A Pilgrim, when the summer day Had closed upon his weary way, A lodging begged beneath a castle's roof; But him the haughty Warder spurned; And from the gate the Pilgrim turned, To seek such covert as the field Or heath-besprinkled copse might yield, Or lofty wood, shower-proof. He paced along; and, pensively, Halting beneath a shady tree, Whose moss-grown root might serve for couch or seat, Fixed on a Star his upward eye; Then, from the tenant of the sky He turned, and watched with kindred look, A Glow-worm, in a dusky nook, Apparent at his feet. The murmur of a neighbouring stream Induced a soft and slumbrous dream, A pregnant dream, within whose shadowy bounds He recognised the earth-born Star, And _That_ which glittered from afar; And (strange to witness!) from the frame Of the ethereal Orb, there came Intelligible sounds. Much did it taunt the humble Light That now, when day was fled, and night Hushed the dark earth, fast closing weary eyes, A very reptile could presume To show her taper in the gloom, As if in rivalship with One Who sate a ruler on his throne Erected in the skies. 'Exalted Star!' the Worm replied, 'Abate this unbecoming pride, Or with a less uneasy lustre shine; Thou shrink'st as momently thy rays Are mastered by the breathing haze; While neither mist, nor thickest cloud That shapes in heaven its murky shroud, Hath power to injure mine. But not for this do I aspire To match the spark of local fire, That at my will burns on the dewy lawn, With thy acknowledged glories;-No! Yet, thus upbraided, I may show What favours do attend me here, Till, like thyself, I disappear Before the purple dawn.' When this in modest guise was said, Across the welkin seemed to spread A boding sound-for aught but sleep unfit! Hills quaked, the rivers backward ran; That Star, so proud of late, looked wan; And reeled with visionary stir In the blue depth, like Lucifer Cast headlong to the pit! Fire raged: and, when the spangled floor Of ancient ether was no more, New heavens succeeded, by the dream brought forth: And all the happy Souls that rode Transfigured through that fresh abode, Had heretofore, in humble trust, Shone meekly 'mid their native dust, The Glow-worms of the earth! This knowledge, from an Angel's voice Proceeding, made the heart rejoice Of Him who slept upon the open lea: Waking at morn he murmured not; And, till life's journey closed, the spot Was to the Pilgrim's soul endeared, Where by that dream he had been cheered Beneath the shady tree.
