1819-20
THE SKETCH BOOK
THE WIDOW AND HER SON
by Washington Irving
Pittie olde age, within whose silver haires
Honour and reverence evermore have rain'd.
MARLOWE'S TAMBURLAINE.
THOSE who are in the habit of remarking such matters, must have
noticed the passive quiet of an English landscape on Sunday. The
clacking of the mill, the regularly recurring stroke of the flail, the
din of the blacksmith's hammer, the whistling of the ploughman, the
rattling of the cart, and all other sounds of rural labor are
suspended. The very farm-dogs bark less frequently, being less
disturbed by passing travellers. At such times I have almost fancied
the winds sunk into quiet, and that the sunny landscape, with its
fresh green tints melting into blue haze, enjoyed the hallowed calm.
Sweet day, so pure, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky.
Well was it ordained that the day of devotion should be a day of rest.
The holy repose which reigns over the face of nature, has its moral
influence; every restless passion is charmed down, and we feel the
natural religion of the soul gently springing up within us.
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