The wealthy, the luxurious, by the stress
Of business roused, or pleasure, ere their time,
May roll in chariots, or provoke the hoofs
Of the fleet coursers they bestride, to raise
From earth the dust of morning, slow to rise;
And they, if blest with health and hearts at ease,
Shall lack not their enjoyment:-but how faint
Compared with ours! who, pacing side by side,
Could, with an eye of leisure, look on all
That we beheld; and lend the listening sense
To every grateful sound of earth and air;
Pausing at will—our spirits braced, our thoughts
Pleasant as roses in the thickets blown,
And pure as dew bathing their crimson leaves.

Mount slowly, sun! that we may journey long,
By this dark hill protected from thy beams!1
Such is the summer pilgrim's frequent wish;
But quickly from among our morning thoughts2
'Twas chased away: for, toward the western side3
Of the broad vale, casting a casual glance,
We saw a throng of people; wherefore met?
Blithe notes of music, suddenly let loose
On the thrilled ear, and flags uprising, yield

Prompt answer; they proclaim the annual Wake,*
Which the bright season favours.-Tabor and pipe
In purpose join to hasten or reprove1
The laggard Rustic; and repay with boons
Of merriment a party-coloured knot,
Already formed upon the village-green.
-Beyond the limits of the shadow cast
By the broad hill,† glistened upon our sight
That gay assemblage. Round them and above,
Glitter, with dark recesses interposed,

Casement, and cottage-roof, and stems of trees.
Half-veiled in vapoury cloud, the silver steam
Of dews fast melting on their leafy boughs
By the strong sunbeams smitten. Like a mast
Of gold, the Maypole shines; as if the rays
Of morning, aided by exhaling dew,
With gladsome influence could re-animate
The faded garlands dangling from its sides.

Said I," The music and the sprightly scene
Invite us; shall we quit our road, and join
These festive matins ?"—He replied, “Not loth
To linger I would here with you partake,2

1814.

* At Chapel Stile the villagers of Langdale are seen at their annual Fair. Miss Wordsworth thus alludes to one of these rural Fairs in her Grasmere Journal: "Tuesday, September 2d, 1800. We walked to the Fair. There seemed very few people, and very few stalls, yet I believe there were many cakes, and much beer sold. It was a lovely moonlight night. The moonlight shone only on the village. It did not eclipse the village lights, and the sound of dancing and merriment came along the still air. I walked with Coleridge and William up the lane and by the church, and then lingered with Coleridge in the garden. See also the account of the "village merry-night," in The Waggoner (Vol. III. p. 89). -ED.

+ Lingmoor.-ED.

Not one hour merely, but till evening's close,
The simple pastimes of the day and place.
By the fleet Racers, ere the sun be set,

The turf of yon large pasture will be skimmed;
There, too, the lusty Wrestlers shall contend:1
But know we not that he, who intermits
The appointed task and duties of the day,
Untunes full oft the pleasures of the day;
Checking the finer spirits that refuse

To flow, when purposes are lightly changed?
A length of journey yet remains untraced :
Let us proceed."2 Then, pointing with his staff
Raised toward those craggy summits,3 his intent
He thus imparted :—

"In a spot that lies
Among yon mountain fastnesses concealed,*
You will receive, before the hour of noon,
Good recompense, I hope, for this day's toil,
From sight of One who lives secluded there,
Lonesome and lost of whom, and whose past life,
(Not to forestall such knowledge as may be
More faithfully collected from himself)

This brief communication shall suffice.

Though now sojourning there, he, like myself, Sprang from a stock of lowly parentage

Among the wilds of Scotland, in a tract

Where many a sheltered and well-tended plant
Bears, on the humblest ground of social life,
Blossoms of piety and innocence.1

*

Such grateful promises his youth displayed:
And, having shown in study forward zeal,
He to the Ministry was duly called;

And straight, incited by a curious mind

Filled with vague hopes, he undertook the charge
Of Chaplain to a military troop*

2

Cheered by the Highland bagpipe, as they marched
In plaided vest,-his fellow-countrymen.

This office filling, yet by native power 3

And force of native inclination made

Upon the humblest ground of social life,
Doth at this day, I trust, the blossoms bear
Of piety and simple innocence.

And, as he showed in study forward zeal,

1814.

All helps were sought, all measures strained, that He,
By due scholastic discipline prepared,

Might to the Ministry be called which done,

Partly through lack of better hopes-and part
Perhaps incited by a curious mind,

In early life he undertook the charge

and, by native power

1814.

1814.

"Not long after we took up our abode at Grasmere, came to reside there, from what motive I either never knew or have forgotten, a Scotchman, a little past the middle of life, who had for many years been chaplain to a Highland regiment. He was in no respect, as far as I know, an interesting character, though in his appearance there was a good deal that attracted attention, as if he had been shattered in fortune, and not happy in mind. Of his quondam position I availed myself to connect with the 'Wanderer,' also a Scotchman, a character suitable to my purpose, the elements of which I drew from several persons with whom I had been connected, and who fell under my observation during frequent residences in London at the beginning of the French Revolution." (Fenwick note.)-Ed.

An intellectual ruler in the haunts

Of social vanity, he walked the world,
Gay, and affecting graceful gaiety;

Lax, buoyant-less a pastor with his flock
Than a soldier among soldiers-lived and roamed
Where Fortune led :—and Fortune, who oft proves
The careless wanderer's friend, to him made known
A blooming Lady-a conspicuous flower,
Admired for beauty, for her sweetness praised;
Whom he had sensibility to love,

Ambition to attempt, and skill to win.

For this fair Bride, most rich in gifts of mind, Nor sparingly endowed with worldly wealth, His office he relinquished; and retired From the world's notice to a rural home. Youth's season yet with him was scarcely past, And she was in youth's prime. How free their love, How full their joy! Till, pitiable doom!1 In the short course of one undreaded year, Death blasted all. Death suddenly o'erthrew Two lovely Children-all that they possessed! The Mother followed-miserably bare The one Survivor stood; he wept, he prayed For his dismissal, day and night, compelled To hold communion with the grave, and face

1

1849.

How full their joy,

How free their love! nor did their love decay;
Nor joy abate, till, pitiable doom!

1814.

How free their love, till all by death was blasted

In one undreaded year, Death swept away

Two lovely

C.