Where meditation was.
I turn'd away,
And walk'd along my road in happiness.'

"

He ceased. Ere long the sun declining shot
A slant and mellow radiance, which began
To fall upon us, while beneath the trees,
We sate on that low bench: and now we felt,
Admonish'd thus, the sweet hour coming on.
A linnet warbled from those lofty elms,
A thrush sang loud, and other melodies,
At distance heard, peopled the milder air.
The old man rose, and, with a sprightly mien
Of hopeful preparation, grasp'd his staff;
Together casting then a farewell look
Upon those silent walls, we left the shade;
And, ere the stars were visible, had reach'd
A village inn,-
,—our evening resting-place.

BOOK II.

THE SOLITARY.

The Author describes his travels with the Wanderer, whose character is further illustrated -Morning scene, and view of a Village Wake-Wanderer's account of a friend whom he purposes to visit-View, from an eminence, of the valley which his friend had chosen for his retreat-Sound of singing from below-a funeral procession-Descent into the valley-Observations drawn from the Wanderer at sight of a book accidentally discovered in a recess in the valley-Meeting with the Wanderer's friend, the SolitaryWanderer's description of the mode of burial in this mountainous district-Solitary contrasts with this, that of the individual carried a few minutes before from the cottage -The cottage entered-Description of the Solitary's apartment-Repast there-View from the window, of two mountain summits-and the Solitary's description of the companionship they afford him-Account of the departed inmate of the cottageDescription of a grand spectacle upon the mountains, with its effect upon the Solitary's mind-Quit the house.

IN days of yore how fortunately fared

The minstrel! wandering on from hall to hall,
Baronial court or royal; cheer'd with gifts
Munificent, and love, and ladies' praise;
Now meeting on his road an armed knight,
Now resting with a pilgrim by the side
Of a clear brook; beneath an abbey's roof
One evening sumptuously lodged; the next
Humbly in a religious hospital;

Or with some merry outlaws of the wood;
Or haply shrouded in a hermit's cell.
Him, sleeping or awake, the robber spared;
He walk'd protected from the sword of war,
By virtue of that sacred instrument,
His harp, suspended at the traveller's side:
His dear companion wheresoe'er he went,
Opening from land to land an easy way
By melody, and by the charm of verse.

Yet not the noblest of that honour'd race
Drew happier, loftier, more impassion'd thoughts
From his long journeyings and eventful life,
Than this obscure itinerant (an obscure
But a high-soul'd and tender-hearted man)
Had skill to draw from many a ramble, far
And wide protracted through the tamer ground
Of these our unimaginative days;

Both while he trod the earth in humblest guise
Accoutred with his burthen and his staff;
And now, when free to move with lighter pace.

What wonder, then, if I, whose favourite school
Hath been the fields, the roads, and rural lanes,
Look'd on this guide with reverential love!
Each with the other pleased, we now pursued
Our journey-beneath favourable skies.

Turn wheresoe'er we would, he was a light
Unfailing not a hamlet could we pass,
Rarely a house, which did not yield to him
Remembrances; or from his tongue call forth
Some way-beguiling tale. Nor less regard
Accompanied those strains of apt discourse,
Which Nature's various objects might supply;
And in the silence of his face I read

His overflowing spirit. Birds and beasts,
And the mute fish that glances in the stream,
And harmless reptile coiling in the sun,
And gorgeous insect hovering in the air,
The fowl domestic, and the household dog-
In his capacious mind he loved them all:
Their rights acknowledging, he felt for all.
Oft was occasion given me to perceive
How the calm pleasures of the pasturing herd
To happy contemplation soothed his walk
Along the field, and in the shady grove;
How the poor brute's condition, forced to run
Its course of suffering in the public road,
Sad contrast! all too often smote his heart
With unavailing pity. Rich in love
And sweet humanity, he was, himself,
To the degree that he desired, beloved.

Greetings and smiles we met with all day long,
From faces that we knew; we took our seats
By many a cottage-hearth, where he received
The welcome of an inmate from afar.
Nor was he loth to enter ragged huts,
Wherein his charity was bless'd; his voice
Heard as the voice of an experienced friend.

And, sometimes-where the poor man held dispute

With his own mind, unable to subdue

Impatience, through inaptness to perceive
General distress in his particular lot:

Or cherishing resentment, or in vain

Struggling against it, with a soul perplex'd,
And finding in itself no steady power
To draw the line of comfort that divides
Calamity, the chastisement of Heaven,
From the injustice of our brother men-
To him appeal was made as to a judge;
Who, with an understanding heart, allay'd
The perturbation; listen'd to the plea;
Resolved the dubious point; and sentence gave,
So grounded, so applied, that it was heard
With soften'd spirit-even when it condemn'd.

Such intercourse I witness'd while we roved
Now as his choice directed, now as mine;
Or both, with equal readiness of will,
Our course submitting to the changeful breeze
Of accident. But when the rising sun
Had three times call'd us to renew our walk,
My fellow-traveller said, with earnest voice,
As if the thought were but a moment old,
That I must yield myself without reserve
To his disposal. Glad was I of this.
We started, and he led me towards the hills;
Up through an ample vale, with higher hills
Before us, mountains stern and desolate;
But in the majesty of distance now
Set off, and to our ken appearing fair
Of aspect, with aërial softness clad,

And beautified with morning's purple beams.

The wealthy, the luxurious, by the stress Of business roused, or pleasure, ere their time, May roll in chariots, or provoke the hoofs Of the fleet coursers they bestride, to raise From earth the dust of morning, slow to rise; And they, if blest with health and hearts at ease, Shall lack not their enjoyment: but how faint Compared with ours, who, pacing side by side, Could, with an eye of leisure, look on all That we beheld; and lend the listening sense To every grateful sound of earth and airPausing at will; our spirits braced, our thoughts Pleasant as roses in the thickets blown, And pure as dew bathing their crimson leaves.

Mount slowly, sun! and may our journey lie
Awhile within the shadow of this hill,
This friendly hill, a shelter from thy beams!
Such is the summer pilgrim's frequent wish:
And as that wish, with prevalence of thanks
For present good o'er fear of future ill,

Stole in among the morning's blither thoughts,
'Twas chased away, for tow'rds the western side
Of the broad vale, casting a casual glance,
We saw a throng of people-wherefore met?

Blithe notes of music, suddenly let loose
On the thrill'd ear, did to the question yield
Prompt answer; they proclaim the annual wake,
Which the bright season favours. Tabor and pipe
In purpose join to hasten and reprove
The laggard rustic; and repay with boons
Of merriment a particolour'd knot,
Already form'd upon the village green.
Beyond the limits of the shadow cast
By the broad hill, glisten'd upon our sight
That gay assemblage. Round them and above,
Glitter, with dark recesses interposed,

Casement, and cottage roof, and stems of trees
Half-veil'd in vapoury cloud, the silver steam
Of dews fast melting on their leafy boughs
By the strong sunbeams smitten. Like a mast
Of gold, the maypole shines; as if the rays
Of morning, aided by exhaling dew,
With gladsome influence could reanimate
The faded garlands dangling from its sides.

Said I, "The music and the sprightly scene
Invite us; shall we quit our road, and join
These festive matins?" He replied, "Not loth
Here would I linger, and with you partake,
Not one hour merely, but till evening's close,
The simple pastimes of the day and place.
By the fleet racers, ere the sun be set,
The turf of yon large pasture will be skimm'd;
There, too, the lusty wrestlers will contend;
But know we not that he who intermits
Th' appointed task and duties of the day,
Untunes full oft the pleasures of the day,
Checking the finer spirits that refuse

To flow when purposes are lightly changed?
We must proceed, a length of journey yet
Remains untraced." Then, pointing with his staff
Towards those craggy summits, his intent
He thus imparted :-

"In a spot that lies Among yon mountain fastnesses conceal'd,

You will receive, before the hour of noon,

Good recompense, I hope, for this day's toil-
From sight of one who lives secluded there,

Lonesome and lost: of whom, and whose past life
(Not to forestall such knowledge as may be
More faithfully collected from himself),
This brief communication shall suffice.

"Though now sojourning there, he, like myself,
Sprang from a stock of lowly parentage
Among the wilds of Scotland; in a tract
Where many a shelter'd and well-tended plant,
Upon the humblest ground of social life,
Doth at this day, I trust, the blossoms bear

Of piety and simple innocence.

Such grateful promises his youth display'd;

And, as he show'd in study forward zeal,

All helps were sought, all measures strain'd, tnat he
By due scholastic discipline prepared,

Might to the ministry be call'd; which done,
Partly through lack of better hopes-and part,
Perhaps, incited by a curious mind,

In early life he undertook the charge
Of chaplain to a military troop

Cheer'd by the Highland bagpipe, as they march'd
In plaided vest-his fellow-countrymen.
This office filling, and by native power,
And force of native inclination, made
An intellectual ruler in the haunts
Of social vanity, he walk'd the world,
Gay, and affecting graceful gaiety;

Lax, buoyant-less a pastor with his flock

Than a soldier among soldiers-lived and roam'd
Where fortune led and Fortune, who oft proves
The careless wanderer's friend, to him made known
A blooming lady-a conspicuous flower,
Admired for beauty, for her sweetness praised,
Whom he had sensibility to love,

Ambition to attempt, and skill to win,

"For this fair bride, most rich in gifts of mind,
Nor sparingly endow'd with worldly wealth,
His office he relinquish'd; and retired
From the world's notice to a rural home.
Youth's season yet with him was scarcely past,
And she was in youth's prime. How full their joy!-
How free their love !-nor did their love decay,
Nor joy abate, till,-pitiable doom!

In the short course of one undreaded year
Death blasted all. Death suddenly o'erthrew
Two lovely children-all that they possess'd!
The mother follow'd: miserably bare
The one survivor stood; he wept, he pray'd
For his dismissal, day and night-compell'd
By pain to turn his thoughts towards the grave,
And face the regions of eternity.
An uncomplaining apathy displaced
This anguish; and, indifferent to delight,
To aim and purpose, he consumed his days,
To private interest dead, and public care.
So lived he; so he might have died.

"But now,

To the wide world's astonishment, appear'd
The glorious opening, the unlook'd-for dawn,
That promised everlasting joy to France!
That sudden light had power to pierce the gloom
In which his spirit, friendless upon earth,
In separation dwelt, and solitude.