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To intercept the sun's glad beams-may ne'er
That true succession fail of English hearts,
Who, with ancestral feeling, can perceive
What in those holy structures ye possess
Of ornamental interest, and the charm
Of pious sentiment diffused afar,
And human charity, and social love.
-Thus never shall the indignities of time

¦ Approach their reverend graces, unopposed;
Nor shall the elements be free to hurt
Their fair proportions; nor the blinder rage
Of bigot zeal madly to overturn;
And, if the desolating hand of war
Spare them, they shall continue to bestow,
Upon the thronged abodes of busy men
(Depraved, and ever prone to fill the mind
Exclusively with transitory things)
An air and mien of dignified pursuit ;
Of sweet civility, on rustic wilds.

The Poet, fostering for his native land
Such hope, entreats that servants may abound
Of those pure altars worthy; ministers
Detached from pleasure, to the love of gain
Superior, insusceptible of pride,

And by ambitious longings undisturbed;
Men, whose delight is where their duty leads
Or fixes them; whose least distinguished day
Shines with some portion of that heavenly lustre
Which makes the sabbath lovely in the sight
Of blessed angels, pitying human cares.
-And, as on earth it is the doom of truth
To be perpetually attacked by foes
Open or covert, be that priesthood still,
For her defence, replenished with a band
Of strenuous champions, in scholastic arts
Thoroughly disciplined; nor (if in course
Of the revolving world's disturbances

Cause should recur, which righteous Heaven avert!
To meet such trial) from their spiritual sires
Degenerate; who, constrained to wield the sword
Of disputation, shrunk not, though assailed
With hostile din, and combating in sight
Of angry umpires, partial and unjust;
And did, thereafter, bathe their hands in fire,
So to declare the conscience satisfied:
Nor for their bodies would accept release;
Eut, blessing God and praising him, bequeathed
With their last breath, from out the smouldering

The faith which they by diligence had earned,
Or, through illuminating grace, received,
For their dear countrymen, and all mankind.
O high example, constancy divine!

Even such a Man (inheriting the zeal And from the sanctity of elder times Not deviating,—a priest, the like of whom, If multiplied, and in their stations set, Would o'er the bosom of a joyful land Spread true religion and her genuine fruits) Before me stood that day; on holy ground Fraught with the relics of mortality, Exalting tender themes, by just degrees To lofty raised; and to the highest, last; The head and mighty paramount of truths,Immortal life, in never-fading worlds, For mortal creatures, conquered and secured.

That basis laid, those principles of faith Announced, as a preparatory act

Of reverence done to the spirit of the place, The Pastor cast his eyes upon the ground; Not, as before, like one oppressed with awe, But with a mild and social cheerfulness; Then to the Solitary turned, and spake.

"At morn or eve, in your retired domain, Perchance you not unfrequently have marked A Visitor-in quest of herbs and flowers; Too delicate employ, as would appear, For one, who, though of drooping mien, had yet From nature's kindliness received a frame Robust as ever rural labour bred."

The Solitary answered: "Such a Form
Full well I recollect. We often crossed
Each other's path; but, as the Intruder seemed
Fondly to prize the silence which he kept,
And I as willingly did cherish mine,

We met, and passed, like shadows. I have heard,
From my good Host, that being crazed in brain
By unrequited love, he scaled the rocks,
Dived into caves, and pierced the matted woods,
In hope to find some virtuous herb of power
To cure his malady !”

The Vicar smiled,-
"Alas! before to-morrow's sun goes down
His habitation will be here: for him
That open grave is destined."

"Died he then

Of pain and grief?" the Solitary asked, "Do not believe it; never could that be!"

"He loved," the Vicar answered," deeply loved, Loved fondly, truly, fervently; and dared At length to tell his love, but sued in vain; Rejected, yea repelled; and, if with scorn Upon the haughty maiden's brow, 'tis but

A high-prized plume which female Beauty wears
In wantonness of conquest, or puts on
To cheat the world, or from herself to hide
Humiliation, when no longer free.

That he could brook, and glory in ;—but when
The tidings came that she whom he had wooed
Was wedded to another, and his heart
Was forced to rend away its only hope;
Then, Pity could have scarcely found on earth
An object worthier of regard than he,
In the transition of that bitter hour!
Lost was she, lost; nor could the Sufferer say
That in the act of preference he had been
Unjustly dealt with; but the Maid was gone!
Had vanished from his prospects and desires;
Not by translation to the heavenly choir
Who have put off their mortal spoils—ah no!
She lives another's wishes to complete,-
Joy be their lot, and happiness,' he cried,
'His lot and hers, as misery must be mine!'

Such was that strong concussion; but the Man,
Who trembled, trunk and limbs, like some huge oak
By a fierce tempest shaken, soon resumed
The stedfast quiet natural to a mind
Of composition gentle and sedate,
And, in its movements, circumspect and slow.
To books, and to the long-forsaken desk,
O'er which enchained by science he had loved
To bend, he stoutly re-addressed himself,
Resolved to quell his pain, and search for truth
With keener appetite (if that might be)

And closer industry. Of what ensued

Within the heart no outward sign appeared

Till a betraying sickliness was seen

"Where health abides, and cheerfulness, and peace,'
The attempt was made;—'tis needless to report
How hopelessly; but innocence is strong,
And an entire simplicity of mind

A thing most sacred in the eye of Heaven;
That opens, for such sufferers, relief
Within the soul, fountains of grace divine;
And doth commend their weakness and disease
To Nature's care, assisted in her office
By all the elements that round her wait
To generate, to preserve, and to restore;
And by her beautiful array of forms
Shedding sweet influence from above; or pure
Delight exhaling from the ground they tread."

"Impute it not to impatience, if," exclaimed The Wanderer, "I infer that he was healed By perseverance in the course prescribed.”

"You do not err: the powers, that had been lost
By slow degrees, were gradually regained;
The fluttering nerves composed; the beating heart
In rest established; and the jarring thoughts
To harmony restored.—But yon dark mould
Will cover him, in the fulness of his strength,
Hastily smitten by a fever's force;

Yet not with stroke so sudden as refused
Time to look back with tenderness on her
Whom he had loved in passion; and to send
Some farewell words-with one, but one, request;
That, from his dying hand, she would accept
Of his possessions that which most he prized;
A book, upon whose leaves some chosen plants,
By his own hand disposed with nicest care,
In undecaying beauty were preserved;

To tinge his cheek; and through his frame it crept Mute register, to him, of time and place,

With slow mutation unconcealable;

Such universal change as autumn makes

In the fair body of a leafy grove

Discoloured, then divested.

"Tis affirmed

By poets skilled in nature's secret ways
That Love will not submit to be controlled

By mastery:-and the good Man lacked not friends
Who strove to instil this truth into his mind,

A mind in all heart-mysteries unversed.

'Go to the hills,' said one, 'remit a while

• This baneful diligence:-at early morn

And various fluctuations in the breast;
To her, a monument of faithful love
Conquered, and in tranquillity retained!

Close to his destined habitation, lies
One who achieved a humbler victory,
Though marvellous in its kind. A place there is
High in these mountains, that allured a band

Of keen adventurers to unite their pains

In search of precious ore: they tried, were foiled—

And all desisted, all, save him alone.
He, taking counsel of his own clear thoughts,

Court the fresh air, explore the heaths and woods; And trusting only to his own weak hands,

" And, leaving it to others to foretell,

By calculations sage, the ebb and flow "Of tides, and when the moon will be eclipsed, 'Do you, for your own benefit, construct

'A calendar of flowers, plucked as they blow

Urged unremittingly the stubborn work,
Unseconded, uncountenanced; then, as time
Passed on, while still his lonely efforts found
No recompense, derided; and at length,
By many pitied, as insane of mind;

By others dreaded as the luckless thrall
Of subterranean Spirits feeding hope
By various mockery of sight and sound;
Hope after hope, encouraged and destroyed.
-But when the lord of seasons had matured
The fruits of earth through space of twice ten years,
The mountain's entrails offered to his view
And trembling grasp the long-deferred reward.
Not with more transport did Columbus greet
A world, his rich discovery! But our Swain,
A very hero till his point was gained,
Proved all unable to support the weight
Of prosperous fortune. On the fields he looked
With an unsettled liberty of thought,

Wishes and endless schemes; by daylight walked
Giddy and restless; ever and anon
Quaffed in his gratitude immoderate cups;
And truly might be said to die of joy!
He vanished; but conspicuous to this day
The path remains that linked his cottage-door

To the mine's mouth; a long and slanting track,
Upon the rugged mountain's stony side,
Worn by his daily visits to and from
The darksome centre of a constant hope.
This vestige, neither force of beating rain,
Nor the vicissitudes of frost and thaw
Shall cause to fade, till ages pass away;
And it is named, in memory of the event,

"Thou from whom Man has his strength," exclaimed the Wanderer, "oh !

Do thou direct it! To the virtuous grant

The penetrative eye which can perceive

In this blind world the guiding vein of hope;
That, like this Labourer, such may dig their way,
♦ Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified ;'
Grant to the wise his firmness of resolve!"

He lived not till his locks were nipped
By seasonable frost of age; nor died
Before his temples, prematurely forced
To mix the manly brown with silver grey,
Gave obvious instance of the sad effect
Produced, when thoughtless Folly hath usurped
The natural crown that sage Experience wears.
Gay, volatile, ingenious, quick to learn,
And prompt to exhibit all that he possessed
Or could perform; a zealous actor, hired
Into the troop of mirth, a soldier, sworn
Into the lists of giddy enterprise—
Such was he; yet, as if within his frame
Two several souls alternately had lodged,
Two sets of manners could the Youth put on;
And, fraught with antics as the Indian bird
That writhes and chatters in her wiry cage,
Was graceful, when it pleased him, smooth and still
As the mute swan that floats adown the stream,
Or, on the waters of the unruffled lake,
Anchors her placid beauty. Not a leaf,

That flutters on the bough, lighter than he;
And not a flower, that droops in the green shade,
More winningly reserved! If ye enquire
How such consummate elegance was bred
Amid these wilds, this answer may suffice;
'Twas Nature's will; who sometimes undertakes,
For the reproof of human vanity,

Art to outstrip in her peculiar walk.
Hence, for this Favourite-lavishly endowed
With personal gifts, and bright instinctive wit,
While both, embellishing each other, stood
Yet farther recommended by the charm
Of fine demeanour, and by dance and song,
And skill in letters-every fancy shaped
Fair expectations; nor, when to the world's
Capacious field forth went the Adventurer, there
Were he and his attainments overlooked,
Or scantily rewarded; but all hopes,

"That prayer were not superfluous," said the Cherished for him, he suffered to depart,


* Amid the noblest relics, proudest dust,
That Westminster, for Britain's glory, holds
Within the bosom of her awful pile,
Ambitiously collected. Yet the sigh,
Which wafts that prayer to heaven, is due to all,
Wherever laid, who living fell below
Their virtue's humbler mark; a sigh of pain
If to the opposite extreme they sank.
How would you pity her who yonder rests;
Him, farther off; the pair, who here are laid;
But, above all, that mixture of earth's mould
Whom sight of this green hillock to my mind

Like blighted buds; or clouds that mimicked land
Before the sailor's eye; or diamond drops
That sparkling decked the morning grass; or aught
That was attractive, and hath ceased to be!

Yet, when this Prodigal returned, the rites
Of joyful greeting were on him bestowed,
Who, by humiliation undeterred,
Sought for his weariness a place of rest
Within his Father's gates.-Whence came he ?—

In tattered garb, from hovels where abides
Necessity, the stationary host

Of vagrant poverty; from rifted barns

Where no one dwells but the wide-staring owl
And the owl's prey; from these bare haunts, to which
He had descended from the proud saloon,
He came, the ghost of beauty and of health,
The wreck of gaiety! But soon revived
In strength, in power refitted, he renewed
His suit to Fortune; and she smiled again
Upon a fickle Ingrate. Thrice he rose,
Thrice sank as willingly. For he—whose nerves
Were used to thrill with pleasure, while his voice
Softly accompanied the tuneful harp,
By the nice finger of fair ladies touched
In glittering halls-was able to derive
No less enjoyment from an abject choice.
Who happier for the moment-who more blithe
Than this fallen Spirit? in those dreary holds
His talents lending to exalt the freaks
Of merry-making beggars,--now, provoked
To laughter multiplied in louder peals
By his malicious wit; then, all enchained
With mute astonishment, themselves to see
In their own arts outdone, their fame eclipsed,
As by the very presence of the Fiend
Who dictates and inspires illusive feats,
For knavish purposes! The city, too,
(With shame I speak it) to her guilty bowers
Allured him, sunk so low in self-respect
As there to linger, there to eat his bread,
Hired minstrel of voluptuous blandishment;
Charming the air with skill of hand or voice,
Listen who would, be wrought upon who might,
Sincerely wretched hearts, or falsely gay.
-Such the too frequent tenour of his boast
In ears that relished the report ;-but all
Was from his Parents happily concealed;
Who saw enough for blame and pitying love.
They also were permitted to receive
His last, repentant breath; and closed his eyes,
No more to open on that irksome world
Where he had long existed in the state
Of a young fowl beneath one mother hatched,
Though from another sprung, different in kind:
Where he had lived, and could not cease to live,
Distracted in propensity; content
With neither element of good or ill;
And yet in both rejoicing; man unblest;
Of contradictions infinite the slave,

Till his deliverance, when Mercy made him
One with himself, and one with them that sleep."

"Tis strange," observed the Solitary, "strange It seems, and scarcely less than pitiful, That in a land where charity provides For all that can no longer feed themselves,

A man like this should choose to bring his shame
To the parental door; and with his sighs
Infect the air which he had freely breathed
In happy infancy. He could not pine,
Through lack of converse; no-he must have found
Abundant exercise for thought and speech,
In his dividual being, self-reviewed,
Self-catechised, self-punished.-Some there are
Who, drawing near their final home, and much
And daily longing that the same were reached,
Would rather shun than seek the fellowship
Of kindred mould.-Such haply here are laid?"

"Yes," said the Priest, "the Genius of our hillsWho seems, by these stupendous barriers cast Round his domain, desirous not alone To keep his own, but also to exclude All other progeny-doth sometimes lure, Even by his studied depth of privacy, The unhappy alien hoping to obtain Concealment, or seduced by wish to find, In place from outward molestation free, Helps to internal ease. Of many such Could I discourse; but as their stay was brief, So their departure only left behind Fancies, and loose conjectures. Other trace Survives, for worthy mention, of a pair Who, from the pressure of their several fates, Meeting as strangers, in a petty town Whose blue roofs ornament a distant reach Of this far-winding vale, remained as friends True to their choice; and gave their bones in trast To this loved cemetery, here to lodge With unescutcheoned privacy interred Far from the family vault.-A Chieftain one By right of birth; within whose spotless breast The fire of ancient Caledonia burned: He, with the foremost whose impatience hailed The Stuart, landing to resume, by force Of arms, the crown which bigotry had lost, Aroused his clan; and, fighting at their head, With his brave sword endeavoured to prevent Culloden's fatal overthrow. Escaped From that disastrous rout, to foreign shores He fled; and when the lenient hand of time Those troubles had appeased, he sought and gaine For his obscured condition, an obscure Retreat, within this nook of English ground.

The other, born in Britain's southern tract, Had fixed his milder loyalty, and placed His gentler sentiments of love and hate, There, where they placed them who in conscience prized

The new succession, as a line of kings
Whose oath had virtue to protect the land
Against the dire assaults of papacy

And arbitrary rule. But launch thy bark
On the distempered flood of public life,
And cause for most rare triumph will be thine
If, spite of keenest eye and steadiest hand,
The stream, that bears thee forward, prove not, soon
Or late, a perilous master. He-who oft,
Beneath the battlements and stately trees
That round his mansion cast a sober gloom,
Had moralised on this, and other truths
Of kindred import, pleased and satisfied—
Was forced to vent his wisdom with a sigh
Heaved from the heart in fortune's bitterness,
When he had crushed a plentiful estate
By rainous contest, to obtain a sent

In Britain's senate. Fruitless was the attempt:
And while the uproar of that desperate strife
Continued yet to vibrate on his ear,
The vanquished Whig, under a borrowed name,
(For the mere sound and echo of his own
Haunted him with sensations of disgust
That he was glad to lose) slunk from the world
To the deep shade of those untravelled Wilds;
In which the Scottish Laird had long possessed
An undisturbed abode. Here, then, they met,
Two doughty champions; flaming Jacobite
And sullen Hanoverian! You might think
That losses and vexations, less severe
Than those which they had severally sustained,
Would have inclined each to abate his zeal
For his ungrateful cause; no,—I have heard
My reverend Father tell that, 'mid the calm
Of that small town encountering thus, they filled,
Daily, its bowling-green with harmless strife;
Plagued with uncharitable thoughts the church;
And vexed the market-place. But in the breasts
Of these opponents gradually was wrought,
With little change of general sentiment,
Such leaning towards each other, that their days
By choice were spent in constant fellowship;
And if, at times, they fretted with the yoke,
Those very bickerings made them love it more.

A favourite boundary to their lengthened walks This Church-yard was. And, whether they had come Treading their path in sympathy and linked In social converse, or by some short space Discreetly parted to preserve the peace, One spirit seldom failed to extend its sway Over both minds, when they awhile had marked The visible quiet of this holy ground,

And saintly magnanimity; that-spurning
The field of selfish difference and dispute,
And every care which transitory things,
Earth and the kingdoms of the earth, create-
Doth, by a rapture of forgetfulness,
Preclude forgiveness, from the praise debarred,
Which else the Christian virtue might have claimed.

There live who yet remember here to have seen Their courtly figures, seated on the stump Of an old yew, their favourite resting-place. But as the remnant of the long-lived tree Was disappearing by a swift decay, They, with joint care, determined to erect, Upon its site, a dial, that might stand For public use preserved, and thus survive As their own private monument: for this Was the particular spot, in which they wished (And Heaven was pleased to accomplish the desire) That, undivided, their remains should lie.

So, where the mouldered tree had stood, was raised
Yon structure, framing, with the ascent of steps
That to the decorated pillar lead,

A work of art more sumptuous than might seem
To suit this place; yet built in no proud scorn
Of rustic homeliness; they only aimed
To ensure for it respectful guardianship.
Around the margin of the plate, whereon
The shadow falls to note the stealthy hours,
Winds an inscriptive legend."-At these words
Thither we turned; and gathered, as we read,
The appropriate sense, in Latin numbers couched :
Time flies; it is his melancholy task
To bring, and bear away, delusive hopes,
And re-produce the troubles he destroys.
But, while his blindness thus is occupied,
Discerning Mortal! do thou serve the will
Of Time's eternal Master, and that peace,
Which the world wants,shall be for thee confirmed!'

"Smooth verse, inspired by no unlettered Muse," Exclaimed the Sceptic, “and the strain of thought Accords with nature's language;-the soft voice Of yon white torrent falling down the rocks Speaks, less distinctly, to the same effect. If, then, their blended influence be not lost Upon our hearts, not wholly lost, I grant, Even upon mine, the more are we required To feel for those among our fellow-men, Who, offering no obeisance to the world, Are yet made desperate by too quick a sense Of constant infelicity,' cut off

From peace like exiles on some barren rock,

And breathed its soothing air-the spirit of hope Their life's appointed prison; not more free

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