Leaving this Nook unvisited: but, in sooth,
Your unexpected presence had so roused

My spirits, that they were bent on enterprize;
And, like an ardent Hunter, I forgot,

Or, shall I say?-disdained, the game that lurked
At my own door. The shapes before our eyes,
And their arrangement, doubtless must be deemed
The sport of Nature, aided by blind Chance
Rudely to mock the works of toiling Man.
And hence, this upright Shaft of unhewn stone,
From Fancy, willing to set off her stores

By sounding Titles, hath acquired the name
Of Pompey's Pillar; that I gravely style
My Theban Obelisk; and, there, behold
A Druid Cromlech!-thus I entertain
The antiquarian humour, and am pleased
To skim along the surfaces of things,
Beguiling harmlessly the listless hours.
But, if the spirit be oppressed 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

Of Egypt, unsubverted, undissolved;

Or Syria's marble Ruins towering high
Above the sandy Desart, in the light

Of sun or moon.-Forgive me, if I say

That an appearance, which hath raised your minds

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 me,

By the reflection of your pleasure, pleased.

Yet happier, in my judgment, even than you,
With your bright transports, fairly may be deemed,

Is He (if such have ever entered here)

The wandering Herbalist,-who, clear alike

From vain, and, that worse evil, vexing thoughts,

Casts on 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 every luckless rock or stone that stands

Before his sight, by weather-stains disguised,
Or crusted o'er with vegetation thin,

Nature's first growth, detaching by the stroke
A chip, or splinter,-to resolve his doubts;
And, with that ready answer satisfied,

Doth to the substance give some barbarous name,
Then hurries on; or from the fragments picks
His specimen, if haply interveined

With sparkling mineral, or should chrystal tube
Be lodged therein and thinks himself enriched,
Wealthier, and doubtless wiser, than before!
Entrusted safely-each to his pursuit,

This earnest Pair may range from hill to hill,
And, 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 entered 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,

Framed for enabling this penurious stream

To turn a slender mill (that new-made plaything)
For his delight-the happiest he of all!"

"Far happiest," answered the desponding Man,

66

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 suffered 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 no where

A habitation, for consummate good,

Or for progressive virtue, by the search

Can be attained, a better sanctuary

From doubt and sorrow, than the senseless grave?"

"Is this," the grey-haired 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.'

P