The vapours had receded, taking there Their station under a cerulean sky. O, 'twas an unimaginable sight!
Clouds, mists, streams, watery rocks, and emerald turf, 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 enwrapped. Right in the midst, where interspace appeared Of open court, an object like a throne Under a shining canopy of state
Stood fixed; and fixed 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 revealed abode Of spirits in beatitude: my heart Swelled in my breast.
'I have been dead,' I cried, 'And now I live! Oh! wherefore do I live?' And with that pang I prayed 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,
And I descended. Having reached the house, I found its rescued inmate safely lodged,
And in serene possession of himself, Beside a genial fire that seemed to spread A gleam of comfort o'er his pallid face.
Great show of joy the housewife 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 seemed at first to have received No harm, and uncomplaining as before
Went through his usual tasks, a silent change Soon showed itself; he lingered 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 turnedAnd, with blithe air of open fellowship,
Brought from the cupboard wine and stouter cheer, Like one who would be merry. Seeing this
My grey-haired 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..
mages in the Valley-Another recess in it entered and described-Wanderer's sensations -Solitary's excited by the same objects-Contrast between these-Despondency of the Solitary gently reproved Conversation exhibiting the Solitary's past and present opinions and feelings, till he enters upon his own history at length-His domestic felicity-Afflictions-Dejection-Roused by the French Revolution-Disappointme t and disgust-Voyage to America-Disappointment and disgust pursue him-His return -His languor and depression of mind, from want of faith in the great truths of religion, and want of confidence in the virtue of mankind.
A HUMMING BEE-a little tinkling rill- A pair of falcons wheeling on the wing, In clamorous agitation, round the crest Of a tall rock, their airy citadel-
By each and all of these the pensive ear Was greeted, in the silence that ensued,
When through the cottage threshold we had passed, And, deep within that lonesome valley, stood Once more beneath the concave of the blue And cloudless sky. Anon exclaimed our host, Triumphantly dispersing with the taunt The shade of discontent which on his brow Had gathered," Ye have left my cell-but see Now Nature hems you in with friendly arms! And by her help ye are my prisoners still. But which way shall I lead you ?-how contrive, In spot so parsimoniously endowed,
That the brief hours which yet remain may reap Some recompense of knowledge or delight?" So saying, round he looked, as if perplexed; And, to remove these doubts, my grey-haired friend Said "Shall we take this pathway for our guide?— Upwards it winds, as if, in summer heats,
Its line had first been fashioned by the flock A place of refuge seeking at the root
Of yon black yew-tree, whose protruded boughs 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 the streamlet to its source; Feebly it tinkles with an earthly sound, And a few steps may bring us to the spot
Where, haply, crowned with flow'rets and green herbs, The mountain infant to the sun comes forth, Like human life from darkness.' At the word
We followed where he led. A sudden turn
Through a straight passage of encumbered 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 barred. Thought I. "if master of a vacant hour, Here would not linger, willingly detained? 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 rock discovered to our view A mass of nook, resembling, as it lay Right at the foot of that moist precipice, A stranded ship, with keel upturned,-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 disjoined, a pair were seen, That with united shoulders bore aloft A fragment, like an altar, flat and smooth. Barren the tablet, yet thereon appeared Conspicuously stationed, 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, Or lay its beauty flat before a breeze,
The first that entered. But no breeze did now Find entrance; high or low appeared no trace Of motion, save the water that descended, Diffused adown that barrier of steep rock, And softly creeping, like a breath of air, Such as is sometimes seen, and hardly seen, To brush the still breast of a crystal lake.
"Behold a cabinet for sages built,
Which kings might envy!" Praise to this effect Broke from the happy old man's reverend lip; Who to the Solitary turned, and said, "In sooth, with love's familiar privilege, You have decried, in no unseemly terms Of modesty, that wealth which is your own. Among these rocks and stones, methinks, I see More than the heedless impress that belongs To lonely nature's casual work; they bear A semblance strange of power intelligent, And of design not wholly worn away. Boldest of plants that ever faced the wind, How gracefully that slender shrub looks forth From its fantastic birth-place! And I own, Some shadowy intimations haunt me here, I cannot but incline to a belief That in these shows a chronicle survives
Of purposes akin to those of man,
But wrought with mightier arm than now prevails. Voiceless the stream descends into the gulf With timid lapse; and lo! while in this strait I stand-the chasm of sky above my head Is heaven's profoundest azure; no domain For fickle, short-lived clouds to occupy, Or to pass through, but rather an abyss In which the everlasting stars abide;
And whose soft gloom and boundless depth might tempt The curious eye to look for them by day.
Hail Contemplation! from the stately towers, Reared by the industrious hand of human art To lift thee high above the misty air, And turbulence of murmuring cities vast; From academic groves, that have for thee Been planted, hither come and find a lodge To which thou mayest resort for holier peace,- From whose calm centre thou, through height or depth, Mayest penetrate, wherever truth shall lead; Measuring through all degrees, until the scale Of time and conscious nature disappear, Lost in unsearchable eternity!"
A pause ensued; and with minuter care We scanned the various features of the scene: And soon the tenant of that lonely vale With courteous voice thus spake :-
"I should have grieved Hereafter-should perhaps have blamed myself- If from my poor retirement ye had gone Leaving this nook unvisited; but, in sooth, Your unexpected presence had so roused My spirits, that they were bent on enterprise; And, like an ardent hunter, I forgot,
Or, shall I say-disdained-the game that lurked At my own door. The shapes before our eyes And their arrangement, doubtless must be deemed The sport of Nature, aided by blind Chance, Rudely to mock the works of toiling man. And hence, this upright shaft of unhewn stone, From fancy, willing to set off her stores By sounding titles, hath acquired the name Of Pompey's Pillar; that I gravely style My Theban Obelisk; and, there, behold A Druid cromlech!-thus I entertain The antiquarian humour, and am pleased To skim along the surfaces of things, Beguiling harmlessly the listless hours. But if the spirit be oppressed by sense Of instability, revolt, decay,
And change, and emptiness, these freaks of Nature
And her blind helper Chance, do then suffice
To quicken, and to aggravate, to feed
Pity and scorn, and melancholy pride,
Not less than that huge pile (from some abyss Of mortal power unquestionably sprung) Whose hoary diadem of pendent rocks
Confines the shrill-voiced whirlwind, round and round Eddying within its vast circumference, On Šarum's naked plain-than pyramid Of Egypt, unsubverted, undissolved; Or Syria's marble ruins towering high Above the sandy desert, in the light Of sun or moon. Forgive me, if I say
That an appearance, which hath raised your minds To an exalted pitch (the self-same cause Different effect producing) is for me
Fraught rather with depression than delight, Though shame it were, could I not look around me, By the reflection of your pleasure, pleased. Yet happier, in my judgment, even than you, With your bright transports, fairly may be deemed, Is he (if such have ever entered here)
The wandering herbalist,-who, clear alike From vain, and, that worse evil, vexing thoughts, Casts on these uncouth forms a slight regard Of transitory interest, and peeps round For some rare floweret of the hills, or plant Of craggy fountain; what he hopes for, wins, Or learns, at least, that 'tis not to be won: Then, keen and eager, as a fine-nosed hound By soul-engrossing instinct driven along Through wood or open field, the harmless man Departs, intent upon his onward quest ! Nor is that fellow-wanderer, so deem I, Less to be envied (you may trace him oft By scars which his activity has left
Beside our roads and pathways, though, thank Heaven! This covert nook reports not of his hand),
He, who with pocket hammer smites the edge Of every luckless rock or stone that stands Before his sight, by weather-stains disguised, Or crusted o'er with vegetation thin,
Nature's first growth-detaching by the stroke A chip or splinter to resolve his doubts- And, with that ready answer satisfied,
Doth to the substance give some barbarous name, Then hurries on; or from the fragments picks His specimen, if haply interveined
With sparkling mineral, or should crystal tube Be lodged therein and thinks himself enriched, Wealthier, and doubtless wiser, than before! Intrusted safely each to his pursuit,
This earnest pair may range from hill to hill, And, if it please them, speed from clime to clime; The mind is full-no pain is in their sport."
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