Who shall be named-in the resplendent line Of sages, martyrs, confessors-the man
On humble life, forbid the judging mind To trust the smiling aspect of this fair
Whom the best might of conscience, truth and hope, And noiseless commonwealth. The simple race
For one day's little compass has preserved
From painful and discreditable shocks
Of contradiction, from some vague desire
Culpably cherish'd, or corrupt relapse
To some unsanction'd fear?"
And man," said I, "be in his noblest shape
Thus pitiably infirm; then, He who made,
And who shall judge the creature, will forgive.
Yet, in its general tenor, your complaint
Is all too true; and surely not misplaced:
Of mountaineers (by nature's self removed
From foul temptations, and by constant care
Of a good shepherd tended as themselves
Do tend their flocks) partake man's general lot
With little mitigation. They escape,
Perchance, guilt's heavier woes; and do not feel
The tedium of fantastic idleness;
Yet life, as with the multitude, with them,
Is fashion'd like an ill-constructed tale;
That on the outset wastes its gay desires,
Its fair adventures, its enlivening hopes,
For, from this pregnant spot of ground, such And pleasant interests-for the sequel leaving
Rise to the notice of a serious mind
By natural exhalation. With the dead
In their repose, the living in their mirth,
Who can reflect, unmoved, upon the round
Of smooth and solemnized complacencies,
By which, on Christian lands, from age to age
Profession mocks performance. Earth is sick,
And heaven is weary, of the hollow words
Which states and kingdoms utter when they talk
Of truth and justice. Turn to private life
And social neighbourhood; look we to ourselves;
A light of duty shines on every day
For all; and yet how few are warm'd or cheer'd!
How few who mingle with their fellow men
And still remain self-govern'd, and apart,
Like this our honour'd friend: and thence acquire
Right to expect his vigorous decline,
That promises to th' end a blest old age!"
"Yet," with a smile of triumph thus exclaim'd
The solitary," in the life of man,
If to the poetry of common speech
Faith may be given, we see as in a glass
A true reflection of the circling year,
With all its seasons. Grant that spring is there,
In spite of many a rough, untoward blast,
Hopeful and promising with buds and flowers;
Yet where is glowing summer's long rich day,
That ought to follow faithfully express'd?
And mellow autumn, charged with bounteous fruit,
Where is she imaged? in what favour'd clime
Her lavish pomp, and ripe magnificence?
Yet, while the better part is miss'd, the worse
In man's autumnal season is set forth
With a resemblance not to be denied,
And that contents him; bowers that hear no more
The voice of gladness, less and less supply
Of outward sunshine and internal warmth;
And, with this change, sharp air and falling leaves,
Foretelling total winter, blank and cold.
"How gay the habitations that bedeck
This fertile valley! Not a house but seems
To give assurance of content within ;
Imbosom'd happiness, and placid love;
As if the sunshine of the day were met
With answering brightness in the hearts of all
Who walk this favour'd ground.
And notice forced upon incurious ears; These, if these only, acting in despite
Of the encomiums by my friend pronounced
Old things repeated with diminish'd grace;
And all the labour'd novelties at best
Imperfect substitutes, whose use and power
Evince the want and weakness whence they spring."
While in this serious mood we held discourse,
The reverend pastor toward the churchyard gate
Approach'd; and, with a mild, respectful air
Of native cordiality, our friend
Advanced to greet him. With a gracious mien
Was he received, and mutual joy prevail'd.
Awhile they stood in conference, and I guess
That he, who now upon the mossy wall
Sate by my side, had vanish'd, if a wish
Could have transferr'd him to his lonely house
Within the circuit of those guardian rocks.
For me, I look'd upon the pair, well pleased
Nature had framed them both, and both were mark'd
By circumstance, with intermixture fine
Of contrast and resemblance. To an oak
Hardy and grand, a weather-beaten oak,
Fresh in the strength and majesty of age,
One might be liken'd: flourishing appear'd,
Though somewhat past the fulness of his prime,
The other-like a stately sycamore,
That spreads, in gentler pomp, its honey'd shade.
A general greeting was exchanged: and soon
The pastor learn'd that his approach had given
A welcome interruption to discourse
Grave, and in truth too often sad. "Is man
A child of hope? Do generations press
On generations, without progress made?
Halts the individual, ere his hairs be gray,
Perforce ? Are we a creature in whom good
Preponderates, or evil? Doth the will
Acknowledge reason's law? A living power
Is virtue, or no better than a name,
Fleeting as health, or beauty, and unsound?
So that the only substance which remains,
(For thus the tenor of complaint hath run,)
Among so many shadows, are the pains
And penalties of miserable life,
Doom'd to decay, and then expire in dust!
Our cogitations this way have been drawn,
These are the points," the wanderer said, "on
which
Our inquest turns. Accord, good sir! the light
Of your experience to dispel this gloom:
By your persuasive wisdom shall the heart
That frets, or languishes, be still'd and cheer'd."
"Our nature," said the priest, in mild reply,
"Angels may weigh and fathom: they perceive,
With undistemper'd and unclouded spirit,
The object as it is; but, for ourselves,
That speculative height we may not reach.
The good and evil are our own; and we
Are that which we would contemplate from far.
Knowledge, for us, is difficult to gain-
Is difficult to gain, and hard to keep-
As virtue's self; like virtue is beset
With snares; tried, tempted, subject to decay.
Love, admiration, fear, desire, and hate,
Is to that other state more apposite,
Death and its twofold aspect; wintry-one,
Cold, sullen, blank, from hope and joy shut out;
The other, which the ray divine hath touch'd,
Replete with vivid promise, bright as spring."
"We see, then, as we feel," the wanderer thus With a complacent animation spake,
"And in your judgment, sir! the mind's repose On evidence is not to be ensured
By act of naked reason. Moral truth
Blind were we without these: through these alone Is no mechanic structure, built by rule;
Are capable to notice or discern,
Or to record; we judge, but cannot be
Indifferent judges. 'Spite of proudest boast,
Reason, best reason, is t' imperfect man
An effort only, and a noble aim;
A crown, an attribute of sovereign power,
Still to be courted-never to be won!
Look forth, or each man dive into himself;
What sees he but a creature too perturb'd,
That is transported to excess; that yearns,
Regrets, or trembles, wrongly, or too much;
Hopes rashly, in disgust as rash recoils;
Battens on spleen, or moulders in despair?
Thus truth is miss'd, and comprehension fails;
And darkness and delusion round our path
Spread, from disease, whose subtile injury lurks
Within the very faculty of sight.
"Yet for the general purposes of faith
In providence, for solace and support,
We may not doubt that who can best subject
The will to reason's law, and strictliest live
And act in that obedience, he shall gain
The clearest apprehension of those truths,
Which unassisted reason's utmost power
Is too infirm to reach. But-waiving this,
And our regards confining within bounds
Of less exalted consciousness-through which
The very multitude are free to range-
We safely may affirm that human life
Is either fair and tempting, a soft scene
Grateful to sight, refreshing to the soul,
Or a forbidding tract of cheerless view;
E'en as the same is look'd at or approach'd.
Thus, when in changeful April snow has fall'n,
And fields are white, if from the sullen north
Your walk conduct you hither, ere the sun
Hath gain'd his noontide height, this churchyard,
fill'd
With mounds transversely lying side by side
From east to west, before you will appear
An unillumined, blank, and dreary plain,
With more than wintry cheerlessness and gloom
Saddening the heart. Go forward, and look back,
Look, from the quarter whence the Lord of light,
Of life, of love, and gladness doth dispense
His beams; which, unexcluded in their fall.
Upon the southern side of every grave
Have gently exercised a melting power,
Then will a vernal prospect greet your eye,
All fresh and beautiful, and green and bright,
Hopeful and cheerful: vanish'd is the snow,
Vanish'd or hidden; and the whole domain,
To some too lightly minded might appear
A meadow carpet for the dancing hours.
This contrast, not unsuitable to life,
And which, once built, retains a steadfast shape
And undisturb'd proportions; but a thing
Subject, you deem, to vital accidents;
And, like the water-lily, lives and thrives,
Whose root is fix'd in stable earth, whose head
Floats on the tossing waves. With joy sincere
I re-salute these sentiments confirm'd
By your authority. But how acquire
The inward principle that gives effect
To outward argument: the passive will
Meek to admit; the active energy,
Strong and unbounded to embrace, and firm
To keep and cherish? How shall man unite
With self-forgetting tenderness of heart
An earth despising dignity of soul?
Wise in that union, and without it blind!"
"The way," said I, " to court, if not obtain
Th' ingenuous mind, apt to be set aright,
This, in the lonely dell discoursing, you
Declared at large; and by what exercise
From visible nature or the inner self
Power may be train'd, and renovation brought
To those who need the gift. But, after all,
Is aught so certain as that man is doom'd
To breathe beneath a vault of ignorance?
The natural roof of that dark house in which
His soul is pent! How little can be known-
This is the wise man's sigh: how far we err-
This is the good man's not unfrequent pang!
And they perhaps err least, the lowly class
Whom a benign necessity compels
To follow reason's least ambitious course:
Such do I mean who, unperplex'd by doubt,
And unincited by a wish to look
Into high objects farther than they may,
Pace to and fro, from morn till eventide,
The narrow avenue of daily toil
For daily bread."
"Yes," buoyantly exclaim'd
The pale recluse-" praise to the sturdy plough,
And patient spade, and shepherd's simple crook,
And ponderous loom-resounding while it holds
Body and mind in one captivity;
And let the light mechanic tool be hail'd
With honour; which, encasing by the power
Of long companionship, the artist's hand,
Cuts off that hand, with all its world of nerves,
From a too busy commerce with the heart!
Inglorious implements of craft and toil,
Both ye that shape and build, and ye that force,
By slow solicitation, earth to yield
Her annual bounty, sparingly dealt forth
With wise reluctance, you would I extol,
Not for gross good alone which ye produce,
But for th' impertinent and ceaseless strife
Of proofs and reasons ye preclude-in those
Who to your dull society are born,
And with their humble birthright rest content.
Would I had ne'er renounced it!"
Of moral anger previously had tinged
The old man's cheek; but, at this closing turn
Of self-reproach, it pass'd away. Said he,
"That which we feel we utter; as we think
So have we argued; reaping for our pains
No visible recompense. For our relief
You," to the pastor turning thus he spake,
"Have kindly interposed. May I entreat
Your further help? The mine of real life
Dig for us; and present us, in the shape
Of virgin ore, that gold which we, by pains
Fruitless as those of aëry alchymists,
Seek from the torturing crucible. There lies
Around us a domain where you have long
For opportunity presented, thence
Far forth to send his wandering eye o'er land
And ocean, and look down upon the works,
The habitations, and the ways of men,
Himself unseen! But no tradition tells
That ever hermit dipp'd his maple dish
In the sweet spring that lurks 'mid yon green fields;
And no such visionary views belong
To those who occupy and till the ground,
And on the bosom of the mountain dwell-
A wedded pair in childless solitude.
A house of stones collected on the spot,
By rude hands built, with rocky knolls in front,
Back'd also by a ledge of rock, whose crest
Of birch trees waves upon the chimney top:
A rough abode-in colour, shape, and size,
Such as in unsafe times of border war
Might have been wish'd for and contrived, t' elude
The eye of roving plunderer-for their need
Watch'd both the outward course and inner heart; Suffices and unshaken bears the assault
Give us, for our abstractions, solid facts;
For our disputes, plain pictures. Say what man
He is who cultivates yon hanging field;
What qualities of mind she bears, who comes,
For morn and evening service, with her pail,
To that green pasture; place before our sight
The family who dwell within yon house
Fenced round with glittering laurel; or in that
Below, from which the curling smoke ascends.
Or rather, as we stand on holy earth,
And have the dead around us, take from them
Your instances; for they are both best known,
And by frail man most equitably judged.
Epitomise the life; pronounce, you can,
Authentic epitaphs on some of these
Who, from their lowly mansions hither brought,
Beneath this turf lie mouldering at our feet.
So, by your records, may our doubts be solved;
And so, not searching higher, we may learn
To prize the breath we share with human kind;
And look upon the dust of man with awe."
The priest replied. "An office you impose
For which peculiar requisites are mine;
Yet much, I feel, is wanting-else the task
Would be most grateful. True indeed it is
That they whom death has hidden from our sight
Are worthiest of the mind's regard; with these
The future cannot contradict the past:
Mortality's last exercise and proof
Is undergone; the transit made that shows
The very soul, reveal'd as she departs.
Yet, on your first suggestion, will I give,
Ere we descend into these silent vaults,
One picture from the living.-
"You behold,
High on the breast of yon dark mountain-dark
With stony barrenness, a shining speck
Bright as a sunbeam sleeping till a shower
Brush it away, or cloud pass over it;
Of their most dreaded foe, the strong south-west
In anger blowing from the distant sea.
Alone within her solitary hut;
There, or within the compass of her fields,
At any moment may the dame be found
True as the stock-dove to her shallow nest
And to the grove that holds it. She beguiles
By intermingled work of house and field
The summer's day, and winter's; with success
Not equal, but sufficient to maintain,
E'en at the worst, a smooth stream of content,
Until the expected hour at which her mate
From the far-distant quarry's vault returns;
And by his converse crowns a silent day
With evening cheerfulness. In powers of mind,
In scale of culture, few among my flock
Hold lower rank than this sequester'd pair;
But humbleness of heart descends from heaven;
And that best gift of heaven hath fall'n on them;
Abundant recompense for every want.
Stoop from your height, ye proud, and copy these!
Who, in their noiseless dwelling place, can hear
The voice of wisdom whispering Scripture texts
For the mind's government, or temper's peace;
And recommending, for their mutual need,
Forgiveness, patience, hope, and charity !"
"Much was I pleased," the gray-hair'd wanderer
said,
"When to those shining fields our notice first
You turn'd; and yet more pleased have from your
lips
Gather'd this fair report of them who dwell
In that retirement; whither, by such course
Of evil hap and good as oft awaits
A lone wayfaring man, I once was brought.
Dark on my road th' autumnal evening fell
While I was traversing yon mountain pass,
And night succeeded with unusual gloom:
So that my feet and hands at length became
And such it might be deem'd—a sleeping sunbeam; Guides better than mine eyes; until a light
But 'tis a plot of cultivated ground,
Cut off, an island in the dusky waste;
And that attractive brightness is its own.
The lofty site, by nature framed to tempt
Amid a wilderness of rocks and stones
The tiller's hand, a hermit might have chosen,
High in the gloom appear'd, too high, methought,
For human habitation; but I long'd
To reach it, destitute of other hope.
I look'd with steadiness as sailors look
On the north star, or watch-tower's distant lamp,
And saw the light-now fix'd—and shifting now-
Not like a dancing meteor, but in line
Of never-varying motion, to and fro:
It is no night-fire of the naked hills,
Thought I, some friendly covert must be near.
With this persuasion thitherward my steps
I turn, and reach at last the guiding light;
Joy to myself! but to the heart of her
Who there was standing on the open hill,
And, through Heaven's blessing, thus we gain the
For which we pray; and for the wants provide
Of sickness, accident, and helpless age.
Companions have I many; many friends,
Dependants, comfortors-my wheel, my fire,
All day the house-clock ticking in mine ear,
The cackling hen, the tender chicken brood,
(The same kind matron whom your tongue hath And the wild birds that gather round my porch. praised,)
Alarm and dissappointment! The alarm
This honest sheep-dog's countenance I read :
With him can talk; nor blush to waste a word
Ceased, when she learn'd through what mishap I On creatures less intelligent and shrewd.
And by what help had gain'd those distant fields.
Drawn from her cottage, on that open height,
Bearing a lantern in her hand she stood,
Or paced the ground, to guide her husband home,
By that unwearied signal, kenn'd afar;
An anxious duty! which the lofty site,
Traversed but by a few irregular paths,
Imposes, whensoe'er untoward chance
Detains him after his accustom❜d hour
Till night lies black upon the ground. But come,
Come,' said the matron, to our poor abode;
Those dark rocks hide it!' Entering, I beheld
A blazing fire, beside a cleanly hearth
Sate down; and to her office, with leave ask❜d,
The dame return'd. Or ere that glowing pile
Of mountain turf required the builder's hand
Its wasted splendour to repair, the door
Open'd, and she re-enter'd with glad looks,
Her helpmate following. Hospitable fare,
Frank conversation, made the evening's treat:
Need a bewilder'd traveller wish for more?
But more was given; I studied as we sate
By the bright fire, the good man's face; composed
f features elegant; an open brow
of undisturb'd humanity; a cheek
Suffused with something of a feminine hue;
Eyes beaming courtesy and mild regard ;
But, in the quicker turns of the discourse,
Expression slowly varying, that evinced
A tardy apprehension. From a fount
Lost, thought I, in th' obscurities of time,
But honour'd once, these features and that mien
May have descended, though I see them here,
In such a man, so gentle and subdued,
Withal so graceful in his gentleness,
A race illustrious for heroic deeds,
Humbled, but not degraded, may expire.
This pleasing fancy (cherish'd and upheld
By sundry recollections of such fall
From high to low, ascent from low to high,
As books record, and e'en the careless mind
Cannot but notice among men and things)
Went with me to the place of my repose.
"Roused by the crowing cock at dawn of day,
I yet had risen too late to interchange
A morning salutation with my host,
Gone forth already to the far-off seat
And if the blustering wind that drives the clouds
Care not for me, he lingers round my door,
And makes me pastime when our tempers suit;
But, above all, my thoughts are my support.
The matron ended-nor could I forbear
To exclaim, 'O happy! yielding to the law
Of these privations, richer in the main !
While thankless thousands are opprest and clogg'd
By ease and leisure, by the very wealth
And pride of opportunity made poor;
While tens of thousands falter in their path,
And sink, through utter want of cheering light;
For you the hours of labour do not flag:
For you each evening hath its shining star,
And every Sabbath day its golden sun." "
"Yes!" said the solitary with a smile
That seem'd to break from an expanding heart,
"The untutor'd bird may found, and so construct
And with such soft materials line her nest,
Fix'd in the centre of a prickly brake,
That the thorns wound her not: they only guard.
Powers not unjustly liken'd to those gifts
Of happy instinct which the woodland bird
Shares with her species, nature's grace sometimes
Upon the individual doth confer,
Among her higher creatures born and train'd
To use of reason. And, I own, that tired
Of th' ostentatious world-a swelling stage
With empty actions and vain passions stuff'd,
And from the private struggles of mankind
Hoping for less than I could wish to hope,
Far less than once I trusted and believed―
I loved to hear of those, who, not contending,
Nor summon'd to contend for virtue's prize,
Miss not the humbler good at which they aim;
Blest with a kindly faculty to blunt
The edge of adverse circumstance, and turn
Into their contraries the petty plagues
And hinderances with which they stand beset.
In early youth, among my native hills,
I knew a Scottish peasant who possess'd
A few small crofts of stone-encumber'd ground;
Masses of every shape and size, that lay
Scatter'd about under the mouldering walls
Of a rough precipice; and some, apart,
In quarters unobnoxious to such chance,
As if the moon had shower'd them down in spite;
But he repined not. Though the plough was scared
Of his day's work. Three dark mid-winter By these obstructions, 'round the shady stones months
Pass,' said the matron, and I never see,
Save when the Sabbath brings its kind release,
My helpmate's face by light of day. He quits
His door in darkness, nor till dusk returns.
A fertilizing moisture,' said the swain,
Gathers, and is preserved; and feeding dews
And damps, through all the droughty summer day,
From out their substance issuing maintain
Herbage that never fails: no grass springs up
So green, so fresh, so plentiful, as mine!'
But thinly sown these natures; rare, at least,
The mutual aptitude of seed and soil
That yields such kindly product. He, whose bed
Perhaps yon loose sods cover, the poor pensioner
Brought yesterday from our sequester'd dell
Here to lie down in lasting quiet-he,
If living now, could otherwise report
Of rustic loneliness; that gray-hair'd orphan-
So call him, for humanity to him
No parent was-feelingly could have told,
In life, in death, what solitude can breed
Of selfishness, and cruelty, and vice;
Or, if it breed not, hath not power to cure.
But your compliance, sir, with our request
My words too long have hinder'd."
Perhaps incited rather, by these shocks,
In no ungracious opposition, given
To the confiding spirit of his own
Experienced faith, the reverend pastor said,
Around him looking, "Where shall I begin?
Who shall be first selected from my flock,
Gather'd together in their peaceful fold?"
He paused, and having lifted up his eyes
To the pure heaven, he cast them down again
Upon the earth beneath his feet; and spake.
"To a mysteriously-consorted pair
This place is consecrate; to death and life,
And to the best affections that proceed
From their conjunction ;-consecrate to faith
In him who bled for man upon the cross;
Hallow'd to revelation; and no less
To reason's mandates: and the hopes divine
Of pure imagination ;-above all,
To charity, and love, that have provided
Within these precincts, a capacious bed
And receptacle, open to the good
And evil, to the just and the unjust;
In which they find an equal resting-place:
E'en as the multitude of kindred brooks
And streams, whose murmur fills this hollow vale,
Whether their course be turbulent or smooth,
Their waters clear or sullied, all are lost
Within the bosom of yon crystal lake,
And end their journey in the same repose!
Tyrants who utter the destroying word,
And slaves who will consent to be destroy'd-
Were of one species with the shelter'd few,
Who, with a dutiful and tender hand,
Did lodge, in an appropriated spot,
This file of infants; some that never breathed
The vital air; and others, who, allow'd
That privilege, did yet expire too soon,
Or with too brief a warning, to admit
Administration of the holy rite
That lovingly consigns the babe to th' arms
Of Jesus, and his everlasting care.
These that in trembling hope are laid apart;
And the besprinkled nursling, unrequired
Till he begins to smile upon the breast
That feeds him; and the tottering little one
Taken from air and sunshine when the rose
Of infancy first blooms upon his cheek;
The thinking, thoughtless schoolboy: the bold
youth
Of soul impetuous, and the bashful maid
Smitten while all the promises of life
Are opening round her: those of middle age,
Cast down while confident in strength they stand,
Like pillars fix'd more firmly, as might seem,
And more secure, by very weight of all
That, for support, rests on them; the decay'd
And burdensome: and lastly, that poor few
Whose light of reason is with age extinct;
The hopeful and the hopeless, first and last,
The earliest summon'd and the longest spared-
Are here deposited, with tribute paid
Various, but unto each some tribute paid;
As if, amid these peaceful hills and groves,
Society were touch'd with kind concern:
And gentle Nature grieved, that one should die;
Or, if the change demanded no regret,
Observed the liberating stroke-and bless'd.
And whence that tribute? wherefore these regards?
Not from the naked heart alone of man,
(Though claiming high distinction upon earth
As the sole spring and fountain-head of tears,
His own peculiar utterance for distress
Or gladness.) No," the philosophic priest
Continued, " 'tis not in the vital seat
Of feeling to produce them, without aid
"And blest are they who sleep; and we that From the pure soul, the soul sublime and pure; know.
While in a spot like this we breathe and walk,
That all beneath us by the wings are cover'd
Of motherly humanity, outspread
And gathering all within their tender shade,
Though loath and slow to come! A battle field,
In stillness left when slaughter is no more,
With this compared, is a strange spectacle!
A rueful sight the wild shore strewn with wrecks,
And trod by people in afflicted quest
Of friends and kindred, whom the angry sea
Restores not to their prayer! Ah! who would
think
That all the scatter'd subjects which compose
Earth's melancholy vision through the space
Of all her climes; these wretched, these depraved,
To virtue lost, insensible of peace,
From the delights of charity cut off,
To pity dead, th' oppressor and th' opprest;
With her two faculties of eye and ear,
The one by which a creature, whom his sins
Have render'd prone, can upward look to heaven;
The other that empowers him to perceive
The voice of deity, on height and plain,
Whispering those truths in stillness, which the
WORD,
To the four quarters of the winds, proclaims.
Not without such assistance could the use
Of these benign observances prevail.
Thus are they born, thus foster'd and maintain'd;
And by the care prospective of our wise
Forefathers, who, to guard against the shocks,
The fluctuation and decay of things,
Imbodied and establish'd these high truths
In solemn institutions; men convinced
That life is love and immortality,
The being one, and one the element.
There lies the channel, and original bed,
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