The Wanderer.

WANDERER.     Young woman, may God bless thee,     Thee, and the sucking infant     Upon thy breast!     Let me, 'gainst this rocky wall,     Neath the elm-tree's shadow,     Lay aside my burden,     Near thee take my rest. WOMAN.     What vocation leads thee,     While the day is burning,     Up this dusty path?     Bring'st thou goods from out the town     Round the country?     Smil'st thou, stranger,     At my question? WANDERER.     From the town no goods I bring.     Cool is now the evening;     Show to me the fountain     'Whence thou drinkest,     Woman young and kind! WOMAN.     Up the rocky pathway mount;     Go thou first! Across the thicket     Leads the pathway tow'rd the cottage     That I live in,     To the fountain     Whence I drink. WANDERER.     Signs of man's arranging hand     See I 'mid the trees!     Not by thee these stones were join'd,     Nature, who so freely scatterest! WOMAN.     Up, still up! WANDERER.     Lo, a mossy architrave is here!     I discern thee, fashioning spirit!     On the stone thou hast impress'd thy seal. WOMAN.     Onward, stranger! WANDERER.     Over an inscription am I treading!     'Tis effaced!     Ye are seen no longer,     Words so deeply graven,     Who your master's true devotion     Should have shown to thousand grandsons! WOMAN.     At these stones, why     Start'st thou, stranger?     Many stones are lying yonder     Round my cottage. WANDERER.     Yonder? WOMAN.     Through the thicket,     Turning to the left,     Here! WANDERER.     Ye Muses and ye Graces! WOMAN.     This, then, is my cottage. WANDERER.     'Tis a ruin'd temple! * WOMAN.     Just below it, see,     Springs the fountain     Whence I drink. WANDERER.     Thou dost hover     O'er thy grave, all glowing,     Genius! while upon thee     Hath thy master-piece     Fallen crumbling,     Thou Immortal One! WOMAN.     Stay, a cup I'll fetch thee     Whence to drink. WANDERER.     Ivy circles thy slender     Form so graceful and godlike.     How ye rise on high     From the ruins,     Column-pair     And thou, their lonely sister yonder,     How thou,     Dusky moss upon thy sacred head,     Lookest down in mournful majesty     On thy brethren's figures     Lying scatter'd     At thy feet!     In the shadow of the bramble     Earth and rubbish veil them,     Lofty grass is waving o'er them     Is it thus thou, Nature, prizest     Thy great masterpiece's masterpiece?     Carelessly destroyest thou     Thine own sanctuary,     Sowing thistles there? WOMAN.     How the infant sleeps!     Wilt thou rest thee in the cottage,     Stranger? Wouldst thou rather     In the open air still linger?     Now 'tis cool! take thou the child     While I go and draw some water.     Sleep on, darling! sleep! WANDERER.     Sweet is thy repose!     How, with heaven-born health imbued,     Peacefully he slumbers!     Oh thou, born among the ruins     Spread by great antiquity,     On thee rest her spirit!     He whom it encircles     Will, in godlike consciousness,     Ev'ry day enjoy.     Full, of germ, unfold,     As the smiling springtime's     Fairest charm,     Outshining all thy fellows!     And when the blossom's husk is faded,     May the full fruit shoot forth     From out thy breast,     And ripen in the sunshine! WOMAN.     God bless him! Is he sleeping still?     To the fresh draught I nought can add,     Saving a crust of bread for thee to eat. WANDERER.     I thank thee well.     How fair the verdure all around!     How green! WOMAN.     My husband soon     Will home return     From labour. Tarry, tarry, man,     And with us eat our evening meal. WANDERER.     Is't here ye dwell? WOMAN.     Yonder, within those walls we live.     My father 'twas who built the cottage     Of tiles and stones from out the ruins.     'Tis here we dwell.     He gave me to a husbandman,     And in our arms expired.     Hast thou been sleeping, dearest heart     How lively, and how full of play!     Sweet rogue! WANDERER.     Nature, thou ever budding one,     Thou formest each for life's enjoyments,     And, like a mother, all thy children dear,     Blessest with that sweet heritage, a home     The swallow builds the cornice round,     Unconscious of the beauties     She plasters up.     The caterpillar spins around the bough,     To make her brood a winter house;     And thou dost patch, between antiquity's     Most glorious relics,     For thy mean use,     Oh man, a humble cot,     Enjoyest e'en mid tombs!     Farewell, thou happy woman! WOMAN.     Thou wilt not stay, then? WANDERER.     May God preserve thee,     And bless thy boy! WOMAN.     A happy journey! WANDERER.     Whither conducts the path     Across yon hill? WOMAN.     To Cuma. WANDERER.     How far from hence? WOMAN.     'Tis full three miles. WANDERER.     Farewell!     Oh Nature, guide me on my way!     The wandering stranger guide,     Who o'er the tombs     Of holy bygone times     Is passing,     To a kind sheltering place,     From North winds safe,     And where a poplar grove     Shuts out the noontide ray!     And when I come     Home to my cot     At evening,     Illumined by the setting sun,     Let me embrace a wife like this,     Her infant in her arms!