On her at once superior to my woes And Partner of my loss.-O heavy change! Dimness o'er this clear Luminary crept Insensibly; the immortal and divine Yielded to mortal reflux; her pure Glory, As from the pinnacle of, worldly state Wretched Ambition drops astounded, fell Into a gulph obscure of silent grief, And keen heart-anguish-of itself ashamed, Yet obstinately cherishing itself:
And, so consumed, She melted from my arms; And left me, on this earth, disconsolate.
What followed cannot be reviewed in thougnt Much less, retraced in words. If She of life Blameless; so intimate with love and joy, And all the tender motions of the Soul, Had been supplanted, could I hope to stand? Infirm, dependant, and now destitute !
I called on dreams and visions, to disclose That which is veiled from waking thought; conjured Eternity, as men constrain a Ghost
To appear and answer; to the Grave I spake Imploringly-looked up, and asked the Heavens If Angels traversed their cerulean floors, If fixed or wandering Star could tidings yield Of the departed Spirit-what Abode
It occupies-what consciousness retains Of former loves and interests. Then my Soul Turned inward,-to examine of what stuff Time's fetters are composed; and Life was put To inquisition, long and profitless!
By pain of heart-now checked-and now impelled→ The intellectual Power, through words and things, Went sounding on, a dim and perilous way!
And from those transports, and these toils abstruse, Some trace am I enabled to retain
Of time, else lost; -existing unto me
Only by records in myself not found.'-pp. 125, 126, 127. The origin of Grecian fables is thus elegantly imagined. In that fair Clime, the lonely Herdsman, stretched On the soft grass through half a summer's day, With music lulled his indolent repose:
And, in some fit of weariness, if he
When his own breath was silent, chanced to hear A distant strain, far sweeter than the sounds Which his poor skill could wake, his Fancy fetched, Even from the blazing Chariot of the Sun, A beardless Youth, who touched a goiden lute, And filled the illumined groves with ravishment.
The nightly Hunter, lifting up his eyes Towards the crescent Moon, with grateful heart Called on the lovely wanderer who bestowed That timely light, to share his joyous sport: And hence, a beaming Goddess with her Nymphs, Across the lawn and through the darksome grove, (Not unaccompanied with tuneful notes
By echo multiplied from rock or cave)
Swept in the storm of chase, as Moon and Stars Glance rapidly along the clouded heavens,
When winds are blowing strong. The Traveller slaked His thirst from Rill or gushing Fount, and thanked The Naiad.-Sunbeams, upon distant Hills Gliding apace, with Shadows in their train,
Might, with small help from fancy, be transformed Into fleet Oreads sporting visibly.
The Zephyrs, fanning as they passed, their wings, Lacked not, for Love, fair Objects, whom they wooed With gentle whisper. Withered Boughs grotesque, Stripped of their leaves and twigs by hoary age, From depth of shaggy covert peeping forth In the low vale, or on steep mountain side; And, sometimes, intermixed with stirring horns Of the live Deer, or Goat's depending beard; These were the lurking Satyrs, a wild brood Of gamesome Deities! or Pan himself,
The simple Shepherd's awe-inspiring God.'-pp. 179, 180, The Poet and his two companions afterwards visit a 'Church Yard among the mountains,' where meeting with 'the Pastor,' he, at their request, records the names and worth of several persons, who lie buried there. These short and simple annals of the poor,'-short in detail, and simple in occurrence, are rendered exceedingly attractive, as well as dignified, by the rich and harmonious style in which they are told; and by many readers they will undoubtedly be deemed the most delightful portions of the work. We must be sparing of quotation. The subsequent remarks on contemplating the epitaphs in a Church yard, though sufficiently obvious, mey claim the merit of novelty.
Though with the silence pleased which here prevails, Among those fair recitals also range
Soothed by the natural spirit which they breathe. ̧ And, in the centre of a world whose soil
Is rank with all unkindness, compassed round
With such Memorials, I have sometimes 'felt
That 'twas no momentary happiness
To have one enclosure where the voice that speaks In envy or detraction is not heard;
Which malice may not enter: where the traces Of evil inclinations are unknown; Where love and pity tenderly unite With resignation; and no jarring tone Intrudes, the peaceful concert to disturb Of amity and gratitude.'-pp. 278, 279.
We will not give utterance to a very harsh suspicion, which almost inevitably obtrudes itself, while we are considering the uniform language of panegyric, which tomb-stones are taught to speak; but we may observe, that if the world of the living resembled the world of the dead, in piety and virtue, this earth would only be a nursery for heaven.
A termagant Woman, of masculine intellect, but sordid views, is thus represented in her last hours.
A sudden illness seized her in the strength Of life's autumnal season.-Shall I tell How on her bed of death the Matron lay, To Providence submissive, so she thought; But fretted, vexed, and wrought upon-almost To anger, by the malady, that griped Her prostrate frame with unrelaxing_power, As the fierce Eagle fastens on the Lamb.
She prayed, she moaned-her Husband's Sister watched Her dreary pillow, waited on her needs;
And yet the very sound of that kind foot
Was anguish to her ears!" And must she rule," This was the dying Woman heard to say In bitterness, and must she rule and reign, "Sole Mistress of this house, when I am gone? "Sit by my fire-possess what I possessed "Tend what I tended-calling it her own!" Enough;-I fear, too much.-Öf nobler feeling Take this example.-One autumnal evening, While she was yet in prime of health and strength, I well remember, while I passed her door, Musing with loitering step, and upward eye Turned tow'rds the planet Jupiter, that hung
Above the centre of the Vale, a voice
Roused me, her voice; it said, "That glorious Star "In its untroubled element will shine
"As now it shines, when we are laid in earth "And safe from all our sorrows."-She is safe, And her uncharitable acts I trust,
And harsh unkindnesses, are all forgiven;
Though, in this Vale, remembered with deep awe?"
Ellen," will not yield in tender or tragic nterest to any one of the innumerable stories of seduction
and desertion, which abound in prose and rhyme. We can only select one beautiful incident, which reads as if it were a real one. -Beside the Cottage in which Ellen dwelt Stands a tall ash-tree; to whose topmost twig A Thrush resorts, and annually chaunts, At morn and evening from that naked perch,, While all the undergrove is thick with leaves, A time-beguiling ditty, for delight
Of his fond partner, silent in the nest.
"Ah why," said Ellen, sighing to herself, "Why do not words, and kiss, and solemn pledge; "And nature that is kind in Woman's breast, "And reason that in Man is wise and good, And fear of him who is a righteous Judge, "Why do not these prevail for human life, "To keep two Hearts together, that began "Their spring-time with one love, and that have need "Of mutual pity and forgiveness, sweet
"To grant, or be received, while that poor Bird,
O come and hear him! Thou who hast to me "Been faithless, hear him, though a lowly Creature, "One of God's simple children that yet know not "The universal Parent, how he sings
"As if he wished the firmament of Heaven "Should listen, and give back to him the voice "Of his triumphant constancy and love; "The proclamation that he makes, how far "His darkness doth transcend our fickle light!". Such was the tender passage, not by me Repeated without loss of simple phrase, Which I perused, even as the words had been Committed by forsaken Ellen's hand
To the blank margin of a Valentine,
Bedropped with tears.'-pp. 289, 290.
The history of the Priest, who emigrated with his family, like a band of gipsies, from Northumberland, and dwelt in a neighbouring hamlet, is very lively and striking. After a residence of forty years at the rustic parsonage, they all went down to the grave in half of that number of months.
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; 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
And the long-privileged House left empty-swept As by a plague; yet no rapacious plague
Had been among them; all was gentle death, One after one, with intervals of peace. -A happy consummation! an accord
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, 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 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 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? "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 schemes, and all his inward hoard 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 For noon-tide solace on the summer grass, The warm lap of his Mother Earth and so, Their lenient term of separation past, That Family (whose graves you there behold) By yet a higher privilege, once more
Were gathered to each other.-pp. 321, 322, 323.
We never met with a more gentle image of Death than the passing cloud :-nor with a more peaceful image of life than in the Deaf Man.'
A plain blue Stone, a gentle Dalesman lies, From whom, in early childhood, was withdrawn The precious gift of hearing. He grew up From year to year in loneliness of soul; And this deep mountain Valley was to him Soundless, with all its streams. The bird of dawn Did never rouse this Cottager from sleep With startling summons; not for his delight.
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