Annexe III

p. 401-403


Texte intégral

The Excursion, livre VII

(VII, v. 398-481)2

Beneath that pine which rears its dusky head
Aloft, and covered by a plain blue stone
Briefly inscribed, a gentle Dalesman lies ;400
From whom in early childhood was withdrawn
The precious gift of hearing. He grew up
From year to year in loneliness of soul ;
And this deep mountain valley was to him
Soundless with all its streams. The bird of dawn405
Did never rouse this Cottager from sleep
With startling summons ; not for his delight
The vernal cuckoo shouted, not for him
Murmured the labouring bee. When stormy winds
Were working the broad bosom of the Lake410
Into a thousand thousand sparkling waves,
Rocking the trees, or driving cloud on cloud
Along the sharp edge of yon lofty crags,
The agitated scene before his eye
Was silent as a picture ; evermore415
Were all things silent wheresoe’er he moved.
Yet by the solace of his own calm thoughts
Upheld, he duteously pursued the round
Of rural labours : the steep mountain side
Ascended with his staff and faithful dog ;420
The plough he guided and the scythe he swayed,
And the ripe corn before his sickle fell
Among the jocund reapers. For himself,
All watchful and industrious as he was,
He wrought not ; neither field nor flock he owned ;425
No wish for wealth had place within his mind,
No husband’s love nor father’s hope or care ;
Though born a younger brother, need was none
That from the floor of his paternal home
He should depart to plant himself anew ;430
And when mature in manhood he beheld
His parents laid in earth, no loss ensued
Of rights to him, but he remained well pleased
By the pure bond of independent love,
An inmate of a second family,435
The fellow-labourer and friend of him
To whom the small inheritance had fallen.
Nor deem that his mild presence was a weight
That pressed upon his brother’s house ; for books
Were ready comrades whom he could not tire ;440
Of whose society the blameless man
Was never satiate ; their familiar voice
Even to old age with unabated charm
Beguiled his leisure hours, refreshed his thoughts,
Beyond its natural elevation raised445
His introverted spirit, and bestowed
Upon his life an outward dignity
Which all acknowledged. The dark winter night,
The stormy day had each its own resource ;
Song of the Muses, sage historic tale,450
Science severe, or word of Holy Writ
Announcing immortality and joy
To the assembled spirits of the just
From imperfection and decay secure :
Thus soothed at home, thus busy in the field,455
To no perverse suspicion he gave way ;
No languour, peevishness, nor vain complaint.
And they who were about him did not fail
In reverence or in courtesy ; they prized
His gentle manners, and his peaceful smiles ;460
The gleams of his slow-varying countenance
Were met with answering sympathy and love.
At length when sixty years and five were told
A slow disease insensibly consumed
The powers of nature, and a few short steps465
Of friends and kindred bore him from his home,
Yon cottage shaded by the woody cross,
To the profounder stillness of the grave.
Nor was his funeral denied the grace
Of many tears, virtuous and thoughtful grief,470
Heart-sorrow rendered sweet by gratitude ;
And now that monumental stone preserves
His name, and unambitiously relates
How long and by what kindly outward aids
And in what pure contentedness of mind475
The sad privation was by him endured.
And yon tall pine-tree, whose composing sound
Was wasted on the good man’s living ear,
Hath now its own peculiar sanctity,
And at the touch of every wandering breeze480
Murmurs not idly o’er his peaceful grave.

Notes de bas de page

2 PW, V, p. 244-246.


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