Be likened? She whose countenance and air
Unite the graceful qualities of both,
E'en as she shares the pride and joy of both.
My grey-haired friend was moved; his vivid eye Glistened with tenderness; his mind, I knew, Was full, and had, I doubted not, returned, Upon this impulse, to the theme erewhile Abruptly broken off. The ruddy boys
Did now withdraw to take their well-earned meal; And he (to whom all tongues resigned their rights With willingness to whom the general ear Listened with readier patience than to strain Of music, lute, or harp,-a long delight,
That ceased not when his voice had ceased), as one Who from truth's central point serenely views The compass of his argument, began Mildly, and with a clear and steady tone.
DISCOURSE OF THE WANDERER, AND AN EVENING VISIT TO THE LAKE.
Wanderer asserts that an active principle pervades the universe-Its noblest seat the human soul-How lively this principle is in childhood-Hence the delight in old age of looking back upon childhood-The dignity, powers, and privileges of age assertedThese not to be looked for generally, but under a just government-Right of a human creature to be exempt from being considered as a mere instrument-Vicious inclinations are best kept under by giving good ones an opportunity to show themselves-The condition of multitudes deplored from want of due respect to this truth on the part of their superiors in society-Former conversation recurred to, and the Wanderer's opinions set in a clearer light-Genuine principles of equality-Truth placed within reach of the humblest-Happy state of the two boys again adverted to-Earnest wish expressed for a system of national education established universally by government-Glorious effects of this foretold-Wanderer breaks off-Walk to the lake-Embark-Description of scenery and amusements-Grand spectacle from the side of a hill-Address of Priest to the Supreme Being, in the course of which he contrasts with ancient barbarism the present appearance of the scene before him-The change ascribed to Christianty-Apostrophe to his flock, living and dead-Gratitude to the Almighty-Return over the lake-Parting with the Solitary-Under what circumstances.
"To every form of being is assigned," Thus calmly spake the venerable sage, "An active principle: howe'er removed From sense and observation, it subsists In all things, in all natures, in the stars Of azure heaven, the unenduring clouds, In flower and tree, in every pebbly stone That paves the brooks, the stationary rocks, The moving waters, and the invisible air. Whate'er exists hath properties that spread Beyond itself, communicating good, A simple blessing, or with evil mixed; Spirit that knows no insulated spot,
No chasm, no solitude; from link to link It circulates, the soul of all the worlds. This is the freedom of the universe; Unfolded still the more, more visible,
The more we know, and yet is reverenced least, And least respected, in the human mind, Its most apparent home. The food of hope Is meditated action; robbed of this, Her sole support, she languishes and dies. We perish also; for we live by hope And by desire; we see by the glad light, And breathe the sweet air of futurity; And so we live, or else we have no life. To-morrow, nay, perchance, this very hour (For every moment has its own to-morrow), Those blooming boys, whose hearts are almost sick With present triumph, will be sure to find A field before them freshened with the dew Of other expectations; in which course Their happy year spins round. The youth obeys A like glad impulse; and so moves the man 'Mid all his apprehensions, cares, and fears; Or so he ought to move. Ah! why in age Do we revert so fondly to the walks
Of childhood, but that there the soul discerns The dear memorial footsteps unimpaired Of her own native vigour-but for this, That it is given her thence in age to hear Reverberations, and a choral song,
Commingling with the incense that ascends, Undaunted, towards the imperishable heavens, From her own lonely altar? Do not think That good and wise will ever be allowed, Though strength decay, to breathe in such estate As shall divide them wholly from the stir Of hopeful nature. Rightly is it said That man descends into the vale of years; Yet have I thought that we might also speak, And not presumptuously, I trust, of age, As of a final eminence, though bare In aspect and forbidding, yet a point On which 'tis not impossible to sit In awful sovereignty; a place of power- A throne, which may be likened unto his, Who, in some placid day of summer, looks Down from a mountain-top,-say one of those High peaks, that bound the vale where now we are. Faint and diminished to the gazing eye, Forest and field, and hill and dale, appear, With all the shapes upon their surface spread. But while the gross and visible frame of things Relinquishes its hold upon the sense, Yea, almost on the mind itself, and seems All unsubstantialized-how loud the voice Of waters, with invigorated peal
From the full river in the vale below Ascending! For on that superior height Who sits is disencumbered from the press Of near obstructions, and is privileged To breathe in solitude, above the host Of ever-humming insects, 'mid thin air That suits not them. The murmur of the leaves, Many and idle, touches not his ear:
This he is freed from, and from thousand notes Not less unceasing, not less vain than these, By which the finer passages of sense
Are occupied; and the soul, that would incline To listen, is prevented or deterred.
"And may it not be hoped that, placed by age In like removal, tranquil, though severe, We are not so removed for utter loss,
But for some favour, suited to our need?
What more than this, that we thereby should gain Fresh power to commune with th' invisible world, And hear the mighty stream of tendency Uttering, for elevation of our thought, A clear, sonorous voice, inaudible
To the vast multitude, whose doom it is To run the giddy round of vain delight, Or fret and labour on the plain below. But, if to such sublime ascent the hopes Of man may rise, as to a welcome close And termination of his mortal course, Them only can such hope inspire whose minds Have not been starved by absolute neglect, Nor bodies crushed by unremitting toil; To whom kind Nature, therefore, may afford Proof of the sacred love she bears for all; Whose birthright reason, therefore, may insure. For me, consulting what I feel within
In times when most existence with herself Is satisfied, I cannot but believe,
That, far as kindly Nature hath free scope And reason's sway predominates, even so far, Country, society, and time itself,
That saps the individual's bodily frame, And lays the generations low in dust,
Do, by th' Almighty Ruler's grace, partake Of one maternal spirit, bringing forth And cherishing with ever-constant love, That tires not, nor betrays. Our life is turned Out of her course, wherever man is made An offering or a sacrifice, a tool
Or implement, a passive thing employed As a brute mean, without acknowledgment Of common right or interest in the end; Used or abused, as selfishness may prompt. Say, what can follow for a rational soul Perverted thus, but weakness in all good,
And strength in evil? Hence an after-call For chastisement, and custody, and bonds, And ofttimes death, avenger of the past, And the sole guardian in whose hands we dare Intrust the future. Not for these sad issues Was man created; but t' obey the law Of life, and hope, and action. And 'tis known, That when we stand upon our native soil, Unelbowed by such objects that oppress
Our active powers, those powers themselves become Strong to subvert our noxious qualities: They sweep away infection from the heart, And, by the substitution of delight,
Suppress all evil; whence the being moves In beauty through the world; and all who see Bless him, rejoicing in his neighbourhood.'
"Then," said the Solitary, "by what power Of language shall a feeling heart express Her sorrow for that multitude in whom
We look for health from seeds that have been sown In sickness, and for increase in a power
That works but by extinction? On themselves They cannot lean, nor turn to their own hearts To know what they must do ; their wisdom is To look into the eyes of others, thence To be instructed what they must avoid: Or rather, let us say, how least observed, How with most quiet and most silent death, With the least taint and injury to the air The oppressor breathes, their human form divine, And their immortal soul, may waste away."
The sage rejoined: "I thank you-you have spared My voice the utterance of a keen regret,
A wide compassion, which with you I share. When, heretofore, I placed before your sight A most familiar object of our days-
A little one, subjected to the arts
Of modern ingenuity, and made
The senseless member of a vast machine, Serving as doth a spindle or a wheel,
Think not that, pitying him, I could forget
The rustic boy, who walks the fields untaught, The slave of ignorance, and oft of want, And miserable hunger. Much-too much, Of this unhappy lot, in early youth We both have witnessed, lot which I myself Shared, though in mild and merciful degree: Yet was my mind to hindrances exposed, Through which I struggled, not without distress And sometimes injury, like a sheep enthralled 'Mid thorns and brambles; or a bird that breaks Through a strong net, and mounts upon the wind, Though with her plumes impaired. If they, whose souls
Should open while they range the richer fields Of merry England, are obstructed less, By indigence, their ignorance is not less, Nor less to be deplored. For who can doubt That tens of thousands at this day exist Such as the boy you painted, lineal heirs Of those who once were vassals of her soil, Following its fortunes like the beasts or trees Which it sustained. But no one takes delight In this oppression; none are proud of it; It bears no sounding name, nor ever bore; A standing grievance, an indigenous vice Of every country under heaven. My thoughts Were turned to evils that are new and chosen, A bondage lurking under shape of good,- Arts, in themselves beneficent and kind, But all too fondly followed and too far; To victims, which the merciful can see
Nor think that they are victims, turned to wrongs, Which women, who have children of their own, Regard without compassion, yea, with praise! I spake of mischief which the wise diffuse With gladness, thinking that the more it spreads, The healthier, the securer, we become; Delusion which a moment may destroy! Lastly, I mourned for those whom I had seen Corrupted and cast down, on favoured ground, Where circumstance and nature had combined To shelter innocence, and cherish love:
Who, but for this intrusion, would have lived, Possessed of health, and strength, and peace of mind; Thus would have lived, or never have been born.
"Alas! what differs more than man from man!
And whence that difference-whence but from himself? For see the universal race endowed
With the same upright form-the sun is fixed,
And the infinite magnificence of heaven,
Within the reach of every human eye;
The sleepless ocean murmurs for all ears;
The vernal field infuses fresh delight
Into all hearts. Throughout the world of sense, Even as an object is sublime or fair,
That object is laid open to the view
Without reserve or veil; and as a power
Is salutary, or an influence sweet,
Are each and all enabled to perceive
That power, that influence, by impartial law.
Gifts nobler are vouchsafed alike to all;
Reason, and, with that reason, smiles and tears;
Imagination, freedom in the will;
Conscience to guide and check and death to be
Foretasted, immortality presumed.
Strange, then, nor less than monstrous, might be deemed
The failure, if the Almighty, to this point
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