Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Of open schemes, and all his inward hoard
Of unsunned griefs, too many and too keen,
Was overcome by unexpected sleep,

In one blest moment. Like a shadow thrown
Softly and lightly from a passing cloud,
Death fell upon him, while reclined he lay
For noontide solace on the summer grass,
The warm lap of his Mother Earth: and so,
Their lenient term of separation past,
That family (whose graves you there behold)
By yet a higher privilege once more
Were gathered to each other."

Calm of mind

And silence waited on these closing words;

Until the Wanderer (whether moved by fear
Lest in those passages of life were some

That might have touched the sick heart of his Friend
Too nearly, or intent to reinforce

His own firm spirit in degree deprest

By tender sorrow for our mortal state)

Thus silence broke: "Behold a thoughtless Man From vice and premature decay preserved

By useful habits, to a fitter soil

Transplanted ere too late. The Hermit, lodged

In the untrodden desert, tells his beads,

With each repeating its allotted prayer,

And thus divides and thus relieves the time;
Smooth task, with his compared, whose mind could string
Not scantily, bright minutes on the thread

Of keen domestic anguish, and beguile

solitude, unchosen, unprofessed;

Till gentlest death released him. Far from us

Be the desire too curiously to ask

How much of this is but the blind result

Of cordial spirits and vital temperament,
And what to higher powers is justly due.
But you, Sir, know that in a neighboring Vale
A Priest abides before whose life such doubts
Fall to the ground; whose gifts of Nature lie
Retired from notice, lost in attributes

Of Reason-honorably effaced by debts
Which her poor treasure-house is content to owe
And conquests over her dominion gained,

To which her forwardness must needs submit.
In this one Man is shown a temperance - proof
Against all trials; industry severe

And constant as the motion of the day;
Stern self-denial round him spread, with shade
That might be deemed forbidding, did not there
All generous feelings flourish and rejoice;
Forbearance, charity in deed and thought,
And resolution competent to take
Out of the bosom of simplicity

All that her holy customs recommend,
And the best ages of the world prescribe.
-Preaching, administering, in every work
Of his sublime vocation, in the walks
Of worldly intercourse 'twixt man and man,
And in his humble dwelling, he appears
A Laborer, with moral virtue girt,

With spiritual graces, like a glory, crowned.”

"Doubt can be none," the Pastor said, "for whom
This Portraiture is sketched. The Great, the Good,
The Well-beloved, the Fortunate, the Wise,
These Titles Emperors and Chiefs have borne,
Honor assumed or given: and Him, the Wonderful
Our simple Shepherds, speaking from the heart,
Deservedly have styled. From his Abode

In a dependent Chapelry, that lies
Behind yon hill, a poor and rugged wild,
Which in his soul he lovingly embraced,
And, having once espoused, would never quit,
Hither, ere long, that lowly, great, good Man
Will be conveyed. An unelaborate Stone
May cover him; and by its help, perchance,
A century shall hear his name pronounced,
With images attendant on the sound;
Then, shall the slowly gathering twilight close
In utter night; and of his course remain
No cognizable vestiges, no more

Than of this breath, which shapes itself in words
To speak of him, and instantly dissolves.

- Noise is there not enough in doleful war,
But that the heaven-born poet must stand forth,
And lend the echoes of his sacred shell,
To multiply and aggravate the din?

Pangs are there not enough in hopeless love-
And, in requited passion, all too much
Of turbulence, anxiety, and fear

But that the Minstrel of the rural shade
Must tune his pipe insidiously to nurse
The perturbation in the suffering breast,
And propagate its kind, far as he may?

Ah, who (and with such rapture as befits
The hallowed theme) will rise and celebrate
The good Man's deeds and purposes; retrace
His struggles, his discomfiture deplore,
His triumphs hail, and glorify his end?
That Virtue, like the fumes and vapory clouds
Through Fancy's heat redounding in the brain,
And like the soft infections of the heart,

By charm of measured words may spread o'er field,
Hamlet, and town; and Piety survive

Upon the lips of Men in hall or bower;
Not for reproof, but high and warm delight,
And grave encouragement, by song inspired

- Vain thought! but wherefore murmur or repine?
The memory of the just survives in Heaven:
And, without sorrow, will this ground receive
That venerable clay. Meanwhile the best
Of what it holds confines us to degrees
In excellence less difficult to reach,

And milder worth: nor need we travel far
From those to whom our last regards were paid,
For such example.

"Almost at the root

Of that tall Pine, the shadow of whose bare
And slender stem, while here I sit at eve,
Oft stretches tow'rds me, like a long straight path
Traced faintly in the green-sward; there, beneath
A plain blue Stone, a gentle Dalesman lies,
From whom, in early childhood, was withdrawn
The precious gift of hearing. He grew up
From year to year, in loneliness of soul;
And this deep mountain Valley was to him
Soundless, with all its streams. The bird of dawn
Did never rouse this Cottager from sleep
With startling summons; not for his delight
The vernal cuckoo shouted; not for him

Murmured the laboring bee. When stormy winds
Were working the broad bosom of the lake
Into a thousand thousand sparkling waves,
Rocking the trees, or driving cloud on cloud
Along the sharp edge of yon lofty crags,
The agitated scene before his eye
Was silent as a picture: evermore

Were all things silent, wheresoe'er he moved.

Yet, by the solace of his own pure thoughts
Upheld, he duteously pursued the round
Of rural labors; the steep mountain-side
Ascended with his staff and faithful dog;
The plough he guided, and the scythe he swayed;
And the ripe corn before his sickle fell
Among the jocund reapers. For himself,
All watchful and industrious as he was,

He wrought not; neither field nor flock he owned
No wish for wealth had place within his mind;
Nor husband's love, nor farther's hope or care.
Though born a younger Brother, need was none
That from the floor of his paternal home
He should depart, to plant himself anew.
And when, mature in manhood, he beheld
His Parents laid in earth, no loss ensued
Of rights to him; but he remained well pleased,
By the pure bond of independent love
An inmate of a second family,

The fellow-laborer and friend of him

To whom the small inheritance had fallen.

Nor deem that his mild presence was a weight
That pressed upon his Brother's house, for books
Were ready comrades whom he could not tire,
Of whose society the blameless Man

Was never satiate. Their familiar voice,
Even to old age, with unabated charm

Beguiled his leisure hours, refreshed his thoughts
Beyond its natural elevation raised

His introverted spirit; and bestowed

Upon his life an outward dignity

Which all acknowledged. The dark winter night, The stormy day, had each its own resource;

Song of the muses, sage historic tale,

Science severe, or word of Holy Writ

« AnteriorContinuar »