Yes," said I," shall the immunities to which She doth lay claim, the precepts she bestows, For Her, who (all too timid and reserved Too weak for suffering, and for hope too tame) The ends of being would secure, and win I cried, "more worthy of regard, the Power, His Countenance gave notice that my zeal Accorded little with his present mind; I ceased, and he resumed." Ah! gentle Sir, Slight, if you will, the means; but spare to slight The end of those, who did, by system, rank, As the prime object of a wise Man's aim, Release from fear; and cherished peaceful days For their own sakes, as mortal life's chief good, What motive drew, what impulse, I would ask, 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, What other yearning was the master tie Of the monastic Brotherhood; upon Rock Aerial, or in green secluded Vale, One after one, collected from afar, An undissolving Fellowship?-What but this, The longing for confirmed tranquillity, Inward and outward; humble, yet sublime:- To meditation, in that quietness! Such was their scheme :-thrice happy he who gained The end proposed! And,-though the same were missed By multitudes, perhaps obtained by none, Q 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 Of forward Youth: that scruples not to solve A Child of earth, I rested, in that stage Without vicissitude; which, if the like Enlivened happiness with joy o'erflowing, With joy, and-oh! that memory should survive Above what rules can teach, or fancy feign; That are not prized according to their worth. 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, To cross the way; and we, perchance, by doom So long, and be at once cast down for ever. |