May creep (I wish that they would softly creep) Over thy last abode, and we may pass Reminded less imperiously of thee; The ridge itself may sink into the breast Of earth, the great abyss, and be no more; Yet shall not thy remembrance leave our hearts, Thy image disappear!
No eye can overlook, when 'mid a grove Of yet unfaded trees she lifts her head, Deck'd with autumnal berries, that outshine Spring's richest blossoms; and ye may have mark'd, By a brook side or solitary tarn,
How she her station doth adorn; the pool Glows at her feet, and all the gloomy rocks Are brighten'd round her. In his native vale Such and so glorious did this youth appear; A sight that kindled pleasure in all hearts By his ingenuous beauty, by the gleam Of his fair eyes, by his capacious brow, By all the graces with which nature's hand Had lavishly array'd him. As old bards Tell in their idle songs of wandering gods, Pan or Apollo, veil'd in human form; Yet, like the sweet-breath'd violet of the shade, Discover'd in their own despite to sense Of mortals, (if such fables without blame May find chance mention on this sacred ground,) So, through a simple rustic garb's disguise, And through th' impediment of rural cares, In him reveal'd a scholar's genius shone; And so, not wholly hidden from men's sight, In him the spirit of a hero walk'd Our unpretending valley. How the coit
And yet a modest comrade, led them forth From their shy solitude, to face the world With a gay confidence and seemly pride; Measuring the soil beneath their happy feet, Like youths released from labour, and yet bound To most laborious service, though to them A festival of unencumber'd ease; The inner spirit keeping holyday, Like vernal ground to sabbath sunshine left. "Oft have I mark'd him at some leisure hour, Stretch'd on the grass or seated in the shade Among his fellows, while an ample map Before their eyes lay carefully outspread, From which the gallant teacher would discourse, Now pointing this way and now that. Here flows,' Thus would he say, the Rhine, that famous stream! Eastward, the Danube toward this inland sea, A mightier river, winds from realm to realm, And, like a serpent, shows his glittering back Bespotted with innumerable isles:
Here reigns the Russian, there the Turk; observe His capital city!' Thence, along a tract Of livelier interest to his hopes and fears His finger moved, distinguishing the spots Where wide-spread conflict then most fiercely raged; Nor left unstigmatized those fatal fields On which the sons of mighty Germany Were taught a base submission. 'Here behold A nobler race, the Switzers, and their land; Vales deeper far than these of ours, huge woods And mountains white with everlasting snow!' And, surely, he, that spake with kindling brow, Was a true patriot, hopeful as the best Of that young peasantry, who, in our days,
Whizz'd from the stripling's arm! If touch'd by Have fought and perish'd for Helvetia's rights,—
Th' inglorious football mounted to the pitch
Of the lark's flight, or shaped a rainbow curve, Aloft, in prospect of the shouting field! The indefatigable fox had learn'd To dread his perseverance in the chase. With admiration would he lift his eyes To the wide-ruling eagle, and his hand Was loath to assault the majesty he loved; Else had the strongest fastnesses proved weak To guard the royal brood. The sailing glead, The wheeling swallow, and the darting snipe, The sportive sea-gull dancing with the waves, And cautious water-fowl from distant climes, Fix'd at their seat, the centre of the mere, Were subject to young Oswald's steady aim. "From Gallia's coast a tyrant hurl'd his threats; Our country mark'd the preparation vast Of hostile forces; and she call'd, with voice That fill'd her plains, that reach'd her utmost shores, And in remotest vales was heard,-To arms! Then, for the first time, here you might have seen The shepherd's gray to martial scarlet changed, That flash'd uncouthly through the woods and fields. Ten hardy striplings, all in bright attire, And graced with shining weapons, weekly march'd From this lone valley, to a central spot, Where, in assemblage with the flower and choice Of the surrounding district, they might learn The rudiments of war; ten-hardy, strong, And valiant; but young Oswald, like a chief,
Ah, not in vain!-or those who, in old time, For work of happier issue to the side Of Tell came trooping from a thousand huts, When he had risen alone! No braver youth Descended from Judean heights, to march With righteous Joshua; or appear❜d in arms When grove was fell'd, and altar was cast down, And Gideon blew the trumpet, soul-inflamed, And strong in hatred of idolatry."
This spoken, from his seat the pastor rose, And moved towards the grave. Instinctively His steps we follow'd; and my voice exclaim'd, "Power to th' oppressors of the world is given, A might of which they dream not. O! the curse, To be th' awakener of divinest thoughts, Father and Founder of exalted deeds, And to whole nations bound in servile straits The liberal donor of capacities More than heroic! this to be, nor yet Have sense of one connatural wish, nor yet Deserve the least return of human thanks; Winning no recompense but deadly hate With pity mix'd, astonishment with scorn!"
When these involuntary words had ceased, The pastor said, " So Providence is served; The forked weapon of the skies can send Illumination into deep, dark holds, Which the mild sunbeam hath not power to pierce. Why do ye quake, intimidated thrones ? For, not unconscious of the mighty debt Which to outrageous wrong the sufferer owes,
Europe, through all her habitable seats, Is thirsting for their overthrow, who still Exist, as pagan temples stood of old, By very horror of their impious rites Preserved; are suffer'd to extend their pride, Like cedars on the top of Lebanon
Darkening the sun. But less impatient thoughts,
And love all hoping and expecting all,'
Tender emotions spreading from the heart To his worn cheek; or with uneasy shame For those cold humours of habitual spleen, That fondly seeking in dispraise of man Solace and self-excuse, had sometimes urged To self-abuse a not ineloquent tongue. Right toward the sacred edifice his steps Had been directed; and we saw him now
This hallow'd grave demands, where rests in peace Intent upon a monumental stone,
A humble champion of the better cause;
A peasant youth, so call him, for he ask'd No higher name; in whom our country show'd, As in a favourite son, most beautiful. In spite of vice, and misery, and disease, Spread with the spreading of her wealthy arts, England, the ancient and the free, appear'd In him to stand before my swimming eyes, Unconquerably virtuous and secure. No more of this, lest I offend his dust: Short was his life, and a brief tale remains. "One summer's day-a day of annual pomp And solemn chase-from morn to sultry noon His steps had follow'd, fleetest of the fleet, The red deer, driven along its native heights With cry of hound and horn; and, from that toil Return'd with sinews weaken'd and relax'd, This generous youth, too negligent of self, Plunged-'mid a gay and busy throng convened To wash the fleeces of his father's flock- Into the chilling flood.
Whose uncouth form was grafted on the wall, Or rather seem'd to have grown into the side Of the rude pile; as ofttimes trunks of trees, Where nature works in wild and craggy spots, Are seen incorporate with the living rock, To endure for aye. The vicar, taking note Of his employment, with a courteous smile Exclaim'd, "The sagest antiquarian's eye That task would foil;" then, letting fall his voice While he advanced, thus spake: "Tradition tells That, in Eliza's golden days, a knight Came on a war-horse sumptuously attired, And fix'd his home in this sequester'd vale. 'Tis left untold if here he first drew breath, Or as a stranger reach'd this deep recess, Unknowing and unknown. A pleasing thought I sometimes entertain, that, haply bound To Scotland's court in service of his queen, Or sent on mission to some northern chief Of England's realm, this vale he might have seen, With transient observation; and thence caught An image fair, which brightening in his soul
Seized him that selfsame night; and through the When joy of war and pride of chivalry
Of twelve ensuing days his frame was wrench'd, Till nature rested from her work in death. To him, thus snatch'd away, his comrades paid A soldier's honours. At his funeral hour Bright was the sun, the sky a cloudless blue; A golden lustre slept upon the hills; And if by chance a stranger, wandering there, From some commanding eminence had look'd Down on this spot, well pleased would he have seen A glittering spectacle; but every face Was pallid; seldom hath that eye been moist With tears, that wept not then; nor were the few Who from their dwellings came not forth to join In this sad service, less disturb'd than we. They started at the tributary peal Of instantaneous thunder, which announced Through the still air the closing of the grave; And distant mountains echo'd with a sound Of lamentation never heard before !"
The pastor ceased. My venerable friend Victoriously upraised his clear bright eye; And, when that eulogy was ended, stood Enrapt, as if his inward sense perceived The prolongation of some still response, Sent by the ancient soul of this wide land, The spirit of its mountains and its seas, Its cities, temples, fields, its awful power, Its rights and virtues-by that Deity Descending, and supporting his pure heart With patriotic confidence and joy. And, at the last of those memorial words, The pining solitary turn'd aside, Whether through manly instinct to conceal
Languish'd beneath accumulated years, Had power to draw him from the world, resolved To make that paradise his chosen home To which his peaceful fancy oft had turn'd. Vague thoughts are these; but, if belief may rest Upon unwritten story fondly traced From sire to son, in this obscure retreat The knight arrived, with pomp of spear and shield, And borne upon a charger cover'd o'er With gilded housings. And the lofty steed, His sole companion, and his faithful friend, Whom he, in gratitude, let loose to range In fertile pastures, was beheld with eyes Of admiration, and delightful awe, By those untravell'd dalesmen. With less pride, Yet free from touch of envious discontent, They saw a mansion at his bidding rise, Like a bright star amid the lowly band
Of their rude homesteads. Here the warrior dwelt; And, in that mansion, children of his own, Or kindred, gather'd round him. As a tree That falls and disappears, the house is gone; And, through improvidence or want of love For ancient worth and honourable things, The spear and shield are vanish'd, which the knight Hung in his rustic hall. One ivied arch Myself have seen, a gateway, last remains Of that foundation in domestic care Raised by his hands. And now no trace is left Of the mild-hearted champion, save this stone, Faithless memorial! and his family name Borne by yon clustering cottages, that sprang From out the ruins of his stately lodge: These, and the name and title at full length-
SIR ALFRED IRTHING, with appropriate words Accompanied, still extant, in a wreath Or posy, girding round the several fronts Of three clear-sounding and harmonious bells That in the steeple hang, his pious gift."
"So fails, so languishes, grows dim, and dies," The gray-hair'd wanderer pensively exclaim'd, "All that this world is proud of. From their spheres The stars of human glory are cast down; Perish the roses and the flowers of kings,* Princes, and emperors, and the crowns and palms Of all the mighty, wither'd and consumed! Nor is power given to lowliest innocence Long to protect her own. The man himself Departs; and soon is spent the line of those Who, in the bodily image, in the mind, In heart or soul, in station or pursuit, Did most resemble him. Degrees and ranks, Fraternities and orders-heaping high New wealth upon the burden of the old, And placing trust in privilege confirm'd And reconfirm'd-are scoff'd at with a smile Of greedy foretaste, from the secret stand Of desolation, aim'd: to slow decline These yield, and these to sudden overthrow; Their virtue, service, happiness, and state Expire; and nature's pleasant robe of green, Humanity's appointed shroud, inwraps
But why no softening thought of gratitude, No just remembrance, scruple, or wise doubt? Benevolence is mild; nor borrows help, Save at worst need, from bold impetuous force, Fitliest allied to anger and revenge. But human kind rejoices in the might Of mutability, and airy hopes, Dancing around her, hinder and disturb Those meditations of the soul that feed The retrospective virtues. Festive songs Break from the madden'd nations at the sight Of sudden overthrow; and cold neglect
Is the sure consequence of slow decay. Even," said the wanderer, "as that courteous
Bound by his vow to labour for redress
Of all who suffer wrong, and to enact By sword and lance the law of gentleness, (If I may venture of myself to speak, Trusting that not incongruously I blend Low things with lofty,) I too shall be doom'd To outlive the kindly use and fair esteem Of the poor calling which my youth embraced With no unworthy prospect. But enough; Thoughts crowd upon me, and 'twere seemlier now To stop, and yield our gracious teacher thanks
Their monuments and their memory. The vast For the pathetic records which his voice
Of social nature changes evermore Her organs and her members with decay Restless, and restless generation, powers And functions dying and produced at need; And by this law the mighty whole subsists: With an ascent and progress in the main, Yet, O! how disproportion'd to the hopes And expectations of self-flattering minds!
The courteous knight whose bones are here interr'd, Lived in an age conspicuous as our own
For strife and ferment in the minds of men ; Whence alteration, in the forms of things, Various and vast. A memorable age! Which did to him assign a pensive lot- To linger 'mid the last of those bright clouds, That, on the steady breeze of honour, sail'd In long procession, calm and beautiful.
He who had seen his own bright order fade, And its devotion gradually decline, (While war, relinquishing the lance and shield, Her temper changed, and bow'd to other laws,) Had also witnessed, in his morn of life, That violent commotion which o'erthrew, In town, and city, and sequester'd glen, Altar, and cross, and church of solemn roof, And old religious house-pile after pile; And shook the tenants out into the fields,
The "transit gloria mundi" is finely expressed in the introduction to the foundation charters of some of the ancient abbeys. Some expressions here used are taken from that of the abbey of St. Mary's Furness, the translation of which is as follows:
Hath here delivered; words of heartfelt truth, Tending to patience when affliction strikes; To hope and love; to confident repose In God; and reverence for the dust of man."
Pastor's apprehensions that he might have detained his auditors too long. Invitation to his house. Solitary disinclined to comply, rallies the wanderer; and somewhat playfully draws a comparison between his itine rant profession and that of the knight-errant; which leads to wanderer's giving an account of changes in the country from the manufacturing spirit. Favourable effects. The other side of the picture, and chiefly as it has affected the humbler classes. Wanderer asserts the hollowness of all national grandeur if unsupported by moral worth; gives instances. Physical science unable to support itself. Lamentations over an excess of manufacturing industry among the humbler classes of society. Picture of a child employed in a cottonmill. Ignorance and degradation of children among the agricultural population reviewed. Conversation broken off by a renewed invitation from the pastor. Path leading to his house. Its appearance described. His daughter. His wife. His son (a boy) enters with his companion. Their happy appearance. The wanderer, how affected by the sight of them.
THE pensive skeptic of the lonely vale To those acknowledgments subscribed his own, With a sedate compliance, which the priest Fail'd not to notice, inly pleased, and said, "Considering every day the uncertainty of life, that the« If ye, by whom invited I commenced roses and flowers of kings, emperors, and dukes, and the These narratives of calm and humble life, crowns and palms of all the great wither and decay; and that all things, with an uninterrupted course, tend to dis- Be satisfied, 'tis well; the end is gain'd; solution and death: I therefore," &c. And in return for sympathy bestow'd
And patient listening, thanks accept from me. Life, death, eternity! momentous themes Are they, and might demand a seraph's tongue, Were they not equal to their own support; And therefore no incompetence of mine Could do them wrong. The universal forms Of human nature, in a spot like this, Present themselves at once to all men's view: Ye wish'd for act and circumstance, that make The individual known and understood: And such as my best judgment could select From what the place afforded have been given ; Though apprehensions cross'd me that my zeal To his might well be liken'd, who unlocks A cabinet with gems or pictures stored, And draws them forth-soliciting.regard To this, and this, as worthier than the last, Till the spectator who a while was pleased More than the exhibiter himself, becomes Weary and faint, and longs to be released. But let us hence! my dwelling is in sight, And there??
At this the solitary shrunk
With backward will: but, wanting not address That inward motion to disguise, he said To his compatriot, smiling as he spake ; "The peaceable remains of this good knight Would be disturbed, I fear, with wrathful scorn, If consciousness could reach him where he lies That one, albeit of these degenerate times, Deploring changes past, or dreading change Foreseen, had dared to couple, e'en in thought, The fine vocation of the sword and lance With the gross aims and body-bending toil Of a poor brotherhood who walk the earth Pitied, and where they are not known, despised. Yet, by the good knight's leave, the two estates Are traced with some resemblance. Errant those, Exiles and wanderers-and the like are these ; Who with their burden, traverse hill and dale, Carrying relief for nature's simple wants. What though no higher recompense they seek Than honest maintenance, by irksome toil Full oft procured, yet such may claim respect, Among th' intelligent, for what this course Enables them to be, and to perform. Their tardy steps give leisure to observe, While solitude permits the mind to feel; Instructs and prompts her to supply defects By the division of her inward self,
For grateful converse; and to these poor men (As I have heard you boast with honest pride) Nature is bountiful, where'er they go; Kind nature's various wealth is all their own. Versed in the characters of men and bound, By ties of daily interest, to maintain Conciliatory manners and smooth speech; Such have been, and still are in their degree, Examples efficacious to refine
Rude intercourse: apt agents to expel, By importation of unlook'd-for arts, Barbarian torpor, and blind prejudice; Raising, through just gradation, savage life To rustic, and the rustic to urbane. Within their moving magazines is lodged Power that comes forth to quicken and exalt
Affections seated in the mother's breast, And in the lover's fancy; and to feed The sober sympathies of long-tried friends. By these itinerants, as experienced men, Counsel is given; contention they appease With gentle language; in remotest wilds, Tears wipe away, and pleasant tidings bring; Could the proud quest of chivalry do more?"
Happy," rejoined the wanderer, "they who gain
A panegyric from your generous tongue! But, if to these wayfarers once pertained Aught of romantic interest, 'tis gone; Their purer service, in this realm at least, Is past for ever. An inventive age Has wrought, if not with speed of magic, yet To most strange issues. I have lived to mark A new and unforeseen creation rise From out the labours of a peaceful land, Wielding her potent enginery to frame And to produce, with appetite as keen As that of war, which rests not night or day, Industrious to destroy! With fruitless pains Might one like me now visit many a tract Which, in his youth, he trod, and trod again, A lone pedestrian with a scanty freight, Wish'd for, or welcome, wheresoe'er he came, Among the tenantry of Thorpe and Ville; Or straggling burgh, of ancient charter proud, And dignified by battlements and towers Of some stern castle, mouldering on the brow Of a green hill or bank of rugged stream. The footpath faintly mark'd, the horse-track wild And formidable length of plasby lane, (Prized avenues ere others had been shaped Or easier links connecting place with place) Have vanished,-swallow'd up by stately roads Easy and bold, that penetrate the gloom Of Britain's farthest glens. The earth has lent Her waters, air her breezes ;* and the sail Of traffic glides with ceaseless interchange, Glistening along the low and woody dale, Or on the naked mountain's lofty side. Meanwhile, at social industry's command, How quick, how vast an increase! From the germ Of some poor hamlet, rapidly produced Here a huge town, continuous and compact, Hiding the face of earth for leagues-and there, Where not a habitation stood before, Abodes of men irregularly mass'd
Like trees in forest,-spread through spacious
O'er which the smoke of unremitting fires Hangs permanent, and plentiful as wreaths Of vapour glittering in the morning sun. And wheresoe'er the traveller turns his steps, He sees the barren wilderness erased,
*In treating this subject, it was impossible not to recollect, with gratitude, the pleasing picture, which, in his poem of the Fleece, the excellent and amiable Dyer has given of the influences of manufacturing industry upon the face of this island. He wrote at a time when machinery was first beginning to be introduced, and his benevolent heart prompted him to augur from it nothing but good. Truth has compelled me to dwell upon the baneful effects arising out of an ill-regulated and excessive application of powers so admirable in themselves.
Or disappearing; triumph that proclaims How much the mild directress of the plough Owes to alliance with these new-born arts! Hence is the wide sea peopled,-hence the shores Of Britain are resorted to by ships
Freighted from every climate of the world
That there should pass a moment of the year, When in their land th' Almighty's service ceased. "Triumph who will in these profaner rites Which we, a generation self-extoll'd, As zealously perform! I cannot share His proud complacency; yet I exuit,
With the world's choicest produce. Hence that sum Casting reserve away, exult to see
Of keels that rest within her crowded ports, Or ride at anchor in her sounds and bays; That animating spectacle of sails
Which, through her inland regions, to and fro Pass with the respirations of the tide, Perpetual, multitudinous! Finally, Hence a dread arm of floating power, a voice Of thunder daunting those who would approach With hostile purposes, the blessed isle, Truth's consecrated residence, the seat Impregnable of liberty and peace.
"And yet, O happy pastor of a flock Faithfully watch'd, and, by that loving care And Heaven's good providence, preserved from taint!
With you I grieve, when on the darker side Of this great change I look; and there behold Such outrage done to nature as compels Th' indignant power to justify herself; Yea, to avenge her violated rights,
An intellectual mastery exercised
O'er the blind elements; a purpose given,
A perseverance fed; almost a soul Imparted to brute matter. I rejoice, Measuring the force of those gigantic powers, That by the thinking mind have been compell'd To serve the will of feeble-bodied man. For with the sense of admiration blends The animating hope that time may come When strengthen'd, yet not dazzled, by the might Of this dominion over nature gain'd,
Men of all lands shall exercise the same In due proportion to their country's need; Learning, though late, that all true glory rests, All praise, all safety, and all happiness, Upon the moral law. Egyptian Thebes, Tyre by the margin of the sounding waves, Palmyra, central in the desert, fell;
And the arts died by which they had been raised. Call Archimedes from his buried tomb
For England's bane. When soothing darkness Upon the plain of vanish'd Syracuse,
O'er hill and vale," the wanderer thus express'd His recollections, "and the punctual stars, While all things else are gathering to their homes, Advance, and in the firmament of heaven Glitter-but undisturbing, undisturb'd; As if their silent company were charged With peaceful admonitions for the heart
Of all beholding man, earth's thoughtful lord; Then, in full many a region, once like this Th' assured domain of calm simplicity And pensive quiet, an unnatural light Prepared for never-resting labour's eyes, Breaks from a many-window'd fabric huge; And at the appointed hour a bell is heard, Of harsher import than the curfew-knoll That spake the Norman conqueror's stern behest- A local summons to unceasing toil! Disgorged are now the ministers of day: And, as they issue from th' illumined pile, A fresh band meets them, at the crowded door, And in the courts-and where the rumbling stream, That turns the multitude of dizzy wheels, Glares, like a troubled spirit, in its bed Among the rocks below. Men, maidens, youths, Mother and little children, boys and girls, Enter, and each the wonted task resumes Within this temple, where is offer'd up To gain-the master idol of the realm- Perpetual sacrifice. E'en thus of old Our ancestors within the still domain Of vast cathedral or conventual church, Their vigils kept: where tapers day and night On the dim altar burn'd continually, In token that the house was evermore Watching to God. Religious men were they; Nor would their reason, tutor❜d to aspire Above this transitory world, allow
And feelingly the sage shall make report How insecure, how baseless in itself, Is the philosophy, whose sway depends On mere material instruments; how weak Those arts, and high inventions, if unpropp'd By virtue. He with sighs of pensive grief, Amid his calm abstractions, would admit That not the slender privilege is theirs To save themselves from blank forgetfulness!" When from the wanderer's lips these words had fall'n,
I said, "And, did in truth these vaunted arts Possess such privilege, how could we escape Regret and painful sadness, who revere, And would preserve as things above all price, The old domestic morals of the land, Her simple manners, and the stable worth That dignified and cheer'd a low estate ? O! where is now the character of peace, Sobriety, and order, and chaste love, And honest dealing, and untainted speech, And pure good-will, and hospitable cheer; That made the very thought of country life A thought of refuge, for a mind detain'd Reluctantly amid the bustling crowd? Where now the beauty of the Sabbath kept With conscientious reverence, as a day By the almighty Lawgiver pronounced Holy and blest? and where the winning grace Of all the lighter ornaments attach'd
To time and season, as the year roll'd round?" "Fled!" was the wanderer's passionate re- sponse,
"Fled utterly! or only to be traced
In a few fortunate retreats like this; Which I behold with trembling, when I think What lamentable change, a year-a month- May bring; that brook converting as it runs
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