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"Power to the Oppressors of the world is given,
A might of which they dream not. Oh! the curse,

To be the awakener of divinest thoughts,
Father and founder of exalted deeds;

And, to whole nations bound in servile straits.
The liberal donor of capacities

More than heroic! this to be, nor yet
Have sense of one connatural wish, nor yet
Deserve the least return of human thanks;
Winning no recompense but deadly hate
With pity mixed, astonishment with scorn!"

When these involuntary words had ceased.
The Pastor said: "So Providence is served;
The forked weapon of the skies can send
Illumination into deep, dark holds,

Which the mild sunbeam hath not power to pierce.
Why do ye quake, intimidated thrones?

For, not unconscious of the mighty debt

Which to outrageous wrong the sufferer owos,
Europe, through all her habitable seats,

Is thirsting for their overthrow, who still

Exist, as pagan temples stood of old,

By very horror of their impious rites

Preserved: are suffered to extend their pride,
Like cedars on the top of Lebanon

Darkening the sun.

But less impatient thoughts,

And love all hoping and expecting all,'

This hallowed grave demands, where rests in peace

A humble champion of the better cause;

A Peasant-youth, so call him, for he asked

No higher name; in whom our country showed,

As in a favourite son, most beautiful.

In spite of vice, and misery, and disease,
Spread with the spreading of her wealthy arts,
England, the ancient and the free, appeared
In him to stand before my swimming eyes,
Unconquerably virtuous and secure.
-No more of this, lest I offend his dust:
Short was his life, and a brief tale remains.

One summer's day-a day of annual pomp
And solemn chase-from morn to sultry noon
His steps had followed, fleetest of the fleet,
The red-deer driven along its native heights
With cry
of hound and horn; and, from that toil
Returned with sinews weakened and relaxed,
This generous Youth, too negligent of self,

(A natural failing which maturer years

Would have subdued) took fearlessly-and kept-
His wonted station in the chilling flood,

Among a busy company convened

To wash his Father's flock. Convulsions dire

Seized him, that self-same night; and through the space

Of twelve ensuing days his frame was wrenched,
Till nature rested from her work in death.
To him, thus snatched away, his comrades paid
A soldier's honours. At his funeral hour
Bright was the sun, the sky a cloudless blue-
A golden lustre slept upon the hills;

And if by chance a stranger, wandering there,
From some commanding eminence had looked
Down on this spot, well pleased would he have seen
A glittering spectacle; but every face

Was pallid seldom hath that eye been moist
With tears, that wept not then; nor were the few,
Who from their dwellings came not forth to join
In this sad service, less disturbed than we.
They started at the tributary peal

Of instantaneous thunder, which announced,
Through the still air, the closing of the Grave;
And distant mountains echoed with a sound
Of lamentation, never heard before!"

The Pastor ceased.-My venerable Friend
Victoriously upraised his clear bright eye;
And, when that eulogy was ended, stood
Enrapt, as if his inward sense perceived
The prolongation of some still response,
Sent by the ancient Soul of this wide land,
The Spirit of its mountains and its seas,
Its cities, temples, fields, its awful power,
Its rights and virtues-by that Deity
Descending, and supporting his pure heart
With patriotic confidence and joy.
And, at the last of those memorial words,
The pining Solitary turned aside;
Whether through manly instinct to conceal
Tender emotions spreading from the heart
To his worn cheek; or with uneasy shame
For those cold humours of habitual spleen
Which, fondly seeking in dispraise of man
Solace and self-excuse, had sometimes urged
To self-abuse a not ineloquent tongue.
-Right tow'rds the sacred Edifice his steps
Had been directed; and we saw him now
Intent upon a monumental stone,

Whose uncouth form was grafted on the wall,
Or rather seemed to have grown into the side
Of the rude pile; as oft-times trunks of trees,
Where nature works in wild and craggy spots,
Are seen incorporate with the living rock-
To endure for aye. The Vicar, taking note
Of his employment, with a courteous smile
Exclaimed "The sagest Antiquarian's eye
That task would foil." And, with these added words
He thitherward advanced, "Tradition tells
That, in Eliza's golden days, a Knight

Came on a war-horse sumptuously attired,
And fixed his home in this sequestered vale.
"Tis left untold if here he first drew breath,
Or as a stranger reached this deep recess,
Unknowing and unknown. A pleasing thought
I sometimes entertain, that haply bound
To Scotland's court in service of his Queen,
Or sent on mission to some northern Chief
Of England's realm, this vale he might have seen
With transient observation; and thence caught
An image fair, which, brightening in his soul
When years admonished him of failing strength,
And he no more rejoiced in war's delights,
Had power to draw him from the world, resolved
To make that paradise his chosen home

To which his peaceful fancy oft had turned

Vague thoughts are these; but, if belief may rest Upon unwritten story fondly traced

From sire to son, in this obscure retreat

The Knight arrived, with pomp of spear and shield,
And borne upon a charger, covered o'er

With gilded housings. And the lofty Steed-
His sole companion, and his faithful friend,
Whom he, in gratitude, let loose to range

In fertile pastures-was beheld with eyes

Of admiration and delightful awe,

By those untravelled Dalesmen. With less pride,
Yet free from touch of envious discontent,

They saw a mansion at his bidding rise,
Like a bright star, amid the lowly band

Of their rude homesteads. Here the Warrior dwelt ;
And, in that mansion, children of his own,
Or kindred, gathered round him. As a tree
That falls and disappears, the house is gone;
And, through improvidence or want of love
For ancient worth and honourable things,

The spear and shield are vanished, which the Knight
Hung in his rustic hall. One ivied arch
Myself have seen, a gateway, last remains
Of that foundation in domestic care

Raised by his hands. And now no trace is left
Of the mild-hearted Champion, save this stone,
Faithless memorial! and his family name
Borne by yon clustering cottages, that sprang
From out the ruins of his stately lodge:
These, and the name and title at full length,-
Sir Alfred Erthing, with appropriate words
Accompanied, still extant, in a wreath
Or posy, girding round the several fronts
Of three clear-sounding and harmonious bells,
That in the steeple hang, his pious gift."

"So fails, so languishes, grows dim, and dies," The grey-haired Wanderer pensively exclaimed.

"All that this world is proud of. From their spheres The stars of human glory are cast down;

Perish the roses and the flowers of kings,

Princes, and emperors, and the crowns and palms
Of all the mighty, withered and consumed!
Nor is power given to lowliest innocence
Long to protect her own. The man himself
Departs; and soon is spent the line of those
Who, in the bodily image, in the mind,
In heart or soul, in station or pursuit,
Did most resemble him. Degrees and ranks,
Fraternities and orders-heaping high
New wealth upon the burthen of the old,
And placing trust in privilege confirmed
And re-confirmed-are scoffed at with a smile
Of greedy foretaste, from the secret stand
Of Desolation, aimed: to slow decline
These yield, and these to sudden overthrow:
Their virtue, service, happiness, and state
Expire; and nature's pleasant robe of green,
Humanity's appointed shroud, enwraps

Their monuments and their memory. The vast Frame
Of social nature changes evermore

Her organs and her members with decay
Restless, and restless generation, powers
And functions dying and produced at need,-
And by this law the mighty whole subsists:
With an ascent and progress in the main;
Yet, oh! how disproportioned to the hopes
And expectations of self-flattering minds!

The courteous Knight, whose bones are here interred, Lived in an age conspicuous as our own

For strife and ferment in the minds of men;
Whence alteration in the forms of things,
Various and vast. A memorable age!
Which did to him assign a pensive lot-
To linger 'mid the last of those bright clouds
That, on the steady breeze of honour, sailed
In long procession calm and beautiful.
He who had seen his own bright order fade,
And its devotion gradually decline,
(While war relinquishing the lance and shield,
Her temper changed, and bowed to other laws)
Had also witnessed, in his morn of life,
That violent commotion, which o'erthrew,
In town and city and sequestered glen,

Altar, and cross, and church of solemn roof,

And old religious house-pile after pile;

And shook the tenants out into the fields,

Like wild beasts without home! Their hour was come :
But why no softening thought of gratitude,

No just remembrance, scruple, or wise doubt?
Benevolence is mild; nor borrows help,

Save at worst need, from bold impetuous force,
Fitliest allied to anger and revenge.
But Human-kind rejoices in the might
Of mutability; and airy hopes,
Dancing around her, hinder and disturb
Those meditations of the soul which feed
The retrospective virtues. Festive songs
Break from the maddened nations at the sight
Of sudden overthrow; and cold neglect
Is the sure consequence of slow decay.

Even," said the Wanderer, " as that courteous Knight.
Bound by his vow to labour for redress
Of all who suffer wrong, and to enact
By sword and lance the law of gentleness,
(If I may venture of myself to speak,
Trusting that not incongruously I blend
Low things with lofty) I too shall be doomed
To outlive the kindly use and fair esteem
Of the poor calling which my youth embraced
With no unworthy prospect. But enough;

-Thoughts crowd upon me-and 'twere seemlier now
To stop, and yield our gracious Teacher thanks
For the pathetic records which his voice
Hath here delivered; words of heartfelt truth,
Tending to patience when affliction strikes ;
To hope and love; to confident repose

In God; and reverence for the dust of Man."

THE PARSONAGE.

BOOK VIII.

Pastor's apprehensions that he might have detained his Auditors too long-Invite tion to his house-Solitary disinclined to comply-rallies the Wanderer-and playfully draws a comparison between his itinerant profession and that of the Knight-errant-which leads to Wanderer's giving an account of changes in the Country from the manufacturing spirit-Favourable effects-The other side of the picture, and chiefly as it has affected the humbler classes-Wanderer asserts the hollowness of all national grandeur if unsupported by moral worth-Physical science unable to support itself-Lamentations over an excess of manufacturing industry among the humbler Classes of Society-Picture of a Child employed in a Cotton-mill-Ignorance and degradation of Children among the agricultural Population reviewed-Conversation broken off by a renewed Invitation from the Pastor-Path leading to his House-Its appearance described-His DaughterHis Wife-His Son (a Boy) enters with his Companion-Their happy appearanc -The Wanderer how affected by the sight of them.

THE pensive Sceptic of the lonely vale

To those acknowledgments subscribed his own,
With a sedate compliance, which the Priest

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