Part 6 (1/2)

XXII.

Silence ensued: and Edwin raised his eyes In tears, for grief lay heavy at his heart.

'And is it thus in courtly life,' (he cries) 'That man to man acts a betrayer's part?

'And dares he thus the gifts of heaven pervert, 'Each social instinct, and sublime desire?

'Hail Poverty! if honour, wealth, and art, 'If what the great pursue, and learned admire, 'Thus dissipate and quench the soul's ethereal fire!'

XXIII.

He said, and turned away; nor did the Sage O'erhear, in silent orisons employed.

The Youth, his rising sorrow to a.s.suage, Home as he hied, the evening scene enjoyed: For now no cloud obscures the starry void; The yellow moonlight sleeps on all the hills; Nor is the mind with startling sounds annoyed; A soothing murmur the lone region fills, Of groves, and dying gales, and melancholy rills.

XXIV.

But he, from day to day, more anxious grew.

The voice still seemed to vibrate on his ear.

Nor durst he hope the Hermit's tale untrue; For man he seemed to love, and heaven to fear; And none speaks false, where there is none to hear.

'Yet, can man's gentle heart become so fell?

'No more in vain conjecture let me wear 'My hours away, but seek the Hermit's cell; 'Tis he my doubt can clear, perhaps my care dispel.'

XXV.

At early dawn the youth his journey took, And many a mountain pa.s.sed, and valley wide, Then reached the wild; where, in a flowery nook, And seated on a mossy stone, he spied An ancient man: his harp lay him beside.

A stag sprang from the pasture at his call, And, kneeling, licked the withered hand, that tied A wreath of woodbine round his antlers tall, And hung his lofty neck with many a floweret small.

XXVI.

And now the h.o.a.ry Sage arose, and saw The wanderer approaching: innocence Smiled on his glowing cheek, but modest awe Depressed his eye, that feared to give offence.

'Who art thou, courteous stranger? and from whence?

'Why roam thy steps to this abandoned dale?'

'A shepherd-boy (the Youth replied), far hence 'My habitation; hear my artless tale; 'Nor levity nor falsehood shall thine ear a.s.sail.

XXVII.

'Late as I roamed, intent on Nature's charms, 'I reached, at eve, this wilderness profound; 'And, leaning where yon oak expands her arms, 'Heard these rude cliffs thine awful voice rebound, '(For, in thy speech, I recognise the sound.) 'You mourned for ruined man, and virtue lost, 'And seemed to feel of keen remorse the wound, 'Pondering on former days, by guilt engrossed, 'Or in the giddy storm of dissipation tossed.

XXVIII.

'But say, in courtly life can craft be learned, 'Where knowledge opens, and exalts the soul?

'Where Fortune lavishes her gifts unearned, 'Can selfishness the liberal heart controul?

'Is glory there achieved by arts, as foul 'As those which felons, fiends, and furies plan?