Whence comes it, then, that yonder we behold Five graves, and only five, that rise together Unsociably sequestered, and encroaching On the smooth play-ground of the village- school?"
Impression of these Narratives upon the Author's mind-Pastor invited to give ac- count of certain Graves that lie apart Clergyman and his Family-Fortunate in- fluence of change of situation-Activity in extreme old age-Another Clergyman, a char- acter of resolute Virtue-Lamentations over mis-directed applause-Instance of less ex- alted excellence in a deaf man-Elevated character of a blind man-Reflection upon Blindness-Interrupted by a Peasant who passes-his animal cheerfulness and careless vivacity-He occasions a digression on the fall of beautiful and interesting Trees-A female Infant's Grave-Joy at her Birth-That little shady spot, that sylvan tuft, Sorrow at her Departure-A youthful Peasant -his patriotic enthusiasm and distinguished qualities-his untimely death-Exultation of the Wanderer, as a patriot, in this Picture- Solitary how affected-Monument of a Knight-Traditions concerning him-Peror- ation of the Wanderer on the transitoriness of things and the revolutions of society Hints at his own past Calling-Thanks the Pastor.
The Vicar answered,-"No disdainful pride In them who rest beneath, nor any course Of strange or tragic accident, hath helped To place those hillocks in that lonely guise. -Once more look forth, and follow with your sight The length of road that from yon mountain's base Through bare enclosures stretches, 'till its line Is lost within a little tuft of trees; Then, reappearing in a moment, quits The cultured fields; and up the heathy waste, Mounts, as you see, in mazes serpentine, Led towards an easy outlet of the vale.
WHILE thus from theme to theme the Historian passed,
The words he uttered, and the scene that lay Before our eyes, awakened in my mind Vivid remembrance of those long-past hours; When, in the hollow of some shadowy vale, (What time the splendour of the setting sun Lay beautiful on Snowdon's sovereign brow, On Cader Idris, or huge Penmanmaur) A wandering Youth, I listened with delight To pastoral melody or warlike air, Drawn from the chords of the ancient British harp
By some accomplished Master, while he sate Amid the quiet of the green recess, And there did inexhaustibly dispense An interchange of soft or solemn tunes, Tender or blithe; now, as the varying mood Of his own spirit urged,-now, as a voice From youth or maiden, or some honoured chief Of his compatriot villagers (that hung Around him, drinking in the impassioned notes Of the time-hallowed minstrelsy) required For their heart's ease or pleasure. Strains of
By which the road is hidden, also hides A cottage from our view; though I discern (Ye scarcely can) amid its sheltering trees The smokeless chimney-top. -
All unembowered And naked stood that lowly Parsonage (For such in truth it is, and appertains To a small Chapel in the vale beyond) When hither came its last Inhabitant. Rough and forbidding were the choicest roads By which our northern wilds could then be
And into most of these secluded vales Was no access for wain, heavy or light. So, at his dwelling-place the Priest arrived With store of household goods, in panniers slung
On sturdy horses graced with jingling bells, And on the back of more ignoble beast; That, with like burthen of effects most prized Or easiest carried, closed the motley train. But still, methinks, I see them as they passed Young was I then, a school-boy of eight years; In order, drawing toward their wished-for home.
-Rocked by the motion of a trusty ass Two ruddy children hung, a well-poised freight, Each in his basket nodding drowsily; Their bonnets, I remember, wreathed with Which told it was the pleasant month of June; flowers, And, close behind, the comely Matron rode, A woman of soft speech and gracious smile, And with a lady's mien.-From far they came, Even from Northumbrian hills; yet theirs had been
A merry journey, rich in pastime, cheered By music, prank, and laughter-stirring jest ; And freak put on, and arch word dropped-to swell
The cloud of fancy and uncouth surmise That gathered round the slowly-moving train. --Whence do they come? and with what
Belong they to the fortune-telling tribe Who pitch their tents under the green-wood tree?
Or Strollers are they, furnished to enact
Fair Rosamond, and the Children of the Wood, And, by that whiskered tabby's aid, set forth The lucky venture of sage Whittington, When the next village hears the show an- nounced
By blast of trumpet ?'
Of such conjectures, overheard, or seen On many a staring countenance portrayed Of boor or burgher, as they marched along. And more than once their steadiness of face Was put to proof, and exercise supplied To their inventive humour, by stern looks, And questions in authoritative tone, From some staid guardian of the public peace, Checking the sober steed on which he rode, In his suspicious wisdom; oftener still, By notice indirect, or blunt demand From traveller halting in his own despite, A simple curiosity to ease:
Of which adventures, that beguiled and cheered Their grave migration, the good pair would tell,
With undiminished glee, in hoary age.
A Priest he was by function; but his course From his youth up, and high as manhood's
(The hour of life to which he then was brought) Had been irregular, I might say, wild ; By books unsteadied, by his pastoral care Too little checked. An active, ardent mind; A fancy pregnant with resource, and scheme To cheat the sadness of a rainy day; Hands apt for all ingenious arts and games; A generous spirit, and a body strong
To cope with stoutest champions of the bowl; Had earned for him sure welcome, and the rights
Of a prized visitant, in the jolly hall
Of country 'squire; or at the statelier board Of duke or earl, from scenes of courtly pomp Withdrawn.-to wile away the summer hours In condescension among rural guests.
With these high comrades he had revelled long,
Frolicked industriously, a simple Clerk By hopes of coming patronage beguiled Till the heart sickened. So, each loftier aim Abandoning and all his showy friends, For a life's stay (slender it was, but sure) He turned to this secluded chapelry; That had been offered to his doubtful choice By an unthought-of patron. Bleak and bare They found the cottage, their allotted home; Naked without, and rude within; a spot With which the Cure not long had been en- dowed:
And far remote the chapel stood,-remote, And, from his Dwelling, unapproachable, Save through a gap high in the hills, an opening Shadeless and shelterless, by driving showers Frequented, and beset with howling winds. Yet cause was none, whate'er regret might hang On his own mind, to quarrel with the choice Or the necessity that fixed him here; Apart from old temptations, and constrained To punctual labour in his sacred charge. See him a constant preacher to the poor! And visiting, though not with saintly zeal, Yet, when need was, with no reluctant will,
The sick in body, or distrest in mind; And, by a salutary change, compelled To rise from timely sleep, and meet the day With no engagement, in his thoughts, more proud
Or splendid than his garden could afford, His fields, or mountains by the heath-cock ranged,
Or the wild brooks; from which he now returned
Contented to partake the quiet meal
Of his own board, where sat his gentle Mate And three fair Children, plentifully fed Though simply, from their little household farm;
Nor wanted timely treat of fish or fowl By nature yielded to his practised hand ;- To help the small but certain comings-in Of that spare benefice. Yet not the less Theirs was a hospitable board, and theirs A charitable door. So days and years Passed on-the inside of that rugged house Was trimmed and brightened by the Matron's
And gradually enriched with things of price, Which might be lacked for use or ornament. What, though no soft and costly sofa there Insidiously stretched out its lazy length, And no vain mirror glittered upon the walls, Yet were the windows of the low abode By shutters weather-fended, which at once Repelled the storm and deadened its loud roar. There snow-white curtains hung in decent folds; Tough moss, and long enduring mountain plants,
Were nicely braided; and composed a work That creep along the ground with sinuous trail, Like Indian mats, that with appropriate grace Lay at the threshold and the inner doors; And a fair carpet, woven of homespun wool But tinctured daintily with florid hues, For seemliness and warmth, on festal days, Covered the smooth blue slabs of mountain-stone With which the parlour-floor, in simplest guise Of pastoral homesteads, had been long inlaid.
Those pleasing works the Housewife's skill produced:
Meanwhile the unsedentary Master's hand Was busier with his task-to rid, to plant, To rear for food, for shelter, and delight; A thriving covert! And when wishes, formed In youth, and sanctioned by the riper mind, Restored me to my native valley, here To end my days; well pleased was I to see The once-bare cottage, on the mountain-side, Screen'd from assault of every bitter blast; While the dark shadows of the summer leaves Danced in the breeze, chequering its mossy roof. Time, which had thus afforded willing help To beautify with nature's fairest growths This rustic tenement, had gently shed, Upon its Master's frame, a wintry grace; The comeliness of unenfeebled age.
But how could I say, gently? for he still Retained a flashing eve, a burning palm, A stirring foot, a head which beat at nights Upon its pillow with a thousand schemes. Few likings had he dropped, few pleasures lost; Generous and charitable, prompt to serve;
And still his harsher passions kept their hold- Auger and indignation. Still he loved The sound of titled names, and talked in glee Of long-past banquetings with high-born friends:
Then, from those lulling fits of vain delight Uproused by recollected injury, railed At their false ways disdainfully, and oft In bitterness, and with a threatening eye Of fire, incensed beneath its hoary brow. -Those transports, with staid looks of pure goodwill,
And with soft smile, his consort would reprove. She, far behind him in the race of years, Yet keeping her first mildness, was advanced Far nearer, in the habit of her soul, To that still region whither all are bound. Him might we liken to the setting sun As seen not seldom on some gusty day, Struggling and bold, and shining from the west With an inconstant and unmellowed light; She was a soft attendant cloud, that hung As if with wish to veil the restless orb ; From which it did itself imbibe a ray Of pleasing lustre.-But no more of this; I better love to sprinkle on the sod That now divides the pair, or rather say, That still unites them, praises, like heaven's dew,
Without reserve descending upon both.
Our very first in eminence of years This old Man stood, the patriarch of the Vale! And, to his unmolested mansion, death Had never come, through space of forty years; Sparing both old and young in that abode. Suddenly then they disappeared: not twice Had summer scorched the fields; not twice had fallen,
On those high peaks, the first autumnal snow, Before the greedy visiting was closed, And the long-privileged house left empty-
Like harshness,-that the old grey-headed Sire, The oldest, he was taken last, survived When the meek Partner of his age, his Son, His Daughter, and that late and high-prized gift,
His little smiling Grandchild, were no more. 'All gone, all vanished! he deprived and bare,
How will he face the remnant of his life? What will become of him?' we said, and mused In sad conjectures- Shall we meet him now Haunting with rod and line the craggy brooks? Or shall we overhear him, as we pass, Striving to entertain the lonely hours With music?' (for he had not ceased to touch The harp or viol which himself had framed, For their sweet purposes, with perfect skill.) 'What titles will he keep? will he remain Musician, gardener, builder, mechanist, A planter, and a rearer from the seed? A man of hope and forward-looking mind
Even to the last!'-Such was he, unsubdued. But Heaven was gracious; yet a little while, And this Survivor, with his cheerful throng Of open projects, and 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 Amid 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 A solitude, unchosen, unprofessed; Till gentlest death released him.
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 neighbouring vale
A Priest abides before whose life such doubts Fall to the ground; whose gifts of nature lie Of reason, honourably effaced by debts Retired from notice, lost in attributes Which her poor treasure-house is content to owe,
And conquests over her dominion gained, In this one Man is shown a temperance-proof To which her frowardness must needs submit. 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 between man and man, And in his humble dwelling, he appears A labourer, with moral virtue girt, With spiritual graces, like a glory, crowned."
Honour assumed or given: and him, the WON-With startling summons; not for his delight
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; Into its graveyard will ere long be borne That lowly, great, good Man. A simple 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."
The Pastor, pressed by thoughts which round his theme
Still linger'd, after a brief pause, resumed; "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 purposes and deeds; retrace His struggles, his discomfitures deplore, His triumphs hail, and glorify his end; That virtue, like the fumes and vapoury 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 re- pine?
The memory of the just survives in heaven: And, without sorrow, will the ground receive That venerable clay. Meanwhile the best Of what lies here confines us to degrees In excellence less difficult to reach, And milder worth nor need we travel far
The vernal cuckoo shouted; not for him Murmured the labouring bee. When 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 labours; 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 father's hope or care.
Though born a younger brother, need was
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-labourer and friend of him
To whom the small inheritance had fallen. --Nor deem that his mild presence was a weig t That pressed upon his brother's house; for books
Were ready comrades whom he could not tire: Was never satiate. Their familiar voice, Of whose society the blameless Man Even to old age, with unabated charm Beguiled his leisure hours; refreshed his
Beyond its natural elevation raised His introverted spirit; and bestowed Upon his life an outward dignity Which all acknowledged. The dark winte night,
The stormy day, each had its own resource; Song of the muses, sage historic tale, Science severe, or word of holy Writ Announcing immortality and joy To the assembled spirits of just men Made perfect, and from injury secure. -Thus soothed at home, thus busy in the field, To no perverse suspicion he gave way,
From those to whom our last regards were paid, No languor, peevishness, nor vain complaint: For such example.
And they who were about him did not fail In reverence, or in courtesy; they prized His gentle manners; and his peaceful smiles, Were met with answering sympathy and love. The gleams of his slow-varying countenance,
At length, when sixty years and five were told,
A slow disease insensibly consumed
The powers of nature: and a few short steps Of friends and kindred bore him from his home (Yon cottage shaded by the woody crags) To the profounder stillness of the grave. -Nor was his funeral denied the grace Of many tears, virtuous and thoughtful grief; Heart-sorrow rendered sweet by gratitude. And now that monumental stone preserves His name, and unambitiously relates How long, and by what kindly outward aids, And in what pure contentedness of mind, The sad privation was by him endured. -And yon tall pine-tree, whose composing sound
Was wasted on the good Man's living ear, Hath now its own peculiar sanctity; And, at the touch of every wandering breeze, Murmurs, not idly, o'er his peaceful grave.
Soul-cheering Light, most bountiful of
Guide of our way, mysterious comforter! Whose sacred influence, spread through earth and heaven,
We all too thanklessly participate, Thy gifts were utterly withheld from him Whose place of rest is near yon ivied porch. Yet, of the wild brooks ask if he complained; Ask of the channelled rivers if they held A safer, easier, more determined course. What terror doth it strike into the mind To think of one, blind and alone, advancing Straight toward some precipice's airy brink! But, timely warned, He would have stayed his steps,
Protected, say enlightened, by his ear; And on the very edge of vacancy
Not more endangered than a man whose eye Beholds the gulf beneath.-No floweret blooms Throughout the lofty range of these rough hills, Nor in the woods, that could from him conceal Its birth-place; none whose figure did not live Upon his touch. The bowels of the earth Enriched with knowledge his industrious mind; The ocean paid him tribute from the stores Lodged in her bosom; and, by science led, His genius mounted to the plains of heaven. Methinks I see him-how his eye-balls rolled, Beneath his ample brow, in darkness paired,- But each instinct with spirit; and the frame Of the whole countenance alive with thought, Fancy, and understanding; while the voice Discoursed of natural or moral truth With eloquence, and such authentic power That, in his presence, humbler knowledge stood Abashed, and tender pity overawed."
"A noble- and, to unreflecting minds, A marvellous spectacle," the Wanderer said, "Beings like these present! But proof abounds Upon the earth that faculties, which seem Extinguished, do not, therefore, cease to be. And to the mind among her powers of sense This transfer is permitted,-not alone That the bereft their recompense may win; But for remoter purposes of love And charity; nor last nor least for this, That to the imagination may be given A type and shadow of an awful truth; How, likewise, under sufferance divine, Darkness is banished from the realins of death, By man's imperishable spirit, quelled.
Unto the men who see not as we see Futurity was thought, in ancient times, To be laid open, and they prophesied. And know we not that from the blind have flowed
The highest, holiest, raptures of the lyre; And wisdom married to immortal verse?'
Among the humbler Worthies, at our feet Lying insensible to human praise, Love, or regret,-whose lineaments would next Have been portrayed, I guess not; but it chanced
That, near the quiet church-yard where we sate,
A team of horses, with a ponderous freight Pressing behind, adown a rugged slope, Whose sharp descent confounded their array, Came at that moment, ringing noisily.
"Here," said the Pastor, "do we muse, and
The waste of death; and lo! the giant oak Stretched on his bier-that massy timber wain ; Nor fail to note the Man who guides the "3 team."
He was a peasant of the lowest class: Grey locks profusely round his temples hung In clustering curls, like ivy, which the bite Of winter cannot thin; the fresh air lodged Within his cheek, as light within a cloud; And he returned our greeting with a smile. When he had passed, the Solitary spake ; "A Man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident to-morrows; with a face Not worldly-minded, for it bears too much Of Nature's impress,-gaiety and health, Freedom and hope; but keen, withal, and shrewd.
His gestures note,-and hark! his tones of
Are all vivacious as his mien and looks."
The Pastor answered. "You have read him well.
Year after year is added to his store With silent increase: summers, winters-past, Past or to come; yea, boldly might I say, Ten summers and ten winters of a space That lies beyond life's ordinary bounds Upon his sprightly vigour cannot fix The obligation of an anxious mind, A pride in having, or a fear to lose ; Possessed like outskirts of some large domain, By any one more thought of than by him Who holds the land in fee, its careless lord! Yet is the creature rational, endowed With foresight; hears, too, every sabbath day, The christian promise with attentive ear; Reject the incense offered up by him, Nor will, I trust, the Majesty of Heaven Though of the kind which beasts and birds present
In grove or pasture; cheerfulness of soul, From trepidation and repining free. How many scrupulous worshippers fall down Upon their knees, and daily homage pay Less worthy, less religious even, than his !
This qualified respect, the old Man's due, Is paid without reluctance; but in truth," (Said the good Vicar with a fond half-smile) "I feel at times a motion of despite
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