DESPONDENCY.

BOOK III.

Images in the Valley.-Another Recess in it entered and described.-Wanderer' 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.-Disappointment 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 a 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
How 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 those doubts, my gray-haired Friend
Said-" Shall we take this pathway for our guide ?—
Upward it winds, as if, in summer heats,

Its line had first been fashioned by the flock
Seeking a place of refuge 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 this streamlet to its source;
Feebly it tinkles with an earthy sound,
And a few steps may bring us to the spot

Where, haply, crowned with flowerets and green herbs, The mountain infant to the sun comes forth,

Like human life from darkness."-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,
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 ;--And who,
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 nook discovered to our view
A mass of rock, 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
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 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,

E

How gracefully that slender shrub looks forth
From its fantastic birth-place! And I own,
Some shadowy intimations haunt me here,
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.
Mayst 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, not escaping self-reproach,
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 lurks
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 Sarum'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,
By the reflection of your pleasure, pleased.
Yet happier in my judgment, even than you
With your bright transports fairly may be deemed,
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 cube
Lurk in its cells-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."
"One is near,

"Then," said I, interposing,
Who cannot but possess in your esteem
Place worthier still of envy. May I name,
Without offence, that fair-faced cottage-boy?
Dame Nature's pupil of the lowest form,
Youngest apprentice in the school of art!
Him, as we entered from the open glen,
You might have noticed, busily engaged,
Heart, soul, and hands,-in mending the defects
Left in the fabric of a leaky dam

Raised for enabling this penurious stream

To turn a slender mill (that new-made plaything)
For his delight-the happiest he of all!"

Far happiest," answered the desponding Man,

"If, such as now he is, he might remain !

Ah! what avails imagination high

Or questions deep? what profits all that earth,
Or heaven's blue vault, is suffered to put forth

Of impulse or allurement, for the Soul

To quit the beaten track of life, and soar
Far as she finds a yielding element
In past or future; far as she can go

Through time or space-if neither in the one,
Nor in the other region, nor in aught
That Fancy, dreaming o'er the map of things,
Hath placed beyond these penetrable bounds,
Words of assurance can be heard; if nowhere
A habitation, for consummate good,

Or for progressive virtue, by the search
Can be attained,-a better sanctuary

From doubt and sorrow, than the senseless grave !"

"Is this," the grey-haired Wanderer mildly said, "The voice, which we so lately overheard,

To that same child, addressing tenderly

The consolations of a hopeful mind ?

His body is at rest, his soul in heaven,

These were your words; and, verily, methinks
Wisdom is oft-times nearer when we stoop
Than when we soar."-

The Other, not displeased,

Promptly replied-" My notion is the same.

And I, without reluctance, could decline

All act of inquisition whence we rise,

And what, when breath hath ceased, we may become,

Here are we, in a bright and breathing world.

Our origin, what matters it? In lack

Of worthier explanation, say at once

With the American (a thought which suits

The place where now we stand) that certain wea
Leapt out together from a rocky esve;