In their unhallow'd principles; the bad
Have fairly earn'd a victory o'er the weak,
The vacillating, inconsistent good.
Therefore, not unconsoled, I wait, in hope
To see the moment when the righteous cause
Shall gain defenders zealous and devout
As they who have opposed her; in which Virtue
Will, to her efforts, tolerate no bounds
That are not lofty as her rights; aspiring
By impulse of her own ethereal zeal.
That spirit only can redeem mankind;
And when that sacred spirit shall appear,
Then shall our triumph be complete as theirs.
Yet, should this confidence prove vain, the wise
Have still the keeping of their proper peace;
Are guardians of their own tranquillity.
They act, or they recede, observe, and feel;
'Knowing the heart of man is set to be
The centre of this world, about the which
Those revolutions of disturbances
Still roll; where all th' aspects of misery
Predominate; whose strong effects are such
As he must bear, being powerless to redress;
And that unless above himself he can
Erect himself, how poor a thing is Man!'
Happy is he who lives to understand
Not human nature only, but explores
All natures, to the end that he may find
The law that governs each; and where begins
The union, the partition where, that makes
Kind and degree, among all visible Beings;
The constitutions, powers, and faculties,
Which they inherit,cannot step beyond,-
And cannot fall beneath; that do assign
To every class its station and its office,
Through all the mighty commonwealth of things;
Up from the creeping plant to sovereign Man.
Such converse, if directed by a meek,
Sincere, and humble spirit, teaches love:
For knowledge is delight; and such delight
Breeds love: yet, suited as it rather is
To thought and to the climbing intellect,
It teaches less to love than to adore;
9 This quotation is from a very noble poem by Samuel Daniel, addressed to the Lady Margaret, Countess of Cumberland; and the last two lines are translated by him from Seneca. The poem contains an admirable picture of a wise man's state of mind in a time of public commotion; too long, however, to be quoted here.
If that be not indeed the highest love!"
"Yet," said I, tempted here to interpose,
"The dignity of life is not impair'd
By aught that innocently satisfies
The humbler cravings of the heart; and he
Is a still happier man, who, for those heights
Of speculation not unfit, descends;
And such benign affections cultivates
Among th' inferior kinds; not merely those
That he may call his own, and which depend,
As individual objects of regard,
Upon his care, from whom he also looks
For signs and tokens of a mutual bond;
But others, far beyond this narrow sphere,
Whom, for the very sake of love, he loves.
Nor is it a mean praise of rural life
And solitude, that they do favour most,
Most frequently call forth, and best sustain,
These pure sensations; that can penetrate
Th' obstreperous city; on the barren seas
Are not unfelt; and much might recommend,
How much they might inspirit and endear,
The loneliness of this sublime retreat!"
"Yes," said the Sage, resuming the discourse Again directed to his downcast Friend,
'If, with the froward will and grovelling soul Of man, offended, liberty is here,
And invitation every hour renew'd,
To mark their placid state who never heard
Of a command which they have power to break,
Or rule which they are tempted to transgress:
These, with a soothed or elevated heart,
May we behold; their knowledge register;
Observe their ways; and, free from envy, find
Complacence there. But wherefore this to you?
I guess that, welcome to your lonely hearth,
The redbreast, ruffled up by Winter's cold
Into a 'feathery bunch,' feeds at your hand
A box, perchance, is from your casement hung
For the small wren to build in;—not in vain,
The barriers disregarding that surround
This deep abiding-place, before your sight
Mounts on the breeze the butterfly; and soars,
Small creature as she is, from earth's bright flowers,
Into the dewy clouds. Ambition reigns
In the waste wilderness: the Soul ascends
Drawn towards her native firmament of Heaven,
When the fresh eagle, in the month of May,
Upborne, at evening, on replenish'd wing,
This shaded valley leaves; and leaves the dark
Empurpled hills, conspicuously renewing
A proud communication with the Sun
Low sunk beneath th' horizon!- List!
From yon huge breast of rock, a voice sent forth
As if the visible mountain made the cry.
Again!"— Th' effect upon the soul was such
As he express'd: from out the mountain's heart
The solemn voice appear'd to issue, startling
The blank air; for the region all around
Stood empty of all shape of life, and silent
Save for that single cry, th' unanswer'd bleat
Of a poor lamb, left somewhere to itself,
The plaintive spirit of the solitude!
He paused, as if unwilling to proceed,
Through consciousness that silence in such place
Was best, the most affecting eloquence.
But soon his thoughts return'd upon themselves,
And, in soft tone of speech, thus he resumed :
"Ah! if the heart, too confidently raised,
Perchance too lightly occupied, or lull'd
Too easily, despise or overlook
The vassalage that binds her to the Earth,
Her sad dependence upon time, and all
The trepidations of mortality,
What place so destitute and void, but there
The little flower her vanity shall check;
The trailing worm reprove her thoughtless pride?
These craggy regions, these chaotic wilds,
Does that benignity pervade that warms
The mole contented with her darksome walk
In the cold ground; and to the emmet gives
Her foresight, and intelligence that makes
The tiny creatures strong by social league;
Supports the generations, multiplies
Their tribes, till we behold a spacious plain.
Or grassy bottom, all, with little hills,
Their labour, cover'd, as a lake with waves;
Thousands of cities, in the desert place
Built up of life, and food, and means of life!
Nor wanting here, to entertain the thought,
Creatures that in communities exist,
Less, as might seem, for general guardianship
Or through dependence upon mutual aid,
Than by participation of delight
And a strict love of fellowship, combined.
What other spirit can it be that prompts
The gilded summer flies to mix and weave
Their sports together in the solar beam,
Or in the gloom of twilight hum their joy?
More obviously the self-same influence rules
The feather'd kinds; the fieldfare's pensive flock,
The cawing rooks, and sca-mews from afar,
Hovering above these inland solitudes,
By the rough wind unscatter'd, at whose call
Up through the trenches of the long-drawn vales
Their voyage was begun: nor is its power
Unfelt among the sedentary fowl
That seek yon pool, and there prolong their stay
In silent congress; or together roused
Take flight; while with their clang the air resounds.
And, over all, in that ethereal vault,
Is the mute company of changeful clouds;
Bright apparition, suddenly put forth,
The rainbow smiling on the faded storm;
The mild assemblage of the starry heavens;
And the great Sun, Earth's universal lord!
How bountiful is Nature! he shall find
Who seeks not; and to him who hath not ask'd
Large measure shall be dealt. Three sabbath-days
Are scarcely told, since, on a service bent
Of mere humanity, you clomb those heights;
And what a marvellous and heavenly show
Was suddenly reveal'd! - the swains moved on,
And heeded not: you linger'd, you perceived
And felt, deeply as living man could feel.
There is a luxury in self-dispraise;
And inward self-disparagement affords
To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
Trust me, pronouncing on your own desert,
You judge unthankfully: distemper'd nerves
Infect the thoughts: the languor of the frame
Depresses the soul's vigour. Quit your couch,
Cleave not so fondly to your moody cell;
Nor let the hallow'd powers, that shed from Heaven
Stillness and rest, with disapproving eye
Look down upon your taper, through a watch
Of midnight hours, unseasonably twinkling
In this deep Hollow, like a sullen star
Dimly reflected in a lonely pool.
Take courage, and withdraw yourself from ways
That run not parallel to Nature's course.
Rise with the lark! your matins shall obtain
Grace, be their composition what it may,
If but with hers perform'd; climb once again,
Climb every day, those ramparts; meet the breeze
Upon their tops, adventurous as a bee
That from your garden thither soars, to feed
On new-blown heath; let yon commanding rock
Be your frequented watch-tower; roll the stone
In thunder down the mountains; with all your might
Chase the wild goat; and if the bold red deer
Fly to those harbours, driven by hound and horn
Loud echoing, add your speed to the pursuit;
So, wearied to your hut shall you return,
And sink at evening into sound repose.'
The Solitary lifted toward the hills
A kindling eye:-accordant feelings rush'd
Into my bosom, whence these words broke forth:
"O, what a joy it were, in vigorous health,
To have a body, (this our vital frame
With shrinking sensibility endued,
And all the nice regards of flesh and blood,)
And to the elements surrender it
As if it were a spirit! How divine,
The liberty, for frail, for mortal man
To roam at large among unpeopled glens
And mountainous retirements, only trod
By devious footsteps; regions consecrate
To oldest Time! and, reckless of the storm
That keeps the raven quiet in her nest,
Be as a presence or a motion, -
Among the many there; and, while the mists
Flying, and rainy vapours, call out shapes
And phantoms from the crags and solid earth
As fast as a musician scatters sounds
Out of an instrument; and while the streams,
(As at a first creation and in haste
To exercise their untried faculties,)
Descending from the region of the clouds,
And starting from the hollows of the earth
More multitudinous every moment, rend
Their way before them; what a joy to roam
An equal among mightiest energies;
And haply sometimes with articulate voice,
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