I turned aside in weakness, nor had power
To thank him for the Tale which he had told.
I stood, and leaning o'er the Garden wall,
Reviewed that Woman's sufferings; and it seemed
To comfort me while with a Brother's love
I blessed her—in the impotence of grief.
At length towards the Cottage I returned
Fondly, and traced, with interest more mild,
That secret spirit of humanity
Which, 'mid the calm, oblivious tendencies
Of nature, 'mid her plants, and weeds, and flowers,
And silent overgrowings, still survived.
The Old Man, noting this, resumed, and said,
"My Friend! enough to sorrow you have given;
The purposes of wisdom ask no more:
Be wise and cheerful; and no longer read
The forms of things with an unworthy eye.
She sleeps in the calm earth, and peace is here.
I well remember that those very plumes,
Those weeds, and the high spear-grass on that wall,
By mist and silent rain-drops silvered o'er,
As once I passed, did to my heart convey
So still an image of tranquillity,
So calm and still, and looked so beautiful
Amid the uneasy thoughts which filled my mind,
That what we feel of sorrow and despair,
From ruin and from change, and all the grief
The passing shows of Being leave behind,
Appeared an idle dream, that could not live
Where meditation was. I turned away,
And walked along my road in happiness."
He ceased. Ere long the sun declining shot
A slant and mellow radiance, which began
To fall upon us, while beneath the trees
We sate on that low Bench; and now we felt,
Admonished thus, the sweet hour coming on.
A linnet warbled from those lofty elms,
A thrush sang loud, and other melodies,
At distance heard, peopled the milder air.
The Old Man rose, and, with a sprightly mien
Of hopeful preparation, grasped his Staff:
Together casting then a farewell look
Upon those silent walls, we left the Shade;
And, ere the stars were visible, had reached
A Village Inn-our Evening resting-place.
The Author describes his travels with the Wanderer, whose character is further illustrated-Morning scene, and view of a Village Wake -Wanderer's account of a Friend whom he purposes to visitView, from an eminence, of the Valley which his Friend had chosen for his retreat-Feelings of the Author at the sight of it-Sound of singing from below - A funeral procession - Descent into the Valley - Observations drawn from the Wanderer at sight of a Book accidentally discovered in a recess in the Valley-Meeting with the Wanderer's friend, the Solitary -Wanderer's description of the mode of burial in this mountainous district-Solitary contrasts with this, that of the Individual carried a few minutes before from the Cottage Brief conversation-The Cottage entered-Description of the Solitary's apartment-Repast there - View from the window of two mountain summits-and the Solitary's description of the Companionship they afford him- Account of the departed Inmate of the Cottage Description of a grand spectacle upon the mountains, with its effect upon the Solitary's mind-Quit the House.
IN days of yore how fortunately fared
The Minstrel! wandering on from Hall to Hall,
Baronial Court or Royal; cheered with gifts
Munificent, and love, and Ladies' praise;
Now meeting on his road an armed Knight,
Now resting with a Pilgrim by the side
Of a clear brook; - beneath an Abbey's roof
One evening sumptuously lodged; the next
Humbly in a religious Hospital;
Or with some merry Outlaws of the wood;
Or haply shrouded in a Hermit's cell.
Him, sleeping or awake, the Robber spared;
He walked-protected from the sword of war
By virtue of that sacred Instrument,
His Harp, suspended at the Traveller's side;
His dear companion wheresoe'er he went,
Opening from Land to Land an easy way,
By melody, and by the charm of verse.
Yet, not the noblest of that honored Race
Drew happier, loftier, more impassioned thoughts
From his long journeyings and eventful life,
Than this obscure Itinerant had skill
To gather, ranging through the tamer ground
Of these our unimaginative days;
Both while he trod the earth in humblest guise,
Accoutred with his burthen and his staff;
And now, when free to move with lighter pace.
What wonder, then, if I, whose favorite School
Hath been the fields, the roads, and rural lanes,
Looked on this Guide with reverential love?
Each with the other pleased, we now pursued
Our journey beneath favorable skies.
Turn wheresoe'er we would, he was a light
Unfailing; not a Hamlet could we pass,
Rarely a House, that did not yield to him
Remembrances; or from his tongue call forth
Some way-beguiling tale. Nor less regard
Accompanied those strains of apt discourse
Which Nature's various objects might inspire;
And in the silence of his face I read
His overflowing spirit. Birds and beasts,
And the mute fish that glances in the stream,
And harmless reptile coiling in the sun,
And gorgeous insect hovering in the air,
The fowl domestic, and the household dog,
In his capacious mind- he loved them all;
Their rights acknowledging, he felt for all.
Oft was occasion given me to perceive
How the calm pleasures of the pasturing Herd
To happy contemplation soothed his walk;
How the poor Brute's condition, forced to run
Its course of suffering in the public road, -
Sad contrast! all too often smote his heart
With unavailing pity. Rich in love
And sweet humanity, he was, himself,
To the degree that he desired, beloved.
-Greetings and smiles we met with all day long,
From faces that he knew; we took our seats
By many a cottage hearth, where he received
The welcome of an Inmate come from far.
-Nor was he loth to enter ragged Huts,
Huts where his charity was blest; his voice
Heard as the voice of an experienced Friend.
And, sometimes, where the Poor Man held dispute
With his own mind, unable to subdue
Impatience, through inaptness to perceive
General distress in his particular lot;
Or cherishing resentment, or in vain
Struggling against it, with a soul perplexed,
And finding in himself no steady power
To draw the line of comfort that divides
Calamity, the chastisement of Heaven,
From the injustice of our brother men;
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