"Now for the tale with which you threaten'd ua!" "In truth the threat escaped me unawares, And was forgotten. Let this challenge stand For my excuse, if what I shall relate
Tire your attention. Outcast and cut off As we seem here, and must have seem'd to you When ye look'd down upon us from the crag, Islanders of a stormy mountain sea, We are not so; perpetually we touch Upon the vulgar ordinance of the world, And he, whom this our cottage hath to-day Relinquish'd, was dependent for his bread Upon the laws of public charity.
The housewife, tempted by such slender gains As might from that occasion be distill'd, Open'd, as she before had done for me, Her doors t' admit this homeless pensioner: The portion gave of coarse but wholesome fare Which appetite required-a blind dull ncok Such as she had, the kennel of his rest! This, in itself not ill, would yet have been Ill borne in earlier life: but his was now The still contentedness of seventy years. Calm did he sit beneath the wide-spread troo Of his old age; and yet less calm and meek, Winningly meek or venerably calm,
Than slow and torpid; paying in this wise A penalty, if penalty it were,
For spendthrift feats, excesses of his prime. I loved the old man, for I pitied him.
A task it was, I own, to hold discourse
With one so slow in gathering up his thoughts, But he was a cheap pleasure to my eyes; Mild, inoffensive, ready in his way,
And useful to his utmost power: and there
Our housewife knew full well what she possesɛ'd:
He was her vassal of all labour, till'd
Her garden, from the pasture fetch'd her kine; And, one among the orderly array
Of haymakers, beneath the burning sun Maintain'd his place; or heedfully pursued His course, on errands bound to other vales, Leading sometimes an inexperienced child Too young for any profitable task.
So moved he like a shadow that perform'd Substantial service. Mark me now, and learn For what reward. The moon her monthly round Hath not completed since our dame, the queen Of this one cottage and this lonely dale, Into my little sanctuary rush'd,— Voice to a rueful treble humanized, And features in deplorable dismay: I treat the matter lightly, but alas!
is most serious. From mid-noon the rain
Had fallen in torrents; all the mountain-tops Were hidden, and black vapours coursed their sides; This had I seen, and saw; but, till she spake, Was wholly ignorant that my ancient friend- Who at her bidding, early and alone, Had clomb aloft to delve the moorland turf For winter fuel, to his noontide meal
Came not, and now perchance upon the heights Lay at the mercy of this raging storm. "Inhuman!" said I, "was an old man's life Not worth the trouble of a thought ?-alas! This notice comes too late." With joy I saw Her husband enter, from a distant vale. We sallied forth together; found the tools Which the neglected veteran had dropp'd, But through all quarters look'd for him in vain. We shouted-but no answer! Darkness fell Without remission of the blast or shower, And fears for our own safety drove us home. I, who weep little, did, I will confess, The moment I was seated here alone, Honour my little cell with some few tears Which anger and resentment could not dry. All night the storm endured; and, soon as help Had been collected from the neighbouring vale, With morning we renew'd our quest: the wind Was fall'n, the rain abated, but the hills Lay shrouded in impenetrable mist; And long and hopelessly we sought in vain Till, chancing on that lofty ridge to pass A heap of ruin, almost without walls And wholly without roof (in ancient time It was a chapel, a small edifice,
In which the peasants of these lonely dells For worship met upon that central height)— Chancing to pass this wreck of stones, we there Espied at last the object of our search, Couch'd in a nook, and seemingly alive.
It would have moved you, had you seen the guise In which he occupied his chosen bed, Lying full three parts buried among tufts Of heath-plant under and above him strown, To baffle, as he might, the watery storm: And there we found him breathing peaceably; Snug as a child that hides itself in sport 'Mid a green haycock in a sunny field. We spake-he made reply, but would not stir At our entreaty; less from want of power Than apprehension and bewildering thoughts.
So was he lifted gently from the ground,
And with their freight the shepherds homeward moved Through the dull mist, I following-when a step, A single step, that freed me from the skirts
Of the blind vapour, open'd to my view
Glory beyond all glory ever seen
By waking sense or by the dreaming soul! Though I am conscious that no power of words Can body forth, no hues of speech can paint That gorgeous spectacle-too bright and fair Even for remembrance; yet the attempt may give Collateral interest to this homely tale.
The appearance, instantaneously disclosed, Was of a mighty city-boldly say A wilderness of building-sinking far And self-withdrawn into a boundless depth, Far sinking into splendour-without end! Fabric it seem'd of diamond and of gold, With alabaster domes and silver spires; And blazing terrace upon terrace, high Uplifted; here, serene pavilions bright, In avenues disposed; there, towers begirt With battlements, that on their restless fronts Bore stars-illumination of all gems!
By earthly nature had the effect been wrought Upon the dark materials of the storm
Now pacified; on them, and on the coves
And mountain-steeps and summits, whereunto The vapours had receded, taking there
Their station under a cerulean sky.
O, 'twas an unimaginable sight!
Clouds, mists, streams, watery rocks, and emerald tur
Clouds of all tincture, rocks and sapphire sky,
Confused, commingled, mutually inflamed,
Molten together, and composing thus,
Each lost in each, that marvellous array Of temple, palace, citadel, and huge Fantastic pomp of structure without name, In fleecy folds voluminous enwrapp'd.
Right in the midst, where interspace appear'd Of open court, an object like a throne Under a shining canopy of state
Stood fix'd; and fix'd resemblances were seen To implements of ordinary use,
But vast in size, in substance glorified ; Such as by Hebrew prophets were beheld In vision-forms uncouth of mightiest power, For admiration and mysterious awe. Below me was the earth; this little vale, Lay low beneath my feet; 'twas visible- I saw not, but I felt, that it was there. That which I saw was the reveal'd abode Of spirits in beatitude: my heart Swell'd in my breast.
I have been dead,' I cried, 'And now I live! Oh! wherefore do I live?' And with that pang I pray'd to be no more! But I forget our charge as utterly
I then forgot him-there I stood and gazed, The apparition faded not away,
THE EXCURSION-DESPONDENCY.
And I descended. Having reach'd the house, I found its rescued inmate safely lodged,
And in serene possession of himself,
Beside a genial fire that seem'd to spread A gleam of comfort o'er his pallid face.
Great show of joy the housewite made, and truly Was glad to find her conscience set at ease; And not less glad, for sake of her good name, That the poor sufferer had escaped with life. But, though he seem'd at first to have received No harm, and uncomplaining as before Went through his usual tasks, a silent change Soon show'd itself; he linger'd three short weeks; And from the cottage hath been borne to-day.
"So ends my dolorous tale, and glad I am That it is ended." At these words he turn'dAnd, with blithe air of open fellowship,
Brought from the cupboard wine and stouter cheer, Like one who would be merry. Seeing this
My grey-hair'd friend said courteously-"Nay, nay, You have regaled us as a hermit ought; Now let us forth into the sun!" Our host Rose, though reluctantly, and forth we went.
e Valley-Another recess in it entered and described-Wanderer's sensationsexcited by the same objects-Contrast between these-Despondency of the ntly reproved-Conversation exhibiting the Solitary's past and present and feelings, till he enters upon his own history at length-His domestic Hictions-Dejection-Roused by the French Revolution-Disappointinent -Voyage to America-Disappointment and disgust pursue him-His return or and depression of mind, from want of faith in the great truths of religion. confidence in the virtue of mankind.
UMMING BEE-a little tinkling rill— ir of falcons wheeling on the wing, amorous agitation, round the crest tall rock, their airy citadel- ach and all of these the pensive ear greeted, in the silence that ensued,
a through the cottage threshold we had pass'd, deep within that lonesome valley, stood more beneath the concave of the blue
loudless sky. Anon exclaim'd our host, phantly dispersing with the taunt
And by her help ye are my prisoners still. But which way shall I lead you?-how contrive, In spot so parsimoniously endow'd,
That the brief hours which yet remain may reap Some recompense of knowledge or delight?" So saying, round he look'd, as if perplex'd; And, to remove those doubts, my grey-hair'd friend Said "Shall we take this pathway for our guide?— Upwards it winds, as if, in summer heats,
Its line had first been fashion'd by the flock A place of refuge seeking at the root
Of yon black yew-tree, whose protruded bouglis Darken the silver bosom of the crag
From which it draws its meagre sustenance. There in commodious shelter may we rest. Or let us trace this streamlet to its source; Feebly it tinkles with an earthy sound, And a few steps may bring us to the spot Where, haply, crown'd with flow'rets and green herbs, The mountain infant to the sun comes forth, Like human life from darkness."
At the word We follow'd where he led. A sudden turn Through a straight passage of encumber'd ground, Proved that such hope was vain: for now we stood Shut out from prospect of the open vale, And saw the water that composed this rill, Descending, disembodied, and diffused O'er the smooth surface of an ample crag, Lofty, and steep, and naked as a tower. All further progress here was barr'd. Thought I," if master of a vacant hour, Here would not linger, willingly detain'd? Whether to such wild objects he were led When copious rains have magnified the stream Into a loud and white-robed waterfall, Or introduced at this more quiet time."
Upon a semicirque of turf-clad ground, The hidden nook discover'd to our view A mass of rock, resembling, as it lay Right at the foot of that moist precipice, A stranded ship, with keel upturn'd,—that rests Fearless of winds and waves. Three several stones Stood near, of smaller size, and not unlike
To monumental pillars: and, from these Some little space disjoin'd, a pair were seen, That with united shoulders bore aloft A fragment, like an altar, flat and smooth. Barren the tablet, yet thereon appear'd Conspicuously station'd, one fair plant, A tall and shining holly, that had found A hospitable chink, and stood upright, As if inserted by some human hand In mockery, to wither in the sun,
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