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Full Title
The complete poetical works of William Wordsworth: together with a description of the country of the lakes in the north of England, now first published with his works ... / edited by Henry Reed.
Author
Wordsworth, William, 1770-1850. Melville, Herman, 1819-1891.
Date Added
8 January 2014
Language
English
Publish Date
1839
Publisher
Philadelphia: J. Kay, Jun. and brother; Boston: J. Munroe and Co.; [etc., etc.]
Source
Woodstock Theological Center Library, Georgetown University.
Topic
Wordsworth, William, 1770-1850. Melville, Herman, 1819-1891. English poetry.
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Disclaimers
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OCR
THE EXCURSION. -
437
Of sculptured oak stood here, with drapery lined ;
And marble Monuments were here displayed
Thronging the walls; and on the floor beneath
Sepulchral stones appeared, with emblems graven
And foot-worn epitaphs, and some with small
And shining effigies of brass inlaid.
— The tribute by these various records claimed,
Without reluctance did we pay; and read
The ordinary chronicle of birth,
Office, alliance, and promotion —all
Ending in dust; of upright Magistrates,
Grave Doctors strenuous for the Mother Church,
And uncorrupted Senators, alike
To King and People true. A brazen plate,
Not easily deciphered, told of One
Whose course of earthly honour was begun
In quality of page among the Train
Of the eighth Henry, when he crossed the seas
His royal state to show, and prove his strength
In tournament, upon the Fields of France.
Another Tablet registered the death,
And praised the gallant bearing, of a Knight
Tried in the sea-fights of the second Charles.
Near this brave Knight his Father lay entombed;
And, to the silent language giving voice,
I read, — how in his manhood’s earlier day
He, ’mid the afflictions of intestine War
And rightful Government subverted, found
One only solace — that he had espoused
A virtuous Lady tenderly beloved
For her benign perfections; and yet more
Endeared to him, for this, that in her state
Of wedlock richly crowned with Heaven's regard,
She with a numerous Issue filled his House,
Who throve, like Plants, uninjured by the Storm
That laid their Country waste. No need to speak
Of less particular notices assigned
To youth or Maiden gone before their time,
And Matrons and unwedded Sisters old;
Whose charity and goodness were rehearsed
In modest panegyric. “These dim lines,
What would they tell?” said I, — but, from the task
Of puzzling out that faded Narrative,
With whisper soft my venerable Friend
Called me; and, looking down the darksome aisle,
I saw the Tenant of the lonely Vale
Standing apart; with curved arm reclined
On the baptismal Font; his pallid face
Upturned, as if his mind were wrapt, or lost
In some abstraction ; — gracefully he stood,
The semblance bearing of a sculptured Form
That leans upon a monumental Urn
In peace, from morn to night, from year to year.
Him from that posture did the Sexton rouse ;
Who entered, humming carelessly a tune,
Continuation haply of the notes
That had beguiled the work from which he came,
With spade and mattock o’er his shoulder hung,
To be deposited, for future need, :
In their appointed place. The pale Recluse
Withdrew; and straight we followed, — to a spot
Where sun and shade were intermixed; for there
A broad Oak, stretching forth its leafy arms
From an adjoining pasture, overhung .
Small space of that green churchyard with a light
And pleasant awning. On the moss-grown wall
My ancient Friend and I together took
Our seats; and thus the Solitary spake,
Standing before us. ‘“ Did you note the mien
Of that self solaced, easy-hearted Churl,
Death’s Hireling, who scoops out his Neighbour’s
grave,
Or wraps an old Acquaintance up in clay,
As unconcerned as when he plants a tree?
I was abruptly summoned by his voice
From some affecting images and thoughts,
And from the company of serious words.
Much, yesterday, was said in glowing phrase
Of our sublime dependencies, and hopes
For future states of Being ; and the wings
Of speculation, joyfully outspread,
Hovered above our destiny on earth: —
But stoop, and place the prospect of the soul
In sober contrast with reality,
And Man’s substantial life. If this mute carth
Of what it holds could speak, and every grave
Were as a volume, shut, yet capable
Of yielding its contents to eye and ear,
We should recoil, stricken with sorrow and shame
To see disclosed, by such dread proof, how ill
That which is done accords with what is known
To reason, and by conscience is enjoined ;
How idly, how perversely, Life’s whole course,
To this conclusion, deviates from the line,
Or of the end stops short, proposed to all
At her aspiring outset. Mark the Babe
Not long accustomed to this breathing world ;
One that hath barely learned to shape.a smile ;
Though yet irrational of Soul to grasp
With tiny fingers—to let fall a tear;
And, as the heavy cloud of sleep dissolves,
To stretch his limbs, bemocking, as might seem,
The outward functions of intelligent Man;
A grave Proficient in amusive feats
Of puppetry, that from the lap declare
His expectations, and announce his claims
To that inheritance which millions rue
That they were ever born to! In due time
A day of solemn ceremonial comes;
When they, who for this Minor hold in trust
Rights that transcend the humblest heritage
Of mere Humanity, present their Charge,
For this occasion daintily adorned,
37*
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