Its most illustrious province, must be found
In furnishing clear guidance, a support
Not treacherous, to the mind's excursive power.
So build we up the Being that we are;
Thus deeply drinking in the soul of things,
We shall be wise perforce; and, while inspired
By choice, and conscious that the Will is free,
Shall move unswerving, even as if impelled
By strict necessity, along the path

Of order and of good. Whate'er we see,
Or feel, shall tend to quicken and refine;
Shall fix, in calmer seats of moral strength,
Earthly desires; and raise, to loftier heights
Of divine love, our intellectual soul."

Here closed the Sage that eloquent harangue, Poured forth with fervor in continuous stream, Such as, remote, 'mid savage wilderness, An Indian chief discharges from his breast Into the hearing of assembled tribes, In open circle seated round, and hushed As the unbreathing air, when not a leaf Stirs in the mighty woods. So did he speak : The words he uttered shall not pass away Dispersed, like music that the wind takes up By snatches, and lets fall, to be forgotten; No, they sank into me, the bounteous gift Of one whom time and nature had made wise, Gracing his doctrine with authority

Which hostile spirits silently allow;

Of one accustomed to desires that feed
On fruitage gathered from the tree of life,
To hopes on knowledge and experience built;
Of one in whom persuasion and belief
Had ripened into faith, and faith become
A passionate intuition; whence the Soul,
Though bound to earth by ties of pity and love,
From all injurious servitude was free.

The Sun, before his place of rest were reached, Had yet to travel far, but unto us,

To us who stood low in that hollow dell,

He had become invisible,

a pomp

Leaving behind of yellow radiance spread
Over the mountain-sides, in contrast bold
With ample shadows, seemingly, no less
Than those resplendent lights, his rich bequest;
A dispensation of his evening power.

Adown the path that from the glen had led The funeral train, the Shepherd and his Mate Were seen descending: - forth to greet them ran Our little Page: the rustic pair approach; And in the Matron's countenance may be read Plain indication that the words, which told How that neglected Pensioner was sent Before his time into a quiet grave,

Had done to her humanity no wrong:

But we are kindly welcomed,— promptly served With ostentatious zeal. Along the floor

Of the small Cottage in the lonely Dell

A grateful couch was spread for our repose;
Where, in the guise of mountaineers, we lay,
Stretched upon fragrant heath, and lulled by sound
Of far-off torrents charming the still night,

And, to tired limbs and over-busy thoughts,
Inviting sleep and soft forgetfulness.

BOOK FIFTH.

THE PASTOR.