And social neighborhood; look we to ourselves;
A light of duty shines on every day

For all; and yet how few are warmed or cheered! How few who mingle with their fellow-men

And still remain self-governed, and apart,

Like this our honored Friend; and thence acquire Right to expect his vigorous decline,

That promises to the end a blest old age!

"Yet," with a smile of triumph thus exclaimed 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 expressed?
And mellow Autumn, charged with bounteous fruit,
Where is she imaged? in what favored clime
Her lavish pomp, and ripe magnificence?

- Yet, while the better part is missed, 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 in 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;

Embosomed happiness, and placid love

As if the sunshine of the day were met

With answering brightness in the hearts of all
Who walk this favored ground. But chance-regards
And notice forced upon incurious ears;
These, if these only, acting in despite
Of the encomiums by Friend pronounced
On humble life, forbid the judging mind
To trust the smiling aspect of this fair
And noiseless Commonwealth. The simple race
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 a multitude, with them,
Is fashioned like an ill-constructed tale;
That on the outset wastes its gay desires,
Its fair adventures, its enlivening hopes,
And pleasant interests - for the sequel leaving
Old things repeated with diminished grace;
And all the labored 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 Church-yard gate
Approached; 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 prevailed.
Awhile they stood in conference, and I guess
That He, who now upon the mossy wall

Sate by my side, had vanished, if a wish

Could have transferred him to his lonely House
Within the circuit of those guardian rocks.

For me, I looked upon the pair, well pleased: Nature had framed them both, and both were marked 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 likened: flourishing appeared,
Though somewhat past the fulness of his prime,
The Other like a stately Sycamore,

That spreads, in gentler pomp, its honeyed shade.

A general greeting was exchanged; and soon
The Pastor learned 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,

Doomed 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 stilled and cheered."

"Our Nature," said the Priest, in mild reply,
"Angels may weigh and fathom: they perceive,
With undistempered 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,

Blind were we without these: through these alone
Are capable to notice, or discern,

Or to record; we judge, but cannot be
Indifferent judges. Spite of proudest boast,
Reason, best Reason, is to imperfect Man
An effort only, and a noble aim;

never to be won!

A crown, an attribute of sovereign power,
Still to be courted
-Look forth, or each man dive into himself;
What sees he but a Creature too perturbed,
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 missed, and comprehension fails
And darkness and delusion round our path
Spread, from disease, whose subtle 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 à forbidding tract of cheerless view;
Even as the same is looked at, or approached.
Thus, when in changeful April snow has fallen,
And fields are white, if from the sullen north
Your walk conduct you hither, ere the Sun
Hath gained his noontide height, this church-yard, filled
With mounds transversely lying side by side
From east to west, before you will appear
An unillumined, blank, and dreary plain,
With more than wintery 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: Ivanished is the snow,
Vanished or hidden; and the whole Domain,
To some too lightly minded might appear
A meadow carpet for the dancing hours