Before their eyes lay carefully outspread,
From which the gallant Teacher would discourse,
Now pointing this way, and now that. 'Here flows,'
Thus would he say, 'the Rhine, that famous Stream!
Eastward, the Danube tow'rd this inland sea,
A mightier river, winds from realm to realm;
And, like a serpent, shows his glittering back
Bespotted with innumerable isles:
Here reigns the Russian, there the Turk; observe
His capital city!' Thence
Thence — along a tract
Of livelier interest to his hopes and fears
His finger moved, distinguishing the spots.
Where wide-spread conflict then most fiercely raged;
Nor left unstigmatized those fatal Fields
On which the Sons of mighty Germany
Were taught a base submission. —‘Here behold
A nobler race, the Switzers, and their Land;
Vales deeper far than these of ours, huge woods,
And mountains white with everlasting snow!'
And, surely, he, that spake with kindling brow
Was a true Patriot, hopeful as the best
Of that young Peasantry, who, in our days,
Have fought and perished for Helvetia's rights,
Ah, not in vain! - or those who, in old time,
For work of happier issue, to the side
Of Tell came trooping from a thousand huts,
When he had risen alone! No braver Youth
Descended from Judean heights, to march
With righteous Joshua; or appeared in arms
When grove was felled, and altar was cast down,
And Gideon blew the trumpet, soul-inflamed,
And strong in hatred of idolatry."
This spoken, from his seat the Pastor rose,
And moved towards the grave; instinctively
His steps we followed; and my voice exclaimed,
"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 owes,
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 favorite 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
And solemn chase ·
a day of annual pomp
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,
Plunged 'mid a gay and busy throng convened
To wash the fleeces of his Father's flock-
Into the chilling flood.
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 honors. 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 these 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 humors of habitual spleen,
That fondly seeking in dispraise of Man
Solace and self-excuse, had somtimes urged
To self-abuse a not ineloquent tongue.
- Right tow'rd 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;" then, letting fall his voice
While he advanced, thus spake: "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 joy of war and pride of Chivalry
Languished beneath accumulated years,
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 pasture 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;
|