The Stranger

Fair was the scene and wild — a lonely tarn
Lay bosomed in the hill, and it was calm
As face of slumbering childhood — yea, so calm
That magic mirror of the mountain reign
Was spread, that vision scarcely could discern
The water from the land, or rightly mark
The greensward patch, the hazel bush, the rock,
From those fair copies on the element,
The shadow from the substance — save that one
Was softer and more delicately green.

A traveller came along — tall was his steed,
And rich that steed's caparison — but he,
The rider, was a man uncouth to view ;
For his attire was not like other men's :
His beard was all untrimmed, and his fair locks
Seemed tanned by suns and bleached by the rain ;
The sweltered tufts had hung from year to year,
Nor had the spikes of disentangling comb
Scared their inhabitants — A man he was
Regardless of the world and the world's scorn.

Red was the corner of his eye, and yet
It seemed to beam a glance of living flame ;
A ray scarce earthly hung upon its sphere ;
A spark was lurking there, which, just as chanced,
The substance that enkindled it would show
The fiend or cherub. — On that traveller came,
Slow and indifferent — solemn were his thoughts,
Determined but astray — still from his breast
Issued a hollow sound like one who prayed
Or sung some holy hymn, but still his eye,
His red and troubled eye, turned ruefully,
(Mixed with a nameless feeling of delight,)
Upon that peaceful solitary lake.

Ah, did he deem he saw pourtrayed there
A vision of that distant future world
To which the yearning soul so fondly clings ?

And did he ween that beauteous baseless shade
An emblem of that long eternity
So shaped to human longings ? — Righteous One !

That ever eye that gazes on thy works
Should on the soul such motley visions fling !

Slow past he on, and still the solemn sound
Flowed from his breast, although his lips not moved.

A boy came from the mountains, tripping light
With basket on his arm — and it appeared
That there was butter there, for the white clofeh.
That over it was spread, not unobserved,
In tiny ridges gently rose and fell,
Like graves of children covered o'er with snow ;
And by one clumsy fold the traveller spied
One roll of yellow treasure, all as pure
As primrose bud reflected in the lake.
" Boy," said the Stranger, " wilt thou hold my steed
Till I walk round the corner of that mere ?
When I return I will repay thee well."
The boy consented— touched his slouching hat
Of broad unequal brim with ready hand,
And set his basket down upon the sward.

The traveller went away — but ere he went
He stroked his tall brown steed, and looked at him
With kind, but yet not unregretful eye.
The boy stood patient — glad was he to earn
The little pittance — well the stripling knew
Of window in the village, where stood ranged
The brown and tempting cakes — well sprinkled o'er
With the sham raisin and deceitful plum,
And, by corporeal functions swayed, his mind
Forestalled the luxury with supreme delight.

Long, long he patient stood — the day was hot,
The butter ran in streamlets, and the flies
Came round in thousands — o'er the horse's head
A moving, darkening canopy they hung,
Like the first foldings of the thunder-cloud
That, gathering, hangs on Bowfell's hoary peak.

The Stranger came not back ; — the little boy
Cast many a wistful look — his mind was mazed,
Like as a brook that travels through the glade,
By complicated tanglement involved,
Not knowing where to run — and haply he
Had sunk inert — but that in patience — or
Perhaps incited by a curious mind,
He cast his eyes to east, and west, and north,
But nothing save the rocks, and trees, and walls,
(Of gray stones built, and covered on the top
Sheep-fold-wise, with a cope of splintered flags,
That half-diverging stood upon their edge
And half-reclining lay), came in the range
Of his discernment — some full bitter tears
At length came flowing down the poor boy's cheek.

The steed was all impatience — high his head,
And higher still his ears were reared aloft ;
For his full eye (nigh blinded by a shade
Of stubborn leather — a half round it was,
In shape like to the holy moon, when she
Glides o'er the midnight heaven on silent foot,
When half her course and some few stages more
Already has been run) that eye was fixed
On a huge stone, that on the mountain lay
Like dome of eastern temple, or the mosque
Where pagans worship — Loudly did he neigh ;
For he mistook it for a gallant steed
Feeding in peaceful quiet — while, alas !
He was compelled to stand upon the road
Held by a fretful boy the live-long day.
His fore-hoof, mailed with an iron shell
That shone like silver, fiercely did he strike
Against the sounding earth — Up rose the dust
And fire withal, like to the smouldering smoke
And flash, that rises from the evening gun
Of perverse hind, that in concealment lies
To watch the timid hare — relentless sport !

And then his tail, which farrier's hand obscene
Had rudely mauled, and sore curtailed withal,
And by incision cruel, and the help
Of pullied cords, made that point up to heaven
Which God ordained should hang towards the earth
With graceful sweep — O shame ! that impious man
Should in unrighteous pride thus lay exposed
Unto the stifled winds and eye of day
What nature meant to hide ! — This tail was heard
Whistling across the ambient air, with sound
Of blasting wrath, loud as the choral hymn
Of mountain spirit, when by fits he sings
The prelude of the storm within the caves
Of grey Helvellyn — loudly wept the boy,
And much he feared ; for oft that angry steed
Turned round his head with such precipitance
To dash the insects from his glossy side,
That the poor boy in veriest danger stood
To have his brains knocked out : yet still he kept
His hold, though sore beset — At length he heard
A voice rise from the bosom of the hill,
Or from the heart of that small peaceful lake,
He knew not which— it broke along the air
That wandered o'er that slumbering solitude
With such a solemn and impressive tone,
That not though heaven in distant thunder had
Spoke words of human breath, could these so much
The heart of man have shook, and all his powers,
So utterly astounded. — On it came
With gathering boom — loud and more loud it came,
And passing, died upon the trembling wind,
Or crept into the silence of the hill,
Like startled spirit, and was heard no more !

It was a beetle — somewhere it had been
At elfish carol on that mountain's breast,
Or haply dancing with the daffodils,
Upon the margin of that lovely lake
Ycleped a tarn or water — or mayhap
From dwelling 'mid the maze of glow-worm lamps
That with faint radiance gild the earthly woods,
When dews fall soft and nature lies reposed,
Proud of the rayless halo round them shed,
Which only lights that one particular leaf
On which the parent hangs, like a small gem
Upon the lap of night. The boy held in
His breath for full five seconds — then again
Poured forth the bray of agony : the night
Fell dark and deep — the moon was not in heaven
But lingering in the domes beneath the world,
(As weens the hind), throwing her yellow light
Far up the steep, on trees, and pendant hills,
But to that poor distressed, perplexed boy,
As if she had not been. — The horse went round
Most unrespective, and, not satisfied
With whisking his dark tail in furious guise,
He broke on all propriety with snort
Like blustering cannon, or the noise that bursts
From heaven in thunder through the summer rain.

The boy was stunned — for on similitude
In dissimilitude, man's sole delight,
And all the sexual intercourse of things,
Do most supremely hang. — The horse went round,
Jerked with his nose, and shook his harness so
The boy waxed desperate, and — O impious elf !

He cursed that hungry beast — the horse went round,
And round, and round ; and pulling in his head
To his fore-pastern, upward made it spring
So forcibly, the poor boy's feeble arm
Was paralyzed — his hold he lost — and off
Like lightning flew the steed, that never more
Was in these regions seen ! — Some did report,
Though, I believe, the tale was all untrue,
That a right wayward bard, whom I regret
As having left these mountains, where alone
True genius uncontaminate can thrive,
Was seen cantering through Chester on that horse ;
And others, that he afterwards became
The horse of a strange youth, not unrenowned
In early life, who undertook the charge
Of chaplain to a military troop,
Cheered by the Highland bagpipe and the drum.

No more the poor boy cried — he lifted up
His basket from the earth into the air,
That unviewed element that circumfolds
The earth within its bosom, there he felt
With his left-hand how it affected was
By the long day and burning sun of heaven.
It was all firm and flat — no ridges rose
Like graves of children — basket, butter, cloth,
Were all one piece coherent. — To his home
The boy returned right sad and sore aghast.

No one believed his tale — they deemed it was
A truant idler's story, in excuse
Of charge neglected. — Days and months past on,
And all remained the same — the maidens sung
Along the hay-field — at the even-tide
The dance and merriment prevailed — the sky
Was pure as heretofore — the mid-day winds
Arose and ruffled all the peaceful lake,
The clouds of heaven past over — nature all
Appeared the same as if that stranger wight
Had never been — save that it was observed
That Daniel Crosthwaite, who, beside the tarn,
From good Sir William rented a few fields,
Appeared at church with a much better hat
Than he was wont, for it was made of down
That by the broad Ontario's shores had grown
On the sleek beaver — on his window too
A book one day was seen, and none could tell
How it came there — it was a work in the
French tongue, a novel of Voltaire — these things
Were noted, whispered, and thought of no more.

Late did I journey there with bard obscure
From Scotland's barren wastes — barren alike
Of verdure, intellect, and moral sense, —
To view that lonely tarn. — He too was there,
The changeful and right feeble bard now styled
The Laureate — he too of the Palmy Isle,
The man of plagues, horrors, and miseries,
Disgrace of that sweet school, that tuneful choir
Named from these peaceful waters — he who framed
An imitation of that lay divine
Which is inimitable. — Not inept,
Our conversation ran on books and men :
The would-be songster of the Scottish hills,
In dialect most uncouth and language rude,
Lauded his countrymen, not unrebuked,
Reviewers and reviewed, and talked amain
Of one unknown, inept, presumptuous bard,
The Border Minstrel — he of all the world
Farthest from genius or from common sense.
He too, the royal tool, with erring tongue,
Backed the poor foolish wight, and uttered words
For which I blushed — I could not choose but smile.
" Yet," said I, tempted here to interpose,
" You must acknowledge this your favourite
Hath more outraged the purity of speech,
The innate beauties of our English tongue,
For amplitude and nervous structure famed,
Than all the land beside, and therefore he
Deserves the high neglect which he has met
From all the studious and thinking — those
Unswayed by low caprices of the age,
The scorn of reason, and the world's revile."
More had I said derisive — yes, by heaven !
Much more I would have said, but that just then
He of the Palms with startled eye looked round,
And such an eye, as any one may guess
To whom that eye is known — for he beheld
What T yet shudder to define. — " Great God !"
The youth exclaimed, " see what is lying there !"

He of the laurel, who was next to him,
Nay, haply nigher to the shore than he,
Stared in amaze, but he can nothing see ;
And in his haste, instead of looking down
Into the water, he looked up to heaven ; —
A most preposterous habit, which the bard
Practises ever and anon — I looked
Into the peaceful lake, and there beheld
The bones of one who once in mortal life
Had lived and moved — a human skeleton !
I may not say what horrors shook my frame !
The bones seemed loose, nor film nor ligament
Bound them together, yet each one maintained
Its proper place, as loth to break the mould
In which a human soul once householded.
It was a ghastly sight ! — where once the heart
Of feeling and of passion played, or beat
With ardent throb, lay the dark filmy mud
That gathers in the deep, and on the bones
Appeared thin soapy spots of greenish hue;
The jaws upon the nape-bone had fallen down,
The scull seemed looking up — there had he died !
His back upon the sand, his face to heaven !

My mind, borne on the influence of truth,
Turned instantly upon the poor boy's tale,
Rightly I judged, for there indeed we saw
All that remained of him, the stranger wight,
That lonely wanderer of the mountain reign.

It boots not here to tell all that was said.
The Laureate, sighing, uttered some few words
Of most sublime and solemn tendency.
The Shepherd spoke most incoherent stuff
About the bones of sheep, that on the hills
Perish unseen, holding their stations so.
And he, the tented Angler of the lakes,
Alias the Man of Palms, said nothing meet ;
He was o'ercome with feeling, — it is known
To many, and not quite to me unknown,
That the youth's heart is better than his head.

Glad of this opportunity, I said,
Still pointing to the bones, " Access for you
Is yet preserved to principles of truth,
Which the imaginative will upholds
In seats of wisdom, not to be approached
By the inferior faculty that moulds,
With her minute and speculative plans,
Opinions ever changing — I have seen
Regenerative Nature prostrate lie
And drink the soul of things — of living things
And things inanimate, and thus hold up
The beings that we are — that change shall clothe
The naked spirit ceasing to deplore
The burden of existence, her dull eye
To other scenes still changing, still unchanged.
The thinking thoughtless school-boy, the bold youth
Of soul impetuous, and the bashful maid,
All cogitative yield obedience up.
And whence this tribute ? wherefore these regards ?
Not from the naked heart alone of man,
Though framed to high distinction upon earth,
As the sole spring and fountain-head of tears,
His own peculiar utterance for distress
Or gladness — it is not the vital part
Of feeling to produce them, without aid
From the pure soul, the soul sublimed and pure
With her two faculties of eye and ear,
Not without such assistance could the eye
Of these benign observances prevail ;
Thus are they born, thus fostered, and maintained,
And by the care prospective of our wise
Forefathers, so to guard against the shocks,
The fluctuation, and decay of things.

There lies the channel and original bed,"

Continued I, still pointing to the lake,
" From the beginning hollowed out and scooped
For man's affections, else betrayed and lost,
And swallowed up 'mid desarts infinite.

This is the genuine course, the aim and end
Of prescient reason ; all conclusions else
Are abject, vain, presumptuous, and perverse."

The men were thunderstruck ; the Angler most.
That man of Palms and Plagues, vile copyist !
Seemed compassed in wonder — in my face
Wistful he gazed, and ever and anon
He uttered a short sound at every pause,
But further ventured not — upon the ear
Of the poor Shepherd all these breathings fell
Like sound of distant waters — like the rain,
The treasures of the sky, on the firm flint,
So moveless his impenetrative soul ;
He scratched his poll — the Laureate looked to heaven.

More had I said, resuming the discourse,
Of subterraneous magazines of bones,
The faint reflections of infinitude,
The moon and the unvoyageable sky,
And all the high observances of things,
But that, chancing again to turn my eyes
Toward the bosom of that peaceful mere,
I saw a form so ominous approach
My heart was chilled with horror — through the wave
Slowly it came — by Heaven, I saw it move
Toward the grisly skeleton ! — Its shape
Was like a coffin, and its colour such,
Black as the death-pall or the cloud of night !
At sight of such a hideous messenger,
Thus journeying through the bowels of the deep,
O'er sluggish leaf and unelaborate stone,
All nature stood in mute astonishment,
As if her pulse lay still — onward it came,
And hovering o'er the bones, it lingered there
In a most holy and impressive guise.
I saw it shake its hideous form, and move
Towards my feet — the elements were hushed,
The birds forsook their singing, for the sight
Was fraught with wonder and astonishment —
It was a tadpole — somewhere by itself
The creature had been left, and there had come
Most timeously, by Providence sent forth,
To close this solemn and momentous tale.