Chapter X: Part 10

Upon the pathway, of her mournful tread;
Nor of that pace with which she once had moved
In virgin fearlessness, a step that seemed 1814.
]

[Footnote 598: 1827.

... wet ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 599: 1827.

When first the Hunter's startling horn is heard
Upon the golden hills. A spreading Elm
Stands in our Valley, called THE JOYFUL TREE:
An Elm distinguished by that festive name, 1814.
]

[Footnote 600: 1836.

It was the season sweet, of budding leaves,
Of days advancing tow'rds their utmost length,
And small birds singing to their happy mates.
Wild is the music of the autumnal wind
Among the faded woods; but these blithe notes 1814.

Of days advancing toward ... 1832.
]

[Footnote 601: 1827.

... of summer days,
And their long twilight!--friendly to that stealth
With which she slipped into the Cottage-barn,
And found a secret oratory there;
Or, in the garden, pored upon her book 1814.
]

[Footnote 602: 1845.

... of open sky,
Till the dark night ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 603: 1814.

... kindled ... C.
]

[Footnote 604: 1845.

She looked ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 605: 1827.

Far sweeter than bewildered Traveller feels
Upon a perilous waste, where all night long
Through darkness he hath toiled and fearful storm, 1814.
]

[Footnote 606: 1845.

... and, henceforth, I look
Upon the light with cheerfulness, for thee 1814.
]

[Footnote 607: 1836.

The sweet affection.... 1814.
]

[Footnote 608: 1845.

And with contented spirit undertook 1814.
]

[Footnote 609: 1814.

... thoughts MS.
]

[Footnote 610: 1827.

... doomed to feel.
In selfish blindness, for I will not say
In naked and deliberate cruelty, 1814.
]

[Footnote 611: 1827.

... with her own.
They argued that such meeting would disturb
The Mother's mind, distract her thoughts, and thus
Unfit her for her duty--in which dread,
Week after week, the mandate was enforced. 1814.
]

[Footnote 612: 1836.

And whatsoe'er the errand, urged her steps:
Hither she came; and here she stood, or knelt 1814.

... here stood, and sometimes knelt 1832.
]

[Footnote 613: 1827.

... raised, 1814.
]

[Footnote 614: 1845.

--The bodily frame was wasted day by day; 1814.
]

[Footnote 615: 1827.

... these ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 616: 1845.

Beneath ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 617: 1827.

... in which she dwelt. 1814.
]

[Footnote 618: 1836.

... although ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 619:

And its ... MS.
]

[Footnote 620: 1827.

There doth he lie.--In this his native Vale
He owned and tilled a little plot of land;
Here, with his Consort and his Children, saw
Days--that were seldom crossed by petty strife,
Years--safe from large misfortune; and maintained
That course which minds, of insight not too keen,
Might look on with entire complacency.
Yet, in himself and near him, there were faults
At work to undermine his happy state
By sure, though tardy progress. Active, prompt,
And lively was the Housewife; in the Vale
None more industrious; but her industry
Ill-judged, full oft, and specious, tended more
To splendid neatness; to a shewy, trim,
And overlaboured purity of house;
Than to substantial thrift. He, on his part,
Generous and easy-minded, was not free
From carelessness; and thus, in lapse of time,
These joint infirmities induced decay
Of worldly substance; and distress of mind,
That to a thoughtful Man was hard to shun,
And which he could not cure. A blooming Girl
Served in the house, a Favourite that had grown
Beneath his eye, encouraged by his care.
Poor now in tranquil pleasure he gave way
To thoughts of troubled pleasure; he became
A lawless Suitor to the Maid; and she
Yielded unworthily.--Unhappy Man! 1814.
]

[Footnote 621: 1827.

Which, ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 622: 1827

... which ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 623: 1827.

... the scatterings ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 624: 1845.

... from the sight
Of the Bees murmuring round their sheltered hives
In that Enclosure; while the mountain rill, 1814.
]

[Footnote 625: 1827.

Flows on in solitude from year to year.
--But at the closing-in of night, then most
This Dwelling charms me. Covered by the gloom,
Then, in my walks, I oftentimes stop short, 1814.
]

[Footnote 626: 1832.

The Wife, who rests beneath that turf, from which 1814.
]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote HA: Note Wordsworth's love for the Established Church of England, and compare the Ecclesiastical Sonnets.--ED.]

[Footnote HB: See Wordsworth's note, p. 389.--ED.]

[Footnote HC: Was he thinking of Cranmer?--ED.]

[Footnote HD: "His story is here truly related. He was a schoolfellow of mine for some years. He came to us when he was at least seventeen years of age, very tall, robust, and full grown. This prevented him from falling into the amusements and games of the school; consequently, he gave more time to books. He was not remarkably bright or quick, but, by industry, he made a progress more than respectable. His parents not being wealthy enough to send him to college when he left Hawkshead, he became a schoolmaster, with a view to prepare himself for holy orders. About this time he fell in love, as related in the poem, and everything followed as there described, except that I do not know exactly when and where he died."--I. F.]

[Footnote HE: Compare, in Keble's _Christian Year_, "Forms of Prayer to be used at Sea."

Far, far away, the home-sick seaman's hoard,
Thy fragrant tokens live,
Like flower-leaves in a precious volume stored,
To solace and relieve, etc. ED.
]

[Footnote HF: "The Miner, described as having found his treasure after twice ten years of labour, lived in Paterdale, and the story is true to the letter. It seems to me, however, rather remarkable, that the strength of mind which had supported him through his long unrewarded labour, did not enable him to bear its successful issue."--I.F.]

[Footnote HG: See _Paradise Lost_, book v. l. 899.--ED.]

[Footnote HH: See _Comus_, I. 244.--ED.]

[Footnote HI: "The next character, to whom the priest is led by contrast with the resoluteness displayed by the foregoing, is taken from a person born and bred in Grasmere, by name Dawson; and whose talents, dispositions, and way of life, were such as are here delineated. I did not know him, but all was fresh in memory when we settled at Grasmere in the beginning of the century."--I. F.]

[Footnote HJ: Hawkshead. The series of small valleys from Dunmail Raise to Esthwaite is described as one "far-winding vale."--ED.]

[Footnote HK: "Two individuals, who, by their several fortunes, were, at different times, driven to take refuge at the small and obscure town of Hawkshead on the skirt of these mountains. Their stories I had from the dear old dame with whom, as a schoolboy, and afterwards, I lodged for nearly the space of ten years. The elder, the Jacobite, was named Drummond, and was of a high family in Scotland."--I. F.]

[Footnote HL: "The Hanoverian Whig bore the name of Vandeput [Sir George Vandeput], and might, perhaps, be a descendant of some Dutchman who had come over in the train of King William."--I.F.]

[Footnote HM: Of this "dial," as of the "decorated pillar," there is no trace in Grasmere churchyard, and no tradition exists of either. There is, however, a pillar in Bowness churchyard in which a dial used to stand, and Wordsworth may have blended his descriptions of Grasmere with his remembrances of Bowness.--ED.]

[Footnote HN: See the note on the previous page.]

[Footnote HO: This may be an allusion to Wray Ghyll Force, which descends between Silver How and Easdale. No other white torrent falling down rocks is visible from the Grasmere churchyard. This one is distinctly seen, when looking towards Silver How to the west.--ED.]

[Footnote HP: Compare "How many people there are that weep with want, and are mad with oppression, or are desperate by too quick a sense of a constant infelicity."--Jeremy Taylor's _Rule and Exercises of Holy Dying_, i. 5, 2.--ED.]

[Footnote HQ: Prometheus, son of the Titan Iapetus, outwitted Jupiter, stealing fire from heaven, etc. Jupiter, in revenge, caused Vulcan to chain him to a rock in the Caucasus, where an eagle or vulture preyed on his liver daily. See Æsch. _Prometheus_. Compare, "Prometheus tied to Caucasus," _Titus Andronicus_, act II. scene i.--ED.]

[Footnote HR: Tantalus, son of Jupiter, punished for disclosing his father's secrets, by being placed after death up to the chin in the waters of a lake, which withdrew whenever he attempted to drink, while boughs laden with fruit hung above his head, and were tossed from him by the wind whenever he tried to grasp them.--ED.]

[Footnote HS: "The dark sorrows of the line of Thebes" descended for three generations; from Lais and Iocaste to Œdipus; thence to Eteocles, Polynices, Antigone, and Ismene.

Compare Milton's lines in _Il Penseroso_, ll. 97-100--

Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptred pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the tale of Troy divine. ED.
]

[Footnote HT: Grasmere churchyard was, in Wordsworth's time,

almost wholly free
From interruption of sepulchral stones.

Compare the Fenwick note to the _Epistle to Sir George Beaumont_ (vol. iv. p. 258). Dr. Cradock wrote in 1878--"I cannot count more than two or three gravestones of earlier date than 1800. Most of the others are of a much more recent date."--ED.]

[Footnote HU: Was he thinking of such a spectacle as the churchyard at Crosthwaite, Keswick, now presents?--ED.]

[Footnote HV: "This person lived at Town-end, and was almost our next neighbour.... She was a most striking instance how far a woman may surpass in talent, in knowledge, and culture of mind, those with and among whom she lives, and yet fall below them in Christian virtues of the heart and spirit."--I.F.]

[Footnote HW: As is notably the case with the beck in Tongue Ghyll.--ED.]

[Footnote HX: This "long stone seat" (now a thing of the past) was fixed to the wall on the left of the south entrance-gate into the churchyard; and not--as might have been supposed--on the opposite wall, which reaches from the entrance-gate to the poet's grave. The old wall was rebuilt by the late rector, but the seat was not replaced.--ED.]

[Footnote HY: "The story was told to Mrs. Wordsworth and my sister, by the sister of this unhappy young woman. Every particular was exactly as I have related.... She lived at Hawkshead."--I. F. See the whole of the Fenwick note, also Charles Lamb's remarks, in his letter of Aug. 14, 1814.--ED.]

[Footnote HZ: Compare the Hon. Justice Coleridge's "Reminiscences" of a walk and conversation with Wordsworth (October 1836) in Easdale, where--at the pool, which many have identified as "Emma's Dell"--he said, "I have often thought what a solemn thing it would be could we have brought to our mind at once all the scenes of distress and misery which any spot, however beautiful and calm before us, has been witness to since the beginning." (See vol. ii. p. 156.)--ED.]

[Footnote IA: Compare _Hamlet_, act III. scene i. l. 72--

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay. ED.
]

[Footnote IB: This custom still survives in the country; sons working as servants on ground belonging to their parents, and receiving payment for it.--ED.]

Book Seventh

THE CHURCH-YARD AMONG THE MOUNTAINS--_Continued_

ARGUMENT

_Impression of these Narratives upon the Author's mind--Pastor invited to give account of certain Graves that lie apart--Clergyman and his Family--Fortunate influence of change of situation--Activity in extreme old age--Another Clergyman, a character of resolute Virtue--Lamentations over mis-directed applause--Instance of less exalted excellence in a deaf man--Elevated character of a blind man--Reflection upon Blindness--Interrupted by a Peasant who passes--his animal cheerfulness and careless vivacity--He occasions a digression on the fall of beautiful and interesting Trees--A female Infant's Grave--Joy at her Birth--Sorrow at her Departure--A youthful Peasant--his patriotic enthusiasm and distinguished qualities--his[627] untimely death--Exultation of the Wanderer, as a patriot, in this Picture--Solitary how affected--Monument of a Knight--Traditions concerning him--Peroration of the Wanderer on the transitoriness of things and the revolutions of society--Hints at his own past Calling--Thanks the Pastor._

While thus from theme to theme the Historian passed,
The words he uttered, and the scene that lay
Before our eyes, awakened in my mind
Vivid remembrance of those long-past hours;
When, in the hollow of some shadowy vale, 5
(What time the splendour of the setting sun
Lay beautiful on Snowdon's sovereign brow,[628]
On Cader Idris, or huge Penmanmaur)
A wandering Youth, I listened with delight
To pastoral melody or warlike air,[IC] 10
Drawn from the chords of the ancient British harp
By some accomplished Master, while he sate
Amid the quiet of the green recess,
And there did inexhaustibly dispense
An interchange of soft or solemn tunes, 15
Tender or blithe; now, as the varying mood
Of his own spirit urged,--now, as a voice
From youth or maiden, or some honoured chief
Of his compatriot villagers (that hung
Around him, drinking in the impassioned notes 20
Of the time-hallowed minstrelsy) required
For their heart's ease or pleasure. Strains of power
Were they, to seize and occupy the sense;
But to a higher mark than song can reach
Rose this pure eloquence. And, when the stream 25
Which overflowed the soul was passed away,
A consciousness remained that it had left,
Deposited upon the silent shore
Of memory, images and precious thoughts,
That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed. 30

"These grassy heaps lie amicably close,"
Said I, "like surges heaving in the wind
Along[629] the surface of a mountain pool:
Whence comes it, then, that yonder we behold
Five graves, and only five, that rise together 35
Unsociably sequestered, and encroaching[630]
On the smooth play-ground of the village-school?"[ID]

The Vicar answered,--"No disdainful pride
In them who rest beneath, nor any course
Of strange or tragic accident, hath helped 40
To place those hillocks in that lonely guise.
--Once more look forth, and follow with your sight
The length of road that[631] from yon mountain's base
Through bare enclosures stretches, 'till its line
Is lost within[632] a little tuft of trees;[IE] 45
Then, reappearing in a moment, quits
The cultured fields; and up the heathy waste,
Mounts, as you see, in mazes serpentine,
Led towards[633] an easy outlet of the vale.[IF]
That little shady spot, that sylvan tuft, 50
By which the road is hidden, also hides
A cottage from our view; though I discern
(Ye scarcely can) amid its sheltering trees
The smokeless chimney-top.--

"All unembowered
And naked stood that lowly Parsonage 55
(For such in truth it is, and appertains
To a small Chapel in the vale beyond)
When hither came its last Inhabitant.[IG]
Rough and forbidding were the choicest roads
By which our northern wilds could then be crossed; 60
And into most of these secluded vales[634]
Was no access for wain, heavy or light.
So, at his dwelling-place the Priest arrived
With store of household goods, in panniers slung
On sturdy horses graced with jingling bells, 65
And on the back of more ignoble beast;
That, with like burthen of effects most prized
Or easiest carried, closed the motley train.
Young was I then, a school-boy of eight years;
But still, methinks, I see them as they passed 70
In order, drawing toward[635] their wished-for home.
--Rocked by the motion of a trusty ass
Two ruddy children hung, a well-poised freight,
Each in his basket nodding drowsily;
Their bonnets, I remember, wreathed with flowers, 75
Which told it was[636] the pleasant month of June;
And, close behind, the comely Matron rode,
A woman of soft speech and gracious smile,
And with a lady's mien.--From far they came,
Even from Northumbrian hills; yet theirs had been 80
A merry journey, rich in pastime, cheered
By music, prank, and laughter-stirring jest;
And freak put on, and arch word dropped--to swell
The cloud of fancy and uncouth surmise
That gathered round the slowly-moving train. 85
--'Whence do they come? and with what errand charged?
'Belong they to the fortune-telling tribe
'Who pitch their tents under the green-wood tree?
'Or Strollers are they,[637] furnished to enact
'Fair Rosamond,[IH] and the Children of the Wood,[II] 90
'And, by that whiskered tabby's aid, set forth
'The lucky venture of sage Whittington,[IJ]
'When the next village hears the show announced
'By blast of trumpet?' Plenteous was the growth
Of such conjectures, overheard, or seen 95
On many a staring countenance portrayed
Of boor or burgher, as they marched along.
And more than once their steadiness of face
Was put to proof, and exercise supplied
To their inventive humour, by stern looks, 100
And questions in authoritative tone,
From some staid guardian of the public peace,
Checking the sober steed on which he rode,
In his suspicious wisdom; oftener still,
By notice indirect, or blunt demand 105
From traveller halting in his own despite,
A simple curiosity to ease:
Of which adventures, that beguiled and cheered
Their grave migration, the good pair would tell,
With undiminished glee, in hoary age. 110

"A Priest he was by function; but his course
From his youth up, and high as manhood's noon,
(The hour of life to which he then was brought)
Had been irregular, I might say, wild;
By books unsteadied, by his pastoral care 115
Too little checked. An active, ardent mind;
A fancy pregnant with resource and scheme
To cheat the sadness of a rainy day;
Hands apt for all ingenious arts and games;
A generous spirit, and a body strong 120
To cope with stoutest champions of the bowl;
Had earned for him sure welcome, and the rights
Of a prized visitant, in the jolly hall
Of country 'squire; or at the statelier board
Of duke or earl, from scenes of courtly pomp 125
Withdrawn,--to while away the summer hours
In condescension among rural guests.

"With these high comrades he had revelled long,
Frolicked industriously, a simple Clerk
By hopes of coming patronage beguiled 130
Till the heart sickened. So, each loftier aim
Abandoning and all his showy friends,[638]
For a life's stay (slender it was, but sure)
He turned to this secluded chapelry;
That[639] had been offered to his doubtful choice 135
By an unthought-of patron. Bleak and bare
They found the cottage, their allotted home;
Naked without, and rude within; a spot
With which the Cure not long had been endowed:
And far remote the chapel stood,[IK]--remote, 140
And, from his Dwelling, unapproachable,
Save through a gap high in the hills, an opening
Shadeless and shelterless, by driving showers
Frequented, and beset with howling winds.[640]
Yet cause was none, whate'er regret might hang 145
On his own mind, to quarrel with the choice
Or the necessity that fixed him here;
Apart from old temptations, and constrained
To punctual labour in his sacred charge.
See him a constant preacher to the poor! 150
And visiting, though not with saintly zeal,
Yet, when need was, with no reluctant will,
The sick in body, or distrest in mind;
And, by as salutary change, compelled
To rise[641] from timely sleep, and meet the day 155
With no engagement, in his thoughts, more proud
Or splendid than his garden could afford,
His fields, or mountains by the heath-cock ranged,
Or the[642] wild brooks; from which he now returned
Contented to partake the quiet meal 160
Of his own board,[643] where sat his gentle Mate
And three fair Children, plentifully fed
Though simply, from their little household farm;
Nor wanted timely treat[644] of fish or fowl
By nature yielded to his practised hand;-- 165
To help the small but certain comings-in
Of that spare benefice. Yet not the less
Theirs was a hospitable board, and theirs
A charitable door.
"So days and years
Passed on;--the inside of that rugged house 170
Was trimmed and brightened by the Matron's care,
And gradually enriched with things of price,
Which might be lacked for use or ornament.
What, though no soft and costly sofa there
Insidiously stretched out its lazy length, 175
And no vain mirror glittered upon[645] the walls,
Yet were the windows of the low abode
By shutters weather-fended, which[646] at once
Repelled the storm and deadened its loud roar.
There snow-white curtains hung in decent folds; 180
Tough moss, and long-enduring mountain plants,
That creep along the ground with sinuous trail,
Were nicely braided; and composed a work
Like Indian mats, that with appropriate grace
Lay at the threshold and the inner doors; 185
And a fair carpet, woven of homespun wool
But tinctured daintily with florid hues,
For seemliness and warmth, on festal[647] days,
Covered the smooth blue slabs of mountain-stone
With which the parlour-floor, in simplest guise 190
Of pastoral homesteads, had been long inlaid.[IL]

"Those[648] pleasing works the Housewife's skill produced:
Meanwhile the unsedentary Master's hand
Was busier with his task--to rid, to plant,
To rear for food, for shelter, and delight; 195
A thriving covert! And when wishes, formed
In youth, and sanctioned by the riper mind,
Restored me to my native valley, here
To end my days; well pleased was I to see
The once-bare cottage, on the mountain-side, 200
Screen'd from assault of every bitter blast;
While the dark shadows of the summer leaves
Danced in the breeze, chequering its mossy roof.[649]
Time, which had thus afforded willing help
To beautify with nature's fairest growths[650] 205
This rustic tenement, had gently shed,
Upon its Master's frame, a wintry grace;
The comeliness of unenfeebled age.

"But how could I say, gently? for he still
Retained a flashing eye, a burning palm, 210
A stirring foot, a[651] head which beat at nights
Upon its pillow with a thousand schemes.
Few likings had he dropped, few pleasures lost;
Generous and charitable, prompt to serve;
And still his harsher passions kept their hold-- 215
Anger and indignation. Still he loved
The sound of titled names, and talked in glee
Of long-past banquetings with high-born friends:
Then, from those lulling fits of vain delight
Uproused by recollected injury, railed 220
At their false ways disdainfully,--and oft
In bitterness, and with a threatening eye
Of fire, incensed beneath its hoary brow.
--Those[652] transports, with staid looks of pure good-will,
And with soft smile, his consort would reprove. 225
She, far behind him in the race of years,
Yet keeping her first mildness, was advanced
Far nearer, in the habit of her soul,
To that still region whither all are bound.
Him might we liken to the setting sun 230
As seen not seldom[653] on some gusty day,
Struggling and bold, and shining from the west
With an inconstant and unmellowed light;
She was a soft attendant cloud, that hung
As if with wish to veil the restless orb; 235
From which it did itself imbibe a ray
Of pleasing lustre.--But no more of this;
I better love to sprinkle on the sod
That[654] now divides the pair, or rather say,
That[655] still unites them, praises, like heaven's dew, 240
Without reserve descending[656] upon both.

[657]"Our very first in eminence of years
This old Man stood, the patriarch of the Vale!
And, to his unmolested mansion, death
Had never come, through space of forty years; 245
Sparing both old and young in that abode.
Suddenly then they disappeared: not twice
Had summer scorched the fields; not twice had fallen,
On those high peaks, the first autumnal snow,
Before the greedy visiting was closed, 250
And the long-privileged house left empty--swept
As by a plague.[IM] Yet no rapacious plague
Had been among them; all was gentle death,
One after one, with intervals of peace.
A happy consummation! an accord 255
Sweet, perfect, to be wished for! save that here
Was something which to mortal sense might sound
Like harshness,--that the old grey-headed Sire,
The oldest, he was taken last, survived
When the meek Partner of his age, his Son, 260
His Daughter, and that late and high-prized gift,
His little smiling Grandchild, were no more.

"'All gone, all vanished! he deprived and bare,
'How will he face the remnant of his life?
'What will become of him?' we said, and mused 265
In sad conjectures--'Shall we meet him now
'Haunting with rod and line the craggy brooks?
'Or shall we overhear him, as we pass,
'Striving to entertain the lonely hours
'With music?' (for he had not ceased to touch 270
The harp or viol which himself had framed,
For their sweet purposes, with perfect skill.)
'What titles will he keep? will he remain
'Musician, gardener, builder, mechanist,
'A planter, and a rearer from the seed? 275
'A man of hope and forward-looking mind
'Even to the last!'--Such was he, unsubdued.
But Heaven was gracious; yet a little while,
And this Survivor, with his cheerful throng
Of open projects, and his[658] inward hoard 280
Of unsunned griefs, too many and too keen,
Was overcome by unexpected sleep,
In one blest moment. Like a shadow thrown
Softly and lightly from a passing cloud,
Death fell upon him, while reclined he lay 285
For noontide solace on the summer grass,
The warm lap of his mother earth:[IN] and so,
Their lenient term of separation past,
That family (whose graves you there behold)
By yet a higher privilege once more 290
Were gathered to each other."[IO]
Calm of mind
And silence waited on these closing words;
Until the Wanderer (whether moved by fear
Lest in those[659] passages of life were some
That might have touched the sick heart of his Friend
Too nearly, or intent to reinforce 296
His own firm spirit in degree deprest
By tender sorrow for our mortal state)
Thus silence broke:--"Behold a thoughtless Man
From vice and premature decay preserved 300
By useful habits, to a fitter soil
Transplanted ere too late.--The hermit, lodged
Amid[660] the untrodden desert, tells his beads,
With each repeating its allotted prayer
And thus divides and thus relieves the time; 305
Smooth task, with _his_[661] compared, whose mind could string,
Not scantily, bright minutes on the thread
Of keen domestic anguish; and beguile
A solitude, unchosen, unprofessed;
Till gentlest death released him.
"Far from us 310
Be the desire--too curiously to ask
How much of this is but the blind result
Of cordial spirits and vital temperament,
And what to higher powers is justly due.
But you, Sir, know that in a neighbouring vale[IP] 315
A Priest abides before whose life such doubts
Fall to the ground; whose gifts of nature lie
Retired from notice, lost in attributes
Of reason, honourably effaced by debts
Which her poor treasure-house is content to owe, 320
And conquests over her dominion gained,
To which her frowardness must needs submit.
In this one Man is shown a temperance--proof
Against all trials; industry severe
And constant as the motion of the day; 325
Stern self-denial round him spread, with shade
That might be deemed forbidding, did not there
All generous feelings flourish and rejoice;
Forbearance, charity in deed and thought,
And resolution competent to take 330
Out of the bosom of simplicity
All that her holy customs recommend,
And the best ages of the world prescribe.
--Preaching, administering, in every work
Of his sublime vocation, in the walks 335
Of worldly intercourse between[662] man and man,
And in his humble dwelling, he appears
A labourer, with moral virtue girt,
With spiritual graces, like a glory, crowned." 339

"Doubt can be none," the Pastor said, "for whom
This portraiture is sketched. The great, the good,
The well-beloved, the fortunate, the wise,--
These titles emperors and chiefs have borne,
Honour assumed or given: and him, the WONDERFUL,
Our simple shepherds, speaking from the heart, 345
Deservedly have styled.[IQ]--From his abode
In a dependent chapelry that lies
Behind yon hill, a poor and rugged wild,[IR]
Which in his soul he lovingly embraced,
And, having once espoused, would never quit; 350
Into its graveyard will ere long be borne
That lowly, great, good Man. A simple stone[663]
May cover him;[IS] and by its help, perchance,
A century shall hear his name pronounced,
With images attendant on the sound; 355
Then, shall the slowly-gathering twilight close
In utter night; and of his course remain
No cognizable vestiges, no more
Than of this breath, which shapes[664] itself in words
To speak of him, and instantly dissolves." 360

The Pastor pressed by thoughts which round his theme
Still linger'd, after a brief pause, resumed;
"Noise[665] is there not enough in doleful war,
But that the heaven-born poet must stand forth,
And lend the echoes of his sacred shell, 365
To multiply and aggravate the din?
Pangs are there not enough in hopeless love--
And, in requited passion, all too much
Of turbulence, anxiety, and fear--
But that the minstrel of the rural shade 370
Must tune his pipe, insidiously to nurse
The perturbation in the suffering breast,
And propagate its kind, far as he may?[666]
--Ah who (and with such rapture as befits
The hallowed theme) will rise and celebrate 375
The good man's purposes and deeds;[667] retrace
His struggles, his discomfitures[668] deplore,
His triumphs hail, and glorify his end;
That virtue, like the fumes and vapoury clouds
Through fancy's heat redounding in the brain, 380
And like the soft infections of the heart,
By charm of measured words may spread o'er field,
Hamlet, and town;[669] and piety survive
Upon the lips of men in hall or bower;
Not for reproof, but high and warm delight, 385
And grave encouragement, by song inspired?
--Vain thought! but wherefore murmur or repine?
The memory of the just survives in heaven:
And, without sorrow, will the[670] ground receive
That venerable clay. Meanwhile the best 390
Of what lies here[671] confines us to degrees
In excellence less difficult to reach,
And milder worth: nor need we travel far
From those to whom our last regards were paid,
For such example.
"Almost at the root 395
Of that tall pine, the shadow of whose bare
And slender stem, while here I sit at eve,
Oft stretches toward[672] me, like a long straight path
Traced faintly in the greensward; there, beneath
A plain blue stone, a gentle Dalesman lies,[673] 400
From whom, in early childhood, was withdrawn
The precious gift of hearing.[IT] He grew up
From year to year in loneliness of soul;
And this deep mountain-valley was to him
Soundless, with all its streams.[IU] The bird of dawn
Did never rouse this Cottager from sleep 406
With startling summons; not for his delight
The vernal cuckoo shouted; not for him
Murmured the labouring bee. When stormy winds
Were working the broad bosom of the lake 410
Into a thousand thousand sparkling waves,
Rocking the trees, or driving cloud on cloud
Along the sharp edge of yon lofty crags,[IV]
The agitated scene before his eye
Was silent as a picture: evermore 415
Were all things silent, wheresoe'er he moved.
Yet, by the solace of his own pure thoughts
Upheld, he duteously pursued the round
Of rural labours; the steep mountain-side
Ascended, with his staff and faithful dog; 420
The plough he guided, and the scythe he swayed;
And the ripe corn before his sickle fell
Among the jocund reapers. For himself,
All watchful and industrious as he was,
He wrought not: neither field nor flock he owned:
No wish for wealth had place within his mind; 426
Nor husband's[674] love, nor father's hope or care.

"Though born a younger brother, need was none
That from the floor of his paternal home
He should depart, to plant himself anew. 430
And when, mature in manhood, he beheld
His parents laid in earth, no loss ensued
Of rights to him; but he remained well pleased,
By the pure bond of independent love,
An inmate of a second family; 435
The fellow-labourer and friend of him
To whom the small inheritance had fallen.
--Nor deem that his mild presence was a weight
That pressed upon his brother's house; for books
Were ready comrades whom he could not tire; 440
Of whose society the blameless Man
Was never satiate. Their familiar voice,
Even to old age, with unabated charm
Beguiled his leisure hours; refreshed his thoughts;
Beyond its natural elevation raised 445
His introverted spirit; and bestowed
Upon his life an outward dignity
Which all acknowledged. The dark winter night,
The stormy day, each had[675] its own resource;
Song of the muses, sage historic tale, 450
Science severe, or word of holy Writ
Announcing immortality and joy
To the assembled spirits of just men
Made perfect, and from injury secure.[676]
--Thus soothed at home, thus busy in the field, 455
To no perverse suspicion he gave way,
No languor, peevishness, nor vain complaint:
And they, who were about him, did not fail
In reverence, or in courtesy; they prized
His gentle manners: and his peaceful smiles, 460
The gleams of his slow-varying countenance,
Were met with answering sympathy and love.

"At length, when sixty years and five were told,
A slow disease insensibly consumed
The powers of nature: and a few short steps 465
Of friends and kindred bore him from his home
(Yon cottage shaded by the woody crags)
To the profounder stillness of the grave.
--Nor was his funeral denied the grace
Of many tears, virtuous and thoughtful grief; 470
Heart-sorrow rendered sweet by gratitude.
And now that monumental stone preserves
His name, and unambitiously relates
How long, and by what kindly outward aids,
And in what pure contentedness of mind, 475
The sad privation was by him endured.
--And yon tall pine-tree, whose composing sound
Was wasted on the good Man's living ear,
Hath now its own peculiar sanctity;
And, at the touch of every wandering breeze, 480
Murmurs, not idly, o'er his peaceful grave.

"Soul-cheering Light, most bountiful of things!
Guide of our way, mysterious comforter!
Whose sacred influence, spread through earth and heaven,
We all too thanklessly participate, 485
Thy gifts were utterly withheld from him
Whose place of rest is near yon ivied porch.[IW]
Yet, of the wild brooks ask if he complained;
Ask of the channelled rivers if they held
A safer, easier, more determined, course. 490
What terror doth it strike into the mind
To think of one, blind and alone, advancing
Straight toward some precipice's airy brink![677]
But, timely warned, _He_ would have stayed his steps,
Protected, say enlightened, by his ear; 495
And on the very edge[678] of vacancy
Not more endangered than a man whose eye
Beholds the gulf beneath.--No floweret blooms
Throughout the lofty range of these rough hills,
Nor[679] in the woods, that could from him conceal 500
Its birth-place; none whose figure did not live
Upon his touch.[IX] The bowels of the earth
Enriched with knowledge his industrious mind;
The ocean paid him tribute from the stores
Lodged in her bosom; and, by science led, 505
His genius mounted to the plains of heaven.
--Methinks I see him--how his eye-balls rolled,
Beneath his ample brow, in darkness paired,--
But each instinct with spirit;[IY] and the frame
Of the whole countenance alive with thought, 510
Fancy, and understanding; while the voice
Discoursed of natural or[680] moral truth
With eloquence, and such authentic power,
That, in his presence, humbler knowledge stood
Abashed, and tender pity overawed."[IZ] 515

"A noble--and, to unreflecting minds,
A marvellous spectacle," the Wanderer said,
"Beings like these present! But proof abounds
Upon the earth that faculties, which seem
Extinguished, do not, _therefore_ cease to be. 520
And to the mind among her powers of sense
This transfer is permitted,--not alone
That the bereft their recompense may win;[681]
But for remoter purposes of love
And charity; nor last nor least for this, 525
That to the imagination may be given
A type and shadow of an awful truth;[682]
How, likewise, under sufferance divine,
Darkness is banished from the realms of death,
By man's imperishable spirit, quelled. 530
Unto the men who see not as we see
Futurity was thought, in ancient times,
To be laid open, and they prophesied.
And know we not that from the blind have flowed
The highest, holiest, raptures of the lyre; 535
And wisdom married to immortal verse?"[JA]

Among the humbler Worthies, at our feet
Lying insensible to human praise,
Love, or regret,--_whose_ lineaments would next
Have been portrayed, I guess not; but it chanced
That, near the quiet church-yard where we sate, 541
A team of horses, with a ponderous freight
Pressing behind, adown a rugged slope,
Whose sharp descent confounded their array,
Came at that moment, ringing noisily. 545

"Here," said the Pastor, "do we muse, and mourn
The waste of death; and lo! the giant oak
Stretched on his bier--that massy timber wain;
Nor fail to note the Man who guides the team."

He was a peasant of the lowest class: 550
Grey locks profusely round his temples hung
In clustering curls, like ivy, which the bite
Of winter cannot thin; the fresh air lodged
Within his cheek, as light within a cloud;
And he returned our greeting with a smile. 555
When he had passed, the Solitary spake;
"A Man he seems of cheerful yesterdays
And confident to-morrows; with a face
Not worldly-minded, for it bears too much
Of Nature's impress,--gaiety and health, 560
Freedom and hope; but keen, withal, and shrewd.
His gestures note,--and hark! his tones of voice
Are all vivacious as his mien and looks."

The Pastor answered. "You have read him well.
Year after year is added to his store 565
With _silent_ increase: summers, winters--past,
Past or to come; yea, boldly might I say,
Ten summers and ten winters of a space[683]
That lies beyond life's ordinary bounds,
Upon his sprightly vigour cannot fix 570
The obligation of an anxious mind,
A pride in having, or a fear to lose;
Possessed like outskirts of some large domain,
By any one more thought of than by him
Who holds the land in fee, its careless lord! 575
Yet is the creature rational, endowed
With foresight; hears, too, every sabbath day,
The christian promise with attentive ear;
Nor will, I trust, the Majesty of Heaven
Reject the incense offered up by him, 580
Though of the kind which beasts and birds present[684]
In grove or pasture; cheerfulness of soul,
From trepidation and repining free.
How many scrupulous worshippers fall down
Upon their knees, and daily homage pay 585
Less worthy, less religious even, than his!

"This qualified respect, the old Man's due,
Is paid without reluctance; but in truth,"
(Said the good Vicar with a fond half-smile)
"I feel at times a motion of despite 590
Towards one, whose bold contrivances and skill,
As you have seen, bear such conspicuous part
In works of havoc; taking from these vales,
One after one, their proudest ornaments.
Full oft his doings leave me to deplore 595
Tall ash-tree, sown by winds, by vapours nursed,
In the dry crannies of the pendent rocks;
Light birch, aloft upon the horizon's edge,
A veil[685] of glory for the ascending moon;
And oak whose roots by noontide dew were damped,
And on whose forehead inaccessible 601
The raven lodged in safety.--Many a ship
Launched into Morecamb-bay to _him_ hath owed[686]
Her strong knee-timbers, and the mast that bears
The loftiest of her pendants; He, from park 605
Or forest, fetched the enormous axle-tree
That whirls (how slow itself!) ten thousand spindles[687]
And the vast engine labouring in the mine,
Content with meaner prowess, must have lacked
The trunk and body of its[688] marvellous strength, 610
If his undaunted enterprise had failed
Among the mountain coves.
"Yon household fir,[689]
A guardian planted to fence off the blast,
But towering high the roof above, as if
Its humble destination were forgot-- 615
That sycamore, which annually holds
Within its shade, as in a stately tent[JB]
On all sides open to the fanning breeze,
A grave assemblage, seated while they shear
The fleece-encumbered flock--the Joyful Elm, 620
Around whose trunk the maidens[690] dance in May--
And the Lord's Oak--would plead their several rights
In vain, if he were master of their fate;
His sentence[691] to the axe would doom them all.
But, green in age and lusty as he is, 625
And promising to keep his hold on earth[692]
Less, as might seem, in rivalship with men
Than with the forest's more enduring growth,
His own appointed hour will come at last;
And, like the haughty Spoilers of the world, 630
This keen Destroyer, in his turn, must fall.

"Now from the living pass we once again:
From Age," the Priest continued, "turn your thoughts;
From Age, that often unlamented drops,
And mark that daisied hillock, three spans long![JC] 635
--Seven lusty Sons sate daily round the board
Of Gold-rill[JD] side; and, when the hope had ceased
Of other progeny, a Daughter then
Was given, the crowning bounty of the whole;
And so acknowledged with a tremulous joy 640
Felt to the centre of that heavenly calm[693]
With which by nature every mother's soul
Is stricken in the moment when her throes
Are ended, and her ears have heard the cry
Which tells her that a living child is born; 645
And she lies conscious, in a blissful rest,
That the dread storm is weathered by them both.

"The Father--him at this unlooked-for gift
A bolder transport seizes. From the side
Of his bright hearth, and from his open door, 650
Day after day[694] the gladness is diffused
To all that come, almost to all[695] that pass;
Invited, summoned, to partake the cheer
Spread on the never-empty board, and drink
Health and good wishes to his new-born girl, 655
From cups replenished by his joyous hand.
--Those seven fair brothers variously were moved
Each by the thoughts best suited to his years:
But most of all and with most thankful mind
The hoary grandsire felt himself enriched; 660
A happiness that ebbed not, but remained
To fill the total measure of his[696] soul!
--From the low tenement, his own abode,
Whither, as to a little private cell,
He had withdrawn from bustle, care, and noise, 665
To spend the sabbath of old age in peace,
Once every day he duteously repaired
To rock the cradle of the slumbering babe:
For in that female infant's name he heard
The silent name of his departed wife; 670
Heart-stirring music! hourly heard that name;
Full blest he was, 'Another Margaret Green,'
Oft did he say, 'was come to Gold-rill side.'

"Oh! pang unthought of, as the precious boon
Itself had been unlooked-for; oh! dire stroke 675
Of desolating anguish for them all!
--Just as the Child could totter on the floor,
And, by some friendly finger's help upstayed,
Range round the garden walk, while she perchance
Was catching at some novelty of spring, 680
Ground-flower, or glossy insect from its cell
Drawn by the sunshine--at that hopeful season[697]
The winds of March, smiting insidiously,[698]
Raised in the tender passage of the throat
Viewless obstruction; whence, all unforewarned, 685
The household lost their pride and soul's delight.
--But time hath power[699] to soften all regrets,
And prayer and thought can bring to worst distress
Due resignation. Therefore, though some tears
Fail not to spring from either Parent's eye 690
Oft as they hear of sorrow like their own,
Yet this departed Little-one, too long
The innocent troubler of their quiet, sleeps
In what may now be called a peaceful bed.[JE]

"On a bright day--so calm and bright, it seemed[JF]
To us, with our sad spirits, heavenly-fair-- 696
These mountains echoed to an unknown sound;[700]
A volley, thrice repeated o'er the Corse
Let down into the hollow of that grave,
Whose shelving sides are red with naked mould. 700
Ye rains of April, duly wet this earth!
Spare, burning sun of midsummer, these sods,
That they may knit together, and therewith
Our thoughts unite in kindred quietness!
Nor so the Valley shall forget her loss. 705
Dear Youth, by young and old alike beloved,[JG]
To me as precious as my own!--Green herbs
May creep (I wish that they would softly creep)
Over thy last abode, and we may pass
Reminded less imperiously of thee;-- 710
The ridge itself may sink into the breast
Of earth, the great abyss, and be no more;
Yet shall not thy remembrance leave our hearts,
Thy image disappear!
"The Mountain-ash
No eye can overlook, when 'mid a grove 715
Of yet unfaded trees she lifts her head
Decked[701] with autumnal berries, that outshine
Spring's richest blossoms; and ye may have marked,[702]
By a brook-side or solitary tarn,
How she her station doth adorn: the pool 720
Glows at her feet, and all the gloomy rocks
Are brightened round her. In his native vale
Such and so glorious did this Youth appear;
A sight that kindled pleasure in all hearts
By his ingenuous beauty, by the gleam 725
Of his fair eyes, by his capacious brow,
By all the graces with which nature's hand
Had lavishly[703] arrayed him. As old bards
Tell in their idle songs of wandering gods,
Pan or Apollo, veiled in human form: 730
Yet, like the sweet-breathed violet of the shade
Discovered in their own despite to sense
Of mortals (if such fables without blame
May find chance-mention on this sacred ground)
So, through a simple rustic garb's disguise, 735
And through the impediment of rural cares,
In him revealed a scholar's genius shone;
And so, not wholly hidden from men's sight,
In him the spirit of a hero walked
Our unpretending valley.--How the quoit 740
Whizzed from the Stripling's arm! If touched by him,
The inglorious foot-ball mounted to the pitch
Of the lark's flight,--or shaped a rainbow curve,
Aloft, in prospect of the shouting field!
The indefatigable fox had learned 745
To dread his perseverance in the chase.[704]
With admiration would he lift[705] his eyes
To the wide-ruling eagle, and his hand
Was loth to assault the majesty he loved:
Else had the strongest fastnesses proved weak 750
To guard the royal brood. The sailing glead,
The wheeling swallow, and the darting snipe;
The sportive sea-gull dancing with the waves,
And cautious water-fowl, from distant climes,
Fixed at their seat, the centre of the Mere, 755
Were subject to young Oswald's steady aim,
And lived by his forbearance.
"From the coast
Of France a boastful Tyrant hurled his threats;[706][JH]
Our Country marked the preparation vast[707]
Of hostile forces; and she called--with voice 760
That filled her plains, that[708] reached her utmost shores,
And in remotest vales was heard--to arms!
--Then, for the first time, here you might have seen
The shepherd's grey to martial scarlet changed,
That flashed uncouthly through the woods and fields. 765
Ten hardy Striplings, all in bright attire,
And graced with shining weapons, weekly marched,
From this lone valley, to a central spot
Where, in assemblage with the flower and choice
Of the surrounding district, they might learn 770
The rudiments of war; ten--hardy, strong,
And valiant; but young Oswald, like a chief
And yet a modest comrade, led them forth
From their shy solitude, to face the world,
With a gay confidence and seemly pride; 775
Measuring the soil beneath their happy feet
Like Youths released from labour, and yet bound
To most laborious service, though to them
A festival of unencumbered ease;
The inner spirit keeping holiday, 780
Like vernal ground to sabbath sunshine left.

"Oft have I marked him, at some leisure hour,
Stretched on the grass, or seated in the shade,
Among his fellows, while an ample map
Before their eyes lay carefully outspread, 785
From which the gallant teacher would discourse,
Now pointing this way, and now that.--'Here flows,'
Thus would he say, 'The Rhine, that famous stream!
'Eastward, the Danube toward[709] this inland sea,
'A mightier river, winds from realm to realm; 790
'And, like a serpent, shows his glittering back
'Bespotted--with innumerable isles:
'Here reigns the Russian, there the Turk; observe
'His capital city!' Thence, along a tract
Of livelier interest to his hopes and fears, 795
His finger moved, distinguishing the spots
Where wide-spread conflict then most fiercely raged;
Nor left unstigmatized those fatal fields
On which the sons of mighty Germany
Were taught a base submission.--'Here behold 800
'A nobler race, the Switzers, and their land,
'Vales deeper far than these of ours, huge woods,
'And mountains white with everlasting snow!'
--And, surely, he, that spake with kindling brow,
Was a true patriot, hopeful as the best 805
Of that young peasantry, who, in our days,
Have fought and perished for Helvetia's rights--
Ah, not in vain!--or those who, in old time,
For work of happier issue, to the side
Of Tell came trooping from a thousand huts, 810
When he had risen alone![JI] No braver Youth
Descended from Judean[710] heights, to march
With righteous Joshua;[JJ] nor[711] appeared in arms
When grove was felled, and altar was cast down,
And Gideon blew the trumpet, soul-inflamed, 815
And strong in hatred of idolatry."

The Pastor, even as if by these last words
Raised from his seat within the chosen shade,
Moved towards the grave;--instinctively his steps
We followed; and my voice with joy exclaimed:[712] 820
"Power to the Oppressors of the world is given,
A might of which they dream not. Oh! the curse,
To be the awakener of divinest thoughts,
Father and founder of exalted deeds;
And, to whole nations bound in servile straits, 825
The liberal donor of capacities
More than heroic! this to be, nor yet
Have sense of one connatural wish, nor yet
Deserve the least return of human thanks;
Winning no recompense but deadly hate 830
With pity mixed, astonishment with scorn!"

When this involuntary strain had ceased,[713]
The Pastor said: "So Providence is served;
The forkèd weapon of the skies can send
Illumination into deep, dark holds, 835
Which the mild sunbeam hath not power to pierce.
Ye Thrones that have defied remorse, and cast
Pity away, soon shall ye quake with _fear!_[714]
For, not unconscious of the mighty debt
Which to outrageous wrong the sufferer owes, 840
Europe, through all her habitable bounds,[715]
Is thirsting for their overthrow, who yet
Survive, as pagan temples stood of yore,
By horror of their impious rites, preserved;
Are still permitted to extend their pride,[716] 845
Like cedars on the top of Lebanon
Darkening the sun.
"But less impatient thoughts,
And love 'all hoping and expecting all,'[JK]
This hallowed grave demands, where rests in peace
A humble champion of the better cause; 850
A Peasant-youth, so call him, for he asked
No higher name; in whom our country showed,
As in a favourite son, most beautiful.
In spite of vice, and misery, and disease,
Spread with the spreading of her wealthy arts, 855
England, the ancient and the free, appeared
In him to stand before my swimming eyes,
Unconquerably virtuous and secure.
--No more of this, lest I offend his dust:
Short was his life, and a brief tale remains. 860

"One day--a summer's day of annual pomp[717]
And solemn chase--from morn to sultry noon
His steps had followed, fleetest of the fleet,
The red-deer driven along its native heights
With cry of hound and horn; and, from that toil 865
Returned with sinews weakened and relaxed,
This generous Youth, too negligent of self,
Plunged--'mid a gay and busy throng convened
To wash the fleeces of his Father's flock--
Into the chilling flood. Convulsions dire[718] 870
Seized him, that self-same night; and through the space
Of twelve ensuing days his frame was wrenched,
Till nature rested from her work in death.
To him, thus snatched away, his comrades paid
A soldier's honours. At his funeral hour 875
Bright was the sun, the sky a cloudless blue--
A golden lustre slept upon the hills;
And if by chance a stranger, wandering there,
From some commanding eminence had looked
Down on this spot, well pleased would he have seen 880
A glittering spectacle; but every face
Was pallid: seldom hath that eye been moist
With tears, that wept not then; nor were the few,
Who from their dwellings came not forth to join
In this sad service, less disturbed than we. 885
They started at the tributary peal
Of instantaneous thunder, which announced,
Through the still air, the closing of the Grave;
And distant mountains echoed with a sound
Of lamentation, never heard before!" 890