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,
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
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.
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 they seek
Pastor's apprehensions that he might have detained his Audtors too long-Invitation to his House-Solitary disinclined to comply-rallies the Wanderer; and somewhat playfully draws a comparison between his itinerant profession and that of the Knight-errant--Yet, by the good Knight's leave, the two Estates which leads to Wanderer's giving an account of changes in the Country from the manufacturing spirit-Favourable effects-The other side of the picture, and chiefly as it has affected the humbler classes-Wanderer asserts the hollowness of all national grandeur if unsupported by moral worth-Than honest maintenance, by irksome toil gives Instances - Physical science unable to support itself-Lamentations over an excess of manufacturing industry among the humbler Classes of SocietyPicture of a Child employed in a Cotton-mill-Ignorance and degradation of Children among the agricultural Population reviewed-Conversation broken off by a renewed Invitation from the Pastor-Path leading to his House-Its appearance described-His Daughter His Wife-His Son (a Boy) enters with his Companion - Their happy appearance-The Wanderer how affected by the sight of them.
THE PARSONAGE.
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 commenced These Narratives of calm and humble life, Be satisfied, 't is 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, in the course Of this self-pleasing exercise, that Ye My zeal to his would liken, who unlocks A Cabinet with gems or pictures stored, And draws them forth-soliciting regard To this, and this, as worthier than the last, Till the Spectator, who a while was pleased More than the Exhibitor himself, becomes Weary and faint, and longs to be released.
Full oft procured, yet such may claim respect, Among the 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 (As I have heard you boast with honest pride). Nature is bountiful, where'er they go; Kind Nature's various wealth is all their own. Versed in the characters of men; and bound, By tie of daily interest, to maintain Conciliatory manners and smooth speech; Such have been, and still are in their degree, Examples efficacious to refine
Rude intercourse; apt Agents to expel, By importation of unlook'd-for Arts, Barbarian torpor, and blind prejudice; Raising, through just gradation, savage life To rustic, and the rustic to urbane. -Within their moving magazines is lodged Power that comes forth to quicken and exalt Affections seated in the Mother's breast, And in the Lover's fancy; and to feed The sober sympathies of long-tried Friends. -By these Itinerants, as experienced Men, Counsel is given; contention they appease With gentle language; in remotest Wilds, Tears wipe away, and pleasant tidings bring: Could the proud quest of Chivalry do more?»
« Happy,» rejoin'd the Wanderer, « they who gain A panegyric from your generous tongue! But if to these Wayfarers once pertain'd Aught of romantic interest, 't is gone; Their purer service, in this realm at least, Is past for ever.-An inventive Age Has wrought, if not with speed of magic, yet To most strange issues. I have lived to mark A new and unforeseen Creation 'rise From out the labours of a peaceful Land, Wielding her potent Enginery to fratre
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!»
Blocks out the forms of Nature, preconsumes
The reason, famishes the heart, shuts up The Infant Being in itself, and makes Its very spring a season of decay! The lot is wretched, the condition sad, Whether a pining discontent survive,
And thirst for change; or habit hath subdued The soul depressed, dejected-even to love
When from the Wanderer's lips these words had fallen, Of her dull tasks, and close captivity.
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
-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,
By savage Nature's unassisted care.
Naked and coloured like the soil, the feet On which they stand; as if thereby they drew Some nourishment, as Trees do by their roots, From Earth the common Mother of us all. Figure and mien, complexion and attire,
Are leagued to strike dismay, but outstretched hand And whining voice denote them Supplicants For the least boon that pity can bestow. Such on the breast of darksome heaths are found; And with their Parents dwell upon the skirts Of furze-clad commons; such are born and reared At the mine's mouth, beneath impending rocks, Or in the chambers of some natural cave; And where their Ancestors erected huts, For the convenience of unlawful gain, In forest purlieus; and the like are bred,
All England through, where nooks and slips of ground, Purloined, in times less jealous than our own, From the green margin of the public way, A residence afford them, 'mid the bloom And gaiety of cultivated fields.
-Such (we will hope the lowest in the scale) Do I remember oft-times to have seen
'Mid Buxton's dreary heights. Upon the watch, Till the swift vehicle approach, they stand; Then, following closely with the cloud of dust, An uncouth feat exhibit, and are gone Heels over head like Tumblers on a Stage. -Up from the ground they snatch the copper coin, And, on the freight of merry Passengers Fixing a steady eye, maintain their speed; And spin-and pant-and overhead again, Wild Pursuivants! until their breath is lost, Or bounty tires-and every face, that smiled Encouragement, hath ceased to look that way. -But, like the Vagrants of the Gipsy tribe, These, bred to little pleasure in themselves, Are profitless to others. Turn we then To Britons born and bred within the pale Of civil polity, and early trained
To earn, by wholesome labour in the field, The bread they eat. A sample should I give Of what this stock produces to enrich The tender age of life, ye would exclaim,
Is this the whistling Plough-boy whose shrill notes Impart new gladness to the morning air?' Forgive me if I venture to suspect That many, sweet to hear of in soft verse, Are of no finer frame :-his joints are stiff; Beneath a cumbrous frock, that to the knees Invests the thriving Churl, his legs appear, Fellows to those that lustily upheld The wooden stools for everlasting use, Whereon our Fathers sate. And mark his brow! Under whose shaggy canopy are set Two eyes, not dim, but of a healthy stare: Wide, sluggish, blank, and ignorant, and strange; Proclaiming boldly that they never drew A look or motion of intelligence
From infant conning of the Christ-cross-row, Or puzzling through a Primer, line by line,
Till perfect mastery crown the pains at last.
Sleeps, like a caterpillar sheathed in ice? This torpor is no pitiable work
Of modern ingenuity; no Town Nor crowded City may be taxed with aught Of sottish vice or desperate breach of law, To which in after years he may be roused. -This Boy the Fields produce: his spade and hoe- The Carter's whip that on his shoulder rests In air high-towering with a boorish pomp, The sceptre of his sway; his Country's name, Her equal rights, her churches and her schools- What have they done for him? And, let me ask, For tens of thousands uninformed as he? In brief, what liberty of mind is here ?»>
This ardent sally pleased the mild good Man, To whom the appeal couched in its closing words Was pointedly addressed; and to the thoughts That, in assent or opposition, rose Within his mind, he seemed prepared to give Prompt utterance; but, rising from our seat, The hospitable Vicar interposed With invitation urgently renewed. -We followed, taking as he led, a Path Along a Hedge of hollies, dark and tall, Whose flexile boughs, descending with a weight Of leafy spray, concealed the stems and roots That gave them nourishment. When frosty winds Howl from the north, what kindly warmth methought Is here, how grateful this impervious screen! Not shaped by simple wearing of the foot On rural business passing to and fro
Was the commodious Walk; a careful hand
Had marked the line, and strewn the surface o'er With pure cerulean gravel, from the heights Fetched by the neighbouring brook.-Across the Vale The stately Fence accompanied our steps; And thus the Pathway, by perennial green Guarded and graced, seemed fashioned to unite,
As by a beautiful yet solemn chain,
The Pastor's Mansion with the House of Prayer.
Like Image of solemnity, conjoined With feminine allurement soft and fair, The Mansion's self displayed;—a reverend Pile With bold projections and recesses deep; Shadowy, yet gay and lightsome as it stood Fronting the noontide Sun. We paused to admire The pillared Porch, elaborately embossed; The low wide windows with their mullions old; The cornice richly fretted, of grey stone; And that smooth slope from which the Dwelling rose, By beds and banks Arcadian of gay flowers And flowering shrubs, protected and adorned; Profusion bright! and every flower assuming A more than natural vividness of hue, From unaffected contrast with the gloom Of sober cypress, and the darker foil Of yew, in which survived some traces, here Not unbecoming, of grotesque device And uncouth fancy. From behind the roof Rose the slim ash and massy sycamore, Blending their diverse foliage with the green
-What kindly warmth from touch of fostering hand, Of ivy, flourishing and thick, that clasped
What penetrating power of sun or breeze,
Shall c'er dissolve the crust wherein his soul
The huge round chimneys, harbour of delight For wren and redbreast,-where they sit and sing
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