Not always from intolerable pangs
He fled; but, compassed round by pleasure, sighed For independent happiness; craving peace,
The central feeling of all happiness,
Not as a refuge from distress or pain, A breathing-time, vacation, or a truce, But for its absolute self; a life of peace, Stability without regret or fear;
That hath been, is, and shall be evermore! Such the reward he sought; and wore out Life, There, where on few external things his heart Was set, and those his own; or, if not his, Subsisting under Nature's steadfast law.
What other yearning was the master tie Of the monastic Brotherhood; upon Rock Aërial, or in green secluded Vale,
One after one, collected from afar,
An undissolving Fellowship? What but this, The universal instinct of repose,
The longing for confirmed tranquillity, Inward and outward; humble, yet sublime: The life where hope and memory are as one; Earth quiet and unchanged; the human Soul Consistent in self-rule; and heaven revealed
To meditation, in that quietness!
thrice happy he who gained
The end proposed! And, though the same were missed
By multitudes, perhaps obtained by none, -
They, for the attempt, and for the pains employed, Do, in my present censure, stand redeemed From the unqualified disdain; that once Would have been cast upon them, by my Voice Delivering its decisions from the seat
Of forward Youth: - that scruples not to solve Doubts, and determine questions, by the rules Of inexperienced judgment, ever prone To overweening faith; and is inflamed, By courage, to demand from real life
The test of act and suffering
to provoke Hostility, how dreadful when it comes, Whether affliction be the foe, or guilt!
A Child of earth, I rested, in that stage Of my past course to which these thoughts advert, Upon earth's native energies; forgetting That mine was a condition which required Nor energy, nor fortitude
Without vicissitude; which, if the like
Had been presented to my view elsewhere,
I might have even been tempted to despise. But that which was serene was also bright; Enliven❜d happiness with joy o'erflowing,
With joy, and -oh! that memory should survive To speak the word—with rapture! Nature's boon, Life's genuine inspiration, happiness
Above what rules can teach, or fancy feign; Abused, as all possessions are abused
That are not prized according to their worth. And yet, what worth? what good is given to Men, More solid than the gilded clouds of heaven? What joy more lasting than a vernal flower?
None! 'tis the general plaint of human kind In solitude, and mutually addressed
From each to all, for wisdom's sake: This truth The Priest announces from his holy seat;
And, crowned with garlands in the summer grove, The Poet fits it to his pensive Lyre.
Yet, ere that final resting-place be gained, Sharp contradictions may arise by doom Of this same life, compelling us to grieve That the prosperities of love and joy Should be permitted, oft-times, to endure So long, and be at once cast down for ever. Oh! tremble Ye to whom hath been assigned
A course of days composing happy months, And they as happy years; the present still So like the past, and both so firm a pledge Of a congenial future, that the wheels
Of pleasure move without the aid of hope: For Mutability is Nature's bane;
And slighted Hope will be avenged; and, when Ye need her favours, Ye shall find her not;
This was the bitter language of the heart: But, while he spake, look, gesture, tone of voice, Though discomposed and vehement, were such As skill and graceful Nature might suggest To a Proficient of the tragic scene
Standing before the multitude, beset
With dark events. Desirous to divert Or stem the current of the Speaker's thoughts, We signified a wish to leave that Place Of stillness and close privacy, a nook That seemed for self-examination made, Or, for confession, in the sinner's need, Hidden from all Men's view. To our attempt He yielded not; but, pointing to a slope Of mossy turf defended from the sun,
And, on that couch inviting us to rest, Full on that tender-hearted Man he turned A serious eye, and thus his speech renewed.
“You never saw, your eyes did never look On the bright Form of Her whom once I loved: Her silver voice was heard upon the earth,
A sound unknown to you; else, honoured Friend! Your heart had borne a pitiable share
Of what I suffered, when I wept that loss,
And suffer now, not seldom, from the thought That I remember, and can weep no more. — Stripped as I am of all the golden fruit. Of self-esteem; and by the cutting blasts Of self-reproach familiarly assailed;
I would not yet be of such wintry bareness, But that some leaf of your regard should hang Upon my naked branches : — lively thoughts Give birth, full often, to unguarded words; I grieve that, in your presence, from my tongue Too much of frailty hath already dropped; But that too much demands still more.
Revered Compatriot; - and to you, kind Sir, (Not to be deemed a Stranger, as you come
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