The vapours had receded, taking there
Their station under a cerulean sky.
O, 'twas an unimaginable sight!

Clouds, mists, streams, watery rocks, and emerald turf, Clouds of all tincture, rocks and sapphire sky, Confused, commingled, mutually inflamed,

Molten together, and composing thus,

Each lost in each, that marvellous array
Of temple, palace, citadel, and huge
Fantastic pomp of structure without name,
In fleecy folds voluminous enwrapped.
Right in the midst, where interspace appeared
Of open court, an object like a throne
Under a shining canopy of state

Stood fixed; and fixed resemblances were seen
To implements of ordinary use,

But vast in size, in substance glorified;
Such as by Hebrew prophets were beheld
In vision-forms uncouth of mightiest power,
For admiration and mysterious awe.
Below me was the earth; this little vale,
Lay low beneath my feet; 'twas visible-
I saw not, but I felt, that it was there.
That which I saw was the revealed abode
Of spirits in beatitude: my heart
Swelled in my breast.

'I have been dead,' I cried,
'And now I live! Oh! wherefore do I live?'
And with that pang I prayed to be no more!
But I forget our charge-as utterly

I then forgot him-there I stood and gazed;
The apparition faded not away,

And I descended. Having reached the house,
I found its rescued inmate safely lodged,

And in serene possession of himself,
Beside a genial fire that seemed to spread
A gleam of comfort o'er his pallid face.

Great show of joy the housewife made, and truly
Was glad to find her conscience set at ease;
And not less glad, for sake of her good name,
That the poor sufferer had escaped with life.
But, though he seemed at first to have received
No harm, and uncomplaining as before

Went through his usual tasks, a silent change
Soon showed itself; he lingered three short weeks;
And from the cottage hath been borne to-day.

"So ends my dolorous tale, and glad I am That it is ended." At these words he turnedAnd, with blithe air of open fellowship,

Brought from the cupboard wine and stouter cheer,
Like one who would be merry. Seeing this

My grey-haired friend said courteously-" Nay, nay,
You have regaled us as a hermit ought;
Now let us forth into the sun!" Our host
Rose, though reluctantly, and forth we went..

BOOK III.

DESPONDENCY.

mages in the Valley-Another recess in it entered and described-Wanderer's sensations -Solitary's excited by the same objects-Contrast between these-Despondency of the Solitary gently reproved Conversation exhibiting the Solitary's past and present opinions and feelings, till he enters upon his own history at length-His domestic felicity-Afflictions-Dejection-Roused by the French Revolution-Disappointme t and disgust-Voyage to America-Disappointment and disgust pursue him-His return -His languor and depression of mind, from want of faith in the great truths of religion, and want of confidence in the virtue of mankind.

A HUMMING BEE-a little tinkling rill-
A pair of falcons wheeling on the wing,
In clamorous agitation, round the crest
Of a tall rock, their airy citadel-

By each and all of these the pensive ear
Was greeted, in the silence that ensued,

When through the cottage threshold we had passed,
And, deep within that lonesome valley, stood
Once more beneath the concave of the blue
And cloudless sky. Anon exclaimed our host,
Triumphantly dispersing with the taunt
The shade of discontent which on his brow
Had gathered," Ye have left my cell-but see
Now Nature hems you in with friendly arms!
And by her help ye are my prisoners still.
But which way shall I lead you ?-how contrive,
In spot so parsimoniously endowed,

That the brief hours which yet remain may reap
Some recompense of knowledge or delight?"
So saying, round he looked, as if perplexed;
And, to remove these doubts, my grey-haired friend
Said "Shall we take this pathway for our guide?—
Upwards it winds, as if, in summer heats,

Its line had first been fashioned by the flock
A place of refuge seeking at the root

Of yon black yew-tree, whose protruded boughs
Darken the silver bosom of the crag

From which it draws its meagre sustenance.
There in commodious shelter may we rest.
Or let us trace the streamlet to its source;
Feebly it tinkles with an earthly sound,
And a few steps may bring us to the spot

Where, haply, crowned with flow'rets and green herbs,
The mountain infant to the sun comes forth,
Like human life from darkness.' At the word

We followed where he led. A sudden turn

Through a straight passage of encumbered ground,

Proved that such hope was vain: for now we stood
Shut out from prospect of the open vale,
And saw the water that composed this rill,

"And who,"

Descending, disembodied, and diffused
O'er the smooth surface of an ample crag,
Lofty, and steep, and naked as a tower.
All further progress here was barred.
Thought I. "if master of a vacant hour,
Here would not linger, willingly detained?
Whether to such wild objects he were led
When copious rains have magnified the stream
Into a loud and white-robed waterfall,
Or introduced at this more quiet time."

Upon a semicirque of turf-clad ground,
The hidden rock discovered to our view
A mass of nook, resembling, as it lay
Right at the foot of that moist precipice,
A stranded ship, with keel upturned,-that rests
Fearless of winds and waves. Three several stones
Stood near, of smaller size, and not unlike

To monumental pillars: and from these
Some little space disjoined, a pair were seen,
That with united shoulders bore aloft
A fragment, like an altar, flat and smooth.
Barren the tablet, yet thereon appeared
Conspicuously stationed, one fair plant,
A tall and shining holly, that had found
A hospitable chink, and stood upright,
As if inserted by some human hand
In mockery, to wither in the sun,
Or lay its beauty flat before a breeze,

The first that entered. But no breeze did now
Find entrance; high or low appeared no trace
Of motion, save the water that descended,
Diffused adown that barrier of steep rock,
And softly creeping, like a breath of air,
Such as is sometimes seen, and hardly seen,
To brush the still breast of a crystal lake.

"Behold a cabinet for sages built,

Which kings might envy!" Praise to this effect
Broke from the happy old man's reverend lip;
Who to the Solitary turned, and said,
"In sooth, with love's familiar privilege,
You have decried, in no unseemly terms
Of modesty, that wealth which is your own.
Among these rocks and stones, methinks, I see
More than the heedless impress that belongs
To lonely nature's casual work; they bear
A semblance strange of power intelligent,
And of design not wholly worn away.
Boldest of plants that ever faced the wind,
How gracefully that slender shrub looks forth
From its fantastic birth-place! And I own,
Some shadowy intimations haunt me here,
I cannot but incline to a belief
That in these shows a chronicle survives

Of purposes akin to those of man,

But wrought with mightier arm than now prevails.
Voiceless the stream descends into the gulf
With timid lapse; and lo! while in this strait
I stand-the chasm of sky above my head
Is heaven's profoundest azure; no domain
For fickle, short-lived clouds to occupy,
Or to pass through, but rather an abyss
In which the everlasting stars abide;

And whose soft gloom and boundless depth might tempt
The curious eye to look for them by day.

Hail Contemplation! from the stately towers,
Reared by the industrious hand of human art
To lift thee high above the misty air,
And turbulence of murmuring cities vast;
From academic groves, that have for thee
Been planted, hither come and find a lodge
To which thou mayest resort for holier peace,-
From whose calm centre thou, through height or depth,
Mayest penetrate, wherever truth shall lead;
Measuring through all degrees, until the scale
Of time and conscious nature disappear,
Lost in unsearchable eternity!"

A pause ensued; and with minuter care
We scanned the various features of the scene:
And soon the tenant of that lonely vale
With courteous voice thus spake :-

"I should have grieved
Hereafter-should perhaps have blamed myself-
If from my poor retirement ye had gone
Leaving this nook unvisited; but, in sooth,
Your unexpected presence had so roused
My spirits, that they were bent on enterprise;
And, like an ardent hunter, I forgot,

Or, shall I say-disdained-the game that lurked
At my own door. The shapes before our eyes
And their arrangement, doubtless must be deemed
The sport of Nature, aided by blind Chance,
Rudely to mock the works of toiling man.
And hence, this upright shaft of unhewn stone,
From fancy, willing to set off her stores
By sounding titles, hath acquired the name
Of Pompey's Pillar; that I gravely style
My Theban Obelisk; and, there, behold
A Druid cromlech!-thus I entertain
The antiquarian humour, and am pleased
To skim along the surfaces of things,
Beguiling harmlessly the listless hours.
But if the spirit be oppressed by sense
Of instability, revolt, decay,

And change, and emptiness, these freaks of Nature

And her blind helper Chance, do then suffice

To quicken, and to aggravate, to feed

Pity and scorn, and melancholy pride,

Not less than that huge pile (from some abyss
Of mortal power unquestionably sprung)
Whose hoary diadem of pendent rocks

Confines the shrill-voiced whirlwind, round and round
Eddying within its vast circumference,
On Šarum's naked plain-than pyramid
Of Egypt, unsubverted, undissolved;
Or Syria's marble ruins towering high
Above the sandy desert, in the light
Of sun or moon. Forgive me, if I say

That an appearance, which hath raised your minds
To an exalted pitch (the self-same cause
Different effect producing) is for me

Fraught rather with depression than delight,
Though shame it were, could I not look around me,
By the reflection of your pleasure, pleased.
Yet happier, in my judgment, even than you,
With your bright transports, fairly may be deemed,
Is he (if such have ever entered here)

The wandering herbalist,-who, clear alike
From vain, and, that worse evil, vexing thoughts,
Casts on these uncouth forms a slight regard
Of transitory interest, and peeps round
For some rare floweret of the hills, or plant
Of craggy fountain; what he hopes for, wins,
Or learns, at least, that 'tis not to be won:
Then, keen and eager, as a fine-nosed hound
By soul-engrossing instinct driven along
Through wood or open field, the harmless man
Departs, intent upon his onward quest !
Nor is that fellow-wanderer, so deem I,
Less to be envied (you may trace him oft
By scars which his activity has left

Beside our roads and pathways, though, thank Heaven!
This covert nook reports not of his hand),

He, who with pocket hammer smites the edge
Of every luckless rock or stone that stands
Before his sight, by weather-stains disguised,
Or crusted o'er with vegetation thin,

Nature's first growth-detaching by the stroke
A chip or splinter to resolve his doubts-
And, with that ready answer satisfied,

Doth to the substance give some barbarous name,
Then hurries on; or from the fragments picks
His specimen, if haply interveined

With sparkling mineral, or should crystal tube
Be lodged therein and thinks himself enriched,
Wealthier, and doubtless wiser, than before!
Intrusted safely each to his pursuit,

This earnest pair may range from hill to hill,
And, if it please them, speed from clime to clime;
The mind is full-no pain is in their sport."