With pain the regions of eternity.1

An uncomplaining apathy displaced
This anguish; and, indifferent to delight,

To aim and purpose, he consumed his days,
To private interest dead, and public care.
So lived he; so he might have died.

But now,

To the wide world's astonishment, appeared
A glorious opening,2 the unlooked-for dawn,
That promised everlasting joy to France!*
Her voice of social transport 3 reached even him!
He broke from his contracted bounds, repaired
To the great City, an emporium then
Of golden expectations, and receiving
Freights every day from a new world of hope.
Thither his popular talents he transferred;
And, from the pulpit, zealously maintained
The cause of Christ and civil liberty,
As one, and moving to one glorious end.
Intoxicating service! I might say

A happy service; for he was sincere

1 1849.

, compelled

By pain to turn his thoughts towards the grave,
And face the regions of eternity.,

To commune with the grave soul-sick, and face
With pain

2 1827.

The glorious opening,

3 1827.

France!

1814.

C.

1814.

That sudden light had power to pierce the gloom

In which his Spirit, friendless upon earth,

In separation dwelt, and solitude.

The voice of social transport

1814.

* Compare The Prelude, Books IX., X., and XI., passim.—ED.

As vanity and fondness for applause,

And new and shapeless wishes, would allow.

That righteous cause (such power hath freedom) bound,

For one hostility, in friendly league,1

Ethereal natures and the worst of slaves;

Was served by rival advocates that came
From regions opposite as heaven and hell.
One courage seemed to animate them all:
And, from the dazzling conquests daily gained
By their united efforts, there arose

A proud and most presumptuous confidence
In the transcendent wisdom of the age,
And her discernment; 2 not alone in rights,
And in the origin and bounds of power
Social and temporal; but in laws divine,
Deduced by reason, or to faith revealed.
An overweening trust was raised; and fear
Cast out, alike of person and of thing.
Plague from this union spread, whose subtle bane
The strongest did not easily escape;

And He, what wonder! took a mortal taint.

How shall I trace the change, how bear to tell

That he broke faith with them whom he had laid 3
In earth's dark chambers, with a Christian's hope!
An infidel contempt of holy writ

Stole by degrees upon his mind; and hence

Life, like that Roman Janus, double-faced;

That righteous Cause of freedom did, we know,
Combine, for one hostility, as friends,

1814.

Vilest hypocrisy—the laughing, gay

Hypocrisy, not leagued with fear, but pride.
Smooth words he had to wheedle simple souls;
But, for disciples of the inner school,

Old freedom was old servitude, and they

The wisest whose opinions stooped the least
To known restraints; and who most boldly drew
Hopeful prognostications from a creed,
That,1 in the light of false philosophy,
Spread like a halo round a misty moon,
Widening its circle as the storms advance.

His sacred function was at length renounced;
And every day and every place enjoyed
The unshackled layman's natural liberty;
Speech, manners, morals, all without disguise.
I do not wish to wrong him; though the course
Of private life licentiously displayed
Unhallowed actions-planted like a crown
Upon the insolent aspiring brow

Of spurious notions-worn as open signs
Of prejudice subdued-still he retained,2
'Mid much abasement, what he had received
From nature, an intense and glowing mind.
Wherefore, when humbled Liberty grew weak,
And mortal sickness on her face appeared,
He coloured objects to his own desire
As with a lover's passion. Yet his moods
Of pain were keen as those of better men,

Nay keener, as his fortitude was less:

And he continued, when worse days were come,
To deal about his sparkling eloquence,

Struggling against the strange reverse with zeal
That shewed like happiness. But, in despite

Of all this outside bravery, within,
He neither felt encouragement nor hope:
For moral dignity, and strength of mind,
Were wanting; and simplicity of life;

And reverence for himself; and, last and best,
Confiding thoughts, through love and fear of Him 1
Before whose sight the troubles of this world
Are vain, as billows in a tossing sea.

The glory of the times fading away-
The splendour, which had given a festal air
To self-importance, hallowed it, and veiled
From his own sight-this gone, he forfeited2
All joy in human nature; was consumed,
And vexed, and chafed, by levity and scorn,
And fruitless indignation; galled by pride;
Made desperate by contempt of men who throve
Before his sight in power or fame, and won,
Without desert, what he desired; weak men,
Too weak even for his envy or his hate!
Tormented thus, after a wandering course'
Of discontent, and inwardly opprest3

With malady-in part, I fear, provoked

By weariness of life-he fixed his home,
Or, rather say, sate down by very chance,

Among these rugged hills; where now he dwells,
And wastes the sad remainder of his hours,
Steeped in a self-indulging spleen, that wants not1
Its own voluptuousness;-on this resolved,
With this content, that he will live and die
Forgotten, at safe distance from a world
Not moving to his mind.""

These serious words

Closed the preparatory notices

That served my Fellow-traveller to beguile2
The way, while we advanced up that wide vale.*
Diverging now (as if his quest had been3
Some secret of the mountains, cavern, fall
Of water, or some lofty eminence,*

Renowned for splendid prospect far and wide)
We scaled, without a track to ease our steps,
A steep ascent;† and reached a dreary plain,5‡

The flat heathery summit of Lingmoor. Note the text of 1814.-ED.