The solemn voice appeared 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, the unanswered 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 returned upon themselves, And, in soft tone of speech, thus he resumed.
"Ah! if the heart, too confidently raised, Perchance too lightly occupied, or lulled 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 labor, covered, as a lake with waves; Thousands of cities, in the desert place
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 beams, Or in the gloom of twilight hum their joy? More obviously the self-same influence rules The feathered kinds; the fieldfare's pensive flock, The cawing rooks, and sea-mews from afar, Hovering above these inland solitudes,
By the rough wind unscattered, 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 asked, 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 revealed!-the swains moved on And heeded not you lingered, 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: distempered nerves Infect the thoughts: the languor of the frame Depresses the soul's vigor. Quit your couch- Cleave not so fondly to your moody cell; Nor let the hallowed 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 performed; 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 harbors, 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 rushed
Into my bosom, whence these words broke forth:
Oh! 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-one Among the many there; and while the mists Flying, and rainy vapors, 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, Amid the deafening tumult, scarcely heard By him that utters it, exclaim aloud,
Rage on, ye elements! let moon and stars Their aspects lend, and mingle in their turn
With this commotion (ruinous though it be) From day to night, from night to day, prolonged!""
"Yes," said the Wanderer, taking from my lips The strain of transport, "whosoe'er in youth Has, through ambition of his soul, given way To such desires, and grasped at such delight, Shall feel congenial stirrings late and long, In spite of all the weakness that life brings, Its cares and sorrows; he, though taught to own The tranquillizing power of time, shall wake, Wake sometimes to a noble restlessness-- Loving the sports which once he gloried in.
Compatriot, Friend, remote are Garry's hills, The streams far distant of your native glen; Yet is their form and image here expressed With brotherly resemblance. Turn your steps Wherever fancy leads; by day, by night, Are various engines working, not the same As those with which your soul in youth was moved, But by the great Artificer endowed
With no inferior power. You dwell alone; You walk, you live, you speculate alone; Yet doth remembrance, like a sovereign prince, For you a stately gallery maintain
Of gay or tragic pictures. You have seen, Have acted, suffered, travelled far, observed With no incurious eye; and books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age; more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs.
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