----triumphant o'er this pompous show Of Art, this palpable array of Sense, On every side encountered; in despite Of the gross fictions, chaunted in the streets By wandering Rhapsodists; and in contempt Of doubt and bold denials hourly urged Amid the wrangling Schools--a SPIRIT hung, Beautiful Region! o'er thy Towns and Farms, Statues and Temples, and memorial Tombs; And emanations were perceived; and acts Of immortality, in Nature's course, Exemplified by mysteries, that were felt As bonds, on grave Philosopher imposed And armed Warrior; and in every grove A gay or pensive tenderness prevailed When piety more awful had relaxed. "Take, running River, take these Locks of mine"-- Thus would the Votary say--"this severed hair, My Vow fulfilling, do I here present, Thankful for my beloved Child's return. Thy banks, Cephissus, he again hath trod, Thy murmurs heard; and drunk the chrystal lymph With which thou dost refresh the thirsty lip, And moisten all day long these flowery fields." And doubtless, sometimes, when the hair was shed Upon the flowing stream, a thought arose Of Life continuous, Being unimpaired; That hath been, is, and where it was and is There shall be,--seen, and heard, and felt, and known, And recognized,--existence unexposed To the blind walk of mortal accident; From diminution safe and weakening age; While Man grows old, and dwindles, and decays; And countless generations of Mankind Depart; and leave no vestige where they trod.--p. 173. In discourse like this the first day passes away.--The second (for this almost dramatic poem takes up the action of two summer days) is varied by the introduction of the village priest; to whom the Wanderer resigns the office of chief speaker, which had been yielded to his age and experience on the first. The conference is begun at the gate of the church-yard; and after some natural speculations concerning death and immortality--and the custom of funereal and sepulchral observances, as deduced from a feeling of immortality--certain doubts are proposed respecting the quantity of moral worth existing in the world, and in that mountainous district in particular. In the resolution of these doubts, the priest enters upon a most affecting and singular strain of narration, derived from the graves around him. Pointing to hillock after hillock, he gives short histories of their tenants, disclosing their humble virtues, and touching with tender hand upon their frailties. Nothing can be conceived finer than the manner of introducing these tales. With heaven above his head, and the mouldering turf at his feet--standing betwixt life and death--he seems to maintain that spiritual relation which he bore to his living flock, in its undiminished strength, even with their ashes; and to be in his proper cure, or diocese, among the dead.