THE EXCURSION
BOOK NINTH
DISCOURSE OF THE WANDERER, AND AN EVENING VISIT TO THE LAKE

          "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                 10
          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                    20
          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 hath its own to-morrow!)
          Those blooming Boys, whose hearts are almost sick
          With present triumph, will be sure to find                  30
          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; thence can hear                   40
          Reverberations; and a choral song,
          Commingling with the incense that ascends,
          Undaunted, toward the imperishable heavens,
          From her own lonely altar?
                                      Do not think
          That good and wise ever will 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,                50
          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, that 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,                    60
          Forest and field, and hill and dale appear,
          With all the shapes over their surface spread:
          But, while the gross and visible frame of things
          Relinquishes its hold upon the sense,
          Yea almost on the Mind herself, 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                   70
          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, visits 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.                        80

            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 that the severing should confer
          Fresh power to commune with the 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                     90
          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;                100
          Whose birthright Reason, therefore, may ensure.
          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 the almighty Ruler's grace, partake                 110
          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                   120
          Perverted thus, but weakness in all good,
          And strength in evil? Hence an after-call
          For chastisement, and custody, and bonds,
          And oft-times Death, avenger of the past,
          And the sole guardian in whose hands we dare
          Entrust the future.--Not for these sad issues
          Was Man created; but to obey the law
          Of life, and hope, and action. And 'tis known
          That when we stand upon our native soil,
          Unelbowed by such objects as oppress                       130
          Our active powers, those powers themselves become
          Strong to subvert our noxious qualities:
          They sweep distemper from the busy day,
          And make the chalice of the big round year
          Run o'er with gladness; 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 force
          Of language shall a feeling heart express
          Her sorrow for that multitude in whom                      140
          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                 150
          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 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;                      160
          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 the mind to hindrances exposed,
          Through which I struggled, not without distress
          And sometimes injury, like a lamb enthralled               170
          '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,                180
          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;--                 190
          To victims, which the merciful can see
          Nor think that they are victims--turned to wrongs,
          By women, who have children of their own,
          Beheld without compassion, yea with praise!
          I spake of mischief by the wise diffused
          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,               200
          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                    210
          Fixed, within 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.              220
          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 conceived
          By all,--a blissful immortality,
          To them whose holiness on earth shall make
          The Spirit capable of heaven, assured.
          Strange, then, nor less than monstrous, might be deemed
          The failure, if the Almighty, to this point                230
          Liberal and undistinguishing, should hide
          The excellence of moral qualities
          From common understanding; leaving truth
          And virtue, difficult, abstruse, and dark;
          Hard to be won, and only by a few;
          Strange, should He deal herein with nice respects,
          And frustrate all the rest! Believe it not:
          The primal duties shine aloft--like stars;
          The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless,
          Are scattered at the feet of Man--like flowers.            240
          The generous inclination, the just rule,
          Kind wishes, and good actions, and pure thoughts--
          No mystery is here! Here is no boon
          For high--yet not for low; for proudly graced--
          Yet not for meek of heart. The smoke ascends
          To heaven as lightly from the cottage hearth
          As from the haughtiest palace. He, whose soul
          Ponders this true equality, may walk
          The fields of earth with gratitude and hope;
          Yet, in that meditation, will he find                      250
          Motive to sadder grief, as we have found;
          Lamenting ancient virtues overthrown,
          And for the injustice grieving, that hath made
          So wide a difference between man and man.

            Then let us rather fix our gladdened thoughts
          Upon the brighter scene. How blest that pair
          Of blooming Boys (whom we beheld even now)
          Blest in their several and their common lot!
          A few short hours of each returning day
          The thriving prisoners of their village school:            260
          And thence let loose, to seek their pleasant homes
          Or range the grassy lawn in vacancy:
          To breathe and to he happy, run and shout
          Idle,--but no delay, no harm, no loss;
          For every genial power of heaven and earth,
          Through all the seasons of the changeful year,
          Obsequiously doth take upon herself
          To labour for them; bringing each in turn
          The tribute of enjoyment, knowledge, health,
          Beauty, or strength! Such privilege is theirs,             270
          Granted alike in the outset of their course
          To both; and, if that partnership must cease,
          I grieve not," to the Pastor here he turned,
          "Much as I glory in that child of yours,
          Repine not for his cottage-comrade, whom
          Belike no higher destiny awaits
          Than the old hereditary wish fulfilled;
          The wish for liberty to live--content
          With what Heaven grants, and die--in peace of mind,
          Within the bosom of his native vale.                       280
          At least, whatever fate the noon of life
          Reserves for either, sure it is that both
          Have been permitted to enjoy the dawn;
          Whether regarded as a jocund time,
          That in itself may terminate, or lead
          In course of nature to a sober eve.
          Both have been fairly dealt with; looking back
          They will allow that justice has in them
          Been shown, alike to body and to mind."

            He paused, as if revolving in his soul                   290
          Some weighty matter; then, with fervent voice
          And an impassioned majesty, exclaimed--

            "O for the coming of that glorious time
          When, prizing knowledge as her noblest wealth
          And best protection, this imperial Realm,
          While she exacts allegiance, shall admit
          An obligation, on her part, to 'teach'
          Them who are born to serve her and obey;
          Binding herself by statute to secure
          For all the children whom her soil maintains               300
          The rudiments of letters, and inform
          The mind with moral and religious truth,
          Both understood and practised,--so that none,
          However destitute, be left to droop
          By timely culture unsustained; or run
          Into a wild disorder; or be forced
          To drudge through a weary life without the help
          Of intellectual implements and tools;
          A savage horde among the civilised,
          A servile band among the lordly free!                      310
          This sacred right, the lisping babe proclaims
          To be inherent in him, by Heaven's will,
          For the protection of his innocence;
          And the rude boy--who, having overpast
          The sinless age, by conscience is enrolled,
          Yet mutinously knits his angry brow,
          And lifts his wilful hand on mischief bent,
          Or turns the godlike faculty of speech
          To impious use--by process indirect
          Declares his due, while he makes known his need.           320
          --This sacred right is fruitlessly announced,
          This universal plea in vain addressed,
          To eyes and ears of parents who themselves
          Did, in the time of their necessity,
          Urge it in vain; and, therefore, like a prayer
          That from the humblest floor ascends to heaven,
          It mounts to meet the State's parental ear;
          Who, if indeed she own a mother's heart,
          And be not most unfeelingly devoid
          Of gratitude to Providence, will grant                     330
          The unquestionable good--which, England, safe
          From interference of external force,
          May grant at leisure; without risk incurred
          That what in wisdom for herself she doth,
          Others shall e'er be able to undo.

            Look! and behold, from Calpe's sun-burnt cliffs
          To the flat margin of the Baltic sea,
          Long-reverenced titles cast away as weeds;
          Laws overturned; and territory split,
          Like fields of ice rent by the polar wind,                 340
          And forced to join in less obnoxious shapes
          Which, ere they gain consistence, by a gust
          Of the same breath are shattered and destroyed.
          Meantime the sovereignty of these fair Isles
          Remains entire and indivisible:
          And, if that ignorance were removed, which breeds
          Within the compass of their several shores
          Dark discontent, or loud commotion, each
          Might still preserve the beautiful repose
          Of heavenly bodies shining in their spheres.               350
          --The discipline of slavery is unknown
          Among us,--hence the more do we require
          The discipline of virtue; order else
          Cannot subsist, nor confidence, nor peace.
          Thus, duties rising out of good possest,
          And prudent caution needful to avert
          Impending evil, equally require
          That the whole people should be taught and trained.
          So shall licentiousness and black resolve
          Be rooted out, and virtuous habits take                    360
          Their place; and genuine piety descend,
          Like an inheritance, from age to age.

            With such foundations laid, avaunt the fear
          Of numbers crowded on their native soil,
          To the prevention of all healthful growth
          Through mutual injury! Rather in the law
          Of increase and the mandate from above
          Rejoice!--and ye have special cause for joy.
          --For, as the element of air affords
          An easy passage to the industrious bees                    370
          Fraught with their burthens; and a way as smooth
          For those ordained to take their sounding flight
          From the thronged hive, and settle where they list
          In fresh abodes--their labour to renew;
          So the wide waters, open to the power,
          The will, the instincts, and appointed needs
          Of Britain, do invite her to cast off
          Her swarms, and in succession send them forth;
          Bound to establish new communities
          On every shore whose aspect favours hope                   380
          Or bold adventure; promising to skill
          And perseverance their deserved reward.

            Yes," he continued, kindling as he spake,
          "Change wide, and deep, and silently performed,
          This Land shall witness; and as days roll on,
          Earth's universal frame shall feel the effect;
          Even till the smallest habitable rock,
          Beaten by lonely billows, hear the songs
          Of humanised society; and bloom
          With civil arts, that shall breathe forth their fragrance, 390
          A grateful tribute to all-ruling Heaven.
          From culture, unexclusively bestowed
          On Albion's noble Race in freedom born,
          Expect these mighty issues: from the pains
          And faithful care of unambitious schools
          Instructing simple childhood's ready ear:
          Thence look for these magnificent results!
          --Vast the circumference of hope--and ye
          Are at its centre, British Lawgivers;
          Ah! sleep not there in shame! Shall Wisdom's voice         400
          From out the bosom of these troubled times
          Repeat the dictates of her calmer mind,
          And shall the venerable halls ye fill
          Refuse to echo the sublime decree?
          Trust not to partial care a general good;
          Transfer not to futurity a work
          Of urgent need.--Your Country must complete
          Her glorious destiny. Begin even now,
          Now, when oppression, like the Egyptian plague
          Of darkness, stretched o'er guilty Europe, makes           410
          The brightness more conspicuous that invests
          The happy Island where ye think and act;
          Now, when destruction is a prime pursuit,
          Show to the wretched nations for what end
          The powers of civil polity were given."

            Abruptly here, but with a graceful air,
          The Sage broke off. No sooner had he ceased
          Than, looking forth, the gentle Lady said,
          "Behold the shades of afternoon have fallen
          Upon this flowery slope; and see--beyond--                 420
          The silvery lake is streaked with placid blue;
          As if preparing for the peace of evening.
          How temptingly the landscape shines! The air
          Breathes invitation; easy is the walk
          To the lake's margin, where a boat lies moored
          Under a sheltering tree."--Upon this hint
          We rose together; all were pleased; but most
          The beauteous girl, whose cheek was flushed with joy.
          Light as a sunbeam glides along the hills
          She vanished--eager to impart the scheme                   430
          To her loved brother and his shy compeer.
          --Now was there bustle in the Vicar's house
          And earnest preparation.--Forth we went,
          And down the vale along the streamlet's edge
          Pursued our way, a broken company,
          Mute or conversing, single or in pairs.
          Thus having reached a bridge, that overarched
          The hasty rivulet where it lay becalmed
          In a deep pool, by happy chance we saw
          A twofold image; on a grassy bank                          440
          A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood
          Another and the same! Most beautiful,
          On the green turf, with his imperial front
          Shaggy and bold, and wreathed horns superb,
          The breathing creature stood; as beautiful,
          Beneath him, showed his shadowy counterpart.
          Each had his glowing mountains, each his sky,
          And each seemed centre of his own fair world:
          Antipodes unconscious of each other,
          Yet, in partition, with their several spheres,             450
          Blended in perfect stillness, to our sight!

            "Ah! what a pity were it to disperse,
          Or to disturb, so fair a spectacle,
          And yet a breath can do it!"
                                        These few words
          The Lady whispered, while we stood and gazed
          Gathered together, all in still delight,
          Not without awe. Thence passing on, she said
          In like low voice to my particular ear,
          "I love to hear that eloquent old Man
          Pour forth his meditations, and descant                    460
          On human life from infancy to age.
          How pure his spirit! in what vivid hues
          His mind gives back the various forms of things,
          Caught in their fairest, happiest, attitude!
          While he is speaking, I have power to see
          Even as he sees; but when his voice hath ceased,
          Then, with a sigh, sometimes I feel, as now,
          That combinations so serene and bright
          Cannot be lasting in a world like ours,
          Whose highest beauty, beautiful as it is,                  470
          Like that reflected in yon quiet pool,
          Seems but a fleeting sunbeam's gift, whose peace,
          The sufferance only of a breath of air!"

            More had she said--but sportive shouts were heard
          Sent from the jocund hearts of those two Boys,
          Who, bearing each a basket on his arm,
          Down the green field came tripping after us.
          With caution we embarked; and now the pair
          For prouder service were addrest; but each,
          Wishful to leave an opening for my choice,                 480
          Dropped the light oar his eager hand had seized.
          Thanks given for that becoming courtesy,
          Their place I took--and for a grateful office
          Pregnant with recollections of the time
          When, on thy bosom, spacious Windermere!
          A Youth, I practised this delightful art;
          Tossed on the waves alone, or 'mid a crew
          Of joyous comrades. Soon as the reedy marge
          Was cleared, I dipped, with arms accordant, oars
          Free from obstruction; and the boat advanced               490
          Through crystal water, smoothly as a hawk,
          That, disentangled from the shady boughs
          Of some thick wood, her place of covert, cleaves
          With correspondent wings the abyss of air.
          --"Observe," the Vicar said, "yon rocky isle
          With birch-trees fringed; my hand shall guide the helm,
          While thitherward we shape our course; or while
          We seek that other, on the western shore;
          Where the bare columns of those lofty firs,
          Supporting gracefully a massy dome                         500
          Of sombre foliage, seem to imitate
          A Grecian temple rising from the Deep."

            "Turn where we may," said I, "we cannot err
          In this delicious region."--Cultured slopes,
          Wild tracts of forest-ground, and scattered groves,
          And mountains bare, or clothed with ancient woods,
          Surrounded us; and, as we held our way
          Along the level of the glassy flood,
          They ceased not to surround us; change of place
          From kindred features diversely combined,                  510
          Producing change of beauty ever new.
          --Ah! that such beauty, varying in the light
          Of living nature, cannot be portrayed
          By words, nor by the pencil's silent skill;
          But is the property of him alone
          Who hath beheld it, noted it with care,
          And in his mind recorded it with love!
          Suffice it, therefore, if the rural Muse
          Vouchsafe sweet influence, while her Poet speaks
          Of trivial occupations well devised,                       520
          And unsought pleasures springing up by chance;
          As if some friendly Genius had ordained
          That, as the day thus far had been enriched
          By acquisition of sincere delight,
          The same should be continued to its close.

            One spirit animating old and young,
          A gipsy-fire we kindled on the shore
          Of the fair Isle with birch-trees fringed--and there,
          Merrily seated in a ring, partook
          A choice repast--served by our young companions            530
          With rival earnestness and kindred glee.
          Launched from our hands the smooth stone skimmed the lake;
          With shouts we raised the echoes:--stiller sounds
          The lovely Girl supplied--a simple song,
          Whose low tones reached not to the distant rocks
          To be repeated thence, but gently sank
          Into our hearts; and charmed the peaceful flood.
          Rapaciously we gathered flowery spoils
          From land and water; lilies of each hue--
          Golden and white, that float upon the waves,               540
          And court the wind; and leaves of that shy plant,
          (Her flowers were shed) the lily of the vale,
          That loves the ground, and from the sun withholds
          Her pensive beauty; from the breeze her sweets.

            Such product, and such pastime, did the place
          And season yield; but, as we re-embarked,
          Leaving, in quest of other scenes, the shore
          Of that wild spot, the Solitary said
          In a low voice, yet careless who might hear,
          "The fire, that burned so brightly to our wish,            550
          Where is it now?--Deserted on the beach--
          Dying, or dead! Nor shall the fanning breeze
          Revive its ashes. What care we for this,
          Whose ends are gained? Behold an emblem here
          Of one day's pleasure, and all mortal joys!
          And, in this unpremeditated slight
          Of that which is no longer needed, see
          The common course of human gratitude!"

            This plaintive note disturbed not the repose
          Of the still evening. Right across the lake                560
          Our pinnace moves; then, coasting creek and bay,
          Glades we behold, and into thickets peep,
          Where couch the spotted deer; or raised our eyes
          To shaggy steeps on which the careless goat
          Browsed by the side of dashing waterfalls;
          And thus the bark, meandering with the shore,
          Pursued her voyage, till a natural pier
          Of jutting rock invited us to land.

            Alert to follow as the Pastor led,
          We clomb a green hill's side; and, as we clomb,            570
          The Valley, opening out her bosom, gave
          Fair prospect, intercepted less and less,
          O'er the flat meadows and indented coast
          Of the smooth lake, in compass seen:--far off,
          And yet conspicuous, stood the old Church-tower,
          In majesty presiding over fields
          And habitations seemingly preserved
          From all intrusion of the restless world
          By rocks impassable and mountains huge.

            Soft heath this elevated spot supplied,                  580
          And choice of moss-clad stones, whereon we couched
          Or sate reclined; admiring quietly
          The general aspect of the scene; but each
          Not seldom over anxious to make known
          His own discoveries; or to favourite points
          Directing notice, merely from a wish
          To impart a joy, imperfect while unshared.
          That rapturous moment never shall I forget
          When these particular interests were effaced
          From every mind!--Already had the sun,                     590
          Sinking with less than ordinary state,
          Attained his western bound; but rays of light--
          Now suddenly diverging from the orb
          Retired behind the mountain tops or veiled
          By the dense air--shot upwards to the crown
          Of the blue firmament--aloft, and wide:
          And multitudes of little floating clouds,
          Through their ethereal texture pierced--ere we,
          Who saw, of change were conscious--had become
          Vivid as fire; clouds separately poised,--                 600
          Innumerable multitude of forms
          Scattered through half the circle of the sky;
          And giving back, and shedding each on each,
          With prodigal communion, the bright hues
          Which from the unapparent fount of glory
          They had imbibed, and ceased not to receive.
          That which the heavens displayed, the liquid deep
          Repeated; but with unity sublime!

            While from the grassy mountain's open side
          We gazed, in silence hushed, with eyes intent              610
          On the refulgent spectacle, diffused
          Through earth, sky, water, and all visible space,
          The Priest in holy transport thus exclaimed:
          "Eternal Spirit! universal God!
          Power inaccessible to human thought,
          Save by degrees and steps which thou hast deigned
          To furnish; for this effluence of thyself,
          To the infirmity of mortal sense
          Vouchsafed; this local transitory type
          Of thy paternal splendours, and the pomp                   620
          Of those who fill thy courts in highest heaven,
          The radiant Cherubim;--accept the thanks
          Which we, thy humble Creatures, here convened,
          Presume to offer; we, who--from the breast
          Of the frail earth, permitted to behold
          The faint reflections only of thy face--
          Are yet exalted, and in soul adore!
          Such as they are who in thy presence stand
          Unsullied, incorruptible, and drink
          Imperishable majesty streamed forth                        630
          From thy empyreal throne, the elect of earth
          Shall be--divested at the appointed hour
          Of all dishonour, cleansed from mortal stain.
          --Accomplish, then, their number; and conclude
          Time's weary course! Or if, by thy decree,
          The consummation that will come by stealth
          Be yet far distant, let thy Word prevail,
          Oh! let thy Word prevail, to take away
          The sting of human nature. Spread the law,
          As it is written in thy holy book,                         640
          Throughout all lands; let every nation hear
          The high behest, and every heart obey;
          Both for the love of purity, and hope
          Which it affords, to such as do thy will
          And persevere in good, that they shall rise,
          To have a nearer view of thee, in heaven.
          --Father of good! this prayer in bounty grant,
          In mercy grant it, to thy wretched sons.
          Then, not till then, shall persecution cease,
          And cruel wars expire. The way is marked,                  650
          The guide appointed, and the ransom paid.
          Alas! the nations, who of yore received
          These tidings, and in Christian temples meet
          The sacred truth to knowledge, linger still;
          Preferring bonds and darkness to a state
          Of holy freedom, by redeeming love
          Proffered to all, while yet on earth detained.

            So fare the many; and the thoughtful few,
          Who in the anguish of their souls bewail
          This dire perverseness, cannot choose but ask,             660
          Shall it endure?--Shall enmity and strife,
          Falsehood and guile, be left to sow their seed;
          And the kind never perish? Is the hope
          Fallacious, or shall righteousness obtain
          A peaceable dominion, wide as earth,
          And ne'er to fail? Shall that blest day arrive
          When they, whose choice or lot it is to dwell
          In crowded cities, without fear shall live
          Studious of mutual benefit; and he,
          Whom Morn awakens, among dews and flowers                  670
          Of every clime, to till the lonely field,
          Be happy in himself?--The law of faith
          Working through love, such conquest shall it gain,
          Such triumph over sin and guilt achieve?
          Almighty Lord, thy further grace impart!
          And with that help the wonder shall be seen
          Fulfilled, the hope accomplished; and thy praise
          Be sung with transport and unceasing joy.

            Once," and with mild demeanour, as he spake,
          On us the venerable Pastor turned                          680
          His beaming eye that had been raised to Heaven,
          "Once, while the Name, Jehovah, was a sound
          Within the circuit of this sea-girt isle
          Unheard, the savage nations bowed the head
          To Gods delighting in remorseless deeds;
          Gods which themselves had fashioned, to promote
          Ill purposes, and flatter foul desires.
          Then, in the bosom of yon mountain-cove,
          To those inventions of corrupted man
          Mysterious rites were solemnised; and there--              690
          Amid impending rocks and gloomy woods--
          Of those terrific Idols some received
          Such dismal service, that the loudest voice
          Of the swoln cataracts (which now are heard
          Soft murmuring) was too weak to overcome,
          Though aided by wild winds, the groans and shrieks
          Of human victims, offered up to appease
          Or to propitiate. And, if living eyes
          Had visionary faculties to see
          The thing that hath been as the thing that is,             700
          Aghast we might behold this crystal Mere
          Bedimmed with smoke, in wreaths voluminous,
          Flung from the body of devouring fires,
          To Taranis erected on the heights
          By priestly hands, for sacrifice performed
          Exultingly, in view of open day
          And full assemblage of a barbarous host;
          Or to Andates, female Power! who gave
          (For so they fancied) glorious victory.
          --A few rude monuments of mountain-stone                   710
          Survive; all else is swept away.--How bright
          The appearances of things! From such, how changed
          The existing worship; and with those compared,
          The worshippers how innocent and blest!
          So wide the difference, a willing mind
          Might almost think, at this affecting hour,
          That paradise, the lost abode of man,
          Was raised again: and to a happy few,
          In its original beauty, here restored.

            Whence but from thee, the true and only God,             720
          And from the faith derived through Him who bled
          Upon the cross, this marvellous advance
          Of good from evil; as if one extreme
          Were left, the other gained.--O ye, who come
          To kneel devoutly in yon reverend Pile,
          Called to such office by the peaceful sound
          Of sabbath bells; and ye, who sleep in earth,
          All cares forgotten, round its hallowed walls!
          For you, in presence of this little band
          Gathered together on the green hill-si

LAODAMIA

          "WITH sacrifice before the rising morn
          Vows have I made by fruitless hope inspired;
          And from the infernal Gods, 'mid shades forlorn
          Of night, my slaughtered Lord have I required:
          Celestial pity I again implore;--
          Restore him to my sight--great Jove, restore!"

          So speaking, and by fervent love endowed
          With faith, the Suppliant heavenward lifts her hands;
          While, like the sun emerging from a cloud,
          Her countenance brightens--and her eye expands;             10
          Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows;
          And she expects the issue in repose.

          O terror! what hath she perceived?--O joy!
          What doth she look on?--whom doth she behold?
          Her Hero slain upon the beach of Troy?
          His vital presence? his corporeal mould?
          It is--if sense deceive her not--'tis He!
          And a God leads him, winged Mercury!

          Mild Hermes spake--and touched her with his wand
          That calms all fear; "Such grace hath crowned thy prayer,   20
          Laodamia! that at Jove's command
          Thy Husband walks the paths of upper air:
          He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space;
          Accept the gift, behold him face to face!"

          Forth sprang the impassioned Queen her Lord to clasp;
          Again that consummation she essayed;
          But unsubstantial Form eludes her grasp
          As often as that eager grasp was made.
          The Phantom parts--but parts to re-unite,
          And re-assume his place before her sight.                   30

          "Protesilaus, lo! thy guide is gone!
          Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice:
          This is our palace,--yonder is thy throne;
          Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice.
          Not to appal me have the gods bestowed
          This precious boon; and blest a sad abode."

          "Great Jove, Laodamia! doth not leave
          His gifts imperfect:--Spectre though I be,
          I am not sent to scare thee or deceive;
          But in reward of thy fidelity.                              40
          And something also did my worth obtain;
          For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain.

          "Thou knowest, the Delphic oracle foretold
          That the first Greek who touched the Trojan strand
          Should die; but me the threat could not withhold:
          A generous cause a victim did demand;
          And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain;
          A self-devoted chief--by Hector slain."

          "Supreme of Heroes--bravest, noblest, best!
          Thy matchless courage I bewail no more,                     50
          Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest
          By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore;
          Thou found'st--and I forgive thee--here thou art--
          A nobler counsellor than my poor heart.

          "But thou, though capable of sternest deed,
          Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave;
          And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed
          Thou should'st elude the malice of the grave:
          Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair
          As when their breath enriched Thessalian air.               60

          "No Spectre greets me,--no vain Shadow this;
          Come, blooming Hero, place thee by my side!
          Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss
          To me, this day, a second time thy bride!"
          Jove frowned in heaven: the conscious Parcae threw
          Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue.

          "This visage tells thee that my doom is past:
          Nor should the change be mourned, even if the joys
          Of sense were able to return as fast
          And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys                   70
          Those raptures duly--Erebus disdains:
          Calm pleasures there abide--majestic pains.

          "Be taught, O faithful Consort, to control
          Rebellious passion: for the Gods approve
          The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul;
          A fervent, not ungovernable, love.
          Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn
          When I depart, for brief is my sojourn--"

          "Ah, wherefore?--Did not Hercules by force
          Wrest from the guardian Monster of the tomb                 80
          Alcestis, a reanimated corse,
          Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom?
          Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years,
          And Aeson stood a youth 'mid youthful peers.

          "The Gods to us are merciful--and they
          Yet further may relent: for mightier far
          Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway
          Of magic potent over sun and star,
          Is love, though oft to agony distrest,
          And though his favourite seat be feeble woman's breast.     90

          "But if thou goest, I follow--" "Peace!" he said,--
          She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered;
          The ghastly colour from his lips had fled;
          In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared
          Elysian beauty, melancholy grace,
          Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

          He spake of love, such love as Spirits feel
          In worlds whose course is equable and pure;
          No fears to beat away--no strife to heal--
          The past unsighed for, and the future sure;                100
          Spake of heroic arts in graver mood
          Revived, with finer harmony pursued;

          Of all that is most beauteous--imaged there
          In happier beauty; more pellucid streams,
          An ampler ether, a diviner air,
          And fields invested with purpureal gleams;
          Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day
          Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey.

          Yet there the Soul shall enter which hath earned
          That privilege by virtue.--"Ill," said he,                 110
          "The end of man's existence I discerned,
          Who from ignoble games and revelry
          Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight,
          While tears were thy best pastime, day and night;

          "And while my youthful peers before my eyes
          (Each hero following his peculiar bent)
          Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise
          By martial sports,--or, seated in the tent,
          Chieftains and kings in council were detained;
          What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained.                120

          "The wished-for wind was given:--I then revolved
          The oracle, upon the silent sea;
          And, if no worthier led the way, resolved
          That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be
          The foremost prow in pressing to the strand,--
          Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand.

          "Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang
          When of thy loss I thought, beloved Wife!
          On thee too fondly did my memory hang,
          And on the joys we shared in mortal life,--                130
          The paths which we had trod--these fountains, flowers
          My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers.

          "But should suspense permit the Foe to cry,
          'Behold they tremble!--haughty their array,
          Yet of their number no one dares to die?'
          In soul I swept the indignity away:
          Old frailties then recurred:--but lofty thought,
          In act embodied, my deliverance wrought.

          "And Thou, though strong in love, art all too weak
          In reason, in self-government too slow;                    140
          I counsel thee by fortitude to seek
          Our blest re-union in the shades below.
          The invisible world with thee hath sympathised;
          Be thy affections raised and solemnised.

          "Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend--
          Seeking a higher object. Love was given,
          Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end;
          For this the passion to excess was driven--
          That self might be annulled: her bondage prove
          The fetters of a dream, opposed to love."----              150

          Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes reappears!
          Round the dear Shade she would have clung--'tis vain:
          The hours are past--too brief had they been years;
          And him no mortal effort can detain:
          Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day,
          He through the portal takes his silent way,
          And on the palace-floor a lifeless corse She lay.

          Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved,
          She perished; and, as for a wilful crime,
          By the just Gods whom no weak pity moved,                  160
          Was doomed to wear out her appointed time,
          Apart from happy Ghosts, that gather flowers
          Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers.

          --Yet tears to human suffering are due;
          And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown
          Are mourned by man, and not by man alone,
          As fondly he believes.--Upon the side
          Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained)
          A knot of spiry trees for ages grew
          From out the tomb of him for whom she died;                170
          And ever, when such stature they had gained
          That Ilium's walls were subject to their view,
          The trees' tall summits withered at the sight;
          A constant interchange of growth and blight!
                                                              1814.

DION
(SEE PLUTARCH)

                                   I

          SERENE, and fitted to embrace,
          Where'er he turned, a swan-like grace
          Of haughtiness without pretence,
          And to unfold a still magnificence,
          Was princely Dion, in the power
          And beauty of his happier hour.
          And what pure homage 'then' did wait
          On Dion's virtues, while the lunar beam
          Of Plato's genius, from its lofty sphere,
          Fell round him in the grove of Academe,
          Softening their inbred dignity austere--
            That he, not too elate
            With self-sufficing solitude,
          But with majestic lowliness endued,
            Might in the universal bosom reign,
          And from affectionate observance gain
          Help, under every change of adverse fate.

                                   II

          Five thousand warriors--O the rapturous day!
          Each crowned with flowers, and armed with spear and shield,
          Or ruder weapon which their course might yield,
          To Syracuse advance in bright array.
          Who leads them on?--The anxious people see
          Long-exiled Dion marching at their head,
          He also crowned with flowers of Sicily,
          And in a white, far-beaming, corselet clad!
          Pure transport undisturbed by doubt or fear
          The gazers feel; and, rushing to the plain,
          Salute those strangers as a holy train
          Or blest procession (to the Immortals dear)
          That brought their precious liberty again.
          Lo! when the gates are entered, on each hand,
          Down the long street, rich goblets filled with wine
              In seemly order stand,
          On tables set, as if for rites divine;--
          And, as the great Deliverer marches by,
            He looks on festal ground with fruits bestrown;
          And flowers are on his person thrown
            In boundless prodigality;
          Nor doth the general voice abstain from prayer,
          Invoking Dion's tutelary care,
          As if a very Deity he were!

                                  III

          Mourn, hills and groves of Attica! and mourn
          Ilisses, bending o'er thy classic urn!
          Mourn, and lament for him whose spirit dreads
          Your once sweet memory, studious walks and shades!
          For him who to divinity aspired,
          Not on the breath of popular applause,
          But through dependence on the sacred laws
          Framed in the schools where Wisdom dwelt retired,
          Intent to trace the ideal path of right
          (More fair than heaven's broad causeway paved with stars)
          Which Dion learned to measure with sublime delight;--
          But He hath overleaped the eternal bars;
          And, following guides whose craft holds no consent
          With aught that breathes the ethereal element,
          Hath stained the robes of civil power with blood,
          Unjustly shed, though for the public good.
          Whence doubts that came too late, and wishes vain,
          Hollow excuses, and triumphant pain;
          And oft his cogitations sink as low
          As, through the abysses of a joyless heart,
          The heaviest plummet of despair can go--
          But whence that sudden check? that fearful start!
              He hears an uncouth sound--
              Anon his lifted eyes
          Saw, at a long-drawn gallery's dusky bound.
          A Shape of more than mortal size
          And hideous aspect, stalking round and round!
              A woman's garb the Phantom wore,
              And fiercely swept the marble floor,--
              Like Auster whirling to and fro,
              His force on Caspian foam to try;
          Or Boreas when he scours the snow
          That skins the plains of Thessaly,
          Or when aloft on Maenalus he stops
          His flight, 'mid eddying pine-tree tops!

                                   IV

          So, but from toil less sign of profit reaping,
          The sullen Spectre to her purpose bowed,
              Sweeping--vehemently sweeping--
          No pause admitted, no design avowed!
          "Avaunt, inexplicable Guest!--avaunt,"
          Exclaimed the Chieftain--"let me rather see
          The coronal that coiling vipers make;
          The torch that flames with many a lurid flake,
          And the long train of doleful pageantry
          Which they behold, whom vengeful Furies haunt;
          Who, while they struggle from the scourge to flee,
          Move where the blasted soil is not unworn,
          And, in their anguish, bear what other minds have borne!"

                                   V

          But Shapes that come not at an earthly call,
          Will not depart when mortal voices bid;
          Lords of the visionary eye whose lid,
          Once raised, remains aghast, and will not fall!
          Ye Gods, thought He, that servile Implement
          Obeys a mystical intent!
          Your Minister would brush away
          The spots that to my soul adhere;
          But should she labour night and day,
          They will not, cannot disappear;
          Whence angry perturbations,--and that look
          Which no Philosophy can brook!

                                   VI

          Ill-fated Chief! there are whose hopes are built
          Upon the ruins of thy glorious name;
          Who, through the portal of one moment's guilt,
          Pursue thee with their deadly aim!
          O matchless perfidy! portentous lust
          Of monstrous crime!--that horror-striking blade,
          Drawn in defiance of the Gods, hath laid
          The noble Syracusan low in dust!
          Shuddered the walls--the marble city wept--
          And sylvan places heaved a pensive sigh;
          But in calm peace the appointed Victim slept,
          As he had fallen in magnanimity;
          Of spirit too capacious to require
          That Destiny her course should change; too just
          To his own native greatness to desire
          That wretched boon, days lengthened by mistrust.
          So were the hopeless troubles, that involved
          The soul of Dion, instantly dissolved.
          Released from life and cares of princely state,
          He left this moral grafted on his Fate;
          "Him only pleasure leads, and peace attends,
          Him, only him, the shield of Jove defends,
          Whose means are fair and spotless as his ends."
                                                              1814.

MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN SCOTLAND 1814
I. SUGGESTED BY A BEAUTIFUL RUIN UPON ONE OF THE ISLANDS OF LOCH LOMOND, A PLACE CHOSEN FOR THE RETREAT OF A SOLITARY INDIVIDUAL, FROM WHOM THIS HABITATION ACQUIRED THE NAME OF
THE BROWNIE'S CELL

                                   I

          To barren heath, bleak moor, and quaking fen,
          Or depth of labyrinthine glen;
          Or into trackless forest set
          With trees, whose lofty umbrage met;
          World-wearied Men withdrew of yore;
          (Penance their trust, and prayer their store;)
          And in the wilderness were bound
          To such apartments as they found,
          Or with a new ambition raised;
          That God might suitably be praised.

                                   II

          High lodged the 'Warrior', like a bird of prey;
          Or where broad waters round him lay:
          But this wild Ruin is no ghost
          Of his devices--buried, lost!
          Within this little lonely isle
          There stood a consecrated Pile;
          Where tapers burned, and mass was sung,
          For them whose timid Spirits clung
          To mortal succour, though the tomb
          Had fixed, for ever fixed, their doom!

                                  III

          Upon those servants of another world
          When madding Power her bolts had hurled,
          Their habitation shook;--it fell,
          And perished, save one narrow cell;
          Whither, at length, a Wretch retired
          Who neither grovelled nor aspired:
          He, struggling in the net of pride,
          The future scorned, the past defied;
          Still tempering, from the unguilty forge
          Of vain conceit, an iron scourge!

                                   IV

          Proud Remnant was he of a fearless Race,
          Who stood and flourished face to face
          With their perennial hills;--but Crime,
          Hastening the stern decrees of Time,
          Brought low a Power, which from its home
          Burst, when repose grew wearisome;
          And, taking impulse from the sword,
          And, mocking its own plighted word,
          Had found, in ravage widely dealt,
          Its warfare's bourn, its travel's belt!

                                   V

          All, all were dispossessed, save him whose smile
          Shot lightning through this lonely Isle!
          No right had he but what he made
          To this small spot, his leafy shade;
          But the ground lay within that ring
          To which he only dared to cling;
          Renouncing here, as worse than dead,
          The craven few who bowed the head
          Beneath the change; who heard a claim
          How loud! yet lived in peace with shame.

                                   VI

          From year to year this shaggy Mortal went
          (So seemed it) down a strange descent:
          Till they, who saw his outward frame,
          Fixed on him an unhallowed name;
          Him, free from all malicious taint,
          And guiding, like the Patmos Saint,
          A pen unwearied--to indite,
          In his lone Isle, the dreams of night;
          Impassioned dreams, that strove to span
          The faded glories of his Clan!

                                  VII

          Suns that through blood their western harbour sought,
          And stars that in their courses fought;
          Towers rent, winds combating with woods,
          Lands deluged by unbridled floods;
          And beast and bird that from the spell
          Of sleep took import terrible;--
          These types mysterious (if the show
          Of battle and the routed foe
          Had failed) would furnish an array
          Of matter for the dawning day!

                                  VIII

          How disappeared He?--ask the newt and toad,
          Inheritors of his abode;
          The otter crouching undisturbed,
          In her dank cleft;--but be thou curbed,
          O froward Fancy! 'mid a scene
          Of aspect winning and serene;
          For those offensive creatures shun
          The inquisition of the sun!
          And in this region flowers delight,
          And all is lovely to the sight.

                                   IX

          Spring finds not here a melancholy breast,
          When she applies her annual test
          To dead and living; when her breath
          Quickens, as now, the withered heath;--
          Nor flaunting Summer--when he throws
          His soul into the briar-rose;
          Or calls the lily from her sleep
          Prolonged beneath the bordering deep;
          Nor Autumn, when the viewless wren
          Is warbling near the BROWNIE'S Den.

                                   X

          Wild Relique! beauteous as the chosen spot
          In Nysa's isle, the embellished grot;
          Whither, by care of Libyan Jove,
          (High Servant of paternal Love)
          Young Bacchus was conveyed--to lie
          Safe from his step-dame Rhea's eye;
          Where bud, and bloom, and fruitage, glowed,
          Close-crowding round the infant-god;
          All colours,--and the liveliest streak
          A foil to his celestial cheek!

MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN SCOTLAND 1814
II. COMPOSED AT CORA LINN,
IN SIGHT OF WALLACE'S TOWER

            "--How Wallace fought for Scotland, left the name
             Of Wallace to be found, like a wild flower,
             All over his dear Country; left the deeds
             Of Wallace, like a family of ghosts,
             To people the steep rocks and river banks,
             Her natural sanctuaries, with a local soul
             Of independence and stern liberty."
                                      --See The Prelude, Book I, 214-20.

          LORD of the vale! astounding Flood;
          The dullest leaf in this thick wood
          Quakes--conscious of thy power;
          The caves reply with hollow moan;
          And vibrates, to its central stone,
          Yon time-cemented Tower!

          And yet how fair the rural scene!
          For thou, O Clyde, hast ever been
          Beneficent as strong;
          Pleased in refreshing dews to steep                         10
          The little trembling flowers that peep
          Thy shelving rocks among.

          Hence all who love their country, love
          To look on thee--delight to rove
          Where they thy voice can hear;
          And, to the patriot-warrior's Shade,
          Lord of the vale! to Heroes laid
          In dust, that voice is dear!

          Along thy banks, at dead of night
          Sweeps visibly the Wallace Wight;                           20
          Or stands, in warlike vest,
          Aloft, beneath the moon's pale beam,
          A Champion worthy of the stream,
          Yon grey tower's living crest!

          But clouds and envious darkness hide
          A Form not doubtfully descried:--
          Their transient mission o'er,
          O say to what blind region flee
          These Shapes of awful phantasy?
          To what untrodden shore?                                    30

          Less than divine command they spurn;
          But this we from the mountains learn,
          And this the valleys show;
          That never will they deign to hold
          Communion where the heart is cold
          To human weal and woe.

          The man of abject soul in vain
          Shall walk the Marathonian plain;
          Or thrid the shadowy gloom,
          That still invests the guardian Pass,                       40
          Where stood, sublime, Leonidas
          Devoted to the tomb.

          And let no Slave his head incline,
          Or kneel, before the votive shrine
          By Uri's lake, where Tell
          Leapt, from his storm-vext boat, to land,
          Heaven's Instrument, for by his hand
          That day the Tyrant fell.

MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN SCOTLAND 1814
III. EFFUSION
IN THE PLEASURE-GROUND ON THE BANKS OF THE BRAN, NEAR DUNKELD

          WHAT He--who, 'mid the kindred throng
          Of Heroes that inspired his song,
          Doth yet frequent the hill of storms,
          The stars dim-twinkling through their forms!
          What! Ossian here--a painted Thrall,
          Mute fixture on a stuccoed wall;
          To serve--an unsuspected screen
          For show that must not yet be seen;
          And, when the moment comes, to part
          And vanish by mysterious art;                               10
          Head, harp, and body, split asunder,
          For ingress to a world of wonder;
          A gay saloon, with waters dancing
          Upon the sight wherever glancing;
          One loud cascade in front, and lo!
          A thousand like it, white as snow--
          Streams on the walls, and torrent-foam
          As active round the hollow dome,
          Illusive cataracts! of their terrors
          Not stripped, nor voiceless in the mirrors,                 20
          That catch the pageant from the flood
          Thundering adown a rocky wood.
          What pains to dazzle and confound!
          What strife of colour, shape and sound
          In this quaint medley, that might seem
          Devised out of a sick man's dream!
          Strange scene, fantastic and uneasy
          As ever made a maniac dizzy,
          When disenchanted from the mood
          That loves on sullen thoughts to brood!                     30
            O Nature--in thy changeful visions,
          Through all thy most abrupt transitions
          Smooth, graceful, tender, or sublime--
          Ever averse to pantomime,
          Thee neither do they know nor us
          Thy servants, who can trifle thus;
          Else verily the sober powers
          Of rock that frowns, and stream that roars,
          Exalted by congenial sway
          Of Spirits, and the undying Lay,                            40
          And Names that moulder not away,
          Had wakened some redeeming thought
          More worthy of this favoured Spot;
          Recalled some feeling--to set free
          The Bard from such indignity!
            The Effigies of a valiant Wight
          I once beheld, a Templar Knight;
          Not prostrate, not like those that rest
          On tombs, with palms together prest,
          But sculptured out of living stone,                         50
          And standing upright and alone,
          Both hands with rival energy
          Employed in setting his sword free
          From its dull sheath--stern sentinel
          Intent to guard St. Robert's cell;
          As if with memory of the affray
          Far distant, when, as legends say,
          The Monks of Fountain's thronged to force
          From its dear home the Hermit's corse,
          That in their keeping it might lie,                         60
          To crown their abbey's sanctity.
          So had they rushed into the grot
          Of sense despised, a world forgot,
          And torn him from his loved retreat,
          Where altar-stone and rock-hewn seat
          Still hint that quiet best is found,
          Even by the 'Living', under ground;
          But a bold Knight, the selfish aim
          Defeating, put the monks to shame,
          There where you see his Image stand                         70
          Bare to the sky, with threatening brand
          Which lingering NID is proud to show
          Reflected in the pool below.
            Thus, like the men of earliest days,
          Our sires set forth their grateful praise:
          Uncouth the workmanship, and rude!
          But, nursed in mountain solitude,
          Might some aspiring artist dare
          To seize whate'er, through misty air,
          A ghost, by glimpses, may present                           80
          Of imitable lineament,
          And give the phantom an array
          That less should scorn the abandoned clay;
          Then let him hew with patient stroke
          An Ossian out of mural rock,
          And leave the figurative Man--
          Upon thy margin, roaring Bran!--
          Fixed, like the Templar of the steep,
          An everlasting watch to keep;
          With local sanctities in trust,                             90
          More precious than a hermit's dust;
          And virtues through the mass infused,
          Which old idolatry abused.
            What though the Granite would deny
          All fervour to the sightless eye;
          And touch from rising suns in vain
          Solicit a Memnonian strain;
          Yet, in some fit of anger sharp,
          The wind might force the deep-grooved harp
          To utter melancholy moans                                  100
          Not unconnected with the tones
          Of soul-sick flesh and weary bones;
          While grove and river notes would lend,
          Less deeply sad, with these to blend!
            Vain pleasures of luxurious life,
          For ever with yourselves at strife;
          Through town and country both deranged
          By affectations interchanged,
          And all the perishable gauds
          That heaven-deserted man applauds;                         110
          When will your hapless patrons learn
          To watch and ponder--to discern
          The freshness, the everlasting youth,
          Of admiration sprung from truth;
          From beauty infinitely growing
          Upon a mind with love o'erflowing--
          To sound the depths of every Art
          That seeks its wisdom through the heart?
            Thus (where the intrusive Pile, ill-graced
          With baubles of theatric taste,                            120
          O'erlooks the torrent breathing showers
          On motley bands of alien flowers
          In stiff confusion set or sown,
          Till Nature cannot find her own,
          Or keep a remnant of the sod
          Which Caledonian Heroes trod)
          I mused; and, thirsting for redress,
          Recoiled into the wilderness.

MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN SCOTLAND 1814
IV. YARROW VISITED
SEPTEMBER 1814


(See "Yarrow Unvisited.")

          AND is this--Yarrow?--'This' the Stream
          Of which my fancy cherished,
          So faithfully, a waking dream?
          An image that hath perished!
          O that some Minstrel's harp were near,
          To utter notes of gladness,
          And chase this silence from the air,
          That fills my heart with sadness!

          Yet why?--a silvery current flows
          With uncontrolled meanderings;                              10
          Nor have these eyes by greener hills
          Been soothed, in all my wanderings.
          And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake
          Is visibly delighted;
          For not a feature of those hills
          Is in the mirror slighted.

          A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow vale,
          Save where that pearly whiteness
          Is round the rising sun diffused,
          A tender hazy brightness;                                   20
          Mild dawn of promise! that excludes
          All profitless dejection;
          Though not unwilling here to admit
          A pensive recollection.

          Where was it that the famous Flower
          Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding?
          His bed perchance was yon smooth mound
          On which the herd is feeding:
          And haply from this crystal pool,
          Now peaceful as the morning,                                30
          The Water-wraith ascended thrice--
          And gave his doleful warning.

          Delicious is the Lay that sings
          The haunts of happy Lovers,
          The path that leads them to the grove,
          The leafy grove that covers:
          And Pity sanctifies the Verse
          That paints, by strength of sorrow,
          The unconquerable strength of love;
          Bear witness, rueful Yarrow!                                40

          But thou, that didst appear so fair
          To fond imagination,
          Dost rival in the light of day
          Her delicate creation:
          Meek loveliness is round thee spread,
          A softness still and holy;
          The grace of forest charms decayed,
          And pastoral melancholy.

          That region left, the vale unfolds
          Rich groves of lofty stature,                               50
          With Yarrow winding through the pomp
          Of cultivated nature;
          And, rising from those lofty groves,
          Behold a Ruin hoary!
          The shattered front of Newark's Towers,
          Renowned in Border story.

          Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom,
          For sportive youth to stray in;
          For manhood to enjoy his strength;
          And age to wear away in!                                    60
          Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss,
          A covert for protection
          Of tender thoughts, that nestle there--
          The brood of chaste affection.

          How sweet, on this autumnal day,
          The wild-wood fruits to gather,
          And on my True-love's forehead plant
          A crest of blooming heather!
          And what if I enwreathed my own!
          'Twere no offence to reason;                                70
          The sober Hills thus deck their brows
          To meet the wintry season.

          I see--but not by sight alone,
          Loved Yarrow, have I won thee;
          A ray of fancy still survives--
          Her sunshine plays upon thee!
          Thy ever-youthful waters keep
          A course of lively pleasure;
          And gladsome notes my lips can breathe,
          Accordant to the measure.                                   80

          The vapours linger round the Heights,
          They melt, and soon must vanish;
          One hour is theirs, nor more is mine--
          Sad thought, which I would banish,
          But that I know, where'er I go,
          Thy genuine image, Yarrow!
          Will dwell with me--to heighten joy,
          And cheer my mind in sorrow.

"FROM THE DARK CHAMBERS OF DEJECTION FREED"

          FROM the dark chambers of dejection freed,
          Spurning the unprofitable yoke of care,
          Rise, GILLIES, rise; the gales of youth shall bear
          Thy genius forward like a winged steed.
          Though bold Bellerophon (so Jove decreed
          In wrath) fell headlong from the fields of air,
          Yet a rich guerdon waits on minds that dare,
          If aught be in them of immortal seed,
          And reason govern that audacious flight
          Which heavenward they direct.--Then droop not thou,         10
          Erroneously renewing a sad vow
          In the low dell 'mid Roslin's faded grove:
          A cheerful life is what the Muses love,
          A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
                                                              1814.

LINES
WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF IN A COPY OF THE AUTHOR'S POEM "THE EXCURSION," UPON HEARING OF THE DEATH OF THE LATE VICAR OF KENDAL.

          TO public notice, with reluctance strong,
          Did I deliver this unfinished Song;
          Yet for one happy issue;--and I look
          With self-congratulation on the Book
          Which pious, learned, MURFITT saw and read;--
          Upon my thoughts his saintly Spirit fed;
          He conned the new-born Lay with grateful heart--
          Foreboding not how soon he must depart;
          Unweeting that to him the joy was given
          Which good men take with them from earth to heaven.         10
                                                              1814.

TO B. R. HAYDON

          HIGH is our calling, Friend!--Creative Art
          (Whether the instrument of words she use,
          Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues,)
          Demands the service of a mind and heart,
          Though sensitive, yet, in their weakest part,
          Heroically fashioned--to infuse
          Faith in the whispers of the lonely Muse,
          While the whole world seems adverse to desert.
          And, oh! when Nature sinks, as oft she may,
          Through long-lived pressure of obscure distress,            10
          Still to be strenuous for the bright reward,
          And in the soul admit of no decay,
          Brook no continuance of weak-mindedness--
          Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
                                                              1815.