Beguiling harmlessly the listless hours.
But, if the spirit be oppress'd 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 pendant rocks

Confines the shrill-voiced whirlwind, round and round Eddying within its vast circumference,

On Sarum's naked plain ;-than Pyramid

your

minds

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
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 deem'd,

The wandering Herbalist, who, clear alike

From vain, and, that worse evil, vexing thoughts,
Casts, if he ever chance to enter here,

Upon 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 luckless rock or prominent stone, disguised

In weather-stains, or crusted o'er by Nature
With her first growths-detaching by the stroke
A chip, or splinter to resolve his doubts;

And, with that ready answer satisfied,

The substance classes by some barbarous name,
Ånd hurries on; or from the fragments picks

His specimen, if haply intervein'd

With sparkling mineral, or should crystal cube
Lurk in its cells and thinks himself enrich'd,

Wealthier, and doubtless wiser, than before!

Intrusted safely—each to his pursuit

Earnest alike, let both from hill to hill

Range; if it please them, speed from clime to clime; The mind is full-no pain is in their sport."

"Then," said I, interposing, "One is near,
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 enter'd 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," answer'd the desponding Man,

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

Ah! what avails Imagination high

Or Question deep? what profits all that Earth,
Or Heaven's blue Vault, is suffer'd 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,

Nor for progressive virtue, by the search
Can be attain'd, a better sanctuary

From doubt and sorrow, than the senseless grave?"

"Is this," the grey-hair'd 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."

Promptly replied.

The Other, not displeased, "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 Men

Leapt out together from a rocky Cave;

And these were the first Parents of Mankind:
Or, if a different image be recalled

By the warm sunshine, and the jocund voice

Of insects

chirping out their careless lives

On these soft beds of thyme-besprinkled turf.

Choose, with the gay Athenian, a conceit

As sound-blithe race! whose mantles were bedecked

With golden Grasshoppers, in sign that they

Had sprung, like those bright creatures, from the soil Whereon their endless generations dwelt.

But stop! these theoretic fancies jar

On serious minds; then, as the Hindoos draw

Their holy Ganges from a skiey fount,

Even so deduce the Stream of human Life