Though strength decay, to breathe in such estate As shall divide them wholly from the stir Of hopeful nature. Rightly is it said That Man descends into the Vale of years ; Yet have I thought that we might also speak, And not presumptuously, I trust, of Age, As of a final EMINENCE ; though bare In aspect and forbidding, yet a point On which 'tis not impossible to sit In awful sovereignty; a place of power, A throne, that may be likened unto his, Who, in some placid day of summer, looks Down from a mountain-top-say one of those High peaks, that bound the vale where now we are. Faint, and diminished to the gazing eye, Forest and field, and hill and dale appear, With all the shapes upon their surface spread : But, while the gross and visible frame of things Relinquishes its hold upon the sense, , Yea almost on the Mind herself, and seems All unsubstantialized,—how loud the voice Of waters, with invigorated peal From the full river in the vale below, Ascending! For on that superior height Who sits, is disencumbered from the
Many and idle, visits not his ear : This he is freed from, and from thousand notes (Not less unceasing, not less vain than these,) By which the finer
passages Are occupied ; and the Soul, that would incline To listen, is prevented or deterred.
And may it not be hoped, that, placed by age In like removal, tranquil though severe, We are not so removed for utter loss; But for some favour, suited to our need ? What more than that the severing should confer Fresh power to commune with the invisible world, And hear the mighty stream of tendency Uttering, for elevation of our thought, A clear sonorous voice, inaudible To the vast multitude ; whose doom it is To run the giddy round of vain delight, Or fret and labour on the Plain below.
But, if to such sublime ascent the hopes Of Man may rise, as to a welcome close And termination of his mortal course ; Them only can such hope inspire whose minds Have not been starved by absolute neglect ; Nor bodies crushed by unremitting toil; To whom kind Nature, therefore, may afford Proof of the sacred love she bears for all ; Whose birthright Reason, therefore, may ensure.
For me, consulting what I feel within In times when most existence with herself Is satisfied, I cannot but believe, That, far as kindly Nature hath free scope And Reason's sway predominates ; even so far, Country, society, and time itself, That saps the individual's bodily frame, And lays the generations low in dust, Do, by the almighty Ruler's grace, partake Of one. maternal spirit, bringing forth And cherishing with ever-constant love, That tires not, nor betrays. Our life is turned Out of her course, wherever man is made An offering, or a sacrifice, a tool Or implement, a passive thing employed As a brute mean, without acknowledgment Of common right or interest in the end ; Used or abused, as selfishness may prompt. Say, what can follow for a rational soul Perverted thus, but weakness in all good, And strength in evil? Hence an after-call For chastisement, and custody, and bonds, And oft-times Death, avenger of the past, And the sole guardian in whose hands we dare Entrust the future.-Not for these sad issues Was Man created ; but to obey the law Of life, and hope, and action. And 'tis known That when we stand upon our native soil, Unelbowed by such objects as oppress
Our active powers, those powers themselves become Strong to subvert our noxious qualities : They sweep distemper from the busy day, And make the chalice of the big round year Run o'er with gladness; whence the Being moves In beauty through the world; and all who see Bless him, rejoicing in his neighbourhood.”
Then," said the Solitary,“ by what force Of language shall a feeling heart express Her sorrow for that, multitude in whom We look for health from seeds that have been sown In sickness, and for increase in a power That works but by extinction ? On themselves They cannot lean, nor turn to their own hearts To know what they must do ; their wisdom is To look into the eyes of others, thence To be instructed what they must avoid : Or rather, let us say, how least observed, How with most quiet and most silent death, With the least taint and injury to the air The oppressor breathes, their human form divine, And their immortal soul, may waste away.”
The Sage rejoined, “ I thank you --you have spared My voice the utterance of a keen regret, A wide compassion which with you I share. When, heretofore, I placed before your sight A Little-one, subjected to the arts
Of modern ingenuity, and made The senseless member of a vast machine, Serving as doth a spindle or a wheel ; Think not, that, pitying him, I could forget The rustic Boy, who walks the fields, untaught; The slave of ignorance, and oft of want, And miserable hunger. Much, too much, Of this unhappy lot, in early youth We both have witnessed, lot which I myself Shared, though in mild and merciful degree: Yet was the mind to hinderances exposed, Through which I struggled, not without distress And sometimes injury, like a lamb enthralled 'Mid thorns and brambles ; or a bird that breaks Through a strong net, and mounts upon the wind, Though with her plumes impaired. If they, whose souls Should
open while they range the richer fields Of merry England, are obstructed less By indigence, their ignorance is not less, Nor less to be deplored. For who can doubt That tens of thousands at this day exist Such as the boy you painted, lineal heirs Of those who once were vassals of her soil, Following its fortunes like the beasts or trees Which it sustained. But no one takes delight In this oppression, none are proud of it; It bears no sounding name, nor ever bore; A standing grievance, an indigenous vice Of every country under heaven. My thoughts
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