For, not unconscious of the mighty debt
Which to outrageous wrong the sufferer owes, Europe, through all her habitable bounds, Is thirsting for their overthrow, who yet Survive, as pagan temples stood of yore,
By horror of their impious rites, preserved; Are still permitted to extend their pride, Like cedars on the top of Lebanon
But less impatient thoughts, And love all hoping and expecting all,' This hallowed grave demands, where rests in peace A humble champion of the better cause; A Peasant-youth, so call him, for he asked No higher name; in whom our country showed, 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, appeared 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 day-a summer's day of annual pomp And solemn chase-from morn to sultry noon His steps had followed, fleetest of the fleet, The red-deer driven along its native heights With cry of hound and horn; and, from that toil Returned with sinews weakened and relaxed, 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. Convulsions dire [space Seized him, that self-same night; and through the Of twelve ensuing days his frame was wrenched, Till nature rested from her work in death. To him, thus snatched 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 looked 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 disturbed 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 echoed 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 turned aside; Whether through manly instinct to conceal 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 Intent upon a monumental stone,
Whose uncouth form was grafted on the wall, Or rather seemed to have grown into the side Of the rude pile; as oft-times trunks of trees, Where nature works in wild and craggy spots, Are seen incorporate with the living rockTo endure for aye. The Vicar, taking note Of his employment, with a courteous smile Exclaimed
"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 fixed his home in this sequestered vale. "Tis left untold if here he first drew breath, Or as a stranger reached 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 When joy of war and pride of chivalry Languished 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 turned.
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 spear and shield, and borne Upon a Charger gorgeously bedecked
With broidered 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,
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, enwraps
Their monuments and their memory. The vast Frame
Of social nature changes evermore
Her organs and her members with decay
By those untravelled Dalesmen. With less pride, Restless, and restless generation, powers
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, gathered 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 vanished, 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 Erthing, 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 grey-haired Wanderer pensively exclaimed, "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, withered 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 burthen of the old, And placing trust in privilege confirmed And re-confirmed-are scoffed at with a smile Of greedy foretaste, from the secret stand Of Desolation, aimed: to slow decline
And functions dying and produced at need,— And by this law the mighty whole subsists: With an ascent and progress in the main ; Yet, oh! how disproportioned to the hopes And expectations of self-flattering minds !
The courteous Knight, whose bones are here interred,
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, sailed 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 bowed to other laws) Had also witnessed, in his morn of life, That violent commotion, which o'erthrew, In town and city and sequestered glen, Altar, and cross, and church of solemn roof, And old religious house-pile after pile; And shook their tenants out into the fields, Like wild beasts without home! Their hour was
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 maddened nations at the sight Of sudden overthrow; and cold neglect Is the sure consequence of slow decay.
Even," said the Wanderer, "as that courteous Knight,
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 doomed 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
To stop, and yield our gracious Teacher thanks For the pathetic records which his voice 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 apology and apprehensions that he might have detained his Auditors too long, with the Pastor's invitation to his house-Solitary disinclined to comply-rallies the Wanderer-and playfully draws a comparison between his itinerant profession and that of the Knighterrant-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-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 Cotton-millIgnorance 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 Sceptic of the lonely vale
To those acknowledgments subscribed his own, With a sedate compliance, which the Priest Failed not to notice, inly pleased, and said :— "If ye, by whom invited I began These narratives of calm and humble life, Be satisfied, 'tis well,-the end is gained; And, in return for sympathy bestowed 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 wished 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 crossed me that my zeal To his might well be likened, who unlocks A cabinet stored with gems and pictures-draws His treasures forth, soliciting regard To this, and this, as worthier than the last, Till the spectator, who awhile was pleased More than the exhibitor 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, even 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 graced with some resemblance. Errant those, Exiles and wanderers-and the like are these; Who, with their burthen, traverse hill and dale, Carrying relief for nature's simple wants. -What though no higher recompense be sought Than honest maintenance, by irksome toil Full oft procured, yet may they claim respect, Among the 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 Nature (I but repeat your favourite boast) Is bountiful-go wheresoe'er they may; 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 unlooked-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?"
(Prized avenues ere others had been shaped Or easier links connecting place with place) Have vanished-swallowed 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 intercourse, Glistening along the low and woody dale; Or, in its progress, on the lofty side,
Of some bare hill, with wonder kenned from far. | 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 massed Like trees in forests,-spread through spacious tracts,
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, 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
"Happy," rejoined the Wanderer, "they who gain Of Britain are resorted to by ships
A panegyric from your generous tongue! But, if to these Wayfarers once pertained Aught of romantic interest, it is 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, Wished-for, or welcome, wheresoe'er he came— Among the tenantry of thorpe and vill; 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.
Freighted from every climate of the world
With the world's choicest produce. Hence that
Of keels that rest within her crowded ports, Or ride at anchor in her sounds and bays; That animating spectacle of sails That, 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 watched, 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
The foot-path faintly marked, the horse-track wild, The indignant power to justify herself; And formidable length of plashy lane,
Yea, to avenge her violated rights,
For England's bane.-When soothing darkness spreads
O'er hill and vale," the Wanderer thus expressed 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, undisturbed; 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 The assured domain of calm simplicity And pensive quiet, an unnatural light Prepared for never-resting Labour's eyes Breaks from a many-windowed 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 the 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 offered up To Gain, the master idol of the realm, Perpetual sacrifice. Even 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 burned continually, In token that the House was evermore Watching to God. Religious men were they; Nor would their reason, tutored to aspire Above this transitory world, allow
That there should pass a moment of the year, When in their land the Almighty's service ceased.
Triumph who will in these profaner rites Which we, a generation self-extolled, As zealously perform! I cannot share His proud complacency :-yet do I exult, Casting reserve away, exult to see 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 compelled To serve the will of feeble-bodied Man.
For with the sense of admiration blends The animating hope that time may come When, strengthened, yet not dazzled, by the might Of this dominion over nature gained, 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 Upon the grave of vanished Syracuse, 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 unpropped By virtue.-He, sighing with 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
I said, " And, did in truth those vaunted Arts Possess such privilege, how could we escape Sadness and keen regret, we 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 cheered a low estate? Oh! 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 detained 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 attached
To time and season, as the year rolled round?"
"Fled!" was the Wanderer's passionate response, "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 Into an instrument of deadly bane
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