The Excursion Read Online

Three several stones

Stood near, of smaller size, and not unlike

To monumental pillars; and, from these

Some little space disjoined, a pair were seen,

That with united shoulders bore aloft

A fragment, like an altar, flat and smooth:

Barren the tablet, yet thereon appeared

A tall and shining holly, that had found

A hospitable chink, and stood upright,

As if inserted by some human hand

In mockery, to wither in the sun,

Or lay its beauty flat before a breeze,

The first that entered. But no breeze did now

Find entrance; – high or low appeared no trace

Of motion, save the water that descended,

Diffused adown that barrier of steep rock,

And softly creeping, like a breath of air,

Such as is sometimes seen, and hardly seen,

To brush the still breast of a crystal lake.

»Behold a cabinet for sages built,

Which kings might envy!« – Praise to this effect

Broke from the happy old Man's reverend lip;

Who to the Solitary turned, and said,

»In sooth, with love's familiar privilege,

You have decried the wealth which is your own.

Among these rocks and stones, methinks, I see

More than the heedless impress that belongs

To lonely nature's casual work: they bear

A semblance strange of power intelligent,

And of design not wholly worn away.

Boldest of plants that ever faced the wind,

How gracefully that slender shrub looks forth

From its fantastic birthplace! And I own,

Some shadowy intimations haunt me here,

That in these shows a chronicle survives

Of purposes akin to those of Man,

But wrought with mightier arm than now prevails.

– Voiceless the stream descends into the gulf

With timid lapse; – and lo! while in this strait

I stand – the chasm of sky above my head

Is heaven's profoundest azure; no domain

For fickle, short-lived clouds to occupy,

Or to pass through; but rather an abyss

In which the everlasting stars abide;

And whose soft gloom, and boundless depth, might tempt

The curious eye to look for them by day.

– Hail Contemplation! from the stately towers,

Reared by the industrious hand of human art

To lift thee high above the misty air

And turbulence of murmuring cities vast;

From academic groves, that have for thee

Been planted, hither come and find a lodge

To which thou mayst resort for holier peace, –

From whose calm centre thou, through height or depth,

Mayst penetrate, wherever truth shall lead;

Measuring through all degrees, until the scale

Of time and conscious nature disappear,

Lost in unsearchable eternity!«

A pause ensued; and with minuter care

We scanned the various features of the scene:

And soon the Tenant of that lonely vale

With courteous voice thus spake –

»I should have grieved

Hereafter, not escaping self-reproach,

If from my poor retirement ye had gone

Leaving this nook unvisited: but, in sooth,

Your unexpected presence had so roused

My spirits, that they were bent on enterprise;

And, like an ardent hunter, I forgot,

Or, shall I say? – disdained, the game that lurks

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 pendent 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 desert, 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,

By the reflection of your pleasure, pleased.

Yet happier in my judgment, even than you

With your bright transports fairly may be deemed,

The wandering Herbalist, – who, clear alike

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

Caste, 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,

And hurries on; or from the fragments picks

His specimen, if but haply interveined

With sparkling mineral, or should crystal cube

Lurk in its cells – and thinks himself enriched,

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 – and free from pain their pastime.«

»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

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,« answered 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 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 nowhere

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.‹

These were your words; and, verily, methinks

Wisdom is ofttimes nearer when we stoop

Than when we soar.« –

The Other, not displeased,

Promptly replied – »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

From seats of power divine; and hope, or trust,

That our existence winds her stately course

Beneath the sun, like Ganges, to make part

Of a living ocean; or, to sink engulfed,

Like Niger, in impenetrable sands

And utter darkness: thought which may be faced,

Though comfortless! –

Not of myself I speak;

Such acquiescence neither doth imply,

In me, a meekly-bending spirit soothed

By natural piety; nor a lofty mind,

By philosophic discipline prepared

For calm subjection to acknowledged law;

Pleased to have been, contented not to be.

Such palms I boast not; – no! to me, who find,

Reviewing my past way, much to condemn,

Little to praise, and nothing to regret,

(Save some remembrances of dream-like joys

That scarcely seem to have belonged to me)

If I must take my choice between the pair

That rule alternately the weary hours,

Night is than day more acceptable; sleep

Doth, in my estimate of good, appear

A better state than waking; death than sleep:

Feelingly sweet is stillness after storm,

Though under covert of the wormy ground!

Yet be it said, in justice to myself,

That in more genial times, when I was free

To explore the destiny of human kind

(Not as an intellectual game pursued

With curious subtilty, from wish to cheat

Irksome sensations; but by love of truth

Urged on, or haply by intense delight

In feeding thought, wherever thought could feed)

I did not rank with those (too dull or nice,

For to my judgment such they then appeared,

Or too aspiring, thankless at the best)

Who, in this frame of human life, perceive

An object whereunto their souls are tied

In discontented wedlock; nor did e'er,

From me, those dark impervious shades, that hang

Upon the region whither we are bound,

Exclude a power to enjoy the vital beams

Of present sunshine. – Deities that float

On wings, angelic Spirits! I could muse

O'er what from eldest time we have been told

Of your bright forms and glorious faculties,

And with the imagination rest content,

Not wishing more; repining not to tread

The little sinuous path of earthly care,

By flowers embellished, and by springs refreshed.

– ›Blow winds of autumn! – let your chilling breath

Take the live herbage from the mead, and strip

The shady forest of its green attire, –

And let the bursting clouds to fury rouse

The gentle brooks! – Your desolating sway,

Sheds,‹ I exclaimed, ›no sadness upon me,

And no disorder in your rage I find.

What dignity, what beauty, in this change

From mild to angry, and from sad to gay,

Alternate and revolving! How benign,

How rich in animation and delight,

How bountiful these elements – compared

With aught, as more desirable and fair,

Devised by fancy for the golden age;

Or the perpetual warbling that prevails

In Arcady, beneath unaltered skies,

Through the long year in constant quiet bound,

Night hushed as night, and day serene as day!‹

– But why this tedious record? – Age, we know,

Is garrulous; and solitude is apt

To anticipate the privilege of Age.

From far ye come; and surely with a hope

Of better entertainment: – let us hence!«

Loth to forsake the spot, and still more loth

To be diverted from our present theme,

I said, »My thoughts, agreeing. Sir, with yours,

Would push this censure farther; – for, if smiles

Of scornful pity be the just reward

Of Poesy thus courteously employed

In framing models to improve the scheme

Of Man's existence, and recast the world,

Why should not grave Philosophy be styled,

Herself, a dreamer of a kindred stock,

A dreamer yet more spiritless and dull?

Yes, shall the fine immunities she boasts

Establish sounder titles of esteem

For her, who (all too timid and reserved

For onset, for resistance too inert,

Too weak for suffering, and for hope too tame)

Placed, among flowery gardens curtained round

With world-excluding groves, the brotherhood

Of soft Epicureans, taught – if they

The ends of being would secure, and win

The crown of wisdom – to yield up their souls

To a voluptuous unconcern, preferring

Tranquillity to all things. Or is she,«

I cried, »more worthy of regard, the Power,

Who, for the sake of sterner quiet, closed

The Stoic's heart against the vain approach

Of admiration, and all sense of joy?«

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,

Security from shock of accident,

Release from fear; and cherished peaceful days

For their own sakes, as mortal life's chief good,

And only reasonable felicity.

What motive drew, what impulse, I would ask,

Through a long course of later ages, drove,

The hermit to his cell in forest wide;

Or what detained him, till his closing eyes

Took their last farewell of the sun and stars,

Fast anchored in the desert? – Not alone

Dread of the persecuting sword, remorse,

Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged

And unavengeable, defeated pride,

Prosperity subverted, maddening want,

Friendship betrayed, affection unreturned,

Love with despair, or grief in agony; –

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,

There, where on few external things his heart

Was set, and those his own; or, if not his,

Subsisting under nature's stedfast law.

What other yearning was the master tie

Of the monastic brotherhood, upon rock

Aërial, or in green secluded vale,

One after one, collected from afar,

An undissolving fellowship? – What but this,

The universal instinct of repose,

The longing for confirmed tranquillity,

Inward and outward; humble, yet sublime:

The life where hope and memory are as one;

Where earth is quiet and her face unchanged

Save by the simplest toil of human hands

Or seasons' difference; the immortal Soul

Consistent in self-rule; and heaven revealed

To meditation in that quietness! –

Such was their scheme: and though the wished-for end

By multitudes was missed, perhaps attained

By none, they for the attempt, and pains employed,

Do, in my present censure, stand redeemed

From the unqualified disdain, that once

Would have been cast upon them by my voice

Delivering her decisions from the seat

Of forward youth – that scruples not to solve

Doubts, and determine questions, by the rules

Of inexperienced judgment, ever prone

To overweening faith; and is inflamed,

By courage, to demand from real life

The test of act and suffering, to provoke

Hostility – how dreadful when it comes,

Whether affliction be the foe, or guilt!

A child of earth, I rested, in that stage

Of my past course to which these thoughts advert,

Upon earth's native energies; forgetting

That mine was a condition which required

Nor energy, nor fortitude – a calm

Without vicissitude; which, if the like

Had been presented to my view elsewhere,

I might have even been tempted to despise.

But no – for the serene was also bright;

Enlivened happiness with joy o'erflowing,

With joy, and – oh! that memory should survive

To speak the word – with rapture! Nature's boon,

Life's genuine inspiration, happiness

Above what rules can teach, or fancy feign;

Abused, as all possessions are abused

That are not prized according to their worth.

And yet, what worth? what good is given to men,

More solid than the gilded clouds of heaven?

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,

Sharp contradictions may arise, by doom

Of this same life, compelling us to grieve

That the prosperities of love and joy

Should be permitted, oft-times, to endure

So long, and be at once cast down for ever.

Oh! tremble, ye, to whom hath been assigned

A course of days composing happy months,

And they as happy years; the present still

So like the past, and both so firm a pledge

Of a congenial future, that the wheels

Of pleasure move without the aid of hope:

For Mutability is Nature's bane;

And slighted Hope will be avenged; and, when

Ye need her favours, ye shall find her not;

But in her stead – fear – doubt – and agony!«

This was the bitter language of the heart:

But, while he spake, look, gesture, tone of voice,

Though discomposed and vehement, were such

As skill and graceful nature might suggest

To a proficient of the tragic scene

Standing before the multitude, beset

With dark events. Desirous to divert

Or stem the current of the speaker's thoughts,

We signified a wish to leave that place

Of stillness and close privacy, a nook

That seemed for self-examination made;

Or, for confession, in the sinner's need,

Hidden from all men's view. To our attempt

He yielded not; but, pointing to a slope

Of mossy turf defended from the sun,

And on that couch inviting us to rest,

Full on that tender-hearted Man he turned

A serious eye, and his speech thus renewed.

»You never saw, your eyes did never look

On the bright form of Her whom once I loved: –

Her silver voice was heard upon the earth,

A sound unknown to you; else, honoured Friend!

Your heart had borne a pitiable share

Of what I suffered, when I wept that loss,

And suffer now, not seldom, from the thought

That I remember, and can weep no more. –

Stripped as I am of all the golden fruit

Of self-esteem; and by the cutting blasts

Of self-reproach familiarly assailed;

Yet would I not be of such wintry bareness

But that some leaf of your regard should hang

Upon my naked branches: – lively thoughts

Give birth, full often, to unguarded words;

I grieve that, in your presence, from my tongue

Too much of frailty hath already dropped;

But that too much demands still more.

You know,

Revered Compatriot – and to you, kind Sir,

(Not to be deemed a stranger, as you come

Following the guidance of these welcome feet

To our secluded vale) it may be told –

That my demerits did not sue in vain

To One on whose mild radiance many gazed

With hope, and all with pleasure. This fair Bride –

In the devotedness of youthful love,

Preferring me to parents, and the choir

Of gay companions, to the natal roof,

And all known places and familiar sights

(Resigned with sadness gently weighing down

Her trembling expectations, but no more

Than did to her due honour, and to me

Yielded, that day, a confidence sublime

In what I had to build upon) – this Bride,

Young, modest, meek, and beautiful, I led

To a low cottage in a sunny bay,

Where the salt sea innocuously breaks,

And the sea breeze as innocently breathes,

On Devon's leafy shores; – a sheltered hold,

In a soft clime encouraging the soil

To a luxuriant bounty! – As our steps

Approach the embowered abode – our chosen seat –

See, rooted in the earth, her kindly bed,

The unendangered myrtle, decked with flowers,

Before the threshold stands to welcome us!

While, in the flowering myrtle's neighbourhood,

Not overlooked but courting no regard,

Those native plants, the holly and the yew,

Gave modest intimation to the mind

How willingly their aid they would unite

With the green myrtle, to endear the hours

Of winter, and protect that pleasant place.

– Wild were the walks upon those lonely Downs,

Track leading into track; how marked, how worn

Into bright verdure, between fern and gorse,

Winding away its never-ending line

On their smooth surface, evidence was none:

But, there, lay open to our daily haunt,

A range of unappropriated earth,

Where youth's ambitious feet might move at large;

Whence, unmolested wanderers, we beheld

The shining giver of the day diffuse

His brightness o'er a tract of sea and land

Gay as our spirits, free as our desires;

As our enjoyments, boundless. – From those heights

We dropped, at pleasure, into sylvan combs;

Where arbours of impenetrable shade,

And mossy seats, detained us side by side,

With hearts at ease, and knowledge in our hearts

›That all the grove and all the day was ours.‹

O happy time! still happier was at hand;

For Nature called my Partner to resign

Her share in the pure freedom of that life,

Enjoyed by us in common. – To my hope,

To my heart's wish, my tender Mate became

The thankful captive of maternal bonds;

And those wild paths were left to me alone.

There could I meditate on follies past;

And, like a weary voyager escaped

From risk and hardship, inwardly retrace

A course of vain delights and thoughtless guilt,

And self-indulgence – without shame pursued.

There, undisturbed, could think of and could thank

Her whose submissive spirit was to me

Rule and restraint – my guardian – shall I say

That earthly Providence, whose guiding love

Within a port of rest had lodged me safe;

Safe from temptation, and from danger far?

Strains followed of acknowledgment addressed

To an Authority enthroned above

The reach of sight; from whom, as from their source,

Proceed all visible ministers of good

That walk the earth – Father of heaven and earth,

Father, and king, and judge, adored and feared!

These acts of mind, and memory, and heart,

And spirit – interrupted and relieved

By observations transient as the glance

Of flying sunbeams, or to the outward form

Cleaving with power inherent and intense,

As the mute insect fixed upon the plant

On whose soft leaves it hangs, and from whose cup

It draws its nourishment imperceptibly –

Endeared my wanderings; and the mother's kiss

And infant's smile awaited my return.

In privacy we dwelt, a wedded pair,

Companions daily, often all day long;

Not placed by fortune within easy reach

Of various intercourse, nor wishing aught

Beyond the allowance of our own fireside,

The twain within our happy cottage born,

Inmates, and heirs of our united love;

Graced mutually by difference of sex,

And with no wider interval of time

Between their several births than served for one

To establish something of a leader's sway;

Yet left them joined by sympathy in age;

Equals in pleasure, fellows in pursuit.

On these two pillars rested as in air

Our solitude.

It soothes me to perceive,

Your courtesy withholds not from my words

Attentive audience. But, oh! gentle Friends,

As times of quiet and unbroken peace,

Though, for a nation, times of blessedness,

Give back faint echoes from the historian's page;

So, in the imperfect sounds of this discourse,

Depressed I hear, how faithless is the voice

Which those most blissful days reverberate.

What special record can, or need, be given

To rules and habits, whereby much was done,

But all within the sphere of little things;

Of humble, though, to us, important cares,

And precious interests? Smoothly did our life

Advance, swerving not from the path prescribed;

Her annual, her diurnal, round alike

Maintained with faithful care. And you divine

The worst effects that our condition saw

If you imagine changes slowly wrought,

And in their progress unperceivable;

Not wished for; sometimes noticed with a sigh,

(Whate'er of good or lovely they might bring)

Sighs of regret, for the familiar good

And loveliness endeared which they removed.

Seven years of occupation undisturbed

Established seemingly a right to hold

That happiness; and use and habit gave

To what an alien spirit had acquired

A patrimonial sanctity. And thus,

With thoughts and wishes bounded to this world,

I lived and breathed; most grateful – if to enjoy

Without repining or desire for more,

For different lot, or change to higher sphere,

(Only except some impulses of pride

With no determined object, though upheld

By theories with suitable support) –

Most grateful, if in such wise to enjoy

Be proof of gratitude for what we have;

Else, I allow, most thankless. – But, at once,

From some dark seat of fatal power was urged

A claim that shattered all. – Our blooming girl,

Caught in the gripe of death, with such brief time

To struggle in as scarcely would allow

Her cheek to change its colour, was conveyed

From us to inaccessible worlds, to regions

Where height, or depth, admits not the approach

Of living man, though longing to pursue.

– With even as brief a warning – and how soon,

With what short interval of time between,

I tremble yet to think of – our last prop,

Our happy life's only remaining stay –

The brother followed; and was seen no more!

Calm as a frozen lake when ruthless winds

Blow fiercely, agitating earth and sky,

The Mother now remained; as if in her,

Who, to the lowest region of the soul,

Had been erewhile unsettled and disturbed,

This second visitation had no power

To shake; but only to bind up and seal;

And to establish thankfulness of heart

In Heaven's determinations, ever just.

The eminence whereon her spirit stood,

Mine was unable to attain. Immense

The space that severed us! But, as the sight

Communicates with heaven's ethereal orbs

Incalculably distant; so, I felt

That consolation may descend from far

(And that is intercourse, and union, too,)

While, overcome with speechless gratitude,

And, with a holier love inspired, I looked

On her – at once superior to my woes

And partner of my loss. – O heavy change!

Dimness o'er this clear luminary crept

Insensibly; – the immortal and divine

Yielded to mortal reflux; her pure glory,

As from the pinnacle of worldly state

Wretched ambition drops astounded, fell

Into a gulf obscure of silent grief,

And keen heart-anguish – of itself ashamed,

Yet obstinately cherishing itself:

And, so consumed, she melted from my arms;

And left me, on this earth, disconsolate!

What followed cannot be reviewed in thought;

Much less, retraced in words. If she, of life

Blameless, so intimate with love and joy

And all the tender motions of the soul,

Had been supplanted, could I hope to stand –

Infirm, dependent, and now destitute?

I called on dreams and visions, to disclose

That which is veiled from waking thought; conjured

Eternity, as men constrain a ghost

To appear and answer; to the grave I spake

Imploringly; – looked up, and asked the Heavens

If Angels traversed their cerulean floors,

If fixed or wandering star could tidings yield

Of the departed spirit – what abode

It occupies – what consciousness retains

Of former loves and interests. Then my soul

Turned inward, – to examine of what stuff

Time's fetters are composed; and life was put

To inquisition, long and profitless!

By pain of heart – now checked – and now impelled –

The intellectual power, through words and things,

Went sounding on, a dim and perilous way!

And from those transports, and these toils abstruse,

Some trace am I enabled to retain

Of time, else lost; – existing unto me

Only by records in myself not found.

From that abstraction I was roused, – and how?

Even as a thoughtful shepherd by a flash

Of lightning startled in a gloomy cave

Of these wild hills. For, lo! the dread Bastille,

With all the chambers in its horrid towers,

Fell to the ground: – by violence overthrown

Of indignation; and with shouts that drowned

The crash it made in falling! From the wreck

A golden palace rose, or seemed to rise,

The appointed seat of equitable law

And mild paternal sway. The potent shock

I felt: the transformation I perceived,

As marvellously seized as in that moment

When, from the blind mist issuing, I beheld

Glory – beyond all glory ever seen,

Confusion infinite of heaven and earth,

Dazzling the soul. Meanwhile, prophetic harps

In every grove were ringing, ›War shall cease;

Did ye not hear that conquest is abjured?

Bring garlands, bring forth choicest flowers, to deck

The tree of Liberty.‹ – My heart rebounded;

My melancholy voice the chorus joined;

– ›Be joyful all ye nations; in all lands,

Ye that are capable of joy be glad!

Henceforth, whate'er is wanting to yourselves

In others ye shall promptly find; – and all,

Enriched by mutual and reflected wealth,

Shall with one heart honour their common kind.‹

Thus was I reconverted to the world;

Society became my glittering bride,

And airy hopes my children. – From the depths

Of natural passion, seemingly escaped,

My soul diffused herself in wide embrace

Of institutions, and the forms of things;

As they exist, in mutable array,

Upon life's surface.