William Cowper (1731 – 1800)
Inspired by the true experience of the titular Scottish sailor, who was marooned on an uninhabited island for four years.
I am monarch of all I survey;
My right there is none to dispute;
From the center all round to the sea
I am lord of the fowl and the brute
O Solitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this terrible place.
I am out of humanity’s reach;
I must finish my journey alone;
Never hear the sweet music of speech—
I start at the sound of my own;
The beasts that roam over the plain
My form with indifference see—
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.
Society, Friendship and Love
Divinely bestow’d upon man,
Oh had I the wings of a dove
How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrow I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer’d by the sallies of youth.
Ye winds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial endearing report
Of a land I shall visit no more.
My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
O tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.
How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-wingèd arrow of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
But, alas! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair.
But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.
There’s mercy in every place;
And mercy—encouraging thought!—
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.
Hermit Thought : Identity
“Solitude bestows an increase in something valuable… my perception. But… when I applied my increased perception to myself, I lost my identity. There was no audience, no one to perform for… To put it romantically, I was completely free.”
Christopher Knight, 2013
That quotation is from the Last True Hermit (or the North Pond Hermit, a somewhat diminished title), who lived in the woods of central Maine in absolute solitude for some thirty years, with the exception of a single “hi” to a hiker. Unlike Selkirk, Knight’s exile from society was self-imposed and he chose to maintain it right up until a new fangled motion sensor tripped while he was burglarizing a camp for food. If he hadn’t been caught, he’d likely still be out in the forest.
But the common point of their experiences: individual identity seemingly requires, at least in part, reference to a community of other human beings. Returned to a state of nature, absent social landmarks to define oneself by, the outline of a coherent self begins to blur. “No man is an island,” and all that.
This theme is also central to Butcher’s Crossing by John Williams, when the principle characters’ hunting party is stranded in a remote valley for an entire winter by an avalanche (although greed was what kept them there that late in the season). Go read it and every other book by Williams.
Hermit Thrush 