The joy of that pure principle of Love
So deeply, that, unsatisfied with aught
Less pure and exquisite, he cannot choose
But seek for objects of a kindred love
In Fellow-natures and a kindred joy.
Accordingly he by degrees perceives
His feelings of aversion softened down;
A holy tenderness pervade his frame.
His sanity of reason not impaired,
Say rather, all his thoughts now flowing clear,
From a clear Fountain flowing, he looks round
And seeks for good; and finds the good he seeks :
Until abhorrence and contempt are things
He only knows by name; and, if he hear,
From other mouths, the language which they speak,
He is compassionate; and has no thought,
No feeling, which can overcome his love.
And further; by contemplating these Forms
In the relations which they bear to Man,
He shall discern, how, through the various means
Which silently they yield, are multiplied
The spiritual Presences of absent Things.
Trust me, that for the Instructed, time will come
When they shall meet no object but may teach
Some acceptable lesson to their minds
Of human suffering, or of human joy.
So shall they learn, while all things speak of Man,
Their duties from all forms; and general laws,
And local accidents, shall tend alike
To rouse, to urge; and, with the will, confer
The ability to spread the blessings wide
Of true philanthropy. The light of love
Not failing, perseverance from their steps
Departing not, for them shall be confirmed
The glorious habit by which Sense is made
Subservient still to moral purposes,
Auxiliar to divine. That change shall clothe
The naked Spirit, ceasing to deplore
The burthen of existence. Science then
Shall be a precious Visitant; and then,
And only then, be worthy of her name.
For then her Heart shall kindle; her dull Eye,
Dull and inanimate, no more shall hang
Chained to its object in brute slavery;
But taught with patient interest to watch
The processes of things, and serve the cause
Of order and distinctness, not for this
Shall it forget that its most noble use,
Its most illustrious province, must be found
In furnishing clear guidance, a support
Not treacherous, to the Mind's excursive Power.
So build we up the Being that we are;
Thus deeply drinking-in the Soul of Things
We shall be wise perforce; and while inspired
By choice, and conscious that the Will is free,
Unswerving shall we move, as if impelled
By strict necessity, along the path
Of order and of good. Whate'er we see,
Whate'er we feel, by agency direct
Or indirect shall tend to feed and nurse
Our faculties, shall fix in calmer seats
Of moral strength, and raise to loftier heights
Of love divine, our intellectual Soul."
Here closed the Sage that eloquent harangue, Poured forth with fervour in continuous stream; Such as, remote mid savage wilderness, An Indian Chief discharges from his breast Into the hearing of assembled Tribes, In open circle seated round, and hushed As the unbreathing air, when not a leaf
Stirs in the mighty woods. So did he speak :
The words he uttered shall not pass away;
Of One whom time and nature had made wise,
Gracing his language with authority
Which hostile spirits silently allow;
Of One accustomed to desires that feed
On fruitage gathered from the Tree of Life;.
To hopes on knowledge and experience built;
Of One in whom persuasion and belief
Had ripened into faith, and faith become
A passionate intuition; whence the Soul,
Though bound to Earth by ties of pity and love,
From all injurious servitude was free.
The Sun, before his place of rest were reached, Had yet to travel far, but unto us,
To us who stood low in that hollow Dell,
He had become invisible,
Leaving behind of yellow radiance spread
Upon the mountain sides, in contrast bold
With ample shadows, seemingly, no less
Than those resplendent lights, his rich bequest,
A dispensation of his evening power.
Adown the path that from the Glen had led The funeral Train, the Shepherd and his Mate Were seen descending; forth to greet them ran Our little Page; the rustic Pair approach;
And in the Matron's aspect may be read
A plain assurance that the words which told
How that neglected Pensioner was sent
Before his time into a quiet grave,
Had done to her humanity no wrong:
But we are kindly welcomed-promptly served
With ostentatious zeal. — Along the floor
Of the small Cottage in the lonely Dell
A grateful Couch was spread for our repose;
Where, in the guise of Mountaineers, we slept,
Stretched upon fragrant heath, and lulled by sound
Of far-off Torrents charming the still night,
And to tired limbs and over-busy thoughts
Inviting sleep and soft forgetfulness.
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