"

That task would foil;» then, letting fall his voice
While he advanced, thus spake: «< Tradition tells
That, in Eliza's golden days, a Knight
Came on a War-horse sumptuously attired,
And fix'd his home in this sequester'd Vale.
T is left untold if here he first drew breath,
Or as a Stranger reach'd this deep recess,
Unknowing, and unknown. A pleasing thought
I sometimes entertain, that, haply bound
To Scotland's court in service of his Queen,
Or sent on mission to some northern Chief

Of England's Realm, this Vale he might have seen
With transient observation; and thence caught
An Image fair, which, brightening in his soul
When joy of war and pride of Chivalry
Languish'd beneath accumulated years,

Had power to draw him from the world-resolved To make that paradise his chosen home

To which his peaceful Fancy oft had turn'd. -Vague thoughts are these; but, if belief may rest Upon unwritten story fondly traced

From sire to son, in this obscure Retreat

The Knight arrived, with pomp of spear and shield,
And borne upon a Charger cover'd o'er
With gilded housings. And the lofty Steed-
His sole companion, and his faithful friend,
Whom he, in gratitude, let loose to range
In fertile pastures-was beheld with
Of admiration and delightful awe,

eyes

By those untravell'd Dalesmen. With less pride,
Yet free from touch of envious discontent,
They saw a Mansion at his bidding rise,
Like a Bright star, amid the lowly band,

Of their rude Homesteads. Here the Warrior dwelt,
And, in that Mansion, Children of his own,
Or kindred, gather'd round him. As a Tree
That falls and disappears, the House is gone;
And, through improvidence or want of love
For ancient worth and honourable things,

The spear and shield are vanish'd, which the Knight
Hung in his rustic Hall. One ivied arch
Myself have seen, a gateway, last remains
Of that Foundation in domestic care
Raised by his hands. And now no trace is left
Of the mild-hearted Champion, save this Stone,
Faithless memorial! and his family name
Borne by yon clustering cottages, that sprang
From out the ruins of his stately Lodge:
These, and the name and title at full length,—
Sir Alfred Jrthing, with appropriate words
Accompanied, still extant, in a wreath
Or posy-girding round the several fronts
Of three clear-sounding and harmonious bells,
That in the steeple hang, his pious gift.»>

«So fails, so languishes, grows dim, and dies,» The grey-hair'd Wanderer pensively exclaim'd,

I All that this World is proud of. From their spheres
The stars of human glory are cast down;
Perish the roses and the flowers of Kings,
Princes, and Emperors, and the crowns and palms
Of all the Mighty, withered and consumed!
Nor is power given to lowliest Innocence,
Long to protect her own. The Man himself
Departs; and soon is spent the Line of those
Who, in the bodily image, in the mind,

In heart or soul, in station or pursuit,
Did most resemble him. Degrees and Ranks,
Fraternities and Orders-heaping high
New wealth upon the burthen of the old,
And placing trust in privilege confirm'd
And re-confirm'd-are scoff'd at with a smile
Of greedy foretaste, from the secret stand
Of Desolation aim'd: to slow decline
These yield, and these to sudden overthrow;
Their virtue, service, happiness, and state
Expire; and Nature's pleasant robe of green,
Humanity's appointed shroud, enwraps

Their monuments and their memory. The vast Frame
Of social Nature changes evermore

Her organs and her members with decay
Restless, and restless generation, powers
And functions dying and produced at need,—
And by this law the mighty Whole subsists:
With an ascent and progress in the main;
Yet, oh! how disproportion'd to the hopes
And expectations of self-flattering minds!
-The courteous Knight, whose bones are here interr'd,
Lived in an age conspicuous as our own

For strife and ferment in the minds of men;
Whence alteration, in the forms of things,
Various and vast. A memorable age!
Which did to him assign a pensive lot,

-To linger 'mid the last of those bright Clouds,
That, on the steady breeze of honour, sailed
In long procession calm and beautiful.

He who had seen his own bright Order fade,
And its devotion gradually decline,
(While War, relinquishing the lance and shield,
Her temper changed, and bow'd to other laws)
Had also witness'd in his morn of life,
That violent Commotion, which o'erthrew,
In town, and city, and sequester'd glen,
Altar, and Cross, and Church of solemn roof,
And old religious House-Pile after Pile;
And shook the Tenants out into the fields,

Like wild Beasts without home! Their hour was come;
But why no softening thought of gratitude,
No just remembrance, scruple, or wise doubt?
Benevolence is mild; nor borrows help,
Save at worst need, from bold impetuous force,
Fitliest allied to anger and revenge.
But Human-kind rejoices in the might
Of Mutability, and airy Hopes,
Dancing around her, hinder and disturb
Those meditations of the soul, that feed
The retrospective Virtues. Festive songs
Break from the madden'd Nations at the sight
Of sudden overthrow; and cold neglect

Is the sure consequence of slow decay.

-Even,» said the Wanderer, «as that courteous Knight,
Bound by his vow to labour for redress
Of all who suffer wrong, and to enact
By sword and lance the law of gentleness,
If I may venture of myself to speak,
Trusting that not incongruously I blend
Low things with lofty, I too shall be doom'd
To outlive the kindly use and fair esteem
Of the poor calling which my Youth embraced
With no unworthy prospect. But enough;
-Thoughts crowd upon me-and 't were seemlier now
To stop, and yield our gracious Teacher thanks

And to produce, with appetite as keen
As that of War, which rests not night or day,
Industrious to destroy! With fruitless pains
Might one like me now visit many a tract
Which, in his youth, he trod and trod again,
A lone Pedestrian with a scanty freight,
Wish'd for, or welcome, wheresoe'er he came,
Among the Tenantry of Thorpe and Vill;
Or straggling Burgh, of ancient charter proud,
And dignified by battlements and towers
Of some stern Castle, mouidering on the brow
Of a green hill or bank of rugged stream.

The foot-path faintly marked, the horse-track wild,
And formidable length of plashy lane,
(Prized avenues ere others had been shaped
Or easier links connecting place with place)
Bave vanish'd,-swallow'd up by stately roads
Easy and bold, that penetrate the gloom

Of Britain's farthest Glens. The Earth has lent
Her waters, Air her breezes; and the Sail
Of traffic glides with ceaseless interchange,
Glistening along the low and woody dale,
Or on the naked mountain's lofty side.
Meanwhile, at social Industry's command,
How quick, how vast an increase! From the germ
Of some poor Hamlet, rapidly produced
Here a huge town, continuous and compact,
Hiding the face of earth for leagues-and there,
Where not a Habitation stood before,

Abodes of men irregularly mass'd

Like trees in forests-spread through spacious tracts,
O'er which the smoke of unremitting fires
Hangs permanent, and plentiful as wreaths
Of vapour glittering in the morning sun.
And, wheresoe'er the Traveller turns his steps,
He sees the barren wilderness erased,
Or disappearing; triumph that proclaims
How much the mild Directress of the plough
Owes to alliance with these new-born Arts!
-Hence is the wide Sea peopled,-hence the Shores
Of Britain are resorted to by Ships

Freighted from every climate of the world

With the world's choicest produce. Hence that sum
Of Keels that rest within her crowded ports,
Or ride at anchor in her sounds and bays,
That animating spectacle of Sails
Which, through her inland regions, to and fro
Pass with the respirations of the tide,
Perpetual, multitudinous! Finally,
Hence a dread arm of floating Power, a voice
Of Thunder daunting those who would approach
With hostile purposes the blessed Isle,
Truth's consecrated residence, the seat
Impregnable of Liberty and Peace.

« And yet, O happy Pastor of a Flock Faithfully watched, and, by that loving care And Heaven's good providence, preserved from taint! With You I grieve, when on the darker side Of this great change I look; and there behold, Such outrage done to Nature as compels

The indignant Power to justify herself;

Yea, to avenge her violated rights,

For England's bane.-When soothing darkness spreads
O'er hill and vale, the Wanderer thus expressed
His recollections, « and the punctual stars,

While all things else are gathering to their homes,
Advance, and in the firmament of heaven
Glitter-but undisturbing, undisturbed;
As if their silent company were charged
With peaceful admonitions for the heart
Of all-beholding Man, earth's thoughtful Lord;
Then, in full many a region, once like this
The assured domain of calm simplicity
And pensive quiet, an unnatural light,
Prepared for never-resting Labour's eyes,
Breaks from a many-windowed Fabric huge;
And at the appointed hour a Bell is heard-
Of harsher import than the Curfew-knoll

That spake the Norman Conqueror's stern behest-
A local summons to unceasing toil!
Disgorged are now the Ministers of day;

And, as they issue from the illumined Pile,

A fresh Band meets them, at the crowded door-
And in the Courts-and where the rumbling Stream,
That turns the multitude of dizzy wheels,

Glares, like a troubled Spirit, in its bed

Among the rocks below. Men, Maidens, Youths,
Mother and little Children, Boys and Girls,
Enter, and each the wonted task resumes
Within this Temple-where is offered up
To Gain-the master Idol of the Realm,
Perpetual sacrifice. Even thus of old
Our Ancestors, within the still domain
Of vast Cathedral or Conventual Church,
Their vigils kept; where tapers day and night
On the dim altar burned continually,
in token that the House was evermore
Watching to God. Religious Men were they;
Nor would their Reason, tutored to aspire
Above this transitory world, allow

That there should pass a moment of the year,
When in their land the Almighty's Service ceased.

<«< Triumph who will in these profaner rites
Which We, a generation self-extolled,
As zealously perform! I cannot share
His proud complacency; yet I exult,
Casting reserve away, exult to see
An Intellectual mastery exercised
O'er the blind Elements; a purpose given,
A perseverance fed; almost a soul
Imparted to brute Matter. I rejoice,
Measuring the force of those gigantic powers,
That by the thinking Mind have been compelled
To serve the Will of feeble-bodied Man.
For with the sense of admiration blends

The animating hope that time may come
When strengthened, yet not dazzled, by the might
Of this dominion over Nature gained,
Men of all lands shall exercise the same
In due proportion to their Country's need ;
Learning, though late, that all true glory rests,
All praise, all safety, and all happiness,
Upon the moral law. Egyptian Thebes ;
Tyre by the margin of the sounding waves ;
Palmyra, central in the Desert, feil;

And the Arts died by which they had been raised.

-Call Archimedes from his buried Tomb

| Upon the plain of vanished Syracuse, And feelingly the Sage shall make report How insecure, how baseless in itself,

Is the Philosophy, whose sway depends

On mere material instruments :-how weak
Those Arts, and high Inventions, if unpropped
By Virtue. He with sighs of pensive grief,
Amid his calm abstractions, would admit
That not the slender privilege is theirs

To save themselves from blank forgetfulness!»

I said, « And, did in truth these vaunted Arts
Possess such privilege, how could we escape
Regret and painful sadness, who revere,

And would preserve as things above all price,
The old domestic morals of the land,
Her simple manners, and the stable worth
That dignified and cheered a low estate?
Oh! where is now the character of peace,
Sobriety, and order, and chaste love,
And honest dealing, and untainted speech,
And pure good-will, and hospitable cheer;
That made the very thought of Country-life
A thought of refuge, for a Mind detained
Reluctantly amid the bustling crowd?
Where now the beauty of the Sabbath kept
With conscientious reverence, as a day
By the Almighty Law-giver pronounced
Holy and blest? and where the winning grace
Of all the lighter ornaments attached

To time and season, as the year rolled round ?»

« Fled!» was the Wanderer's passionate response, « Fled utterly! or only to be traced In a few fortunate Retreats like this; Which I behold with trembling, when I think What lamentable change, a year-a monthMay bring; that Brook converting as it runs Into an Instrument of deadly bane

For those, who, yet untempted to forsake
The simple occupations of their Sires,
Drink the pure water of its innocent stream
With lip almost as pure.-Domestic bliss,
(Or call it comfort, by a humbler name,)
How art thou blighted for the poor Man's heart!
Lo! in such neighbourhood, from morn to eve,
The Habitations empty! or perchance
The Mother left alone,-no helping hand
To rock the cradle of her peevish babe ;
No daughters round her, busy at the wheel,
Or in dispatch of each day's little growth
Of household occupation; no nice arts
Of needle-work; no bustle at the fire,
Where once the dinner was prepared with pride;
Nothing to speed the day, or cheer the mind
Nothing to praise, to teach, or to command!
-The Father, if perchance he still retain
His old employments, goes to field or wood,
No longer led or followed by the Sons;
Idlers perchance they were,-but in his sight;
Breathing fresh air, and treading the green
Till their short holiday of childhood ceased,
Ne'er to return! That birthright now is lost.
Economists will tell you that the State
Thrives by the forfeiture--unfeeling thought,
And false as monstrous! Can the Mother thrive
By the destruction of her innocent Sons?
In whom a premature Necessity

earth;

-Oh, banish far such wisdom as condemns
A native Briton to these inward chains,
Fixed in his soul, so early and so deep,
Without his own consent, or knowledge, fixed!
He is a Slave to whom release comes not,
And cannot come. The Boy, where'er he turns,
Is still a prisoner; when the wind is up
Among the clouds and in the ancient woods;
Or when the sun is shining in the east,
Quiet and calm. Behold him-in the school
Of his attainments? no; but with the air
Fanning his temples under heaven's blue arch.
His raiment, whitened o'er with cotton flakes,
Or locks of wool, announces whence he comes.
Creeping his gait and cowering-his lip pale-
His respiration quick and audible;
And scarcely could you fancy that a gleam
From out those languid eyes could break, or blush
Mantle upon his cheek. Is this the form,

Is that the countenance, and such the port,
Of no mean Being? One who should be clothed
With dignity befitting his proud hope;
Who, in his very childhood, should appear
Sublime-from present purity and joy!
The limbs increase; but liberty of mind
Is gone for ever; this organic Frame,
So joyful in her motions, is become
Dull, to the joy of her own motions dead;
And even the Touch, so exquisitely poured
Through the whole body, with a languid Will
Performs her functions; rarely competent
To impress a vivid feeling on the mind
Of what there is delightful in the breeze,
The gentle visitations of the sun,
Or lapse of liquid element-by hand,

Or foot, or lip, in summer's warmth-perceived.
-Can hope look forward to a manhood raised
On such foundations?»

« Hope is none for him!»

The pale Recluse indignantly exclaimed,

« And tens of thousands suffer wrong as deep.
Yet be it asked, in justice to our age,
If there were not, before those Arts appeared,
These Structures rose, commingling old and young,
And unripe sex with sex, for mutual taint;
Then, if there were not, in our far-famed Isle,
Multitudes, who from infancy had breathed
Air unimprisoned, and had lived at large;
Yet walked beneath the sun, in human shape,
As abject, as degraded? At this day,
Who shall enumerate the crazy huts
And tottering hovels, whence do issue forth

A ragged Offspring, with their own blanched hair
Crowned like the image of fantastic Fear;

Or wearing, we might say, in that white growth

An ill-adjusted turban, for defence

Or fierceness, wreathed around their sun-burnt brows,