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By thrusting two rude staves into the wall
And overlaying them with mountain sods;
To weather-fend a little turf-built seat
Whereon a full grown man might rest, nor dread
The burning sunshine, or a transient shower;
But the whole plainly wrought by children's hands!
Whose skill had throng'd the floor with a proud show
Of baby-houses, curiously arranged;
Nor wanting ornaments of walks between,
With mimic trees inserted in the turf,

And gardens interposed. Pleased with the sight,
I could not choose but beckon to my guide,

Who, entering, round him threw a careless glance, Impatient to pass on, when I exclaim'd,

No dearer relic, and no better stay,
Than this dull product of a scoffer's pen,
Impure conceits discharging from a heart
Harden'd by impious pride! I did not fear
To tax you with this journey ;"-mildly said
My venerable friend, as forth we stepp'd
Into the presence of the cheerful light-
"For I have knowledge that you do not shrink
From moving spectacles ;-but let us on."

So speaking, on he went, and at the word
I follow'd, till he made a sudden stand:
For full in view, approaching through a gate
That open'd from the enclosure of green fields
Into the rough uncultivated ground,

"Lo! what is here ?" and stooping down, drew Behold the man whom he had fancied dead! forth

A book, that, in the midst of stones and moss
And wreck of party-colour'd earthenware
Aptly disposed, had lent its help to raise
One of those petty structures. "Gracious heaven!"
The wanderer cried, " it cannot but be his,
And he is gone?" The book, which in my hand
Had open'd of itself, (for it was swoln
With searching damp, and seemingly had lain
To the injurious elements exposed

From week to week,) I found to be a work
In the French tongue, a novel of Voltaire,
His famous optimist.

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Unhappy man !"

I knew, from his deportment, mien, and dress,
That it could be no other; a pale face,
A tall and meagre person, in a garb
Not rustic, dull and faded like himself!
He saw us not, though distant but few steps;
For he was busy, dealing, from a store
Upon a broad leaf carried, choicest strings
Of red, ripe currants; gift by which he strove,
With intermixture of endearing words,

To soothe a child, who walk'd beside him, weeping As if disconsolate." They to the grave

Are bearing him, my little one," he said,

"To the dark pit; but he will feel no pain;

Exclaim'd my friend: "here then has been to him His body is at rest, his soul in heaven."

Retreat within retreat, a sheltering place

Within how deep a shelter! He had fits, E'en to the last, of genuine tenderness,

And loved the haunts of children here, no doubt.
Pleasing and pleased, he shared their simple sports,
Or sate companionless; and here the book,
Left and forgotten in his careless way,
Must by the cottage children have been found:
Heaven bless them, and their inconsiderate work!
To what odd purpose have the darlings turn'd
This sad memorial of their hapless friend!"

"Me," said I," most doth it surprise to find
Such book in such a piace !"—" A book it is,"
He answered," to the person suited well,
Though little suited to surrounding things;
'Tis strange, I grant; and stranger still had been
To see the man who own'd it, dwelling here,
With one poor shepherd, far from all the world!
Now, if our errand hath been thrown away,
As from these intimations I forbode,
Grieved shall I be-less for my sake than yours;
And least of all for him who is no more."

By this, the book was in the old man's hand; And he continued, glancing on the leaves An eye of scorn. "The lover," said he, "doom'd To love when hope hath fail'd him-whom no depth Of privacy is deep enough to hide, Hath yet his bracelet or his lock of hair, And that is joy to him. When change of times Hath summon'd kings to scaffolds, do but give The faithful servant, who must hide his head Henceforth in whatsoever nook he may, A kerchief sprinkled with his master's blood, And he too hath his comforter. How poor, Beyond all poverty how destitute,

Must that man have been left, who, hither driven, Flying or seeking, could yet bring with him

More might have follow'd--but my honour'd
friend

Broke in upon the speaker with a frank
And cordial greeting.-Vivid was the light
That flash'd and sparkled from the other's eyes:
He was all fire: the sickness from his face
Pass'd like a fancy that is swept away;
Hands join'd he with his visitant, a grasp,
An eager grasp; and many moments' space,
When the first glow of pleasure was no more,
And much of what had vanish'd was return'd,
An amicable smile retain'd the life
Which it had unexpectedly received,
Upon his hollow cheek. "How kind," he said,
"Nor could your coming have been better timed:
For this, you see, is in our narrow world
A day of sorrow. I have here a charge"-
And, speaking thus, he patted tenderly
The sunburnt forehead of the weeping child-
"A little mourner, whom it is my task
To comfort;-but how came ye ?-if yon track
(Which doth at once befriend us and betray)
Conducted hither your most welcome feet,
Ye could not miss the funeral train-they yet
Have scarcely disappear'd." "This blooming child,”
Said the old man, "is of an age to weep
At any grave or solemn spectacle,
Inly distress'd or overpower'd with awe,
He knows not why ;-but he, perchance, this day,
Is shedding orphan's tears; and you yourself
Must have sustain'd a loss."-"The hand of death,"
He answer'd, "has been here; but could not well
Have fall'n more lightly, if it had not fall'n
Upon myself."-The other left these words
Unnoticed, thus continuing.-

"From yon crag Down whose steep sides we dropp'd into the vale,'

We heard the hymn they sang-a solemn sound
Heard anywhere, but in a place like this
'Tis more than human! Many precious rites
And customs of our rural ancestry
Are gone, or stealing from us; this, I hope,
Will last for ever.
Often have I stopp'd

When on my way, I could not choose but stop,
So much I felt the awfulness of life,

In that one moment when the corse is lifted

In silence, with a hush of decency,

Answer'd the sick man with a careless voice-
"That I came hither; neither have I found
Among associates who have power of speech,
Nor in such other converse as is here,
Temptation so prevailing as to change
That mood, or undermine my first resolve."-
Then speaking in like careless sort, he said
To my benign companion,-" Pity 'tis

That fortune did not guide you to this house

A few days earlier; then would you have seen

Then from the threshold moves with song of peace, What stuff the dwellers in a solitude,

And confidential yearnings, to its home,

Its final home in earth. What traveller-who-
(How far soe'er a stranger) does not own

The bond of brotherhood, when he sees them go,
A mute procession on the houseless road;
Or passing by some single tenement

Or cluster'd dwellings, where again they raise
The monitory voice? But most of all
It touches, it confirms, and elevates,
Then, when the body, soon to be consign'd
Ashes to ashes, dust bequeath'd to dust,

Is raised from the church aisle, and forward borne
Upon the shoulders of the next in love,
The nearest in affection or in blood;

Yea, by the very mourners who had knelt

Beside the coffin, resting on its lid

In silent grief their unuplifted heads,

That seems by nature hollow'd out to be
The seat and bosom of pure innocence,
Are made of; an ungracious matter this!
Which, for truth's sake, yet in remembrance too
Of past discussions with this zealous friend
And advocate of humble life, I now
Will force upon his notice; undeterr'd
By the example of his own pure course,
And that respect and deference which a soul
May fairly claim, by niggard age enrich'd
In what she values most-the love of God
And his frail creature, man:-but ye shall hear.
I talk-and ye are standing in the sun
Without refreshment!"

Saying this, he led
Towards the cottage;-homely was the spot;
And, to my feeling, ere we reach'd the door,

And heard meanwhile the psalmist's mournful Had almost a forbidding nakedness;

plaint,

And that most awful scripture which declares
We shall not sleep, but we shall all be changed!
Have I not seen ?-Ye likewise may have seen-
Son, husband, brothers-brothers side by side,
And son and father also side by side,
Rise from that posture ;-and in concert move,
On the green turf following the vested priest,
Four dear supporters of one senseless weight,
From which they do not shrink, and under which
They faint not, but advance toward the grave
Step after step-together, with their firm
Unhidden faces; he that suffers most,
He outwardly, and inwardly perhaps,
The most serene, with most undaunted eye!
O! blest are they who live and die like these,
Loved with such love, and with such

mourn'd!"

1

sorrow

"That poor man taken hence to-day," replied The solitary, with a faint, sarcastic smile

Less fair, I grant, e'en painfully less fair,
Than it appear'd when from the beetling rock
We had look'd down upon it. All within,
As left by the departed company,
Was silent; and the solitary clock
Tick'd, as I thought, with melancholy sound.—
Following our guide, we clomb the cottage stairs
And reach'd a small apartment dark and low,
Which was no sooner enter'd than our host
Said gayly, "This is my domain, my cell,
My hermitage, my cabin,-what you will-
I love it better than a snail his house.
But now ye shall be feasted with our best."
So, with more ardour than an unripe girl
Left one day mistress of her mother's stores,
He went about his hospitable task.

My eyes were busy, and my thoughts no less,
And pleased I look'd upon my gray-hair'd friend,
As if to thank him: he return'd that look,
Cheer'd, plainly, and yet serious. What a wreck

Which did not please me, "must be deem'd, I fear, Had we around us! scatter'd was the floor,

Of the unblest; for he will surely sink

Into his mother earth without such pomp
Of grief, depart without occasion given

By him for such array of fortitude.

Full seventy winters hath he lived, and mark!
This simple child will mourn his one short hour
And I shall miss him; scanty tribute! yet,
This wanting, he would leave the sight of men,
If love were his sole claim upon their care,
Like a ripe date which in the desert falls
Without a hand to gather it." At this
I interposed, though loath to speak, and said,
"Can it be thus among so small a band
As ye must needs be here? in such a place
I would not willingly, methinks, lose sight
Of a departing cloud."-" "Twas not for love,"

And, in like sort, chair, window-seat, and shelf,
With books, maps, fossils, wither'd plants and

flowers,

And tufts of mountain moss: mechanic tools
Lay intermix'd with scraps of paper, some
Scribbled with verse; a broken angling-rod
And shatter'd telescope, together link'd
By cobwebs, stood within a dusty nook;
And instruments of music, some half made,
Some in disgrace, hung dangling from the walls.-
But speedily the promise was fulfill'd;

A feast before us, and a courteous host

Inviting us in glee to sit and eat.

A napkin, white as foam of that rough brook

By which it had been bleach'd, o'erspread the board;
And was itself half cover'd with a load

Of dainties,-oaten bread, curd, cheese, and cream. Upon the laws of public charity.

And cakes of butter curiously emboss'd,
Butter that had imbibed from meadow flowers
A golden hue, delicate as their own,
Faintly reflected in a lingering stream;

Nor lack'd, for more delight on that warm day,
Our table, small parade of garden fruits,
And whortleberries from the mountain side.
The child, who long ere this had still'd his sobs
Was now a help to his late comforter,
And moved, a willing page, as he was bid,
Ministering to our need.

In genial mood,

While at our pastoral banquet thus we sate
Fronting the window of that little cell,
I could not, ever and anon, forbear

To glance an upward look on two huge peaks,
That from some other vale peer'd into this.
"Those lusty twins," exclaim'd our host, "if here
It were your lot to dwell, would soon become
Your prized companions.-Many are the notes
Which, in his tuneful course, the wind draws forth
From rocks, woods, caverns, heaths, and dashing
shores;

And well those lofty brethren bear their part
In the wild concert-chiefly when the storm
Rides high; then all the upper air they fill
With roaring sound, that ceases not to flow,
Like smoke, along the level of the blast,
In mighty current; theirs, too, is the song
Of stream and headlong flood that seldom fails;
And, in the grim and breathless hour of noon,
Methinks that I have heard them echo back
The thunder's greeting:-nor have nature's laws
Left them ungifted with a power to yield
Music of finer tone; a harmony,

So do I call it, though it be the hand

Of silence, though there be no voice;-the clouds,
The mist, the shadows, light of golden suns,
Motions of moonlight, all come thither-touch,
And have an answer-thither come, and shape
A language not unwelcome to sick hearts
And idle spirits :-there the sun himself,
At the calm close of summer's longest day,
Rests his substantial orb;-between those heights
And on the top of either pinnacle,

The housewife, tempted by such slender gains
As might from that occasion be distill'd,
Open'd, as she before had done for me,
Her doors t' admit this homeless pensioner;
The portion gave of course but wholesome fare
Which appetite required-a blind, dull nook
Such as she had-the kennel of his rest!
This, in itself not ill, would yet have been
Ill borne in earlier life, but his was now
The still contentedness of seventy years.
Calm did he sit beneath the wide-spread tree
Of his old age; and yet less calm and meek.
Willingly meek or venerably calm,
Than slow and torpid; paying in this wise
A penalty, if penalty it were,

For spendthrift feats, excesses of his prime.
I loved the old man, for I pitied him!
A task it was, I own, to hold discourse
With one so slow in gathering up his thoughts,
But he was a cheap pleasure to my eyes;
Mild, inoffensive, ready in his way,
And helpful to his utmost power: and there
Our housewife knew full well what she possess'd!
He was her vassal of all labour, till'd
Her garden, from the pasture fetch'd her kine;
And, one among the orderly array

Of haymakers, beneath the burning sun
Maintain'd his place: or heedfully pursued
His course, on errands bound, to other vales,
Leading sometimes an inexperienced child,
Του young for any profitable task.

So moved he like a shadow that perform'd
Substantial service. Mark me now, and learn
For what reward! The moon her monthly round
Hath not completed since our dame, the queen
Of this one cottage and this lonely dale,
Into my little sanctuary rush'd--
Voice to a rueful treble humanized,
And features in deplorable dismay--
I treat the matter lightly, but, alas!
It is most serious: persevering rain

Had fall'n in torrents; all the mountain tops
Were hidden, and black vapours coursed their sides;
This had I seen, and saw; but, till she spake,
Was wholly ignorant that my ancient friend,

More keenly than elsewhere in night's blue vault, Who at her bidding, early and alone,

Sparkle the stars, as of their station proud.
Thoughts are not busier in the mind of man
Than the mute agents stirring there :-alone
Here do I sit and watch."--

A fall of voice,
Regretted like the nightingale's last note,
Had scarcely closed this high-wrought rhapsody
Ere with inviting smile the wanderer said,

Had clomb aloft to delve the moorland turf
For winter fuel, to his noontide meal
Return'd not, and now, haply, on the heights
Lay at the mercy of this raging storm.

Inhuman said I, was an old man's life
Not worth the trouble of a thought ?-alas?
This notice comes too late.' With joy I saw
Her husband enter-from a distant vale.

"Now for the tale with which you threaten'd us!" We sallied forth together; found the tools

"In truth the threat escaped me unawares;
Should the tale tire you, let this challenge stand
For my excuse. Dissever'd from mankind,
As to your eyes and thoughts we must have seem'd
When ye look'd down upon us from the crag,
Islanders of a stormy mountain sea.
We are not so ;-perpetually we touch
Upon the vulgar ordinance of the world,
And he, whom this our cottage hath to-day
Relinquish'd, lived dependent for his bread

Which the neglected veteran had dropp'd,
But through all quarters look'd for him in vain.
We shouted-but no answer! Darkness fell
Without remission of the blast or shower,
And fears for our own safety drove us home.
I, who weep little, did I will confess,
The moment I was seated here alone,
Honour my little cell with some few tears
Which anger and resentment could not dry.
All night the storm endured; and soon as help

Had been collected from the neighbouring vale,
With morning we renew'd our quest; the wind
Was fall'n, the rain abated, but the hills
Lay shrouded in impenetrable mist;

And long and hopelessly we sought in vain.
Till, chancing on that lofty ridge to pass
A heap of ruin, almost without walls,

And wholly without roof, (the bleach'd remains
Of a small chapel, where, in ancient time,
The peasants of these lonely valleys used
To meet for worship on that central height)—
We there espied the object of our search,
Lying full three parts buried among tufts
Of heath plant, under and above him strewn,
To baffle, as he might, the watery storm:
And there we found him breathing peaceably,
Snug as a child that hides itself in sport
'Mid a green haycock in a sunny field.
We spake he made reply, but would not stir
At our entreaty; less from want of power
Than apprehension and bewildering thoughts.
So was he lifted gently from the ground,
And with their freight the shepherds homeward
moved

Through the dull mist, I following-when a step,
A single step, that freed me from the skirts
Of the blind vapour, open'd to my view
Glory beyond all glory ever seen

By waking sense or by the dreaming soul!
Th' appearance, instantaneously disclosed,
Was of a mighty city-boldly say
A wilderness of building, sinking far
And self-withdrawn into a wondrous depth,
Far sinking into splendour-without end!
Fabric it seem'd of diamond and of gold,
With alabaster domes, and silver spires.
And blazing terrace upon terrace, high
Uplifted; here, serene pavilions bright,
In avenues disposed; there towers begirt
With battlements that on their restless fronts
Bore stars-illumination of all gems!

By earthly nature had the effect been wrought
Upon the dark materials of the storm
Now pacified; on them, and on the coves
And mountain steeps and summits, whereunto
The vapours had receded, taking there
Their station under a cerulean sky.

0, 'twas an unimaginable sight!

Clouds, mists, streams, watery rocks and emerald

turf.

Clouds of all tincture, rocks and sapphire sky,
Confused, commingled, mutually inflamed,
Molten together, and composing thus,
Each lost in each, that marvellous array
Of temple, palace, citadel, and huge
Fantastic pomp of structure without name,
In fleecy folds voluminous inwrapp'd.
Right in the midst, where interspace appear'd
Of open court, an object like a throne
Beneath a shining canopy of state
Stood fix'd; and fix'd resemblances were seen
To implements of ordinary use,
But vast in size, in substance glorified;
Such as by Hebrew prophets were beheld
In vision-forms uncouth of mightiest power
For admiration and mysterious awe.

Below me was the earth; this little vale
Lay low beneath my feet; 'twas visible-
I saw not, but I felt that it was there.
That which I saw was the reveal'd abode
Of spirits in beatitude: my heart
Swell'd in my breast. I have been dead,' I cried,
And now I live! O! wherefore do I live?'
And with that pang I pray'd to be no more!
But I forget our charge, as utterly

I then forgot him :-there I stood and gazed;
The apparition faded not away,

And I descended. Having reach'd the house,
I found its rescued inmate safely lodged,
And in serene possession of himself,
Beside a genial fire; that seem'd to spread
A gleam of comfort o'er his pallid face.
Great show of joy the housewife made, and truly
Was glad to find her conscience set at ease;
And not less glad, for sake of her good name,
That the poor sufferer had escaped with life.
But, though he seem'd at first to have received
No harm, and uncomplaining as before
Went through his usual tasks, a silent change
Soon show'd itself; he linger'd three short weeks;
And from the cottage hath been borne to-day.

"So ends my dolorous tale, and glad I am
That it is ended." At these words he turn’d—
And, with blithe air of open fellowship,
Brought from the cupboard wine and stouter cheer,
Like one who would be merry. Seeing this,
My gray-hair'd friend said courteously-"Nay, nay,
You have regaled us as a hermit ought;
Now let us forth into the sun!"-Our host
Rose, though reluctantly, and forth we went.

BOOK III.

DESPONDENCY

ARGUMENT.

Images in the valley. Another recess in it entered and described. Wanderer's sensations. Solitary's excited by the same objects. Contrast between these. Des pondency of the solitary gently reproved. Conversation exhibiting the solitary's past and present opinions and feelings, till he enters upon his own history at length. His domestic felicity. Afflictions. Dejection. Roused by the French revolution. Disappointment and disgust. Voyage to America. Disappointment and disgust pursue him. His return. His languor and depression of mind, from want of faith in the great truths of religion, and want of confidence in the virtue of mankind.

A HUMMING bee-a little tinkling rill—
A pair of falcons, wheeling on the wing,
In clamorous agitation, round the crest
Of a tall rock, their airy citadel-
By each and all of these the pensive ear
Was greeted, in the silence that ensued,
When through the cottage threshold we had pass'd,
And, deep within that lonesome valley stood
Once more, beneath the concave of a blue
And cloudless sky. Anon! exclaim'd our host
Triumphantly dispersing with the taunt
The shade of discontent which on his brow
Had gather'd, "Ye have left my cell,-but see
How nature hems you in with friendly arms!
And by her help ye are my prisoners still

But which way shall I lead you? how contrive,
In spot so parsimoniously endow'd,
That the brief hours, which yet remain, may reap
Some recompense of knowledge or delight?"
So saying, round he look'd, as if perplex'd;
And, to remove those doubts, my gray-hair'd friend
Said Shall we take this pathway for our guide?
Upward it winds, as if, in summer heats,
Its line had first been fashion'd by the flock
A place of refuge seeking at the root

Of yon black yew tree; whose protruded boughs
Darken the silver bosom of the crag,

From which she draws her meagre sustenance.
There in commodious shelter may we rest.
Or let us trace this streamlet to his source;
Feebly it tinkles with an earthly sound,
And a few steps may bring us to the spot

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, shortlived clouds to occupy,
Or to pass through, but rather an abyss

Where, haply, crown'd with flowerets and green In which the everlasting stars abide;

herbs,

The mountain infant to the sun comes forth,
Like human life from darkness."-A quick turn
Through a strait passage of incumber'd ground,
Proved that such hope was vain :-for now we stood
Shut out from prospect of the open vale,
And saw the water, that composed this rill,
Descending, disembodied, and diffused
O'er the smooth surface of an ample crag,
Lofty, and steep, and naked as a tower.
All further progress here was barr'd.
Thought I, if master of a vacant hour,
Here would not linger, willingly detain'd?
Whether to such wild objects he were led
When copious rains have magnified the stream
Into a loud and white-robed waterfall,
Or introduced at this more quiet time.

And who,

Upon a semicirque of turf-clad ground, The hidden nook discover'd to our view A mass of rock, resembling, as it lay Right at the foot of that moist precipice, A stranded ship, with keel upturn'd,-that rests Fearless of winds and waves. Three several stones Stood near, of smaller size, and not unlike To monumental pillars; and from these Some little space disjoin'd, a pair were seen, That with united shoulders bore aloft A fragment, like an altar, flat and smooth; Barren the tablet, yet thereon appear'd 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 enter'd. But no breeze did now Find entrance; high or low appear'd 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 turn'd, 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

And whose soft gloom, and boundless depth, might

tempt

The curious eye to look for them by day.
Hail contemplation! from the stately towers
Rear'd 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 scann'd 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?-disdain'd the game that lurks
At my own door. The shapes before our eyes,
And their arrangement, doubtless must be deem'd
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 oppress'd 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

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