The pining Solitary turn'd aside; Whether through manly instinct to conceal Tender emotions spreading from the heart To his worn cheek; or with uneasy shame For those cold humours of habitual spleen That, fondly seeking in dispraise of man Solace and self-excuse, had sometimes urged To self-abuse a not incloquent tongue. Right toward the sacred Edifice his steps Had been directed; and we saw him now Intent upon a monumental stone,
Whose uncouth form was grafted on the wall, Or rather seem'd to have grown into the side Of the rude pile; as oft-times trunks of trees, Where Nature works in wild and craggy spots, Are seen incorporate with the living rock,- To endure for aye. The Vicar, taking note Of his employment, with a courteous smile Exclaim'd:
"The sagest Antiquarian's eye 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. "Tis 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 spear and shield, and borne
Upon a Charger gorgeously bedeck'd
With broider'd 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 eyes Of admiration and delightful awe,
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 IRTHING, 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,
"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, wither'd 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
6 The pillars of the gateway in front of the mansion remained when we first took up our abode at Grasmere. Two or three cottages still remain, which are called Knott Houses, from the name of the gentleman (I have called him a Knight) concerning whom these traditions survive. He was the ancestor of the Knott family, for. merly considerable proprietors in the district.-Author's Notes, 1843.
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 Expires; and Nature's pleasant robe of green, Humanity's appointed shroud, enwraps Their monuments and their memory. 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, O, 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 sail'd 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 their 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 'twere seemlier now To stop, and yield our gracious Teacher thanks For the pathetic records which his voice Hath here deliver'd; words of heartfelt truth, Tending to patience when affliction strikes; To hope and love; to confident repose In God; and reverence for the dust of Man."
THE pensive Sceptic of the lonely vale
To those acknowledgments subscribed his own, With a sedate compliance, which the Priest Fail'd not to notice, inly pleased, and said: "If ye, by whom invited I began
These narratives of calm and humble life, Be satisfied, 'tis well, the end is gain'd; And, in return for sympathy bestow'd
And patient listening, thanks accept from me.- Life, death, eternity! momentous themes Are they, and might demand a seraph's tongue, Were they not equal to their own support; And therefore no incompetence of mine Could do them wrong. The universal forms Of human nature, in a spot like this, Present themselves at once to all men's view: Ye wish'd for act and circumstance, that make The individual known and understood;
And such as my best judgment could select From what the place afforded have been given; Though apprehensions cross'd me that my zeal To his might well be liken'd, who unlocks A cabinet stored with gems and pictures, His treasures forth, soliciting regard To this, and this, as worthier than the last, Till the spectator, who awhile was pleased More than th' exhibitor himself, becomes Weary and faint, and longs to be released.- But let us hence! my dwelling is in sight, And there"
At this the Solitary shrunk With backward will; but, wanting not address That inward motion to disguise, he said To his Compatriot, smiling as he spake: "The peaceable remains of this good Knight Would be disturb'd, I fear, with wrathful scorn, If consciousness could reach him where he lies That one, albeit of these degenerate times, Deploring changes past, or dreading change Foreseen, had dared to couple, even in thought, The fine vocation of the sword and lance With the gross aims and body-bending toil Of a poor brotherhood who walk the earth Pitied, and, where they are not known, despised. Yet, by the good Knight's leave, the two estates Are graced with some resemblance. Errant those, Exiles and wanderers, and the like are these; Who, with their burthen, traverse hill and dale, Carrying relief for nature's simple wants.- What though no higher recompense be sought Than honest maintenance, by irksome toil Full oft procured, yet may they claim respect, Among th' intelligent, for what this course Enables them to be and to perform. Their tardy steps give leisure to observe, While solitude permits the mind to feel; Instructs, and prompts her to supply defects By the division of her inward self
For grateful converse: and to these poor men Nature (I but repeat your favourite boast) Is bountiful;-go wheresoe'er they may, Kind Nature's various wealth is all their own. Versed in the characters of men; and bound, By ties of daily interest, to maintain
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