESPONDENCY CORRECTED by William Wordsworth

HERE closed the Tenant of that lonely vale 
His mournful narrative--commenced in pain, 
In pain commenced, and ended without peace: 
Yet tempered, not unfrequently, with strains 
Of native feeling, grateful to our minds; 
And yielding surely some relief to his, 
While we sate listening with compassion due. 
A pause of silence followed; then, with voice 
That did not falter though the heart was moved, 
The Wanderer said:-- 
    "One adequate support 
For the calamities of mortal life 
Exists--one only; an assured belief 
That the procession of our fate, howe'er 
Sad or disturbed, is ordered by a Being 
Of infinite benevolence and power; 
Whose everlasting purposes embrace 
All accidents, converting them to good. 
--The darts of anguish 'fix' not where the seat 
Of suffering hath been thoroughly fortified 
By acquiescence in the Will supreme 
For time and for eternity; by faith, 
Faith absolute in God, including hope, 
And the defence that lies in boundless love 
Of his perfections; with habitual dread 
Of aught unworthily conceived, endured 
Impatiently, ill-done, or left undone, 
To the dishonour of his holy name. 
Soul of our Souls, and safeguard of the world! 
Sustain, thou only canst, the sick of heart; 
Restore their languid spirits, and recall 
Their lost affections unto thee and thine!" 

   Then, as we issued from that covert nook, 
He thus continued, lifting up his eyes 
To heaven:--"How beautiful this dome of sky; 
And the vast hills, in fluctuation fixed 
At thy command, how awful! Shall the Soul, 
Human and rational, report of thee 
Even less than these?--Be mute who will, who can, 
Yet I will praise thee with impassioned voice: 
My lips, that may forget thee in the crowd, 
Cannot forget thee here; where thou hast built, 
For thy own glory, in the wilderness! 
Me didst thou constitute a priest of thine, 
In such a temple as we now behold 
Reared for thy presence: therefore, am I bound 
To worship, here, and everywhere--as one 
Not doomed to ignorance, though forced to tread, 
From childhood up, the ways of poverty; 
From unreflecting ignorance preserved, 
And from debasement rescued.--By thy grace 
The particle divine remained unquenched; 
And, 'mid the wild weeds of a rugged soil, 
Thy bounty caused to flourish deathless flowers, 
From paradise transplanted: wintry age 
Impends; the frost will gather round my heart; 
If the flowers wither, I am worse than dead! 
--Come, labour, when the worn-out frame requires 
Perpetual sabbath; come, disease and want; 
And sad exclusion through decay of sense; 
But leave me unabated trust in thee-- 
And let thy favour, to the end of life, 
Inspire me with ability to seek 
Repose and hope among eternal things-- 
Father of heaven and earth! and I am rich, 
And will possess my portion in content! 

   And what are things eternal?--powers depart," 
The grey-haired Wanderer stedfastly replied, 
Answering the question which himself had asked, 
"Possessions vanish, and opinions change, 
And passions hold a fluctuating seat: 
But, by the storms of circumstance unshaken, 
And subject neither to eclipse nor wane, 
Duty exists;--immutably survive, 
For our support, the measures and the forms, 
Which an abstract intelligence supplies; 
Whose kingdom is, where time and space are not. 
Of other converse which mind, soul, and heart, 
Do, with united urgency, require, 
What more that may not perish?--Thou, dread source, 
Prime, self-existing cause and end of all 
That in the scale of being fill their place; 
Above our human region, or below, 
Set and sustained;--thou, who didst wrap the cloud 
Of infancy around us, that thyself, 
Therein, with our simplicity awhile 
Might'st hold, on earth, communion undisturbed; 
Who from the anarchy of dreaming sleep, 
Or from its death-like void, with punctual care, 
And touch as gentle as the morning light, 
Restor'st us, daily, to the powers of sense 
And reason's stedfast rule--thou, thou alone 
Art everlasting, and the blessed Spirits, 
Which thou includest, as the sea her waves: 
For adoration thou endur'st; endure 
For consciousness the motions of thy will; 
For apprehension those transcendent truths 
Of the pure intellect, that stand as laws 
(Submission constituting strength and power) 
Even to thy Being's infinite majesty! 
This universe shall pass away--a work 0 
Glorious! because the shadow of thy might, 
A step, or link, for intercourse with thee. 
Ah! if the time must come, in which my feet 
No more shall stray where meditation leads, 
By flowing stream, through wood, or craggy wild, 
Loved haunts like these; the unimprisoned Mind 
May yet have scope to range among her own, 
Her thoughts, her images, her high desires. 
If the dear faculty of sight should fail, 
Still, it may be allowed me to remember 
What visionary powers of eye and soul 
In youth were mine; when, stationed on the top 
Of some huge hill--expectant, I beheld 
The sun rise up, from distant climes returned 
Darkness to chase, and sleep; and bring the day 
His bounteous gift! or saw him toward the deep 
Sink, with a retinue of flaming clouds 
Attended; then, my spirit was entranced 
With joy exalted to beatitude; 
The measure of my soul was filled with bliss, 
And holiest love; as earth, sea, air, with light, 
With pomp, with glory, with magnificence! 

   Those fervent raptures are for ever flown; 
And, since their date, my soul hath undergone 
Change manifold, for better or for worse: 
Yet cease I not to struggle, and aspire 
Heavenward; and chide the part of me that flags, 
Through sinful choice; or dread necessity 
On human nature from above imposed. 
'Tis, by comparison, an easy task 
Earth to despise; but, to converse with heaven-- 
This is not easy:--to relinquish all 
We have, or hope, of happiness and joy, 
And stand in freedom loosened from this world, 
I deem not arduous; but must needs confess 
That 'tis a thing impossible to frame 
Conceptions equal to the soul's desires; 
And the most difficult of tasks to 'keep' 
Heights which the soul is competent to gain. 
--Man is of dust: ethereal hopes are his, 
Which, when they should sustain themselves aloft, 
Want due consistence; like a pillar of smoke, 
That with majestic energy from earth 
Rises; but, having reached the thinner air, 
Melts, and dissolves, and is no longer seen. 
From this infirmity of mortal kind 
Sorrow proceeds, which else were not; at least, 
If grief be something hallowed and ordained, 
If, in proportion, it be just and meet, 
Yet, through this weakness of the general heart, 
Is it enabled to maintain its hold 
In that excess which conscience disapproves. 
For who could sink and settle to that point 
Of selfishness; so senseless who could be 
As long and perseveringly to mourn 
For any object of his love, removed 
From this unstable world, if he could fix 
A satisfying view upon that state 
Of pure, imperishable, blessedness, 
Which reason promises, and holy writ 
Ensures to all believers?--Yet mistrust 
Is of such incapacity, methinks, 
No natural branch; despondency far less; 
And, least of all, is absolute despair. 
--And, if there be whose tender frames have drooped 
Even to the dust; apparently, through weight 
Of anguish unrelieved, and lack of power 
An agonizing sorrow to transmute; 
Deem not that proof is here of hope withheld 
When wanted most; a confidence impaired 
So pitiably, that, having ceased to see 
With bodily eyes, they are borne down by love 
Of what is lost, and perish through regret. 
Oh! no, the innocent Sufferer often sees 
Too clearly; feels too vividly; and longs 
To realize the vision, with intense 
And over-constant yearning,--there--there lies 
The excess, by which the balance is destroyed. 
Too, too contracted are these walls of flesh, 
This vital warmth too cold, these visual orbs, 
Though inconceivably endowed, too dim 
For any passion of the soul that leads 
To ecstasy; and, all the crooked paths 
Of time and change disdaining, takes its course 
Along the line of limitless desires. 
I, speaking now from such disorder free, 
Nor rapt, nor craving, but in settled peace, 
I cannot doubt that they whom you deplore 
Are glorified; or, if they sleep, shall wake 
From sleep, and dwell with God in endless love. 
Hope, below this, consists not with belief 
In mercy, carried infinite degrees 
Beyond the tenderness of human hearts: 
Hope, below this, consists not with belief 
In perfect wisdom, guiding mightiest power, 
That finds no limits but her own pure will. 

   Here then we rest; not fearing for our creed 
The worst that human reasoning can achieve, 
To unsettle or perplex it: yet with pain 
Acknowledging, and grievous self-reproach, 0 
That, though immovably convinced, we want 
Zeal, and the virtue to exist by faith 
As soldiers live by courage; as, by strength 
Of heart, the sailor fights with roaring seas. 
Alas! the endowment of immortal power 
Is matched unequally with custom, time, 
And domineering faculties of sense 
In 'all'; in most, with superadded foes, 
Idle temptations; open vanities, 
Ephemeral offspring of the unblushing world; 
And, in the private regions of the mind, 
Ill-governed passions, ranklings of despite, 
Immoderate wishes, pining discontent, 
Distress and care. What then remains?--To seek 
Those helps for his occasions ever near 
Who lacks not will to use them; vows, renewed 
On the first motion of a holy thought; 
Vigils of contemplation; praise; and prayer-- 
A stream, which, from the fountain of the heart 
Issuing, however feebly, nowhere flows 
Without access of unexpected strength. 
But, above all, the victory is most sure 
For him, who, seeking faith by virtue, strives 
To yield entire submission to the law 
Of conscience--conscience reverenced and obeyed, 
As God's most intimate presence in the soul, 
And his most perfect image in the world. 
--Endeavour thus to live; these rules regard; 
These helps solicit; and a stedfast seat 
Shall then be yours among the happy few 
Who dwell on earth, yet breathe empyreal air 
Sons of the morning. For your nobler part, 
Ere disencumbered of her mortal chains, 
Doubt shall be quelled and trouble chased away; 
With only such degree of sadness left 
As may support longings of pure desire; 
And strengthen love, rejoicing secretly 
In the sublime attractions of the grave." 

   While, in this strain, the venerable Sage 
Poured forth his aspirations, and announced 
His judgments, near that lonely house we paced 
A plot of greensward, seemingly preserved 
By nature's care from wreck of scattered stones, 
And from encroachment of encircling heath: 
Small space! but, for reiterated steps, 
Smooth and commodious; as a stately deck 
Which to and fro the mariner is used 
To tread for pastime, talking with his mates, 
Or haply thinking of far-distant friends, 
While the ship glides before a steady breeze. 
Stillness prevailed around us: and the voice 
That spake was capable to lift the soul 
Toward regions yet more tranquil. But, methought, 
That he, whose fixed despondency had given 
Impulse and motive to that strong discourse, 
Was less upraised in spirit than abashed; 
Shrinking from admonition, like a man 
Who feels that to exhort is to reproach. 
Yet not to be diverted from his aim, 
The Sage continued:-- 
    "For that other loss, 
The loss of confidence in social man, 
By the unexpected transports of our age 
Carried so high, that every thought, which looked 
Beyond the temporal destiny of the Kind, 
To many seemed superfluous--as, no cause 
Could e'er for such exalted confidence 
Exist; so, none is now for fixed despair: 
The two extremes are equally disowned 
By reason: if, with sharp recoil, from one 
You have been driven far as its opposite, 
Between them seek the point whereon to build 
Sound expectations. So doth he advise 
Who shared at first the illusion; but was soon 
Cast from the pedestal of pride by shocks 
Which Nature gently gave, in woods and fields; 
Nor unreproved by Providence, thus speaking 
To the inattentive children of the world: 
'Vainglorious Generation! what new powers 
'On you have been conferred? what gifts, withheld 
'From your progenitors, have ye received, 
'Fit recompense of new desert? what claim 
'Are ye prepared to urge, that my decrees 
'For you should undergo a sudden change; 
'And the weak functions of one busy day, 
'Reclaiming and extirpating, perform 
'What all the slowly-moving years of time, 
'With their united force, have left undone? 
'By nature's gradual processes be taught; 
'By story be confounded! Ye aspire 
'Rashly, to fall once more; and that false fruit, 
'Which, to your overweening spirits, yields 
'Hope of a flight celestial, will produce 
'Misery and shame. But Wisdom of her sons 
'Shall not the less, though late, be justified.' 

   Such timely warning," said the Wanderer, "gave 
That visionary voice; and, at this day, 
When a Tartarean darkness overspreads 
The groaning nations; when the impious rule, 
By will or by established ordinance, 
Their own dire agents, and constrain the good 0 
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 'four' 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 
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 0 
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 unanswered 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 
Built up of life, and food, and means of life! 
Nor wanting here, to entertain the thought, 
Creatures that in communities exist, 
Less, as might seem, for general guardianship 
Or through dependence upon mutual aid, 
Than by participation of delight 
And a strict love of fellowship, combined. 
What other spirit can it be that prompts 
The gilded summer flies to mix and weave 
Their sports together in the solar beam, 
Or in the gloom of twilight hum their joy? 
More obviously the self-same influence rules 
The feathered kinds; the fieldfare's pensive flock, 
The cawing rooks, and sea-mews from afar, 
Hovering above these inland solitudes, 
By the rough wind unscattered, at whose call 
Up through the trenches of the long-drawn vales 
Their voyage was begun: nor is its power 
Unfelt among the sedentary fowl 
That seek yon pool, and there prolong their stay 
In silent congress; or together roused 
Take flight; while with their clang the air resounds: 
And, over all, in that ethereal vault, 
Is the mute company of changeful clouds; 
Bright apparition, suddenly put forth, 
The rainbow smiling on the faded storm; 
The mild assemblage of the starry heavens; 
And the great sun, earth's universal lord! 

   How bountiful is Nature! he shall find 
Who seeks not; and to him, who hath not asked, 
Large measure shall be dealt. Three sabbath-days 
Are scarcely told, since, on a service bent 
Of mere humanity, you clomb those heights; 
And what a marvellous and heavenly show 
Was suddenly revealed!--the swains moved on, 
And heeded not: you lingered, you perceived 
And felt, deeply as living man could feel. 
There is a luxury in self-dispraise; 
And inward self-disparagement affords 
To meditative spleen a grateful feast. 
Trust me, pronouncing on your own desert, 
You judge unthankfully: distempered nerves 
Infect the thoughts: the languor of the frame 
Depresses the soul's vigour. Quit your couch-- 
Cleave not so fondly to your moody cell; 
Nor let the hallowed powers, that shed from heaven 
Stillness and rest, with disapproving eye 
Look down upon your taper, through a watch 
Of midnight hours, unseasonably twinkling 
In this deep Hollow, like a sullen star 
Dimly reflected in a lonely pool. 
Take courage, and withdraw yourself from ways 
That run not parallel to nature's course. 
Rise with the lark! your matins shall obtain 
Grace, be their composition what it may, 
If but with hers performed; climb once again, 
Climb every day, those ramparts; meet the breeze 
Upon their tops, adventurous as a bee 
That from your garden thither soars, to feed 
On new-blown heath; let yon commanding rock 
Be your frequented watch-tower; roll the stone 
In thunder down the mountains; with all your might 
Chase the wild goat; and if the bold red deer 0 
Fly to those harbours, driven by hound and horn 
Loud echoing, add your speed to the pursuit; 
So, wearied to your hut shall you return, 
And sink at evening into sound repose." 

   The Solitary lifted toward the hills 
A kindling eye:--accordant feelings rushed 
Into my bosom, whence these words broke forth: 
"Oh! what a joy it were, in vigorous health, 
To have a body (this our vital frame 
With shrinking sensibility endued, 
And all the nice regards of flesh and blood) 
And to the elements surrender it 
As if it were a spirit!--How divine, 
The liberty, for frail, for mortal, man 
To roam at large among unpeopled glens 
And mountainous retirements, only trod 
By devious footsteps; regions consecrate 
To oldest time! and, reckless of the storm 
That keeps the raven quiet in her nest, 
Be as a presence or a motion--one 
Among the many there; and while the mists 
Flying, and rainy vapours, call out shapes 
And phantoms from the crags and solid earth 
As fast as a musician scatters sounds 
Out of an instrument; and while the streams 
(As at a first creation and in haste 
To exercise their untried faculties) 
Descending from the region of the clouds, 
And starting from the hollows of the earth 
More multitudinous every moment, rend 
Their way before them--what a joy to roam 
An equal among mightiest energies; 
And haply sometimes with articulate voice, 
Amid the deafening tumult, scarcely heard 
By him that utters it, exclaim aloud, 
'Rage on ye elements! let moon and stars 
Their aspects lend, and mingle in their turn 
With this commotion (ruinous though it be) 
From day to night, from night to day, prolonged!'" 

   "Yes," said the Wanderer, taking from my lips 
The strain of transport, "whosoe'er in youth 
Has, through ambition of his soul, given way 
To such desires, and grasped at such delight, 
Shall feel congenial stirrings late and long, 
In spite of all the weakness that life brings, 
Its cares and sorrows; he, though taught to own 
The tranquillizing power of time, shall wake, 
Wake sometimes to a noble restlessness-- 
Loving the sports which once he gloried in. 

   Compatriot, Friend, remote are Garry's hills, 
The streams far distant of your native glen; 
Yet is their form and image here expressed 
With brotherly resemblance. Turn your steps 
Wherever fancy leads; by day, by night, 
Are various engines working, not the same 
As those with which your soul in youth was moved, 
But by the great Artificer endowed 
With no inferior power. You dwell alone; 
You walk, you live, you speculate alone; 
Yet doth remembrance, like a sovereign prince, 
For you a stately gallery maintain 
Of gay or tragic pictures. You have seen, 
Have acted, suffered, travelled far, observed 
With no incurious eye; and books are yours, 
Within whose silent chambers treasure lies 
Preserved from age to age; more precious far 
Than that accumulated store of gold 
And orient gems, which, for a day of need, 
The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. 
These hoards of truth you can unlock at will: 
And music waits upon your skilful touch, 
Sounds which the wandering shepherd from these heights 
Hears, and forgets his purpose;--furnished thus, 
How can you droop, if willing to be upraised? 

   A piteous lot it were to flee from Man-- 
Yet not rejoice in Nature. He, whose hours 
Are by domestic pleasures uncaressed 
And unenlivened; who exists whole years 
Apart from benefits received or done 
'Mid the transactions of the bustling crowd; 
Who neither hears, nor feels a wish to hear, 
Of the world's interests--such a one hath need 
Of a quick fancy, and an active heart, 
That, for the day's consumption, books may yield 
Food not unwholesome; earth and air correct 
His morbid humour, with delight supplied 
Or solace, varying as the seasons change. 
--Truth has her pleasure-grounds, her haunts of ease 
And easy contemplation; gay parterres, 
And labyrinthine walks, her sunny glades 
And shady groves in studied contrast--each, 
For recreation, leading into each: 
These may he range, if willing to partake 
Their soft indulgences, and in due time 
May issue thence, recruited for the tasks 
And course of service Truth requires from those 
Who tend her altars, wait upon her throne, 
And guard her fortresses. Who thinks, and feels, 
And recognises ever and anon 
The breeze of nature stirring in his soul, 0 
Why need such man go desperately astray, 
And nurse 'the dreadful appetite of death?' 
If tired with systems, each in its degree 
Substantial, and all crumbling in their turn, 
Let him build systems of his own, and smile 
At the fond work, demolished with a touch; 
If unreligious, let him be at once, 
Among ten thousand innocents, enrolled 
A pupil in the many-chambered school, 
Where superstition weaves her airy dreams. 

   Life's autumn past, I stand on winter's verge; 
And daily lose what I desire to keep: 
Yet rather would I instantly decline 
To the traditionary sympathies 
Of a most rustic ignorance, and take 
A fearful apprehension from the owl 
Or death-watch: and as readily rejoice, 
If two auspicious magpies crossed my way;-- 
To this would rather bend than see and hear 
The repetitions wearisome of sense, 
Where soul is dead, and feeling hath no place; 
Where knowledge, ill begun in cold remark 
On outward things, with formal inference ends; 
Or, if the mind turn inward, she recoils 
At once--or, not recoiling, is perplexed-- 
Lost in a gloom of uninspired research; 
Meanwhile, the heart within the heart, the seat 
Where peace and happy consciousness should dwell, 
On its own axis restlessly revolving, 
Seeks, yet can nowhere find, the light of truth. 

   Upon the breast of new-created earth 
Man walked; and when and wheresoe'er he moved, 
Alone or mated, solitude was not. 
He heard, borne on the wind, the articulate voice 
Of God; and Angels to his sight appeared 
Crowning the glorious hills of paradise; 
Or through the groves gliding like morning mist 
Enkindled by the sun. He sate--and talked 
With winged Messengers; who daily brought 
To his small island in the ethereal deep 
Tidings of joy and love.--From those pure heights 
(Whether of actual vision, sensible 
To sight and feeling, or that in this sort 
Have condescendingly been shadowed forth 
Communications spiritually maintained, 
And intuitions moral and divine) 
Fell Human-kind--to banishment condemned 
That flowing years repealed not: and distress 
And grief spread wide; but Man escaped the doom 
Of destitution;--solitude was not. 
--Jehovah--shapeless Power above all Powers, 
Single and one, the omnipresent God, 
By vocal utterance, or blaze of light, 
Or cloud of darkness, localised in heaven; 
On earth, enshrined within the wandering ark; 
Or, out of Sion, thundering from his throne 
Between the Cherubim--on the chosen Race 
Showered miracles, and ceased not to dispense 
Judgments, that filled the land from age to age 
With hope, and love, and gratitude, and fear; 
And with amazement smote;--thereby to assert 
His scorned, or unacknowledged, sovereignty. 
And when the One, ineffable of name, 
Of nature indivisible, withdrew 
From mortal adoration or regard, 
Not then was Deity engulphed; nor Man, 
The rational creature, left, to feel the weight 
Of his own reason, without sense or thought 
Of higher reason and a purer will, 
To benefit and bless, through mightier power:-- 
Whether the Persian--zealous to reject 
Altar and image, and the inclusive walls 
And roofs of temples built by human hands-- 
To loftiest heights ascending, from their tops, 
With myrtle-wreathed tiara on his brow, 
Presented sacrifice to moon and stars, 
And to the winds and mother elements, 
And the whole circle of the heavens, for him 
A sensitive existence, and a God, 
With lifted hands invoked, and songs of praise: 
Or, less reluctantly to bonds of sense 
Yielding his soul, the Babylonian framed 
For influence undefined a personal shape; 
And, from the plain, with toil immense, upreared 
Tower eight times planted on the top of tower, 
That Belus, nightly to his splendid couch 
Descending, there might rest; upon that height 
Pure and serene, diffused--to overlook 
Winding Euphrates, and the city vast 
Of his devoted worshippers, far-stretched, 
With grove and field and garden interspersed; 
Their town, and foodful region for support 
Against the pressure of beleaguering war. 

   Chaldean Shepherds, ranging trackless fields, 
Beneath the concave of unclouded skies 
Spread like a sea, in boundless solitude, 
Looked on the polar star, as on a guide 
And guardian of their course, that never closed 
His stedfast eye. The planetary Five 
With a submissive reverence they beheld; 0 
Watched, from the centre of their sleeping flocks, 
Those radiant Mercuries, that seemed to move 
Carrying through ether, in perpetual round, 
Decrees and resolutions of the Gods; 
And, by their aspects, signifying works 
Of dim futurity, to Man revealed. 
--The imaginative faculty was lord 
Of observations natural; and, thus 
Led on, those shepherds made report of stars 
In set rotation passing to and fro, 
Between the orbs of our apparent sphere 
And its invisible counterpart, adorned 
With answering constellations, under earth, 
Removed from all approach of living sight 
But present to the dead; who, so they deemed, 
Like those celestial messengers beheld 
All accidents, and judges were of all. 

   The lively Grecian, in a land of hills, 
Rivers and fertile plains, and sounding shores,-- 
Under a cope of sky more variable, 
Could find commodious place for every God, 
Promptly received, as prodigally brought, 
From the surrounding countries, at the choice 
Of all adventurers. With unrivalled skill, 
As nicest observation furnished hints 
For studious fancy, his quick hand bestowed 
On fluent operations a fixed shape; 
Metal or stone, idolatrously served. 
And yet--triumphant o'er this pompous show 
Of art, this palpable array of sense, 
On every side encountered; in despite 
Of the gross fictions chanted in the streets 
By wandering Rhapsodists; and in contempt 
Of doubt and bold denial hourly urged 
Amid the wrangling schools--a SPIRIT hung, 
Beautiful region! o'er thy towns and farms, 
Statues and temples, and memorial tombs; 
And emanations were perceived; and acts 
Of immortality, in Nature's course, 
Exemplified by mysteries, that were felt 
As bonds, on grave philosopher imposed 
And armed warrior; and in every grove 
A gay or pensive tenderness prevailed, 
When piety more awful had relaxed. 
--'Take, running river, take these locks of mine'-- 
Thus would the Votary say--'this severed hair, 
'My vow fulfilling, do I here present, 
'Thankful for my beloved child's return. 
'Thy banks, Cephisus, he again hath trod, 
'Thy murmurs heard; and drunk the crystal lymph 
'With which thou dost refresh the thirsty lip, 
'And, all day long, moisten these flowery fields!' 
And doubtless, sometimes, when the hair was shed 
Upon the flowing stream, a thought arose 
Of Life continuous, Being unimpaired; 
That hath been, is, and where it was and is 
There shall endure,--existence unexposed 
To the blind walk of mortal accident; 
From diminution safe and weakening age; 
While man grows old, and dwindles, and decays; 
And countless generations of mankind 
Depart; and leave no vestige where they trod. 

   We live by Admiration, Hope and Love; 
And, even as these are well and wisely fixed, 
In dignity of being we ascend. 
But what is error?"--"Answer he who can!" 
The Sceptic somewhat haughtily exclaimed: 
"Love, Hope, and Admiration,--are they not 
Mad Fancy's favourite vassals? Does not life 
Use them, full oft, as pioneers to ruin, 
Guides to destruction? Is it well to trust 
Imagination's light when reason's fails, 
The unguarded taper where the guarded faints? 
--Stoop from those heights, and soberly declare 
What error is; and, of our errors, which 
Doth most debase the mind; the genuine seats 
Of power, where are they? Who shall regulate, 
With truth, the scale of intellectual rank?" 

   "Methinks," persuasively the Sage replied, 
"That for this arduous office you possess 
Some rare advantages. Your early days 
A grateful recollection must supply 
Of much exalted good by Heaven vouchsafed 
To dignify the humblest state.--Your voice 
Hath, in my hearing, often testified 
That poor men's children, they, and they alone, 
By their condition taught, can understand 
The wisdom of the prayer that daily asks 
For daily bread. A consciousness is yours 
How feelingly religion may be learned 
In smoky cabins, from a mother's tongue-- 
Heard where the dwelling vibrates to the din 
Of the contiguous torrent, gathering strength 
At every moment--and, with strength, increase 
Of fury; or, while snow is at the door, 
Assaulting and defending, and the wind, 
A sightless labourer, whistles at his work-- 
Fearful; but resignation tempers fear, 
And piety is sweet to infant minds. 
--The Shepherd-lad, that in the sunshine carves, 0 
On the green turf, a dial--to divide 
The silent hours; and who to that report 
Can portion out his pleasures, and adapt, 
Throughout a long and lonely summer's day 
His round of pastoral duties, is not left 
With less intelligence for 'moral' things 
Of gravest import. Early he perceives, 
Within himself, a measure and a rule, 
Which to the sun of truth he can apply, 
That shines for him, and shines for all mankind. 
Experience daily fixing his regards 
On nature's wants, he knows how few they are, 
And where they lie, how answered and appeased. 
This knowledge ample recompense affords 
For manifold privations; he refers 
His notions to this standard; on this rock 
Rests his desires; and hence, in after life, 
Soul-strengthening patience, and sublime content. 
Imagination--not permitted here 
To waste her powers, as in the worldling's mind, 
On fickle pleasures, and superfluous cares, 
And trivial ostentation--is left free 
And puissant to range the solemn walks 
Of time and nature, girded by a zone 
That, while it binds, invigorates and supports. 
Acknowledge, then, that whether by the side 
Of his poor hut, or on the mountain top, 
Or in the cultured field, a Man so bred 
(Take from him what you will upon the score 
Of ignorance or illusion) lives and breathes 
For noble purposes of mind: his heart 
Beats to the heroic song of ancient days; 
His eye distinguishes, his soul creates. 
And those illusions, which excite the scorn 
Or move the pity of unthinking minds, 
Are they not mainly outward ministers 
Of inward conscience? with whose service charged 
They came and go, appeared and disappear, 
Diverting evil purposes, remorse 
Awakening, chastening an intemperate grief, 
Or pride of heart abating: and, whene'er 
For less important ends those phantoms move, 
Who would forbid them, if their presence serve-- 
On thinly-peopled mountains and wild heaths, 
Filling a space, else vacant--to exalt 
The forms of Nature, and enlarge her powers? 

   Once more to distant ages of the world 
Let us revert, and place before our thoughts 
The face which rural solitude might wear 
To the unenlightened swains of pagan Greece. 
--In that fair clime, the lonely herdsman, stretched 
On the soft grass through half a summer's day, 
With music lulled his indolent repose: 
And, in some fit of weariness, if he, 
When his own breath was silent, chanced to hear 
A distant strain, far sweeter than the sounds 
Which his poor skill could make, his fancy fetched, 
Even from the blazing chariot of the sun, 
A beardless Youth, who touched a golden lute, 
And filled the illumined groves with ravishment. 
The nightly hunter, lifting a bright eye 
Up towards the crescent moon, with grateful heart 
Called on the lovely wanderer who bestowed 
That timely light, to share his joyous sport: 
And hence, a beaming Goddess with her Nymphs, 
Across the lawn and through the darksome grove, 
Not unaccompanied with tuneful notes 
By echo multiplied from rock or cave, 
Swept in the storm of chase; as moon and stars 
Glance rapidly along the clouded heaven, 
When winds are blowing strong. The traveller slaked 
His thirst from rill or gushing fount, and thanked 
The Naiad. Sunbeams, upon distant hills 
Gliding apace, with shadows in their train, 
Might, with small help from fancy, be transformed 
Into fleet Oreads sporting visibly. 
The Zephyrs fanning, as they passed, their wings, 
Lacked not, for love, fair objects whom they wooed 
With gentle whisper. Withered boughs grotesque, 
Stripped of their leaves and twigs by hoary age, 
From depth of shaggy covert peeping forth 
In the low vale, or on steep mountain side; 
And, sometimes, intermixed with stirring horns 
Of the live deer, or goat's depending beard,-- 
These were the lurking Satyrs, a wild brood 
Of gamesome Deities; or Pan himself, 
The simple shepherd's awe-inspiring God!" 

   The strain was aptly chosen; and I could mark 
Its kindly influence, o'er the yielding brow 
Of our Companion, gradually diffused; 
While, listening, he had paced the noiseless turf, 
Like one whose untired ear a murmuring stream 
Detains; but tempted now to interpose, 
He with a smile exclaimed:-- 
    "'Tis well you speak 
At a safe distance from our native land, 
And from the mansions where our youth was taught. 
The true descendants of those godly men 
Who swept from Scotland, in a flame of zeal, 
Shrine, altar, image, and the massy piles 
That harboured them,--the souls retaining yet 0 
The churlish features of that after-race 
Who fled to woods, caverns, and jutting rocks, 
In deadly scorn of superstitious rites, 
Or what their scruples construed to be such-- 
How, think you, would they tolerate this scheme 
Of fine propensities, that tends, if urged 
Far as it might be urged, to sow afresh 
The weeds of Romish phantasy, in vain 
Uprooted; would re-consecrate our wells 
To good Saint Fillan and to fair Saint Anne; 
And from long banishment recall Saint Giles, 
To watch again with tutelary love 
O'er stately Edinborough throned on crags? 
A blessed restoration, to behold 
The patron, on the shoulders of his priests, 
Once more parading through her crowded streets, 
Now simply guarded by the sober powers 
Of science, and philosophy, and sense!" 

   This answer followed.--"You have turned my thoughts 
Upon our brave Progenitors, who rose 
Against idolatry with warlike mind, 
And shrunk from vain observances, to lurk 
In woods, and dwell under impending rocks 
Ill-sheltered, and oft wanting fire and food; 
Why?--for this very reason that they felt, 
And did acknowledge, wheresoe'er they moved, 
A spiritual presence, oft-times misconceived, 
But still a high dependence, a divine 
Bounty and government, that filled their hearts 
With joy, and gratitude, and fear, and love; 
And from their fervent lips drew hymns of praise, 
That through the desert rang. Though favoured less, 
Far less, than these, yet such, in their degree, 
Were those bewildered Pagans of old time. 
Beyond their own poor natures and above 
They looked; were humbly thankful for the good 
Which the warm sun solicited, and earth 
Bestowed; were gladsome,--and their moral sense 
They fortified with reverence for the Gods; 
And they had hopes that overstepped the Grave. 

   Now, shall our great Discoverers," he exclaimed, 
Raising his voice triumphantly, "obtain 
From sense and reason, less than these obtained, 
Though far misled? Shall men for whom our age 
Unbaffled powers of vision hath prepared, 
To explore the world without and world within, 
Be joyless as the blind? Ambitious spirits-- 
Whom earth, at this late season, hath produced 
To regulate the moving spheres, and weigh 
The planets in the hollow of their hand; 
And they who rather dive than soar, whose pains 
Have solved the elements, or analysed 
The thinking principle--shall they in fact 
Prove a degraded Race? and what avails 
Renown, if their presumption make them such? 
Oh! there is laughter at their work in heaven! 
Inquire of ancient Wisdom; go, demand 
Of mighty Nature, if 'twas ever meant 
That we should pry far off yet be unraised; 
That we should pore, and dwindle as we pore, 
Viewing all objects unremittingly 
In disconnection dead and spiritless; 
And still dividing, and dividing still, 
Break down all grandeur, still unsatisfied 
With the perverse attempt, while littleness 
May yet become more little; waging thus 
An impious warfare with the very life 
Of our own souls! 
    And if indeed there be 
An all-pervading Spirit, upon whom 
Our dark foundations rest, could he design 
That this magnificent effect of power, 
The earth we tread, the sky that we behold 
By day, and all the pomp which night reveals; 
That these--and that superior mystery 
Our vital frame, so fearfully devised, 
And the dread soul within it--should exist 
Only to be examined, pondered, searched, 
Probed, vexed, and criticised? Accuse me not 
Of arrogance, unknown Wanderer as I am, 
If, having walked with Nature threescore years, 
And offered, far as frailty would allow, 
My heart a daily sacrifice to Truth, 
I now affirm of Nature and of Truth, 
Whom I have served, that their DIVINITY 
Revolts, offended at the ways of men 
Swayed by such motives, to such ends employed; 
Philosophers, who, though the human soul 
Be of a thousand faculties composed, 
And twice ten thousand interests, do yet prize 
This soul, and the transcendent universe, 
No more than as a mirror that reflects 
To proud Self-love her own intelligence; 
That one, poor, finite object, in the abyss 
Of infinite Being, twinkling restlessly! 

    Nor higher place can be assigned to him 
And his compeers--the laughing Sage of France.-- 
Crowned was he, if my memory do not err, 
With laurel planted upon hoary hairs, 
In sign of conquest by his wit achieved 
And benefits his wisdom had conferred; 00 
His stooping body tottered with wreaths of flowers 
Opprest, far less becoming ornaments 
Than Spring oft twines about a mouldering tree; 
Yet so it pleased a fond, a vain, old Man, 
And a most frivolous people. Him I mean 
Who penned, to ridicule confiding faith, 
This sorry Legend; which by chance we found 
Piled in a nook, through malice, as might seem, 
Among more innocent rubbish."--Speaking thus, 
With a brief notice when, and how, and where, 10 
We had espied the book, he drew it forth; 
And courteously, as if the act removed, 
At once, all traces from the good Man's heart 
Of unbenign aversion or contempt, 
Restored it to its owner. "Gentle Friend," 
Herewith he grasped the Solitary's hand, 
"You have known lights and guides better than these. 
Ah! let not aught amiss within dispose 
A noble mind to practise on herself, 
And tempt opinion to support the wrongs 
Of passion: whatsoe'er be felt or feared, 
From higher judgment-seats make no appeal 
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, black and disconsolate, 
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; 
"But how begin? and whence?--'The Mind is free-- 80 
Resolve,' the haughty Moralist would say, 
'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, tossed in a little boat 
That holds but him, 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?" 
    In rueful tone, 0 
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:-- 
    "As men from men 
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 from within were heard 
Murmurings, whereby 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 season, 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! What if these 
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 
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 seemed 
To expire; yet from the abyss is caught again, 
And yet again recovered! 
    But descending 
From these imaginative heights, that yield 
Far-stretching views into eternity, 
Acknowledge that to Nature's humbler power 
Your cherished sullenness is forced to bend 
Even 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, 0 
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 
Both knows and loves 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, 
Shall move unswerving, even as if impelled 
By strict necessity, along the path 
Of order and of good. Whate'er we see, 
Or feel, shall tend to quicken and refine; 
Shall fix, in calmer seats of moral strength, 
Earthly desires; and raise, to loftier heights 
Of divine love, our intellectual soul." 

   Here closed the Sage that eloquent harangue, 
Poured 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 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 
Dispersed, like music that the wind takes up 
By snatches, and lets fall, to be forgotten; 
No--they sank into me, the bounteous gift 
Of one whom time and nature had made wise, 
Gracing his doctrine 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 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 reached, 
Had yet to travel far, but unto us, 
To us who stood low in that hollow dell, 0 
He had become invisible,--a pomp 
Leaving behind of yellow radiance spread 
Over 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 countenance may be read 
Plain indication 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 lay, 
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. 

NOTES 

130 ''Tis, by comparison, an easy task 
Earth to despise,' etc. 

See, upon this subject, Baxter's most interesting review of his own opinions and sentiments in the decline of life. It may be found (lately reprinted) in Dr. Wordsworth's "Ecclesiastical Biography." 

205 'Alas! the endowment of immortal Power 
Is matched unequally with custom, time,' etc. 

This subject is treated at length in the Ode--Intimations of Immortality. 

324 'Knowing the heart of man is set to be,' etc. 

The passage quoted from Daniel is taken from a poem addressed to the Lady Margaret, Countess of Cumberland, and the two last lines, printed in Italics, are by him translated from Seneca. The whole Poem is very beautiful. I will transcribe four stanzas from it, as they contain an admirable picture of the state of a wise Man's mind in a time of public commotion. 

Nor is he moved with all the thunder-cracks 
Of tyrant's threats, or with the surly brow 
Of Power, that proudly sits on others' crimes; 
Charged with more crying sins than those he checks. 
The storms of sad confusion that may grow 
Up in the present for the coming times, 
Appal not him; that hath no side at all, 
But of himself, and knows the worst can fall. 

Although his heart (so near allied to earth) 
Cannot but pity the perplexed state 
Of troublous and distressed mortality, 
That thus make way unto the ugly birth 
Of their own sorrows, and do still beget 
Affliction upon Imbecility: 
Yet seeing thus the course of things must run, 
He looks thereon not strange, but as fore-done. 

And whilst distraught ambition compasses, 
And is encompassed, while as craft deceives, 
And is deceived: whilst man doth ransack man, 
And builds on blood, and rises by distress; 
And th' Inheritance of desolation leaves 
To great-expecting hopes: He looks thereon, 
As from the shore of peace, with unwet eye, 
And bears no venture in Impiety. 

Thus, Lady, fares that man that hath prepared 
A rest for his desires; and sees all things 
Beneath him; and hath learned this book of man, 
Full of the notes of frailty; and compared 
The best of glory with her sufferings: 
By whom, I see, you labour all you can 
To plant your heart! and set your thoughts as near 
His glorious mansion as your powers can bear. 

NOTE