Chapter VIII: Part 8

"We see, then, as we feel," the Wanderer thus
With a complacent animation spake,
"And in your judgment, Sir! the mind's repose 560
On evidence is not to be ensured
By act of naked reason. Moral truth
Is no mechanic structure, built by rule;
And which, once built, retains a stedfast shape
And undisturbed proportions; but a thing 565
Subject, you deem, to vital accidents;
And, like the water-lily, lives and thrives,
Whose root is fixed in stable earth, whose head
Floats on the tossing waves. With joy sincere
I re-salute these sentiments confirmed 570
By your authority. But how acquire
The inward principle that gives effect
To outward argument; the passive will
Meek to admit; the active energy,
Strong and unbounded to embrace, and firm 575
To keep and cherish? how shall man unite
With[470] self-forgetting tenderness of heart
An[471] earth-despising dignity of soul?
Wise in that union, and without it blind!"

"The way," said I, "to court, if not obtain 580
The ingenuous mind, apt to be set aright;
This, in the lonely dell discoursing, you
Declared at large; and by what exercise
From visible nature, or the inner self
Power may be trained, and renovation brought 585
To those who need the gift. But, after all,
Is aught so certain as that man is doomed
To breathe beneath a vault of ignorance?
The natural roof of that dark house in which
His soul is pent! How little can be known-- 590
This is the wise man's sigh; how far we err--
This is the good man's not unfrequent pang!
And they perhaps err least, the lowly class
Whom a benign necessity compels
To follow reason's least ambitious course; 595
Such do I mean who, unperplexed by doubt,
And unincited by a wish to look
Into high objects farther than they may,
Pace to and fro, from morn till even-tide,
The narrow avenue of daily toil 600
For daily bread."
"Yes," buoyantly exclaimed
The pale Recluse--"praise to the sturdy plough,
And patient spade; praise to the simple crook,[472]
And ponderous loom--resounding while it holds
Body and mind in one captivity; 605
And let the light mechanic tool be hailed
With honour; which, encasing by the power
Of long companionship, the artist's hand,
Cuts off that hand, with all its world of nerves,
From a too busy commerce with the heart! 610
--Inglorious implements of craft and toil,
Both ye that shape and build, and ye that force,
By slow solicitation, earth to yield
Her annual bounty, sparingly dealt forth
With wise reluctance; you would I extol, 615
Not for gross good alone which ye produce,
But for the impertinent and ceaseless strife
Of proofs and reasons ye preclude--in those
Who to your dull society are born,
And with their humble birthright rest content. 620
--Would I had ne'er renounced it!"
A slight flush
Of moral anger previously had tinged
The old Man's cheek; but, at this closing turn
Of self-reproach, it passed away. Said he,
"That which we feel we utter; as we think 625
So have we argued; reaping for our pains
No visible recompense. For our relief
You," to the Pastor turning thus he spake,
"Have kindly interposed. May I entreat
Your further help? The mine of real life 630
Dig for us; and present us, in the shape
Of virgin ore, that gold which we, by pains
Fruitless as those of aëry alchemists,
Seek from the torturing crucible. There lies
Around us a domain where you have long 635
Watched both the outward course and inner heart:[473]
Give us, for our abstractions, solid facts;
For our disputes, plain pictures. Say what man
He is who cultivates yon hanging field;
What qualities of mind she bears, who comes, 640
For morn and evening service, with her pail,
To that green pasture;[GQ] place before our sight
The family who dwell within yon house
Fenced round with glittering laurel;[GR] or in that
Below, from which the curling smoke ascends. 645
Or rather, as we stand on holy earth,
And have the dead around us,[GS] take from them
Your instances; for they are both best known,
And by frail man most equitably judged.
Epitomise the life; pronounce, you can, 650
Authentic epitaphs on some of these
Who, from their lowly mansions hither brought,
Beneath this turf lie mouldering at our feet:
So, by your records, may our doubts be solved;
And so, not searching higher, we may learn 655
_To prize the breath we share with human kind;
And look upon the dust of man with awe._"[474]

The Priest replied--"An office you impose
For which peculiar requisites are mine;
Yet much, I feel, is wanting--else the task 660
Would be most grateful. True indeed it is
That they whom death has hidden from our sight
Are worthiest of the mind's regard; with these
The future cannot contradict the past:
Mortality's last exercise and proof 665
Is undergone; the transit made that shows
The very Soul, revealed as she[475] departs.
Yet, on your first suggestion, will I give,
Ere we descend into these silent vaults,
One picture from the living.
"You behold, 670
High on the breast of yon dark mountain, dark
With stony barrenness,[GT] a shining speck
Bright as a sunbeam sleeping till a shower
Brush it away, or cloud pass over it; 674
And such it might be deemed--a sleeping sunbeam;
But 'tis a plot of cultivated ground,
Cut off, an island in the dusky waste;
And that attractive brightness is its own.
The lofty site, by nature framed to tempt
Amid a wilderness of rocks and stones 680
The tiller's hand, a hermit might have chosen,
For opportunity presented, thence
Far forth to send his wandering eye o'er land
And ocean, and look down upon the works,
The habitations, and the ways of men, 685
Himself unseen! But no tradition tells
That ever hermit dipped his maple dish
In the sweet spring that lurks 'mid yon green fields;
And no such visionary views belong
To those who occupy and till the ground, 690
High on that mountain where they long have dwelt[476]
A wedded pair in childless solitude.
A house of stones collected on the spot,
By rude hands built, with rocky knolls in front,
Backed also by a ledge of rock, whose crest 695
Of birch-trees waves over the chimney top;
A rough abode--in colour, shape, and size,[477]
Such as in unsafe times of border-war
Might have been wished for and contrived, to elude
The eye of roving plunderer--for their need 700
Suffices; and unshaken bears the assault
Of their most dreaded foe, the strong South-west
In anger blowing from the distant sea.
--Alone within her solitary hut;
There, or within the compass of her fields, 705
At any moment may the Dame be found,
True as the stock-dove to her shallow nest
And to the grove that holds it. She beguiles
By intermingled work of house and field
The summer's day, and winter's; with success 710
Not equal, but sufficient to maintain,
Even at the worst, a smooth stream of content,
Until the expected hour at which her Mate
From the far-distant quarry's vault returns;
And by his converse crowns a silent day 715
With evening cheerfulness. In powers of mind,
In scale of culture, few among my flock[478]
Hold lower rank than this sequestered pair:
But true humility descends from heaven;[479]
And that best gift of heaven hath fallen on them; 720
Abundant recompense for every want.
--Stoop from your height, ye proud, and copy these!
Who, in their noiseless dwelling-place, can hear
The voice of wisdom whispering scripture texts
For the mind's government, or temper's peace; 725
And recommending for their mutual need,
Forgiveness, patience, hope, and charity!"

"Much was I pleased," the grey-haired Wanderer said,
"When to those shining fields our notice first
You turned; and yet more pleased have from your lips
Gathered this fair report of them[480] who dwell 731
In that retirement; whither, by such course
Of evil hap and good as oft awaits
A tired way-faring man, once _I_ was brought
While traversing alone yon mountain pass. 735
Dark on my road the autumnal evening fell,[481]
And night succeeded with unusual gloom,[482]
So hazardous that feet and hands became[483]
Guides better than mine eyes--until a light
High in the gloom appeared, too high, methought, 740
For human habitation; but I longed
To reach it, destitute of other hope.
I looked with steadiness as sailors look
On the north star, or watch-tower's distant lamp,
And saw the light--now fixed--and shifting now--[GU] 745
Not like a dancing meteor, but in line
Of never-varying motion, to and fro.
It is no night-fire of the naked hills,
Thought I[484]--some friendly covert must be near.
With this persuasion thitherward my steps 750
I turn, and reach at last the guiding light;
Joy to myself! but to the heart of her
Who there was standing on the open hill,
(The same kind Matron whom your tongue hath praised)
Alarm and disappointment! The alarm 755
Ceased, when she learned through what mishap I came,
And by what help had gained those distant fields.
Drawn from her cottage, on that aëry[485] height,
Bearing a lantern in her hand she stood,
Or paced the ground--to guide her Husband home, 760
By that unwearied signal, kenned afar;[GV]
An anxious duty! which the lofty site,
Traversed but by a few irregular paths,[486]
Imposes, whensoe'er untoward chance
Detains him after his accustomed hour 765
Till night lies black upon the ground. 'But come,
Come,' said the Matron, 'to our poor abode;
Those dark rocks hide it!'[487] Entering, I beheld
A blazing fire--beside a cleanly hearth
Sate down; and to her office, with leave asked, 770
The Dame returned.
"Or ere[488] that glowing pile
Of mountain turf required the builder's hand
Its wasted splendour to repair, the door
Opened, and she re-entered with glad looks,
Her Helpmate following. Hospitable fare, 775
Frank conversation, made the evening's treat:
Need a bewildered traveller wish for more?
But more was given; I studied as we sate
By the bright fire, the good Man's form, and face
Not less than beautiful;[489] an open brow 780
Of undisturbed humanity; a cheek
Suffused with something of a feminine hue;[GW]
Eyes beaming courtesy and mild regard;
But, in the quicker turns of the discourse,
Expression slowly varying, that evinced 785
A tardy apprehension. From a fount
Lost, thought I, in the obscurities of time,
But honoured once, those[490] features and that mien
May have descended, though I see them here.
In such a man, so gentle and subdued, 790
Withal so graceful in his gentleness,
A race illustrious for heroic deeds,
Humbled, but not degraded, may expire.
This pleasing fancy (cherished and upheld
By sundry recollections of such fall 795
From high to low, ascent from low to high,
As books record, and even the careless mind
Cannot but notice among men and things)
Went with me to the place of my repose.[491]

"Roused by the crowing cock at dawn of day, 800
I yet had risen too late to interchange
A morning salutation with my Host,
Gone forth already to the far-off seat
Of his day's work. 'Three dark mid-winter months
'Pass,' said the Matron, 'and I never see, 805
'Save when the sabbath brings its kind release,
'My helpmate's face by light of day. He quits
'His door in darkness, nor till dusk returns.
'And, through Heaven's[492] blessing, thus we gain the bread
'For which we pray; and for the wants provide 810
'Of sickness, accident, and helpless age.
'Companions have I many; many friends,
'Dependants, comforters--my wheel, my fire,
'All day the house-clock ticking in mine ear,
'The cackling hen, the tender chicken brood, 815
'And the wild birds that gather round my porch.
'This honest sheep-dog's countenance I read;
'With him can talk; nor blush to[493] waste a word
'On creatures less intelligent and shrewd.
'And if the blustering wind that drives the clouds 820
'Care not for me, he lingers round my door,
'And makes me pastime when our tempers suit;--
'But, above all, my thoughts are my support,
'My comfort:--would that they were oftener fixed
'On what, for guidance in the way that leads 825
'To heaven, I know, by my Redeemer taught.'
The Matron ended[494]--nor could I forbear
To exclaim--'O happy! yielding to the law
Of these privations, richer in the main!--
While thankless thousands are opprest and clogged 830
By ease and leisure; by the very wealth
And pride of opportunity made poor;
While tens of thousands falter in their path,
And sink, through utter want of cheering light;
For you the hours of labour do not flag; 835
For you each evening hath its shining star,
And every sabbath-day its golden sun.'"

"Yes!" said the Solitary with a smile
That seemed to break from an expanding heart,
"The untutored bird may found, and so construct, 840
And with such soft materials line, her nest
Fixed in the centre of a prickly brake,
That the thorns wound her not; they only guard.
Powers not unjustly likened to those gifts
Of happy instinct which the woodland bird 845
Shares with her species, nature's grace sometimes
Upon the individual doth confer,
Among her[495] higher creatures born and trained
To use of reason. And, I own that, tired
Of the ostentatious world--a swelling stage 850
With empty actions and vain passions stuffed,
And from the private struggles of mankind
Hoping far[496] less than I could wish to hope,
Far less than once I trusted and believed--
I love to hear of those, who, not contending 855
Nor summoned to contend for virtue's prize,
Miss not the humbler good at which they aim,
Blest with a kindly faculty to blunt
The edge of adverse circumstance, and turn
Into their contraries the petty plagues 860
And hindrances with which they stand beset.
In early youth, among my native hills,
I knew a Scottish Peasant who possessed
A few small crofts of stone-encumbered ground;
Masses of every shape and size, that lay 865
Scattered about under[497] the mouldering walls
Of a rough precipice; and some, apart,
In quarters unobnoxious to such chance,
As if the moon had showered them down in spite.
But he repined not. Though the plough was scared 870
By these obstructions, 'round the shady stones
A fertilising moisture,' said the Swain,
'Gathers, and is preserved; and feeding dews
'And damps, through all the droughty summer day
'From out their substance issuing, maintain 875
'Herbage that never fails: no grass springs up
'So green, so fresh, so plentiful, as mine!'
But[498] thinly sown these natures; rare, at least,
The mutual aptitude of seed and soil
That yields such kindly product. He, whose bed 880
Perhaps yon loose sods cover, the poor Pensioner
Brought yesterday from our sequestered dell
Here to lie down in lasting quiet, he,
If living now, could otherwise report
Of rustic loneliness: that grey-haired Orphan-- 885
So call him, for humanity to him
No parent was--feelingly could[499] have told,
In life, in death, what solitude can breed
Of selfishness, and cruelty, and vice;
Or, if it breed not, hath not power to cure. 890
--But your compliance, Sir! with our request
My words too long have hindered."
Undeterred,
Perhaps incited rather, by these shocks,
In no ungracious opposition, given
To the confiding spirit of his own 895
Experienced faith, the reverend Pastor said,
Around him looking; "Where shall I begin?
Who shall be first selected from my flock
Gathered together in their peaceful fold?"
He paused--and having lifted up his eyes 900
To the pure heaven, he cast them down again
Upon the earth beneath his feet; and spake:--

"To a mysteriously-united pair[500]
This place is consecrate; to Death and Life,
And to the best affections that proceed 905
From their conjunction; consecrate to faith
In him who bled for man upon the cross;
Hallowed to revelation; and no less[501]
To reason's mandates; and the hopes divine
Of pure imagination;--above all, 910
To charity, and love, that have provided,
Within these precincts, a capacious bed
And receptacle, open to the good
And evil, to the just and the unjust;
In which they find an equal resting-place: 915
Even as the multitude of kindred brooks
And streams, whose murmur fills this hollow vale,
Whether their course be turbulent or smooth,
Their waters clear or sullied, all are lost
Within the bosom of yon crystal Lake, 920
And end their journey in the same repose!

"And blest are they who sleep; and we that know,
While in a spot like this we breathe and walk,
That all beneath us by the wings are covered
Of motherly humanity, outspread 925
And gathering all within their tender shade,
Though loth and slow to come! A battle-field,
In stillness left when slaughter is no more,
With this compared, makes[502] a strange spectacle!
A dismal prospect yields the wild shore strewn 930
With wrecks, and trod by feet of young and old
Wandering about in miserable search
Of friends or kindred,[503] whom the angry sea
Restores not to their prayer! Ah! who would think
That all the scattered subjects which compose 935
Earth's melancholy vision through the space
Of all her climes--these wretched, these depraved,
To virtue lost, insensible of peace,
From the delights of charity cut off,
To pity dead, the oppressor and the opprest; 940
Tyrants who utter the destroying word,
And slaves who will consent to be destroyed--
Were of one species with the sheltered few,
Who, with a dutiful and tender hand,
Lodged, in a dear appropriated spot,[504] 945
This file of infants; some that never breathed
The vital air; others, which, though allowed[505]
That privilege, did yet expire too soon,
Or with too brief a warning, to admit
Administration of the holy rite 950
That lovingly consigns the babe to the arms
Of Jesus, and his everlasting care.
These that in trembling hope are laid apart;
And the besprinkled nursling, unrequired
Till he begins to smile upon the breast 955
That feeds him; and the tottering little-one
Taken from air and sunshine when the rose
Of infancy first blooms upon his cheek;
The thinking, thoughtless, school-boy; the bold youth
Of soul impetuous, and the bashful maid 960
Smitten while all the promises of life
Are opening round her; those of middle age,
Cast down while confident in strength they stand,
Like pillars fixed more firmly, as might seem,
And more secure, by very weight of all 965
That, for support, rests on them; the decayed
And burthensome; and lastly, that poor few
Whose light of reason is with age extinct;
The hopeful and the hopeless, first and last,
The earliest summoned and the longest spared-- 970
Are here deposited, with tribute paid
Various, but unto each some tribute paid;[506]
As if, amid these peaceful hills and groves,
Society were touched with kind concern,
And gentle 'Nature grieved, that one should die;'[GX]
Or, if the change demanded no regret, 976
Observed the liberating stroke--and blessed.

"And whence that tribute? wherefore these regards?[GY]
Not from the naked _Heart_ alone of Man
(Though claiming high[507] distinction upon earth 980
As the sole spring and fountain-head of tears,
His own peculiar utterance for distress
Or gladness)--No," the philosophic Priest
Continued, "'tis not in the vital seat
Of feeling to produce them, without aid 985
From the pure soul, the soul sublime and pure;
With her two faculties of eye and ear,
The one by which a creature, whom his sins
Have rendered prone, can upward[508] look to heaven;
The other that empowers him to perceive 990
The voice of Deity, on height and plain,
Whispering those truths in stillness, which the Word,
To the four quarters of the winds, proclaims.
Not without such assistance could the use
Of these benign observances prevail: 995
Thus are they born, thus fostered, thus[509] maintained;
And by the care prospective of our wise
Forefathers, who, to guard against the shocks
The fluctuation and decay of things,
Embodied and established these high truths 1000
In solemn institutions:--men convinced
That life is love and immortality,
The being one, and one the element.
There lies the channel, and original bed,
From the beginning, hollowed out and scooped 1005
For Man's affections--else betrayed and lost,
And swallowed up 'mid deserts infinite!
This is the genuine course, the aim, and end
Of prescient reason; all conclusions else
Are abject, vain, presumptuous, and perverse. 1010
The faith partaking of those holy times,
Life, I repeat, is energy of love
Divine or human; exercised in pain,
In strife, in tribulation; and ordained,
If so approved and sanctified, to pass, 1015
Through shades and silent rest, to endless joy."[GZ]

VARIANTS:

[Footnote 417: 1836.

_Sight of a large and populous Vale--Solitary consents to go
forward--Vale described_-- 1814.
]

[Footnote 418: 1836.

_The Church-yard_-- 1814.
]

[Footnote 419: _Apology for the Rite_--

First inserted in the edition of 1836.]

[Footnote 420: 1836.

_What sensations they excite_-- 1814.
]

[Footnote 421: 1827.

And guardian rocks!--With unreverted eyes
I cannot pass thy bounds, attractive Seat! 1814.
]

[Footnote 422:

Open, to ... MS.
]

[Footnote 423: 1836.

Upon the side
Of that brown ridge, sole outlet of the Vale,
Lingering 1814.

Of that brown Slope, ... 1827.
]

[Footnote 424: 1836.

... of a troubled World.
And now, pursuing leisurely my way,
How vain, thought I, it is by change of place 1814.
]

[Footnote 425: 1827.

... tenor ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 426: 1845.

Obscurity, and calm forgetfulness. 1814.
]

[Footnote 427: 1814.

With ever-welcome ... 1827.

The text of 1836 returns to that of 1814.]

[Footnote 428: 1836.

By ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 429: 1845.

From which the road ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 430: 1827.

To that injunction, earnestly expressed,
He yielded, ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 431: 1845.

A popular equality doth seem
Here to prevail; and yet a House of State
Stands yonder, one beneath whose roof, methinks,
A rural Lord might dwell." "No feudal pomp,"
Replied our Friend, a Chronicler who stood
Where'er he moved upon familiar ground,
"Nor feudal power is there; but there abides,
In his allotted Home a genuine Priest, 1814.

A popular equality reigns here
Save for one House of State beneath whose roof
A rural Lord ... 1827.
]

[Footnote 432: 1827.

Under his spiritual sway, collected round him
In this sequestered Realm. He hath vouchsafed 1814.
]

[Footnote 433: 1827.

... his ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 434: 1827.

This good to reap, these pleasures to secure,
Hither, ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 435: 1836.

... This deep vale
Is lengthened out by many a winding reach,
Not visible to us; and one of these
A turretted manorial Hall adorns;
In which the good Man's Ancestors have dwelt
From age to age, the Patrons of this Cure.
To them, and to his decorating hand, 1814.

To them, and to his own judicious hand, MS.

... This deep vale
Winds far in reaches hidden from our eyes, 1827.
]

[Footnote 436: 1827.

... in ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 437: 1836.

... halting, ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 438: 1827.

Not framed to ... 1814.

Nor shaped in ... MS.
]

[Footnote 439: 1845.

... in some thick grove, 1814.

... mid some thick grove, 1827.
]

[Footnote 440: 1845.

... the chancel only shewed
Some inoffensive marks of earthly state
And vain distinction.... 1814.

The Chancel only shewed
So privileged of yore, without offence
To piety, some marks of earthly state
And vain distinction,
Allowed by ancient privilege; though in sooth
With the pure sanctity the place should breathe
But ill according. A capacious pew
Of sculptured oak stood here, with drapery lined
And curtained closely round. Obnoxious less
To blame or unavoidable regret,
A high fixed hatchment, time-discoloured, told
Of man's mortality and its own decay. C.

Some vain distinctions, an heraldic shield,
In tincture varying as the sun might shine,
Imbued its eastern window, and aloft
A faded hatchment hung, and one by time
Yet undiscoloured, marks of earthly state. C.
]

[Footnote 441: 1827.

Upon the walls; ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 442: 1845.

Without reluctance did we pay; and read 1814.

We paid to each with due respect, C.
]

[Footnote 443: 1827.

... and for this
Yet more endeared to him, ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 444: 1836.

As unconcerned as when he plants a tree? 1814.
]

[Footnote 445: 1836.

... by his voice 1814.
]

[Footnote 446: 1845.

... images and thoughts,
And from the company of serious words.
Much, yesterday, ... 1814.

And from the company of serious words,
Which then were silent; but crave utterance now.
Much," he continued, with dejected looks,
"Much, yesterday, ... 1836.
]

[Footnote 447: 1827.

At its ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 448: 1836.

With tiny fingers, ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 449: 1845.

... unblest ... 1814.

... humblest ... 1827.
]

[Footnote 450: 1827.

... tow'rds ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 451: 1836.

... doth a while sustain, 1814.
]

[Footnote 452: 1845.

... and ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 453: 1845.

Whom the best might of Conscience, Truth, and Hope, 1814.
]

[Footnote 454: 1845.

Foretelling total Winter, blank and cold. 1814.

Foretelling aged Winter's dreary sway. 1840.

Prelude to coming Winter's desolate sway. C.
]

[Footnote 455: 1827.

... adorn 1814.
]

[Footnote 456: 1827.

Do tend their flocks, These share Man's general lot 1814.
]

[Footnote 457: 1836.

Perchance, guilt's heavier woes; and do not feel 1814.
]

[Footnote 458: 1827.

... tow'rds ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 459: 1836.

Could have transferred him to his lonely House
Within the circuit of those guardian rocks. 1814.
]

[Footnote 460: 1836.

... gentler ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 461: 1827.

... full ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 462: 1836.

Thus truth is missed, and comprehension fails;
And darkness ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 463: 1836.

... and ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 464: 1827.

... or ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 465: 1820.

... forbidding ... 1814.

The texts of 1827 to 1843 and that of 1847 return to the text of 1814.]

[Footnote 466: 1836.

... or approached.
Permit me," said the Priest continuing, "here
To use an illustration of my thought,
Drawn from the very spot on which we stand.
--In changeful April, when, as he is wont,
Winter has reassumed a short lived sway
And whitened all the surface of the fields,
If--from the sullen region of the North
Towards the circuit of this holy ground
Your walk conducts you, ere the vigorous sun,
High climbing, hath attained his noon-tide height--
These Mounds, ... 1814.

Thus, when in changeful April snow has fallen,
And fields are white, if from the sullen north
Your walk conduct you hither, ere the Sun
Hath gained his noontide height, this churchyard, filled
With mounds ... 1827.

... ere vigorous sun MS.
]

[Footnote 467: 1827.

A dreary plain of unillumined snow, 1814.
]

[Footnote 468: 1827.

... Go forward, and look back;
On the same circuit of this church-yard ground
Look, ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 469: 1836.

Hopeful and cheerful:--vanished is the snow,
Vanished or hidden; ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 470: 1827.

A ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 471: 1827.

And ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 472: 1836.

... spade, and shepherd's simple crook, 1814.
]

[Footnote 473: 1827.

... where You have long
Held spiritual sway, have guided and consoled,
And watched the outward course and inner heart. 1814.
]

[Footnote 474: Italics were first used in 1827.]

[Footnote 475: 1827.

... it ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 476: 1845.

And on the bosom of the mountain dwell-- 1814.
]

[Footnote 477: 1836.

... above the chimney top;
In shape, in size, and colour, an abode 1814.

... above the chimney top:
A rough abode--in colour, shape, and size, 1827.
]

[Footnote 478: 1814.

Few only in the scale of culture, hold
Among my flock ... C.
]

[Footnote 479: 1845.

But humbleness of heart descends from heaven; 1814.
]

[Footnote 480: 1827.

... those ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 481: 1836.

A lone way-faring Man, I once was brought.
Dark on my road the autumnal evening fell
While I was traversing yon mountain-pass, 1814.
]

[Footnote 482: 1814.

And with the night succeeded a thick gloom, C.
]

[Footnote 483: 1845.

So that my feet and hands at length became 1814.
]

[Footnote 484: 1827.

Said I, ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 485: 1836.

... open ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 486: 1827.

... which the lofty Site,
Far from all public road or beaten way
And traversed only by a few faint paths, 1814.
]

[Footnote 487: 1832.

(Such chance is rare) detains him till the night
Falls black upon the hills. "But come," she said,
"Come let me lead you to our poor Abode.
Behind those rocks it stands, as if it shunned,
In churlishness, the eye of all mankind;
But the few Guests who seek the door receive
Most hearty welcome."-- ... 1814.

Detains him after his accustomed hour
When night lies black upon the hills. 'But come, 1827.
]

[Footnote 488: 1827.

... Before ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 489: 1845.

But more was given; the eye, the mind, the heart,
Found exercise in noting, as we sate
By the bright fire, the good Man's face--composed
Of features elegant; ... 1814.

But more was given; I studied as we sate 1827.
]

[Footnote 490: 1836.

... these ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 491: 1814.

Sweetened for me our mutual good night
Nor left me on a lonely pillow stretched
Till slumber had given way to dreamless sleep. C.
]

[Footnote 492: 1814.

... God's ... C.
]

[Footnote 493: 1820.

... nor seldom ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 494: 1845.

"--But, above all, my Thoughts are my support."
The Matron ended-- ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 495: 1827.

... the ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 496: 1836.

... for ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 497: 1832.

... beneath ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 498: 1827.

... so plentiful, as mine!"
See, in this well conditioned Soul, a Third
To match with your good Couple that put forth
Their homely graces on the mountain side.
But ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 499: 1832.

... could feelingly ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 500: 1845.

... mysteriously-consorted Pair 1814.
]

[Footnote 501: 1814.

... and therewith C.
]

[Footnote 502: 1845.

... is ... 1814.

... yields ... 1836.
]

[Footnote 503: 1836.

A rueful sight the wild shore strewn with wrecks
And trod by people in afflicted quest
Of friends and kindred, ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 504: 1836.

Did lodge, in an appropriated spot, 1814.
]

[Footnote 505: 1836.

... and others, who allowed 1814.
]

[Footnote 506: 1814.

Are here deposited as the like shall be
Through ages yet to come. C.
]

[Footnote 507: 1827.

... framed to high ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 508: 1814.

... upward can ... C.
]

[Footnote 509: 1836.

... and ... 1814.
]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote FY: With this compare _The Prelude_, book i. line 463 (vol. iii. p. 146)--

Till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep.
]

[Footnote FZ: The "semicirque of turf-clad ground," where the conversations recorded in books iii. and iv. had been carried on.--ED.]

[Footnote GA: Towards Little Langdale.--ED.]

[Footnote GB: See Matthew Arnold's address as President of the Wordsworth Society, in its _Transactions_ for the year 1883.--ED.]

[Footnote GC: The sledge used for bringing down peats or bracken from the uplands. The "sledge" has not yet entirely given way to the "wheel," many of the Westmoreland peasants still using it, when bringing down their winter stores of fuel and bedding, as they do in Norway.--ED.]

[Footnote GD: The vale of Little Langdale.--ED.]

[Footnote GE: "After we quit his cottage, passing over a low ridge, we descend into another vale, that of Little Langdale, towards the head of which stands embowered, or partly shaded by yews and other trees, something between a cottage and a mansion, or gentleman's house, such as they once were in this country. This I convert into the parsonage, and at the same time, and as by the waving of a magic wand, I turn the comparatively confined vale of Langdale, its tarn, and the rude chapel which once adorned the valley, into the stately and comparatively spacious vale of Grasmere and its ancient parish church."--I. F.

The Fenwick note is not quite clear as to the relation of Hackett to Blea Tarn Cottage. Dr. Cradock thinks that "Wordsworth meant that his description of the cottage was borrowed from Hackett (which he frequently visited), so far at least as the solitary clock, and the cottage stairs, and the dark and low apartments were concerned."--ED.]

[Footnote GF: See the note on the previous page.--ED.]

[Footnote GG: Grasmere.--ED.]

[Footnote GH: Compare Lamb's remarks in reference to Harrow Church in a letter to Wordsworth, August 14, 1814. See _Letters of Charles Lamb_, edited by Canon Ainger, vol. i. p. 272.--ED.]

[Footnote GI: The details of this description apply in most particulars to the Church at Grasmere, although some are probably borrowed from Wordsworth's recollections of Hawkshead and of Bowness. The "naked rafters intricately crossed," the "admonitory texts" inscribed on the walls,

Each, in its ornamental scroll, enclosed,

the "oaken benches," the "heraldic shield" in the "altar-window," the "faded hatchment," the "marble monuments" and "sepulchral stones" with "emblems graven and foot-worn epitaphs,"--all are there. Grasmere Church was "for duration built," as Wordsworth puts it; and, however ill adapted to the wants of modern ceremonial, it is to be hoped that all that is most characteristic of the old edifice will be preserved; and that--while no building can retain its original form for ever--its renovation will not destroy what remains of that "rude and antique majesty," which Wordsworth tells us had, even in 1843, been partially impaired.--ED.]

[Footnote GJ: Compare, in _Hamlet_, act v. scene i. l. 64--

Hamlet.--Has this fellow no feeling of his business? he sings at grave-making.

Horatio.--Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.

Hamlet.--'Tis e'en so: the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.--ED.]

[Footnote GK: An oak now grows in the field a little to the east of the churchyard wall, which cannot, however, be that to which Wordsworth refers. Possibly an oak grew at that time beside the wall above the Rothay. The wall is still "moss-grown."--ED.]

[Footnote GL: See the footnote on the previous page.--ED.]

[Footnote GM: Compare _Paradise Lost_, book i. l. 157--

To be weak is miserable,
Doing or suffering. ED.
]

[Footnote GN: Compare Wordsworth's _Description of the Scenery of the Lakes_, section 2. "To begin with the COTTAGES. They are scattered over the vallies, and under the hill sides, and on the rocks; and, even to this day, in the more retired dales, without any intrusion of more assuming buildings;

Clustered like stars some few, but single most,
And lurking dimly in their shy retreats,
Or glancing on each other cheerful looks,
Like separated stars with clouds between.

The dwelling-houses, and contiguous outhouses, are, in many instances, of the colour of the native rock, out of which they have been built.... These humble dwellings remind the contemplative spectator of a production of nature, and may (using a strong expression) rather be said to have grown than to have been erected;--to have risen, by an instinct of their own, out of the native rock--so little is there in them of formality, such is their wildness and beauty! Among the numerous recesses and projections in the walls and in the different stages of their roofs, are seen bold and harmonious effects of contrasted sunshine and shadow.... These dwellings, mostly built, as has been said, of rough unhewn stone, are roofed with slates ... rough and uneven in their surfaces, so that both the coverings and sides of the houses have furnished places of rest for the seeds of lichens, mosses, ferns, and flowers. Hence buildings, which, in their very form call to mind the processes of nature, do thus, clothed with this vegetable garb, appear to be received into the bosom of the living principle of things, as it acts and exists among the woods and fields."

Compare also Gray's description of the Vale of Grasmere in his Journal:--"Not a single red tile, nor flaring gentleman's house, or garden-wall, breaks in upon the repose of this little unsuspected paradise; but all is peace, rusticity, and happy poverty, in its neatest and most becoming attire."--ED.]

[Footnote GO: "To illustrate the relation which in my mind this Pastor bore to the Wanderer, and the resemblances between them, or rather the points of community in their nature, I likened one to an oak, and the other to a sycamore; and having here referred to this comparison, I need only add, I had no one individual in my mind, wishing rather to embody this idea than to break in upon the simplicity of it by traits of individual character, or of any peculiarity of opinion."--I. F.

The sycamore is the favourite tree at the Mountain Farms of Cumberland and Westmoreland, as it affords the best shelter from rain, and the most thorough protection from the heat of the sun, during sheep-shearing. A special feature of the valley as you go down Langdale from Blea Tarn, is the abundance of sycamore; some of the farm-houses are literally _embowered_ by it.--ED.]

[Footnote GP: The group of meditative talkers are supposed to be seated on the moss-grown wall to the east of the Churchyard, facing Silver How.--ED.]

[Footnote GQ: Possibly at Dale End, Grasmere.--ED.]

[Footnote GR: Probably the Wyke, Sarah Mackereth's Cottage.--ED.]

[Footnote GS: See Wordsworth's note, p. 388.--ED.]

[Footnote GT: Silver How is the only "dark mountain" visible to the west from the moss-grown seat in the Grasmere Churchyard; but here again the realism of the narrative gives way, and not Silver How but Lingmoor is described, with Hackett Cottage at its south-eastern foot. The Fenwick note is here explicit. "First for the one picture given by the Wanderer of the living. In this nothing is introduced but what was taken from nature and real life. The cottage was called Hackett, and stands, as described, on the southern extremity of the ridge which separates the two Langdales. The pair who inhabited it were called Jonathan and Betty Yewdale." Later on, in book vi. p. 250, Wordsworth describes the blue roofs of Hawkshead village as ornamenting

a distant reach
_Of this far-winding vale_.

Unless, therefore, he is speaking in the vague, Hackett and not Grasmere is the place described. The Fenwick note to the _Epistle to Sir George Beaumont_, however, decides the question (see vol. iv. p. 256). "The house (Hackett) and its inmates are referred to in the fifth book of _The Excursion_, in the passage beginning--

You behold,
High on the breast of yon dark mountain, dark." ED.
]

[Footnote GU: Compare the Sonnet (of 1815) referring to Allan Bank, beginning--

Even as a dragon's eye that feels the stress
Of a bedimming sleep, or as a lamp
Suddenly glaring through sepulchral damp,
So burns yon Taper 'mid a black recess
Of mountains, silent, dreary, motionless, etc. ED.
]

[Footnote GV: Compare the Sonnet (of 1815) beginning--

The fairest, brightest, hues of ether fade,

and more especially the Fenwick note, prefixed to that sonnet.--ED.]

[Footnote GW: This feminine complexion of the Cumbrian peasants who work in the higher mines, is probably in part due to the continual mists and moisture of the heights. It has been observed especially amongst the workers in the high slate quarries at Walna Scar.--ED.]

[Footnote GX: In a note to the edition of 1814, Wordsworth added to the above quotation _Southey's Retrospect_. See p. 388 of this volume.]

[Footnote GY: In 1814 Wordsworth added to this line a prefatory note to his _Essay upon Epitaphs_, and the _Essay_ itself, for which see _The Prose Works_.]

[Footnote GZ: On the 1st of August 1849, during the last year of the poet's life, he transcribed the five lines beginning--

Life, I repeat, is energy of love

on a presentation copy of his works, sent to Thomas Gough. It was one of the last things he ever wrote.--ED.]

Book Sixth

THE CHURCH-YARD AMONG THE MOUNTAINS

ARGUMENT

_Poet's Address to the State and Church of England--The Pastor not inferior to the ancient Worthies of the Church--He begins his Narratives with an instance of unrequited Love--Anguish of mind subdued, and how--The lonely Miner--An instance of perseverance--Which leads by contrast to an example of abused talents, irresolution, and weakness--Solitary, applying this covertly to his own case, asks for an instance of some Stranger, whose dispositions may have led him to end his days here--Pastor, in answer, gives an account of the harmonising influence of Solitude upon two men of opposite principles, who had encountered agitations in public life--The rule by which Peace may be obtained expressed, and where--Solitary hints at an overpowering Fatality--Answer of the Pastor--What subjects he will exclude from his Narratives--Conversation upon this--Instance of an unamiable character, a Female, and why given--Contrasted with this, a meek sufferer, from unguarded and betrayed love--Instance of heavier guilt, and its consequences to the Offender--With this instance of a Marriage Contract broken is contrasted one of a Widower, evidencing his faithful affection towards his deceased wife by his care of their female Children._[510]

Hail to the crown by Freedom shaped--to gird
An English Sovereign's brow! and to the throne
Whereon he sits! Whose deep foundations lie
In veneration and the people's love;
Whose steps are equity, whose seat is law. 5
--Hail to the State of England! And conjoin
With this a salutation as devout,
Made to the spiritual fabric of her Church;
Founded in truth; by blood of Martyrdom
Cemented; by the hands of Wisdom reared 10
In beauty of holiness, with ordered pomp,
Decent and unreproved. The voice, that greets
The majesty of both, shall pray for both;
That, mutually protected and sustained,[HA]
They may endure long as the sea[511] surrounds 15
This favoured Land, or sunshine warms her soil.

And O, ye swelling hills, and spacious plains!
Besprent from shore to shore with steeple-towers,
And spires whose 'silent finger points to heaven;'[HB]
Nor wanting, at wide intervals, the bulk 20
Of ancient minster lifted above the cloud
Of the dense air, which town or city breeds
To intercept the sun's glad beams--may ne'er
That true succession fail of English hearts,
Who, with ancestral feeling, can perceive[512] 25
What in those holy structures ye possess
Of ornamental interest, and the charm
Of pious sentiment diffused afar,
And human charity, and social love.
--Thus never shall the indignities of time 30
Approach their reverend graces, unopposed;
Nor shall the elements be free to hurt
Their fair proportions; nor the blinder rage
Of bigot zeal madly to overturn;
And, if the desolating hand of war 35
Spare them, they shall continue to bestow,
Upon the thronged abodes of busy men
(Depraved, and ever prone to fill the mind[513]
Exclusively with transitory things)
An air and mien of dignified pursuit; 40
Of sweet civility, on rustic wilds.

The Poet, fostering for his native land
Such hope, entreats that servants may abound
Of those pure altars worthy; ministers
Detached from pleasure, to the love of gain 45
Superior, insusceptible of pride,
And by ambitious[514] longings undisturbed;
Men, whose delight is where their duty leads
Or fixes them; whose least distinguished day
Shines with some portion of that heavenly lustre 50
Which makes the sabbath lovely in the sight
Of blessed angels, pitying human cares.
--And, as on earth it is the doom of truth
To be perpetually attacked by foes
Open or covert, be that priesthood still, 55
For her defence, replenished with a band
Of strenuous champions, in scholastic arts
Thoroughly disciplined; nor (if in course
Of the revolving world's disturbances
Cause should recur, which righteous Heaven avert!
To meet such trial) from their spiritual sires 61
Degenerate; who, constrained to wield the sword
Of disputation, shrunk not, though assailed
With hostile din, and combating in sight
Of angry umpires, partial and unjust; 65
And did, thereafter, bathe their hands in fire,[HC]
So to declare the conscience satisfied:
Nor for their bodies would accept release;
But, blessing God and praising him, bequeathed 69
With their last breath, from out the smouldering flame,
The faith which they by diligence had earned,
Or,[515] through illuminating grace, received,
For their dear countrymen, and all mankind.
O high example, constancy divine!

Even such a Man (inheriting the zeal 75
And from the sanctity of elder times
Not deviating,--a priest, the like of whom,
If multiplied, and in their stations set,
Would o'er the bosom of a joyful land
Spread true religion and her genuine fruits) 80
Before me stood that day; on holy ground
Fraught with the relics of mortality,
Exalting tender themes, by just degrees
To lofty raised; and to the highest, last;
The head and mighty paramount of truths,-- 85
Immortal life, in never-fading worlds,
For mortal creatures, conquered and secured.

That basis laid, those principles of faith
Announced, as a preparatory act
Of reverence done to the spirit of the place,[516] 90
The Pastor cast his eyes upon the ground;
Not, as before, like one oppressed with awe,
But with a mild and social cheerfulness;
Then to the Solitary turned, and spake.

"At morn or eve, in your retired domain, 95
Perchance you not unfrequently have marked
A Visitor--in quest of herbs and flowers;[517]
Too delicate employ, as would appear,
For one, who, though of drooping mien, had yet
From nature's kindliness received a frame 100
Robust as ever rural labour bred."

The Solitary answered: "Such a Form
Full well I recollect. We often crossed
Each other's path; but, as the Intruder seemed
Fondly to prize the silence which he kept, 105
And I as willingly did cherish mine,
We met, and passed, like shadows. I have heard,
From my good Host, that being crazed in brain
By unrequited love, he scaled the rocks,[518]
Dived into caves, and pierced the matted woods, 110
In hope to find some virtuous herb of power
To cure his malady!"
The Vicar smiled,--
"Alas! before to-morrow's sun goes down
His habitation will be here: for him
That open grave is destined."[HD]
"Died he then
Of pain and grief?" the Solitary asked, 116
"Do not believe it; never could that be!"[519]

"He loved," the Vicar answered, "deeply loved,
Loved fondly, truly, fervently; and dared
At length to tell his love, but sued in vain;[520] 120
Rejected, yea repelled; and, if with scorn
Upon the haughty maiden's brow, 'tis but
A high-prized plume which female Beauty wears
In wantonness of conquest, or puts on
To cheat the world, or from herself to hide 125
Humiliation, when no longer free,
_That_ he could brook,[521] and glory in;--but when
The tidings came that she whom he had wooed
Was wedded to another, and his heart
Was forced to rend away its only hope; 130
Then, Pity could have scarcely found on earth
An object worthier of regard than he,
In the transition of that bitter hour!
Lost was she, lost; nor could the Sufferer say
That in the act of preference he had been 135
Unjustly dealt with; but the Maid was gone!
Had vanished[522] from his prospects and desires;
Not by translation to the heavenly choir
Who have put off their mortal spoils--ah no!
She lives another's wishes to complete,-- 140
'Joy be their lot, and happiness,' he cried,
'His lot and hers, as misery must be mine!'[523]

"Such was that strong concussion; but the Man,
Who trembled, trunk and limbs, like some huge oak
By a fierce tempest shaken, soon resumed 145
The stedfast quiet natural to a mind
Of composition gentle and sedate,
And, in its movements, circumspect and slow.
To books, and to the long-forsaken desk,
O'er which enchained by science he had loved 150
To bend, he stoutly re-addressed himself,
Resolved to quell his pain, and search for truth[524]
With keener appetite (if that might be)
And closer industry. Of what ensued
Within the heart[525] no outward sign appeared 155
Till a betraying sickliness was seen
To tinge his cheek; and through his frame it crept
With slow mutation unconcealable;
Such universal change as autumn makes
In the fair body of a leafy grove 160
Discoloured, then divested.
"'Tis affirmed
By poets skilled in nature's secret ways
That Love will not submit to be controlled
By mastery:--and the good Man lacked not friends
Who strove to instil this truth into his mind, 165
A mind in all heart-mysteries unversed.
'Go to the hills,' said one, 'remit a while
'This baneful diligence:--at early morn
'Court the fresh air, explore the heaths and woods;
'And, leaving it to others to foretell, 170
'By calculations sage, the ebb and flow
'Of tides, and when the moon will be eclipsed,
'Do you, for your own benefit, construct
'A calendar of flowers, plucked as they blow
'Where health abides, and cheerfulness, and peace.' 175
The attempt was made;--'tis needless to report
How hopelessly; but innocence is strong,
And an entire simplicity of mind
A thing most sacred in the eye of Heaven;
That opens, for such sufferers, relief 180
Within the soul, fountains of grace divine;[526]
And doth commend their weakness and disease
To Nature's care, assisted in her office
By all the elements that round her wait
To generate, to preserve, and to restore; 185
And by her beautiful array of forms
Shedding sweet influence from above; or pure
Delight exhaling from the ground they tread."

"Impute it not to impatience, if," exclaimed
The Wanderer, "I infer that he was healed 190
By perseverance in the course prescribed."

"You do not err: the powers, that[527] had been lost
By slow degrees, were gradually regained;
The fluttering nerves composed; the beating heart
In rest established; and the jarring thoughts 195
To harmony restored.--But yon dark mould
Will cover him, in the fulness of his strength,[528]
Hastily smitten by a fever's force;
Yet not with stroke so sudden as refused
Time to look back with tenderness on her 200
Whom he had loved in passion; and to send
Some farewell words--with one, but one, request;[529]
That, from his dying hand, she would accept
Of his possessions that which most he prized;
A book, upon whose leaves some chosen plants, 205
By his own hand disposed with nicest care,[530]
In undecaying beauty were preserved;[HE]
Mute register, to him, of time and place,
And various fluctuations in the breast;
To her, a monument of faithful love 210
Conquered, and in tranquillity retained!

"Close to his destined habitation, lies
One who achieved a humbler victory,
Though marvellous in its kind. A place there is[531]
High in these mountains, that allured a band 215
Of keen adventurers to unite their pains
In search of precious ore: they tried, were foiled--[532]
And all desisted, all, save him alone.
He,[533] taking counsel of his own clear thoughts,
And trusting only to his own weak hands, 220
Urged unremittingly the stubborn work,
Unseconded, uncountenanced; then, as time
Passed on, while still his lonely efforts found
No recompense, derided; and at length,
By many pitied, as insane of mind; 225
By others dreaded as the luckless thrall
Of subterranean Spirits feeding hope
By various mockery of sight and sound;
Hope after hope, encouraged and destroyed.
--But when the lord of seasons had matured 230
The fruits of earth through space of twice ten years,
The mountain's entrails offered to his view
And trembling grasp the long-deferred reward.[534]
Not with more transport did Columbus greet
A world, his rich discovery![HF] But our Swain, 235
A very hero till his point was gained,
Proved all unable to support the weight
Of prosperous fortune. On the fields he looked
With an unsettled liberty of thought,
Wishes and endless schemes; by daylight walked[535]
Giddy and restless; ever and anon 241
Quaffed in his gratitude immoderate cups;
And truly might be said to die of joy!
He vanished; but conspicuous to this day
The path remains that linked his cottage-door 245
To the mine's mouth; a long and slanting track,
Upon the rugged mountain's stony side,
Worn by his daily visits to and from
The darksome centre of a constant hope.
This vestige, neither force of beating rain, 250
Nor the vicissitudes of frost and thaw
Shall cause to fade, till ages pass away;
And it is named, in memory of the event,
The PATH OF PERSEVERANCE."
"Thou from whom
Man has his strength," exclaimed the Wanderer, "oh!
Do thou direct it! To the virtuous grant 256
The penetrative eye which can perceive
In this blind world the guiding vein of hope;
That, like this Labourer, such may dig their way,
'Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified;'[HG] 260
Grant to the wise _his_ firmness of resolve!"